FIC: Unexpected Visit, Knock Out/Breakdown, Motormaster/Breakdown, Transformers Prime
Title: Unexpected Visit
Fandom: Transformers Prime
Pairings: Knock Out/Breakdown, Motormaster/Breakdown
Rating: NC-17 for sticky porn, voyeurism, roughness and D/s.
Word Count: c. 1000
Summary: Breakdown's gestalt leader comes for a visit. By which I mean sex.
Notes: There is technically a Motormaster in the Prime 'verse, but this one is probably better read as a transplanted version of the Motormaster from my other Motormaster/Breakdown fic. He's just here for the porn. :D
Knock Out should never have let Motormaster sneak up on him. Scandalous, really. The mech was huge, a delicious 18-wheeler easily the size of Optimus Prime.
And nearly as sexy.
But he had been rather...occupied at the time. Occupied by his partner's long, thick, satisfying spike--perhaps long and thick were not the best adjectives for the current context. Perfectly sized, then, just slightly bigger than Knock Out's valve specifications, and attached to a sexy subby all-terrain vehicle who was in the middle of telling Knock Out just how beautifully his chest plates shined as Knock Out rode him like the gorgeous automobile he was...ahem. Very distracted.
And of course, enormously distracting. Knock Out could hardly have expected Breakdown to notice anything except the delectable Decepticon on his spike.
Until, of course, said delectable Decepticon was no longer on the spike, but rather lying on the floor, dented and scuffed and empty.
Even as distracted as he was, Knock Out recovered quickly, weapons and engine ready to fight or flee whoever had pushed him off Breakdown (and that had hurt some very sensitive places!). "Who do you think you..." he said, and stopped, staring at the truck-former that had taken his place on top of his assistant.
Motormaster. That was the only possible conclusion. A second later, Breakdown confirmed his suspicions, moaning the hot truck's name as he spread his legs obligingly, not even pretending to struggle as Motormaster pulled him into position and, in one truly impressive push, seated his entirely proportionate spike in Breakdown's valve.
Slag. Not many could get a big rig in a tight spot without once pausing to readjust. Knock Out's valve reminded him of how empty he was, and his hand slid down between his legs as he stared. Motormaster pulled out again--lightly covered in Breakdown's energon, that spike was well past Breakdown's recommended capacity--and started fragging Knock Out's assistant hard.
Breakdown screamed, louder and higher-pitched than Knock Out had heard him scream before. Motormaster's engine revved--Knock Out could feel the power of that engine through his whole body, just from the vibration of the floor--and neither of them seemed to notice or care that they had company.
It was insulting, really, but Knock Out wasn't going to pass up a good opportunity. He found a chair and a better position and settled down to get a good view.
It was a good thing that berth was design to restrain victims Motormaster's size, or it would have collapsed already. The truck thrust hard enough to move Breakdown's entire body; Breakdown clung to Motormaster's wide shoulders almost romantically, while huge hands dented his hips, forcing them to stay in place.
Breakdown's upper back tire had ruptured under the strain; his valve seemed not to be sustaining any further damage, Motormaster was pushing in and out easily now. His spike--was missing, and for a moment Knock Out was incensed. He'd put a lot of work into that piece. But, no, Breakdown had simply retracted it, keeping it out of harms' way and allowing him to focus fully on the sensations in his valve.
"Motormaster!" Breakdown screamed his overload and Knock Out pushed two fingers inside of himself. Maybe soon...Motormaster revved hard, moving faster and grunting Breakdown's name, and finally, Knock Out thought...
Motormaster pulled out, flipped Breakdown over--giving Knock Out, for a moment, an excellent view of Breakdown's torn valve--spread his legs even further, and pushed right back in.
Breakdown moaned, a delightfully pained and resigned little sound, as he collapsed onto his face and, still, pressed his hips up for more.
His utter submission--even if not, this time, directed at Knock Out--sent tremors through every perfectly-tuned spoke and piston of his body. Professionally, he had to admit, Motormaster was good. Knock Out stroked the rim of his own valve idly; the show was going to go on awhile, and he didn't want to miss a minute.
Motormaster was leading with his spike--18 tons directed straight at Breakdown's valve. It was a delicious simplicity, one he had recognized in Breakdown himself, and had taken great delight in bending to his will.
There was more to him than spike and wheels, though. So much delicious metal and machinery, so much power--Knock Out idly stroked the mark that Motormaster's hand had made on his side, hauling him off of Breakdown.
The hands were blunt as an Autobot's but as large and strong as their owner. The outlines of his palms, barely perceptible on Knock Out--and a good thing, too--were clear and deep in the sides of Breakdown's thighs--at least when those broad powerful hips weren't in the way. The hands themselves now worked their way up Breakdown's scuffed back, digging deep into places that made Breakdown scream and press back against the spike, places that Knock Out knew as well as Motormaster--and Motormaster made up for his lack of precision with force and the ability to touch many of them at once.
One of the hands grabbed Breakdown's neck, the other seized the intact upper wheel, squeezing it almost to the breaking point, as his hips pinning Breakdown against the berth.
Like this, Knock Out could hardly see his assistant anymore. There was nothing but Motormaster's broad back and legs, the huge wheels on his legs and sides, and Knock Out shoved most of his hand inside of himself, stroking his wheel-rim with his other hand, as Breakdown whimpered under his gestalt leader and Motormaster grunted and overloaded again.
Finally Motormaster looked up, frowning as he caught sight of Knock Out. Knock Out hadn't really been intending on getting himself off like this...but as he looked into those dangerous purple eyes, pride demanded no less.
With an effortless flick of his wrist, he touched himself in just the right places and sighed with exaggerated but unfeigned pleasure. "Pleased to meet you, Motormaster."
Fandom: Transformers Prime
Pairings: Knock Out/Breakdown, Motormaster/Breakdown
Rating: NC-17 for sticky porn, voyeurism, roughness and D/s.
Word Count: c. 1000
Summary: Breakdown's gestalt leader comes for a visit. By which I mean sex.
Notes: There is technically a Motormaster in the Prime 'verse, but this one is probably better read as a transplanted version of the Motormaster from my other Motormaster/Breakdown fic. He's just here for the porn. :D
Knock Out should never have let Motormaster sneak up on him. Scandalous, really. The mech was huge, a delicious 18-wheeler easily the size of Optimus Prime.
And nearly as sexy.
But he had been rather...occupied at the time. Occupied by his partner's long, thick, satisfying spike--perhaps long and thick were not the best adjectives for the current context. Perfectly sized, then, just slightly bigger than Knock Out's valve specifications, and attached to a sexy subby all-terrain vehicle who was in the middle of telling Knock Out just how beautifully his chest plates shined as Knock Out rode him like the gorgeous automobile he was...ahem. Very distracted.
And of course, enormously distracting. Knock Out could hardly have expected Breakdown to notice anything except the delectable Decepticon on his spike.
Until, of course, said delectable Decepticon was no longer on the spike, but rather lying on the floor, dented and scuffed and empty.
Even as distracted as he was, Knock Out recovered quickly, weapons and engine ready to fight or flee whoever had pushed him off Breakdown (and that had hurt some very sensitive places!). "Who do you think you..." he said, and stopped, staring at the truck-former that had taken his place on top of his assistant.
Motormaster. That was the only possible conclusion. A second later, Breakdown confirmed his suspicions, moaning the hot truck's name as he spread his legs obligingly, not even pretending to struggle as Motormaster pulled him into position and, in one truly impressive push, seated his entirely proportionate spike in Breakdown's valve.
Slag. Not many could get a big rig in a tight spot without once pausing to readjust. Knock Out's valve reminded him of how empty he was, and his hand slid down between his legs as he stared. Motormaster pulled out again--lightly covered in Breakdown's energon, that spike was well past Breakdown's recommended capacity--and started fragging Knock Out's assistant hard.
Breakdown screamed, louder and higher-pitched than Knock Out had heard him scream before. Motormaster's engine revved--Knock Out could feel the power of that engine through his whole body, just from the vibration of the floor--and neither of them seemed to notice or care that they had company.
It was insulting, really, but Knock Out wasn't going to pass up a good opportunity. He found a chair and a better position and settled down to get a good view.
It was a good thing that berth was design to restrain victims Motormaster's size, or it would have collapsed already. The truck thrust hard enough to move Breakdown's entire body; Breakdown clung to Motormaster's wide shoulders almost romantically, while huge hands dented his hips, forcing them to stay in place.
Breakdown's upper back tire had ruptured under the strain; his valve seemed not to be sustaining any further damage, Motormaster was pushing in and out easily now. His spike--was missing, and for a moment Knock Out was incensed. He'd put a lot of work into that piece. But, no, Breakdown had simply retracted it, keeping it out of harms' way and allowing him to focus fully on the sensations in his valve.
"Motormaster!" Breakdown screamed his overload and Knock Out pushed two fingers inside of himself. Maybe soon...Motormaster revved hard, moving faster and grunting Breakdown's name, and finally, Knock Out thought...
Motormaster pulled out, flipped Breakdown over--giving Knock Out, for a moment, an excellent view of Breakdown's torn valve--spread his legs even further, and pushed right back in.
Breakdown moaned, a delightfully pained and resigned little sound, as he collapsed onto his face and, still, pressed his hips up for more.
His utter submission--even if not, this time, directed at Knock Out--sent tremors through every perfectly-tuned spoke and piston of his body. Professionally, he had to admit, Motormaster was good. Knock Out stroked the rim of his own valve idly; the show was going to go on awhile, and he didn't want to miss a minute.
Motormaster was leading with his spike--18 tons directed straight at Breakdown's valve. It was a delicious simplicity, one he had recognized in Breakdown himself, and had taken great delight in bending to his will.
There was more to him than spike and wheels, though. So much delicious metal and machinery, so much power--Knock Out idly stroked the mark that Motormaster's hand had made on his side, hauling him off of Breakdown.
The hands were blunt as an Autobot's but as large and strong as their owner. The outlines of his palms, barely perceptible on Knock Out--and a good thing, too--were clear and deep in the sides of Breakdown's thighs--at least when those broad powerful hips weren't in the way. The hands themselves now worked their way up Breakdown's scuffed back, digging deep into places that made Breakdown scream and press back against the spike, places that Knock Out knew as well as Motormaster--and Motormaster made up for his lack of precision with force and the ability to touch many of them at once.
One of the hands grabbed Breakdown's neck, the other seized the intact upper wheel, squeezing it almost to the breaking point, as his hips pinning Breakdown against the berth.
Like this, Knock Out could hardly see his assistant anymore. There was nothing but Motormaster's broad back and legs, the huge wheels on his legs and sides, and Knock Out shoved most of his hand inside of himself, stroking his wheel-rim with his other hand, as Breakdown whimpered under his gestalt leader and Motormaster grunted and overloaded again.
Finally Motormaster looked up, frowning as he caught sight of Knock Out. Knock Out hadn't really been intending on getting himself off like this...but as he looked into those dangerous purple eyes, pride demanded no less.
With an effortless flick of his wrist, he touched himself in just the right places and sighed with exaggerated but unfeigned pleasure. "Pleased to meet you, Motormaster."