Universe: G1
Characters: Hound/Cliffjumper
Rating: M
Warnings: 'Breastfeeding' with robots having semi accurate human breasts. Heavy comfort kink. Sticky.
Disclaimer: I claim nothing but my own poor writing and ideas.

Living with mecha for a long period of time meant that you got to know your comrades ins and outs fairly well.

After vorns of being confined to the Ark, there were certain things that were known facts to everyone.

One: Ratchet can and WILL reformat you into something that was only previously known as an inanimate object (See object 1-toaster)

Two: Optimus Prime has a burning need to protect his soldiers even at the cost to himself, even when those soldier's orders are to protect their Prime at the cost of their lives.

Three: Keep the peace. Making another mech mad at you when you have to live with them on a constant basis makes everyone unhappy, so DON'T DO IT.

With these also came personal knowledge of each mech. Who needed what to keep stable, who started getting antsy without action, who needed quiet to re-center themselves to the strain of the war.

It became second nature to move and maneuver in and around each mecha's eccentricies, helping out where they could in the name of peaceful spaceship living.

Clifjumper was sitting on the couch, surrounded by many of the other minibots, raging about something.

What, no one was really sure. He had degraded into furious mumbling some time ago that was only punctuated occasionally by louder outbursts.

What everyone did know what that sooner or later, Hound would come by and take Cliffjumper away and when they both returned he would be much more amicable until the cycle came around again.

"Come on 'Jumper, you know you'll feel better afterward."

Cliffjumper just growled at Hound, a petulant look on his face. It would have been out of place completely to those who didn't know what was going on, but to Hound it was merely another sign that he had let it go too long.

Again.

"I'm not a fragging sparkling. I don't need you and your misplaced kindness, Hound. Now slag off!"

Hound merely collected Cliffjumper in his arms and carried the flailing Minibot back to his quarters, nodding at the slight smiles and turned faceplates that he passed.

He'd already activated his feeding protocols, and could feel the gentle drip of the energon as he let them both into his quarters and situated himself on the berth. Hound carefully shuffled the armor out of the way and put Cliffjumper down, the minibot spitting in frustration but unable to leave the room by himself.

Fully exposed, Hound made himself comfortable on the berth. Lying on his side, head propped in his hand as he watched 'Jumper pace like a trapped animal.

"I'll be here when you're ready 'Jumper."

And with those words, Hound settled down into recharge. His exposed feeding equipment glowing brightly in the otherwise darkened room, nubs dripping sweetened energon onto a special mat that absorbed it before it could soak the berth padding.

Cliffjumper snarled, eyes shifting to take in the nubs before breaking off and sweeping the room. Every time this happened he fought it, and every time it happened he inevitably cracked and caved.

Hound offered him the one thing he fought so hard for in other mecha, respect. Hound was too altruistic to do anything deceptive to his friends, so when he had learned that Cliffjumper's mate had been killed in one of the raids he simply offered what comfort he could. Not out of pity, there was no place for that in a war, no Hound offered because he had also lost someone important during the raids and this had been one of their rituals.

Hound trusted Cliffjumper to expose himself and recharge while they were in his room.

What had first been offered as interfacing had evolved into this… ritual of trust and respect. Cliffjumper knew that he had both in the scout, and even though he knew he would never be able to replace his lost mate (Hound had expressed the same) this afforded them both a measure of control in a war that kept most things out of control.

So Cliffjumper caved. Released his anger and frustration and crawled into the berth beside Hound and gently stroked the pouches, fondling them to stir up the mix and activate the electric charge.

Hands running over Hound's exposed elements Cliffjumper found that it took him less and less time to break each time. Perhaps the small admission that he needed this as much as Hound did was another part of the ritual, of the implicit trust he felt in this room.

He nuzzled and licked the closest nub, tongue flickering out to catch a drop of energon before it fell.

He curled his lower body, tucking a leg between Hound's much larger ones to rest it against the apex of the green thighs.

Some nights he was content to just drink and bask in the glow of his friend's comforting frame.

Some nights he was not.

As Cliffjumper continued slowly licking up the dripping energon, nuzzling a pouch every now and then, he slowly began to slide his leg over the scout's interfacing panel, timing the long strokes inbetween the shorter rasps of his tongue over the sensitized nubs.

Hound's engine rumbled, the larger mech still in recharge though his body was beginning to heat up under Cliffjumper's ministrations.

This was something that was taken ever so slowly.

Hound rocking gently against Cliffjumper's leg, hands now smoothing themselves over the red plating in long, languorous strokes that weren't meant to arouse at all.

He nuzzled one pouch, then the other. Starting with the top of his forehead and tipping his helm back as he moved so that the pouch rubbed against each contour and line of his face with an almost agonizing slowness.

This was when Hound woke, a soft chuckle leaving his vocalizer as his hand's movements became more deliberate. They stroked firmly from head to aft to pede, before returning to Cliffjumper's helm and repeating the motion with fingertips only.

"Usually you make me wait a little longer 'Jumper. You alright?"

Cliffjumper gently nipped and mouthed the nub in front of him in response, causing Hound to shudder at the sensation.

"Guess I'm not in the mood for delayed gratification tonight, slagger."

To anyone else, it would sound like a usual Cliffjumper retort, but Hound could hear all the underlying emotions that the minibot staunchly refused to awknowledge out loud.

The hands never stopped in their steady movement over red plating, even as both of their ventilations became heavy and ragged, and what had been a slow, gentle drip became a steady stream of energon that would alternate between flowing down Hound's body and spraying Cliffjumper as he moved and arched.

Through it all, Cliffjumper never stopped licking, sucking and nuzzling the full pouches. His face covered in the sweet fluid as he prodded Hound to roll onto his back, clicking his panel open and following to lay atop the scout's body.

Hound sighed contentedly and extended his spike. Cliffjumper's hands and mouth never ceasing in their pleasurable pattern across his chest.

Being that the minibot was roughly two thirds of his size meant that Cliffjumper's head sat at his chest and his pelvic plate fit ever so wonderfully against Hound's own.

There were times when Hound was sure that Primus had blessed minibots for this reason.

So when Cliffjumper paused in his ministrations for just long enough to lift himself onto Hound's spike before reattaching himself to an over sensitive nub, it was no surprise to either of them when he invoked Primus name with a choked gasp.

The charge in Hound's energon zapped both of them lightly in time with the gentle rocking movements. There was no thrusting or bouncing, just the sweet grind and rock of their connected components.

How long it lasted neither of them knew. Just that as Hound's pouches began to flatten back into proper lines and the last of the energon flowed through the nubs they reached that inevitable point that had them both shuttering their optics and groaning out their release.

Slowly, they unraveled themselves from each other. Cliffjumper still placing lingering licks and caresses to the depleted feeding lines that caused Hound to shudder with pleasurable aftershocks.

Hound was again in recharge long before Cliffjumper, their ritual close to completion as he lay next to the green scout.

In a way, Cliffjumper supposed that he should be grateful that Hound sought him out time after time, even though it wasn't as unselfish as everyone supposed.

In a way, Cliffjumper was grateful.

He refused to let the others know how much he enjoyed this… whatever it was, but at least for now, tucked up against the scout's side as he was, he was content.