Multiple ratings within
Chapter 42: Lockdown and Swindle I
Title: Lockdown and Swindle I
Rating: M
“Finally got rid of that brat, huh?”
Swindle turned slowly in his office
chair, scowling at the mech strutting through the door. Lockdown
though seemed immune to the smaller kittycon's sour expression. “I
don't remember giving you a key,” the entrepreneur grumbled,
shaking his helm, turning back to his laptop. “If I find out you've
busted my lock again, I'm making you pay for it, aft.”
The tiger chuckled, stalking up behind
the other mech. His one servo slid around the back of the chair;
fingers tickling under the devon rex's chin before brushing down his
neck cables and into his shirt. “I didn't break anything.... just
stole a copy of your key, that's all,” he purred, optics narrowed
lustfully as Swindle tried to hold back a moan, squirming slightly
when Lockdown became more brazen in his molestations.
“Now.... How 'bout we celebrate your
'lack of kid', babe?”
The smaller kittycon opened his mouth
to stubbornly protest but only squeaked as his chair was suddenly
spun around, a hard mouth slamming against his own. Any complaints
after that were just as quickly subdued and forgotten.
xxXxXxx
When it came to celebrations, Swindle
preferred to kick back, relax; maybe crack open up a bottle of
vintage grade and hack through some files for hilarious dirt on the
most recent spotlight star or politician. Unfortunately, whenever
Lockdown was around (and somehow, the fragger had a key to every
place that the devon rex owned), such activities were denied to him.
The mooching tiger's idea of a good
time was a few bottles of the cheapest slag you could buy, a trashy
dive song and then several romps in the berth... or on the couch....
sometimes his desk or kitchen counter tops.... Lockdown hardly seemed
concerned with the time or place that he wanted to frag, nor did he
understand that a 'party' typically only lasted for twenty-four
cycles. Tops.
Groaning slightly, Swindle tried to
roll out of berth, but a sharp hook around his waist kept him from
going anywhere. Rubbing his aching helm (curse that lazy aft for
shoving piss-poor grade down his throat), the kittycon turned his
helm to look behind him; glaring at the unconscious mech.
“Stupid....,” Swindle grumbled,
numb servos trying to carefully pull the hook out from his hip seams,
“....Told you time and time 'gain.... take this stupid claw off....
not want in my berth.....”
He felt Lockdown shift -the only
warning he had- before the devon rex was shoved back into the sheets
face-first, a sly glossa lapping slowly along a flattened ear.
“Where ya think you're going....
doll?,” a low rumble came.
“L-lockdown! You horny idiot!,”
Swindle yelped, wriggling, feeling the cold metal of the hook trail
down his thigh, slipping up and in between his spread legs. He
whimpered at the cool touch, his circuits warming immediately.
“Sl-slaggit! I have work Lockdown- places to be, showers to take
and slag! You can't keep hanging around i-in my berth, looking for
f-frags!!”
Lockdown pressed his mouth to the
smaller mech's neck cables, sucking hard as he moved; hips and spike
grinding slowly against the entrepreneur's aft. “No way babe,” he
purred, grinning. “'Sides.... you love it.”
Swindle cursed, trying to squirm away
still, but he was good and trapped. Servos twisting into his sheets,
the tan kittycon swallowed back a moan as he was dragged closer to
the tiger's frame and held there tightly. “G....g-gonna s-scrap you
l....l-later,” he mumbled in weak threat.
“Mmm.... Maybe ya can do something
after we've filled that greasy trap of yours,” came the low
chuckle.
xxXxXxx
“....why do I even have to be here?”
Onslaught scowled, shoving his son into
the living room. “Because it's my wife and your new
siblings,” he growled lightly. “Now, sit. He'll be down
shortly and I expect you to be nice.”
Swindle merely frowned back at his
sire, sitting on the couch when directed to. “Can't believe I just
can't give my gift and leave....,” he grumbled to himself as
Onslaught turned to leave the living room. “....I've got work. But
no, no one in this family can seem to understand that! Primus, I'd
have to move around the globe and even then-”
Swindle glanced to the armchair,
suppressing a shiver as he saw green claws curl around the edge of
the seat languidly.
“I can see you, psycho....,” he
hissed, ears flattening slightly. Great. Just great.... Vortex was
here as well. Sure enough, at his words, the lynx peeked over
Onslaught's armchair, red visor glowing gleefully.
“Hello baby brother,” he cooed,
leaning against the back of the chair, “Did Daddy-o bring you home
for the blessings?”
Swindle glared. “He threatened to
burn down my office if I didn't.”
Vortex cackled loudly at that, leaping
over the chair and slinking towards the couch. Swindle quickly drew
his legs up onto the cushion, grabbing the pistol strapped under his
shirt. Hearing the slight clink of metal, the taller kittycon
stopped, canting his helm to the side as he grinned insanely at the
devon rex.
“Now, now,” he purred, chuckles
escaping him, “There's no need to get your toys. I was only curious
about your scent....” The lynx made a show of sniffing the air.
“It's much.... different, than usual.”
“Wonderful,” Swindle snapped. “Do
us all a favour and go be creepy somewhere else. I can't believe
you're even still here.”
Vortex shrugged, sitting back on his
haunches. The sight barely made the smaller mech feel less anxious.
“Consider it my alternate form of house arrest,” he replied. “Not
that I can complain really. There are some... perks.... to it, after
all.”
Swindle scoffed in disgust.
“Vortex.....,” Onslaught growled as
he came back into the room, “I thought I told you to clean the
armoury, soldier. Take your greasy servos and that dumb-aft grin of
yours and march. Before I lock you in the basement with
Brawl.”
The grey kittycon's grin faltered a
bit, but he rose all the same, blowing over-exaggerated kisses to
Swindle as he left. “Frag you later, baby bro,” he purred.
Making a face, Onslaught tried to shake
off his agitation, turning just in time to help the young autodog
down the stairs. Looking a little tired, but happy, Skydive gladly
accepted the serval's servos, carrying both sparkling into the living
room. Catching a quick glare from his sire, Swindle straightened up
in his seat; pulling his fingers away from his gun.
“Hello,” the autodog greeted
warmly, his tone soft as he was gently guided into Onslaught's
armchair. “You must be Swindle. Your dad talks about you a lot.”
“Only good things I hope,” Swindle
politely replied, rising to his pedes.
Skydive chuckled. “Nothing bad, I can
assure you. He speaks highly of you; he's very proud, even if he
won't admit it.” Onslaught glanced away, blushing, refusing to look
at either mech.
Shuttering his optics slowly, the devon
rex turned his helm to the blue mech (obviously younger than him) who
smiled up at him brightly. Nothing forced either. Curious. He
supposed the shih tzu was at least deserving of some respect, Swindle
mused. “So.....,” the entrepreneur started uncertainly, “These
must be the sparklings, huh?”
Swindle walked forwards, looking over
the bornlings quickly. One was golden yellow with splashes of mauve,
while the other was almost completely black. Both bore distinguishing
marks similar to their creators.
“Yes,” Skydive smiled broader
still, “This one is Motormaster, and this is his sister,
Dragstrip.”
At the mention of her name, the golden
one slowly onlined her optics, staring silently up at Swindle with
her deep, red optics. The devon rex couldn't help the little smirk
that grew; he could see an intelligence inside this one. Almost
conniving. She could grow up to be a useful asset.
The black one.... well, judging by the
smell, he'd just crapped himself. Tiny face scrunching up in
discomfort, Motormaster riled up for a vicious round of screaming,
and Swindle decided it was a good time to split.
“Listen, I hate to just run,” he
said. He ignored Onslaught's glare at the poor excuse, “But I've
got people to meet and business to take care of. I've got a gift
though.” The merchant grabbed the gift bag out of his suitcase,
holding it out for the serval to take.
“O-oh my! Y-you didn't have to do
that!,” Skydive protested, flabbergasted at the present. “I
m-mean-”
“Don't worry about it,” Swindle
interrupted, gathering his things. “It's just a teddy each for the
twins. Not much.”
“O-oh, well.... Thank you,” the
autodog said, beaming at the devon rex. “Truly, thank you. Please
come by whenever you'd like; to see the twins or even your dad. This
is your home after all, and the doors are always open to you.”
For once, Swindle didn't know what to
say. Shaking off his stupor, the kittycon awkwardly nodded back,
before actually waving goodbye to Onslaught as he left.
xxXxXxx
Swindle sighed, cupping the phone to
his ear as he grabbed several boxes out of a grocery bag he'd
carelessly tossed onto an empty chair, alongside a jar of pickled
cabling. Taking care not to get the cord tangled up in anything, the
kittycon circled around the desk, setting the jar on the table top
first before dropping into his seat freely.
“Listen, I understand that you're
under pressure, but getting good dirt is not something that can be
rushed. I promised you that finding Senator Decimus' dirty laundry
would be done, and I assure you, it will be done,” he said, doing
his best not to groan. “You just-”
The devon rex paused as the mech on the
other end grumbled loudly in his ear, rolling his optical sensors.
“Yes, yes, I understand that, sir.
But, we are talking about probably the only Senator yet without an
outward, corrupt history,” he continued, “But I can assure you,
Mr. Proteus, that there is something about Decimus that will appeal
the people toward you more. He is after all, a Senator, and nothing
is private when you work for the public.”
His office door opened and outright
groaning this time, Swindle ripped open the first box of chocolates
as he cut off his client's praises and threats. “Right, yes, well,
sorry to end this riveting conversation short, sir, but it seems as
if my father has just walked in. We'll be in contact soon; goodbye.”
Hanging up the phone, Swindle opened
his laptop, tapping away at the keys with one servo, as he grabbed a
few chocolates with the other. “Do I need to hire some guards or
something to keep unwanted visitors like yourself out?,” he
grumbled, not even bothering to look up at the serval.
Onslaught snorted, sitting down in one
of the available chairs. “You know very well there's no one you
could hire to keep me out.”
Pouting -no, scowling- Swindle
refrained from commenting on that sarcastic remark. Grunting softly,
the devon rex turned back to his laptop; popping several sweets into
his mouth as he blindly felt for the pickle jar.
“What?,” Onslaught frowned, “You
care so little about your old man that you won't even ask why I'm
here?”
“Yep,” came the quick reply.
The older mech bared his fangs, trying
to hold back a growl. Leaning forward, he smacked a brown lunch bag
onto the desk, disrupting his son's work. Narrowed, annoyed purple
optics slid up toward him.
“Skydive thought you'd like something
to eat. He kindly prepared you a lunch, along with everyone else.
Asked for me to bring it to you.”
“Mhmm....” Swindle hummed, not even
paying attention. He grabbed a pickled cabling, mindlessly munching
on it as he fixed his computer. Another chocolate followed before
he'd even finished with his first cable. Onslaught watched him
studiously, an optic ridge raised in disbelief.
“Since when have you eaten pickled
cabling? Let alone with chocolate,” the serval asked.
“Since when have you cared?,”
Swindle shot back. “Listen, I have work to do, unlike some people
and I would really like it if you just left. I can do without the
whole 'father-son' talk thing or you commenting on how my choice of
career fell short of your expectations. In fact-”
Swindle reached over across the desk to
grab another pickled cable, but only ended up knocking the jar over.
He fumbled to catch it, missing, and ended up with shattered glass
all over his office floor; pickle juice seeping into the rug with its
rancid scent. Cursing, the entrepreneur got down on his knees and
started to pick the broken shards up.
“You shouldn't do that,” Onslaught
said quietly from his seat. “You might cut yourself.”
Glaring at him quickly, the smaller
mech continued with his task. “Well you know what, it's got to be
done. Otherwise, I'm going to have a pickle-smelling office and my
clients are going to flee in embarrassment. It's not like the
cleaning staff is coming in until- ouch!”
Onslaught snorted, again. “Told you
so.”
Swindle quickly grabbed the rest of the
glass and threw them haphazardly into the trash bin, grabbing the
tissue box of his desk and pressing a wad of them to the cut on his
servo. “Shut up,” he snarled, “Don't act so high and mighty
just because you guessed what might have happened. Primus -why don't
you just get out already so I can get back to doing something
actually constructive?”
His sire scowled at the words and
opened his mouth to retaliate, but Swindle wasn't finished yet.
“You know what, maybe if you stayed
home more often, your first wife wouldn't have left you!”
Cold, dead silence filled the room.
Cringing slightly, Swindle turned his helm away from Onslaught;
almost remorseful about what he had just said. That had been low....
even for his standards. The serval himself was unresponsive. He sat
there, a big, powerful stone -riddled with cracks and dents, once
more silently taking on the brunt of the world. Swindle couldn't deal
with that.
“Just..... just go already.....,”
he mumbled weakly, throwing his bloody tissue at his sire. “....I
have things I need to get done....”
Turning away to avoid looking at his
sire directly, Swindle saw in the glass' dark reflection as Onslaught
slowly rose to his pedes. It seemed to take an eternity before the
older mech actually left, and even when he did, the icy chill still
remained for cycles after.
xxXxXxx
Mechs and femmes walked through the
smoky haze, disturbing the dust and causing the flickering lights to
become even more spotted. Narrow optics roaming the crowds, the lanky
mech leaned farther into his dark corners; lifting his bottle to his
lip components. Three tables over, two strangers were swapping
something under the table for a roll of credits -no doubt drugs of
some sort- while a gang of drunks tried to corner two, grungy-looking
femmes near the washrooms. The muted chaos and crime developing
around him were old comforts to the watcher, even as juvenile as they
were.
Now if there was only gonna be a brawl
to wrap everything up nicely....
“Hey handsome,” an old femme
crooned, turning into his corner. She raised one arm above her helm,
leaning against the wall in what was supposed to be a seductive pose,
but only ended up looking more ridiculous, considering the way she
had to use the wall so as to keep her over-charged self upright.
“Need a little company?”
The tiger smirked, striped tail
flicking at his side. “Nope,” he replied, finishing his beer.
“Just enjoying the show.”
“But for a little extra charge-”
The femme stumbled as she tried to step forward, crashing right in
front of the mech's pedes. Grunting, the tiger rose to his pedes,
stepping over the smaller kittycon as she purged all over the floor
next.
Honestly, he didn't know why these poor
fools bothered. He might not care about who he fragged, but he wasn't
going to pick one of the flea-bitten strays that wandered into this
dump of a joint. Places like this were only good for business and-
The tiger stopped, staring down at the
slightly shorter mech bold enough to block his path to the door.
“....what?,” he asked, trying to hold back his annoyance. There
was a perk, tan aft he wanted to go bang, and this kittycon was only
delaying him.
The serval only stared him down
silently. “.....Lockdown, correct?”
Now he was on edge. “Yea, maybe,”
Lockdown growled, “Whose askin'?”
The shorter kittycon's mouth split in a
fore-boding grin, just before his fist came flying for the thug's
stomach plating. The tiger tried to counter quickly, but the stranger
got him with another punch from his blind-side, catching him in the
side of the helm. Processor whirling from the unexpected force,
Lockdown tried to swipe desperately at the serval with his hook but
crashed to the floor instead. A pede to the chestplates knocked the
rest of the air of out him, dragging him into unconsciousness as
well.
Ignoring the few glares sent his way,
the older mech reached down and grabbed the thug; draping him under
his arm as he shuffled towards the door.
xxXxXxx
“Urgh.....”
“....great. You're finally awake....”
Lockdown lifted his aching helm at the
familiar vocalizer, squinting blearily across the room at Swindle.
The usually cocky kittycon was sitting on the couch, laid back and
arms crossed sullenly, with his stomach plating rounding a bit over
his knees. Confused, and just a little more than indignant, the tiger
tried to sit up. That option was obviously crossed off the list when
he realized he was bound to a chair -and tightly.
“What the frag is going on here?,”
he snarled, glaring at the smaller mech.
“Ah,” spoke a new voice, the blue
and green kittycon from the bar striding into the room, “He's
awake. Good.”
“You-!”
Swindle vented exasperatedly, rolling
his optical sensors. “Yeah, good job, dad,” the devon rex said
snidely. “It's amazing that he didn't end up in a coma.”
“I didn't hit him that hard.
Restraint- it's something that you learn in the-”
“W-wait.... What the slag?!,”
Lockdown shouted, looking at both kittycons. “You know each other?”
He turned his glare to Swindle once more. “What the frag is it that
you're trying to do here, huh Swindle? What, you rat out to your pimp
or something that I've been fragging you without charge?”
Swindle's optics flared angrily, but
before he could even curse the tiger back, Onslaught was grabbing the
back of the taller mech's helm in his crushing grasp; dragging him,
chair and all, across the room to the entrepreneur. Swindle made to
move, but he could barely sit up straight before Lockdown was being
held right before him. The thug stopped his struggling immediately,
his shell-shocked expression fixed on the other's abdomen and the
swollen stomach plating he could see just starting to form.
“....WHAT THE FRAG IS THAT?!”
“THAT'S WHAT I COULD ASK YOU!,”
Swindle shouted back.
Lockdown glared at him. “Don't you
dare blame me for getting knocked up! You shouldn't even BE
pregnant!”
“And I wouldn't be if someone hadn't
lied about being STERILE!!” He kicked the tiger. “You AFT! This
is all your fault!”
“No fragging way! You're just an easy
lay! That pit spawn's not mine -you can't prove it!!”
Dark chuckling came from behind him,
and Lockdown was reminded once more of the twisted kittycon that had
brought him here in the first place. Thrown across the room, the thug
bounced and crashed in his bonds, ending up on his backstruts; tail
partially crushed under one of the chair legs. Hissing, he onlined
his optics just in time to see the serval leaning over him, one pede
resting on the chair's seat, scratching his chin with a pistol.
“Well, you see princess,” Onslaught
smirked, “While you were sleeping, I took the liberty of testing
your CNA to my son's and the bornling's, and guess what -you're a
match!”
Lockdown shuttered his optics rapidly
in surprise, before fixing an anxious scowl to his face. “Y....you
can't make me stay. You have no right!”
From the couch, Swindle sighed,
propping his chin on his servo. “Good luck trying to run away,
idiot. My dad's a government-paid mercenary. Ex-veteran of the war.
He's got connections everywhere..... Oh, and my brothers are in the
business as well.” He scratched an ear casually. “Why do you
think I've never associated with them? Bunch of nutjobs.....”
“....S-So get an abortion!! I don't
want no kid!”
“It's too late for that, moron!,”
Swindle yelled back. “I'm already five months along -no thanks to
your 'honesty'!! How do you think this affects me?!”
Amazingly, Lockdown seemed to pale
further despite his already white complexion. Letting the two finish
their bout of yelling, Onslaught leaned towards the tiger; grinning
with a mouthful of sharp fangs, optics lit in mad glee. “Now that
that's settled.....,” he started lowly, a sinister purr seeping
into his words. “Congratulations. You knocked up my son. Welcome to
the family.”
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