Title: Dark Horses
Warning: A relationship extrapolation from what Robots In Disguise (the comic) showed of Swindle and Blurr.
Rating: PG
Continuity: IDW
Characters: Swindle, Blurr
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors.
Motivation (Prompt): Part 3 of 3 commission continuation for the delightful FlyFloyd. Thank you!
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Part 6: Appropriate song for these two is now "I Found" by Amber Run.
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By the eighth reporter that week, Blurr knew everything there was to know about the 'Swindle Lives' movement. He hadn't wanted to know. Remaining ignorant wasn't a viable solution, but he had enough to deal with on his own without adding an entire planet's issues to the load.
Regardless, now he knew. The Decepticons were on the move again, discontent and anger in the back alleys of Iacon, and Swindle's death had become their rallying cry. The whole thing enraged Blurr, but he also found it deeply disturbing. Partly from warmongers using his lover's death for their purposes, but partly from how they were doing it.
Swindle Lives. Present tense. Veeeeery disturbing to a mech who slept beside Swindle's ghost.
"Are you behind it?" asked the ex-racer as he came to the top of the apartment stairs and stopped in the doorway.
Big purple optics blinked confusion at him, but Blurr knew Swindle could act any role. Innocent until proven guilty, and even afterward if Swindle had a good lawyer.
Blurr frowned at him. "Are you the one causing trouble? 'Cons are painting your name on things across Iacon and Metroplex. It's getting a lot of attention." Despite Starscream working damage control, the sleazebag.
"There's no one person or thing behind the trouble brewing, and you know it." Scoffing, the ghost went back to what he'd been doing before Blurr came in. He seemed to be using a pair of needlenose pliers to crimp the edges of the patch on his chest flat to encourage it to repair smooth.
Blurr shook his head. Crimping would help, but the effort was doomed to failure. The crude patch had appeared on Swindle's chest two days ago, covering the raw hole through his front grill and radiator. While it was obviously better than an open wound and he didn't reek of burnt wires anymore, self-repair couldn't do much for a wound that large. It'd struggle to integrate the patch, and there would be a noticeable ride of weldscar where natural metal met it. A properly welded patch done by a real medic would heal without a scar, but not that.
Not that repairs really mattered, in the end. A ghost was a ghost.
Sighing, Blurr walked over to the table to set down a sealed glass of engex. He'd stopped leaving it at the bar afterhours ever since the ghost began appearing exclusively in his apartment. "I just thought you might be out stirring up people."
"Now why would I do that?" Swindle asked. Bright tone aside, resentment oozed from his voice.
Blurr didn't have the spark to blame him for that, but a restless ghost appearing to Decepticons looking for a cause created a problem for their wartorn planet. People were taking sides, half-forgotten animosity boiling toward an exploding point. Out of a tired sense of responsibility, Blurr put a hand on the table beside the ghost and bent to catch his optics with his own. "They're calling for justice for you."
"Are they? Good for them."
"Swindle." Exhaustion dragged his lover's name out into groan.
Guilt darkened purple to dusky violet, but those big optics met reproving blue with a stubborn glare. "Maybe I don't deserve justice," said the conmech, pushed to defense, "but I didn't deserve a death sentence, either. Don't tell me you think Starscream should get away with fragging up Cybertron like this."
"Windblade says - "
"I don't care what that colonist says! She's a good person - great contact, don't get me wrong - but she's not one of us!"
Blurr's hand clenched into a fist on the table, but his optics didn't change from weary, pallid blue as he asked, "Who's 'us'?"
Swindle hesitated.
Racer-turned-Autobot-turned-bartender, talking to a conmech-turned-weapons dealer-turned-Decepticon-turned-merchant. Only one of those identities mattered in this discussion. "Yeah," Blurr said. "That's what I thought." Whatever answer Swindle invented to cover the pause, that pause spoke louder than words. It told the truth. Blurr had served drinks tonight to whole tables stopped mid-conversation, gazes awkwardly trained on ceiling or drinks as everyone avoided each other's optics. Decepticon, Autobot, and neutral alike waffled over a relatively simple question with a just-as-simple answer: 'us' meant 'Decepticon.'
Nobody was willing to say it out loud. They felt war hovering, waiting to swoop in on cue.
To be fair, the 'Cons and ex-'Cons at the bar hesitated because they didn't want to separate themselves from the rest of Cybertron and the colonists again. Protesting Starscream's rule drew a line between the factions, but the factions were reluctant to let go of the peace even as they prepared for war. Nobody wanted to answer because answering would make it impossible to pretend they could get along. They had tried so hard to make reality out of fantasy.
The second half of the night had devolved into a chaotic sing-along as people desperately grasped at distractions to banish the morose discussion. Blurr had thrown a spontaneous sale on cocktails, and his patrons had sucked down engex by the keg, buying rounds for friends and strangers alike. A frenetic sense of joy had fed the party, pumped beyond normal heights as if to overwhelm the awareness of oncoming war. Happiness was a finite resource on Cybertron. They wanted to grab as much as they could before time ran out.
Blurr knew the feeling.
"I guess civil war doesn't ever get any easier," he said matter-of-factly as he straightened up. Feet dragging, he made his way to the other side of the table, where he slumped into the other chair and put his face in his hands, the heels of his hands working into optic shutters.
Swindle stared at him, expression conflicted, but the glass of engex provided a good distraction. He abandoned repairs in order to snatch it up, but he stopped halfway through peeling up the seal. Eyeing how the lanky mech across from him sat, he asked, "Hey, when's the last time you refueled?"
Dull blue optics blinked at him. "I had something this afternoon. I think." His engine needed the boost to get him through the nights, lately, so he'd taken to pouring himself a high-octane dose of energon early in the shift.
Swindle squinted suspicion at his vague answer. "You think?"
"Mmhm." Although now that Blurr thought about it, his tank gauge didn't agree. Prodding his memory banks produced an error message. He remembered pouring the fuel, but had he actually drank it? That might explain why he'd moved stiff and slow as though mired in glue all night, resting his hip against the bar as he labored to lift heavy trays of glasses.
Well, nothing to be done about it now. He'd fill up tomorrow. Low as he was, he wasn't running on fumes yet. He sat back and slouched down further, pulling his arms up in a loose fold over his chest to keep them from sliding off his lap and hanging limp at his sides. Recharge protocols threatened to come online right here where he sat. Maybe just a nap…
Engex sloshed as Swindle pushed the glass across the table toward him, however, and Blurr forced his optics to focus. The ghost frowned at him. "Here, you drink it."
It took effort to raise his hand in a weak wave of dismissal. "Nah. I'm fine."
Swindle's frown deepened, that wide mouth turned down in a tempting curve. His bottom lip pushed out. It made Blurr want to lean in to nibble it, and he smiled slightly as the ghost insisted, "You're not fine! Look at your finish! Look at you!" A top-to-bottom gesture indicated all of the Blurr to prove Swindle's point. "You're scuffed, you're dull, I can see the wear on your tires from here. Did anyone at that Primus-damned race bother to tune you up after you won? Racers put major strain on their bodies running those tracks, you know that. I'll bet you haven't topped up since you got back to Cybertron, and it's obvious you're not recharging well. You're coming home after I get in and waking up before I leave, and don't tell me you're going back to sleep once I'm out the door because I stood outside and watched the lights come on!"
Blurr's fond smile softened, lips pressing together as regret ached near his spark. Swindle was in full rant mode, an irate infomercial salesmech selling damaged goods, and he'd missed this. Not the tirade on his state of mind and neglected self-care, but the passion. Swindle had an immense passion for persuading other people into things, be it a sale or point of view. If not for single-minded greed driving him into commercial enterprises, he'd make a decent politician.
"You're not fueling. Are you even remembering to intake something besides engex? You can't run on engex! It's quick-burn, not real fuel, and anyway, it's more expensive than regular midgrade. What kind of business sense do you have, mech? You'll bankrupt yourself right before you drop into stasis lack from low fuel, and your tank's probably corroded from here to Luna 1 from sucking down your distillery product like a Tankor. Leave swilling engex to the addicts and take care of yourself, for shanix's sake!"
The lanky blue mech put his elbow on the table, leaning his head on his hand. Inert weight sank him down until the side of his chest came up against the table edge and stopped him. There he stayed, head at an angle, supported by his hand as he blinked contentedly at the loud, aggravated lecture being directed at him. Swindle's engine growled, rattling as bad as Blurr's fans, and the merchant upped his volume. His hands talked as much as his vocalizer, abbreviated chirolinguistics sculpting one-sided word-shapes into the air. Blurr could translate some of the wild gestures. They seemed to cursing him for a stubborn glitch.
He wasn't about to argue. The mild blue optics watching Swindle were dimming toward full dark. Behind them, Blurr's mind didn't follow much of what was being yelled at him. The words blended into a background droning sound he wanted to record, play back later, fall asleep to, live by.
Which didn't soothe Swindle's ruffled plating any. "Are you even listening?!" Throwing his hands up, the ghost fell back in his chair and huffed an angry ventilation cycle. "Are you doing this on purpose? Do I have to hobble you?"
Blurr's smile slid crooked, humor piercing the lethargy briefly. "It'd be nice," he admitted.
Purple optics turned sharp. Surging to his feet, Swindle shoved the glass at Blurr. "Drink, you brainless speed demon."
"That's for you."
"I don't need it and you do, so drink it."
"I don't want it."
"You're going to shut down," Swindle flared, slapping his hands flat on the table. "What the frag is wrong with you, Blurr? Why are you doing this?"
Blurr turned his head away. His back creaked as he sat up, gingerly settling his boosters over the back of the chair. It gave him some distance from the angry ghost glaring at him in confused, almost hurt pleading. "I'm not doing anything."
"Then what is it?" Swindle turned his hands up on the table, open and asking for something from his lover Blurr didn't seem willing to give him. "What aren't you telling me?"
Blurr's spark flip-flopped in his chest. His fingers curled against the table, resisting the urge to reach out for the offered hands.
Swindle's optics dropped to them, then went back to what he could see of Blurr's face. "Look, I - I'm sorry, okay? I know you've got no reason to trust me anymore, but there are things I can't involve you in, stuff I can't tell you about, and I'm sorry that I can't do it, I'm sorry it upsets you, but I won't put you in the middle of this mess. I know you're a Wrecker - were a Wrecker, whatever," he shook his head, hand raised to placate an imaginary protest on Blurr's part, "and I get it, you can handle yourself, but that's under normal circumstances. This isn't normal, Blurr, this is...fragging Pit, fine, I'll say it." He scowled. "It's Decepticon business. Not even really business, but it's still business, and you're not part of my business. You're not in that side of my life. I-I mean, maybe at some point."
The raised hand hastily dropped, fingers drumming on the table as his other hand went to rub the back of his neck. Swindle ducked his head to look down at the table between them. An awkward, somewhat bashful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The two of us seem to work pretty well together, and the bar does better when I'm sorting the finances, you said so yourself, so maybe someday we could do business as partners. Equal partners, not just you buying furniture or distillery parts from me. I was thinking about franchise licenses for the bar, and, well, a 50-50 split would be easier if we were co-owners…"
He coughed, shaking his head to break free of whatever hopeful future he'd build in his thoughts. "Right, yeah, anyway. Just a thought. Neither here nor there." A little embarrassed, he turned an earnest look on Blurr with all the power of his hyper-expressive optics behind it. "My point is, I'm not trying to hurt you. Right here and now, all I want is to take care of you. You're hurting, Speedy. I want to help. Hand to Primus, that's all. No tricks, no small print. This isn't business, it's you and me and nothing else. So you tell me. What can I do? What do you want from me?"
Blurr didn't really follow everything Swindle said. It made no sense, passing through his head from audio to audio without making a connection, and his brow ridges drew together as he tried to find a reply. The words didn't come.
"Blurr…" Swindle took a deep breath and held it. Optics off, he visibly dialed himself back, stuffing exposed emotion back behind a more composed façade. The professional salesmech once more, he lit his optics again while exhaling slowly. At the end of the ventilation cycle, he gave Blurr a steely look. "Drink the blasted engex," he ordered.
The order made Blurr flinch, but the bartender made no move to reach for the drink. He was hungry, or at least his tanks pinged low, but taking the drink he left for Swindle didn't feel right. "It's disrespectful," he mumbled at last, moved by the pressure of Swindle's optics boring into the side of his helm.
"What? Why?" Swindle squinted one optic, puzzled.
"Because it's yours," Blurr said simply.
Silence. The squinted optic opened, Swindle's confusion morphing into the galaxy's most deadpan, level look. "Mine," he said.
Blurr wouldn't look at him. From the corner of his optic he could see blatant disbelief creeping into purple optics. "If it keeps you coming back, I'll give you free drinks every night," he said softly, solemn as an oath.
Swindle stared at him a moment more before tossing his hands out to the sides as if to show the universe how exasperated he was. "I'm already here! I don't need to be bribed, you twit! I left, but I came back. No drinks necessary! I came back, and I'm sorry I left, and I'll apologize as many times as you want for leaving you, but just please stop dancing around the subject and tell me what I've gotta do to make you forgive me! And for love of gambling," he burst into motion, grabbing the glass and stomping around the table to shove it into Blurr's face, "refuel before I really do slap hobbles on you!"
The edge of the glass dented Blurr's lower lip, the seal on top crinkling against his nose. Engex flooded his mouth as it sloshed out of the glass. Pink liquid dribbled from the corners of his mouth, falling off his chin to drip into his lap, but Blurr didn't care. He didn't even notice. Automatic functions stalled. His intakes malfunctioned, fuel filters accidentally closing, and the engex redirected into his open throat ventilation shaft. It met his air filters with predictable results.
A fine spray of pink mist immediately spritzed from every vent as his fans sputtered. Considering the number of vents packed into his racer frametype, everything around Blurr acquired a light pink coating of engex. He doubled over coughing, gasping to clear his ventilation system.
Swindle skipped back, grimacing as the glass fell to the floor and shattered. "Aw, slag, I didn't mean - fraggit, sorry. I shouldn't have - "
Optics out of focus, vents heaving for air, Blurr blinked upward. "Swindle?"
The apology cut off. Cautious, Swindle blinked back at the dazed blue mech. "Yeah?"
Blurr worked his mouth. Nothing came out but a trickle of engex.
"Blurr? You okay?"
"Swindle?" he asked again, voice quiet and trembling somewhere deep in his throat where shock had locked his intakes shut.
He sounded so off kilter Swindle crouched to get a better look at him, a short-range scan running over his plating. "I'm right here."
Every joint lost strength, hydraulics losing pressure and cables hanging lax. Hands shaking violently, Blurr struggled to reach out to his lover. "You're alive," he said, or he thought he did, but what did it matter if he actually spoke aloud? Hard plating met his seeking hands, cool and smooth as he gathered it into his arms, pulling a familiar presence to him. Shorter than him, heavier, more compact, and real, so very real, present as ever but here, really here.
"How? How - why - " Blurr's filters spat the last of the engex out, but his vents kept roaring, sucking air like he'd just run a marathon. The fans skipped, rattling on the hubs from more than poor maintenance. With his fans running at full power, the vent-hitches were far harder to ignore. They shook his entire body, rocking him back in forth in his seat, but he barely felt the skipping jolt him. Swindle was a stable, solid presence in his arms keeping him grounded even as his thoughts scattered in a thousand different directions. He hadn't run anywhere but his thoughts raced.
Helm scraping metal-on-metal, he shook his head against Swindle's shoulder. "No. No. I don't care. I don't even care. How or why doesn't matter, I don't care, it doesn't matter, I don't care, I don't care, I don't care!"
Swindle stayed stock still. Stiff and surprised, he didn't dare move a finger. Blurr clung and sobbed incoherent sentences, fingers digging into the seams of his plating, and the merchant didn't know what to do. What was the appropriate reaction to someone completely losing it over a glass of engex?
Eventually, a minor eternity later, seemed to decide on something. His arms slowly lifted to return the embrace, hands venturing across Blurr's windshield in stark contrast to how Blurr's arms attempted to crush him in their desperate hold. Gentle hands slid over Blurr's chest, under tense arms, and around the bartender's slender waist. Swindle tentatively shifted him a fraction to fit their armor together, but he looked ready to release the lanky mech the second Blurr recovered. Apprehension filled wide purple optics as he waited to be pushed away.
It was less a hug than a test of boundaries.
Blurr whined a high-pitched sound of a vocalizer retuning, beyond even static, and Swindle's arms tightened. His hands smoothed up under the boosters on Blurr's back, and, turning his head, he pressed a kiss to one blue helmfin. "It's okay?" he said, almost questioning, expecting rejection.
Blurr didn't reject him. Blurr glued himself impossibly closer, armor mashing to armor and hands leaving dents. His fingertips dug through paint into the metal underneath. Unable to articulate why he was unraveling, he was even less able to explain why Swindle's reaction made his spark quiver. The merchant clearly didn't understand what he had or hadn't done, but Swindle didn't push him away. He was here, he was here, here and present and patting a hand under Blurr's boosters with zilch confidence that he was doing this comforting thing right. Swindle probably knew how to do it in theory but had never put theory into practice.
He repeated reassurance like a formula, well-intentioned but anxious. "Shh. It's okay. Calm down. It's okay."
Jerking in his arms from fans and turbulent emotions, Blurr laughed. It came out mangled into a cry. "Y-you're alive. You're alive."
"Well…yeah," Swindle said in all awkwardness.
"I just…" The helm on his shoulder turned, Blurr's neck cables squeaking from the kinking twist forced into them, and pale blue optics overflowing something neither of them dared name even to themselves fastened on Swindle. Blurr never intended to look away again. "I thought you were dead."
Swindle stared at him. The gears in his head turned. "Is this…is this a delayed breakdown? Have you been carrying this around the whole time?" Frowning, he shifted around to kneel in front of Blurr, settling in to stay for a while, and Blurr glommed onto him with both legs as well. "Holy bargain basements, Blurr," the thus-captured merchant said a little helplessly. "Yeah, I'm alive. I'm here, I'm not dead, and you can trust me that I'm going to stay alive. I know you've got no reason to, but if you can't trust me on anything else, trust that I'm not going to drive out there and get myself killed. You can take that promise to the bank. Okay? I'm not leaving you again."
"No, you don't under-understand," Blurr said through distressed hiccups. "I-I thought you were dead."
Tipping his head to the side, Swindle pressed their forehelms together, optic to optic. His smile was apologetic and painfully, honestly tender. "I said I was sorry."
"It's not about whether you're sorry! You - y-you were dead, and - and - " Blurr had all four limbs wrapped around him, but it wasn't enough. He didn't want to let go. It felt like tearing a weld apart to pry his fingers out of the metal they'd dented, and they wouldn't cooperate once they were free. He didn't have enough coordination to cup the side of Swindle's helm in his hand.
Swindle slipped one of his own hands loose and caught Blurr's shaking hand to bring it to his cheek. "I wasn't dead, not really, but frag, Blurr. I didn't know you took it so hard. I mean, I…okay, I was gone. You, uh, you thought I was dead, and I guess you had no way to know otherwise, but I had no idea. You didn't say anything." Regret darkened Swindle's optics until he switched them off. He turned his face into Blurr's hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. "I'm so sorry."
Sandwiched between hand and face, Blurr's hand finally stilled. The rest of him shook in long, shuddering waves. Almost reverent, Blurr stroked his thumb under one dark optic. "You were dead, but now you're not," he whispered. "I just - can't. I don't. You."
Later, maybe he'd be embarrassed. Perhaps he'd be able to look back on the last week and see how they'd been talking at one another without having the same conversation. They'd spoken to each other and only heard what they expected to hear. It had been tragic. Maybe later it'd be funny. Maybe they could laugh about it, later.
The ghost at his bar could be an alarming vision the two of them would have to investigate. He'd have to ask Wheeljack to examine his brain module for errors. The idea of a ghost haunting him might be laughable, a hallucination caused by poor recharge throwing memory file fragment up into active cerebral circuitry. Who knew? He'd think about later. The ghost didn't matter. It was a part of the three-week absence Swindle would have to explain. Blurr was far more interested in where his missing, presumed-dead lover been and what exactly had happened.
But such things were an issue for any time but now. For now, the world narrowed to how Swindle's lips felt against his own. Blurr shut off his optics to block out everything else. Nothing existed but warm contact, cool metal, and a small, surprised nonword said into his mouth. He parted his lips, swallowing to break the quick panting vents, and he nearly choked as they burst out anyway. He couldn't control the erratic hitch of his fans jogging the two of them. Blurr's forehelm scraped against Swindle's, arms and legs wrapping the merchant more securely in his limpet-like hold, but their mouths kept bouncing as he jolted. Their lips missed, mouths rasping across each other. Blurr grumbled, neck twinging as he fought to stay in place.
Swindle's hand left his, darting out to grab ahold of the side of his helm and hold him steady, and the merchant's mouth opened to catch and hold his own, pushing forward. Forget meeting him halfway: Blurr made a little noise in the back of his throat as Swindle's engine downshifting, armor thrumming as the smaller mech ground down to lower gear for more power, to take a heavier load. Tiny nips targeted Blurr's lips, aggressively claiming territory, but Swindle soothed the sting right afterward by dragging his tongue over the marks.
It felt like a challenge, especially as wicked purple optics stared directly into surprised blue. Swindle's tongue slid into his mouth, flirted with his own, and withdrew before Blurr could get more than a brief taste. It returned to trace over a particularly deep dent on his lower lip, dragging along his lower lip. It was a line drawn in small pangs of teeth and mischievous flickers of a quick tongue, and Swindle's optics narrowed as he dared Blurr to chase him over it.
Blurr was an ex-racer. He outran, outdrove, passed, and won. Chasing people over lines was for losers. He was a winner. He sped right over them. Zoom.
Suddenly it wasn't enough to hold on. It wasn't nearly enough. Blurr's thighs clamped under Swindle's arms, ankles crossed behind him and heels wedged on either side of his spare tire to keep him here, keep him real. His hands roamed urgently, touching everything. He had to touch everything. Everything at once, right away, now now now. The puffs of air bursting from his vents started to take on a moaning undertone, throaty, needy sounds coming out every time their mouths parted. Blurr's engine shifted up to a higher gear, climbing to racing speed, and every piece of Swindle Blurr grabbed and groped fueled the heat seeping under his plating like hot oil. His hands kneaded shoulder-tires one second and stroked headlights the next, fingertips roughly tinking on the glass while Swindle grabbed Blurr's helm in both hands to control him. The jolting shudder of loose fans sped up, running through both of them until they swayed together with every jerking rattle.
Swindle held him in place while kiss after kiss took his mouth, stinging teethmarks dented into Blurr's lips and sparks flying as their teeth clashed, and it wasn't enough, it would never be enough to make up for days, weeks apart. Swindle burrowed in, their mouths sliding, turning, pressing metal to metal and trading paint. Harsh, choppy vents traded back and forth, languid kisses of before turned to fierce urgency as they crushed their mouths together.
But Swindle drew back abuptly, pulling away, and Blurr's boosters abruptly kicked on to whoosh air. It was pursuit on the last curve of the track, the chill fear that he wasn't the fastest one in the race and could lose. His optics blazed online, panicked blue.
Brilliant purple looked into them from reassuringly close. Swindle swooped down for another kiss, but his hands pulled on Blurr's helmfins, urging him to follow as he climbed to his feet. With some difficulty, considering how Blurr was wrapped around him, but Blurr refused to be left behind. The bartender whined, legs falling open to loose Swindle, but he leaned forward, mouth magnetized into the kiss. So long as it didn't break, he was okay with this. So long as his hands could caress every part of Swindle they could reach, it was okay. Blurr didn't care as long as they stayed together. He was off the chair and following Swindle around the table before he even realized they were moving.
"Bed," Swindle said against his mouth. Equal amounts urgent command and pleading filled his voice. His hands pulled impatiently on Blurr's helm to draw his tall lover after him. "Bed now."
All in favor, say, "Yes." Blurr scooped Swindle into his arms and strode hurriedly across the room.
Swindle grunted. It was a soft sound, one among a symphony of fans whirring, vents clicking, optic shutters blinking, but it struck a bad chord. Amidst an absolute perfect, fantasy-fulfillment reunion, it broke the suspension of reality. Despite the fingers scraping grooves in his helm, Blurr drew back just far enough to actually take in the mech he held.
Swindle had him by the helm, trying to bring him back into the kiss, but discomfort pinched his expressive face. The corners of his mouth were drawn taut, and a thin white stress-filament threaded across otherwise lust-darkened optics. Blurr held him cradled sidelong in his arms, clutched to his chest, but Swindle had curled into a strange defensive position instead of snuggling closer. Knee and elbow braced against Blurr's windshield and shoulder respectively, and his shoulders were hunched inward. It created an odd, protective hollow around his chest.
A frozen explosion of horror detonated in Blurr's tanks. "Your chest," he said in total dismay.
Surprised by the stunned, horrified look suddenly splashed across Blurr's face, Swindle stopped pulling on his helm. "Are you kidding me? Are you - " Surprised staring became an annoyed glare. "No. No, you are not doing this to me." His fingers crimped the edges of Blurr's helmfins, and he yanked, bringing Blurr down to him, forehelm to forehelm. "Get us to the bed right now," he snarled, breath hot on Blurr's face, and the bartender's mouth dropped open in disbelief.
"But you have a hole in your chest!"
"Yes, thank you very much for noticing. I'm very well aware of that fact, but it has no bearing on the fact that I want you right this minute!"
"But you - " Blurr swallowed, mouth dry as a barrage of memories of exactly that bombarded his cortex. Oh. Oh, yes. Please. He'd like that quite a lot, thank you.
But.
He shook his head to banish the irresponsible, reprehensible urge to just get to clanging. "You have a hole in your chest," Blurr repeated, and guilt knocked him upside the helm where lust had been a moment prior. His optics bleached pale, and his entire face went slack as he stared at the battered, field-patched ex-'Con he held. "Primus. I didn't…" He hadn't done anything to help a mech in dire need of medical attention. Swindle hadn't asked him for help, but he hadn't even offered.
It was totally inadequate, but all he could think to say was, "I'm sorry. Swindle, Primus, I'm sorry I didn't - "
"You're forgiven, now frag me," Swindle interrupted.
"It's not that simple!"
"It's exactly that simple! Look, I'll spell it out: I want. To interface. You." Swindle shook him by the helm for emphasis, scowling. "I haven't even gotten to touch you since I got back, and if you think I'm gonna let a bunch of angst get between me and groping your speedy aft, then think again. You're hot, I want you, I'm pretty sure you want me to, so unless any of that's changed, let's get to fragging!"
"You're injured," Blurr said, unable to stop protesting even as he shuffled the final steps to the bed as if compelled by Swindle's logic.
Satisfied by their progress, Swindle went back to more important things. Namely, kissing Blurr's bolts loose. "It's got a patch. Welding. I won't die," came out between kisses, and Swindle caught his open mouth in an extended liplock to stop the next protest before it escaped. He drew back just enough to say, "I'll be fine! If I can drive with it, then I can clang with it, and you're dead metal if you stop now just because you think I'm some civvie who can't take a shot."
An executioner's blow wasn't the same as a regular shot. "No, but - "
"But?" Swindle echoed. A warning light tinged his optics. It made him look slightly unhinged.
Blurr paused to rethink his answer. Tread carefully, that gaze told him. He busied himself lowering Swindle to the bed, avoiding the glower trying to skewer him. "I don't want to hurt you," he admitted as he sat on the bed beside the merchant.
"You're hardly going to do worse to me than Starscream," Swindle muttered. The mental image that popped up made Blurr wince, and it was sufficient distraction for Swindle to take advantage of Blurr's position. A sneaky hand slipped up under hip skirting. "Mmm, there's the naughty touches I've been missing," the sly conmech said through a grin. Greedy fingers slicked off rounded surfaces hidden behind paneling as Blurr jumped off the bed, goosed. Swindle made an exaggerated moue of disappointment. "I wasn't done with that." Fingers waggled suggestively. "Get those hips back down here."
A broken feeling in Blurr's chest intensified, the pieces rattling in time with his fans. It hurt. Pain compressed around his spark, but at the same time, the shards slicing into his spark opened up space where there hadn't been any. He felt free. Able to breathe again. The short, panted vents shaking him lengthened gradually as he stared down at his lover, and everything whirling through his head settled, coming down to rest.
Setting his hand on the far side of Swindle so he could keep his weight off that ugly patch, Blurr leaned down. Swindle's leer relaxed into something softer as he stopped, just out of reach for a kiss but in perfect range for them to study one another. There was no real reason for it, but it felt like seeing each other for the first time in weeks, really seeing. Blue and purple reflected off the scraped shutters around Blurr's optics, the slight hint of Swindle's salesmech smile.
They both looked worn out and wanting.
When Swindle cupped a hand behind Blurr's neck, there was no resistance. Their lips met lightly this time. Quietly, metal whispering across metal, the loudest sounds the thrumming clicks of Blurr's fans. Swindle sighed, body twisting in a slow squirm down the bed, and Blurr broke the kiss to brush his lips across cheek, nose, corner of the mouth, and the other cheek. Only then did he return to Swindle's mouth, and it smiled against his lips. He found out why a second later.
Blurr's boosters coughed reaction to clever fingers working into the vents on his thighs. "Aah."
"Gotcha," Swindle murmured. The hand on the back of Blurr's neck slid away to join the wriggly fingers already playing. They laced into the open vents, hooking the slats to tug lightly. Pulling out, they ran along the lengths to splay fingers across blue thighs, thumbs massaging the vent frames.
"Aaaaah." Blurr's optics flared, receiver rings bright behind the glass. His voice went higher on the inhale, the breathy moan trailing off into the deeper sound of his fans. "Hhhhhngh."
Fingertips thrust in and out, then ran down Blurr's thighs in a tink-tnk-tunk rhythm. Swindle pet the slats, tweaking the hinges with care, and Blurr buried his face into the merchant's neck as charge thrilled up both legs in jagged bolts. When Swindle abandoned the vents to walk his fingertips after the charge, it crackled across blue plating, exchanging with the merchant's own charge in small zaps shocking along Blurr's sensory network. Traceries of white lightening, spiderwebs of excited charge drawn by the hands pushing his thighs apart.
"You fight dirty," Blurr said into Swindle's throat, muffled.
'Decepticon,' Swindle didn't say. "Is that a problem?"
"No," Blurr replied, and left unspoken, 'Not if it keeps you alive.'
After that, neither of them really had anything more to say.
[* * * * *]
[A/N: This was a fantastic commission and still fits into the IDW comics as we know so far. That makes me happy. Until the curtain rises next time, m'dears.]