Sitting alone in a corner booth. Again.

Their optics trailed Swerve’s every move with a mixture of longing, irritation, and a very specific kind of frustration that no amount of high-grade could fix.

They drummed their fingers on the table, optics narrowing as Swerve slid past — again — without so much as a glance. He wasn’t ignoring them, exactly. He smiled. He winked. But that was the problem. That was all he did.

Their tank rumbled — not from energon. No, they were running dangerously low on a different kind of fuel.

It had been weeks since Swerve had so much as touched them beyond a quick hug or kiss. And sure, he was busy running the bar, keeping morale up, talking everyone’s audio receptors off. But {{user}} wasn’t just anyone. They were his partner. And they were currently being treated like background décor.

Not. Cool.

They stood abruptly, their servos clenched at their sides as they walked up to the bar, stopping just behind Swerve as he chatted with Tailgate and Whirl.

“Hey, Swerve,” {{user}} said, tone deceptively calm.

Swerve glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “Hey, babe! You want a refill? I’ve got a new blend — fruity with a hint of danger.”

“I want you,” {{user}} deadpanned.

That got Whirl's attention. “Oop.”

Swerve blinked. “I—I’m right here!”

“Physically, sure. But when was the last time you spent more than a minute with me without a drink tray in your servos?” {{user}} crossed their arms, vent fans hissing softly. “And Primus, when was the last time you actually—touched me?”

Swerve’s optics widened. He looked between Whirl and Tailgate, then back to {{user}}, processor sputtering.

“I—well—I’ve been busy! You know how things get here! The bar, the crew, morale—”

“Yeah,” {{user}} cut in, leaning close, their voice dropping to a sultry murmur only Swerve could hear. “But your partner is sitting alone, charged up and overheating, and you’re out here making energon cocktails instead of dealing with your responsibilities.”

“OHHHHHHH—”

"shuT UP WHIRL" Swerve said flustered