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He’s back at Macadam’s again, and seated at the bar, watching the minibot he’s been on two outings with (they’re absolutely not dates). He’s still not entirely convinced the stout mech’s name is Swinger, but he’s still going with it, because there has to be a reason he wouldn’t want to share his name. Things are dangerous, after all, and Swinger’s made no secret of the fact he’s not all that keen on the Functionalists and their rules.
Watching Swinger’s hands flash around, mixing old drinks or putting together requests is a fascinating process. Swinger told him he’s got extra sensors in his hands that made becoming a metallurgist easier (and not as pricey, considering the fact he didn’t have to get mods). Megatron has to wonder if those sensors make Swinger’s hands sensitive the way that a medic’s hands are supposed to be. He remembers holding Swinger’s hand. “Oh cool. Do we hold hands?”
“If-If you want to.”
“Heck yeah! Gimmie!” Swinger probably didn’t know just how much that meant, to him. Did it mean something different for him? Probably. But he can’t quite stop the warm, delighted feeling in his spark at the idea that Swinger might still hold his hand even if he was aware of what it meant for miners. Impactor certainly behaved as if that was the case, forever referring to Swinger as ‘dreamer’s lapful’. Incredibly crass, but that was Impactor. Still, Impactor had also pointed out something that Megatron had also been wondering about.
Swinger seemed to know an awful lot about his favourite flavours, just from knowing he liked sweeter drinks, and was something of a lightweight. Was it just a thing that very good bartenders knew? Because it seemed somewhat suspicious to him. You would think that a bartender wouldn’t know you liked a minibot-sized handful of extra-fine silver shavings mixed into their tank-sized drink, unless you’d asked them for it. But Swinger did it automatically, from the first drink, and had dropped in a few copper chunks for Megatron to crack between his teeth. Swinger wandered over to his end of the bar, visor bright and warm, and his ever-present smile seeming to grow even wider. “Hey there, handsome. Are you here for something ordinary, a touch of nostalgia, or something brand new?” He remembers, for a brief moment, the beautiful drink Swinger had mixed for him, with that red lightning connecting the top and bottom of the glass…
“Something nostalgic,” Megatron said, smiling fondly.
“Coming right up,” the minibot said, grinning as he collected the ingredients. Red high grade, pink engex, blue mid-grade, a bit of red mid-grade… it was just as beautiful this time as last time, and Swinger added copper chunks. He’d hesitated for the briefest moment, as if he should be adding more to the drink, but why would he do that? From what Megatron had seen, he’d always judged the measurements for his drinks perfectly. He’d barely ever hesitated on any of the ingredients for drinks he was serving his other patrons, new or familiar. When the drink was set in front of him, Megatron nodded his thanks and started drinking, three copper bits settling between his teeth for him to crack. Just as excellent as the first time he’d had this.
“You know, I could mix up something better for you. I do have all of my preferred ingredients here.” And another thing. Swinger tended to ask a lot more questions about everyone else’s tastes when mixing drinks for them. For Megatron, he made assumptions that all turned out to be correct. Why was that?
… Maybe he could just ask? Impactor did say he occasionally had a problem with questioning everything but the little things. “Swinger?”
“Yeah?” Swinger’s relaxed, smiling inquisitively, and cleaning a glass.
“How do you know so much about my preferences?” Swinger’s fingers twitched, and for a brief second his smile seems somehow wrong, stretching for the briefest moment into panic before Megatron blinks, and everything’s back to normal. Perhaps he imagined it?
“Well I did pay attention to what energon shades seemed to make you interested, and what additives made your field react, so I ah… Well. I don’t typically hang out as close to my customers as I’ve been hanging around you so it’s just easier to ask them, you know? With you, well… I just hope I’m right so that I look particularly impressive.” And for a brief moment, the visor’s drawn down so Swinger can wiggle his eyebrows at Megatron, and he laughs. Of course Swinger would show off and gamble in this way. He feels so much fondness for this minibot, and he’s only known him for a relatively short amount of time… If they weren’t in the bar, perhaps he’d-? Oh screw it. Swinger was here, he was affectionate, and it wasn’t like he was dragging him across the counter to snog him (though that idea had an undeniable sort of appeal to it). He reaches across, taking Swinger’s hand and ignoring the questioning tone in his voice, just lifting his hand, the three fingers curled against his palm, and kissed Swinger’s knuckles. An odd peep came from him, and Megatron smiled. “Thank you for taking such good care of me,” he said, tone halfway between teasing and sincerity. Swinger looked absolutely floored.
“My- My pleasure!”
“Swinger?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you care to go on a… a date with me?” Because he really should ask well before he has to go back to the mines.
“I’d love to.” Swinger gives him a beautiful smile, and Megatron savours the visual.
“Tomorrow? The Crystal Gardens?”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll bring the drinks.”