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?"
It isn't hard to find Megatron's spike to grind back against. Almost immediately after those panels slide open, covers follow. His spike is fully pressurized. The drug in his system is really affecting his drive. The only resistance the tank still has remains with his hands. They smack the floor, scraping lines in the metal surface even as his hips raise to meet Tarn's.
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.
His engine sputters and revs, shaking both of their frames from the sheer force of it. Megatron's offlined his optics, but not out of trust or enjoyment. He doesn't want to look at Tarn nor does he want to see himself and what's about to transpire. His spike is already throbbing, twitching as Tarn draws a hand over it.
Naturally he fights Tarn's grip for a moment, back arching with a hiss at the other tank's teasing. If he's going to just force himself upon Megatron, the Autobot wishes he'd just get on with it. Even as his hand fails and lands on Tarn's hip, is vents stutter out warm air. It's so tempting to just force the other down on him. His hand shakes at Tarn's hip from the effort it takes to resist.
He can feel how desperate Megatron's frame is. He must be suffering as he denies himself the pleasure that he so clearly craves. Tarn settles the spike between the charge swollen folds of his valve, teasing mercilessly, but not sinking down. He can be patient. He wants to see Megatron fall apart beneath him.
Instead, he settles in, allowing himself to thoroughly slick the head of the spike in his grip, grinding his node against it occasionally. the fingers shaking against his hip make it all the more sweet.
"Take it. It's yours, all you have to do is take action."
He will not sink down. This is Megatron's choice. He will wait as long as he needs to.
Suffering is not the proper word here. Torment is the correct word here. Relief from his boiling hot circuits is right within reach. Tarn is right in saying all he has to do is take. That's the problem though, isn't it? The taking. To allow it is choosing it and that would hurt more than anything else that Tarn could do here today. Or ever.
"N-no," he chokes out. "Can't."
He isn't that person anymore. If he goes through with it, then he's certain there won't be any mercy. Then it his choice to come along could be twisted against him. Yet part of his very spark is telling the tank to go for it. That shaking grip becomes almost bruising. There's nothing gentle or kind about it.
"You can. It would be so easy. Just the slightest thrust and you'll get relief."
He remains in position, waiting patiently. He won't ruin this for himself. Not when he's so close. He can tell by how roughly Megatron is gripping him. His plating might even buckle if he squeezes any harder.
Tarn knows he isn't going to last forever. Megatron knows this too. The drug is already starting to affect the way he thinks, not just his frame. Tarn's node rubbing against his spike... Those plush lips being so close and coating him so nicely... Megatron remembers how it feels.
"I won't forgive myself later," Megatron says, brutally honest. He'd never be this way otherwise, but it's still latching onto what new part of himself that he can. In reality, he knows Tarn doesn't care. However, in this moment, he can almost think that Tarn is an actual person who might give a damn.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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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Naturally he fights Tarn's grip for a moment, back arching with a hiss at the other tank's teasing. If he's going to just force himself upon Megatron, the Autobot wishes he'd just get on with it. Even as his hand fails and lands on Tarn's hip, is vents stutter out warm air. It's so tempting to just force the other down on him. His hand shakes at Tarn's hip from the effort it takes to resist.
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Instead, he settles in, allowing himself to thoroughly slick the head of the spike in his grip, grinding his node against it occasionally. the fingers shaking against his hip make it all the more sweet.
"Take it. It's yours, all you have to do is take action."
He will not sink down. This is Megatron's choice. He will wait as long as he needs to.
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"N-no," he chokes out. "Can't."
He isn't that person anymore. If he goes through with it, then he's certain there won't be any mercy. Then it his choice to come along could be twisted against him. Yet part of his very spark is telling the tank to go for it. That shaking grip becomes almost bruising. There's nothing gentle or kind about it.
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He remains in position, waiting patiently. He won't ruin this for himself. Not when he's so close. He can tell by how roughly Megatron is gripping him. His plating might even buckle if he squeezes any harder.
"Do it, my lord."
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Tarn knows he isn't going to last forever. Megatron knows this too. The drug is already starting to affect the way he thinks, not just his frame. Tarn's node rubbing against his spike... Those plush lips being so close and coating him so nicely... Megatron remembers how it feels.
"I won't forgive myself later," Megatron says, brutally honest. He'd never be this way otherwise, but it's still latching onto what new part of himself that he can. In reality, he knows Tarn doesn't care. However, in this moment, he can almost think that Tarn is an actual person who might give a damn.
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