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.
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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.