It was six million years on Tailgate's mind as he took the glass from Swerve. Six million years, and a million more reasons relentlessly plaguing his aching processor in turns. His hands shook much like his spirits as they fumbled to keep hold of neon blue concoction. According to Swerve this was his special blend, guaranteed to melt ones troubles away and surprising enough it was on the house. Even more startling was that the 'bot of everyone else's business' was sitting quietly on the bar stool beside Tailgate, one red servo patting white shoulders encouragingly. It was a gesture a friend would make. Tailgate reminded himself that he didn't have any friends... online.

Everything had changed, the Cybertron he knew, now ruins and stained ground. Civil rivalry was an every cycle occurence, the Autobots surrounding him kept to their own and the guarded looks they sent him, cold hints that he was none of theirs. The stark change was cataclysmic, nothing was simple anymore, even what made a bot. Ratchet had rebuilt, then installed his insides with to date systems, engine, and processors. Tailgate's fit when he onlined was heard all the way from the medbay to the farthest recesses of the engine room. That grouchy medic tried to take away what little he had left, and Tailgate didn't care for the docbot's reasons. He didn't give a rusty aft if they were unpractical, outdated, and not 'in fashion'. The minibot refused to be discharged until all was fixed and his stubborn pouting prevailed. Well, partially, the new mechanics stayed, just some of the old parts were put back. It was the most they would compromise for him.

Tailgate's invents were shallow, his thoughts heavy, and his optics dim as he stared sadly at the contents in his cube. He'd slept his time away and ages later he was still trying to be the happy little bot no one seemed to like. Still a nobody, still a waste of energon, only this time he couldn't claim that he worked his servos to the protoform for the fuel running through his tubes. Every choice he's made, all the stupid things he's done to try and be helpful and friendly: failures. Coolant burned were it did not belong and, hiccuping softly, Tailgate managed to smudge the blue liquid slipping past his visor all over the left side of his mask, so shaky was his hand coordinatoins.

He was no good to himself and anyone else in this ignorant state. Going around and telling everyone that he wanted to be a Decepticon?! If he had thought the glares were harsh before the ones he received then were murderous in comparison. What could he have said differently than what he did? He'd blubbered and swore how sorry he was, that he hadn't known. How lame of an excuse was that? Then he'd gone and made it worse. So much worse. He'd reacted angrily and treated the only mech he thought he didn't overly annoy less than poorly.

Cyclonus...

A pitiful keen escaped Tailgate unhindered. How could he have punched the jet like that? His spark throbbed painfully at the flash of red memory. Cyclonus didn't wish to watch him fall by setting him up with a cleverly spun lie. Tailgate had jumped the gun with his own assumptions. He was feeling his mistake and it smarted, in several places. Cyclonus definitely wouldn't want him around now and Tailgate would respect that. He'd make it easier for the solem mech. In fact he'd already visited Magnus' office. But why did it have to hurt so much?

"Have you even tasted it yet?" Tailgate groaned... that's right Swerve was... ugh.

"I-I don't know about this. I've only ever ordered sweetened mid grade. Ever." Tailgate's voice on the edge of a whimper.

Swerve smiled kindly, placed his hand over the white servo holding the cube, and guided the minibot into a few gulps of high grade. It burned, much like his emotional hurts. It scorched down his intake and the urge to hack it back up filled the small former with panic. He moved, intending to heave in a direction devoid of grinning bar owner, only for said mech to jerk his helm back and lightly tickle Tailgate's throat cabling, causing him to swallow reflexively. He choked for a short bit followed by a good chorus of coughs, Swerve patting his back plating the whole time.

When he regained his control Tailgate pushed his companion away roughly, "Swerve! You- you meany! I c-could have-! I'll-!..."

Swerve smirked as he watched Tailgate trail off, baby blue visor turned downward to stare at his tummy. Something wasn't right in the place that drink had just gone. Feelings and urges long suppressed awakening, coming out to play.

Tailgate moaned worriedly and grabbed at his middle, squirming on his stool, "Swerve?"

"Feels good don't it?" The chatty bot laughed lowly, sliding off his seat to stand behind the wigging mini.

Swerve licked his lips plating, considering the metal before him before leaning in closer to the smaller bot's audio and whispering,"Its all warm and tingly inside, right?"

Electric shivers slithered up the disposal bot's back struts as uninvited touches invaded his personal space. Swerve explored the other, groping subtle side plating, mapping out that curved chassis, griping round hips. He knew his little companion would be delicious. He felt so, and Swerve let him know.

"Hmmm.. Bet your soft and tasty, am I right Tailgate?"

Tailgate wasn't listening any more, it was like every track of his circuits was awash with minutely charged EM pulses, waves of warmth and calm spreading from the areas that Swerve touched to his pedes, then back up and along the length of his arms to the tips of his fingers. The processor ache he'd had since before walking into the bar ebbed away with every pass of pleasant tingles, accompanying them were his sorrows. His spark hummed, content and full in its protective casing. His limbs and helm felt light, making him giggle with new found wonder. As he looked around in this euphoric state he noticed the edges of his vision begin to drift off into the most pretty, hazy pink that gave the bots around him a welcoming glow.

Tailgate loved high grade! Taligate loved the tickles Swerve was giving him between his legs.

Maybe he wasn't so worthless after all. Someone seemed to like him, doesn't necessarily have to be irksome that its Swerve.

A request popped up on his HUD. Swerve told him to accept it and when he did he heard a curious 'snk' sound.

"Hmmm..." Sighing, he rested his helm on top of his foreservos and relaxed.

He felt so happy.

For about five kilks. He blamed the rude abruptness with which the good feelings stopped on the chair that broke across Swerve's helm.