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Only a few weeks had passed since Megatron’s death, and not long after that, the Decepticon’s fall. Both Breakdown and Knockout had changed their allegiance to the Autobots just a few days prior—they could see and admit defeat when it was necessary, and knew how to play around it.
Now, living on a new Cybertron capable of hosting and creating life, they both lived in peace. Though, despite living together as conjunx endurae without the fear of losing each other each day, it still felt like something was missing.
Knockout had returned from his shift as a local medic a few minutes ago, and was currently standing near a window, looking out at the healing planet.
The door quietly opened. Breakdown entering through it. He had just gotten back from his own work, having helped with the various construction of new buildings.
The tall mech walked over to Knockout, wrapping his arms around his waist in a tender hug, and resting his chin on his shoulder. He nuzzled the side of the other’s neck, gently holding him against his frame.
The two stayed in place and in comfortable silence for a few moments, before Breakdown eventually broke it.
“You look like you're brooding again, siren." His voice was rough but carried an undercurrent of gentle amusement. “Something on your processor?”
Knockout let out a soft chuckle. “Is it that obvious?”
He turned his helm, pressing a small kiss against Breakdown’s cheek, servos resting atop the other mech’s, digits absently tracing along the plating.
He turned to face the window once more.
“I’ve just been… wondering,” he replied, leaning back against Breakdown’s chassis.
Breakdown let out a small hum, continuing to stand behind Knockout.
He leaned forward, burying his faceplate in the crook of Knockout's neck, tightening his arms around the red mech slightly.
"Wondering about what?" he muttered, optic closing as he enjoyed the closeness between them.
He slowly began massaging Knockout's sides, his servos sliding along the metal with a familiar and comforting touch.
The tension within Knockout gradually subsided under Breakdown’s touch. Though, he still seemed hesitant to admit just what was on his processor.
He let out a little sigh, optics flitting shut. “It’s… it’s nothing, really,” he hummed. “… It’s rather silly.”
Breakdown raised an optical ridge at that, expression one of skepticism. He knew his conjunx endura well enough by now to know that whenever he said ‘it's nothing,’ it usually meant that the opposite was true.
With a small, almost playful smirk, Breakdown lightly nipped the side of Knockout's neck.
"Oh come on, siren," he murmured, lightly teasing. "You know you can tell me anything."
Knockout couldn’t keep in the smile that tug at the corners of his intake, nor the small laugh the action pulled from him.
“… Okay, okay,” he relented, optics flitting open once more.
He turned around, facing Breakdown. His servos were resting on the other’s chassis, the larger mech’s arms wrapped around his waist.
Knockout’s expression shifted slightly—still gentle, but somewhat serious now.
“Do you… ever feel like something’s… wrong?” he quietly queried.
Breakdown immediately became serious, his arms tightening around Knockout's waist reflexively, pulling the smaller mech closer.
He tilted his helm a bit, a frown spreading itself on his faceplate, his optic studying the other's expression intently.
"Wrong? How so?" he questioned, voice low and firm, yet still carrying a hint of worry.
His servos began slowly rubbing along Knockout's back, an attempt at comfort.
“Like…” Knockout hesitated, “like it’s too quiet.”
He paused for a moment, gaze shifting to the side.
“Or… or maybe I’m just too used to something happening every day,” he sighed softly, clearly conflicted. “Ever since Megatron’s death, every day’s been… boring. Mundane.”
He sighed.
“I should be happy,” he said, almost more to himself than anyone else. “I have a home, a stable job… I have you.”
A soft smile formed on his dermas, before it faltered.
“But it still feels like something is missing,” he admitted.
Knockout looked back up at Breakdown, something close to desperate glinting in his crimson optics.
“Am I wrong for feeling this way?” he asked, words coming out quieter.
Breakdown's frown deepened at Knockout's words, his servos continuing to rub the smaller mech's back in a soothing manner.
His optics searched Knockout's faceplate, studying every little twitch of his features, every tiny flicker within his gaze. He could easily sense the confliction, the conflicting emotions. He understood his mate's words.
"You're not wrong," he replied, his voice low and solemn. "I feel it too. The lack of… excitement, of thrill."
His servos moved to rest on Knockout's hips.
Knockout leaned into Breakdown, forehelm resting against his shoulder, optics falling shut. He vented deeply, the tension within his frame slowly bleeding out.
It helped to know that he wasn't the only one who felt this way.
His servos moved to gently hold onto Breakdown's wrists, his digits tracing along the seams.
He was silent for a moment, just focusing on the other mech's proximity, finding comfort in it all.
Then, Knockout spoke again.
"Is there something wrong with us?"
Breakdown pulled back just enough to cup Knockout's face in his servos, guiding their gazes to meet—his yellow optic burning with an intensity that was both fierce and protective.
"Wrong?" His vocaliser cracked slightly as he spoke the word again. "You're asking if there's something wrong about us? Siren—"
His thumb stroked along the red mech’s cheekplate before continuing, voice dropping into something softer but no less firm:
“We spent our entire lives surviving war after war because it was all we knew how to do." A pause. Then quieter: "This is what feels strange."
Knockout felt his shoulders droop, optics falling shut as he leaned into Breakdown's touch.
He knew the war's toll on them both. They had been Decepticons for all their life. They were both used to all the battles, raids, missions. It was a given.
But still…
Knockout exvented heavily, turning his faceplate slightly to press a kiss against one of Breakdown's servos.
“You’re right,” he sighed with a weary smile. “I just… miss the ‘chaos’, I suppose.”
"And the adrenaline," Breakdown added with a hint of a smirk, lightly nudging his faceplate against Knockout's own.
He knew that they both had become quite addicted to the constant rush the war had given them. The excitement, the thrill, the chaos.
It was a drug that they both had been heavily dependent upon. And now that it was suddenly gone...
His smirk faded, expression shifting into one of solemn understanding.
Knockout nodded somberly, knowing that Breakdown had hit the nail right on the head.
The adrenaline. The constant rush of battle. The high of the hunt and the fight. It was a craving that was damn difficult to shake off, especially after years and years of indulging in it.
The lack of it now was like a cold, empty void he couldn't fill no matter how hard he tried.
He leaned closer to the other mech.
"I don't like being bored," he muttered. “I’m stuck at home for most of the day with nothing to do.”
His processor recalled the many days he had spent at home. Alone. Bored. Breakdown’s shifts were the standard—and yet, much longer, compared to Knockout’s.
Due to the red mech’s smaller size and therefore limited ability to help with construction—the most required jobs at the moment—he was stuck with jobs such as providing medical services. It was somewhat busy at first, but then once every bot was fixed… few had needed to come back, given the fact that there was no more war to get hurt in.
Breakdown let out a huff at that, knowing exactly what Knockout meant. He knew how much the red mech disliked the dull, mundaneness of routine.
"Trust me, you're not the only one who finds it insufferable," he said wryly.
His servos slowly moved from Knockout's faceplate to his shoulders, his thumbs beginning gently massaging the cables underneath.
He leaned back a bit, studying the smaller mech's faceplate.
"I could always give you something to keep you occupied." The smirk returned, this time more suggestive.
Knockout had to hold back a snort at Breakdown's innuendo, but a small smirk of his own still appeared. It was a relief, the humour relieving the tension and worry in the air, even if just by a bit.
He raised an optical ridge, giving a teasing look back.
"And what exactly do you have in mind, big boy?" he gently chuckled, shifting closer. His servos slowly slid down Breakdown’s chassis.
He allowed his optics to rake over the larger mech's frame, taking his time as they glided over the broad shoulders and the powerful arms.
Breakdown's smirk widened as he noticed Knockout eyeing up his frame. His servos gave a possessive squeeze against the other mech's shoulders.
The way Knockout's gaze roamed his body, the almost teasing glint in his optics, it was both arousing and pleasing, knowing that the other mech still found him attractive.
Knockout's smirk turned pleased as well. He loved it when Breakdown got possessive like this.
His servos continued their slow journey down, sliding along the sides of the larger mech's chassis, then lower still.
Knockout shifted even closer, closing the small distance between them, his frame pressing against Breakdown's.
He looked up at the other, optics half-lidded, the smirk still present.
Breakdown let out a low, soft rumble of pleasure as Knockout pressed himself against him, his servos now shifting to hold the red mech by the hips.
He pulled Knockout closer, their frames flush against each other, and leaned down until their faceplates were only inches apart. His optic darkened slightly, burning with a familiar possessive hunger.
"Mmm, careful, siren," he murmured, his voice dropping into a teasing purr. "Keep looking at me like that, and you’ll give me some ideas."
Knockout couldn't help the shiver that rippled through his frame as he heard the way Breakdown spoke.
It was hot.
He smirked, servos moving to rest at the other mech's torso, lightly tracing along the seams of his plating. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he couldn't help the rush it gave him at seeing just how much of an effect he had on the large mech.
Knockout leaned in even closer, voice a low, velvety purr.
"Good."
Breakdown's optic flared at that single word, a sharp exhale venting from his intake.
His servos tightened almost painfully around Knockout's hips as he yanked him flush against himself—letting the red mech feel exactly what he was doing to him.
"Is it, now?" His voice dropped into something rough and hungry, glossa flicking out over sharpened dentas in an unmistakable threat—or promise. "Then I suppose you won't be complaining if I drag you straight to our berth."
A sharp, ragged vent tore through Knockout's intake as he was pulled against the other mech, his frame reacting strongly to the possessive grip held on him. It had his processor spinning, the heat steadily building up within his own systems.
He had to bite back an embarrassing noise as his processor flashed with the idea of Breakdown manhandling him to their berth.
Knockout looked up to meet the other's burning gaze, optics dark, smirk still in place.
"Complain?” he purred, "I'm hoping for it."
Breakdown's smirk turned into something positively savage at Knockout's words, a primal growl rumbling its way through his chassis.
He loved seeing the smaller mech like this—aroused and desperate for more, yet still teasing and pushing his buttons in a way that both frustrated him and drove him even more into a frenzy.
His servos suddenly shifted to grab the red mech by the thighs, and in one fluid, strong motion, hoisted him up into his arms, carrying him princess-style.
The sudden change in elevation, being lifted from the ground and easily handled as though he weighed nothing, sent a shockwave of heat through Knockout's frame. He couldn't stop the gasp that escaped him, servos reflexively holding onto Breakdown's shoulders.
He couldn't deny that he loved that the larger mech could manhandle him like it was nothing.
He let out a breathless chuckle, optics locked onto Breakdown's.
"Show off."
Breakdown let out a low, rumbling chuckle at the remark—his grip tightening just enough to be possessive as he began striding toward their berth.
"Oh, I'm just getting started," he purred, his voice thick with promise. "You say that now like you won't be screaming my name by the end of this."
He punctuated that with a sharp nip to Knockout's neck as they passed through the doorway into their shared hab-suite—making it very clear who was in charge here.
Knockout let out another sharp gasp, his grip on the larger mech's shoulders tightening as he was nipped—the sharp prick of pain doing nothing to dull the building heat within his frame.
He soon found himself laid down on the berth, with Breakdown standing over him. The difference between their frames were obvious enough, but were even more apparent in this position.
He couldn't deny the way it made his servos tingle and his array ache, knowing exactly how much control the other mech had over him.
Knockout’s processor flashed with a dozen filthy scenarios, each one having a similar result—him screaming Breakdown's name in bliss.
“Then you better live up to the threats, big boy."
Breakdown let out a pleased rumble as he loomed over Knockout, drinking in the sight of the red mech laid out on the berth for him. It was a sight he could never truly grow tired of—seeing his mate, so vulnerable and willing, so utterly his.
His own frame rumbled with desire, his own array beginning to grow hot, the need for more steadily building within him.
He lowered his weight down, pinning the smaller bot's frame firmly into the berth.
"I promise I will, siren."
Knockout's optics flickered as he was pinned down, a harsh vent pushing through his intakes at the sudden loss of space and mobility.
He loved this; being trapped by the larger mech, at his complete and utter mercy. Knowing that the other could easily overpower him on the best of his days, and yet now, he willingly surrendered himself to the other without a second thought.
Knockout found his servos shifting to grip the other's arms, unable to stop the shiver from running through his frame. He slowly spread his legs with clear invitation.
"Prove it."
Breakdown let out a sharp exhale—his optic flaring at the sight of Knockout spreading himself so openly, so willingly for him.
He didn’t need to be told twice.
He leaned down, servos resting on either of Knockout’s tibulen, sinking his glossa against the seam where the plating of his midsection met his interface panel—right over that sensitive juncture he knew drove Knockout absolutely mad.
Knockout's processor nearly short circuited as soon as he felt Breakdown's glossa against that spot. It was always the same reaction—the sensitive sensors lighting up as the nerves began to buzz with a familiar, electric heat.
He let out a gasp, servos gripping at the other mech's helm. It was already getting difficult to focus, his fans kicking in a vain attempt to cool his systems that already started to heat up.
"Primus...” he whined, “don't tease me like that, you bastard..."
Breakdown merely chuckled against Knockout's interface panel, the sound deep and rough. The tip of his glossa traced along the edge of the panel, teasing and lightly tickling the sensitive sensors along the seams.
He could already hear the other mech panting, see the heat slowly building within him.
"Shh, siren," he purred against the sensitive plating. "Let me play for a little while, will you?“
Knockout nearly whimpered at the command, his processor already struggling to think clearly. Just a few touches and he was already a mess.
The worst part was that he knew he was only going to get worse.
Knockout tried to bite back another pathetic whine, biting his derma so hard that he almost tasted energon.
"You're just doing this to torture me," he managed to huff out.
Breakdown's smirk grew wider as he heard the sound leave Knockout's vocaliser, feeling the red mech tremble underneath him. He knew he was already making a mess out of him, and he had barely even started.
"That's the point," Breakdown hummed, servos coming to rest on Knockout's hips, pinning them in place. "Seeing you a desperate, begging mess is my favourite pastime."
He leaned in close, the tip of his glossa teasing along the edge of Knockout’s interface panel.
“Now, be good and open up for me."
Knockout’s vent hitched at that, a jolt of anticipation running through his frame.
He knew Breakdown was fully aware of how he reacted to being spoken like that. A part of Knockout hated how often Breakdown would use it to his advantage—but another part of him loved it.
He couldn’t verbally, respond only obey. He let his interface panel open, allowing Breakdown’s glossa to glide over his exposed valve. The opening was already slick with his own lubricant, just waiting for the other mech.
Breakdown hummed as he felt the panel slide open, drinking in the sight of Knockout's valve in all its wet slickness. He could already taste the other mech's natural lubricant on his glossa, a bitter, salty tinge filling his intake with desire.
He leaned in, nuzzling his servos against Knockout's already sensitive valve lips for just a second. Slowly, he licked a long, teasing stroke against his opening.
“Mmm, you're always so ready for me, aren't you?"
That simple brush of his glossa against his opening sent another wave of heat crashing into Knockout. He bit back a cry, servos reaching to grip Breakdown's helm, servos tightening in an effort to keep him in place.
The sensation of having the larger mech between his leg was already starting to drive him mad.
Knockout managed to collect his thoughts just enough to respond, but even that came out as a breathless whine.
"You know I am," he murmured in return. "Only for you."
That response drew a pleased growl from Breakdown's chest, his spark flaring at the sound of Knockout's desperate, pleading tone.
He loved this. He adored seeing the red mech so eager, so desperate for him. The way he was so willing and wanting, open and vulnerable. Only for him.
He loved it.
He gave another long, slow lap of his glossa against Knockout's valve, savouring the taste.
"That's right," he murmured. "You're mine.”
Oh, and Knockout loved that word.
It had been said between them countless times, so it wasn't anything new, but it still had the same effect on him.
That word, and the way it was said, with such possession and heat, had Knockout's spark swelling. His frame arched into the touch as he pressed himself against the larger mech.
With the way the heat between his legs was building, he was getting desperate. He was starting to want something more. Something bigger.
"Ah... please, just, ngh—!”
Breakdown's smirk turned downright predatory as he felt Knockout arch against him, the red mech practically vibrating with need.
His own frame rumbled in satisfaction—servos gripping Knockout’s hips harder as he pressed his glossa past the tight ring of muscle and into his valve, slow but firm.
He let out a low growl—hot vent washing over sensitive inner plating as he began to move in deep, filthy strokes.
Knockout let out a strangled cry, servos digging even tighter against Breakdown's helm. His frame shuddered, optics flickering shut as he squirmed against the berth.
But eventually, he felt Breakdown pull away, though the mech remained close, dermas now focused on trailing a line of kisses up.
Knockout let out a quiet vent, legs shifting as the needy heat between them increased. He could feel as Breakdown’s dermas pressed against his plating, each one sending ripples of pleasure down his spinal struts.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” he would then hear Breakdown mutter against his midsection. The other mech’s tone was softer this time.
Knockout’s optics opened, tilting his helm down to meet Breakdown’s gaze. hepushed himself upright, sitting up on the berth now. One servo was on the berth, supporting him, the other now gently cupping the side of Breakdown’s faceplate.
“What…” he managed between soft vents, “… what is it?”
Breakdown leaned into the touch, his optic flickering with something softer—something almost vulnerable.
His servos slid up to cup Knockout's face as well, thumbs stroking along his faceplate.
"Remember when you asked if there was something wrong with us?" he murmured, voice quieter now—less rough and more raw. "I don’t think we need chaos anymore."
He hesitated before continuing:
"I think... we need a sparkling.”
Knockout immediately froze up. His optics went wide, and he briefly stopped venting.
After the initial shock had passed—though he was still very much surprised—his optics flickered to search for any sign of a joke or tease in the other’s expression.
But he found none.
His intake opened, but no words came out. He was speechless.
Whilst it wasn’t the first time they had brought up or joked about having sparklings of their own, it was the first for them to actually discuss this.
Breakdown's expression softened as he watched Knockout's reaction—the way his optics widened almost comically and his whole frame went still, as if frozen in time.
He knew the idea of them having a sparkling have had come across their minds a few times—but those times were usually followed by either a laugh or a quick topic change.
But this was real. And the expression on Knockout's faceplate had the larger mech holding back a nervous chuckle.
He leaned in, foreheads gently pressing together.
Knockout found himself leaning into the touch, a shaky vent leaving him.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. They remained exactly like this—forehead to forehead, still and silent.
Then, Knockout broke it, voice soft and almost uncertain.
“A sparkling?” he murmured, optics flitting up to search the other’s optic for something.
Doubt, reassurance, anything.
“… Are you sure?”
Breakdown couldn't help the small, nervous smile that flickered across his face at that.
He raised a servo to stroke Knockout's faceplate.
"I'm sure," he assured quietly.
He gave a nod, servos moving to grip Knockout's shoulders.
"I'm sure, I really am," he repeated; something in his voice now almost pleading. "I want to raise a sparkling together with you. I want to have something to call our own."
Knockout's processor was still spinning, struggling to process everything.
He knew how serious this situation was, how much it would change everything, but, the thought of raising a sparkling—of bringing a young life into the world—with the love of his life…
Knockout would be lying if he said he didn’t want it.
He swallowed silently, meeting the gaze of Breakdown’s pleading optic.
He couldn’t say no to that.
Knockout exvented heavily, but gave a shaky nod.
"… Alright."
The moment Knockout gave the smallest of nods, something within Breakdown seemed to relax, a huge weight lifting from his shoulders.
He suddenly pulled the red mech flush against his chassis, holding him hard and close, as though afraid of letting him go.
A low rumble of pure, unhidden relief left his chassis.
“We'll be the best damn creators the universe has ever seen, siren," he murmured into Knockout's audials. "I promise you that."
Knockout, in turn, let his arms wrap around the larger mech's neck.
A part of him was still feeling dazed and somewhat hesitant, but even that part was overshadowed by the part of him that was happy—excited, even.
He pressed himself closer to the other mech, faceplate burying into the crook of his neck.
He let out a shaky vent, and with a weak laugh, he replied. “You better hope they get my good looks.”
A sharp snort broke from Breakdown's engine at that.
He tightened his grip around Knockout's frame, servos almost digging into his plating.
"They'll probably wind up being just as vain and narcissistic as you," he snarked back; that familiar, sarcastic teasing entering his voice again.
Knockout let out a huff against the other's neck, giving him a light swat in playful retort.
"It's called self-confidence.”
He pulled away, a small smirk on his faceplate. He could already see and imagine a little sparkling between them—a smaller version of them both in both spark and frame.
"Besides, they'll get my intelligence and charm as well."
Breakdown's smirk returned, optic narrowing slightly at the teasing.
"You mean ego?" he corrected, still keeping the red mech pinned firmly against his frame.
He let out another low hum as he imagined the same thing; a sparkling that had both their features.
"They'll be the smartest and best-looking sparkling around," he agreed. "A perfect little nightmare, made in both our images."
Knockout couldn't deny that the thought of having a sparkling with shared features with the both of them had him feeling almost giddy.
For years, he'd been so sure that he wasn't someone who could—or even should—be a creator. He never would have pictured, or even thought of having a sparkling of his own.
But now, after everything, he could feel excitement slowly taking over.
Breakdown could see the excited gleam in Knockout's optics, the way there was a growing grin and a light flush on his faceplate. There was a sudden rush of fondness that filled his spark at the sight.
The idea of having a sparkling with Knockout—of creating a little life of their own, a perfect blend of both of them—was making him feel almost giddy himself.
He couldn't stop himself from commenting: "I can't wait to see you with a fat and swollen midsection."
That comment got an annoyed huff from Knockout, a sharp glare following after.
"I'll have you know that even if I carry, I will still manage to maintain my perfect figure," he grumbled, servos gripping Breakdown's arms.
He could already imagine it; him, swollen belly and all, trying his best to maintain his usual self-assured attitude and perfect appearance despite it all.
Breakdown let out a loud, rumbling laugh at the glare—his grip tightening around Knockout's frame in amusement.
"Oh? And how exactly do you plan to keep that perfect figure when you're carrying our sparkling?" he teased; glossa flicking over sharpened dentas. "Because I know for a fact your midsection is going to get huge.”
He paused for a moment.
"... And honestly? That just makes me want one even more."
A shiver went through Knockout's frame at that, the mental image of him fully gravid flashing through his processor.
His pride and ego still protested at the mere thought of him getting bigger. But there was something about hearing those words coming from the other mech that he couldn't stop his faceplate from reddening, nor the small rush of heat pooling within his array.
Breakdown's optic darkened as he noticed the way Knockout reacted—the reddening of his faceplate, that subtle shift in his position.
He leaned down slightly, pressing their foreheads together again.
"You know," he murmured; voice dropping into something rougher—more possessive. "The idea of you being all swollen up with our sparkling? It does things to me."
A pause.
“Things I can show you right now."
This time, Knockout full-on moaned at the words. His faceplate was fully flushed now, his processor nearly spinning as heat coiled low within him.
Knockout couldn't deny that this side of Breakdown, coupled with the thought of him heavy with their future sparkling, had him wanting the other mech very much right now.
He tried to keep his words firm, but the slight huskiness and breathiness in his voice still bled through.
"… Y-you are such a perv,” he mumbled.
"Guilty as charged."
Breakdown's servo moved to grip Knockout's hip, pulling the red mech flush against his own frame, feeling just how heated the other's body was.
There was something utterly delicious about seeing Knockout so flushed and wanting, especially when that wanting was aimed towards him—only him.
The fact that it was because of the thought of Knockout getting heavy with their sparkling just had the possessive side of him growling.
“Don't pretend you don't like it," he rumbled.
Knockout shivered at the possessive tone. He was unable to resist grinding his pelvic plating against the other mech, wanting and needing to feel more.
He was still embarrassed by the effect these words and thoughts were having on him. He didn't want to give the other mech the satisfaction of knowing just how much the whole thing was getting to him, but he knew by now that Breakdown could read him so well it was almost frightening.
"Just… shut up and do something already.”
Breakdown let out a sharp, pleased growl at the demand—his grip tightening even further as he finally gave in to what they were both aching for.
He used a servo against Knockout’s chassis to lead him onto his back against the berth, pinning him down with his full weight.
"You're lucky I love you," Breakdown rumbled against Knockout's neck; glossa dragging over sensitive plating before adding: “And that I plan on filling you up nice and deep."
Knockout couldn't bite back the whine that left his intake. He was still flushed, and even more so in response to the other's words, his valve now clenching and growing even wetter.
Knockout's servos gripped Breakdown's shoulders desperately, servos digging into his plating.
"Primus…" he nearly whined. "Just get on with it.”
Breakdown let out a sharp, pleased chuckle at that—the sound rough and dark as he finally moved.
He pressed their frames together fully, letting Knockout feel every inch of his own arousal before sliding one thick digit past the red mech’s valve without warning—just to watch him jolt in surprise.
"Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured. His voice was thick with amusement as his digit curled just right inside him.
Knockout let out a startled cry at the sudden motion, servos gripping Breakdown's shoulders so hard that he was almost denting the plating.
He arched up against the larger mech as Breakdown's digit curled deeper inside him.
Knockout was already needy and desperate, processor starting to turn to mush at the sensations and the thought of being filled and claimed so throughly.
"Y-you… bastard!” he yelped out, feeling as Breakdown began to pump the digit inside him, both pain and pleasure ebbing through his frame.
Breakdown only let out a pleased hum at that—drinking in the sound of Knockout's cry and the way his frame shivered against him. He couldn't get enough of seeing the other mech so needy and desperate, especially since he was the one making his lover feel that way.
Another rumble of appreciation left him as he added a second digit—working Knockout open in preparation of what was to come.
Knockout's cry of surprise turned into a low moan as the second digit was added, feeling himself being stretched open. His servos clung to Breakdown, his helm thrown back as pleasure shot through his frame.
"B-Breakdown, I... I need you, now…!"
The fact that their impending sparkling was not far from his processor just had Knockout feeling even more needy for the other mech.
Breakdown let out another rough chuckle at that—his spark flaring in satisfaction at how eager the red mech was getting for him, how wanting he was.
He would never get tired of this sight. His siren, pleading and desperate for him—begging him for it.
“You ready for me, then?" he growled against Knockout's neck. The need and hunger was clear in his voice.
And the heat that had been building in his frame only increased as he saw the desperate nod from Knockout, a soft whine leaving the smaller mech’s dermas.
The whine from Knockout had almost turned into a desperate plea at this point. That, and the way he was staring up at Breakdown now, with optics blown wide and desperate and hungry, had the larger mech's spike twitching in its confines.
“Yes. Yes, I'm ready," Knockout panted out. "Now get on with it before I die from needing you."
A dark shudder went through Breakdown's frame at those words. His frame shifted over the red mech, servos gripping his hips before he was lining up against his entrance.
His spike was fully erect and practically throbbing, incredibly eager to feel that heat around him, to claim and take what was his.
"You just wait," he practically growled, servos digging into Knockout's hips. “You're gonna be a mess by the time I'm finished with you."
Knockout let out a shaky gasp the moment he felt Breakdown line up against him, servos clinging to the larger mech's frame. He could feel how hot and hard the other mech's spike was against his entrance, a soft shiver going through him at the thought of finally having Breakdown inside him.
Knockout didn't doubt that he was going to be a mess after they were done, and he craved it.
"Ngm… just do it,” he gasped out.
Breakdown let out a sharp growl at the demand, his frame shuddering as he finally pushed forward.
His spike slid into Knockout's valve with one slow, torturous thrust; feeling every inch of that tight heat envelop him. The red mech was clenching around him already—already reacting to the stretch and fullness of being filled so thoroughly.
"Primus," Breakdown rumbled against his neck; glossa dragging over sensitive plating as he eventually bottomed out inside him. "You feel perfect.”
Knockout couldn’t keep his noises in, the sensations overwhelming him. His helm fell back against the berth, frame arching as his servos tightened their grip on the plating of Breakdown’s arms.
Coolant pooled in his optics, though the pain still only made the heat in him flare up even further. He felt so incredibly full—and they were just getting started.
Breakdown let out a rough groan as he watched Knockout arch beneath him—his frame shaking slightly with the effort to not just slam into him at full force.
The red mech looked so good like this; messy, panting, and desperate for more. He was clenching around his spike in a way that had Breakdown's spark pounding hard against his chassis.
"You gonna be alright?" he murmured gruffly; fighting to keep control of himself for now.
Knockout's processor was already struggling to function by now, but he was still capable of replying with a shaky nod. It was clear that he was feeling overwhelmed by the sensations, but he wanted this as desperately as Breakdown did.
He was still needy, though, wanting more than what he was being given.
"J-Just move for Primus’ sake… I can take it," he managed to gasp out. His frame was practically shaking with barely-held-together restraint.
Breakdown let out a sharp, pleased growl at that—his servos tightening on Knockout's hips as he finally let himself give in.
His first thrust was slow and deliberate, just to feel the way Knockout clenched around him—just to watch his faceplate twist with pleasure.
But then, he snapped forward—hard—setting a brutal pace that had their berth creaking beneath them.
"Good," Breakdown rumbled against his neck; glossa dragging over heated plating as he fucked into him deeper than before. "Then take it.”
Knockout gasped—his servos flying up to grab onto Breakdown, his frame arching against him with a strangled cry.
His optics flared, struggling to come up with a witty quip, something to match the fire he saw in Breakdown's gaze—but the words caught in his throat as he clenched around him again.
His legs instinctively wrapped around Breakdown’s torso, squirming under both the other mech’s gaze and touch.
Breakdown let out a sharp, approving growl as Knockout's legs locked around him—his frame shuddering with the effort to not just ruin the red mech right there and then.
He loved this. Loved seeing his lover so undone beneath him; optics blown wide, faceplate flushed dark, dermas parted and panting for air like he was struggling to process any of it.
"You're taking me so well," Breakdown rumbled against his neck. "So perfect.”
Knockout let out a low, pleading whine at the praise—his helm falling back against the berth, servos still gripping Breakdown's frame, clinging to him as though he was a lifeline.
He couldn't even think about trying to make a cheeky comment or teasing retort right now, too lost to the heat and pleasure of the moment to even think coherently. His processor was already starting to feel hazy, swimming with pleasure, and their interface had only just started.
Breakdown was beginning to lose that last bit of control he had over himself—seeing Knockout so lost and needy beneath him was too much for his already-overloaded circuits.
His servos were squeezing Knockout's hips so hard that he was likely going to leave dents in the paintwork, but he couldn't bring himself to care right now in the slightest. He would patch up the damage later on.
Knockout's digits were digging hard into Breakdown's frame as well, his servos gripping desperately at anything he could reach.
His processor was starting to get hazy, struggling to process everything. The heat, the friction, the fullness, the pleasure, the feeling of Breakdown all around him, in him—it had his whole frame practically shaking and trembling.
His dermas parted, his vents quick and erratic as noises of both pain and pleasure slipped past them.
Breakdown was already feeling as though he was losing himself as well, any scrap of self-restraint starting to fall away. He knew that he was holding onto the last of his control by a thread, but he didn't care.
His servos were roaming over Knockout's frame, servos tracing along every sensitive line, every curve, every sensor node—watching the way the smaller mech squirmed and shivered under his touch.
He was addicted. He was going crazy. He needed more.
Knockout let out a gasp as Breakdown ran his servos over his frame, hitting all of his most sensitive spots—the heat in his array only flaring up even more.
His processor felt like it was being filled more and more with that blissful, dizzying feeling of desire and want, drowning everything out except for the need for more.
Knockout knew he was falling apart in more ways than one, but he honestly didn't even care at this point. He needed Breakdown now.
Breakdown was seeing red.
His grip on Knockout tightened, servos digging in hard enough to leave dents as he finally snapped—losing that last bit of control.
He slammed forward—hard and fast, not even bothering to slow down now as his spike hit so deep inside the red mech that it had him seeing stars himself.
“Gonna fill you up," Breakdown growled. His dermas grazed over Knockout’s neck, pressing delicate kisses against it. "Gonna make sure every drop stays where I put it."
Knockout let out a loud cry, servos clinging to Breakdown's frame like it was his lifeline.
He could barely even think anymore, processor filled with nothing but heat and pleasure. All he knew at that moment was that he wanted, needed, craved Breakdown to keep going, to give him everything he had, and more.
And the promise of being so thoroughly filled sent a shudder racing through the smaller mech's frame.
Breakdown could feel the way Knockout was clinging to him—the way his frame trembled with each hard thrust, how he whimpered and cried out beneath him.
The red mech was ruined. And Breakdown had never been so proud of anything in his life.
He didn't slow down for a second; not when he had Knockout like this—completely at his mercy, completely lost in pleasure, taking every inch of what Breakdown gave him without complaint.
Knockout could barely even keep up now, letting out a litany of noises that bordered on sobs and whimpers.
He was feeling so sensitive, his processor struggling to focus on anything other than pleasure, need, and heat. The way Breakdown was moving, how he felt, how he looked at him, how he gripped him…
Knockout's servos were gripping at Breakdown’s back now, nearly hard enough to draw energon.
Breakdown groaned as he felt the sting of Knockout's servos digging into his plating, leaving angry streaks in their wake. His frame shuddered with pleasure at the sensation—the sharp pain only making him move harder, faster; like a mech possessed.
"Look at you," Breakdown rumbled against his neck; voice rough and wrecked beyond recognition. "Taking me so well—so fragging perfect.”
His vision spotted slightly from how good everything felt around him.
Knockout could do little more than cry out and moan—his optics going unfocused. He wanted to say something—anything. But all that came out was another needy sound, and an involuntary shiver as the heat built up even further.
Every sound, every noise, every sensation—Knockout was practically drowning in all of it, but it still wasn't enough. He was lost completely at this point, his processor lost and hazy with nothing but pleasure.
"Please," he finally gasped out. "Nngh... please—!"
Breakdown let out another sharp groan at that, the need and desperation in Knockout's tone going straight through him.
He was just as lost, just as overwhelmed, but he still understood what the red mech was begging for—and he was more than ready to give it to him.
His servos tightened their grip on Knockout's hips, pulling the red mech closer.
"I got you," he growled, his voice low and rough with promise. "Frag, you're doing so good for me."
Knockout was slowly falling apart, and he was fully aware of it.
He could barely even remember his own name anymore, too far gone in the pleasure of having Breakdown all over him and in him.
He was a mess now—sobbing and crying out with every thrust, his servos clinging desperately at the larger mech, desperate for every single thing he gave.
"B-Breakdown—" Knockout finally managed to gasp out. It was the only word he could manage through everything, and he repeated it like a mantra.
Breakdown's spark pounded at the sound of his name spilling from Knockout’s dermas—so wrecked, so desperate.
He lost it then.
He slammed forward one last time—deep and hard enough to dent—before his spike pulsed inside Knockout; flooding him with hot, thick transfluid in thick waves. His servos clamped down on the red mech's hips like a vice as he rode it out; spilling every drop of himself into his lover’s array until there was nothing left to give.
A ragged vent escaped him afterward—forehead pressing against Knockout's neck as he struggled to come back online from that overwhelming high.
Knockout let out a cry as he felt the other mech fill him up, his frame shuddering as the last wave of their overloads crashed through him. His servos loosened from the dents they left in Breakdown's frame, going limp instead as they fell onto the berth.
Everything felt like it was in a hazy fog, and Knockout could barely comprehend anything beyond the feeling of his overload.
He could only whimper as Breakdown leaned over him like a protective weight, servos rubbing softly against his sides as though to soothe.
"Primus..." Breakdown was still trying to catch his vents, but that was easier said than done.
Knockout's frame was trembling beneath him, their interfacing leaving him feeling utterly wrecked. And yet, Knockout was the most beautiful sight Breakdown had ever seen.
He let out a low rumble, servos still gently rubbing the red mech's frame; as though to soothe his over-sensitive lover.
“You alright there?" he mumbled, voice hoarse and rough. "Frag, you look gorgeous."
Knockout barely had enough focus to process the other mech's words. He was still in a daze from their overload and feeling thoroughly wrecked and used. He wasn't sure he was even going to be able to move properly after this, judging by the way his entire frame still felt like jelly.
Still, Knockout managed to let out a shaky huff, a weak smile breaking through all the flustered exhaustion on his face.
“I can't feel my legs," he replied in a hoarse voice. "... You bastard."
A pleased chuckle left Breakdown at that. His own frame was still shaking with the aftershocks of their overload, but knowing that he managed to wreck Knockout the way he did filled him with a deep, possessive pride. Nobody else had ever gotten to see Knockout like this, completely wrecked and begging. He wanted to keep it that way.
He let out a rough huff of a laugh, servos still rubbing gently over sensitive plating.
“I bet you won't be able to walk for the rest of the day, either," he teased.
Knockout let out a huff, his systems starting to run hot again at Breakdown's words.
He wanted to reply snarkily, to throw back a witty quip, but he could barely even think straight right now. Hell, he was still trembling and his processor felt more like mush than anything.
So all he managed was another shaky scoff, and a weak glare up towards the larger mech. "And just whose fault is that?"
Breakdown’s optic gleamed in satisfaction as he watched the flush crawl back up Knockout's faceplate.
"Oh, absolutely my fault," he rumbled, voice still rough with lingering hunger. "And I don't regret a single second of it."
He leaned down slightly to press his forehead against Knockout's. His glossa dragged over the red mech’s bottom derma in slow approval.
Despite his current weakness, Knockout couldn't help but lean up into the contact with a low whimper. Even now, after everything, he still craved Breakdown more than anything.
But right now, he was feeling completely spent, and it was all he could do just to focus on staying online—let alone moving.
“Nnngh... frag you..." he managed weakly, servos weakly gripping the other mech's frame again. His voice was filled with forced annoyance, thinly veiling the flusteredness he actually felt.
Breakdown let out a rough chuckle at that, enjoying the way Knockout still clung to him like a lifeline—even when he could barely function.
His servos found the other mech's hips again, squeezing them firmly.
“Oh? You’re still sassing me?" he rumbled. "Even after you were just begging me to fill you up?"
His servos dipped down, his optics locking onto Knockout's.
"You're too precious, y'know that?"
Knockout let out a low, embarrassed whine at the reminder. Damn this mech and his ability to get him so completely unravelled.
He tried to respond, tried to form some smartass comment, but his processor was still nothing more than mush, and his frame was still trembling.
What came out instead was another soft moan.
“S-Shut up…”
Breakdown was enjoying this way more than he probably should've. The sight of Knockout, lying beneath him, trembling and flushed and wrecked, still trying to act like his usual snarky self…
Primus. He might've overloaded himself again just at the sight alone.
He let out a low, possessive growl, servos still rubbing at Knockout's hips.
"Aw, is that any way to talk to someone who just made you overload?" he teased, servo tracing along Knockout's midsection. "I thought you'd be more grateful."
Knockout’s faceplate heated up, optics widening, before he schooled his expression into one of false irritation again. It was softer, this time, less forced and now silent.
He looked off the side in embarrassment, servos fidgeting with the covers underneath them.
Breakdown's gaze softened as he watched Knockout look away, hiding his embarrassment.
He knew those subtle tells that only he got to see; Knockout's habit of fidgeting when he was feeling shy, of looking away when he was flustered. It was something only Breakdown got to see.
He lifted a servo to gently grab Knockout's chin, turning his faceplate back to look at him.
"Hey," he murmured. "Hey, look at me."
Knockout gave him another half-hearted huff, but still looked up anyway, cheeks still flushed.
"What?" he weakly snapped, trying in vain to appear normal. He was still feeling incredibly vulnerable and exposed. And the fact that he could still feel transfluid slowly leaking out of him and down his tibulen didn't help at all.
He was glad it was only Breakdown that could ever see him like this.
Breakdown's expression softened even more as he saw the hint of vulnerability in Knockout's optics. The way the other tried to act like his usual self, but the slight tremble in his frame gave him away.
A part of him loved seeing Knockout like this; needy and sensitive and vulnerable. Only he was able to make Knockout into such a wreck.
"You look so pretty like this.”
Knockout couldn’t help but lean into the touch, expression softening at the words. And it wasn’t long before the annoyance fully faded, left with a vulnerable and tired look settling onto his features.
“… Really?” His voice came out quiet, optics meeting Breakdown’s.
Breakdown's optic flared at the quiet question—at the way Knockout looked up at him with something so open and trusting in his gaze.
He cupped Knockout’s faceplate, thumb stroking over his cheekbone.
"Yeah," he rumbled, voice low and rough with sincerity. "You’re gorgeous. Always are."
A pause as he glanced down between them—then back to those optics again; smirk curling sharp along his dentas.
“Especially when you’ll be carrying our sparkling.”
Knockout let out a low, shuddering breath, his frame shaking faintly again at the words.
His processor was still reeling—still trying to process everything. But the thought of carrying, of being heavy and swollen with his and Breakdown's sparkling…
That had something hot coursing through him again. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly. He was tired and sore and a complete mess, but damn it, he wanted it.
He let out another whine. One of his servos gripped Breakdown's wrist, the other one slowly travelled down, subconsciously pressing lightly against over his midsection.
Breakdown noticed the motion, and his gaze was immediately drawn to Knockout's servo, how it lingered on his midsection. It took an incredible amount of effort for him to refrain from just pinning him down on the berth and having him right there and then once more.
His engine rumbled, deep and heavy, as he watched Knockout's servo. Primus, how he wanted to see Knockout like that; with his frame heavy and swollen with their sparkling…
The thought was downright sinful.
Knockout could see the desire flaring in Breakdown's optics, that possessive glint behind them that made him shiver. He could feel how Breakdown was looking at him; hungry and wanting. The thought that Breakdown was likely imagining him in a mere few months.
Primus, Knockout could feel his frame heating up yet again.
He shifted in a vain attempt to relieve some of the discomfort between his legs.
“You look like you're about to pin me to the berth again," he mumbled, half annoyed musing, half tired amusement.
The hand he had over his midsection absently rubbed over the currently-flat surface, as if to show the other mech that he had already been filled to the brim. And from the looks of it, maybe even past so.
Breakdown's engine gave another rumbling growl at the words, and he had to resist the urge to do just that.
That possessive, hungry look was now accompanied by a dark smirk. Though, it lingered only briefly, softening as he continued to watch Knockout.
"Don't give me any ideas," he lightly teased, servos still rubbing over Knockout's hip.
His gaze was still locked on the hand against his midsection; optics taking in the sight with satisfaction.
"I could pin you down again. Could fill you so full again you'll be leaking for days.”
Knockout let out a shaky vent, his frame growing hot at the thought. He couldn't even think about being filled that much again, his processor still reeling from the aftereffects of the previous time.
He weakly slapped at Breakdown's shoulder. "Don't you dare even think about that."
He leaned back against the berth, completely spent and unable to even keep himself upright anymore.
"I can't even feel my legs…”
Breakdown let out a rough chuckle at the weak slap, not even flinching as he continued to watch Knockout struggle to stay upright.
"Tch. You really think I'm gonna let you go that easily?" he rumbled, voice still thick with possessive satisfaction.
His servos slid under Knockout's frame—one bracing his back and the other slipping beneath his thighs—before lifting him effortlessly off the berth and into a more comfortable position against his chest plate.
"You're lucky I'm in a good mood."
Knockout slumped against Breakdown's chest plate, a tired grumble leaving him.
"Yeah, lucky me,” he huffed out sarcastically. “Stuck with a possessive bastard like you…"
But despite his words, he leaned into the touch, allowing himself to be held against Breakdown’s chassis, getting comfortable on the berth.
Breakdown let out another low rumble as he felt Knockout lean into his touch.
He carefully shifted them both into a lying position on the berth, pulling the red mech further against his chassis.
He made sure Knockout was comfortable, holding him close.
"Damn right you are," he replied, voice rough and amused. "And this possessive bastard’s gonna put another sparkling in you, once this one comes out.”
Knockout let out a soft whine, a shiver going through him at the words, processor too exhausted and hazy to properly react to the words. He was exhausted, and he was still sore from their previous activities.
"You're already thinking about knocking me up again?" he mumbled, burying his face into the crook of Breakdown's neck.
His servo remained over his midsection.
“We haven’t even thought of a name for this one, yet…”
Breakdown's engine rumbled in quiet satisfaction as Knockout nuzzled into his neck, the smaller mech already half-asleep against him.
He let out a low chuckle, servo gently running over Knockout’s backplate.
"Of course I am," he murmured; voice rough but warm with affection. "You think one sparkling is enough for us? Nah."
He pressed a kiss just below Knockout's audial finial.
“And please—you'll probably have about a thousand ideas for a name by next week."
Knockout’s optics were half-lidded, their activities clearly taking a toll on him. He leaned back against Breakdown, frame relaxing under the their shared warmth.
He let out a small sigh, a tired smile tugging at the corner of his dermas.
“… I guess you’re right,” he hummed in agreement—to both statements from Breakdown. His voice was growing quieter, and he looked on the verge of falling asleep just then. “I… I think I already have a name for this one…”
Breakdown raised an optic ridge. He could see and hear just how exhausted the red mech was from everything that had happened, but even that wasn’t stopping the sudden surge of curiosity.
"Already?" he asked softly. He let out a gentle rumble, servos rubbing soothing circles on Knockout's backplate. “Let's hear it, then."
Knockout nuzzled closer, optics already flitting shut as he responded.
“What do you think of… Wildbreak?”
Breakdown hummed in thought, considering the name.
He could already imagine a little sparkling with Knockout's fiery temper and his own strength and stubbornness—a tiny little powerhouse of a little one.
And damn, if it didn't sound perfect.
He nuzzled his dermas against Knockout's audial, planting a soft kiss just below it.
"Wildbreak," he repeated softly, a quiet rumble of approval sounding from his engine. "I like it. A whole lot, actually…"