Tarn smirks as Megatron bucks against him, Hands scrambling for purchase on the cold floor of the cell. Slowly he leans back, reaching behind him to run his hand over Megatron's spike. The heat is exactly how Tarn has remembered it. It's exactly what he had played over and over in his head.
Adjusting his grip, he grinds his valve against it's tip, dripping lubricant down it's length. He can't rush this. He wants to draw out every moment. Savor his victory. He grips eagerly at one of Megatron's hands, trying to maneuver it to hold his hip, urging his wayward frame to participate.
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Date: 2017-10-16 08:43 pm (UTC)Adjusting his grip, he grinds his valve against it's tip, dripping lubricant down it's length. He can't rush this. He wants to draw out every moment. Savor his victory. He grips eagerly at one of Megatron's hands, trying to maneuver it to hold his hip, urging his wayward frame to participate.