Smoke and Mirrors: Crash and Burn

[anon_decepticon]

Title: Smoke and Mirrors: Crash and Burn
Author: anon_decepticon
Rating: M
Pairing or Character(s): Inferno/Breakdown, Red Alert has a cameo.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers.
Warning(s): Slash, sticky, angst, violence, non-con, oral, general f*ckup-edness.
Summary: G1. Breakdown was confused. Now Inferno is too. Who’s obsessed with whom?
Author's Note: Inferno's POV. Sequel to “Smoke and Mirrors: Moth to Flame”. Definitely read that first, as this fic references it heavily. It also obliquely references the events of the G1 episode “Auto Berserk.” Special thanks to kookaburra1701 for her support and insightful feedback, and a nod to Garbage’s Version 2.0 for general inspiration.



He pulled away from his lover’s embrace, from Red Alert’s gentle kisses. “I’m sorry, Red...”

The Autobot Security Director regarded him with a sympathetic expression. “It’s all right, Inferno. Believe me, I understand.”

Inferno didn’t doubt it. Red had never really gone into the details, but Inferno knew that more had gone on between Starscream and his partner during the incident with the Negavator than Red had put into his official report. If anyone could understand having mixed feelings about a Decepticon, it was Red Alert.

But Inferno couldn’t bring himself to confess what was really weighing on his processor. Not even to audials as sympathetic as Red’s.

The truth was so much worse than his lover realized.

Red had had an excuse – he’d been badly damaged at the time, not in control of himself or his actions. Whatever he may or may not have done with Starscream, Red wasn’t truly at fault. Even if some part of him had been willing, even if he had enjoyed it, he was still essentially blameless.

Inferno hadn’t been that badly damaged. He’d been blinded but otherwise functional. He’d been fully capable of making rational decisions.

But he hadn’t. He’d let his spike do the thinking for him.

No one had questioned Inferno’s actions on that day. The circumstances had been such that not even Red, who’d been present to witness it all, thought Inferno was anything other than an innocent victim. His arousal had been perfectly explainable; Breakdown had tricked him, taking advantage of his damaged optics and pretending to be his lover. His decision to comply with the Stunticon’s demands once the ruse had been revealed had been a purely selfless act, a heroic sacrifice made solely out of fear for his lover’s safety.

Except it hadn’t been.

He had been worried for Red, of course he’d been; Inferno would sooner offline than see his lover come to harm. But he hadn’t been that concerned, for either Red or himself. Not because he’d doubted Breakdown’s threats were sincere; he was certain they had been. But he’d also been fairly certain that he could defeat Breakdown and escape, if it came to that. If Breakdown was as similar to Red Alert as his build suggested, Inferno’s strength would have easily outmatched his. He could have fought Breakdown if he’d wanted to. He could have stopped him. He hadn’t tried.

That was the awful truth that Inferno didn’t dare to admit to his lover.

A lot of emotions had gone through his processor when the Decepticon had issued his demand. Shock and disbelief had come first, of course. A hint of disgust, a thrill of fear when the weapon had come into play. But his arousal had remained constant throughout – no, be honest, Inferno, at least with yourself – it had increased.

He’d been so revved already, both from the anticipation of the tryst and from the heated foreplay he’d unwittingly engaged in with Breakdown, that even after he’d learned it wasn’t his lover he was touching, he’d still been ready to go. And everything about the situation – the fact that he couldn’t see Breakdown, Red Alert being present and aware of what was going on, the danger, the forbidden allure of ‘facing with the enemy – had only served to wind him up all the more.

And then there was that little voice that sometimes crept into his processor, the one that whispered horrible questions late at night, questions he’d never dare ask Red Alert, questions that echoed Inferno’s deepest doubts and fears: What had really gone on between his lover and Starscream? Had Red initiated it? Had he liked it? Did he think about Starscream when they were together? Did he crave the Seeker’s touch even now?

That horrid little voice thought the situation with Breakdown was the perfect opportunity for revenge. He could betray Red with a Decepticon, just as Red had betrayed him, and be just as blameless. Then they would be even. Red Alert would have an ugly little voice to plague him with questions too, and Inferno wouldn’t have to feel so guilty all the time.

And so, driven by base lust and petty jealously, Inferno had done what Breakdown wanted, touching him like a lover would, feeling his own circuits heating up as he did so, and hating himself more with every passing astrosecond. Hating Breakdown too, for putting him in this position, for peeling away the loving, amiable mask Inferno showed the world and exposing the jealous, spiteful mech that lurked underneath.

That was why when Breakdown demanded Inferno enter him, Inferno had done so as forcefully as he could, feeling a sort of vicious satisfaction in knowing that his size would surely hurt the smaller mech. He would never have been so rough with Red Alert, would never want to be, but Breakdown was another story. Breakdown deserved to be hurt for insisting he ‘face him in front of his lover. He deserved to be punished for forcing Inferno to confront that dark, shameful side of himself, to face down his own guilt and self-loathing. Breakdown had asked for it. Inferno gave it to him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that Breakdown might still have an intact seal.

He really should have guessed. Everything up until that point had suggested it – the uncertain touches, the sloppy, inexpert kisses, the odd moments of hesitation – Breakdown’s every word and gesture had practically trumpeted his ignorance, but Inferno hadn’t been listening. He’d been too caught up in his own tangled emotions to recognize the clues he’d been given.

Inferno first began to comprehend the depth of his error when he breached that thin barrier, felt the Stunticon trembling in his arms as he fought not to scream. When Breakdown had leveled his accusations, inadvertently revealing just how naïve he really was, realization had struck the Autobot like a physical blow. While an adult in frame and processor, emotionally Breakdown was little more than a sparkling. A very confused and misguided sparkling, one who’d unquestionably gone very, very astray...but a sparkling nonetheless.

Inferno had felt lower than an oil stain.

He resolved at that moment to be very gentle with Breakdown, in spite of the fact that Breakdown was a Decepticon, in spite of his threats against Red and everything else he had done. As far as Inferno was concerned, it was the only right thing to do. He knew that living among the Decepticons, it was unlikely anyone would ever be so gentle with Breakdown again. For him, that alone was reason enough.

He’d intended it as an act of charity, of pity. A brief concession to one less fortunate. Red Alert would surely forgive him for that. And afterward Inferno could return to his home and the arms of his lover, his guilt assuaged, and think no more about it.

But he had thought about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It wasn’t just the memory of the interface itself that had become lodged in Inferno’s processor, although it had been memorable. Breakdown’s valve had been – as one might expect – extremely tight, and he’d been…not exactly vocal – at least, not in the way Red Alert was vocal – but he’d made these sounds, these hungry, needy little whimpers that had revved Inferno’s engines more than he would have ever thought possible.

He felt terribly guilty about that. He’d interfaced with a mech who was practically a sparkling, and while everyone who knew of it believed he’d only done so under duress, or out of magnanimity – and he had – he’d also enjoyed it immensely.

It was just one more stone added to the burden of guilt weighing on him. There were so many others he couldn’t bear to list them all. He’d committed so many wrongs, against Red, and now against Breakdown –

“We shouldn’t have left him there.”

Red Alert broke into his musings, reminding Inferno where he was, who he was with. Inferno had fallen into a long, pensive silence as his thoughts drifted, recalling their recent experience.

Apparently Red’s had, too. “Breakdown, I mean,” he clarified. “We should have brought him back with us. Back to the Ark.”

“I dunno, Red. I understand you’re angry about what he did, but–”

“I was angry,” Red Alert interrupted. “Part of me still is. But I’m not talking about punishing him, or getting revenge for what he did to you.”

Inferno stiffened in surprise. That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. Red Alert wasn’t a heartless mech by any means, but he wasn’t the type to forgive readily, either.

It was a relief to learn that Red Alert wasn’t interested in revenge (after the Negavator incident, Inferno had wanted to pound Starscream’s faceplate in for what he’d done with Red – no, to Red, not with, Red was damaged and couldn’t help himself) but as convenient as it was, it almost hurt to hear it. Did Red Alert think Inferno wasn’t worth avenging? Did he suspect Inferno hadn’t been completely unwilling?

“I think we had an opportunity that day, but we failed to take it,” Red Alert continued. “I’m not sorry about that – you were my primary concern at the time – but I can’t help wondering if we’ll ever have a chance like that again.”

Inferno shook his helm in confusion, “A chance for what? What are you talking about, Red?”

“If you’d seen how he looked when we left him, you'd understand,” Red Alert replied quietly. “He looked like...like the ground had been pulled out from under him. I don’t think Breakdown’s happy being a Decepticon. I think...I think attacking us might have been his way of, I don’t know, reaching out to us. Maybe his loyalty to Megatron isn’t fully cemented yet. Maybe if we reached out to him...”

Inferno couldn’t believe his audials. Was Red seriously suggesting they invite Breakdown to join the Autobots?!

Imagine seeing him every day, close enough to touch…no, imagine everyone getting to know him, finding out just how innocent he really is.

Spark clenching in shame and self-disgust, Inferno lashed out. “Right, Red, and maybe we should invite Starscream to join us, too! Bet you’d like that, huh? Seein’ him every day? Runnin’ into him in the corridors? Pit, I bet the two of you would get along just dandy–”

Seeing the shocked and horrified expression on Red Alert’s faceplate cut short Inferno’s tirade.

Primus, what had he done? He opened his mouth to apologize, to say something, anything, to tell Red he hadn’t meant it, but his vocalizer refused to function. Oh, why couldn’t it have done that half a klik ago?

Consumed by guilt and shame, unable to speak, Inferno did the only thing he could. He fled.

He tore out of the Ark, his tires screaming. The memory of the look in Red Alert’s optics haunted him. How could he have said that? How could he have said such horrible things to Red? How could he have hurt him like that?

One more stone for the pile.

He’ll never forgive me.

When Inferno had left the Ark, he’d had no direction in mind beyond away. He’d let his tires meet the road and take him where they would. So he was surprised when he found himself entering an all-too-familiar area.

This is where Red and I used to meet. This is where Breakdown...

The scene of the crime, as it were.

He braked to a halt and transformed, looking around. It had only been about a third of a deca-cycle since the incident – less than a full Earth week. Very little had changed. Dry ground, rock, the odd clump of cacti and brush...

The soft pattering sound of falling dust and scree off to his left reached his audials.

He wasn’t alone.

Inferno whirled to face the sound, his spark pulsing. Had Red Alert come after him? Had he forgiven him?

He came optic-to-optic with Breakdown.

“You,” he blurted in surprise.

“You came back,” the Decepticon replied. He sounded surprised and…pleased. He sidled closer, reaching out to run his fingertips over Inferno’s chestplate. “I knew you’d come back,” he murmured smugly. “Knew it was me you wanted.”

“I didn’t come here for you,” Inferno informed him coldly.

Breakdown’s grin vanished. “Then why are you here?”

Inferno didn’t really have an answer for that. He wasn’t sure why he’d come. Here, of all places...

He stiffened as Breakdown edged closer, pressing himself tight against Inferno's chassis and nuzzling his helm crests. “You want to do it again,” Breakdown crooned confidently into his audial. “You want to do it with me.”

Inferno couldn’t truly deny it. The memory of interfacing with Breakdown was all too vivid in his processor, and he couldn’t help entertaining the notion, envisioning taking Breakdown again, imagining sinking his spike deep into that tight, inexperienced valve and hearing those delicious little whimpers as he brought the Decepticon to overload...

Then he remembered Red Alert.

“I didn’t come here for you,” he said again. “I told you before: I love Red Alert. I only want him.”

For an astrosecond Breakdown’s violet optics flickered with uncertainty, but he rallied quickly. “Where is he, then?” he challenged. “Why isn’t he here with you? Why aren’t you with him?”

Because he hates me now, Inferno’s processor supplied.

Aloud he said, “None of your business, Decepticon.”

Breakdown eyed him a moment, then giggled delightedly. “He figured it out, didn’t he? He knows you lied to him.”

Inferno’s spark contracted in its chamber. How could he know that? “Shut up,” he demanded weakly, unable to put any real force behind the words.

Breakdown leaned into him, close enough that Inferno could feel the heat emanating from the smaller mech. “He knows you wanted it," he purred. "He knows you liked it.”

Inferno’s spark pulsed with dread. Was it that obvious? Was his deceit so nakedly apparent that even a Decepticon could see it?

“Shut up,” he said again, a little more firmly.

“He knows you lied. Now he doesn’t want you anymore.”

It was too close to home, too close to the truth. Inferno was swallowed by a wave of despair.

He’ll never forgive me.

Breakdown chortled gleefully. “It’s okay. You don’t need him; you have me.”

Inferno stared at him, his fuel tanks churning in disgust – for Breakdown, and for himself.

Breakdown was grinning at him exultantly. Relishing his victory. Gloating.

Inferno’s spark exploded in white-hot rage.

With an incoherent roar of pure fury, he shoved Breakdown away from him, flinging him violently to the ground. An astrosecond later Inferno was on him, pinning the smaller mech to the ground with his greater bulk, his nozzle retracting, his hands clenching into fists. Half-blinded by rage, Inferno hit him again and again, bringing every ounce of his considerable strength to bear, relentlessly pounding the dusty blue-and-white chassis.

“I have you?!” he screamed. “This is all your fault! You did this! You ruined everything!”

There was more, so much more that he wanted to say, a veritable torrent of vituperation, but his vocalizer fritzed before he could utter the words, refusing to emit anything but pointless static. In his processor, the stream of invective continued unabated.

You made me betray Red Alert. You made me say those things to him. You made him hate me. I hate you!

Breakdown kicked and struggled, raising his arms in a vain attempt to ward off the merciless fists of the incensed Autobot, striving to shield himself from the storm of abuse raining down on him, but there was no escaping Inferno’s wrath. Inferno was larger, stronger, and had him bodily pinned. Punch after punch dented his plating.

Scream, Inferno raged. I want to hear you scream! I want to you to hurt. I want you to suffer. I want you broken!

Breakdown squirmed and twisted beneath him in a futile effort to get away. He occasionally emitted a faint grunt in response to a particularly fierce blow, but no cry of pain escaped him.

The memory came to Inferno then, the memory of Breakdown trembling in his arms. Trembling in pain.

I know how to hurt you, he thought triumphantly. I know what will make you scream.

He abandoned slamming his fists into the Decepticon in favor of groping for his panel, finding and forcing it open. A moment later his extended spike was engulfed in tight, gripping heat.

This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? he thought viciously. Take it, you little glitch! Take it and scream for me!

It was over in five fierce thrusts.

Breakdown hadn’t screamed. He’d voiced a startled squeak when Inferno shoved himself inside him, and a few strained whimpers had followed, but that was all.

Inferno’s overload hit him like a douse of cold water, abrupt and startling. The all-consuming rage and insanity drained out of him along with the heated fluids he released into Breakdown’s battered valve. He stared down at the Stunticon, numb and quivering with shock, the same thought passing through his processor for the second time in a single orn:

Primus, what have I done?

His mouth opened, but no words emerged. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? What apology or excuse could possibly suffice? He was a monster. How do you say you’re sorry for being a monster?

The expression on Breakdown’s scuffed faceplate didn’t help matters. He didn’t look angry, or even particularly distraught.

He looked...confused.

It was Breakdown who finally broke the silence that had stretched out between them. “I liked it better the way you did it before,” he said reproachfully.

Inferno stared at him in disbelief, his vocalizer stuttering. “You...you weren’t supposed to like it, you stupid Decepticon! I just raped you!”

“Oh.”

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t even realize what just happened to him.

“Can you do it the other way now? The way that feels good?”

Inferno couldn’t believe his own audials.

He’s not even angry that I hurt him.

He straightened, pulling himself off of the Stunticon, retracting his spike and sitting up. Breakdown hissed and flinched, his legs twitching slightly as the large spike withdrew from his valve. The reaction made Inferno wince in an uneasy blend of sympathy and guilt; the movement drew his optics. Breakdown’s thighs were streaked with a mixture of energon, lubricant and Inferno's own fluids. Looking at it made his fuel tank churn. He’d done that.

Breakdown was watching him expectantly. Waiting.

Inferno looked back at the disturbing sight. There was no way Breakdown’s damaged valve would be up to another round of interfacing so soon, not even the gentlest he could manage. But the weight of his own guilt was crushing him, and the Decepticon’s bewildered purple optics were on him...

He slid his hands down the smaller mech’s thighs, coaxing them further apart as he inched himself backwards. Lowering his helm, he leaned down and cycled his intakes, blowing a brief burst of cool air over the Stunticon’s seeping valve.

Breakdown flinched again, eyeing him warily. “What are you doing?”

“This,” Inferno replied, running his glossa up Breakdown's inner thigh.

Breakdown’s gasp of surprise became a whimper of pleasure as Inferno's glossa reached his valve, tracing around the rim and then dipping briefly inside. He whined as Inferno diverted back to his thighs to lick them clean, chasing away all the lingering liquid traces of his assault. He panted and writhed when Inferno returned his attentions once more to his valve, glossa gently thrusting and probing.

Breakdown’s hips jerked in response, but Inferno held him firmly in place, his glossa alternating between flicking and teasing the external sensor node and delving in as deep as he could reach. Breakdown keened in need and frustration, his engine revving wildly.

“Now,” Breakdown begged in a hoarse whisper. “Oh please, please, now.”

Inferno hesitated a moment, then transformed his right hand back into a nozzle. Slimmer and smoother than his spike, it slid into Breakdown's now well-lubricated valve easily.

Breakdown mewled, his hips trying to buck, but even Inferno’s single hand was enough to hold him in place as he gently worked the nozzle slowly in and out.

Breakdown’s arms came up, covering his battered face, hiding his optics. He tensed and shuddered, quietly sobbing his overload.

Inferno carefully eased his nozzle free.

He got to his feet, turning away from the supine Decepticon, preparing to transform and drive away – not back to the Ark, he couldn’t face Red Alert now, couldn’t face any of them, but he couldn’t stay here – when Breakdown’s voice halted him.

“Wait,” was all Breakdown said.

“What?” Inferno asked grudgingly.

“I’m...I’ll be here again in three orbital cycles.” He looked faintly sheepish, half-shrugging. “I always come here.”

Inferno stared at him. Three Earth days. That was when he would have had his next private rendezvous with Red Alert, if they’d still been having them. After Breakdown had attacked them, they’d deemed it wise to make other arrangements.

He realized with a jolt that today would have been a meeting day, too.

I’ve seen you. I’ve watched you, Breakdown had said.

Breakdown had known about their secret trysts, learned their schedule. He’d timed his initial attack for their arrival. He’d come back today expecting them to return – or hoping they would.

Hoping Inferno would.

And Inferno had.

Now Breakdown was suggesting they do it again, that Inferno come and meet with him the way he’d previously met with Red Alert.

That he take the place of Inferno’s lover.

I could never betray Red Alert.

But he had betrayed Red Alert. At least twice now.

Red would never forgive him. Not for the horrible things he’d said, and certainly not for what he’d just done.

Inferno regarded the Stunticon thoughtfully. Breakdown was attractive, for a Decepticon. He possessed many qualities that appealed to Inferno, many of the same qualities that had originally drawn him to Red Alert. Small in size and build – Inferno had always preferred femmes and smaller mechs – intelligent, submissive in the berth. Blue and white rather than red and white like Red Alert, but still an acceptably Autobot color scheme. Optics of exotic violet rather than the distinctive Decepticon crimson. Fast, ground-based alt mode.

Not an Autobot...but not bad.

Unlike Red Alert, Breakdown knew what a monster Inferno really was. And unlike Red Alert, Breakdown still wanted him.

Inferno wasn’t sure why. He’d hurt him, beaten him, even raped him, yet Breakdown didn’t seem to care. Pit, he’d come back and asked for more.

Who was Inferno to deny him? Especially when no Autobot would have him. What Autobot would want such a depraved and detestable mech?

A Decepticon lover suited Inferno. No, it was what he deserved.

Breakdown began to fidget under Inferno’s appraising gaze. “What? Stop gawking at me!”

“I’ll be here.”

Breakdown seemed startled, but delight lit his optics. “Oh. Okay.”

They departed in opposite directions.

*fin* (for now)
Want more? The next part is here.

Comments

[a-scattered-me.livejournal.com]

Might have not matched up with the original prompt, but I think you've pulled off the sequel quite well - Inferno's confusion and spitefulness and Breakdown's painful innocence. Then again, I absolutely love characters that are supposed to be 'lawful' but hide something twisted deeper inside. Love how Inferno methodically convinces himself that it's what he deserves.

The 'for now' bit at the end fills me with hope and glee :P

[anon-decepticon.livejournal.com]

Inferno's biggest problem is Inferno. His feelings (doubt, jealousy, etc.) are quite normal but he's convinced he's evil for having them.

And yes, there will be a part three. I didn't plan on it being so long, but there's a lot more story to tell yet, at least the length of another fic, so there you go. ;)

[kookaburra1701.livejournal.com]

Oh, so wonderful! I love the direction you're taking this, stories about dysfunctional relationships are my fave. Inferno needs to spend some quality time with a robo-therapist, pronto.

Also: much love for use of Inferno's hose nozzle! It doesn't get enough attention.

[anon-decepticon.livejournal.com]

I'm ashamed to admit I completely forgot about Inferno's hose nozzle when I wrote the first fic, and had to do a quick edit at the last minute to explain its absence. I wanted to make up for that this time around.

I'm glad I opted to make it retractable, though. It's been very convenient. ;)

Swindle's Log

[(Anonymous)]

Inferno you sick bastard! Poor Red Alert. He trusted you man. Hell, Breakdown trusted you too, and look what you did to him.

I think Inferno is wrong. No one wants a monster that beasts them and abuses them. Breakdown just doesn't know any better. He lives under Motormaster and Megatron, where beatings are a regular occurence.

Re: Swindle's Log

[anon-decepticon.livejournal.com]

To be fair, Inferno is suffering from some pretty major psychological trauma, moreso than he realizes - he was, after all, recently raped. He's harboring a hell of a lot of anger towards Breakdown for that, but because Breakdown is young, naive and "innocent," Inferno can't express his anger the way he could if his rapist had been older, wiser, or more overtly malicious in their intent. Keeping all that rage bottled up is hard - is it any wonder he eventually explodes?