Hothead had one brother on each servo; Icy on his left and Random on his right. He held them both close, Cybertron's Funniest Home Videos flashing on the TV screen.
Random laughed sleepily at a musical montage of catbots falling off of things, his bright red optics drooping.
Both older brothers looked at each other quizzically and Icy turned off the TV, "Come on, Random, joo need to get some recharge." They guided their little brother up the stairs to his berth, each sharing a kiss before laying him to recharge.
Returning downstairs, Icy slipped into the kitchen to prepare a cube of high grade for his master.
Hothead followed him in, wrapping servos around his delicate waist as he poured the bright pink liquid. Taking the cube, Hothead kissed Icy's sensitive neck cables, sucking lightly to elicit a moan from him.
Icy stayed compliantly in his brother's servos for the next few cycles as many cubes of high grade were downed. He realized that, with the rising amount of high grade, Hothead became increasingly agitated.
During the umpteenth commercial run, Icy sought to relieve his master's stress; craning up, he playfully nipped at the larger mech's neck cables.
Hothead growled low at his brother's ministrations, his servos exploring the smooth chassis above him. Icy, still mouthing the sensitive cables, dug to digit's into the seams of his brother's codpiece.
Icy barely had time to shutter his optics when a blow landed hard on his chassis where the once gentle servos had been, sending him to the other side of the couch with a sickening smack. Hothead hovered over him, an outraged look on his red faceplates.
"Joo don't touch me, slave," He hissed, strong digits of his own clamping down on Icy's servos to emphasize his point.
Icy desperately wanted to calm his brother, but he knew that a drunken Hothead was not a force to be reckoned with. "Yes, Meister," He whispered, down casting his optics.
The monocle optic screen was ripped mercilessly from his faceplates, revealing the no longer working optical wiring behind it. Shattering it, Hothead leaned into Icy's audio receptors, "I did not say zat joo could speak eizer."
Pain pulsed through the optical region where two rather large digits forced themselves inside, tearing at the delicate circuitry.
Icy couldn't help but to scream; a fatal mistake on his part.
The red glow from Hothead's charging propulsion cannons told him that his disobedience would not be tolerated.
A hot, hard pulse from his brother's electrical field caused Icy's systems to jump reboot. Hardly hanging on to the outside world, he lay limp under Hothead's ravaging servos.
Having heard Icy's scream, Random was tip-peding down the stairs to peak around the banister, "Bruders?" He yawned, still bogged down with recharge.
Resetting his optics to clear his visual perception, all Random could see was Hothead hunched over Icy, the TV, unwatched, playing a documentary of the Great War.
Descending to the ground floor, Random crept closer, and barely suppressed a whine.
Energon was streaming from Icy's left optic, and Hothead was busy adding to the flow by making gashes in the thin chassis armor. The crackle of ripped wires added the static of an old mini-con spy's tape.
Random did, however, let out a kittle yelp of shock when Hothead's fist connected with Icy's faceplates, denting the elegant feature.
The eldest brother turned to see the now cowering Random, who was trying, in vain, to melt into the wall.
Icy tried to reach out to stop him, but Hothead was already hovering menacingly over his shaking sibling.
"Vhat do joo zhink joo are doing out of joo're berth?" He yelled, hoisting up the crying by his small servo.
Random sniveled, "A… A scream… it voke me! I'm sorry, Meister!" He scrambled back against the wall when Hothead dropped him.
"Vell, go back to recharge, joo useless scrap heap!" He kicked the little one hard, and Random fled up the stairs.
A soft, sad voice came from behind Hothead, "Vergib ihm, Meister. Es war nicht seine Schuld." Icy whimpered before it started all over again.
Vergib ihm, Meister. Es war nicht seine Schuld. = Forgive him, Master. It was not his fault.