"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.
The tanks ventilation is a bit ragged. His fans are working, but it isn't doing much to alleviate the least. Hot air is pouring out of those abdominal vents - likely hitting parts of Tarn's interface array.
It's not Tarn's demand that makes Megatron grip a little tighter. Rather it's the flutter of calipers rippling. The clenching of warm heat onto his spike, creating more resistance. That's what drives Megatron's growl and the thrusting up to meet Tarn eagerly. It's still nowhere near as forceful as he had been, but it's a start.
Tarn bites his lip and Megatron's fingers tighten on him and he thrusts viciously. Progress
He braces his hands on Megatron's abdomen, claws biting into the armor just above hose vents. The blasting of heat onto Tarn's node has him grinding down as he bottoms out, mouth open in a soundless groan.
"L-Lord Megatron..." His voice is low and breathy as he offlines his optics, pretending for just one moment that nothing has changed.
The pain of claws digging into his armor barely registers. Megatron merely makes an irritated noise. If he hand't been drugged, it wouldn't have done much to help the tank along. Of course the old Megatron had thrived on that pain. Yet the claws hooking on sensitive plating has him making a strangled noise all the same.
His optics flicker offline, static lacing his voice s more grunts and groans spill from his mouth. Tarn can hope things haven't changed, but they have. A year and a half isn't long to them and even if Megatron's frame shudders from hearing the title added to his name... It's not real. It never will be again.
Megatron's hands shift to Tarn's thighs, willing them to part further as he rocks up into the other tank.
Tarn hardly cares how real it is, as long as it's what he's getting right now with the effects of the drugs. He's not so blind as to think that it would be that simple.
A shudder runs down his spinal strut as Megatron's hands push at his thighs, levering them apart. The thrust that follows earns a grunt of pleasure from Tarn. Spread open, he releases his claws from Megatron's abdomen, instead chosing to lean back and brace himself on the other tank's knees, giving Megatron a clear view of his spike buried deep in Tarn's heat. It's a tantalizing view. He allows his thighs to quiver under his mentor's firm grip.
It's a wee bit of a shame that Megatron isn't really coherent enough to take in the sight before him. The drug is definitely effecting his perceptions, his visual input hazy and and breaking up at some points. The intensity of his lust is unbearable, really.
His chassis heaves, engine giving a hard rev. One of his hands move inward, though it's shaky. Feeling his way rather than seeing it, the tank seeks out Tarn's anterior node. It's still throbbing and slick, but Megatron presses hard against it as he growls.
Tarm’s optics flash and he barks out a cry of pleasure as Megatron’s thumb presses hard on his node. He bucks his hips, clenching hard around the thick spike. His fingers tighen on Megatron’s knees as he rides out the near painful pleasure, head thrown back and mouth open as his vents pour heat from his frame.
“More…” He begs, bucking and grinding on Megatron’s spike, desperate for an overload.
If more is what Tarn wants, then he's likely going to get it. The sounds out of Megatron's throat are strangled. Mixed growls with moans and wanton groans. His heels dig into the floor, trying to find purchase. This, of course, is so that he get better leverage to drive his spike further into Tarn. All the while he pinches and squeezes the other tank's node.
Tarn makes a strange squealing noise as Megatron pinches at his nub. He twists, trying to lessen the overwhelming pleasure bombarding his sensor net. Panting, he holds on for dear life, at the mercy of Megatron's thick spike slamming against his ceiling node.
His mouth drops open, as he lets his helm fall back, optics flaring and flickering as his entire body quivers as overload makes it's steady approach.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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
It's not Tarn's demand that makes Megatron grip a little tighter. Rather it's the flutter of calipers rippling. The clenching of warm heat onto his spike, creating more resistance. That's what drives Megatron's growl and the thrusting up to meet Tarn eagerly. It's still nowhere near as forceful as he had been, but it's a start.
no subject
He braces his hands on Megatron's abdomen, claws biting into the armor just above hose vents. The blasting of heat onto Tarn's node has him grinding down as he bottoms out, mouth open in a soundless groan.
"L-Lord Megatron..." His voice is low and breathy as he offlines his optics, pretending for just one moment that nothing has changed.
no subject
His optics flicker offline, static lacing his voice s more grunts and groans spill from his mouth. Tarn can hope things haven't changed, but they have. A year and a half isn't long to them and even if Megatron's frame shudders from hearing the title added to his name... It's not real. It never will be again.
Megatron's hands shift to Tarn's thighs, willing them to part further as he rocks up into the other tank.
no subject
A shudder runs down his spinal strut as Megatron's hands push at his thighs, levering them apart. The thrust that follows earns a grunt of pleasure from Tarn. Spread open, he releases his claws from Megatron's abdomen, instead chosing to lean back and brace himself on the other tank's knees, giving Megatron a clear view of his spike buried deep in Tarn's heat. It's a tantalizing view. He allows his thighs to quiver under his mentor's firm grip.
no subject
His chassis heaves, engine giving a hard rev. One of his hands move inward, though it's shaky. Feeling his way rather than seeing it, the tank seeks out Tarn's anterior node. It's still throbbing and slick, but Megatron presses hard against it as he growls.
no subject
“More…” He begs, bucking and grinding on Megatron’s spike, desperate for an overload.
no subject
no subject
His mouth drops open, as he lets his helm fall back, optics flaring and flickering as his entire body quivers as overload makes it's steady approach.