Hey, all! I'm in a good mood, so I figured I'd post this today, because, really, why not? This first chapter is more of a prologue... I played Dead End, Xobit played Breakdown. Transformers does not belong to us. Also, warning... This prologue is very violent, 'gory', non-con and dub-con
The stars were staring at him, hard, cold and unforgiving. He wasn't sure where they fit in his life… no, he had three categories for his life. Things he hated, things he wanted to own and things he already owned. This meant he hated the stars that hung up there; he hated everything, everyone that stared at him.
Motormaster didn't allow them to own much, but there were things he could not take nor control mush to his displeasure. Such as Breakdown's status as a torturer, he was good at it, he even had Megatron's approval, the overlord often watching his sessions. He had even at times received advice from him, always given in a cold disapproving voice… but everyone knew that if he 'helped' a torturer he approved of him.
Right now though none of it helped, he was seething quietly in the darkness, charged with volatile arousal and hiding from Motormaster. A wordless cry of pain and fear had his head snapping towards it… that voice? Normally he would have been indifferent to another's pain and fear. It was after all the lot of a Decepticon was it not; you were at the mercy of anyone stronger then you. But he knew that voice…
Moving towards it he heard the tell tale noises of a scuffle and then the voice of a seeker. "What is it groundpounder? Aren't you happy with having caught a seeker's favor?" He could not hear the answer but he had recognized the seekers voice, it was one of the rain makers, Stormcloud? Oh who cared! Maybe watching the struggle would give him the added boost he needed for a self-overload.
Moving closer with great care, sneaking through the half destroyed cityscape he wondered who had been stupid enough to allow a seeker to get a hold of him. Dragstrip? Would be nice, but he doubted it; at this time a cycle he would be in the wash racks. One of the twins… more likely, but then he would be hearing the other in the grip of Acid Rain and that was not the case.
"Please! Don't do this, Motormaster will kill me…" He heard the sound of metal breaking, just as he recognized the voice of the captive… Dead End. "Maybe you should have thought better of coming here then groundpounder. This is Rain Maker territory anyone here is fair game!" Fury, hot and bright took over his processor. Slamming into the seeker and knocking him to the ground he saw that the Rain Maker had been preparing to force his spark on Dead End, the orb shining bluewhite in the shadows. Looking up he met the terrified optics of his gestalt mate, saw his mutilated chest plates and the open spark chamber with the broken clasps…
"A mistake seeker…" Breakdown growled, and closing his hand around the others exposed spark chamber, relishing in the fear and impotent anger he saw in the red optics. Leaning down he licked an audio receptor slowly then whispered into it, "no one takes what is mine!"
The seeker didn't even get to scream before the spark chamber was yanked out and held up at optic level. Sitting on the dead husk, Breakdown watched the spark flutter desperately before dying in a defiant flash of light. He squeezed the casing until it splintered, several glittering shards embedding themselves in his hand. He didn't mind the pain, merely rising his hand up to lick at the energon and pull the offending pieces out with his dermaplates and locking his hungry, blazing optics on a new prey.
He wasn't foolish enough to think, even for a moment, that he had been saved. No, life wasn't good, especially not to him... but why, out of all mechs, did it have to be Breakdown who had torn the seeker off of him? He supposed it was better, in a way, if he was going to be taken, a gestalt brother was likely better than a Rain Maker, but why Breakdown? Why did it have to be the beautiful and terrifying mech that he had occasionally dared to fantasize about? "I... um, th-thank you, Breakdown... I... should be go... going!" Dead End squeaked out, maybe he would get lucky.
Staring? Even Dead End, who should know better, was staring! Breakdown growled at his gestalt brother but it was difficult to think, to hate, when that lovely spark was bared like that. His gestalt brother was a gorgeous mech, black and red… dangerous on the battlefield, sexy. He had entertained fantasies of that chassis, of that voice, that voice…
Dead End sealed his own fate by speaking, breaking through the boiling confusion of emotions that roiled inside Breakdown's processor. He wanted his brother and he did not care who stood in the way or what his lovely, wounded prey thought of it.
Breakdown was not even aware that he had moved when his hands closed around the black shoulder armor in a crushing grip. He didn't care about anything but the taste of the trembling dermaplates under his own, the scared sounds his audios picked up…
He flailed instinctively, whimpering as Breakdown took the seeker's place over him, choosing to play with him for a while. Dead End might have tried protesting the painful hold, but he knew Breakdown's reputation, everyone knew the Lamborghini liked to inflict pain. But Breakdown was kissing him, KISSING him... It wasn't right to call it a kiss, it was a forceful claiming of his mouth, and Dead End couldn't even find the resolve to fight.
Oh, he tasted good! The fact enraged Breakdown, it was erratic and irrational, but anger burned brightly in him, made his grip even harder and turned his kiss from merely forceful to bruising. Motormaster owned them by virtue of being the most brutal and powerful of the gestalt, by virtue of Megatron's orders. The other gestalt teams were different, there was caring between them… it was sickening really, Motormaster never showed any care, he took and took until nothing was left. Breakdown always fought him, but not Dead End, the little whore just took it, whimpering despairingly, baring his spark for anyone when it belonged to him! And only him… The seeker was the last drop, it didn't matter that the wrenched open chest plates clearly showed that Dead End had been fighting back, no, Breakdown was sure he had enjoyed it, that the Porsche had wanted it.
He whined and clawed at Breakdown, everything he wanted, being given in every way he didn't want it, and Dead End just wanted the pain to stop, just for a moment. And maybe some time to ask a question, maybe even offer... Why had Breakdown told told the seeker that he was his? And if he meant it... Dead End screamed into the kiss and kept digging at Breakdown, not sure if he was trying to hurt the white mech, to stop him, or trying to bring him pleasure.
He… fought? Dead End actually had the audacity to fight him. Breakdown let go, stepped back and put a stop to the fight with a quick vicious strike across the open spark casing. The Porsche went to his knees with a choked cry of pain, but he could not let it end so easily, now could he. Grasping the black head he smashed his knee joint into the faceplate, then turned, hauling brutally on the all but limp body, flinging him onto the gray metal of the former rain maker.
"Since you wanted him so much, I'll make sure you never forget him!" Snarling, he forced the Porsche to grind his nimble dermaplates against the off line seeker's. Energon dripped from cracked plating, giving the creepy illusion that the seeker was leaking…
Dead End wasn't, at first, aware of what Breakdown had done. All he really knew was that he hurt, he was in such pain... He became aware of dermaplates against his, the Lamborghini was forcing his head against them, and so Dead End licked them curiously. There was no reaction... something was wrong... With a cry of horror and disgust Dead End realized he was being forced to 'kiss' the seeker Breakdown had offlined. Flailing, he tried to push away, whimpers and screams coming from his vocalizer. WHY did Breakdown think he'd wanted the seeker, hadn't he HEARD him begging for the seeker not to?
"My you are a whore! Does he taste good?" Contrary to the seeming calm of his words his grip on the back of Dead End's helmet became tighter, fury an almost physical pain… Breakdown saw only the things that kept the Porsche from his possession, real and imagined, and he made sure that the black and red mech paid for every one of them. Armor edges bent under his grip, wires straining and ripping under the parody of cresses he bestowed with his other hand.
"Do you like your lover now?" Growing impatiently Breakdown stood up, hauling Dead End with him, turning the other to once again claim the trembling dermaplates in a brutal kiss.
He... thought, that it was Breakdown against his dermaplates again. He hoped it was, all things died, but Dead End did not wish to gain the Unmaker's attention any sooner than he had too, and kissing the living was far less likely to gain attention than kissing the dead. Not that Dead End was doing anything more than opening his mouth, wailing in terror and pain, nothing that a sane mech would call a kiss. Neither of them was sane, though, and Dead End's thoughts had shifted to simply doing whatever he could to survive a little longer.
Feh! He certainly screamed enough to satisfy any one seeker, not to mention a whole trine… had his gestalt brother done that? Allowed a whole trine to have him, the rain maker's trine perhaps? Shoving Dead End away, Breakdown revved his engines in angry arousal. On one hand, he wanted to take his brother, on the other, the thought of using a seeker's plaything made him sick. Growling, he circled the wobbly Porsche trying to decide what to do… Claim him or leave him to be someone else's prey?
Staring blankly at Breakdown for a long moment, Dead End tried to work out what was going on now. Suddenly, he realized that he WAS staring, the beautiful Lamborghini hated being stared at... Dead End wrapped his arms around his torn open chest and turned his head away so that he wasn't looking at his gestalt brother any longer. "Please... Breakdown, just... please, I..." Dead End wasn't sure what he was trying to say.
Had he not spoken Breakdown would likely have convinced himself that his dear brother deserved to be left alone to whatever fate his bared spark entitled him to. But that accursed trembling voice, it was like fuel on his desire! Throwing himself at the Porsche, he lost control of his engine for a second and it revved into the danger zone, activating the deadly vibrations which effects he was named after. They slammed down onto the seeker's husk.
"Please what, whore? Take you? Use you, please you, kill you? Why do you even think you have the right to SPEAK!"
The vibrations shook his already injured body, making Dead End whimper and arch against Breakdown. He didn't answer the Lamborghini, half because he couldn't THINK and half because his gestalt brother had indicated he did not have the right to. He wished Breakdown wasn't so fond of hurting his 'playmates'... if the white Stunticon had only asked, if he were just a little less prone to leaving his interface partners broken... Dead End shunted his thoughts away from that path, returning to simply whimpering and arching.
No! The sounds and the chassis pressing into his… Growling he got his engine under control and sat up, he should not want this, want the bared spark, curse it!
"You are such a lucky little, whore!" Slapping Dead End across his face plates, a relatively light hit done more to get his attention than anything else, Breakdown opened his own chest. "You'll get some interfacing after all, and I'll make sure you never forget how it really feels to be dominated!"
Oh, no, no no no... oh, this was going to hurt, and it didn't even need too, and Dead End wished Breakdown hadn't hit him, hadn't shifted his attention, because now he was staring again... He couldn't help it, the Lamborghini's spark was so gorgeous... And the Porsche couldn't really deny that he wanted it, he'd wondered...
This time he struck to hurt, shattering the glass of one optic, he didn't want those optics on him! Reaching into Dead End's chest Breakdown racked his finger tips over sensitive circuitry; he wanted to touch the spark but did not trust himself to stop before off lining the Porsche. Deciding he had waited long enough with claiming his prize he slammed their chests and dermaplates together. He loved the taste of fear, of fresh half processed energon… Mm, his gestalt brother was sweet! The merge was almost too easy, what fight Dead End held seemed to have been used up…
He didn't dare do... anything. He just lay there, under his gestalt brother, shrieking weakly and trembling. He couldn't think, not that he was trying, as emotions and sensations swept through him. He WAS glad it was Breakdown taking his spark, and not the seeker, but Dead End refused to acknowledge that emotion, refused to believe it came from him. Even in the merge he just stayed still and shivered as the Lamborghini moved against him.
Breakdown wasn't entirely satisfied by this, the reason for it had not been of his design or choice and that lack of control made him angry… more then he already was. It did not help that his gestalt brother was so utterly and completely submissive, there was nothing to punish him for! The other gave way for him, accepted his violence with something akin to relief, yes, relief and a certain healthy dose of fear. His engine snarled, breaking free from his control again, sending vibrations straight into Dead End… at this point he did not care, he wanted to overload and deepened the one-sided kiss, pressing brutally feeling already abused plating crack under his own.
The vibrations should terrify him, Dead End could actually feel his chassis twist and crack from the unforgiving pitch... But they served as an unavoidable reminder of just who was taking him so violently, so demandingly. And that knowledge forced pleasure on him, even though Dead End knew he could so easily be offlined from his gestalt brother's 'play'. He couldn't make himself care, what did it matter if he offlined, it was going to happen sometime... this way, at least someone would get some pleasure from him... someone whom he almost didn't hate.
Suddenly it was enough, though Breakdown could not have told anyone what made him explode into bliss. Maybe it was the taste of fresh energon from the cracked dermaplateing, maybe it was the sounds of Dead End's chassis breaking under his engines erratic vibrations or maybe the fact that he finally had his gestalt brother… He had hungered for this for far longer then he wanted to admit! It did surprise him that his unwilling whore felt pleasure, but he allowed it. Why not? He had endured the pain so nicely…
He could feel Breakdown's pleasure, and feel that his own was allowed... a gift? No, don't think of that, better not to think that there was any way Breakdown thought him worth... 'No one takes what is mine.' No, the words meant nothing, nothing at all, said in the heat of Breakdown's mindless rage... Dead End screamed out a last time as the deadly vibrations hit just the right pitch to send agony through him, followed fast by pleasure as he arched against Breakdown, as the Lamborghini overloaded, and Dead End, to his own shock, followed him.
The overload shut down his engine more or less in the nick of time, he sat up feeling pleased enough to purr and looked at the broken wreck under him. Dead End looked absolutely beautiful against the now energon splattered gray of the offline seeker, his red bright and his black accentuated by cracks that glowed with fresh half processed energon. Only one problem with the whole display… there was too much energon. If Dead End were going to survive to be played with again a medic had to be called.
"Slag… you had better be grateful, my little whore, and you better learn how to show it fast, too!" Murmuring the threat out loud in a eerily tender tone, Breakdown stroked the edge of the mutilated chest, opened a channel to headquarters requesting a pick up for two mechs and reporting an in fight. He could have tried to cheat and say he knew nothing of the rain maker's death, but no… this was better, it would gain him respect and ensure that no one touched his gestalt brother in the foreseeable future.
Unfortunately it also landed him in the brig, something he was less than enamored with, surprisingly it was a relatively short sentence considering that he had taken the life of a seeker. But he imagined that the fact that he had helped his gestalt brother had something to do with that. Apparently the gestalts were far more valuable to Megatron then one measly seeker who could not defend himself against a 'groundpounder'. Getting out, he sneered at the furious seeker in the cell opposite his, the rain makers had tried to make his gestalt pay… stupid fliers!
Breakdown's mood went from bad to worse when Motormaster gave him a little lesson in 'respect' upon his return and he subsequently found that Dead End had yet to be released from Hook's tender care…
He heard Breakdown's words, or thought he did. There was absolutely no strength in him to respond to them, darkness eating at his processor. How Dead End kept himself even somewhat conscious until others were around, he didn't know. It certainly didn't make a difference either way, the blackness claimed him the moment he heard a voice other than his gestalt brother's and allowed himself to relax.
It wasn't surprising when he woke up in the med bay. It was, if anything, almost disappointing, and not just because Hook was anything but gentle in his work. No... if death was going to claim him, why couldn't it have come at a time when he was almost content? Gliding through the dark hallways, Dead End debated the merits of offlining in an almost happy state verses living in misery and the having to face the occasional attentions of, not only Motormaster, but anyone else who thought they could force him. He wasn't really getting anywhere, at least in his thoughts, and so he slipped happily enough into the gestalts quarters, relaxing a little as he reached their safety.
Three joors… maybe his gestalt brother was having 'fun' with the Constructicons, seriously, he could not have been that badly damaged! The mix of annoyance and something, NOT, like worry made Breakdown impossible to be near. Even Motormaster left him alone, though that was more because he did not want another gestalt member in the med bay. Megatron was less then pleased that Menasor was unavailable. Sulking in the gestalt's quarters was about all he could do, sulking and thinking and oh, did he have many nice ideas to console himself with!
Dead End was such a lucky mech that Breakdown was about as aroused as he was pissed when the Porsche walked in. Adjusting to the change in circumstances within a click, he had pulled his hands from his own seams and pounced on his gestalt brother, pressing them both against the door.
"Well… It seems you are a punctual little whore! Shall we see if you can stay online this time?"
Well, there we go. Please leave a review, flame, whatever. See ya later!