Caius the Bigger

It was pointed out to me that the internet needed more top!Breakdown. Here is some.

Title: A Mutually Satisfactory Arrangement
Fandom: Transformers G1
Pairings: Breakdown/Dead End
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 569
Summary: Breakdown doesn't want any attention. Dead End doesn't want to move.
Content advisory: Sticky PWP with fantasies of necrophilia.

Dead End didn't acknowledge Breakdown when he walked into his quarters, which was both his preference and Breakdown's. Dead End didn't need to move and Breakdown didn't need to deal with anyone paying attention to him. The gestalt bond meant that they were constantly and irritatingly aware of each others' presence, but there was no need to rub it in.

The bond--and perhaps more than the bond, the fact that they'd lived together all their short lives--made Breakdown's intentions clear. Dead End considered the matter, marked his place in his datapad (but didn't put it down) and spread his legs. He was already lying prone on the berth, so there was no need to move further.

Breakdown didn't say a word, but Dead End could feel his desire as he climbed onto the berth behind him. It was pleasant; Dead End liked being appreciated, and he knew he was especially attractive today. Breakdown knelt between his legs and started stroking his back and aft with both hands, then followed his hands with his lips: light touches that wouldn't damage his paint.

Dead End signified his appreciation by not moving. Unable to continue reading, he turned off his visor and his datapad and relaxed into the touches.

Darkness turned Breakdown on. He pressed his body down on Dead End's, rubbing against him and revving his engine just slightly, enough to give Dead End the sensation of incipient destruction but not enough for him to worry about cosmetic damage.

He let Breakdown open his interface panel manually, and scarcely moved as fingers explored his valve, rubbing sensor nodes that would stimulate the production of lubricant even if Dead End had in fact been unconscious--or dead, provided that his valve was still intact and his supply of lubricant not yet looted or leaked away.

That was a fine thought. As Breakdown finally thrust into him, Dead End indulged the fantasy: dead but still beautiful, with his teammates violating his corpse. Breakdown would probably like him even better that way, and the others would hardly hesitate. And what better tribute to a beautiful lifeless shell?

What Breakdown was thinking, Dead End didn't know, and he wouldn't pry; but he thrust harder and faster, one hand on Dead End's shoulder-wheel, the other pressing his helm into the berth--hardly necessary, but Dead End was enjoying being a corpse too much to complain.

Maybe he could die like this, Dead End thought, slip offline for good from some catastrophic mechanical failure while Breakdown used him; he wondered if Breakdown would stop. He hoped not; a fine body like his was a terrible thing to waste, and he would never be so shiny, never have a valve so supple and warm and wet, ever again.

Quietly, almost imperceptibly, Dead End overloaded, his valve clenching around Breakdown's spike--an automatic reflex, Breakdown should know, but it still threw him off his stride for a moment. Dead End's post-overload lassitude served his teammate better, however, and he only had to wait for another bream or so before Breakdown overloaded inside of him; then pulled out and lay against Dead End's warm body for the off-cycle, without a word for his teammate.

Dead End turned his optics and datapad back on and went back to his Goethe.