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“I wana.. sink my teeth in deep.. deep into yer’ neck.”
Swerve forces a strained smile, “Haha yeah, totally a normal thing to say bud, not weird at all. Let’s not gore the bartender.” looking around nervously in an effort to spot Ten or Skids among what few patrons are loitering about at this hour.
“N.. not like, not like that.” You frown, both at the implication and your empty glass. “I mean I wana kiss ya’.. with my teeth. Or maybe I just wana kiss ya’.. might be the engex. Yar’ kinda cute though.. for an autobot.”
Swerve gapes for a moment, whiplashed in the aftermath of your drunken ramble / confession..? “I uh.. wow.. thanks? Uhm..”
“Ya’ like races? Ya’ seem like.. like the kinda mech who’s into that sorta thing.” You squint down at the mini-bot, trying to gauge his interests with just a look. Unintentionally looming over him in what could easily be perceived as an attempt to intimidate, and primus, was he unintentionally intimidated.
Despite the sudden urge to duck down and hide in a cupboard, his smile eases from strained to nervous. “Yeah, yeah I like races. Wasn’t a race I missed back on good ol’ cybertron. Especially not if Blurr was on the track. Guy blows everyone else out of the water— or, blew, I guess, aren’t many races anymore, what with the whole primordial cybertron thing, I don’t think. Y’know, I actually met him once, Blurr, and.. uhm.. yeah.” Swerve trails off, seeming to remember who he’s talking to mid-sentence. “What uh, about them?”
You flinch, as if snapped from a daze, caught half-listening and half-daydreaming.
“Uh..? Oh, yeah.. Well, my buddy sent me a buncha’.. buncha’ old racing footage a while back and I haven’t really had anyone to watch any of it with so I was wonderin’ if ya’d want to..?”
Blindsided for the second time in ten minutes, Swerve blurts the first thing that comes to mind, “Sssure???” and almost immediately regrets it— realizing he’d just agreed to a date with the mech who’s choice of conversation starters involve expressing the urge to bite people.
You smile wide, all teeth. Some of them very sharp, pointy teeth, Swerve notes. Standing from your stool with only a minor wobble, and pushing your glass forward.
“Thanks for the drink..s.. Swirl..? I’ll be back this time tomorrow.”
Swerve is left to stew in his sheer disbelief and bewilderment as you retreat from the bar.
“It’s.. Swerve. Like the name of the bar..”
You’re already gone.