Anxiousness was not a feeling Swindle enjoyed. His latest business venture has led him to an unused storage closet on the lowest level of the Nemesis. He back was to the door, which made him feel extremely vulnerable. But it was part of the deal. The deal was worth seven thousand credits. He couldn't lose it.
The Combaticon had returned to his workroom three cycles ago to find a datapad lying on the berth. It was unsigned, and contained a contract for interface with unusual conditions. First, the entire exchange was to be done anonymously on the requester's part. Second, the price was non-negotiable. Third, it would be done at a time and place chosen by the anonymous mech. Swindle would have turned it down flat had the offered sum not been so high. How could he refuse? So he had signed the agreement and left. When he returned later that joor the contract was gone. The jeep made a mental note to change his security codes as soon as this affair was over.
Just last cycle another pad had arrived, detailing Swindle's instructions. He was to go alone to the closet her currently occupied and face the wall, optics off. He was to prep his valve ahead of time, as the mech had no interest in foreplay. Any damage that occurred would be Swindle's fault. He was to offline is vocalizer, and be ready at seventeen hundred hours, local time. So here he was.
The door opened. Swindle quickly flicked his optics off. The mech said nothing. He simply pressed his bulk up against Swindle and slid a thick thigh between the smaller Decepticon's legs. A large hand dropped down to grope his codpiece. The conmech let it slide back, and gasped silently as a thick finger immediately invaded his valve, testing his readiness. Not in the least bit aroused, Swindle had used a synthetic lubricant to help stretch his valve. Apparently satisfied his guest.
Edited for FFN: archiveofourownDOTorg/works/649562/chapters/1261237
Finally, after a minor eternity, the mech gave one last jarring thrust, groaning as he spilled hot transfluid into the smaller mech. He stayed pressed inside Swindle until his spike was spent before finally pulling out .The hot fluid rushed down the backs of purple thighs, causing Swindle to grimace. He would have to clean up before he could leave the closet.
A datachip was pressed into his hand, and he immediately plugged it into a port. Seven thousand credits, as promised. He didn't acknowledge the mech at all; he simply waited until the door slide closed, signifying the mech's exit. Relieved, he sagged against the wall. He allowed himself a moment of weakness, before putting on his mask and getting ready to rejoin the crew. And if he felt dirty, well, it would pass. Eventually.
"Who the Pit is Swindle fragging?!" Onslaught looked up from his battle plans, surprised. Vortex was slumped in one of his office's chairs, Blast Off sitting poised and proper in the other. The question had, of course, come from Vortex.
"What makes you think he's seeing someone?"
"And why do you think we care?" Blast Off asked, bored.
"The brat's out all hours, is being ridiculously secretive, the crew is tight lipped, he takes dozens of showers, and, oh yeah, he comes in covered in dents and paint!" Onslaught blinked. He hadn't seen dents or paint, but come to think of it, Swindle was behaving very suspiciously…
"Again, why do we care?"
"Because I don't think he's fragging whoever it is willingly!" Both older mechs snapped to attention at that, optics hard. They may be furious with their brother, but they still loved him (and they would kill anyone who dared to mock them for it…again).
"What?" The gestalt leader looked at his younger brother, optics deadly serious. If Vortex was joking, there would be Pit to pay.
"Look, he's changed. He won't meet anyone's optics, he avoids us, which would be understandable if he wasn't going to insane lengths to do so, and mechs give me frightened looks if I mention his name. They know something, and apparently find it hilarious until they notice I'm listening. Swindle reeks of fear now when I do corner him, but not like when we were first angry with him. Then he was scared, but he was still Swin. Now, I don't know who the frag he is, and it has something to do with whoever he's seeing. Slaggit, even Brawl has noticed." The two older brothers exchanged an unreadable look. They had seen the same signs, the just hadn't put the pieces together. Onslaught had been too busy and too angry, and Blast Off had volunteered for a space mission and had just returned.
"Find out. I want to know exactly what he's been up to. Any mech he's been seen with at any point, I want to know. And I want to know now." He would kill anyone who touched his brother. They all would. And they would enjoy doing so.