Understood
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Chapter 44
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Tailgate was surprised when the huge host-mech selected him out of the available boarders for a closer examination. He went over to the couch and smiled graciously, suddenly feeling so small next to him. Would this mech even fit into his room without hitting the lights? Okay, he was about Cyclonus' height, but the broad upper body of a cassette-carrier made him seem so much bigger and so much taller.
"This is Tailgate, a new arrival here at the House of Red Curtains," said Gloss in an oily tone. "There's a lot of him in this little package."
The host-mech nodded. "Expected."
"Turn around for him, Tailgate," instructed Gloss.
Tailgate did so, displaying himself for the guest, hoping the Decepticon wouldn't actually select him, but was just looking at him out of curiosity. There might be a lot of him in a little package, but there probably wasn't enough to satisfy such a big mech, at least not alone. He and Swerve together had taken mechs this big before, but neither had dared to try one alone.
"Well? Do you like him?" Gloss asked.
"I do," answered the host-mech. "Very much." And he handed over a contract key to his selection.
Tailgate did his best to keep his smile on. Oh well. At least if the mech wasn't pleased, he'd made the decision himself.
"Tailgate, please take our guest up to your room and make him comfortable," came the instructions.
"Thank you, Gloss," Tailgate answered with an obedient nod, and reached for the big mech's hand. "Follow me, please."
In the elevator Tailgate inserted the contract key into his workpad and went over the contract, stunned at what his service was to be. No wonder he'd been selected ahead of all the beautiful femmes and the handsome mechs in the lineup. They wouldn't have been right for this job.
When the elevator drew to a halt on the eleventh floor, Tailgate led his guest out to the small foyer and into his door. Locking it behind them, he looked up at the imposing mech, taking in the pale tan and dark purple plating. "What would you like first?" he asked, switching on the cuteness he'd cultivated while working in Overdock. The house took forty percent of his earnings, but any tips were his to keep tax free, which meant he had an interest in pleasing the customer.
"Berth first. Then the bath. Then the couch. Then the berth again for recharge."
Tailgate smiled. "All right." Thanks to Megatron's new third-in-command, it had become fashionable for all host-mechs, particularly cassette-carriers, to speak in short commands and thoughts. "Berth first it is. Anything special you want me to address you as?"
The mech's mouth curled up at the edges. "'Carrier' please."
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Tailgate lay on his back in the berth, vents cycling and recycling the hot air that filled the room. The session had been an intense one—the huge host-mech having spiked him non-stop since just five kliks past their arrival in Tailgate's room. Like Cyclonus, this larger-than-average client had been surprisingly gentle. Unlike Cyclonus he had been very loving and affectionate. Tailgate had been kissed and caressed and even praised, Soundwave's fashionable stoniness forgotten. The terms of endearment spilled constantly. And now the host-mech was picking him up and carrying him into the washrack. "You're sticky, little one," he said sweetly. "Let's get you cleaned up."
"Yes, Carrier," Tailgate responded with equal sweetness.
Still holding the minibot, the host-mech turned on the shower, and when the water came up to temperature, he cradled Tailgate's frame in one strong arm and held him in the steaming spray. The other hand took a wash towel off the top of the stack and with it the host-mech began to wash Tailgate's face, and then his helm, and then his shoulders. He occasionally paused to deliver yet another kiss. And then he sat upon the bath seat and took up a scrub-brush and began to go over the little mech's joints and under his plating, eventually standing him up between his knees and slathering him with oil-soap.
All through the washing Tailgate smiled and giggled and fawned back. In some ways this was so perfect. In others he felt sorry for the host-mech—this guy had to be one of the loneliest mechs he'd ever entertained. He was obviously missing what should have been a chestful of symbionts. Perhaps he'd been unable to bond with any. Perhaps he'd lost them to the war. Perhaps they'd not wanted to join the Decepticon faction and had abandoned their carrier.
And once the washing was done, the big mech made love to Tailgate twice more before washing him off again, wrapping him in a large towel, and carrying him to the couch. There the host-mech finished drying him and then gave him a little cube of high-grade out of his own pocket. Tailgate did his best to look excited, as if it were some wonderful and rare treat. He drank it happily, and when a little spilled down his chin, the big mech laughed. "You're so adorable." He brought up the towel and wiped away the drips before kissing him again. "I love you, my darling," he purred.
"I love you too, Carrier," Tailgate squeaked in response.
It wasn't long before Tailgate was being spiked again. The host-mech's stamina was amazing—that made it, what? Seven overloads? Five in the bed. Two in the washrack. And now another was well on the way. Tailgate would be aching when this was over, his valve having been stretched to capacity and worked hard. He supposed that such stamina was necessary to take care of anywhere from the usual three to eight symbionts, whether in the berth or on the battlefield. At least when the host-mech was finally sated, they'd curl up among the cushions of the berth and sleep cradled together.
But he didn't mind. It felt so wonderful—the two of them happy together, the two of them holding and loving each other, the two of them forgetting that there was a war going on outside of their little bubble of fantasy, the two of them forgetting that the host-mech had paid well above the usual rate for this special treatment.
Whatever it took to get them through and able to face the next day.
If only it were Cyclonus.
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"Understood" continues in Chapter 45
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