"Where are you going?" Swindle froze. Vortex was leaning against the door, blocking any escape. He was going to be late! Not that he was eager for the meeting; being chained down was NOT one of his kinks. But for two thousand credits- just for the chains, never mind the multiple partners - he'd do it.
"Level six. I have business with the Coneheads." Swindle was proud that his voice didn't tremor.
"Uh huh. Business." Vortex's neutral expression was eerie. The 'copter was never this calm. Oh Primus! Did he know?! Did they all know? He was trying to be secretive, but it was a small ship; it wasn't unlikely that someone had tipped his brothers off.
"Well I suppose I shouldn't keep you from your... business. Just remember Swin, what happened last time your business affected us. But if you want to dig your grave even deeper I won't stop you." the larger mech stood aside and allowed the jeep to leave the room.
Vortex watched his brother flee with narrowed optics. There was something off with Swindle. His mannerisms had changed. It was subtle but his youngest sibling was much more reserved, almost meek. More so than could be contributed to trying to avoid fragging them off further. He wouldn't meet their optics, and did his best to avoid them unless it was absolutely necessary. While his sneaking around wasn't too unusual, his lack of confidence was. Swindle could sell the Book of Unicron to Primus. The interrogator wasn't sure if his other brothers had noticed, but mechs went out of their way to avoid talking about Swindle. He had walked into rooms and heard his brother's name, only for everyone to go quiet when they noticed him. Frag that. He would find out what Swindle was hiding even if he had to kill someone to do it.
He was taking too many risks. First the video, and now the Coneheads. Starscream's subordinates. Despite contrary belief, the Combaticons actually got a lot rather well with the Air Commander. If Ramjet or his trinemates said anything to the seeker, Starscream would mention it to his brothers. But it was thirty two hundred credits. He would just have to suck it up and put word out that he would be willing to do more hardcore stuff in the berth. More hardcore meant more credits, which meant this whole affair would be over with faster. He could handle it.
Shaking off the apprehension Swindle smiled and dimmed us optics, tying for a sultry look. It immediately garnered the attention of the three mechs lounging around his work room.
"Swindle," Ramjet purred, "so glad you could make it." The jet stood and flicked his wings, drawing attention to the appendages.
"Glad to be here," the merchant said, optics obligingly tracing the flier's wings. He squeaked in surprise as arms wrapped around him and lifted him of the ground. One hand snaked down between his legs to fondle his codpiece. Ramjet and Thrust watched hungrily as their mate molested the Combaticon.
"Open up little bot. The sooner you're stretched the sooner we can have you." Swindle blanched internally, though he made sure the seekers only saw lust. He really, really didn't want their oversized spikes shoved in him. They could tear him apart!
Edited for FFN: archiveofourownDOTorg/works/649562/chapters/1261157
Dirge purred happily as tight throat tubing milked his spike, extending his overload. He pulled out of the abused lips when Swindle went still. He didn't want to, wanted to push back into that sweet mouth and 'face him again until he begged him to stop. Only the thought of angry, overprotective brothers stopped him. But... would overprotective brothers let their youngest whore himself out? His trinemates caught the errant thought and purred at the idea. They would have to investigate this.
Ramjet took a moment to admire the debauched form spread out on the berth. Causally he tucked his equipment away before dropping a credit chip on Swindle's chassis.
"If your brothers ever get tired of you Swin come find us. We'll take /good/ care of you." Snickering, the trine took their leave, not noticing the pain that flashed in the violet optics.
After a long moment Swindle forced himself up and staggered into the tiny wash rack. His loins burned, but it wasn't as bad now that his valve was empty. Still, he grabbed a container of healing foam. He didn't want to risk having a tear in his valve get infected, if there were any. It felt like there had to be one or two at least.
Standing under the hot spray the smallest Combaticon let the warm cleaner fluid soothe away his aches. Feeling more alive, he started to scrub at his plating, wanting the dirty feeling to disappear. Once he was relatively clean the mech pressed the nozzle of the sealing foam to his valve. He gasped as the foam spread into every crevasse, numbing his burning sensors. Bu even worse than the pain of being too stretched was the pain that came with Ramjet's parting words. The con artist scrubbed angrily at his optics. He would /not/ cry. He was stronger than this! But a few stray tears dripped down his face, mixing with the cleaner before being swept away.