Title: Lease or Buy
Warning: Pet play
Rating: PG
Continuity: G1
Characters: Swindle, Combaticons, Thundercracker, Astrotrain, Reflector, Soundwave, Constructicons
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): A kinkmeme request ( . ?thread=8406153#t8406153) + writing warm-ups and a need for something no-pressure to write.
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Part Three
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Bargaining from flat on his back was not his strongest position. Never let it be said that Swindle passed up an opportunity, however.
Alright, so it was more like the opportunity wouldn't leave him alone. "Not interested," he stated yet again. Once more, he turned his head the other direction on the repair slab to reinforce just how not interested he was. "I'm injured. I want to be repaired. That's the only relationship I want between us." A molecule of tact wormed through the pain assaulting his busted front. "No offense."
Regrettably for his attempt to close the conversation, Scavenger just scampered around to the other side of the slab. Again. There was no avoiding the mech. "Come on! You, turning down a business relationship?" That came out sounding like something luscious but obscene. Swindle twitched. Frag him and his weak spot. Scavenger leaned down to put his elbows by his face and gave the downed Combaticon an innocent look. "I don't buy it. You have a price, and if you'd just tell me what it is…"
Yeah, straight for the weak spot.
This? This was why Swindle usually found Scavenger to be the most fun among the Constructicons. Scavenger might have the self-esteem of a teenage girl, but he was a hoarder and collector. The mech knew how to negotiate in order to get what he wanted. Swindle sometimes went out of his way to acquire items he knew would get him a few days of offers and counter-offers, flamboyant bartering techniques and cut-throat veiled threats. Stretching his bargaining skills against another experienced trader made for good exercise here on Earth.
Today was not the day to be a merchant. Today was the day Grimlock punched Swindle's grill up under his windshield. Reinforced gestalt framework or not, Jeeps were not meant to indent that way. Business ranked second to repairs, today.
But Scavenger had been sent in to negotiate while he was down, and that was playing dirty. "I am in pain," the smaller Decepticon bit out, his normal smile flattened at the edges into a strained grimace. "I do not want to be in pain. What you're asking for is going to mean I stay in pain longer, and frag that. No deal!"
"No no no," Scavenger rushed to assure him, hurrying around the slab when Swindle stubbornly turned away. Primus, was there no way to escape the mech? "No, you won't be in any pain! You misunderstand me, Swindle." A hand hovered, hesitating mid-air because Swindle's genial, welcoming body language had closed off into a hostile tension. The Constructicon settled for patting the repair slab instead. "We want to take care of you. Treat you! No pain, I promise. They just - uh, we just," the smaller mech tensed further, catching that slip, "want to have a patient who's not quite so…" Scavenger waved a hand, trying to pull a description out of nowhere. "Decepticon."
Sentient, he meant. Swindle knew exactly what the Constructicons - he had his suspicions about just which ones had sent in their negotiator - wanted from him. They wanted an injured pet to whimper and cry under their hands in dumb fear and pain, who had to be restrained and soothed instead of knocked upside the helm. They didn't want to have to explain every single procedure or account for why they were doing what they did. They wanted him to be a patient and responsibility instead of an equal and job.
Swindle did not want to be a pet today. He really, truly didn't. His chest was smashed in, there were glass fragments in his coolant reservoir, and a pool of windshield wiper fluid was forming at the small of his back on the slab.
None of which negated the fact that the gearhead was right. Swindle did have a price. Plus, the idea of being taken care of had its merits. Not ones he typically thought of under these circumstances, but in conjunction with the right price, it was worth throwing out there for consideration.
He slowly lit those glittering purple optics he knew everyone found so exotic, and Scavenger stared down at him. "Triple Mixmaster's usual rate."
The Constructicon didn't even flinch. "Done."
"And."
Justifiably wary, Scavenger waited.
Swindle blinked his pretty optics, charming for all he was worth. "Nobody gets access to my medical records or updates on my condition. Ever. Megatron, sure, but nobody else unless they've got a direct order from him." The other Combaticons still pressured him when they thought they could get away with it. He had no intention of Onslaught knowing when he was weak and vulnerable.
Scavenger stared into the light over the berth, obviously communicating with his team. A few minutes later, he gave the small groundframe on the slab a thoughtful look. It was an odd proviso. Swindle knew what he was thinking. Could it be used to the Constructicons' advantage in future dealings?
It'd make life interesting later, he was sure.
"Agreed," Scavenger said at last.
"Fine." He shifted, legs creaking protest as he bent them. "Transfer the credits to my account through Mixmaster. And - how do you want to play this?" It felt weird to discuss a pet session while he was so thoroughly banged up, but okay. The deal was brokered. Time to deliver.
"You remember that time you slipped Astrotrain's leash and went running through the halls?" Swindle grinned despite himself at the reminder, and Scavenger ducked his head, seeming somewhat embarrassed.
Astrotrain had been incensed, but mostly at himself. It'd been a rookie pet owner mistake. Swindle had played the part of an untrained, uncomprehending pet to the hilt, and Astrotrain had fumed because trying to take a pet who wasn't leash-trained for a walk was stupid. He'd been forced to rein in his temper when Swindle had finally stopped zooming around the base like a moon-crazy Stunticon on highgrade. Every time Astrotrain had raised his voice, the Jeep had taken off driving again. When Astrotrain had cornered him at last, he'd sat on the common room table and given the triplechanger a confused look for the anger. What? He hadn't done anything wrong, had he?
"Not out of control, but not obeying commands all the time," Scavenger clarified. "Not so much running away and squealing your tires, but…it hurts, right?" Swindle gave him a flat look. "Just…go with that, I guess."
He sounded like he wasn't sure what was wanted. Great. Swindle would be playing with mechs who didn't know what rules they wanted the session to be played by. Oh, well. It wasn't the first time.
"No pain?" he stressed.
"No pain," the Constructicon agreed. "I'll, um, go get everyone."
Everyone? Fah. Swindle bet it'd be one Constructicon, two at most.
As soon as the door closed, he levered himself off the repair slab. Wincing, he staggered across the room. Time to get into character. As much as it hurt now, he felt reasonably confident that he'd be taken care of properly. Probably better than most care the Decepticons got from the Constructicons. Surly healthcare for the ranks was different than specialized pet care.
In return, he just had to play a part. He crawled under a set of cabinets and wedged himself into the corner, like a wounded animal trying to hide. Then he laid there and cycled air in shallow vents, waiting out the throb of pain from moving.
The door opened, and he lit his optics dimly to see two sets of feet enter. Ha. He'd been right.
"Where is he?"
Hook immediately turned and stomped back toward the door. "Scavenger! He's gone!"
"Fragger's going to try taking our credits and running? Not very bright, is he," Scrapper said coldly, and Swindle's mouth curved in a thin smirk.
He lit his optics a bit brighter and hissed.
The angry conversation halted.
He deliberately rattled his plating a bit and hissed again. The feet moved.
"Swindle?"
"Where are you?"
"Come out."
"It's alright, we're here."
"Swindle?"
Coaxing calls started as two sets of feet began pacing the repair bay. Swindle curled tighter. Scrapper and Hook would find him soon enough, but he'd make them work to get him out of his hidey-hole. Call him not very bright, did they? Hmmph.
"There you are." Suddenly: Scrapper. The leader of the Constructicons looked somewhere between pleased and relieved to have located him.
Swindle glowered at him. He made a low warning noise at the mech now kneeling beside the cabinet, and then he curled further into his corner. Brighter than that, thank you very much.
"Come out of there." Scrapper's voice had the coaxing tone of someone used to dealing with recalcitrant patients with more damage than common sense. "Swindle, come on. We can't fix you if you're under a cabinet."
Swindle relaxed his curl a bit, letting one optic peek over his arm. A hand extended toward him, fingers curled and thumb chafing back and forth over the forefinger in an enticing gesture. He eyed it and uncurled a fraction more. The hand came closer.
Hook dropped down beside his teammate abruptly, visor squinting as he bent to follow Scrapper's gaze, and Swindle's damaged motor gave a warning howl. Scrapper hesitated, but Hook looked more evaluating than wary. "We're going to have to open up his engine block." He reached past Scrapper's arm to grab the closest bit of Swindle he could.
That comment about his intelligence just asked for retaliation, and he had Scavenger's instructions to make life difficult for the two Constructicons. The wounded Jeep twisted, jerking his captured foot up in order to deliver a nasty sharp bite to Hook's wrist. He didn't hold back.
"Fragging Pit - !"
Hook released him, but only to shake him loose and grab another handhold. Yelping, Swindle found himself dragged out from under cover by the now pissed-off surgeon, and that rasped the bent side of his chest across the floor. Yelping turned into a yowl as his engine and vocalizer synced into one pained sound. He clawed the floor, fighting the pull.
"Careful!"
"He's got to come out," Hook snapped.
"You don't need to handle him that roughly!"
No, he didn't, and Swindle intended to teach these mechs how to treat a pet right. Any owner worth the credits he shelled out learned that play was about the pet, not the owner. Time for Hook to figure out that if the owner didn't behave right, the pet didn't have to cooperate in the slightest.
Swindle let go of the floor seam he'd been stubbornly clinging to, doubled over, and glomped onto Hook. The surgeon let go, hand recoiling to protect the sensitive fingers, but the Jeep didn't aim for that. A dumb pet wouldn't know how to target Hook's most vulnerable spot. A pet just lashed out at the one hurting him. Swindle latched onto Hook's forearm and savaged it.
Fingers tore and clawed, teeth bit, and he even got a few good kicks in. The pain of his chest gave him motivation, the money gave him cause, and the visceral satisfaction of Hook's utterly shocked yell made him feel good. Sometimes, mindlessly lashing out really did help. His neck ached from jerking at the solid grip he had with his teeth, but Scrapper and Hook were yelling at each other now, Scrapper physically stopping Hook from just punching him off. Swindle's fingers scraped peels of metal and paint away from the surgeon's arm in long clawmarks, his teeth punctured the armor entirely, and Primus did his chest hurt!
He inflicted the pain he felt on Hook for less than thirty seconds, growling and snarling while Scrapper restrained the surgeon, but the second he saw an opening, the smaller Decepticon pushed off Hook and retreated back into his hidey-hole.
Stunned silence gained him a few extra seconds to tuck himself back into a protective ball. His chest throbbed. Swindle licked Hook's fluids off his teeth and gave a feral grin behind the shelter of his arm. Physical vengeance on someone who prided himself on looking down on others intellectually felt good.
Better yet was how Scrapper immediately took Hook to task. There was no doubt in the engineer's mind whose fault the injuries were, despite how Hook began sputtering. "That fragging - "
"I told you not to do that," Scrapper said back. "Let me see your arm."
"My arm's fine! Get that idiot out from under there before I hogtie him and hang him from the ceiling!" The tone was enough to get the Jeep's engine howling again, but Swindle added an angry growl over a pet's tone-based wariness. If the Constructicons tried that, he'd have a commlink open to Ratbat before the first knot was tied.
But Scrapper had a better head on his shoulders than Hook's pride currently allowed. "I told you. He's injured and in pain. The only way we're going to be able to treat him is if he trusts us, and now he's doubly afraid of what we're going to do to him."
"But - !"
"No." Scrapper's voice brooked no excuse. "I told you. Would you trust someone who hauled you around by your foot for no reason you understood?"
"But he knows that we have to - "
"No, he doesn't." The engineer's voice fell into a hushed whisper as he fell out of the session role of master and reminded Hook of what was going on. Swindle was playing a pet, and a pet didn't know anything that required more than basic functions and rudimentary thought processes. That meant they had to play their part in the roleplay, which meant they went along with the farce that Swindle was unintelligent. Hook had to shake the idea of Swindle the Combaticon if they wanted to play this game.
Swindle curled tighter and nodded to himself. Newbies. Scrapper sounded like he had some experience, but Hook definitely hadn't done this before. The conmech idly wondered if the surgeon could play. Being an owner needed a mindset, and Hook didn't seem the type to be able to slip in and out of character.
Scrapper, on the other hand, knew the game. "Swindle? Swindle, come here. Swindle, here." The stern tone he'd taken talking to Hook had become something soothing. He had the tone down pat. Part of Swindle knew how to listen to tone, and the conmech appreciated someone who wielded it well. Tone and body language filled a huge part of his sales repertoire. He peeked and saw Scrapper bent to look under the cabinet at him. "There's those pretty optics," the engineer said warmly. "There's a good 'bot. Come on, Swindle." The hand extended to flutter fingers enticingly at him again. "See, it doesn't matter what you say to him," Scrapper said, obviously not to the Jeep even as he kept his visor on him and his voice in that coaxing tone, "just that you sound nonthreatening. Isn't that right? Who's a cute little grounder, yes you are."
It was hard to keep a straight face through that, but Astrotrain piled the silly flattery on deeper during sessions. Swindle shifted and let his engine change gears. The clack of broken pistons was loud under the cabinet like this, and he whined pitifully.
Hook huffed as he knelt beside his teammate, but he grudgingly held out a hand, too. "You're the most irritating rebuild bilge pump on this hemisphere of the planet," he crooned in a rusty attempt at Scrapper's warm tone. "Come here so I can strangle you with your own exhaust pipe."
Big purple optics squinted suspiciously at the surgeon. Toy mechs weren't intelligent, but this one knew that this particular Constructicon had grabbed and caused pain once. Swindle carefully kept his lips from twitching into a smile at the litany of abuse being crooned at him, and he inched away from Hook's hand. Hmm, nope. Creative as Swindle the merchant found the diatribe, Swindle the pet didn't trust Hook.
Scrapper pushed Hook's hand down and away. "Let me get him out. He, ah, didn't like what you did before." He murmured something else as an aside to his teammate, and Hook stood to stomp away. Swindle watched his feet go. The surgeon never did like being proven incapable of a task. "There we go. Better?" The Jeep's optics turned back toward the engineer trying to coax him out. There were fingers being wiggled at him. "Come on, little one. Time to fix you. Here, Swindle."
He let the stream of soothing nonsense calm his engine down until only pained, malfunctioning clicks and strained hiccups could be heard. The cautious, tense curl unwound eventually, and Swindle ever-so-slowly nosed toward the hand still being held toward him. Scrapper patiently kept his palm open and the fingers straight, not a hint of quick, threatening movements there.
The tips of his fingers were investigated, cautious and ready to retreat. Scrapper didn't move. A nose touched his thumb. A tongue flicked against his index finger, investigating his taste. A tiny motion from the licked finger, probably of surprise at the damp swipe, and Swindle scurried back into a tight ball. He kept one optic on the engineer, however, and there was no mistaking that pleased glint in the mech's visor.
Yeah, Swindle had his number now. Scrapper liked to gain a scared, injured pet's trust. He liked to tame. Astrotrain liked to train; Thundercracker liked to care for; Scrapper liked gentling wild pets to hand.
He could play to that.
Good thing Scavenger had closed off the worst of his internal leaks before propositioning him. Swindle made Scrapper work to get him out from under the cabinet. The crooning tone encouraged him along, never expressing even a smidgeon of irritation for the amount of time it took before the Jeep dared uncurl again. Wary, Swindle progressed with glacial slowness from sniffing Scrapper's fingertips to nibbling the heel of his hand while the engineer slowly, gently, carefully slid his fingers under the pet's chin. Purple optics squinched up in pleasure as Scrapper began rubbing at the sensitive tubes and cabling underneath, paying special attention to the sheathes where exposed cabling went up into his head. Barely scratching at the rims of those had Swindle sagging forward into the hand under his chin, fingers opening and closing in small kneading motions against the floor as his damaged motor tried to chug into a contented purr.
Part of that was feigned, but Scrapper would never be able to tell how much or how little. Swindle was very good at body language. It was why he excelled at playing the part of a pet.
The unfeigned pleasure he had was the other reason he was so good at this. Attention turned on him and him alone felt good. He soaked it up like a greedy sponge paid by the hour. He liked being the center of attention, and the fact that customer satisfaction soared while he got all the money and the attention just made this job one of the best uses of his off-time ever.
Scrapper coaxed him out from under the cabinet by gradually drawing his fingers away, making Swindle stretch and stretch trying to get the rubbing under his chin back. The Jeep shifted back and forth in his hidey-hole, nervous, but he really wanted those fingers back. They felt good. This Constructicon was nice. Swindle the pet liked him. Maybe it was okay to inch out of his safe place? Maybe. If he was careful.
Swindle oozed out of his corner a little, chin up hopefully. The fingers tickled under it before withdrawing again. The Jeep inched after them.
When he was close enough, Scrapper extended his other hand. The pet mech eyed it, investigated it, and hunched as it descended slowly toward his face. Jittery, he scrunched into the floor until he couldn't evade it any further. A second later, he made a throaty sound of pleasure when it swept over the upper rims of his optics. Scrapper stroked the intricate optical ridge mechanism with just the right pressure, and Swindle leaned into his hand this time.
All the while, the constant monologue soothed and coaxed, praised and called his name over and over until the tone did indeed become the important part. Half-hypnotized by the warm flow of words, Swindle cautiously emerged from his cabinet shelter and blinked in the light.
Before he could take a fright and shrink back into the shadow of the cabinet, Scrapper smoothed a hand over his helm. "Pretty pretty. Ready to get fixed? Hmm? Pretty Swindle, we'll get you repaired. It'll be just fine, you'll see. Come on, Swindle. You're okay."
Swindle dimmed his optics and churred his engine roughly, pushing into the petting with the slack-jawed pleasure of a toy mech well on his way to trusting the person talking and touching him so gently. He sneaked a look through dimmed optics and kept his amusement from his face. Scrapper's expression, mask or not, was the self-satisfied gloating look more commonly seen on Hook. His visor held a weird tenderness directed toward Swindle himself, but yeah. Yeah, Scrapper was enjoying himself to no end right now.
Hook, on the other hand, was the picture of impatience: arms folded, foot tapping, and frown in place. "Just get him on the table, already."
The look his team leader shot him made Swindle curious about the internal dynamics of the Constructicons. "Don't rush him. He's doing just fine," Scrapper said in a low croon, but Hook flinched and became interested in rearranging tools on the repair slab shelf, suddenly. "Pretty pet. Such a pretty Swindle. Let me see those optics…" A deft hand stroked his optic ridges again, distracting the conmech from the nervous pet act he'd been playing up to while watching Hook. Swindle dimmed his optics and pushed into the touch, deciding Scrapper had worked hard enough. "Good, good. Follow me, now?"
Swindle leaned, trusting, into the hand guiding him, but he kept a wary optic on Hook. He had the sneaking suspicion that Scrapper enjoyed earning trust - but Hook was a sadist. It wouldn't surprise him at all if Hook enjoyed testing that trust. If the surgeon's hands started 'slipping' and having minor 'accidents' that would cause pain to confuse and bewilder a trusting, dumb pet, well, then he'd know for sure. And he'd even let Hook cause the pain to make him whimper and seek reassurance from Scrapper. He would just keep a running tally of the pains to multiply his fee by if Scrapper requested another session.
He would, of course. Nobody looked at Swindle like that and let it go with just one session. So Swindle would never take Hook as a client again, and he'd consider Scrapper if the engineer paid the price he was sure Hook was about to send skyrocketing.
In the meantime, he'd take back some of his own by biting the scrap out of Hook once the pet mech's trust got pushed too far.
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