"Not because they were petty and bitter," Megatron argues. "Because they felt so strongly about our kind wiping out billions of non-Cybertronian lives that they'd rather themselves suffer and allow the rest of the galaxy to flourish. The only reason I am here is because one individual was petty and bitter enough at the Functionists to not allow it to happen."
Which had done a lot to cripple Megatron's confidence in his choices. If the people he had wanted to free from the corrupt Senate would rather be shackled than allow their war to spread... What right has he to stop them? Megatron hadn't even tried to convince them otherwise.
He grumbles, taking another sip from the energon. It's different, yes, but perhaps that's because Tarn has odd tastes himself.
"I align myself with those that think I can change."
"Non-cybertronians? Why should we care about the organics? They would destroy us if we had not set out to destroy them first! The Black Block Consortia...The Galactic Council... They all want us wiped from the universe." Tarn can't help but lose his temper. Such nonsense. "Even before the war broke out they hated us."
"Change is one thing, but taking on the enemies brand? Denouncing the Decepticons? That's treason to the utmost degree, Megatron." By now his energon is almost gone. "Was it not worth the effort to rework?"
"It wasn't really the Autobots that defeated us in the end... It was the humans of Earth. I care little for organics, but humans are," Megatron pauses, looking for what he wants to say. "I have some respect for them. They are as adaptable as we are."
His dislike for organic races hasn't changed, even though he's helped save some. The tank swirls the energon around before taking a few more drinks from it. Honestly, he had expected some level of starvation in attempt to make him more malleable. That's what he would have done back in the day.
"I thought about reworking the Decepticons," he admits. "However the damage has been done. I've created too many monsters and have generated too much hate for much of anyone to want to change."
Tarn considered Starvation, but he thought a little chemical help might be more beneficial in the end. He smiles behind his mask as Megatron sips away.
"The humans.He scoffs disbelievingly." He'd never been sent to the battle front on earth, but he'd heard plenty of tales. "It wasn't the humans. It was you. You gave up."
He tucks his empty cube away, pacing closer to the bars. He's sure that Megatron has had enough of the aphrodisiac for it to really count. "So you won't reconsider. Fine. The Decepticons don't need you to lead them."
He folds his hands in front of him, holding his head high. He's anxious, but he hardly looks it. He appears the calm assertiveness of a competent leader.
You gave up... Megatron full on laughs. No, no it hadn't been that. Unsure of what to do, yes. The ex-warlord hadn't known at the time how to proceed and that is why everyone lingered on Earth for as long as they had. "I spent the following year or so being repaired. No, I hadn't given up until I watched someone die. His death stirred in me something long forgotten and that's when I gave up on the idea that the Decepticons could change."
Now Megatron slides his own empty cube away. He isn't surprised by Tarn's speech, not in the least. The tank's taken note of the increase in his frame's temperature, and subtly shifts. He decides to keep an eye on it, in case of any thing else abnormal. Something isn't quite right, but Megatron can't place what.
"Taking a page from Starscream now, are we? And here I had thought better of you."
"From Starscream. Oh no, you see I was more than happy to have you lead, until you decided to disgrace our cause. Think what you like of me, but I think a bit of reconditioning is in order."
Tarn's optics rake over Megatron's frame. He knows that he should be feeling the beginnings of the drugs effects by now. The uncomfortable heat, the sensitivity of his frame... Tarn can hardly wait.
"Do you recall how you trained me all those years ago?"
"I am not disgracing the 'cause.' My desires have not changed, only what I am willing and unwilling to do to get there," Megatron frowns, optics narrowing.
He doesn't like that term. Reconditioning. The tank only narrows his optics further at Tarn's question, figuring the two are somehow related. Tarn is going to have a hard time to get Megatron to resort to violence once more. He'll take the blows but not give them in return. There's no way that Tarn is going to be able to break him through that sort of exercise.
The other tank is right about one thing. Megatron's frame is warmer and it is getting uncomfortable. His gaze falls back to the energon cube. Something had been put it in. Something that could get passed his filtration systems. Megatron is still determined to not show that something is effecting him, even if his optics have dimmed somewhat.
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.
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Which had done a lot to cripple Megatron's confidence in his choices. If the people he had wanted to free from the corrupt Senate would rather be shackled than allow their war to spread... What right has he to stop them? Megatron hadn't even tried to convince them otherwise.
He grumbles, taking another sip from the energon. It's different, yes, but perhaps that's because Tarn has odd tastes himself.
"I align myself with those that think I can change."
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"Change is one thing, but taking on the enemies brand? Denouncing the Decepticons? That's treason to the utmost degree, Megatron." By now his energon is almost gone. "Was it not worth the effort to rework?"
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His dislike for organic races hasn't changed, even though he's helped save some. The tank swirls the energon around before taking a few more drinks from it. Honestly, he had expected some level of starvation in attempt to make him more malleable. That's what he would have done back in the day.
"I thought about reworking the Decepticons," he admits. "However the damage has been done. I've created too many monsters and have generated too much hate for much of anyone to want to change."
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"The humans.He scoffs disbelievingly." He'd never been sent to the battle front on earth, but he'd heard plenty of tales. "It wasn't the humans. It was you. You gave up."
He tucks his empty cube away, pacing closer to the bars. He's sure that Megatron has had enough of the aphrodisiac for it to really count. "So you won't reconsider. Fine. The Decepticons don't need you to lead them."
He folds his hands in front of him, holding his head high. He's anxious, but he hardly looks it. He appears the calm assertiveness of a competent leader.
I will lead and you will serve me."
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Now Megatron slides his own empty cube away. He isn't surprised by Tarn's speech, not in the least. The tank's taken note of the increase in his frame's temperature, and subtly shifts. He decides to keep an eye on it, in case of any thing else abnormal. Something isn't quite right, but Megatron can't place what.
"Taking a page from Starscream now, are we? And here I had thought better of you."
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"From Starscream. Oh no, you see I was more than happy to have you lead, until you decided to disgrace our cause. Think what you like of me, but I think a bit of reconditioning is in order."
Tarn's optics rake over Megatron's frame. He knows that he should be feeling the beginnings of the drugs effects by now. The uncomfortable heat, the sensitivity of his frame... Tarn can hardly wait.
"Do you recall how you trained me all those years ago?"
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He doesn't like that term. Reconditioning. The tank only narrows his optics further at Tarn's question, figuring the two are somehow related. Tarn is going to have a hard time to get Megatron to resort to violence once more. He'll take the blows but not give them in return. There's no way that Tarn is going to be able to break him through that sort of exercise.
The other tank is right about one thing. Megatron's frame is warmer and it is getting uncomfortable. His gaze falls back to the energon cube. Something had been put it in. Something that could get passed his filtration systems. Megatron is still determined to not show that something is effecting him, even if his optics have dimmed somewhat.
"What did you do."
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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."
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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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