He stared at the small vial cradled in his hand. It looked innocent, harmless. But what it contained… he couldn't deny he needed it. He wouldn't make it through the coming cycle without it. And Mixmaster had guaranteed it would activate and burn out of his systems cleanly at a given command. Safe. But it didn't feel like it.

Swindle had never taken an aphrodisiac before. He had heard rumors of the intense burn that supposedly made interfacing much more intense. But he had never been interested in that. If a lover wasn't good enough to arouse the jeep on his own then he wasn't worth Swindle's time.

His internal alarm pinged him. He only had two kliks to get down to the shuttle bay on time. This was it. After this cycle he would have enough credits to repay his brothers. He would be able to buy back all of the energon and have credits to spare. He could get Brawl that cannon upgrade, and Vortex had been eying that whip in Counterpunch's collection. Blast Off always enjoyed new reading material, and a mint condition Priux Siege- Tactician Edition had just hit the black market. The jeep had fond memories of Onslaught teaching him the game as a youngling. For fifty thousand credits, he would do practically anything.

Swindle had been surprised - and terrified - when Shockwave had contacted him. He had always assumed the Cyclops was asexual, but apparently he had needs like any other mech. Or perhaps not, considering what the guardian wanted.

:Blitzwing to Swindle. What's your ETA?:

:One klik.: the small Decepticon quickly downed the vial's contents, shuddering at the taste. He left his quarter in a hurry, knowing Blitzwing would leave without him. He couldn't afford that.

The mech in question was already in shuttleform, energon loaded securely. Swindle had volunteered to act as escort. He wasn't really needed, Blitzwing could take care of himself, but it was better than explaining to Megatron that he needed a ride to Cybertron so he could whore himself to one of the tyrant's top lieutenants (and Blitzwing; there was no way the mech would keep quiet without a bribe).

:Well, get in. We don't have all cycle.: There was definitely a leer in the triplechanger's voice. Swindle said nothing; he simply buckled himself into his seat.

The trip was both entirely too long and not nearly long enough. They made good time and docked easily. Shockwave was there, waiting for them. Wrapping his normal arm around Swindle's shoulders, the solitary mech wasted no time in guiding his companion to his quarters, giving Blitzwing the order to join them when he was finished unloading. Doing his best to hide his nerves Swindle sent the code to activate the aphrodisiac.

Immediately heat rushed through him. His valve moistened and his spike pressed uncomfortably against his codpiece. He barely suppressed a cry, and sagged slightly against Shockwave's much larger form. He could hear the purple mech's cooling fans kick on, but it was so hard to think past the fire flooding his lines.

It had been far too long since the last time he had had a Cybertronian frame presses against him. Shockwave would never admit to having such a need, a weakness. The Combaticon had provided a convenient solution. He had fragged the Eradicons in the past but it wasn't the same as 'facing a full sparked Cybertronian. But Swindle came with his own problems. The young mech was positively tiny compared to the guardian; his valve would be too small to take Shockwave's girth. The Eradicons could be used to fix that, however. They varied in size and equipment and would frag Swindle until he was loose enough to take Shockwave.

Edited for FFN: archiveofourown /works/649562/chapters/1325596

It was over. Done. Finito. Finally. Swindle sobbed quietly in relief, curled up in a corner of the washracks. His jaw was sore, his valve ached horribly and he was so, so dirty, no matter how hard he scrubbed. He had allowed the drug to burn out of his systems on the trip home, so at least the hated pleasure wasn't blazing through him anymore. It was a minor comfort. But he had done what he set out to do. Maybe he wouldn't be able to buy his brothers' forgiveness entirely, but this was a start. If nothing else it would prove to them that he was willing to go to any lengths to make things right.

Forcing his tears to dry up, the Combaticon stood and ran the cleanser one more time. When he was clean he could go back to their quarters and recharge until the others were off shift. The youngest of the brothers was so focused on his task that he didn't notice as a much larger mech stepped into the washracks.

Vortex was not a nice mech. He was obnoxious, loud and possessive. He was also very, very deadly. And he did not like others touching his brothers. He knew of course, that he shouldn't interfere in their 'facing lives (Decepticons didn't do love), not the least because most of them would put him through the wall, but he had always screened their partners. Onslaught would kill him if he ever found out what, exactly, had happened to Aftershock. Fragging cheater. He had to make sure that whoever the others chose, they were worthy of being a Combaticon's plaything. These mechs weren't, wings or not. It was unfortunate for them that they'd run their mouths in such a public place. Even worse for them was the fact that the Seeker Code placed Trine and Family above all else. Starscream considered the Combaticons, however reluctantly, to be Family. He had re-created them after all. It had been laughably easy to convince the Air Commander to give him free reign over his subordinates.

The coneheads had been easy to break. Wings were terribly sensitive, and it hadn't taken much to get them to sing. The rage that he felt at what they revealed had burned hot, and he'd taken it out on the rapists. Because that's what they were. There was no way Swindle would sell himself. Shooting a disgusted look at the broken, quivering forms huddled at his pedes, Vortex commed Onslaught.

"Hello, Swindle." Violet optics widened in shock. Jerking around, Swindle found Motormaster standing before him, blocking the only way out.

"Oh, hey Motormaster," Swindle said casually, trying to keep his voice strong.

"So I hear your some kind of prosti-bot now." The look in the semi's optics terrified the smaller mech. He had to get out. Now.

"No I'm not. That was a limited time offer, and it's over. I am afraid you'll have to look elsewhere."

"Oh yeah?" the Stunticon growled, grabbing Swindle by the throat and throwing him into the wall, "Cuz I was gonna pay you, but if you're not willing to give it up then I'll just have to take it instead." Swindle lashed out with his pedes, kicking the brute's pelvis. His fear spiked when Motormaster didn't react, and he remembered that the Stunticon leader had a force field. He struggled harder, trying to twist free from the punishing grip on his neck. Motormaster just laughed.

The blows didn't hurt, thanks to his generator, but if Motormaster wanted to frag the mech properly he'd have to turn it off. So he needed to immobilize the thrashing mech's legs. As much as he enjoyed Swindle's panicked struggling he did not want his interface array damaged once he brought out his spike. Shifting his hold on the Combaticon's throat to one hand, the semi reached down and jerked his legs apart, pulling them up onto his broad hips. Motormaster groaned as the action pressed the jeep's codpiece against his own. Breakdown had spoken highly of how tight and sweet Swindle had been. He could hardly wait to tear away the last barrier keeping him from his prize, but he wanted to savor this.

Swindle went limp. He couldn't get free, could barely move with his legs spread open and the semi's much larger weight pinning him to the wall. He offlined his vocalizer, not wanting to give Motormaster the satisfaction of hearing him cry. He body shook with silent sobs as tears ran down the older mech's cheeks. Swindle flinched as a warm glossa pressed against his face.

"Your tears taste so sweet," the larger mech purred. Swindle sobbed harder. Motormaster cupped the cool codpiece, digits digging under the seams as he prepared to tear it away. Just as the seams gave way a massive weight slammed into the Stunticon's side. Motormaster dropped his captive, thrashing beneath his attacker. He managed to throw the mech off and scrambled out of reach before turning to face the other mech.

Cold rage was written over Onslaught's face. Motormaster smirked, sure that he could take the smaller mech. The arrogant truck didn't realize exactly how much trouble he was in, or how fast the other gestalt leader could move. Before he knew what was going on Onslaught was in front of him, hands digging underneath his plating. Energon lines burst, spraying the smaller mech with fluid as he tore the shield generator out of Motormaster's chassis. He then began methodically taking the semi apart. The tactician targets joints and non-vital energon lines, taking care to (painfully) disable, not kill. He was nowhere near done with Motormaster, but Swindle had to take priority now. Vortex could play with the Stunticon until Onslaught was ready to deal with him.

Vortex met up with Blast Off and Brawl enroute to the washracks. The sudden rage that flooded the bond caused all them to falter momentarily. Onslaught had never been this angry. Picking up speed, it didn't take them long to reach their destination. They exchanged wary looks as the rage simmered into hatred/murder/fear/worry, but they were soldiers. They were prepared for anything. The door slid open.

Except this.

There was energon everywhere. Motormaster lay sprawled on the floor, iridescent violet splattered across his frame. The brothers barely spared him a glance. Their attention was held by the two mechs in the corner. Onslaught was actually sitting on the ground, back against the wall, with Swindle in his lap. Their youngest brother was curled into the eldest's chassis, violent tremors wracking his frame. Swindle's damaged codpiece was not far from them, the most telling sign of what had occurred.

Swindle flinched as the door opened, not wanting anyone to see him in such a state. He didn't dare look any of his brothers in the optics. How could he possibly face them? He panicked when Onslaught shifted, curling further into his brother's arms. The elder mech simply stood up, shaking his head when Blast Off moved to take the jeep from him.

"You need medical attention, Swindle," the teal mech's voice was uncharacteristically soft.

"No! I'm fine!"

"You're not." Swindle said nothing to that. He wasn't, and he knew it. Sensing that his youngest brother wasn't going to protest, Onslaught firmed his grip on the jeep and headed for the door.

:I've alerted the Constructicons that we are coming: Blast Off said over the comm to prevent distressing Swindle :They are making the… appropriate arrangements as we speak:

:Good.: The trip to the Constructicons lair was made in silence; Vortex and Brawl had taken positions in front and to the side of Onslaught and Swindle while Blast Off brought up the rear. Thankfully there was no one in the halls – Swindle was staring unseeingly at Onslaught's chassis, but an outsider's presence could have sent him into a panic.

Hook and Scrapper met them at the door. The ushered the Combaticon gestalt inside, but no one made any move to take the damaged mech from his brother. They were guided into one of the private rooms, and Onslaught carefully placed Swindle on the berth before stepping back to let Hook do his job.

A black hand on his arm stopped him. Listless purple optics stared up at him as Swindle pressed a small datachip into his hand, his arm dropping lifelessly to the berth as soon as Onslaught took it. Scavenger, who had come in with medical supplies, guided him out of the room and back to the rest of his team. Sinking into a chair, he activated the chip. His fuel pump stalled. Sixty four thousand, four hundred fifty credits. The amount was phenomenal, and Onslaught had a feeling he knew exactly how Swindle had made so much in such a short period of time. Vortex took the datachip from him and cursed when he saw the amount. Angrily throwing the chip to Brawl, the helicopter stormed out of the medbay, feelings of murder flooding the bond. A moment later Brawl followed him. Blast Off said nothing; he simply took a seat next to his older brother to wait. While the surgery itself would be relatively quick, it would take a long, long time to fix the broken look in Swindle's optics. If it even could be fixed. With one foolish conversation they had broken their brother.

The End…or is it?