I swear I was I was writing "What Goes Around" yesterday. (I'm up to my fourth re-write of That Damned Chapter! Grrr…) Somehow… this came out instead. Your guess is as good as mine as to why. NOT WGA!Swoop, obviously. So…uh, enjoy?
Out of habit rather than genuine interest, Slag looked up when the door to the common room of the Dinobots' shared quarters slid open. Swoop stepped across the threshold and then stopped two paces in, staring at the wall across from him as if there was something eminently fascinating there. More fascinating than one of Grimlock's potted palm trees, at least. It was easy to tell from the look on Swoop's face that something was wrong; he had always been an open book, even more so than Sludge.
"Bad day?" Slag asked, grunting the question and imbuing it with every bit of compassion that he possessed...which wasn't very much.
Swoop looked at him, blinking and pulling his gaze away from the wall, anguish on his face. Slag, suppressing a put-upon sigh, gave him a come-hither jerk of his head, answering the silent question that Swoop's eyes had so eloquently telegraphed to him. Swoop gave Slag a grateful look and approached him slowly, not knowing quite what to expect. Cautiously, ever so cautiously, he settled himself into Slag's lap, curling up against him like a lost and forlorn child, his cheek resting on Slag's broad chest. His wings made the maneuver difficult, but Slag managed to wrap his arms awkwardly around Swoop, holding him while he shook in his arms, little whimpers escaping him occasionally. Slag silently stroked his back as well as he could manage.
Swoop usually sought out Snarl for this sort of thing, on the rare occasions that he broke down. Snarl was certainly not the most verbose individual in the universe, but he and Swoop had a deeper level of kinship of a sort, having been brought online at the same time. They were closer to each other than either of them was to the other three Dinobots. Most of the time, no words were needed between them. But if Snarl wasn't available, Swoop would usually seek out Sludge, and if that failed, there was Grimlock.
But never Slag.
Mostly this was because Slag had always vehemently pushed Swoop away, and not just in the physical sense. Comforting others patently wasn't Slag's thing. Neither was gooshiness in general. And certainly not snuggling. The only reason he was allowing this to happen now, Slag firmly told himself, was because the other three Dinobots were away on some mission somewhere. Swoop hadn't accompanied them because the medbay was already short-staffed, and Slag had been left behind because he was still recovering from the effects of their last mission, which had left him close to dead.
It was Swoop who had dragged him back from that brink. Yet again. As long minutes passed and Swoop somehow managed to snuggle himself even closer into Slag's body, his own body's trembling slowly fading and his occasional whimpers bleeding into silence, Slag told himself that he was only feeling grateful, that that was why he couldn't deny Swoop what he wanted, as much as he might want to deny him.
Grudgingly, after long and silent minutes, Slag asked, "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Swoop stirred in Slag's arms and gave him a wide-eyed look, surprised at the question. He bit down on his lip thoughtfully, considering, and then he shook his head silently.
Slag had just long enough to suppress a thankful sigh at the news that a long and squishy conversation wasn't in the offing before Swoop was suddenly moving with urgency and distinct purpose, eventually ending up straddling Slag's lap. And then he was suddenly kissing Slag. Very demandingly kissing him, no less. The much-smaller and generally easy-going Dinobot was suddenly a force not to be denied.
A dazed utterance of the word "Wha...?" bounced around in Slag's processors as he found himself impulsively kissing Swoop back for half a second. Then he pulled himself away with a growl, lifting his arms to push none-too-gently against the fronts of Swoop's shoulders.
"What are you doing?" he demanded to know, staring eye-to-eye with Swoop.
Swoop didn't answer, instead spent a moment regarding Slag with his head tilted appraisingly to the side, his eyes narrowed speculatively...and then he fell to nuzzling, licking, and biting one side of Slag's neck, starting from the point where it joined his shoulder and then slowly and assiduously working his way up toward Slag's jaw line, leaving nothing untouched or unexplored in between those two endpoints.
The rational part of Slag was still reeling, still shocked, and still insistently informing him that he needed to put a stop to this. Now. But...Rational Slag was suddenly not in control. He only had tenuous control even at the best of times, which was why Slag was often getting himself mostly-killed. And this certainly was not a situation that prompted one to be rational, what with his warm and apparently – and suddenly and shockingly – willing comrade practically throwing himself at him.
Slag almost literally felt his resolve crumbling, felt rational Slag abruptly disappearing as if he'd been suddenly sucked into a black hole, never to return. And good riddance, as far as non-rational Slag was concerned. His hands, which had been attempting to hold Swoop at bay, were now gripping Swoop's shoulders for an entirely different reason, fingers digging in hard whenever Swoop happened upon a particularly sensitive spot. Little appreciative grunts were emerging from Slag's throat now, too, echoing Swoop's enticingly aggressive snarls and growls.
For long moments, Slag felt paralyzed. Something was faintly buzzing in his processors, informing him that he should be doing something to Swoop in return. But...he couldn't. And then he discovered that Swoop apparently didn't want him to do anything in return, anyway. When Slag finally managed to move his hands in order to offer up something in return for the amazing sensations that Swoop was wringing from him, Swoop emitted a particularly aggressive growl and then unceremoniously pinned Slag's forearms to the arm of the chair. Slag knew that he could break Swoop's grip easily if he wanted to...but at the moment, he really, really didn't want to.
Dear, sweet Primus, Swoop was good at this...
He was really good at kissing, too, Slag was soon to discover, once Swoop reached Slag's jaw line. He trailed deliciously brutal bites along it, and then hungrily found Slag's mouth again, devouring him, his tongue exploring everything inside of Slag's mouth that it could reach. This time, Slag did not pull away. It did not even enter his mind to pull away. And for this, at least, he could reciprocate. And he did so. With gusto.
Swoop's hands let go of Slag's forearms then and began to roam all over Slag's body instead, his small fingers digging into crevices and seams that he knew were very sensitive while also finding hot spots that Slag hadn't even known that he'd had. As a result, Slag became convinced this was a dream. That he'd fallen asleep in his favorite chair and was having a really, really good dream. So good of a dream, in fact, that he knew that when he woke from it, he wouldn't be able to look Swoop in the face ever again. For that matter, he probably wouldn't be able to see Swoop in quite the same way again. From now on, his view of Swoop would be all colored by...by this.
And...and by that. Slag squealed – Squealed, dammit! – as Swoop slithered from his lap, knelt between his legs, gave Slag a deliciously evil grin...and then began to do equally evil and delicious things to that panel. With his tongue. Growling happily all the while. Helplessly, Slag slouched down into the chair, as if he'd suddenly half-melted, and moaned for all he was worth. He barely had the wherewithal to lift a hand to encouragingly stroke Swoop's head while he worked his marvelous magic.
"Is this what you do with Snarl, then?" he managed to choke out a few moments later as curiosity momentarily peeked through the mounting bliss that was pouring into him, creeping along every sensory pathway that he possessed, making him shiver all over.
Swoop snorted, and Slag squirmed at the resulting rush of hot air against him. Swoop looked up at him, wide-eyed, and slowly and solemnly shook his head a few times before he went back to work and Slag went back to moaning.
Slag was still convinced that he was dreaming even when Swoop suddenly scrambled to his feet a few moments later and then, grabbing onto one of Slag's arms, yanked at him meaningfully. Obligingly, Slag stood, his healing leg and the large, freshly-welded tear along the entire length of his left side protesting the effort. Oddly enough, they didn't seem to protest at all as Swoop dragged Slag off to Slag's berth.
Not, of course, that Slag put up much in the way of resistance.
* * * * *
"What in Primus's name was that all about?" Slag wanted to know, many hours later. He was thoroughly dazed...and thoroughly satiated...and thoroughly drained.
Medical training, Slag had just discovered, had all sorts of unexpected yet deeply delightful fringe benefits.
Swoop, his forearms folded on top of Slag's chest and his chin resting delicately on top of them, merely gave Slag an enigmatic half-smile. Then he moved his arms out of the way, stretching them lazily up and over Slag's shoulders. He turned his head, resting his cheek over Slag's spark. Sighing softly, deeply contented, he immersed himself in listening to the comforting and so-alive pulsating of Slag's spark. The pulsing and the soothing waves of warmth that Slag was radiating very quickly lulled Swoop to sleep, his sprawled body suddenly becoming heavy against Slag's. He obviously wasn't intending to go anywhere any time soon, and so Slag was apparently not going anywhere, either.
Grumbling softly, still thoroughly confused but not really complaining about it, Slag wrapped his arms around Swoop's narrow waist and, having nothing better to do since he was apparently going to be used as a full-body pillow for the foreseeable future, he went to sleep, too.