Six Days of Porn - Day 4: Toys
Title: Toys
Continuity: Transformers G1
Warnings: Sticky, toys, masturbation, size-kink, reference to inadvertent sex injuries, rampant malopropisms (because it's Breakdown's POV and I couldn't resist)
Pairing: Motormaster/Breakdown, Breakdown by himself, other pairings mentioned
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing.
Summary: Breakdown wants Motormaster, but it'll take some preparation before he'll fit.
Prompt: Toys (prompted by artoni)
Note: Written for Day 1 of the 6 Days of Porn Meme. This is a somewhat...different version of the Stunticons than usual; I blame (credit?) naboru_narluin for my fascination with consensual Motormaster/Breakdown porn.
It was dark and quiet. Breakdown had done the requisitioned bug-sweep, as well as checking for any gaps that might allow anyone to see him in his his closet.
There was just enough room for him to lie on the floor, comfortably, legs spread and knees lifted. Breakdown exvented, slowly, three times; he wasn't quite sure if that worked for robots the way he'd read that it did for humans, but he needed to be as relaxed for this as possible.
He retracted the cover of his valve and took another three careful ventilation cycles before reaching down with one hand, rubbing it and slipping a finger in.
This was easy, and unsatisfying; it was not even as big as the few times he had let his smaller teammates frag him like this (the position it put their optics in--he shuttered, banished the thought from his mind, and slid in another finger, quickly).
A little better. Another three ventilation cycles, another finger, and it was enough that he could offline his optics and pretend.
Pretend that he was hidden between a broad gray chest and a broad grey berth, vast arms hiding him from left and right as his team leader's vast spike split him open, filling him entirely...Breakdown's engine revved lightly, and it was good that he had cleared all the machinery from this closet when he'd taken it as his own.
Three fingers worked as hard and fast as he could, at the awkward angle, a fourth sliding in, almost painful--no good, Motormaster was bigger than that.
He gave himself a moment to adjust, simulating the production of lubricant through more thoughts of Motormaster--so big, so strong, so obvious. Four of his own fingers would be maybe two of Motormaster's--his valve clenched at the thought, at the thought of Motormaster's attention, preparing him, wanting him, terrorizing and hot at the same time.
It wouldn't take this long if Motormaster was doing it. Motormaster wouldn't hesitate--!
(But, of course, he had. He'd perforated one of his team exactly once, and it wasn't Breakdown--it had been Wildrider, and the embarrassment of receiving a lecture from the Constructicons about just how difficult a procedure valve and hip reconstruction was had kept him from doing it ever again.
Breakdown wished it had been him. Wished he had been the one with the courage to be the first, but he'd thought then there'd be another chance, that of course Motormaster would take all of them eventually...)
That was as much as he was going to be able to do with his own tiny fingers. If it had been Motormaster...but Breakdown had come prepared.
Swindle had at some point acquired a bunch of Transformer-sized--dill pickles?--something. Like spikes, only not attached to a mech. They were too expansive (and Breakdown was too embarrassed) to buy any of them, but metal rods were easy enough to find, and Breakdown had collected an assortment of them, in a range of sizes between his size and Motormaster's.
He parted his legs, cycled his vents, and started pressing one in. He had to do it slowly, giving himself time to adjust, allowing the deponents of his valve to bend and stretch--he wished he didn't have to, wished he wasn't so very careful of his own self-conservation, wished it was Motormaster's own strong hand controlling the rod, holding Breakdown firmly in place with the other hand, preparing Breakdown for his own use...Breakdown whimpered and realized the rod was all the way in. He thrust a few times, enjoying the fantasy, one hand moving to his chest, pretending to hold himself down, engine starting to run harder...Motormaster wouldn't allow that. Breakdown stopped the destructive vibrations, and, fantasy broken, pulled it out and grabbed the next rod.
That one took even longer. Way too big, and still not big enough--but last time he hadn't been able to get this one in all the way, not without triggering error messages warning of another embarrassing trip to the Constructicons. Breakdown couldn't deal with the thought of anyone other than his teammates exhibiting him down there.
It was in, and Breakdown's engine revved again, his fans switching on--soon, maybe soon, he would be able to do this for real! As he started fragging himself with the rod, he thought of Motormaster, and the one time he'd experienced that massive spike up close...the time that had changed his fantasms about Motormaster taking him to berth into plans.
*****
After the debacle with Wildrider, Motormaster kept his spike outside of the team, and he found no shortage of takers--he was popular for that, if nothing else, and Breakdown certainly couldn't blame them, even if he was always terribly jealous whenever Motormaster took someone new to berth--even when Megatron took Motormaster to his.
He didn't talk about it--the rest of the team didn't give a slag about Motormaster's affairs, except for the occasional comment about his taste in frag partners, and both Dead End and Drag Strip were just glad he wasn't fragging them. Wildrider was the only one who expressed the occasional regret ("It was really slaggin' hot before things split down there and I passed out...way better than Motormouth is the rest o' the time!"). Breakdown didn't argue, or press Wildrider. It would just call attention to him.
And then, after a particularly heated battle just the five of them had participated in, with none of the other Decepticons to let off steam with, Breakdown could almost feel the lust rolling off of Motormaster.
He'd kept close to their leader, and he was rewarded when Motormaster transformed abruptly back to mech form, grabbed the nearest Stunticon, and threw him to the ground a few steps off the highway. Breakdown transformed, staring up at Motormaster in terror for a few seconds, afraid Motormaster was going to let off steam by beating him up, but then Motormaster flung himself down on top of Breakdown, engine revving hard straight through him, taming Breakdown's panicked engine vibrations into by entraining them to his own, and aligned their pelvic plating.
(It was in public, Breakdown realized later, anyone could have seen!--but somehow, hidden under Motormaster's giant body, none of that mattered.)
"Legs together," Motormaster growled, as Breakdown felt his huge spike press against his hips. Breakdown obeyed, even as his own panels opened automotively, so very aroused even through his terror of being taken to the Constructicons with valve injuries--!
But instead of shoving it in, Motormaster started thrusting hard between Breakdown's legs, rubbing his spike maddeningly across the opening of Breakdown's valve. After a few thrusts, Motormaster grunted and lifted Breakdown's hips in huge hands, keeping his thighs pressed against his spike, thrusting at an angle so that he wouldn't wind up fragging the ground. Breakdown's engine revved hard, for once not dangerously, as he balanced himself on his elbows, giving in to and enjoying the almost-frag (inter-crucial sex, Dead End had called it later. Or something like that).
It didn't last very long, and Breakdown, somewhat to his surprise, overloaded first, valve clenching around nothing as he tried to press his well-lucubrated thighs even tighter against Motormaster's spike. "Motormaster..." he said, but Motormaster wasn't listening, just denting Breakdown's thighs with both hands and spike, perusing his own overload with powerful thrusts.
And then Motormaster got there, with an immense rev of his engine and a discourse of energy strong enough to light up Breakdown's valve and spike as well as his hips, triggering a small second overload for Breakdown as well. If it was this good like this, Breakdown thought...
*****
Pulling himself back to the present, Breakdown pulled the insufficient rod out, grabbing a bigger one and trying to shove it in as hard and fast as he could. Still not as big as Motormaster, but so close, so very close--!
Some of the wires in his valve split as Breakdown shoved it all the way in. As soon as it slammed painfully into the top of the valve, he overloaded hard at the thought of Motormaster finally taking him to berth and fragging him properly.
He held it in there for a few seconds, adjusting, taking stock of his condition. It wasn't more than his self-repair could deal with, fortunately, and the wires ought to reknit with more space for next time. Good.
Breakdown looked at the rest of his collection of rods. Only two more--! None of them were quite as big as Motormaster, that would seem almost disrespectful, but when he could take the largest one, then he would be ready.
He cleaned himself up, resubspaced the rods, tweaked the valve specs in his core processor slightly to encourage it to heal wider, and started thinking about how he would actually convince Motormaster to take him to berth.
Continuity: Transformers G1
Warnings: Sticky, toys, masturbation, size-kink, reference to inadvertent sex injuries, rampant malopropisms (because it's Breakdown's POV and I couldn't resist)
Pairing: Motormaster/Breakdown, Breakdown by himself, other pairings mentioned
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing.
Summary: Breakdown wants Motormaster, but it'll take some preparation before he'll fit.
Prompt: Toys (prompted by artoni)
Note: Written for Day 1 of the 6 Days of Porn Meme. This is a somewhat...different version of the Stunticons than usual; I blame (credit?) naboru_narluin for my fascination with consensual Motormaster/Breakdown porn.
It was dark and quiet. Breakdown had done the requisitioned bug-sweep, as well as checking for any gaps that might allow anyone to see him in his his closet.
There was just enough room for him to lie on the floor, comfortably, legs spread and knees lifted. Breakdown exvented, slowly, three times; he wasn't quite sure if that worked for robots the way he'd read that it did for humans, but he needed to be as relaxed for this as possible.
He retracted the cover of his valve and took another three careful ventilation cycles before reaching down with one hand, rubbing it and slipping a finger in.
This was easy, and unsatisfying; it was not even as big as the few times he had let his smaller teammates frag him like this (the position it put their optics in--he shuttered, banished the thought from his mind, and slid in another finger, quickly).
A little better. Another three ventilation cycles, another finger, and it was enough that he could offline his optics and pretend.
Pretend that he was hidden between a broad gray chest and a broad grey berth, vast arms hiding him from left and right as his team leader's vast spike split him open, filling him entirely...Breakdown's engine revved lightly, and it was good that he had cleared all the machinery from this closet when he'd taken it as his own.
Three fingers worked as hard and fast as he could, at the awkward angle, a fourth sliding in, almost painful--no good, Motormaster was bigger than that.
He gave himself a moment to adjust, simulating the production of lubricant through more thoughts of Motormaster--so big, so strong, so obvious. Four of his own fingers would be maybe two of Motormaster's--his valve clenched at the thought, at the thought of Motormaster's attention, preparing him, wanting him, terrorizing and hot at the same time.
It wouldn't take this long if Motormaster was doing it. Motormaster wouldn't hesitate--!
(But, of course, he had. He'd perforated one of his team exactly once, and it wasn't Breakdown--it had been Wildrider, and the embarrassment of receiving a lecture from the Constructicons about just how difficult a procedure valve and hip reconstruction was had kept him from doing it ever again.
Breakdown wished it had been him. Wished he had been the one with the courage to be the first, but he'd thought then there'd be another chance, that of course Motormaster would take all of them eventually...)
That was as much as he was going to be able to do with his own tiny fingers. If it had been Motormaster...but Breakdown had come prepared.
Swindle had at some point acquired a bunch of Transformer-sized--dill pickles?--something. Like spikes, only not attached to a mech. They were too expansive (and Breakdown was too embarrassed) to buy any of them, but metal rods were easy enough to find, and Breakdown had collected an assortment of them, in a range of sizes between his size and Motormaster's.
He parted his legs, cycled his vents, and started pressing one in. He had to do it slowly, giving himself time to adjust, allowing the deponents of his valve to bend and stretch--he wished he didn't have to, wished he wasn't so very careful of his own self-conservation, wished it was Motormaster's own strong hand controlling the rod, holding Breakdown firmly in place with the other hand, preparing Breakdown for his own use...Breakdown whimpered and realized the rod was all the way in. He thrust a few times, enjoying the fantasy, one hand moving to his chest, pretending to hold himself down, engine starting to run harder...Motormaster wouldn't allow that. Breakdown stopped the destructive vibrations, and, fantasy broken, pulled it out and grabbed the next rod.
That one took even longer. Way too big, and still not big enough--but last time he hadn't been able to get this one in all the way, not without triggering error messages warning of another embarrassing trip to the Constructicons. Breakdown couldn't deal with the thought of anyone other than his teammates exhibiting him down there.
It was in, and Breakdown's engine revved again, his fans switching on--soon, maybe soon, he would be able to do this for real! As he started fragging himself with the rod, he thought of Motormaster, and the one time he'd experienced that massive spike up close...the time that had changed his fantasms about Motormaster taking him to berth into plans.
*****
After the debacle with Wildrider, Motormaster kept his spike outside of the team, and he found no shortage of takers--he was popular for that, if nothing else, and Breakdown certainly couldn't blame them, even if he was always terribly jealous whenever Motormaster took someone new to berth--even when Megatron took Motormaster to his.
He didn't talk about it--the rest of the team didn't give a slag about Motormaster's affairs, except for the occasional comment about his taste in frag partners, and both Dead End and Drag Strip were just glad he wasn't fragging them. Wildrider was the only one who expressed the occasional regret ("It was really slaggin' hot before things split down there and I passed out...way better than Motormouth is the rest o' the time!"). Breakdown didn't argue, or press Wildrider. It would just call attention to him.
And then, after a particularly heated battle just the five of them had participated in, with none of the other Decepticons to let off steam with, Breakdown could almost feel the lust rolling off of Motormaster.
He'd kept close to their leader, and he was rewarded when Motormaster transformed abruptly back to mech form, grabbed the nearest Stunticon, and threw him to the ground a few steps off the highway. Breakdown transformed, staring up at Motormaster in terror for a few seconds, afraid Motormaster was going to let off steam by beating him up, but then Motormaster flung himself down on top of Breakdown, engine revving hard straight through him, taming Breakdown's panicked engine vibrations into by entraining them to his own, and aligned their pelvic plating.
(It was in public, Breakdown realized later, anyone could have seen!--but somehow, hidden under Motormaster's giant body, none of that mattered.)
"Legs together," Motormaster growled, as Breakdown felt his huge spike press against his hips. Breakdown obeyed, even as his own panels opened automotively, so very aroused even through his terror of being taken to the Constructicons with valve injuries--!
But instead of shoving it in, Motormaster started thrusting hard between Breakdown's legs, rubbing his spike maddeningly across the opening of Breakdown's valve. After a few thrusts, Motormaster grunted and lifted Breakdown's hips in huge hands, keeping his thighs pressed against his spike, thrusting at an angle so that he wouldn't wind up fragging the ground. Breakdown's engine revved hard, for once not dangerously, as he balanced himself on his elbows, giving in to and enjoying the almost-frag (inter-crucial sex, Dead End had called it later. Or something like that).
It didn't last very long, and Breakdown, somewhat to his surprise, overloaded first, valve clenching around nothing as he tried to press his well-lucubrated thighs even tighter against Motormaster's spike. "Motormaster..." he said, but Motormaster wasn't listening, just denting Breakdown's thighs with both hands and spike, perusing his own overload with powerful thrusts.
And then Motormaster got there, with an immense rev of his engine and a discourse of energy strong enough to light up Breakdown's valve and spike as well as his hips, triggering a small second overload for Breakdown as well. If it was this good like this, Breakdown thought...
*****
Pulling himself back to the present, Breakdown pulled the insufficient rod out, grabbing a bigger one and trying to shove it in as hard and fast as he could. Still not as big as Motormaster, but so close, so very close--!
Some of the wires in his valve split as Breakdown shoved it all the way in. As soon as it slammed painfully into the top of the valve, he overloaded hard at the thought of Motormaster finally taking him to berth and fragging him properly.
He held it in there for a few seconds, adjusting, taking stock of his condition. It wasn't more than his self-repair could deal with, fortunately, and the wires ought to reknit with more space for next time. Good.
Breakdown looked at the rest of his collection of rods. Only two more--! None of them were quite as big as Motormaster, that would seem almost disrespectful, but when he could take the largest one, then he would be ready.
He cleaned himself up, resubspaced the rods, tweaked the valve specs in his core processor slightly to encourage it to heal wider, and started thinking about how he would actually convince Motormaster to take him to berth.