* * *
It wasn't very nice of him to point out that Onslaught didn't have the temperment to get Motormaster interested in him. Especially while Onslaught precisely stroked him into a wibbling mess of a Decepticon.
No one ever claimed Breakdown was a nice mech, though. (Well, Megatron had, but Megatron's definition of 'nice' made Autobots twitch and scurry for cover.)
Onslaught's hand froze briefly, then the Combaticon leader silenced him by slipping two fingers into his mouth and curling just so... He quivered, coherency vanishing utterly. Onslaught was quite adept at getting around the fact that he couldn't kiss the Lamborghini. He said nothing in response to Breakdown's comment, merely worked all the harder to finish the car off.
Later, while he lay limply on his berth, Breakdown realized that Onslaught had actually started thinking about it. After all, Onslaught didn't like to silence him with fingers if he could help it; Breakdown had noticed how rarely he did that.
The Lamborghini chuckled and hoped he could keep this from Motormaster next time they formed Menasor. After all, Motormaster got angry enough over Breakdown's little threesome fantasies. He'd go absolutely nuts and bolts if he thought Breakdown was trying to bring it about.
But the idea was just so... mmmmm... One hand drifted down to fondle his hip-joint. He just had to have it. The fantasy was a drug that wouldn't leave him alone until he did something about it.
Besides, two gestalt commanders were far better than one.
End