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.
Tarn doesn't give a damn. His fingers clench into fists, but he continues to wait, thighs quivering with charge as he remains still, pressed firmly against the spike that he's spent so long lusting after. He's so close.
"Good. You deserve everything that you've brought on yourself. You don't deserve forgiveness. Accept your punishment."
No, he doesn't deserve forgiveness. Though to Tarn he means to the Decepticons and "the Cause." Megatron isn't talking of that. Granted, no matter what angle, the fact remains that the tank has failed everyone.
Then it happens. Megatron laughs. It's cold, grip just about crushing the plating on Tarn's hip. A last moment of clarity. "All this... Because you're so lost. Perhaps I might lose this battle but you've already lost your world. But it will never be as humiliating as what Optimus put me through and I'll never find you as stimulating as he."
Tarn sees red at Megatron's words. How dare he. For a brief moment, Tarn wants nothing more than to sink down and destroy Megatron. His hands shake as he stills himself, not wanting to do anything that he may regret. He's so very close. He can feel it in his crushing grip as his hip plating warps under Megatron's fingers. With minimal squirming he settles back down, spike perfectly positioned.
"I may have lost my world, but I intend to see to it that you do as well. I will wait as long as necessary. You will do as I ask.
"It's not going to work, Megatron. I know what you're doing and its pointless. I have all the time in the world, but within minutes your problem is going to become dire." Tarn leans back down, bracing his elbow on either side of his helm, face mere inches from Megatron's.
"I don't need it to work," he grins, strained. "You know, deep down in your spark, it's true. Nothing you do will change that. In the end: all is meaningless."
Tarn shouldn't have gotten his face so close? Why? This time when Megatron rocks his hips, it comes with the tank biting the DJD leader's lip.
Megatron's spike slips easily into Tarn's valve, meeting minimal resistance. He calipers stretch, valve lips thinning around the impressive girth. Tarn's optics flare and his mouth opens into a soundless groan when Megatron surges forward, biting fiercely at his lip.
It Sets Tarn off. Now that Megatron has made his move, Tarn will meet him. He rocks back into the spike, forcing it deeper as he surges forward to lock Megatron's lips in a bloody brutal kiss. Tarn's hands clutch at the sides of his helm, pulling him into the motion.
It will have to do. This is more than what Megatron might have wanted, but at least it's not completely giving into Tarn's desires. Yes, he might have moved his hips, but he never pulled the other tank down.
But there's so much relief. Megatron's mind goes blank, battle finally lost as he feels that dripping valve around and squeezing greedily on his spike. He doesn't engage in the kiss, not the way that Tarn would like. The one bite is all that he has in him, so Tarn can be as brutal as he likes.
Tarn can't help but feel disappointed when Megatron doesn't engage more than the initial bite. He pushes it aside, pleased that he at least got the one nip. He deepens the kiss, forcing the tang of his spilled energon into Megatron's mouth as he draws himself up the impressive length. With just the tip nestled inside him he pauses for a moment before grinding back, swallowing the spike even deeper in the velvety heat of his valve.
Lubricant beads around the girth as he takes Megatron's free hand and positions it on one of his thighs. Perhaps as the heat of interface takes hold, Megatron's body might take some liberties, allowing him to take what Tarn knows it truly wants.
Before, the taste of someone's spilled energon would have been welcomed. Now it does little more than churn Megatron's tanks. Perhaps it is a futile effort to get his face away from that forceful mouth on his own, but there is at least one or two attempts.
Besides, the focus is more on how Tarn's valve takes in his spike. The tank can feel the lubricant dripping and pooling. Megatron might be swimming in heat and lust, but he's certainly not that wet and ready to go. Who knows what sorts of liberties Tarn has in mind, but Megatron only rises to meet the other tank coming down. Yes, the grip on those hips does help. He does use it to bring Tarn down to hip, but there's naught else, save for the sound of Megatron's straining fans.
Only after the second attempt does Tarn allow Megatron to break the kiss. His smile is cruel as he looks down with charge brightened optics. The tug on his hips isn't vicious, but it is more than the initial thrust that he has been given.
He groans in encouragement, clenching and flexing his calipers up the length of Megatron's spike. "Hngh... H-Harder." The length fills him perfectly, as if her were made for this.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
“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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"Better." He bites back a moan as his node catches on an edge of Megatron's armor. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
no subject
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
"Good. You deserve everything that you've brought on yourself. You don't deserve forgiveness. Accept your punishment."
no subject
Then it happens. Megatron laughs. It's cold, grip just about crushing the plating on Tarn's hip. A last moment of clarity. "All this... Because you're so lost. Perhaps I might lose this battle but you've already lost your world. But it will never be as humiliating as what Optimus put me through and I'll never find you as stimulating as he."
no subject
"I may have lost my world, but I intend to see to it that you do as well. I will wait as long as necessary. You will do as I ask.
no subject
no subject
"Go on. Keep trying."
no subject
Tarn shouldn't have gotten his face so close? Why? This time when Megatron rocks his hips, it comes with the tank biting the DJD leader's lip.
no subject
It Sets Tarn off. Now that Megatron has made his move, Tarn will meet him. He rocks back into the spike, forcing it deeper as he surges forward to lock Megatron's lips in a bloody brutal kiss. Tarn's hands clutch at the sides of his helm, pulling him into the motion.
no subject
But there's so much relief. Megatron's mind goes blank, battle finally lost as he feels that dripping valve around and squeezing greedily on his spike. He doesn't engage in the kiss, not the way that Tarn would like. The one bite is all that he has in him, so Tarn can be as brutal as he likes.
no subject
Lubricant beads around the girth as he takes Megatron's free hand and positions it on one of his thighs. Perhaps as the heat of interface takes hold, Megatron's body might take some liberties, allowing him to take what Tarn knows it truly wants.
no subject
Besides, the focus is more on how Tarn's valve takes in his spike. The tank can feel the lubricant dripping and pooling. Megatron might be swimming in heat and lust, but he's certainly not that wet and ready to go. Who knows what sorts of liberties Tarn has in mind, but Megatron only rises to meet the other tank coming down. Yes, the grip on those hips does help. He does use it to bring Tarn down to hip, but there's naught else, save for the sound of Megatron's straining fans.
no subject
He groans in encouragement, clenching and flexing his calipers up the length of Megatron's spike. "Hngh... H-Harder." The length fills him perfectly, as if her were made for this.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)