Understood
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Chapter 4
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It was a busy evening—payday for the Decepticon army—when credits flowed into the accounts and out again into Overdock. Hundreds if not thousands of off-duty Decepticons headed into the district to spend their earnings on cheap oil, high-grade, and whores. Tailgate came staggering out of the Swinging Gate hotel, his whole frame sore after three engagements in the past four cycles. But if he could keep up the pace, he'd have two or three more before the night was over.
Immediately he was called to by a couple of tall, tough-looking mechs, both of the same frame-type, red optics blazing with lust and the effects of high-grade. "Hey cutie! You free?"
It was like this every payday—plenty of credits and not quite enough prostitutes to go around. Why didn't they ever wait an orn when they could have their choice at almost half the price?
"I'm free for six-hundred credits," smiled Tailgate, using one of Swerve's lines. He leaned against the wall, looking uninterested in actually servicing either of the two. It was all part of the game. Tease just a little to make them want you all the more...
"Six hundred's a good deal, sweetie," said the red one, stepping up and running a hand over Tailgate's white armor, somewhat besmirched with green and grey streaks from earlier business.
"That's for just one of you," he replied, expecting what their thoughts were. "It'll be twelve-hundred for the both of you."
"Twelve-hundred? You're a mini-bot," scoffed the grey one.
"Minibots are special...and extra-tight," Tailgate answered, having expected a protest.
"Eight hundred for the both of us," said the red one. "We're special too."
"Megatron's elite forces? I thought so. Well I could go one thousand for one cycle."
"We could go elsewhere," said the grey one, looking about the street to see if a little competition would get them a better deal.
"You could." Tailgate stretched his arms over his head and retracted his mask. He hated to, but Swerve was right. He was pretty. Sometimes that little flash of his lips and jaw was enough to seal a deal with a potential client. And this time it worked.
"Would you take just me for five hundred?" asked the red one.
"Mmmm..." Tailgate pretended to debate, his glossa sliding over his newly revealed lip components. They were beautiful lips, plump and ready to welcome things into his mouth.
"One thousand. We'll give you one thousand for both of us," said the red one, suddenly overwhelmed with desire.
"All right," sighed Tailgate, acting as if he were making some great concession.
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"Understood" continues in Chapter 5
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