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“—Don't see why we had ta sweep the area twice when Soundwave coulda just scanned the fragging thing. Or send drones. Or something.”
Breakdown was complaining as he sluiced off the accumulated filth of a long recon mission—one of the necessary steps before Knock Out would quit fussing over him.
Track gravel into a mech's berth once and you never quite lived it down.
“He has more important things to worry about, I assume,” Knock Out hummed, running a chamois over one strut of Breakdown's shoulder armour.
“Still. S'grunt work.”
“And we're grunts to them, when our particular talents aren't in demand. You can state the obvious, or you could lean down and let at your helm. You missed a spot,” Knock Out's tone was unfazed, although there was a certain rough tenderness (only Knock Out could manage to be both at the same time) in the way he scrubbed off the offending grime.
“There,” he said triumphantly, tossing the rag aside and turning off the water, “Good as new.”
This was all part of the usual ritual. Wash, bitch, cleanse themselves of the cycles stresses in more ways than one. Usually he felt better after a good complaining session with a semi-sympathetic audience in his partner, but Breakdown still seemed tenser than usual as he exited the washracks into their shared quarters.
He also tracked in quite a bit of water, but Knock Out could read the signs well enough to know this wasn't the time to start nitpicking. Instead he followed at a distance, optics fixed on the easy sway of his partner's broad pelvic span, the fluid rotations of his hip joints. Breakdown was hardly what you'd call a pretty mech, but there was a certain unmistakable allure to the bruiser. Knock Out would hardly be with him if there wasn't.
Sensing his partners unease he strode over to his pet bully, insinuating himself against the blocky panels of Breakdown's back.
“You seem tense.”
“Maybe,” Breakdown answered begrudgingly. He was familiar enough with Knock Out's demeanour by now to recognize the signs. Knock Out was up to something.
“How about you take a seat on the berth and let me work out those kinks, hmm?”
There it was. The clear, unmistakable invitation. Usually this is where Knock Out would stretch out on the berth and beckon Breakdown to him, to the waiting heat between his thighs—Ah frag, there went his imagination. He fought down the urge to activate his fans, playing it cool for now. He made his way over to the berth, sitting down heavily. Knock Out was immediately in his personal space, insinuating himself against Breakdown with a quick, surprisingly passionate, kiss, before sliding down to rest between Breakdown's knees.
“I thought we'd try something a little different tonight,” Knock Out purred.
Breakdown was instantly wary. While the two of them had long since come to several agreements on boundaries and where they lay between them, he couldn't help but be a but unsure. He'd seen Knock Out take too many mechs apart not to assume the worst, and frankly he was surprised his false optic still worked at all with how many times Knock Out had played with the orifice.
As if sensing his partners unease Knock Out smoothed his fingers over the plating of Breakdown's inner thighs, leaning in to nuzzle tantalizingly close to the other mechs interface panel.
“Relax. Just sit back and let me take care of you for a bit.”
Oh. Oh.
Knock Out dragged his claws up Breakdown's stomach, the lightest brush of sharp metal sending tiny trills through Breakdown's sensor net. Frag, Knock Out hadn't even touched him properly yet and he was getting hard.
“Unless you have a problem with that~?”
His hand rested on Breakdown's spike cover, the smirk that he flashed at his partner positively lewd. Breakdown swallowed hard, and his vocalizer fritzed once before he managed to find his voice.
“Nah. S'fine. Go ahead.”
Knock Out didn't bother responding, simply flicking open the manual release for Breakdown's spike cover with a practiced hand. Breakdown's spike pressurized immediately into his waiting palm, hot and heavy. Breakdown sighed quietly as Knock Out began stroking him; this part, at least, was comfortably familiar. Some of the tension left his shoulders, and he allowed himself to relax slightly—leaning back onto his elbows as Knock Out went to work on him.
Knock Out took his time with Breakdown's spike, working his mouthplates over the familiar bumps and ridges; by now he was intimately familiar with his partners equipment, knowing exactly where to lick and suck to elicit soft groans of pleasure from Breakdown. It wasn't just for Breakdown, though. There was a certain pleasure to be had in reducing someone of Breakdown's size and power to a shaking pile of plating with only the judicious application of his mouth and fingers.
Speaking of the latter, as his mouth worked over Breakdown's spike, his fingers slid lower until they found his valve cover. At the first brush of contact the cover snapped open, and Knock Out had to suppress a low chuck at the eagerness of the motion. With a small surge of pride he traced the rim of Breakdown's valve, brushing over each external node as he slowly swallowed his partner down, carefully coaxing open the internal callipers as his throat servos fluttered around the length of Breakdown's spike.
Knock Out loved Breakdown's valve. Here, in sharp contract with the rest of him, Breakdown was soft and wet and warm—positively inviting. Knock Out could feel his own spike surge behind its cover, but he didn't reach back to release it quite yet. It was better to savour this, drag it out, and besides, he was primarily doing this for Breakdown. His own pleasure could wait a little longer.
Eventually he pulled away from Breakdown's spike with a soft pop, grinning up at his partner as he licked away the first few drops of transfluid from the head. Breakdown grinned lopsided back at him, reaching down palm the side of Knock Out's helm in an awkward caress. From anyone else, any other time, it might have been almost condescending—from Breakdown it was about as affectionate as he got.
With that, Knock Out ducked lower, finding Breakdown's valve with his mouthplates. Knock Out was usually on the receiving end of this sort of attention, not the giving one, but this definitely wasn't his first time going down on a suddenly very ready valve. He pressed his lip plates flush to the surface of Breakdown's valve, glossa sneaking out to lap at it once, twice, sampling the first thin waves of lubricant it was producing. When he judged his partner to be ready, his fingers joined the fray. It was hard to see what Knock Out was doing with his own chest blocking the way, but Breakdown could certainly feel it. This was a rare enough occurrence that he still squirmed uncertainly, torn between warily scooting away and pushing back against Knock Out's attentions.
Here Knock Out was exquisitely careful, stretching and pressing at the delicate nodes and lining with the sharp tips of his fingers curled, carefully navigating the wicked edges away from catching the soft interior of Breakdown's valve. Breakdown shuddered as Knock Out's knuckles curled, pressing up into a particularly sensitive cluster of sensor nodes. His valve callipers twitched, trying to cycle down on Knock Out's fingers, on his glossa. Knock Out pressed in as far as he could, glossa seeking out sensor nodes to slide over and tease, pushing and stretching until all he could taste was Breakdown.
Breakdown overloaded suddenly and without warning, biting down on one large knuckle to smother the moan that rattled his vocalizer. His hips surged up off the berth despite Knock Out's hands on his hips, and it was all the medic could do to ride out the motion and the sudden wash of lubricant over his faceplates. As soon as Breakdown caught hold of himself he relaxed back down, mumbling an embarrassed apology. Knock Out pulled back, glossa swiping at the traces of lubricant that dripped down his chin, and smirked.
“Enjoy yourself?”
Breakdown stuttered, vocalizer clicking twice before he finally managed a quiet;
“What about you?”
Knock Out's smile turned predatory, the medic creeping his way back up until he could lean over Breakdown's chest and pull him into a kiss, letting Breakdown taste his own fluids on his tongue. Breakdown's vents hitched at the uncannily intimate moment, letting Knock Out keep the kiss slow and easy. Only once Knock Out was sure he'd remapped out every inch of Breakdown's mouth—familiar territory by now—did he lean back, thumb tracing small circles on Breakdown's hip.
“May I?”
Breakdown hesitated, then nodded, parting his thighs to allow Knock Out to settle between them. His spike pressurized between them, leaving a delicate smear of transfluid on the inner plating of one leg as Knock Out adjusted himself.
Knock Out eased his way in slowly, savouring the way Breakdown's valve hesitantly stretched to accommodate his length, nodes scraping over each ridge and dip of Knock Out's spike. He was tight, wonderfully so, and Knock Out took a certain perverse pleasure in knowing that this was a privilege reserved for him and him alone. Most mechs, seeing Breakdown's size and general demeanour, were more interested in his spike—Knock Out was included in that number, but he'd grown to appreciate the softer side of his partner on the rare opportunities he could coax him onto his back.
He repaid Breakdown for this by being almost tender, a far cry from his usual frantic interfaces. His first withdrawal was slow and measured, taking the time to cant his hips so his spike dragged over every possible node, then repeated the motion as he pressed back inside. Breakdown's legs shifted, one leg hooking around Knock Out's hips to draw him back inside, shuddering as he was filled again. And again. And frag did it feel good. Breakdown so rarely felt full like this, and it was still rare for Knock Out to be on the giving end of things like this. They'd both almost forgotten how good it felt.
Each time Knock Out withdrew Breakdown was there to draw him back in, each thrust earning Knock Out a small, half-smothered groan or whimper from his partner. This was a side no one else saw, would ever get to see if Knock Out's jealousy had any say in it.
It didn't take long for Knock Out to bring Breakdown to another overload with his partner still riding the tail end of his first—a few snaps of his hips and the scrape of his claws over the planes of Breakdown's stomach and he was shuddering all over again, valve clamping down desperately on Knock Out's spike. Knock Out rode this one out with the same careful patience as the first, waiting until Breakdown had stopped trembling and had collapsed back on the berth before he withdrew. Silvery transfluid and the combined lubricant of two overloads dripped from Breakdown's valve, streaking his thighs and the berth beneath him. Knock Out grinned, swiping a finger through the mess.
“Feel better?”
Breakdown just moaned, the sound tired and satisfied.
“Looks like we'll need to hit the 'racks again,” Knock Out paused, rubbing Breakdown's thigh affectionately, “Once you're feeling up to it, that is.”