Disclaimer: TF © Hasbro
Warnings: implications of prostitution and blink-and-you'll-miss-it mech-preg implications (as in, it doesn't happen but is mentioned very much in passing)
Summary: He didn't plan to live this life forever.
Word Count: 918
Notes: For hc_bingo. The prompt is rent boys/girls. Also, playing somewhat fast and loose with the prompt, as I tend to do.

For the Future

Cliffjumper took a moment to stretch, working out a kink in his wiring before rolling out of the berth and onto his feet. He paid no further attention to the mech still sprawled out behind him, lost to post-overload recharge. Instead he headed into the wash rack, cleaned away the lubricant coating his thighs, and slipped out of the motel room once he was presentable again. He'd collected his credits beforehand, as he always did since realizing it was easier to get paid that way than in rifling through his client's subspace once the mech or femme had passed out.

The minibot never ceased to be amazed at how many mechs and femmes seemed to have something of a fetish for his frame-type. He also couldn't complain much about it; he made twice as much, maybe three times as much, in a night cycle as most of the other pleasurebots working in Polyhex. And he never really touched half of what he made. That part was set aside in a fund towards finding a better place to live — if he had an option, he'd take anything in Simfur over a better sector of Polyhex — and getting himself through a trade school so he could quit working the streets.

He wasn't planning to be a pleasurebot forever, after all. Not anymore.

Doing some quick calculations and deciding that he'd surpassed his income goal for the evening with his previous client, Cliffjumper turned towards home and started walking. There was one very important stop he had to make, and it was on the way. In less than a breem he was buzzing his neighbour, a femmebot who worked the late afternoon/early evening shift at a nearby bordello as a waitress-slash-stripper and had the later part of the cycle off.

"Hey, Moonie. Any problems?" he asked when the green bot opened the door.

Moonracer gave him an apologetic smile. "A few bad dreams," she replied. "The third time, he refused to go back to recharge. Sorry, Jumper."

"It's not your fault," he said, following the femme inside and to a small guest room where a minibot hatchling was curled up on the berth. Cliffjumper walked over and sat down next to the little one, tapping the mechling's helm gently with a fingertip."What's wrong, little Bee?"

"Dax!" the hatchling wailed, throwing himself at his creator and proceeding to whine and babble in the chirping language of the very young. The minibot let his engines hum softly, giving a smile and nod to Moonracer as she lead them back to the door.

Cliffjumper and his creation arrived at their own apartment in short order, the older minibot locking the door behind them as he continued to hum softly. The hatchling had calmed somewhat, but was still valiantly fighting recharge. Whatever dreams had shaken him from recharge were obviously bad enough that the little one couldn't drift off without reassurance that his creator was close at hand. The red mech headed straight for the berthroom and settled onto his berth, letting his tiny yellow hatchling lie directly over his spark chamber.

"Hush now, little one," he crooned, running his fingers lightly over his creation's back plating. "Matter's here, and he won't let anything harm you." It rook a little while, nearly four breems, but eventually the hatchling calmed enough to slip back into a deep recharge.

Cliffjumper smiled. A hatchling had honestly never been part of his plans, but one requested spark-merge rather than a straight-up interface had changed everything. Even though he could afford the fees with as much as he made, Cliffjumper couldn't bring himself to terminate a new-spark and he had no way to contact that one-off client. And since he had grown up in the youngling-care facilities, he didn't see that as a good way of life for his little one.

Rather than abandon another innocent life to an uncaring system, the minibot had re-evaluated and altered his plans accordingly. He made sure to go to the health clinic frequently while carrying the new-spark next to his own, and used some of his nest egg to buy a decent-quality frame for when his creation was strong enough to survive the spark transfer. He'd only wound up carrying for three orns, and realized he'd made the right decision for them both when he saw tiny blue optics light up for the first time.

Now, he still made sure that his hatchling got medical checkups often — and made sure to get frequent checkups for himself as well, since he had to stay healthy in order to make life easier for them both one day — and that a portion of his spendable income went towards all the things that a growing young mech needed. All the rest went into the rent for the apartment and energon for himself, with his savings growing every cycle. It was true, he could go ahead and use some of it now to get a little more energon or a slightly larger apartment, but those credits were for the future; Cliffjumper refused to accept that this was the only life that the one good thing in his would ever have.

If he had his way — and Cliffjumper was stubborn enough to make it into a reality — they would be settled in Simfur and he would be working in a respectable trade before the little one grew into his youngling frame. And if everything went according to plan, Bumblebee would never have to work the streets just to survive.

End Note: Feel free to cast guesses as to who Bee's other creator is, because I sure as fuck don't know. All Cliffjumper knows is that the mech was just passing through and had some sort of sparking-only kink.