Tarn isn't concerned on enticing violence. He has something much more decadent planned.
"Just a bit of chemical encouragement. You'll be feeling it's effects shortly."
He wave's off Megatron's concern, coming right up to the bars, wrapping his claws around the cool ununtrium.
"Don't you remember? Our lengthy training sessions. Pinning me down, punishing me when I failed to properly defend myself. Humiliating me as I loved every moment of it."
Running a claw tip down the length of the bar he looks at Megatron with distinctly predatory optics.
"You see, Megatron. If you don't want to fight anymore, I will accept that, but I will find a use for you yet."
Chemical encouragement... If his frame hadn't been running so hot, his lines would have turned cold at the mere thought. All this time, Megatron has tried to stay away from such substances. He likes to be in full control of his mental faculties. Anything that could hinder that isn't worth any potential benefit.
His face remains impassive, even with his very spark feeling out of place. Again he subtly shifts, taking in Tarn's words. It dawns on him then what the leader of the DJD intends to do. For a moment, he sees red. How dare he!
"I see. Can't coerce me of your own accord so you must resort to this method," he sneers.
"I simply thought that you may need a little help. You'd take far to long to warm up, and I know how stubborn you can be..."
Finally, he dares to enter the cell, locking the door behind him. He circles Megatron, taking in ever angle of his frame, but keeping his distance. Tarn could have never dreamed of having Megatron to himself. He's going to take his time enjoying this.
"I can feel the heat rolling off of your frame from here. It will become difficult to ignore soon. Your frame will become oversensitive to even the slightest touch."
"It is more akin to you needing help," Megatron amends. He doesn't like one bit of this. Surrendering to Tarn and the DJD... Something like this hadn't even crossed his mind. Just how twisted and morbid had this lot become?
Otherwise he ignores Tarn's words. There's no reason to state the obvious unless it's to intimidate or watch the horror pass across the victim's features. Megatron isn't easily intimidated nor does he have much of a reaction to being told what he's already going through. Already there's the feel of something chewing on his circuitry and a hyper awareness of Tarn's frame circling his own.
No, they probably wouldn't. However, Megatron is quite certain of his ability intimidate at least them. Tarn might be a different matter, considering Megatron had trained him personally. The others? They aren't really quite sure what the tank could be capable of. They could severely underestimate him.
"You're bad at sharing," Megatron comments. "Also obsessive."
Megatron's fairly confident about that. Though there's no hiding the wince as Tarn's hands fall upon him. He can feel that drug now. The area that Tarn is touching is on fire. He can still control his reactions, but it's hard to ignore the all too familiar song of lust crawling its way through his lines.
"Which answer would you prefer? And then would you even believe it?"
How could he pull away? What good is that going to do him? Though when Tarn tightens the grip, Megatron's optics flash. His hand lands on Tarn's wrist, pushing it away.
"I did take pleasure in it. Sick and twisted as it was. Your pain. Your humiliation. Owning you as I won..."
Tarn isn't so easily deterred. "Come." he commands, stroking Megatron's spark from the inside.
"Your ownership was always what I craved the most. Feeling your utter mastery of my frame. Being at the mercy of your unrelenting cruelty." His own frame has begun to heat as he plays back those cherished memories.
It's difficult to fight against the coaxing of his spark. His entire frame shudders, his resistance only holding on by a thread. In this moment he loathes that power of Tarn's. It makes his tanks churn even as the hold he has on that wrist lessens.
"I'm done with it. No more, Damus. We could be more than just cruel monsters venting their frustrations on the ones we were meant to save."
He's impressed by Megatron's unyielding resistance, though he knows that it is only a matter of time until he falls.
"Don't call me that. You don't have any right." His temper flares as he steps forward, pressing the length of his body against Megatron. Tarn leans in to whisper into his audio. "We are past negotiation. It's time to relive the past."
It is only a matter of time. He can feel it in his spark and in his frame. This is made apparent as the heat from Tarn's frame catches his own. His vents catch before the other tank can even reach him. Once they do, his optics turn a darker shade of crimson and he shivers.
"We are never past negotiation," he says, voice a little thicker. His EMF lights up, spreading just a bit further, more eager than he is mentally to meet Tarn's.
Tarn runs his claws up Megatron's flanks, dipping into gaps in his armor. He loves that shiver and flare of charge that he's earned.
"Traitors don't get to negotiate." He edge of his mask scrapes against Megatron's cheek as he floods his mentor's field with his own heavy arousal. "Traitors take what they are given."
That arousal hits Megatron full force, going right down to his array and pooling there. His field returns it, the tank's grip tightening on Tarn's wrist. It's not to push the Decepticon away, but more grounding himself against the heat that's started to cloud his mind. To keep himself upright and not disoriented.
"I'm not the traitor here," he hisses, attempting to move his helm away from Tarn's with likely little success. His frame already yearns for the contact - to be touched. For those claws to dip further into those gaps.
Tarn, lets Megaton grip his wrist as he slides his free fingers into the vents lining his abdomen. Tarn pursues mercilessly as Megatron tries to turn away, purring deep in his chassis. The subsonic vibration should be a pleasant sensation for Megatron's overheated frame. The struggle that the other tank must be going through to contain his impulses must be relentless.
It's actually painful to resist and struggle. Megatron can feel his frame shake, almost trembling. His field is no different, lashing out at Tarn's as if to invite the DJD's leader and his touch. An aborted sound - likely from those claws in his vents - that catches in the ex-Con's throat.
"You never stopped until the end."
Megatron's also never known a day where he hasn't stopped struggling. Not that it matters, since he's already sinking down to a knee.
Tarn smirks, staring down at Megatron as he sinks to one knee. He lets his hand slip free from those vents, reaching up to release the clasps holding his mask to his face.
"Your command over me was absolute. I fought because you ordered it. You liked to feel my frame running hot as I struggled beneath you."
Letting it fall away, Tarn turns his bare face to Megatron. A familiar enough sight to his master, though it has been some time. His optics seem to burn brighter, alight with excitement.
"I promise that you'll feel the heat of my frame again."
It might have been better for Megatron if Tarn had left the mask on. At least then he might have been able to disassociate better. Though looking straight into the face of Glitch? That makes this all too personal.
Megatron isn't unaffected by those words either. His fans click on, signalling that his frame has reached a point where it needs those fans working to cool off. He remembers all those times he had enjoyed watching Tarn struggle, face down onto whatever surface had been available so Megatron could take his pleasure from the other tank. He liked exerting his authority and control... Those memories make him burn.
He's finally losing this battle, control now fraying.
His teeth flash in a smile as Megatron’s cooling fans kick on. Perfect.
“You’d like it wouldn’t you?”
He lets his Master watch him as he runs his own claws down his chassis, tracing transformation seams and circling brightly glowing biolights. His frame is burning as he forces Megatron’s craving to build, unsatisfied by the lack of contact. He palms over his interface array, sliding his valve panel apart to give Megatron a look at what he’s been missing. The plush lips are already swollen with charge as he spreads them with his fingers to reveal his slick opening, node flickering with interest.
It's the only way he can disguise his own voice at the moment. His field is flaring out by now, one hand finding purchase on one of Tarn's hips. He's fighting the urge to bring the other tank closer, his own array enticed by the sight of Tarn opening himself up for Megatron. It aches, really. His covers and panel are all still in place, but for how much longer?
Really that valve and node are so hard to miss, especially with Megatron down on a knee. It's staring him right in the face. So close. There's a click as he resets his vocalizer, even if his reply is strained.
"I haven't given it much thought."
Until like. Right now. His optics darken, unable to actually look away now.
Tarn smiles as Megatron’s finger’s close around his hip. His plating is scorching; waves of charge rolling off of him as he struggles fruitlessly to fight the effects of the aphrodisiac.
Megatron’s rebuttal hardly bothers Tarn. He’s still going to get what he wants. Running a claw tip around his rode, Tarn bites his lip to suppress a breathy moan. He can feel his master’s eyes glued to his frame.
"But you are now. look how prettily it glistens for you. It’s yours if you want it."
"I don't," he hisses, partially to try to release more heat from his frame and to keep telling himself that.
While his answer is true, the drug in his system disagree. Tarn, unfortunately, is painting a rather pretty picture and his thumb is already stroking pelvic armor. Maybe Tarn thinks that eventually Megatron is going to fall apart and throw him down to just ravage that frame. It's not going to work out that way. Megatron just doesn't have it in him to be that violent.
His other hand has found itself on Tarn's thigh. The tank's mind is swimming now. Frankly, Megatron's almost dizzy and it's all starting to become uncomfortable. How much longer can he hold out? Not much, really.
Fortunately, Tarn isn't banking on Megatron taking the reins in this particular instance.
"Your mind might not, but I think that your body does"
Tarn's foot find's Megatron's chest, pushing him firmly onto his back. Role reversal is an interesting thing. Like lighting Tarn is on him, straddling Megatron's hips. His bared valve rubs against his Mentor's closed panel, leaving streaks of slippery lubricant behind. He's really testing Megatron's resolve.
Megatron can't argue it. Not that he really has the time to, mind. He's very distracted by his own singing need and the warmth of the frame in front of him to see that foot coming. The tank should have and he growl he emits is out of frustration as he lands on his back - albeit there's more than one reason to be frustrated and it's not just a mental/emotional one.
Tarn is on him instantly. Hardly a surprise. Unfortunately, Megatron can't suppress the groan or the violent shudder that has his plates rattling. There's no real resolve to test here. The heat given off by Tarn's valve pales in comparison to the one radiating from Megatron's still closed one. The Autobot doesn't have control of himself enough to stop his panel from sliding open in response.
The click of Megatron's panel is music to Tarn's ears. He grinds eagerly back into whatever bits of hardware that he can reach, bracing his hands on either side of Megatron's helm. Tarn stares down with lust raging in his fiery red optics.
"Better." He bites back a moan as his node catches on an edge of Megatron's armor. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"Just a bit of chemical encouragement. You'll be feeling it's effects shortly."
He wave's off Megatron's concern, coming right up to the bars, wrapping his claws around the cool ununtrium.
"Don't you remember? Our lengthy training sessions. Pinning me down, punishing me when I failed to properly defend myself. Humiliating me as I loved every moment of it."
Running a claw tip down the length of the bar he looks at Megatron with distinctly predatory optics.
"You see, Megatron. If you don't want to fight anymore, I will accept that, but I will find a use for you yet."
no subject
His face remains impassive, even with his very spark feeling out of place. Again he subtly shifts, taking in Tarn's words. It dawns on him then what the leader of the DJD intends to do. For a moment, he sees red. How dare he!
"I see. Can't coerce me of your own accord so you must resort to this method," he sneers.
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"I simply thought that you may need a little help. You'd take far to long to warm up, and I know how stubborn you can be..."
Finally, he dares to enter the cell, locking the door behind him. He circles Megatron, taking in ever angle of his frame, but keeping his distance. Tarn could have never dreamed of having Megatron to himself. He's going to take his time enjoying this.
"I can feel the heat rolling off of your frame from here. It will become difficult to ignore soon. Your frame will become oversensitive to even the slightest touch."
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Otherwise he ignores Tarn's words. There's no reason to state the obvious unless it's to intimidate or watch the horror pass across the victim's features. Megatron isn't easily intimidated nor does he have much of a reaction to being told what he's already going through. Already there's the feel of something chewing on his circuitry and a hyper awareness of Tarn's frame circling his own.
He is not going to enjoy this.
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Tarn stops, just in front of Megatron, reaching out cradle his chin between his claws.
“Did you ever enjoy our sessions, I wonder, or was it purely out of necessity?"
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"You're bad at sharing," Megatron comments. "Also obsessive."
Megatron's fairly confident about that. Though there's no hiding the wince as Tarn's hands fall upon him. He can feel that drug now. The area that Tarn is touching is on fire. He can still control his reactions, but it's hard to ignore the all too familiar song of lust crawling its way through his lines.
"Which answer would you prefer? And then would you even believe it?"
omg i thought i tagged this already
"I want the truth-- whatever it may be. I've had enough of dishonesty."
u trash
"I did take pleasure in it. Sick and twisted as it was. Your pain. Your humiliation. Owning you as I won..."
:')
"Your ownership was always what I craved the most. Feeling your utter mastery of my frame. Being at the mercy of your unrelenting cruelty." His own frame has begun to heat as he plays back those cherished memories.
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"I'm done with it. No more, Damus. We could be more than just cruel monsters venting their frustrations on the ones we were meant to save."
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"Don't call me that. You don't have any right." His temper flares as he steps forward, pressing the length of his body against Megatron. Tarn leans in to whisper into his audio. "We are past negotiation. It's time to relive the past."
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"We are never past negotiation," he says, voice a little thicker. His EMF lights up, spreading just a bit further, more eager than he is mentally to meet Tarn's.
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"Traitors don't get to negotiate." He edge of his mask scrapes against Megatron's cheek as he floods his mentor's field with his own heavy arousal. "Traitors take what they are given."
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"I'm not the traitor here," he hisses, attempting to move his helm away from Tarn's with likely little success. His frame already yearns for the contact - to be touched. For those claws to dip further into those gaps.
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Tarn, lets Megaton grip his wrist as he slides his free fingers into the vents lining his abdomen. Tarn pursues mercilessly as Megatron tries to turn away, purring deep in his chassis. The subsonic vibration should be a pleasant sensation for Megatron's overheated frame. The struggle that the other tank must be going through to contain his impulses must be relentless.
"Stop fighting it. Accept your forfeiture."
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"You never stopped until the end."
Megatron's also never known a day where he hasn't stopped struggling. Not that it matters, since he's already sinking down to a knee.
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"Your command over me was absolute. I fought because you ordered it. You liked to feel my frame running hot as I struggled beneath you."
Letting it fall away, Tarn turns his bare face to Megatron. A familiar enough sight to his master, though it has been some time. His optics seem to burn brighter, alight with excitement.
"I promise that you'll feel the heat of my frame again."
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Megatron isn't unaffected by those words either. His fans click on, signalling that his frame has reached a point where it needs those fans working to cool off. He remembers all those times he had enjoyed watching Tarn struggle, face down onto whatever surface had been available so Megatron could take his pleasure from the other tank. He liked exerting his authority and control... Those memories make him burn.
He's finally losing this battle, control now fraying.
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“You’d like it wouldn’t you?”
He lets his Master watch him as he runs his own claws down his chassis, tracing transformation seams and circling brightly glowing biolights. His frame is burning as he forces Megatron’s craving to build, unsatisfied by the lack of contact. He palms over his interface array, sliding his valve panel apart to give Megatron a look at what he’s been missing. The plush lips are already swollen with charge as he spreads them with his fingers to reveal his slick opening, node flickering with interest.
"You've missed this."
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It's the only way he can disguise his own voice at the moment. His field is flaring out by now, one hand finding purchase on one of Tarn's hips. He's fighting the urge to bring the other tank closer, his own array enticed by the sight of Tarn opening himself up for Megatron. It aches, really. His covers and panel are all still in place, but for how much longer?
Really that valve and node are so hard to miss, especially with Megatron down on a knee. It's staring him right in the face. So close. There's a click as he resets his vocalizer, even if his reply is strained.
"I haven't given it much thought."
Until like. Right now. His optics darken, unable to actually look away now.
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Tarn smiles as Megatron’s finger’s close around his hip. His plating is scorching; waves of charge rolling off of him as he struggles fruitlessly to fight the effects of the aphrodisiac.
Megatron’s rebuttal hardly bothers Tarn. He’s still going to get what he wants. Running a claw tip around his rode, Tarn bites his lip to suppress a breathy moan. He can feel his master’s eyes glued to his frame.
"But you are now. look how prettily it glistens for you. It’s yours if you want it."
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While his answer is true, the drug in his system disagree. Tarn, unfortunately, is painting a rather pretty picture and his thumb is already stroking pelvic armor. Maybe Tarn thinks that eventually Megatron is going to fall apart and throw him down to just ravage that frame. It's not going to work out that way. Megatron just doesn't have it in him to be that violent.
His other hand has found itself on Tarn's thigh. The tank's mind is swimming now. Frankly, Megatron's almost dizzy and it's all starting to become uncomfortable. How much longer can he hold out? Not much, really.
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"Your mind might not, but I think that your body does"
Tarn's foot find's Megatron's chest, pushing him firmly onto his back. Role reversal is an interesting thing. Like lighting Tarn is on him, straddling Megatron's hips. His bared valve rubs against his Mentor's closed panel, leaving streaks of slippery lubricant behind. He's really testing Megatron's resolve.
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Tarn is on him instantly. Hardly a surprise. Unfortunately, Megatron can't suppress the groan or the violent shudder that has his plates rattling. There's no real resolve to test here. The heat given off by Tarn's valve pales in comparison to the one radiating from Megatron's still closed one. The Autobot doesn't have control of himself enough to stop his panel from sliding open in response.
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"Better." He bites back a moan as his node catches on an edge of Megatron's armor. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
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