* * *
Breakdown shoved Dead End to the floor and dropped down atop his brother. His hands roamed hungrily over the glassy shine of the Porsche's constantly-polished armor. The shine didn't come off onto his fingers, nor did his unpolished hands wipe away all the work his brother had so carefully done. For some reason, that made him chuckle low and dark.
Dead End turned his head away, much as he always did when one of the others cornered him. Non-involvement bored his brothers, even if Drag Strip was stupidly stubborn and would keep trying to effect him until the sun went dark.
Unfortunately for the Porsche, Breakdown had never set the personal challenge to get him off without removing his mask like Drag Strip had. Dead End had a standard battle-mask, easily removable if you knew the right places to press. He hunched over Dead End, knees pressed against the Porsche's hips as he gently explored the edges of his mask. He almost jumped out of his armor when Dead End lightly touched his thigh.
The mask came off with a click, and Breakdown threw it across the room. It rang as it struck the floor, and he kissed Dead End, hands tight on his shoulders.
Mouths opened and glossae intertwined, hands grabbed and held on to each other, chests ground together as they kissed. Their armor and forcefields dulled their sense of touch, but no armor or forcefield coated their inner mouths. /This/ was almost as sweet as the road under your tires and the wind against your sides, when everything outside of the road blurred into unimportance and all that mattered was how fast you could stay on the road.
A vibration rose up from Dead End's engine that would never have been felt if Breakdown hadn't invaded his mouth. The Lamborghini purred in response and pressed their mandenta together to better transmit and receive the engine vibrations. They came in more and more frequency, though only a little stronger than the first.
[Forward of you,] Dead End drawled over a comm-line.
[Shut up and kiss me, you fool.]
End