Strictly Business (1/4)

[anon_decepticon]

Title: Strictly Business (1/4)
Author: anon_decepticon
Rating: M
Pairing or Character(s): Lockdown/Swindle
Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers.
Warning(s): Sticky, non-con, masturbation, dark humor, Lockdown being a creeper.
Summary: It’s hard to get laid when you look like robot Frankenstein.
Author's Note: TFA. Part one in a series of four, Lockdown’s PoV. Takes place shortly after “Decepticon Air,” and contains references to both that episode and to “Five Servos of Doom.” I know, I should be writing the final chapter of “After Atlantis,” but the Swindle!bunnies were biting really hard! Inspiration credit goes to kookaburra1701 for her idea to make a Swindle fanmix (listening to mine right now!) and to swindleslog, author of the awesomely terrifying “And Still He Watches Me” over on the kink meme – I totally blame you guys for this one. Shameless bunny-feeders! Thanks also to dream_it_all for doing a last minute beta read, and to my mysterious anon stalkerv-gifter. Thanks for reading!
**EDIT: This fic has recently inspired fanart by the very talented aaaaaah, who has kindly given me permission to link it here. I must say, she nailed it! Squee along with me now, won't you?



Strictly Business

The ninjabot struggled against his bonds, his vents heaving as he fought to free himself.

A menacing shadow fell across him. He looked up apprehensively, fear glinting in his visor at the sight of the dark, imposing figure looming over him.

“What are you going to do to me?” he demanded, unable to conceal the slight quaver in his vocalizer.

The bounty hunter grinned rakishly, poised above him like some vast predatory bird. “Nothing you won’t enjoy,” he replied, his optics alight with seductive promise.

“No,” Prowl said stubbornly, shaking his shapely helm. “Never! You disgust me.”

Lockdown grinned, not missing the surreptitious glance the ninjabot cast at the green panel concealing his interface array, or the way Prowl’s ventilations quickened at the sight of it. “We’ll see about that,” he replied, bending down to hoist the smaller mech up off the ground and slinging him lightly over his shoulder-strut.

Prowl continued to protest weakly as the bounty hunter carried him into the berthroom, telling him how much he hated him, how he would never submit to his filthy desires, but Lockdown paid him no heed. Come morning, he knew the ninjabot would be singing an entirely different tune.

“No,” Prowl begged as the bounty hunter laid him out on the berth, stretching the Autobot’s arms up above his helm by the unyielding cords entrapping his wrists. The ninjabot squirmed as Lockdown traced the generous swelling curve of his chestplate with the tip of his hook, whimpering when the deadly implement dipped lower, drifting down to tease the sensitive plating lining his slender thighs, coaxing them apart. “No, please…”

“Relax, sweetspark,” Lockdown replied suavely. “You’re gonna love this.”

Leaning down, he placed a line of gentle kisses along the ninjabot’s sleek inner thighs, slowly working his way upward towards the small, heated panel nestled between them. Prowl tried to kick, but Lockdown caught his errant foot easily, lifting it up to rest against his shoulder-strut as his lip components finally reached their goal, nibbling lightly across the tender seams.

“Oh,” Prowl moaned, writhing helplessly in his grip. “Oh no, please...”

The bounty hunter grinned, giving the panel a brief flick of his glossa and then a long, loving lick. It opened instantly with a sharp snap, revealing a pristine, gleaming valve already drenched with lubricant.

Lockdown gave a lusty growl at the sight, his own panel retracting to expose his interface array, allowing his massive spike to extend majestically from its housing.

Prowl's visor brightened as its sensor ridges caught the light, staring down at it with a mixture of apprehension and awe. “Oh my,” he gasped.

“What’s wrong, kid?” the bounty hunter asked. “Don’t you like what you see?”

“I…I’m afraid,” Prowl admitted reluctantly, unable to tear his gaze away from the huge, quivering spike. “It’s so big.”

“Wait ‘til it’s inside you,” Lockdown purred, his optics flashing seductively.

The ninjabot reset his vocalizer nervously. “M-May I touch it?” he asked, glancing up at him shyly.

Lockdown grinned at that, but he wasn't foolish enough take the bait and free the ninjabot's hands. “I’ve got a better idea,” he replied. “Why don’t you taste it?”

Prowl flushed with embarrassment, his faceplate heating with desire. “Oh no,” he said abashedly. “I couldn’t do that.”

"Well, we could always just skip straight to the main event," Lockdown replied, delicately tracing the rim of the ninjabot's dripping valve with the tip of his hook. "Looks to me like you're more than ready."

“Oh, Lockdown...”

Prowl wound his legs eagerly around the bounty hunter’s waist components as Lockdown positioned himself at his entrance, tensing as he slowly pressed into him, whimpering as his tight, wet valve was stretched wide, forced to accommodate the massive girth of Lockdown’s enormous spike.

“Mmmm,” Lockdown groaned appreciatively. “You’re tight, just the way I like it.”

Prowl arched under him as he began to thrust, gazing up at him worshipfully. His lush lip components parted, moaning wantonly, “Oh yes, Lockdown! Fill me with your big *BREEEEEP!*”

Lockdown twitched in surprise, jolted out of his carefully-constructed fantasy by a communications alert blaring directly into his audial, cursing as the involuntary movement caused him to inadvertently give his extended spike a harsh, painful yank.

He briefly considered murdering the Pit-spawned slagger who’d chosen that precise moment to interrupt him with a comm-call, but in the end practicality won out over lust – it might be a job, and an overload wouldn’t net him any new mods or energon.

...he’d charge them double for the inconvenience, though.

Casting a cursory glance downward to confirm that his extended spike was concealed from view by the console he was seated behind, safely outside the visual range of the vidscreen, Lockdown opened a channel. “This had better be good,” he snarled.

“Lockdown!” a familiar but thoroughly unexpected voice greeted him heartily over the comm. “How’s my favorite bounty hunter?”

“Swindle,” he replied, arching a brow plate at the smiling mech beaming down at him from the vidscreen, too surprised to see the arms dealer to bother being polite. “I figured you’d be halfway to the Autobot stockade by now.”

“And I understand I’d have you to thank for that,” Swindle replied archly, giving him a savvy look. “I’m hurt, Lockdown,” he said with a mock pout. “You didn’t even try to negotiate a counteroffer!”

“I would have,” Lockdown grumbled irritably, his lip components twisting into a scowl, “but that big-chinned blowhard got to you first.”

Of course he’d known Swindle would’ve made him a better offer than Sentinel Prime had paid for his capture – trapped in his alt mode and held captive by humans, Swindle would have been willing to give virtually anything in exchange for his freedom. He’d have been desperate.

Which is why when Lockdown learned of Swindle’s fate, he’d immediately set a course for Earth, intending to take full advantage of the situation. But along the way he’d run into an ion storm that left his ship half-crippled, delaying his arrival, and by the time he’d reached the impound yard where Swindle was being held, Sentinel Prime had already taken the arms dealer into custody.

He’d been more than a little perturbed by that, roundly cursing the missed opportunity. As slippery as Swindle was, Lockdown knew he wouldn’t get another like it anytime soon.

He’d ended up negotiating a deal with the Autobot instead, to secure the gyrostabilizer he needed to repair his ship, and he’d made another deal with Starscream’s liar clone that had proved reasonably profitable, but those rewards couldn’t begin compare with what he’d have been able to wrangle out of Swindle, if only he’d managed to get to him in time.

Based on the gleeful laugh Swindle gave in response to his words, Lockdown suspected the arms dealer knew perfectly well just how narrowly he’d avoided having to promise Lockdown every upgrade he laid his greedy servos on for the next decacycle, and had only brought it up to taunt him. Say what you wanted about his personality, Swindle knew how to hit a mech where it hurt.

“I should have known the Autobots wouldn’t be able to hold you for long,” he muttered grudgingly. “There hasn’t been a trap built yet you couldn’t weasel your way out of.”

Swindle laughed again, delighted by the backhand compliment. “Oh, I did more than escape,” he replied. “Getting captured by the Elite Guard netted me the biggest score I’ve had in a vorn! I am, as we speak, currently sitting on the sweetest pile of loot you ever laid optics on.”

Lockdown cocked his helm, recognizing the acquisitive glint in Swindle’s large purple optics. “Is that so?” he inquired dryly.

“It is indeed,” Swindle confirmed with a winning smile. “And given our long-standing and mutually profitable acquaintanceship, it seemed only right I give you first crack at it. I might even be willing to offer you a discount if you buy in bulk –”

“What are you selling, Swindle?” Lockdown asked, cutting him off before Swindle could launch into his standard sales pitch. His neglected spike was throbbing, and he had absolutely no intention of sitting around for the next joor waiting for Swindle to get to the fragging point.

Swindle grinned, not at all put out by his interruption. “What am I selling?!” he repeated with his trademark enthusiasm. “Only some of the highest quality gear a well-equipped bounty hunter could hope to have! I’m talking the works here! An entire case of Elite-Guard-approved stasis cuffs and restraints – not to mention the encrypted key to ensure no one but you can unlock them – spare parts to replace any component on that ship of yours that could possibly break down, a whole stack of weapons and upgrades sure to tempt even a discerning customer such as yourself –”

Lockdown had to admit his interest was piqued, especially by the mention of an Elite Guard encrypted key. An item like that would not only keep the bounties he brought in under control, it’d also come in handy if he were ever captured by the Elite Guard himself. “I might be interested,” he said cagily, cutting Swindle off again. “What kind of mods have you got?”

Swindle’s optics flashed, taking on a distinctly predatory gleam that sent an odd tingle through Lockdown’s circuits. “I’m so glad you asked,” he replied with a grin. “You’re gonna love this.”

Lockdown arched a brow plate as Swindle leapt out of his chair and turned his back on the vidscreen, bending down to retrieve something from the floor behind his seat and inadvertently granting Lockdown a very up close and personal view of his aft.

It was a pretty nice aft, Lockdown noted, feeling his spike twitch with renewed interest. Not as nice as Prowl’s, but small and tight, just the way he liked them. Nice thighs, too – slender and delicate-looking like Prowl’s, painted an optic-catching purple. He leaned forward in his seat, craning his neck cables to try and catch a glimpse of Swindle’s panel, normally concealed from view by the grey guard plate located just below his grille –

“Check this out,” Swindle said, whirling around and plunking a heavy-looking device onto the console in front of the vidscreen. “A negatronic pulse emitter! This baby makes EMP generators look like a sparkling’s plaything! Your enemies will never even know what hit ‘em.”

Lockdown twitched, realizing he had his hand on his spike and had been pumping it vigorously in response to Swindle’s unintentional display of his...assets. He jerked it away hastily, feeling mildly mortified. He must be seriously overclocked to be ogling Swindle, for Primus’ sake. He needed to get off this comm-call, fast.

“Why don’t we continue this conversation on board my ship?” he suggested. “I’d like to get a closer look at some of those mods of yours, and it’ll give me a chance to transfer some credits while you’re en route.”

Swindle beamed triumphantly, clearly mistaking Lockdown’s impatience for avarice. “Say no more, my bounty hunting friend,” he replied, his optics flashing in anticipation. “Send me your coordinates; I’ll set a course to intercept.”

Lockdown did as he asked, transmitting his position to Swindle’s ship’s computer. “You got ‘em,” he said.

“Looks like I’m not far from you,” Swindle reported gleefully. “ETA: three quarters of a joor.”

“See you then,” Lockdown replied curtly, closing the channel before Swindle could try to sell him anything else. The vidscreen went dark, cutting off the image of Swindle’s smug, smirking faceplate.

Lockdown leaned back in his chair, his hand once more returning to his spike, stroking it firmly. He couldn’t really complain about the interruption; if Swindle’s merchandise was half as good as it sounded, the conversation had been well worth his while.

Besides, three-quarters of a joor was more than enough time for him to finish what he’d started. Now, where was he? Oh yes…

“– yes, Lockdown! Fill me with your big spike!” Prowl moaned.

Lockdown grinned lecherously, his grip on his spike tightening, pumping faster.

“You like that, don’t ya kid?” the bounty hunter asked, thrusting harder. “You never had it so good as me.”

“It’s the ninjabot, not the weapon,” Prowl replied.

Lockdown stiffened, once more rudely catapulted out of his fantasy. He snarled in frustration, scraping his hook down the armrest of his chair. It was all Swindle’s fault – seeing him had reminded Lockdown of how things had actually gone down that day, the way Prowl had gotten the better of him.

He resumed pumping his spike more forcefully than before, mercilessly stimulating his sensors with swift, angry yanks.

Cocky little glitch, he thought resentfully. He’d never really wanted Prowl as a partner; he’d only extended the offer because he thought Prowl was a nice piece of aft, and probably gullible enough to let Lockdown talk him into spending a night or two warming his berth – out of obligation or latent attraction, Lockdown didn’t much care.

He continued to stroke his spike absently, growing lost in thought. He’d always preferred to avoid getting too close to anyone. Self service got the job done just as well, and had none of the inherent complications that inevitably arose when things got…personal.

Lockdown recharged each night alone in an empty berth, and he liked it that way.

He didn’t need slagging Prowl. He didn’t need anyone. His clients could go jump in a smelter for all he cared, as long as they paid him first. Pit, the only mech he even spoke to on a semi-regular basis was Swin–

His overload took him by surprise, pulling a deep grunt from his vocalizer as hot transfluid spurted from his spike, spilling over his hand.

What the frag..? Had he just overloaded thinking about Swindle?

Lockdown shook his helm in amusement. It had been a coincidence, nothing more. He’d been close, and his thoughts had simply wandered in that direction. He might just as easily have been thinking about his last job, or his latest upgrade. It wouldn’t have meant he wanted to frag that pompous blue idiot, or the hapless mech he’d stripped and sold for spare parts.

Retrieving a rag from his subspace compartment, he began to clean up, frowning thoughtfully. He had good reason to have Swindle on his processor; the arms dealer was currently en route to meet him. It was Swindle’s mods and upgrades Lockdown was interested in, not his aft.

…even if it was a pretty nice aft.

He huffed in exasperation, half disgusted by the sudden flush of heat that suffused his circuits at the thought. This sort of thing had been happening to him more and more lately. Over the past stellar cycle, it was as if his libido had gone into overdrive. Lockdown serviced himself two, sometimes even three times a megacycle, yet it did little to slake his seemingly-unquenchable lust.

Maybe self-service just wasn’t cutting it anymore. Lockdown couldn’t remember the last time he’d fragged something other than his own hand. Maybe that was the problem.

If so, the solution was simple. He’d just have to make a side trip the next time he went planetside, maybe pay a visit to that spaceport – what was it called again? CSSB-something – and engage the services of some reasonably attractive mech or femme. Problem solved. He’d be out a few credits, but it would be worth it to regain his peace of mind.

But that would have to wait until later; Swindle was already on his way.

Lockdown frowned. Hang on a nanoklik…

Swindle was on his way here.

Maybe there was a much simpler solution to his problem, one that wouldn’t cost him a single credit.

Lockdown grinned darkly, feeling rather pleased with himself. Yes, that was a much better solution. In a few kliks Swindle would arrive, dock his ship, and come aboard the Death’s Head. He wouldn’t even be as wary as most mechs would be when paying a visit to the infamous bounty hunter – they’d done business on board Lockdown's ship several times before.

Swindle was a lot smaller than he was, and certainly weaker. Sure, he was a veritable walking arsenal, but he wouldn’t be expecting what Lockdown had in mind. By the time he realized, it would be too late.

Lockdown reached down to tease one of his hip spikes with the tip of his hook, a little thrill of anticipation shivering through his circuits as he imagined pinning Swindle down and –

But then he frowned, recalling why he’d never attacked Swindle on any of the previous occasions the arms dealer had willingly come aboard his ship. It wasn’t that he couldn’t easily overpower Swindle, take what he wanted and discard the broken remains. He’d considered that option more than once, albeit for different reasons.

Each time, he’d opted not to go through with it for one very simple reason – Swindle was the proverbial goose that laid the golden eggs. Destroying him would net Lockdown one very big score, but letting Swindle go meant the goose would keep on laying.

It wouldn’t be enough just to let Swindle live after he was finished with him, either; Lockdown knew if he attacked Swindle for any reason, Swindle would cut him off. No more mods. No more weapons. No more upgrades.

He scowled in disappointment. Swindle was just too valuable a resource to sacrifice to something as petty as lust, and Lockdown was practical enough to recognize that, even if a part of him – the part directly below his waist components – hated to admit it. Using force was out of the question.

But that didn’t mean he had to give up on his plan entirely. There were other, gentler ways to get what he wanted. He had no idea if Swindle had ever thought of him that way, but Lockdown saw no reason why he couldn’t plant the notion and see if it took root.

Swindle wasn't the only one who could be...persuasive.

Failing that, he could always get Swindle overcharged. He had a cache of high grade stashed in his ship’s cargo bay. When Swindle arrived, he’d put it to good use.

**

“After you,” Lockdown said gallantly, sweeping his hand toward the entrance of the cargo bay to indicate that Swindle should precede him. Swindle’s timing had been uncanny; Lockdown had barely completed his preparations when he’d gotten Swindle’s comm requesting permission to dock.

Swindle gave him an odd look, but then shrugged and stepped through the door. An astrosecond later he stopped, cocking his helm in surprise.

Lockdown stifled a grin. Swindle had obviously noticed the cubes of high grade he’d stacked neatly atop one of the repair berths located at the center of the room. He’d lowered the nearer one so that stood at roughly knee level, creating what passed for seating alongside the second berth currently serving as a makeshift table.

It was a definite departure from the norm. In all their previous dealings, Lockdown had adjusted the angle of the berths so that they were fully horizontal to give Swindle a place to display his wares, but he’d never offered him so much as a can of oil, much less a seat. The present configuration was a far more welcoming arrangement.

“You never said anything about paying me in energon,” Swindle said, sounding a little put out. “I hope for your sake you’ve got more than this – there’s not even enough here to cover my delivery fee!”

Lockdown suppressed the urge to wilt at Swindle’s less-than-appreciative reaction. His intentions had obviously gone right over Swindle’s helm. “It’s for drinking,” he snarled peevishly. “I’ve got more than enough credits to pay you.”

Swindle perked up considerably at that, his expression brightening even as Lockdown’s darkened. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” he said, stepping forward to claim a cube from the pile. “And high grade, no less!” he observed delightedly, holding the cube up to the light to examine its scintillations with an appraising optic.

“Help yourself,” Lockdown muttered, reminding himself that getting Swindle overcharged was Plan B.

“Mmm, very nice,” Swindle said approvingly after taking a cautious sip of the energon. He turned back to face Lockdown, regarding him with a speculative gaze. “I’m impressed, Lockdown – it’s so unlike you to be…hospitable!”

There was a faint gleam in Swindle’s optic, a distinctly knowing look that Lockdown found extremely encouraging, in spite of the fact that Swindle was presently downing a healthy gulp of the profits from Lockdown’s last job. His plan was working.

“You must have your optic on something really special,” Swindle continued, grinning smugly. “Was it the pulse emitter? Because I can offer you a very competitive price –”

Lockdown’s shoulder struts sagged. Did Swindle honestly think he was plying him with high grade just to get a fragging discount?

Get a grip, Lockdown, he told himself. So he’s not taking the hint, so what? Just give him a bigger one.

“I thought it’d be nice to share a few cubes while we talked,” he replied with what he hoped was a convivial smile. He stepped forward to pick up a cube of his own, taking a large swig of its contents. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

“Well, if you insist,” Swindle said, still grinning that obnoxiously self-satisfied grin as he sat down on the lowered berth and took another sip from his cube. “So…what would you like to see first?”

It took Lockdown a moment to respond; the tone of Swindle’s query had danced right on the razor’s edge of flirtatious. How ‘bout you show me what’s under your plating? he thought lasciviously.

But before he could vocalize the question, Swindle spoke again. “It’s that encrypted key, isn’t it?” he asked eagerly, his optics flashing. “I’ll admit, I was thinking of keeping it for myself – it’s practically one of a kind! A real collector’s item.”

Lockdown bit back a sharp retort. He’d had the perfect opening line, but he’d missed out on his opportunity to say it because Swindle couldn’t mute his slagging vocalizer for three nanokliks. Scowling in frustration, he consoled himself with a mental image of Swindle sucking enthusiastically on his spike and felt his core temperature climb several degrees.

That was certainly one way to shut Swindle up.

He huffed through his vents. You’re letting your interface drive get ahead of your processor, he chided himself. He wasn’t some mindless grunt, unable to comprehend anything beyond fight, frag, or flee. All of his cyberninja training and experience as a bounty hunter had taught Lockdown one thing above all else:

The value of patience.

He was interested in the key, and maybe the pulse emitter too, so why not start out by negotiating for those? The longer Swindle stayed on board his ship, the more high grade he'd drink, and the more overcharged and suggestible he’d become.

Lockdown had no illusions about his appearance – the best he had to offer was a certain roguish charm – so he knew propositioning Swindle directly had only a slim chance of success. But Swindle wanted to make a sale, and if Lockdown gave him one, that was sure to put Swindle in a good mood – maybe even good enough to agree to let Lockdown frag him.

Whoever said you can’t mix business with pleasure?

“Yeah,” he said just as Swindle began to frown. “How much?”

Swindle’s smile returned with a vengeance. “Six thousand,” he said, his optics lighting briefly.

Lockdown made a derisive noise. “Forget it.”

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty,” Swindle replied quickly. “Everything’s negotiable!”

Lockdown eyed him narrowly for half a klik, then very pointedly took a long, slow drink from his cube of high grade.

Swindle got that message readily enough. “Oh, come on!” he said, leaping to his feet and opening his transwarp compartment to retrieve the device in question. “This isn’t just some trinket you find in a backalley vendor’s stall on Menonia, you know! This is a truly rare and valuable item!” He slung an arm around Lockdown’s shoulder strut, pulling him down to whisper enticingly into his audial, “Think of it – with this key, you’ll never have to worry about getting captured by the Elite Guard ever again.”

Lockdown tensed at the unexpected contact, praying Swindle was too focused on making a sale to notice his slightly elevated core temperature. Did Swindle have any idea what he was doing to him?!

Lockdown shrugged him off hastily, flexing his shoulder struts. “I never do,” he said. “I believe that’s your department, Swindle.”

Swindle laughed that same brash, boisterous laugh he always used when someone insulted him, and took another swig of high grade, ignoring the jibe. “That only proves my point,” he said. “This little baby could be the only thing standing between you and the Autobot stockade! Can you afford to take that risk?”

“The question is, can I afford to pay six thousand credits for it,” Lockdown replied. “The answer is, I can.”

Swindle smiled broadly at that, but his smile promptly vanished when Lockdown added, “But I won’t.”

“Consider it an investment in your future,” Swindle persisted, gamely trying again. “You’re not just buying a key – you’re buying security and peace of mind!”

“Not for six thousand credits I’m not,” Lockdown replied dryly. “What else have you got?”

Swindle huffed through his vents, swirling the energon in his cube speculatively. “All right, all right,” he relented. “Five-fifty.”

Lockdown snorted. “Four.”

Swindle made a disgusted noise. “If you’re going to insult me, it’s back up to six,” he retorted.

Lockdown suppressed a grin. Swindle’s seemingly endless patter was often annoying, but haggling with him was almost…fun. “Five,” he said.

“Five-fifty, and I throw in the gags and stasis cuffs,” Swindle countered. “That’s my final offer; take it or leave it. You won’t get a deal like that anywhere else in this sector!”

“Done,” Lockdown said. “Now show me that emitter of yours.”

Swindle beamed, his large optics flashing brightly enough to light up his entire faceplate. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, putting down his energon cube to pull the large, unwieldy mod out of his transwarp compartment. “Here it is – the very latest in Elite Guard technology,” he said, setting the device on the table and retrieving his cube. “Comes with my standard million-solar-cycle warranty, and can be yours for the low, low price of three thousand credits! Quite a deal, eh?”

Lockdown scowled. The price Swindle had quoted wasn’t an outrageous figure, but neither was it cheap. He eyed the mod appraisingly, glancing from it to Swindle and back again. Swindle was watching him intently, eagerly awaiting his response.

…which meant he wasn’t drinking.

Lockdown hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider the mod while he weighed his options. He could haggle some more, try to stall for time, but he knew as long as Swindle was actively trying to sell him something, his focus would be more on making the sale than on drinking Lockdown’s high grade.

Alternatively, he could simply agree to pay Swindle’s asking price. If he did, Swindle might be more kindly disposed toward him – but realistically, probably not enough to frag him. Having made two sales already, it was more likely Swindle would simply opt to cut his losses and leave.

No, Lockdown decided, if he was going to make the suggestion at all, he had to do it when Swindle was too overcharged to think better of the idea. He’d never agree to it otherwise.

But how to get Swindle to sit down and drink in earnest?

The answer came to him like a bolt out of the blue. “Sold,” he said, to Swindle’s delight.

Swindle grinned. “An excellent choice, my friend!” he said. “You won’t regret adding this mod to your collection; I guarantee it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Lockdown replied, taking a hefty gulp of high grade from his cube. As he’d hoped, Swindle responded by doing the same. Progress.

“Is there anything else I can I interest you in?” Swindle asked hopefully as he pulled the crate of stasis cuffs and vocalizer restraints from his transwarp storage dimension and set it on the berth next to the key and the pulse emitter. “I’ve got some other mods I could show you, a few weapons, maybe some spare parts for your ship –?”

“I think that’s enough shopping for one solar cycle,” Lockdown replied. “Why don’t we settle up and call it a night?”

Swindle gave him a long look, no doubt debating whether or not to try and press him for more, but Lockdown met his inquiring gaze with a forbidding glower, silently communicating his opinion of that idea.

Swindle laughed, shrugging his shoulder struts. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “I’ll send you the invoice.”

Within less than a nanoklik, Lockdown received Swindle’s request to access his personal account and withdraw the amount they’d agreed upon. He deleted it immediately, not even bothering to open it.

And then he waited.

He stood there calmly sipping his high grade for a count of five, and then looked pointedly at Swindle. “Well?” he said.

“Well, what?” Swindle asked, giving him a quizzical look.

“Are you gonna send it, or not?” he asked. “I don’t have all night.”

Swindle frowned. “I just did,” he said. “You should have gotten it by now.”

“Well I haven’t,” Lockdown replied, allowing a hint of irritation to creep into his tone.

“That’s odd,” Swindle said. “Oh well, I’ll just send it again. You can deny the duplicate if you end up getting both.”

“If this is some sort of con to try and get me to buy something else –” Lockdown growled warningly.

“Not at all!” Swindle replied hastily, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “It’s probably just interstellar interference or something. Nothing to worry about.”

Lockdown eyed him suspiciously, inwardly congratulating himself on the ingeniousness of his plan. “All right,” he said grudgingly. “Send it again.”

Swindle nodded, falling silent for a few nanokliks. Moments later, another request appeared in Lockdown’s queue.

He deleted that one, too.

“Did you get it?” Swindle asked.

“No,” Lockdown snapped, glaring at him.

“Well, frag,” Swindle said. “Now what?”

“Why don’t you just take off,” Lockdown suggested, knowing the odds of Swindle agreeing were slightly less than a snowball’s chance in the Pit. “I’ll approve the request when I get it.”

Swindle stared at him for a startled nanoklik, then laughed uproariously. “Funny,” he said, not sounding remotely amused. “That’s quite a sense of humor you’ve got there, Lockdown.”

“I’m not joking,” he informed him calmly.

Swindle’s optics flashed, this time with anger. “What is this, a holdup?” he demanded. “You don’t seriously expect me to leave here without my merchandise, do you?!”

“You don’t seriously think I’m gonna let you walk out of here with my property, do you?” Lockdown shot back.

“Your property?” Swindle repeated incredulously. “You haven’t even PAID for it!”

“I would if you’d send me the slagging payment request!” he retorted angrily, glowering down at him. “I already told you once, Swindle – I’m not buying anything else from you tonight. Now get the frag off my ship.”

Swindle’s optics widened in shock, and then narrowed dangerously. A high electronic whine rose up from somewhere deep within his chassis, accompanied by a faint ratcheting noise – the sound of weapons being charged, devices being armed. “I’m not going anywhere until I get paid,” Swindle said, his tone soft and menacing.

Those were precisely the words Lockdown had been waiting to hear. “Fine, stay here,” he replied indifferently, fixing Swindle with an uncompromising glare. “We’ll both just sit right here and wait until your request arrives...assuming you sent it at all.”

Swindle eyed him with open suspicion, his gaze flickering from the items he’d laid out on the berth to Lockdown and back again.

Lockdown very deliberately lifted the cube of energon he was holding to his lip components and drained it, then sat down and helped himself to another, ignoring Swindle entirely.

For several cycles, neither of them spoke. Lockdown kept drinking, acting as if he had absolutely nothing better to do than sit here on his aft and get overcharged on high grade, until the tense silence was finally broken by the faint hiss of depressurizing hydraulics. The high whining ceased.

Swindle sat down on the berth beside him. “Did you get it yet?” he asked after a moment.

“If I had, do you think we’d still be sitting here?” Lockdown replied irritably.

Swindle huffed through his vents, reaching back to grab a second cube of energon. “I guess not.”

Lockdown made a derisive noise. “Give it up, Swindle,” he said. “It’s not gonna work. I can wait a lot longer than you can.”

“It’s not a con!” Swindle protested. “You think I don’t wanna get paid?!”

“I think you’re up to something,” he said accusingly. “And I’m telling you right now, it’s not gonna work.”

“It’s interference; it’s gotta be,” Swindle insisted, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than Lockdown. “A comet or something. It’ll pass.”

“Right,” he replied, fighting not to grin. “Of course it will. Any cycle now.”

Swindle huffed again, his shoulder struts slumping as he slouched down in his seat, taking a sullen swig from his cube.

Lockdown did the same, watching Swindle covertly from the corner of his optic.

An uncomfortable silence ensued.

It was almost unnerving, in a way; in all the time Lockdown had known him, he’d never seen Swindle go so long without talking. But that was the beauty of his plan – Swindle couldn’t fill the silence with more sales talk without appearing to lend credence to Lockdown’s accusations. All Swindle could do was sit and drink – just like Lockdown wanted him to.

Even so, he was careful to match Swindle drink for drink. Swindle wasn’t stupid; he had to be harboring at least a faint suspicion that Lockdown was the one who was up to something – which of course he was – but as long as Lockdown kept pace with him and he acted as if he was annoyed by the delay, Swindle would have no choice but to take him at his word.

Now all he had to do was wait.

Halfway through his second cube of high grade, Lockdown was beginning to feel the effects, which meant Swindle must be feeling them, too. He wasn’t worried – being smaller than he was, Lockdown was confident Swindle would become overcharged long before he did.

Speaking of which, it was time to start testing the waters; his vision was beginning to fuzz over with the first faint traces of static.

He glanced over at Swindle, who was staring moodily into his cube. “So...” he ventured, “How’d you manage to get away from the Elite Guard?”

Swindle looked up at him in surprise, as if he’d forgotten Lockdown was even in the room. “Huh? Oh, some kind of energy surge during transport kick-started my systems,” he replied. “All of the sudden, I was free – they didn’t bother locking me up because I couldn’t transform.”

“So you made a break for it,” Lockdown concluded.

“Actually, no,” Swindle said. “I stuck around. Freed the others and gave them weapons so we could –”

“You gave them weapons?” Lockdown repeated, scarcely believing his audials. “You?”

“Well, yeah,” Swindle replied with a sheepish shrug. “The big one said they were working for Megatron, and it never hurts to stay on the old warmonger’s good side – he’s my best customer!”

Lockdown gave him a dubious look. “Right,” he said. “So you gave them weapons.”

“I had to!” Swindle retorted defensively. “I couldn’t very well commandeer the ship all by myself, now could I?”

“You took over the Elite Guard’s ship?” Lockdown asked, impressed in spite of himself. “Nice.”

“Locked them up in their own brig,” Swindle confirmed, chuckling darkly. “The others wanted to kill them, but I talked them into keeping them online. I was planning to sell them for parts, maybe try holding one or two for ransom, but then this other Autobot came out of my – came out of nowhere and got the drop on us!”

Lockdown arched a brow plate. “You seized control of an Elite Guard ship, but you couldn’t handle one stray Autobot?”

Swindle glared at him. “I told you, he got the drop on us,” he insisted stubbornly. “And then he took off, so Lugnut tells me to guard the prisoners while the rest of them go after him.”

“Let me guess,” Lockdown said. “You didn’t.”

“Pit, no,” Swindle replied with a laugh. “I went and looted the cargo bay.”

Lockdown smirked.

“I don't know what happened to the others after that,” Swindle continued. “I loaded up a shuttle and hauled my aft outta there. Biggest score of my career – it was like a shopping spree, only without the price tags!”

Lockdown scowled, realizing that Swindle hadn’t laid out so much as a single credit for the items he’d agreed to purchase. “Profitable,” he said dryly.

“Mmmm,” Swindle purred in agreement, his optics half-shuttering. “Very profitable.”

One look at the expression on Swindle’s faceplate sent Lockdown’s core temperature screaming into the red, reminding him why he was even having this conversation. His mild irritation was swept away by a raging torrent of sheer, unmitigated lust, his half-forgotten libido kicking back into overdrive at the sight of those heavily lidded optics.

His plan was working. It was working. Swindle was talking again, but he was also drinking – he’d already finished his second cube and started in on a third.

That was good; he should keep up with him. He took another drink.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Good thing, too – Lockdown didn’t want to give the game away too soon, but the excess charge in his circuits was rapidly eroding what little remained of his dwindling self control. His spike was pressing insistently against his panel, and he was so overheated he felt like he going to melt in his chassis. He managed to quell the urge to throw Swindle down and frag him right then and there, but couldn’t resist leaning a little closer as he asked, “So then what’d you do?”

“Went to Devola to ditch the Elite Guard ship and pick up a different one,” Swindle replied blithely. “After that, I headed back this way and commed you.”

Lockdown refreshed his optics in surprise. “You mean you actually meant it when you said you were giving me first crack at this stuff?”

Swindle grinned at him. “Well, yeah,” he said. “I always make it a point to reward repeat customers.”

“I thought Megatron was your best customer,” Lockdown reminded him.

Swindle’s winning smile faltered. “Hmm, yeah…I suppose he is,” he said, glancing down at the energon cube in his hands. “No one else can afford the really big ticket items.” He shrugged, lifting the cube up to drain it. “Tell you the truth, the Decepticon cause isn’t quite what it used to be,” he admitted. “Megatron’s still a reliable customer, but the rest of them…”

“What about ‘em?” Lockdown asked, tilting his helm inquiringly.

“They’ve all gotten so…fanatical lately,” Swindle said, his lip components curling in distaste. “Seems like half the ‘Cons I meet these days expect me to just hand over my merchandise out of the goodness of my spark, for the glory of the Deception cause, or some slag. How’s a mechanism supposed to make a living like that? It's bad for business.”

“You’re the one wearing their insignia,” Lockdown pointed out.

Literally pointed out, he realized with a jolt – the tip of his hook was scraping lightly across Swindle’s chestplate, delicately tracing the outline of Swindle’s Decepticon insignia as if it had a mind of its own. He pulled it back hastily, jerking his helm up to gauge Swindle’s reaction –

Their optics met.

Swindle had the largest optics Lockdown had ever seen. Sitting this close to him, they seemed big enough to drown in, a veritable ocean of rich, deep violet filled with reflections and shifting scintillations like the cube of high grade still clasped half-forgotten in his hand. For an astrosecond that seemed like an eternity, Lockdown found himself adrift in that ocean, hypnotized by the subtle play of light and color within those huge purple orbs.

And then Swindle blinked.

Lockdown shook his helm sharply, hauling himself out of his momentary daze. He must be more overcharged than he’d thought – what the slag had that been all about?

“You all right there, Lockdown?” Swindle asked, sounding distinctly amused.

“Fine,” he replied curtly, preoccupied with trying to get his optics to focus. He'd refreshed them several times, but his vision remained hazy, as if he were looking at everything from deep underwater.

“I was thinking I’d set a course for Nebulos next,” Swindle continued, “Enjoy the sea air, look up some old clients; see if I can’t unload the rest of these goodies for a tidy profit.”

Lockdown grunted in acknowledgement, flexing his shoulder struts and neck cables in an effort to conceal his discomfiture. He was seeing little halos of light around everything, something that only happened to him when he was well and truly overcharged. How the frag had this happened? He’d been careful to moderate his intake, to only drink as much as Swindle was drinking, yet somehow he’d ended up overcharged while Swindle was perfectly fine!

Lockdown hated to lose. Admitting defeat wasn’t even an option. One way or another, by fair means or foul, he always made sure that in the end, he came out on top.

Always.

Right now, Swindle had the advantage, but Lockdown wasn’t beaten yet. He could still salvage this situation. He just had to up the stakes.

He pushed himself to his feet, scowling when he swayed and had to grab hold of the berth to keep from toppling over. Focus, he thought grimly. Taking a moment to steady himself, he reached for the nearest energon cube on the pile, simultaneously triggering the hidden panel at his wrist.

The panel clicked open, releasing a small white pellet Lockdown deftly caught and dropped into the cube. That accomplished, he picked it up and shoved it at Swindle.

“Drink,” he growled.

“If you insist,” Swindle replied with a grin, accepting the proffered energon. “You planning on joining me?” he asked, sounding obnoxiously pleased with himself.

Lockdown glared at him, keeping his gaze locked on Swindle’s as he reached out and grabbed a second cube from the stack for himself. Obviously he hadn’t been watching Swindle closely enough; somehow the arms dealer had tricked him into believing he was drinking without actually doing so.

Fortunately, Lockdown had a trump card. The additive he’d slipped into Swindle’s energon would soon tip the scales back in his favor. Normally he used it to take in unwary mechs with a hefty bounty on their heads – mechs too dangerous to take on directly, but too stupid to turn down the offer of a free drink from a complete stranger – but he figured it would work just as well in this context. After a few sips of that doctored high grade, Swindle would be hard-pressed to remember his own designation.

Lockdown chuckled darkly. That’d take that smug smirk off of Swindle’s faceplate.

He sat back down heavily, overbalancing and scraping his hip spike down the length of Swindle’s right arm, jostling the smaller mech and forcing Swindle to do some hasty maneuvering to avoid spilling his high grade.

“Sorry,” he grunted.

“Quite all right,” Swindle replied, his optics bright with amusement. He lifted his cube. “To business?”

“To business,” Lockdown grumbled resentfully, hoisting his own cube briefly.

But he didn’t drink, not until Swindle had raised the drugged cube to his lip components and taken a sip. Swindle met his gaze immediately afterward, giving him a look that clearly said, Satisfied?

Lockdown made a derisive noise, and drank.

Swindle relaxed back against the berth, sighing contentedly through his vents as he glanced idly around the room, taking in the crowded shelves laden with Lockdown’s vast collection of trophies – mods and upgrades he’d liberated from various bounties he’d collected over the vorns.

“I never realized you had so many mods, Lockdown,” Swindle commented blithely, taking another gulp of energon from his cube. “Just how many have you got, exactly?”

“Lots,” Lockdown replied with a glower. Something about Swindle’s light, casual tone was making his servos twitch. “But there’s always room for one more,” he added darkly, making sure Swindle didn’t miss the menacing glint in his optics.

“I should hope so,” Swindle replied, grinning widely. “As much as I like a satisfied customer, it never pays to have one who’s too satisfied – puts such a crimp in future sales!"

Lockdown grunted again, watching him closely. Just a few more cycles…

“Must be hard, keeping track of so many different mods,” Swindle continued. “You probably have to take inventory every now and then just to stay on top of it all.”

Lockdown scowled, not liking the covetous gleam that lit Swindle’s optics as his gaze traveled across the overflowing shelves. “Don’t even think about it, Swindle,” he snarled.

“Think about what?” Swindle asked innocently. “I’m just admiring your collection!”

Lockdown glared at him, his optics narrowing. “Well, don’t,” he said.

Swindle laughed dismissively, swirling the energon in his cube. “I had a client on Andellor who collected these weird data crystals,” he said. “Never did see the appeal, myself. Sure, they were pricey little things, but they didn’t seem to actually do anything. Just…sat around looking shiny, like…”

Lockdown arched a brow plate as Swindle trailed off, shaking his helm distractedly.

“What was I talking about again?” Swindle asked, a faint frown crossing his lip components.

“Data crystals,” Lockdown replied.

“Oh! Right,” Swindle said. “Yeah, he had a ton of ‘em – entire rooms full of these…little…s-sparkly…” he trailed off again, his optics flickering.

Lockdown leaned forward in anticipation, watching him intently.

Swindle shook his helm again, his frown deepening. “Okay, that’s…that’s…not right,” he said haltingly, a look of confusion passing over his faceplate. “What’s going on? I can’t…I can’t s-seem to…” He swayed in his seat, the energon cube slipping from his hand as he turned his helm to meet Lockdown’s gaze.

Lockdown grinned triumphantly, his optics flashing.

Swindle’s optics widened in alarm – and then went dark.

Lockdown reached out to grab him as Swindle slumped forward, catching him before he could slither off the berth and onto the floor. He nearly lost his balance and ended up there himself, but after a brief struggle he managed to mechhandle Swindle into a more or less upright position, keeping his arms wrapped firmly around his waist components.

“Swindle..?” he inquired softly.

No response. For once in his existence, Swindle was utterly silent.

Lockdown grinned, noting with satisfaction Swindle’s shuttered optics, his slack expression devoid of that annoying, self-satisfied smirk. He decided he rather liked Swindle like this, half-draped across his lap, lying limp in his embrace…

He was so warm.

He lowered Swindle carefully to the berth, raising his arms above his helm and arranging his legs so they rested on either side of his hip plate, and then sat back and indulged in a good long look at him, feeling his circuits heating as he took in all the details of Swindle’s frame. Broad shoulder struts, narrow hip plate, slender thighs splayed wide in invitation…

Lockdown frowned as his devouring gaze shifted greedily downward. That guard plate Swindle had was in the way. From this angle, he wouldn’t even be able to see Swindle’s valve. He gave it an experimental tug, but it didn’t budge. If there was some way to retract or remove it, it wasn’t readily apparent. He could try flipping Swindle over onto his front, but that seemed like more trouble than it was worth – just keeping them both off the floor had been something of a challenge.

He shrugged. He’d just have to work around it.

Reaching down with his hook, he dragged the tip of it across the plating behind the guard plate where he estimated Swindle’s panel would be until it snagged on a seam. There.

Once he’d found it, it didn’t take much to force Swindle’s panel open; it gave way with only minor pressure, retracting with a quiet click that was echoed by Lockdown’s internal cooling fans switching on, striving to counter his steadily rising core temperature.

“…all sales are final,” Swindle muttered, startling him.

Lockdown froze, eyeing him warily for a few tense nanokliks, but Swindle didn’t say anything more, and his optics remained shuttered and offline. Shrugging diffidently, Lockdown used his hook to adjust the upward angle of Swindle’s hip plate slightly and groped his way past the guard plate with his hand, feeling around for Swindle’s valve.

His cooling fans cycled up another notch when his questing fingers found the opening they sought.

It was wet.

Not dripping wet, not soaked, but there was a thin sheen of fresh lubricant coating the rim, hinting at what could only have been the first stages of arousal. Maybe he’d been wrong to assume Swindle wasn’t interested; maybe spiking his energon hadn’t been necessary. Maybe he should have just asked.

Lockdown shook his helm dismissively. It was too late to wonder about that now, and pointless besides. Even if Swindle was slightly lubricated, he wasn’t lubricated enough, not for a mech Lockdown’s size.

He eased a single finger into Swindle’s valve, twisting it around inside of him and rubbing the ridged interior walls to stimulate the sensors into producing an increased flow of lubricant. When he added a second finger, Swindle made a faint protesting noise, shifting on the berth and batting ineffectually at his hand.

“…come back during normal business hours,” Swindle mumbled randomly. “…that item is out of stock.”

Lockdown stared down at him in disbelief, uncertain whether to be amused or annoyed. Apparently not even being drugged was enough to shut Swindle up; even barely clinging to consciousness, he was still trying to sell him something.

But there was only one thing Lockdown wanted from Swindle right now, and he was about to get it.

He withdrew his fingers from Swindle’s valve with a lecherous chuckle, pushing Swindle’s hand away and taking a firm hold of his hip plate. Swindle was lubricated enough, he decided. His overheated circuits were raring to go, and he didn’t care to waste any more time on preliminaries. He transmitted the command to retract his panel and allow his spike to extend.

It didn’t.

Lockdown cursed, fumbling for the command protocols to extend it manually. Slagging high grade, he thought irritably. He’d finally gotten Swindle right where he wanted him, laid out on a berth, ripe and ready for plundering, and he was so fragging overcharged his involuntary systems weren’t cooperating!

It took him several cycles to find the right command code to extend his spike – the excess charge pulsing through his circuits made it difficult to concentrate – but finally, finally, he managed it.

Venting a sigh of relief, he lined up his spike with Swindle’s valve mostly by feel, and tried to jack in.

The guard plate got in the way.

He cursed again vociferously, growing increasingly perturbed. That fragging guard plate was almost the same length as his spike, and kept him at just the right distance to prevent him from getting at Swindle’s valve. Muttering in irritation, Lockdown hastily readjusted their positions, bringing Swindle’s legs up against his chestplate, practically folding him in half, and tried again.

OH.

OH, PRIMUS.

It’d been too slagging long. He’d forgotten how good it felt to jack into a valve, to have his spike engulfed by the exquisite sensation of slick, gripping heat. And Swindle was tight, maybe the tightest Lockdown had ever had – he very nearly overloaded on the spot.

Swindle appeared significantly less enthused by his unceremonious entry; he vocalized another sound of protest when Lockdown shoved his spike into him, his faceplate contorting in obvious discomfort. Some rudimentary self-preservation programming must have kicked in then, because Swindle began to struggle weakly, squirming in Lockdown’s grasp in a dazed and feeble attempt to escape.

Lockdown responded by leaning into him, shifting his weight forward until he was lying fully on top of Swindle, keeping him pinned him to the berth until his struggles quieted.

When Swindle lay motionless beneath him again save for the occasional abortive twitch, Lockdown straightened, lifting himself off of him, reclaimed his hold on Swindle’s hip plate, and began to thrust.

It felt good, fragging amazing, even with that stupid guard plate poking into his lower torso with every stroke. The excess charge from the high grade he’d consumed surged through circuits, heightening the sensitivity of his sensor net to an almost unbearable degree. He was almost relieved Swindle was so out of it; at the rate things were going, this would be over embarrassingly quickly.

Eh, big deal, he thought, maintaining his vigorous pace. If he finished too soon, he could always go another round. It wasn’t as if Swindle was going to complain.

His prediction turned out to be entirely wrong. Thirty cycles later, Lockdown was still going, and rapidly beginning to tire, frustration and – believe it or not – boredom threatening to supplant his considerable lust. That same overcharge that made the sensations he was feeling so intense was also interfering with his normal function; the excess energy was cycling so rapidly through his systems that it was taking slagging forever to build up enough charge to overload.

And of course Swindle wasn’t doing anything to help. Lockdown had sort of liked it at first, having Swindle so completely at his mercy, being able to arrange his slack, pliant limbs to his liking without having to endure complaints about discomfort or dissatisfaction, but once the novelty of that had worn off, Swindle’s extreme irresponsiveness had begun to grate on him. Twice he’d had to pause to haul Swindle back onto the berth before he slid off of it, and when Lockdown had leaned down to nip at his neck cables, Swindle hadn’t so much as twitched.

He halted abruptly, abandoning his energetic thrusts in favor of just lying on top of Swindle, venting heavily. For a few cycles he rested, shunting some of the excess energy away from his vital systems and drawing deep, cooling draughts of air through his intakes. When he was ready, he pushed himself upright again and resumed his former pace.

This time, things went much more smoothly. Better for the respite, Lockdown could feel the charge building steadily in his circuits, pushing him inexorably closer to the brink. He threw his helm back and offlined his optics as his long-delayed and much-anticipated overload finally came crashing down on him, vocalizing his release with a climactic shout.

Afterward he bowed his helm, panting and shuddering in the fading throes of erotic bliss. He basked in the afterglow for a few nanokliks, then onlined his optics.

Swindle was staring up at him, his large optics unshuttered and alert, unmistakably online.

The sight cut through the haze of high grade clouding Lockdown's processor like a blade, the extreme folly of his actions slamming into him with all the force of a physical blow. Swindle would never sell him another mod.

“Uh…hi,” Lockdown said after an awkward pause.

Swindle’s lip components twitched into a smirk. “Get my payment request yet?”

“Um…no,” he replied, “Not yet.” He’d deleted it – both of them. “You should probably send it again.”

“Right,” Swindle said. He frowned in concentration for a nanoklik, and a new request appeared in Lockdown’s queue.

“Got it,” he said.

“Good,” Swindle replied. “It’s about time.”

Lockdown stared at him in bemusement. He’d been bracing himself for an explosion, half-expecting Swindle to attack him or start screaming at him in outrage over what he had done, but Swindle seemed utterly indifferent to the circumstances he’d awakened to. It was as if he didn’t even care.

“Well?” Swindle asked after a moment, his tone betraying a hint of impatience.

Lockdown glanced down, belatedly recalling that he was still lying on top of Swindle with his spike wedged firmly in his valve. Oops. He got up quickly, hurriedly retracting it and pushing off of him so that Swindle could rise.

Swindle rolled his optics as he sat up, a look of exasperation flashing across his faceplate. “So are you going to approve it, or what?” he asked.

“Oh, right,” Lockdown said, hastily opening the message and approving the transfer. “Sorry.”

Swindle hummed in acknowledgment as he received his own confirmation, nodding to himself, and then stood up, flexing the kinks out of his servos. “Pleasure doing business with you, Lockdown,” he said.

And then he simply turned and walked out.

Lockdown stared after him incredulously, feeling almost cheated. He’d finally gotten one over on Swindle, literally come out on top, and Swindle hadn’t even acknowledged the victory!

Shaking his helm bemusedly, he glanced over at the berth where the items he’d purchased were laid out on display alongside the remaining cubes of high grade. Swindle’s odd behavior aside, Lockdown had definitely come out ahead on this deal, and all it had cost him was a few cubes of high grade and –

His optics widened in alarm. The payment request. Caught off guard by Swindle’s curiously indifferent reaction to his intimate assault, Lockdown had barely glanced at it before approving. He reopened it now, scanning rapidly through the line items.

One Elite Guard encrypted key and accompanying restraints: 5,500 credits.

One negatronic pulse emitter (warranty included): 3,000 credits.

Five hundred credits for delivery – that was Swindle’s usual fee.

Lockdown’s shoulder struts slumped in relief – until he noticed the ten thousand credit service charge.

For services rendered.

“Slag,” he said.


*more to come*


A/N: I apologize if the black humor in this fic offends anyone. It’s not my intent to make light of a serious topic, but rather to use humor to make a serious topic more accessible. This is only part one of what I anticipate will be a fairly angsty four-part series, and while an element of humor will be retained throughout, the overall story will be a pretty poignant one.