A/N: Starscream/Knock Out. Ficlet.

Takes place in season 3's episode Thirst after the little talk they had.

"If this is indeed the end..."

Plating met with a clang and shivering wings lowered as mouthplates finally connected. Slender talons hooked into a gap in shining red armor, tugging Knock Out closer with each frantic osculation. The charge between their mouths was audible, crackling and setting off sadly under-used sensors.

The sounds of horror and infection coming from the corridors only seemed to fuel them more, hot air bursting from Starscream's air vents as he gripped the medic.

Knock Out's engine rumbled as he was tugged yet again, and in response he shifted to wrap his legs around the air commander. A servo slid up to the back of Starscream's helm, claws clinking softly against metal, just gently stroking, lighting up the little sensors back there. His chemoreceptors registered wax and fresh paint, but then again he always noticed when the Seeker spent an afternoon at the body shop.

Starscream pulled back, optical ridges strangely lax, optics bright and gooey like melting pools. The blue light from the console illuminated them both and it took one tiny shift of a lonely energy field for a silent decision to be made. Knock Out used his other servo to steady his frame as they rocked into each other, mouthplates meeting seamlessly.

The harder Knock Out bit at mouthplate, the more Starscream moaned into him. Auxiliary vents drew in air faster the more their bodies grated together. There would be paint transfers and claw marks. Undeniable, obvious, and condemning.

Starscream shoved Knock Out into the floor.

Megatron had ignored him and Breakdown had been deceased for some time now. To the Pit with consequences.

Besides.

They were going to die anyway, right?