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Everyone had their fantasies right?
At least, that was what Swerve told himself every time he popped in one of the videos from his ever-growing stash, and beat down the chagrined thoughts.
Kinks were normal! Kinks were healthy. He had preferences, that was all.
...But why’d they have to be so weird?
You know exactly why, his processor informed him. He told it to shut up.
It’d started with the low-budget films. Not just low-budget—homemade. The big production stuff had never really done it for him; the actors were always so stiff, and no matter how Swerve looked at them he couldn’t shake the knowledge that they were only there to get paid. They had no connection, and he knew it was sad, but that was what he wanted more than anything else—something to temper the loneliness and let him pretend.
So eventually he’d given up on the mainstream stuff and switched to browsing one of those amatuer sites—the ones that let anyone upload their vids. A lot of them were of questionable quality, but at least there he had the chance to find something authentic.
And yeah, a lot of the mechs were in it for the same reasons—money, followers, hoping to get picked up for a contract, whatever—but Swerve wasn’t after those videos.
He’d stumbled upon what he was looking for pretty quickly. It’d been obvious from the start that the mechs on screen weren’t professionals—just a regular couple looking to branch out and have a little fun. They’d been awkward, and nervous, and they’d looked at each other with real affection and laughter in their optics as they put on a show.
It’d been perfect.
But the itch was hard to scratch, and soon they hadn’t been enough. There’d been something missing, something which had kept Swerve from getting fully invested.
He hadn’t reverted to the unsatisfying self-service of before, with overloads hanging just out of reach. He hadn’t been back to frustrated tears, and an ache in the pit of his fuel tank that left him too desolate to even bother. But the floodgates had been opened, and he’d needed something more.
He hadn’t really been able explain it—just known that it wasn’t the level of intimacy he was seeking. It wasn’t enough to fill the void.
So he’d kept searching—climbing through a list of kinks almost embarrassingly quick as he explored his options. It’d been a journey of furtive self-discovery, with the captivating couples as his guides.
Name it, and he’d probably tried it. A brief foray into BDSM had revealed that it just wasn’t his thing. Tickling was cute as all frag, but not enough to satisfy. Some of the more risque forms of sparkplay had held promise, and for a brief while he’d almost thought that was it—that he’d finally found what he’d been looking for.
In the end it hadn't been quite enough, but he still had some of those videos saved under favorites.
And then—finally—he’d found something that pushed all the right buttons.
It was exactly what he needed.
It was also weird as slag.
At this particular moment, Swerve couldn’t have cared less. The blue mech on the screen was giving a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘I want you inside me’, and he was too busy rocking into his own servos to consider his processor’s questionable taste in porn.
Swerve bit his lip, trying not to whine as he leaned into his knuckles and put firm pressure on his node. Even alone, he couldn’t completely shake his self-consciousness. He used the other servo to squeeze the base of his spike, mouth falling open in quiet bliss as his optics remained ensnared by the duo.
Swerve had been mildly concerned the first time he’d opened a vid like this, and maybe even a little squeamish. The description had seemed a bit extreme, and not entirely within his comfort zone.
He’d been wrong. So very, very wrong.
The first glimpse had been startling, but Swerve had resisted the urge to back out immediately—taking a moment to really watch. The naked adoration on the face of the kneeling mech had drawn him in, the obvious familiarity between the two the cornerstone of his arousal. What had cemented the deal—had resonated so deeply in his spark—was the level of faith it’d required.
Internals were sensitive. They were unaccustomed to touch, and to most bots the brush of a servo would probably feel alien, and invasive.
But Swerve could only imagine the intimacy of placing your most vulnerable parts in someone else's servos, and trusting them to take care of you. To let someone rummage around beneath your armor without any fear of damage—that took a level of devotion that made him ache.
If it’d been painful he wouldn't have enjoyed it. Seeing someone hurt was the opposite of what he wanted! But the level of care that went into these scenes was always breathtaking. There was no pain—no energon even—just gentle and attentive servos.
The pretty blue mech currently receiving that attention had carefully modified plating, which allowed his partner to slide her servo into the mess of wires under his chassis with no problem, and then deeper still. He was seated in her lap, and lubricant had trickled down from his valve over the course of the session to form a puddle beneath them.
The dazed expression on his face was mirrored by Swerve as he craned to watch the delicate movements of her arm within. It looked like she was stroking lightly in the vicinity of the mech’s transformation cog.
Swerve and the mech moaned in unison, and he began distractedly massaging his node again. He stroked his spike in time with the shifting of her servo, and whimpered as another wave of heat swelled over him.
This one was having a really strong effect on him—even more than usual. His optics kept being drawn to the decepticon badge on her shoulder, and the contrasting autobot symbol on her partner’s chest. It was revealing; that a cross-faction relationship had managed to progress to this level said all that it needed to about how much they loved one another.
Sometimes the bots he watched removed sections of armor, or had see-through plating so that he could watch the carressing of a fuel pump or t-cog. Today though, half of the titillation was in what he couldn't see—in the gentle motions of her servos and the increasingly broken gasps of her partner. The blue mech’s spike was straining—dribbling transfluid and just begging to be touched.
Swerve moaned with him as she slipped fingers into his valve instead—inside him in more ways than one. The gentle kiss to the side of the mech’s helm and the praise murmured into his audial drew an even louder one.
The only one that sort of knew was Rewind. His newfound uh—tastes—weren’t exactly common, and his initial selection had run dry pretty quickly. Swerve had caved after a while, and after a convoluted and stuttering confession—where he’d nearly died of humiliation—he’d finally managed to explain what he was looking for. He’d been getting Swerve new stuff on the down-low for a while now.
Swerve still held onto the barest hope that Rewind didn’t actually watch the stuff he sent him, but he wasn't really fooling himself. Rewind watched everything.
He wasn’t going to think about that right now though! There were more important, less mood-killing things that deserved his focus.
Swerve fixated on the way the mech arched as his partner fondled something sensitive. She was murmuring again, but the quality of the vid made it so that Swerve only got bits and pieces of it—a ‘beautiful’ or a ‘hold still for me’ here and there. His vents caught at the familiarity of it.
The bot being felt up was staring sightlessly into the distance—small twitches of his hips betraying his helpless arousal—and Swerve craned forward to see better.
“Y’know of all the bots I expected to be into this kinda thing, you were definitely at the bottom of my list,” a voice remarked casually from beside him.
Swerve startled, almost leaping out of his seat in his shock. The sudden shift in balance sent him careening forward—off of the couch to land in a painful heap on the floor.
He scrambled to right himself, his spark pounding with dread. There was an uncomfortably hot flush under his armor that had nothing to do with arousal, and everything to do with panic.
Oh Primus, oh no. That’d better not be who I think it is because I swear I’ll die—I’ll actually die.
As his processor streamed its distressed dialogue Swerve tried desperately to fold his equipment away, but it was no use. His array had decided that it was owed an overload, and it wasn’t going to take no for answer.
Please, please, please don’t let this be real. Maybe I passed out, and this is all a fever dream? That would be great! Love a good fever dream.
Anything would be better than this.
Swerve did his best to cover the evidence with his servos, shielding his spike from view as if it would make this any better.
The witnesser of his shame was leaning in the doorway, and a small modicum of relief was found in the fact that he’d shut the door behind him. This was bad enough with an audience of one.
“I locked that!” Swerve wailed with dismay, hyper-aware of his exposure, and the incrimiating sounds behind him.
Oh, Primus the video. Swerve made a split second decision to sacrifice what was left of his dignity, and lunged for the remote on the table. In his haste he clipped the edge of it, and it went flying—directly in Whirl’s direction.
The copter dodged, just in time to keep it from smacking him in the midsection. It hit the wall and clattered against the floor as Swerve released a strangled whine.
“Hey!” exclaimed Whirl. “What’s your damage?”
He was eying Swerve as though he were a bomb, primed to go off at any klik.
Swerve sure felt like one. His spark was spinning with mortification; a tight ball of emotion ready to spill out in a stream of tears.
Look at what was on the screen for Primus’ sake. Whirl probably thought he was sick—and considering his standards for acceptable activities that was an accomplishment in its own right.
“I jimmied the lock. Obviously. Was gonna see if you were up for a little target practice.”
That was vague, and it might have been more worrying if Swerve hadn’t been so busy trying to look anywhere except the other mech.
“But uh—you’re clearly busy,” observed Whirl. “Rain check?”
The words were breezy as usual, but the tone conveyed a morbid fascination that made him want to sink into the floor.
Swerve whined, and dropped his faceplate into his servos. He staggered up and collapsed on the couch, not bothering to hide his array. What was the point?
Swerve could feel the tears threatening to flare out at the sides of his visor. What a nightmare.
The noises from the vid stopped abruptly—a small relief, though a quick peek determined that now it was frozen on a still of the blue mech moaning. Swerve went back to staring into his servos, trying to fight back the rising anxiety.
“...Why’re you crying?”
Whirl sounded wary, as if he were talking to a petrorabbit who might bolt at any second.
To be fair, that was exactly what Swerve wished he could do. He might have, if Whirl hadn’t been blocking the exit.
Swerve hiccupped, and tried to quell the trembling in his shoulders. He’d made enough of an embarrassment of himself already. He looked up reluctantly, gnawing on his lower lip to stop the obvious quivering.
Whirl cocked his head.
“I didn’t break you, right? Because Magnus is already out to get me, and I can’t add breaker-of-minibots to the list. I’ve got some standards.”
Swerve burned. He was so humiliated that he hadn’t even started talking Whirls audials off yet—which he guessed was something to be grateful for
“I’m not crying. I’m—I’m almost crying,” he mumbled in protest.
“Whatever you say, buddy.”
“I’m not,” he insisted, but the way his vocalizer cracked did nothing to support his case.
Whirl snickered.
“Listen, you’re hardly the first bot I’ve walked in on. I get it! A mech’s got needs.”
If Whirl had possessed an eyebrow, he would have been wiggling it.
“Sometimes you just gotta tighten the nuts, if you know what I mean,” he drawled.
It was official. Swerve was going to die.
“Seriously, you think I care about what you yank your lever to?”
Swerve’s vents almost stalled in his relief.
“You… don’t?” he ventured.
“Why the frag would I? You think you’re the only mech who jacks it to weird slag?”
That was… sort of comforting. In a terrible Whirl-like way. The awful euphemisms were helping.
Whirl snorted.
“If I was gonna make fun of someone for what they toggled their joystick to I’d start with Cyclonus. Now that’d be a reaction worth the hassle. I’m tempted. Whaddya think he likes? Hand-holding?”
Whirl’s optic narrowed in delight.
“He’d probably put me through the wall. It’d be great.”
Swerve’s shoulders relaxed incrementally. This was going better than expected. He was still embarrassed as all pit, but he supposed that if someone had to walk in on him, then Whirl was one of the better options. He wasn’t easily put-off.
“So if you could maybe put a damper on the waterworks that’d be swell. I’m not really prepared to deal with that level of emotion today, if you know what I mean,” said Whirl glibly.
Whirl’s general insensitivity was actually making him feel a bit… better? It cemented the fact that he really didn’t care.
“Sorry, I—sorry,” Swerve managed.
“Ehh, don’t sweat it.”
Whirl shifted suddenly—moving closer so that he could peer at the vid—and Swerve jumped.
His servos darted back to his lap instinctively. Whirl was very close.
He also wasn’t paying attention, tilting his head at the screen instead.
“So what’s it do for ya?”
The flush on Swerve’s cheekplates rose even higher, if that were possible. He tried to speak, but the anxiety was still clutching tight at his internals and what emerged was only a weak croak.
“—What?” he tried again, hoping furiously that Whirl wasn’t asking him what he thought he was.
Whirl was looking intently at the screen, as though he could pull Swerve’s motives for watching from the actors themselves.
“What? I’m curious! C’mon, I won’t make fun of you,” Whirl promised. “You can’t leave me hanging like this. It’s just too juicy.”
Swerve doubted that. Everyone made fun of him.
“Yeah, you will,” he mumbled.
Whirls head whipped back to stare at him, and he looked almost… offended? Not fake offended—like he pretended to be all the time—but like Swerve had actually insulted him. His plating had begun to ruffle in irritation.
“Fine,” Whirl snapped. “I thought we were friends or whatever, but it’s fine. I didn’t care that much anyway.”
He straightened up, and all of a sudden Swerve was actually afraid that he’d leave. And a little bewildered by the fact that he wanted him to stay.
Swerve hesitated. He was still mortified, but Whirl hadn’t actually done anything. He hadn’t even been that tactless—only a little crass, and that was just Whirl.
He looked over at the mechs on the holo, and was hit by a pang of longing so strong that it hurt.
“It’s um. It’s the trust I guess?” he began hesitantly. “I mean, that mech there he’s just so—so vulnerable, but he’s perfectly fine with it! He knows that he’s safe, even all exposed, and sensitive like that.”
For a bot with no faceplate, Whirl was usually pretty easy to gauge, but right now his expression bordered on unreadable.
Swerve hurried to finish.
“And I don't like seeing them hurt! It’s not supposed to hurt—it's supposed to feel really, really good, I mean, you’re putting your most delicate parts in the servos of another bot, and I think that takes... a lot. Especially with the war and everything. It seems like it's hard to get um. Close to anyone y’know. We’re all so fragged up.”
Oh Primus, he’d done it again. He’d gone and said too much. Swerve’s mouth was like a motor; as soon as he got comfortable—or nervous—enough to start talking it was so hard to stop.
“...They really care about each other,” he finished quietly.
Whirl wasn’t saying anything, but he was looking at the actors on the screen with renewed interest. After a few kliks he nodded.
“Yeah, I get that.”
“You do?”
“Sure. Whatever does it for ya.”
There was a moment of silence, and it was a lot less awkward this time. Swerve had nearly relaxed enough to forget that he was still shielding his leaky array from Whirl’s gaze.
“Sooo,” drawled Whirl. “Wanna clang?”
Swerve choked.
“Sorry?" He laughed nervously. “For a klik there, I thought you said—”
“Do you—” Whirl pointed at him. “—wanna get your bolts rattled—” The claws swung around to point at his own chassis. “—by this guy.”
Swerve didn’t squeak. He didn’t.
“But why?” he asked helplessly.
Nothing about this night was proving predictable, and it wasn’t good for his spark. Couldn’t mechs just act like he expected them to?
Though… to be fair, Whirl barging in on him had been pretty par for the course.
Whirl shrugged.
“You got a better idea?” he countered. “I’m bored, you’re revved up, and here you’ve got a good samaritan ready to commit a public service. Take advantage!”
Whirl gestured at himself.
“I mean, who wouldn’t want a piece of this?”
Swerve’s spirits sunk a little. So he was just a matter of convenience. I mean, it wasn’t like he'd been expecting any better… but…
“Whad’ya say? It’ll be fun,” wheedled Whirl.
Swerve vented a long and shaky breath to ground himself. A pity frag was better than nothing, right? It was probably the only thing he had a chance of landing anyway.
“I—I guess?”
“ Great.”
Swerve shouted as he was abruptly seized and scooped up into a pair of gangly limbs. He flailed—one of his arms knocking Whirl in the side of the helm.
“ Woah, watch it! Don’t take my optic out—I’ve only got the one,” proclaimed Whirl.
“Well ask me next time,” Swerve responded, just on the edge of hysterical. “You can’t just pick me up without warning!”
“Yeah, yeah. Alright.”
He settled them both in the couch. Whirl was all angles and edges, but after a little rearranging Swerve found that he fit pretty comfortably in the crook of his midsection. He was just small enough to fit under Whirl’s chest, and the top of it brushed against his cowl as he leaned back.
Swerve’s valve was smearing lubricant along the legs Whirl had crossed beneath them. His own were resting spread, not quite long enough to dangle off the couch with Whirl’s in the way. The copter’s frame was essentially acting as his own personal—and kinda pointy—chair.
“Let's get this show on the road,” Whirl crowed.
He started the video again.
“What are you doing?” asked Swerve frantically. Accepting a pity frag was one thing. Sharing this was another one altogether. It felt a little too much like baring his spark.
But isn’t that what you want? his processor pointed out. He told it to shut up again.
“You like this, right? So why not?” challenged Whirl.
“But—but you don’t! You’ll think its bizarre, and gross, and—”
Whirl cut him off.
“How do you know, pipsqueak?” Whirl retorted. “I’m a mech of refined tastes! All sorts of layers and slag. I’m—what’s the word—multi-faceted.”
Whirl was nodding in agreement with his own words.
“Learned that one from Rung,” he confided in Swerve.
Then he turned the volume up. The blue mech had been in the middle of a truly dizzying moan, and Swerve found his resistance wilting.
The mech arched, and the click of a panel in the room announced the arrival of Whirl’s array. Swerve was small enough that the spike, once pressurized, poked out from between his thighs. There was already transfluid beading at the tip.
He caved.
“Okay…” Swerve breathed, flushing as the hard length rubbed against the sensitive plating of his thighs, and the even more sensitive mesh of his valve. Primus, was this really happening?
Maybe it was a fever dream. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep in the backroom of the bar after a rough night and been subjected to some… vivid fantasies.
Dreams weren’t usually this argumentative though.
He wrenched himself from his thoughts as Whirl started talking again.
“I’d offer to jerk you off first, but... y’know.” He clacked his pinchers together.
Swerve blushed, unable to tear his optics away from the two on the screen.
“It’s fine! It’s totally fine—er, more than fine, actually. This is great.”
Primus, he was embarrassing.
The spike rubbed up against the underside of his valve, and Swerve stopped talking with a small hitch of his vents. He squirmed—unsure as to whether he should grind down—but Whirl made the decision for them and jerked into the sensation.
Ohh, that was good. It was long, and hard, and textured—with little nubs that massaged his mesh and sent electrifying sensation skittering up his circuits. And it was alive—thrumming with charge that a toy could never really replicate. Swerve loved toys. Toys were great! But they couldn't beat the feel of a real spike.
And based solely on the tingle that was already spreading across his plating, he knew that he’d be getting a good overload out of this.
“Well duh. What kinda gentlemech would I be if I didn’t completely fry your circuits?” asked Whirl with a pointed thrust.
The spike split the mesh of his valve as it passed through his thighs, and Swerve gave a strangled groan, clutching at Whirl’s leg for support.
He promptly realized that he’d been saying all of that out loud, and groaned again with embarrassment. Swerve was glad that Whirl couldn’t actually see his face, but he sure felt like disappearing right now.
“Sorry! If you haven’t already figured it out I’m really, really terrible at being quiet,” he said ruefully. It rarely went over well, and he’d learned quickly to gag himself during interface. The oral fixation was useful at least, and usually helped convince them that he was worth a shot.
“If it gets bad you can just tell me to shut up? I won’t care.”
Yes you will.
“What, and keep you from telling me how awesome my spike is? Don’t think so,” said Whirl with a snort.
Swerve released a small laugh. It was his first real one since this whole fiasco had begun, and it felt good. He wiggled back against the warmth of Whirl’s midsection and tried to squeeze his thighs a little tighter to entice him.
Whirl moved again, and this time they both made gratified noises as their arrays rubbed together. The spike was still splitting the mesh of his valve, and every drag of the bumps across his rim sent a heady warmth radiating across his frame—like dipping into a hot oil bath. Whirl did it again, and again, and Swerve moaned his approval.
At some point he’d stopped actively watching the vid, but the couple’s murmured exhalations and sighs were a perfect counterpoint to the frottage, and they made his spark spiral higher.
“Bet you like that, huh?” muttered Whirl, as he rutted up against increasingly slippery mesh.
Swerve could feel the lubricant dribbling down to gather on both of their arrays; he could see the way it shimmered on Whirl’s spike as it found purchase, and slid in and out teasingly. Swerve’s fans rattled, and he frantically nodded an affirmative. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Mm, yeah you do,” the copter affirmed.
“I think I’d like about anything at this point,” admitted Swerve against his better judgement. “Just don’t stop.” It wasn’t enough to bring him to overload, but his charge was climbing with each small thrust.
“Wasn’t planning on it, buddy,” snickered Whirl, as he ground a little harder and made Swerve gasp. “This work for you?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I like building charge slow it’s—”Intimate “—it’s nice. Just, keep going before I actually combust. Please.”
He could have sobbed when Whirl picked up the pace.
It was awkward at times, and Swerve had experienced awkward, fumbling interface in the past, but there'd always been an undercurrent of discomfort on both ends that was impossible in the face of Whirl’s enthusiasm. He didn't feel stupid, or disappointing, and each slip or knocked helm just prompted laughter from Swerve as they hurried to readjust.
He was having fun.
For the most part, Whirl’s dirty talk was cliche—and kind of awful, if he was being honest—but it was genuine, and that tickled the part of him that was desperate for connection.
In the background, the two mechs continued their display, and every so often Swerve snuck glances which sent heat licking at his circuits.
Whirl wrapped an arm around Swerve’s waist, and readjusted slightly. The new angle prompted an embarrassingly loud noise from him, but how could he possibly hold back with the way the spike prodded at his swollen node. If he hadn’t been sitting down already, the throb of pleasure would have bowled him over.
“How’s that for target practice,” chortled Whirl.
“Whirl,” he gasped. “Whirl I think I might actually die if you keep doing that, but I think I’ll die more if you don’t get inside of me right now, ok? I’m begging you, please.”
The next slide of the spike caught briefly on his node and he whined, stuffing a fist into his mouth while struggling not to buck forward.
His valve clenched down on nothing, and the hollow ache inside of him had almost begun to hurt.
“ Please?”
“Can I? Like, you’re not gonna split in half right?” asked Whirl hazily. He seemed pretty out of it too. Turned out that Whirl wasn’t always about fast and hard.
Swerve sputtered a laugh, and it quickly morphed into another, and then another. What an image.
“ Yes,” he managed. “You can—you absolutely one hundred percent can—and I think that at this point it might be part of your civic duty for getting me so revved? Scrap, I’ll do anything. Just give it to me.”
He really would, too. Swerve was already figuring out how to repay him for this later. Would Whirl want his servos? Or would he like his mouth better? He’d gladly offer either.
“I’ve been using toys your size for ages,” he added desperately. “Seriously—I promise!”
That seemed to be all the permission that Whirl needed, and soon a spike was nudging at the rim of Swerve’s valve. He sent out a prayer of thanks.
The initial breach was rapture. Swerve bit his lip to keep from sobbing, and he ground himself in the heat of Whirl’s plating and the feeling of his field around him.
The self-servicing he’d been doing earlier plus the flood of lubricant from all their foreplay ensured that Whirl slid to the hilt with no problem. There was a size difference, but Swerve had just enough room for all of him, and he was left feeling blissfully full.
His calipers grasped greedily at the length of the spike and a litany of ‘oh yes’ and ‘thank you’s fell from his lips as it slid just a little bit deeper. He could feel every micrometer.
“Oh, yeah,” groaned Whirl, rutting eagerly into the rippling mesh. “Scrap, you feel good.”
There was practically no space left in him, and Swerve moaned helplessly as the spike pressed directly against his ceiling node. His fingers were too short and chubby to reach anywhere close to it, so he’d gotten used to the cool metal of toys. This was so much better.
“C’mon, touch yourself,” Whirl nearly demanded, but Swerve took it as the encouragement it was meant to be.
He released the iron grip he’d been keeping on Whirl’s leg and took himself in hand. His neglected spike was practically dripping transfluid at this point, and it was all too easy to start up a faltering rhythm—which in turn made him clamp down on the spike inside of him. Swerve was in heaven.
“Now, watch those crazy kids over there. You know you want to,” Whirl encouraged in a sing-song voice.
He did, vision fritzing as his charge raced even higher. At this point the blue mech looked as though he were about to collapse from the pleasure of it all. His partner’s spike had long ago slipped inside, and the dual sensation must have been driving him nuts. Swerve watched dazedly as the mech begged for more, and was given everything.
Even better was the very solid, very warm, very real mech inside of him.
Swerve’s spark wrenched again at—something. He didn’t know.
Whirl didn’t seem to want to do anything with his servos besides keep Swerve steady, so he took a chance. Impulsively, he grabbed at one of Whirl’s claws and held on, curling his fingers around one of the pinchers in a bid for that little something more.
Whirl twitched. For a second Swerve thought he was going to pull away, and there was a sharp pang deep within his chassis.
Like hand-holding? echoed in his head, and he thought for a moment, that maybe that jab had said more about Whirl than Cyclonus.
To Swerve’s relief he settled instead, allowing the touch.
“Knew it. You just can’t keep your servos off me,” muttered Whirl.
Swerve whined his agreement as he palmed the head of his spike, making sure to rub against the transfluid slit. He did it a couple more times, and soon enough he was babbling again—telling Whirl just how good it felt, just how good he felt, and how he wished that this could go on forever.
Whirls neck stretched out, craning to the side to see what he was doing.
“Heh. Your spike’s so cute,” remarked Whirl, as he continued to grind up into Swerve with small circular motions.
Swerve pulled a face where Whirl couldn't see.
Swerve knew exactly what his spike was. Plump and short, for starters. It had a decent enough texture, and a nice paintjob, and it was fine—he was plenty happy with it when it came to self-service—but it planted him firmly in the realm of minibots if he wanted to be the one spiking.
“You don’t have to do that,” he offered. “I know it’s nothing special.”
And I’m fine with it! Mostly.
The fact that Whirl had even bothered to be nice about it made him feel a little lighter.
“What? I’m serious!” protested Whirl. “It’s the chubbiest little spike I’ve ever seen. I bet it’d be a great stretch.” He punctuated the compliment by leaning into his next grind, and for a few kliks Swerve just let himself be swept away by the wash of bliss that followed.
Their overloads had been building so languidly that Swerve was almost afraid to know how good it would feel when they finally tipped over. And he could have died—imagining that Whirl would let him spike him, would like it even. He’d heard that some bots didn’t care if a spike was long enough to bump their ceiling node. Never met them, but heard it.
“If you say so,” gasped Swerve.
Whirl did a thing with his hips that directed his spike into a new cluster of nodes, and he yelped as an unexpected flash of heat struck him. Whirl snickered and did it again, and Swerve saw stars. He moaned high and reedy.
“Don’t believe me? Fine. I’ll prove it to ya. Tomorrow. Same time, same place,” said Whirl. “Unless you’re gonna back down from a challenge?”
Swerve’s processor whirled with the implications, but before he could respond he was distracted by the blue mech on the screen, who had decided it was time to overload. His partner was still rocking into him, and she was up to her elbow in his internals at this point. Swerve watched avidly as the mech’s optics blazed white, his lips parted in rapture.
One more nudge of that sensor cluster and one more stroke of his spike was all it took. Swerve overloaded with a small wail, his valve rippling happily around the perpetrator. Whirl shuddered, and a klik later he was following him.
“Oh, frag yeah,” Swerve heard him mumble, hips twitching into the massage his calipers were so graciously providing. Each little bump only prolonged the swell of Swerve’s release, which continued to roll over him in a series of pulsing waves.
Whirl pulled Swerve closer so that he could hunch over him. The small movement jostled the still throbbing spike within him, and prompted another weak moan.
Eventually, it subsided, and the tension drained slowly from their frames. Whirl gradually uncurled from around him as his frame relaxed, and then he slumped backwards into the couch.
Swerve had no choice but to go with him.
His spark fluttered in the aftermath, and for a long moment they just lay there—too tired for words. The video still played in the background, but Swerve had seen this one before and he knew that the rest of it would be relatively quiet—aftercare, mostly.
He shuttered his optics and relished the dull, thoroughly-fragged ache resonating across his frame.
Of course, Swerve wouldn’t stay so lucky. His brief moment of peace was shattered as his processors began firing again, and the realization came crashing down.
He’d fragged Whirl—Whirl—and he’d liked it. Slag, he’d liked it so much. They’d been way, way more compatible in the berth than he could have hoped for.
For a moment there, he’d even sorta found what he wanted—or at least, it had felt like it. Maybe it’d been the interface making him imagine things, but there was no arguing that Whirl had made him feel good like no one else had in ages.
Now that it was over, melancholy thoughts were already starting to crowd Swerve’s processor. He was being forced to remember that this had been nothing more than some casual fun, and that soon enough Whirl would be barrelling out of here without a second thought.
It hadn’t meant anything.
Suddenly, Swerve found that it was all too much—too overwhelming. He did his best to contain his distress and not ruin the mood, but he couldn’t completely contain his trembling and soon enough Whirl was stirring.
“Again?” he asked, a little incredulously. “I’m not that bad. Geez, you’re gonna give a guy a complex.”
Swerve almost laughed. Almost. He twisted around, and then moved to perch on Whirl’s thigh so that he could actually meet his gaze.
“It’s not that, I promise!” he blurted out. Whirl was starting to look a little... droopy. “I’m really glad that you—I had a great time. It’s just, a lot. And I know it was dumb to get my hopes up, but when you first offered I thought it was maybe because you liked me for me, not just because I was… there.”
This time Swerve did laugh, albeit nervously.
“But it's fine! Its cool—I get it. I’m not really a catch. And I had fun, and it was nice of you to offer. No one else on the ship ever has.”
There was a strange look forming in Whirl’s optic.
“I don’t do pity frags.”
Swerve reset his audials.
“Huh?”
“I offered because I wanted to,” Whirl corrected him, and his field teeked as more off-put than irritated. “You’re slagging cute, Swerve. I’ll put spikes in you anyday. Plural. We’ll make it a real party.”
“...You mean that?”
“Uh, yeah. What, you think I go around sticking my spike in every bot that says yes?”
Swerve’s silence spoke measures.
“...Okay, you got me there. But that’s a hypothetical! You’ve got a few bolts loose if you think anyone’s saying yes in the first place,” exclaimed Whirl.
“That doesn’t really make me feel any better?” Swerve offered weakly.
Whirl smacked his helm against the back of the couch, and groaned dramatically.
“Look, I’m not saying that I wouldn’t take them up on it if they accepted. But my point is—I guess—that I know they’re not gonna say yes before I ask ‘em. Okay? It’s not serious.”
Swerve thought for a moment. It was true that the bots Whirl hit on at the bar were pretty much guaranteed to reject him. He’d seen it happen enough times. But if it was just to get a rise, then why had Whirl never tried it on Cyclonus? Or Tailgate?
Maybe it was for the exact same reasons he’d never tried it on Swerve until today.
And that did make him feel a bit better.
Whirl was silent too for a moment. When he spoke again, it was as serious as Swerve had ever heard him, and maybe even a tad staticky.
“I was hoping this might go a liiittle different,” he admitted.
Swerve’s spark caught in his throat. He was back to feeling like scrap—for a completely new reason—and he looked down at their laps rather than meet Whirl’s gaze. This time, his slagged up self-esteem had ended up hurting someone other than himself. He really couldn't do anything right.
He glanced up to see Whirl watching him cagily. Feelings and Whirl were dangerous territory, and honestly, Swerve was probably lucky he’d gotten this much out of the copter without him having a uh—a moment.
Whirl shifted uneasily underneath them, and for a klik Swerve was afraid he might bolt.
He quickly placed his servo on Whirl’s claw, wrapping around the pincher and holding it like he had before. Please don’t leave.
“I’m sorry,” he said pitifully. “I’m such an idiot, and I know that I’ve probably ruined this because of my big mouth, but—” Swerve stopped himself, before he really get going, and forced himself to say the important part. “I was hoping that too… And I’m still kinda hoping it, if I haven’t completely blown it already.”
Whirl started snickering.
“Yeeeeah, it takes a lot more than that to turn me off. Maybe if you’d ripped out a rotor or somethin’ I’d reconsider, but… nah. We’re good.”
“...Does that happen a lot?”
“More than you’d think, actually.”
Swerve stared, in concern and mild consternation.
“Ehh, the bots that frag me are usually short a few screws,” Whirl muttered. It was a joke, but there was something raw in it—something Swerve was achingly familiar with.
Whirl was still pretty flopped over, which meant that more of him was accessible than normal.
Swerve itched to take advantage.
Impulsively, he moved up and leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the crook of Whirl’s throat. He hoped that it came off as comforting, rather than pitying. If anything had become clear during their discussion it was that Whirl didn’t like pity.
Whirl stilled.
Please don’t shove me off the couch.
“Is this okay?” Swerve murmured against a fuel line. He could feel the thrum of Whirl’s energon.
“Just… watch the helm,” Whirl managed.
“Do you want to… do this again sometime? Because I had an awesome time, and I hope you did too, and I think I’d like to um—try this?” he hedged.
Whirl cleared his vocalizer sharply, and when he spoke again he was back to his usual flippancy.
“As long as you don’t ask me to spill my guts for you. I like you pal, but I don’t think we’re there yet.”
Swerve sputtered and pulled away.
Whirl squinted at him and proceeded to whisper conspiratorially, as though imparting some great secret.
“According to some bots, I’ve got intimacy issues.”
Swerve laughed again, wobbly as it was. With the assurance that Whirl was only kidding, the teasing felt kinda nice. They were both pretty fragged up; it was nice that they could joke about it.
“Hey,” added Whirl brightly. “Now I’ve added defiler -of-minibots to my great list of achievements. Much better than breaker-of. Think I should tell Magnus? Maybe I’ll get points for good behavior.”
Swerve snorted with laughter.
They lay there for a little while longer, and eventually Swerve felt confident enough to try and use his legs again. He turned and tried to climb from the nest of Whirl's lap, but somehow got tangled in his legs instead. He ended up tumbling forward—right off the edge of the couch.
Not again.
Whirl made a lunge for him, but it only upset his own balance. There was a brief moment where they teetered precariously on the edge and Swerve thought that they might just make it—
They both plunged to the ground.
Ow.
As Swerve stared dazedly from where he was being half-crushed beneath Whirl’s weight, he noticed that one of the copter’s audial fins had been bent at an angle that looked… uncomfortable. His own left knee joint was protesting something terrible from where it was wedged in their pile of limbs.
Swerve wheezed.
Whirl started cackling.
And within moments, Swerve had joined him.
“...Wanna go again?”