Excited Breakdown
"Onslaught!" Breakdown moaned, then all coherency fled from him. Breathy, mostly-stifled cries punctuated the smothered wail of his engines.
Dead End shivered a bit at the sound of Breakdown's voice and peeked around the corner once more. He shouldn't do this, shouldn't be here at all. What Breakdown liked to do in his spare time might certainly get him killed by Motormaster, but the Porsche knew he was increasing the chance of the truck discovering Breakdown's sport just by being there.
But the sight of it...
Optics covered by interrogator's blinders, hands cuffed behind him, the cream and blue Lamborghini leaned back against Onslaught. The dark missile-truck's hands roamed hungrily over his body, mask nuzzling at Breakdown's shoulder. Breakdown kept turning his head as if to kiss him, but each time he did, Onslaught would work his fingers into a transformation seam or wheel-well. It made the Lamborghini squirm so.
The dark, rumbling roar of Onslaught's engines overlaid everything.
Dead End ducked his head back around the edge of the door. He should leave. Take those cries and sights with him back to his quarters and-
-And forget about it. Tormenting himself with what he could not have was even more unbearable than merely existing.
End