robothell | ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

"I know what he is. That's why I worry about him," First Aid snaps.

The fact that Tarn was ignoring him pointedly infuriates him. Engex and anger made a terrible combination for First Aid. As the leader of the DJD pushes past him his field prickles like a thousand knives. He spins on heel after him, throws his arms open, then wraps his arms around Tarn's waist so he has to drag him.

"Stay away from him!"

If it wasn’t apparent by the smell, it is perfectly clear now that First Aid is wasted. Tarn pauses, chuckling at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. What is he even trying to accomplish here? If he intends to drag him away he is defiantly missing the mark.

After a brief pause Tarn presses forward, dragging First Aid along with him.

“Your concern for him is touching. Really, it is. But i assure you that he has already made his decision of associate with me very clear."

First Aid had no delusions of being able to drag Tarn away; he was attempting to be as annoying as possible. The mech's words hurt though, and it only really makes the medic double his efforts to drag his feet.

"I asked him to kill you, you know. I want you dead."

He spits out the words before he can even consider if it was a wise move or not. His spark hurts, feeling betrayed more than anything even if he knew it. His fingers dig into Tarn's pelvic girdle like hooks, attaching himself firmly and dropping his weight like a sack of bricks.

"You're horrible!"

"Yes, that's all well and good.” Tarn easily brushes off First Aid’s anger. " But here I am, still alive. Clearly Sixshot disagreed.”

He staggers back slightly as the medic drops his weight in a full on tantrum. A bit of his own engex sloshes over the side of the cup. Perfect. He stops again, reaching around himself to try to pry the Autobot off of his pelvic armor; irritation steadily mounting.

“Come now. No need to pout..."

Edited 2015-05-19 18:48 (UTC)

Annoying Tarn seemed to be working so far, so First Aid was going to proceed with that tactic. As Tarn makes grabs for his hands he releases his grip and moves them, fitting them in any seams where he can get a good enough grip.

If he can't stop Tarn's approach towards Sixshot, he'll try climbing him instead.

"Someday I'll figure out how to make your life as miserable as you've made mine."

“You let me know when that time comes.” Tarn growls, trying to get a good grip on First Aid as he drives his little fingers into the seam around his back mounted cannons, “Until then, if you would please get off of me and find someone else to occupy your time with.”

Tarn finally manages to get a good grip around First Aid’s upper arm and wrenches him around to his front. Lifting him up a bit off the ground, he stares at him very levelly.

“I have been very patient with you. More patient than perhaps I should be. Don’t press your luck."

Slag. He was just starting to get somewhere too.

First Aid makes a sound of rage as he's yanked around and to his feet. He squirms, kicking to try and bounce his feet off Tarn's chestplate.

"Fine! Maybe I'll go spend time with Six!"

Tarn narrows his optics, frustration rolling off him in waves. He tosses the Autobot carelessly to the ground a few feet away, rubbing at the scuff on his chest from the medic's foot. He doesn't have the time or energy deal with this at the moment.

"Fine. I'm sure babysitting you is top on his list of priorities at the moment. Your drunkenness is sure to make an excellent impression."

Drunk as he was, First Aid didn't have the coordination to brace himself as he's tossed. He hits the ground a little harder than he normally would, denting his plating as it crunches under his weight. The shock of pain keeps him curled on the ground for a lingering moment until he pushes himself up.

"I really like him, you know."

The anger was starting to wear off, replaced by a wave of despair. He gets back up on his feet slowly, but he only trails a little after Tarn.

"You don't even care about him."

Here comes the anger that seems to have been missing from the DJD Commander throughout this entire exchange.

Tarn's fist clench at his sides as he spins around to face First Aid.

"How dare you." He growls, taking a slow step forward. "I know this may be hard for you, but the Phase Sixer and I are friends. You may dislike it but that will not change how I feel about him, or how he may feel about me." Rage radiates from his field, but he keeps any hint of of his vocal talents concealed.

Most people would run away in the face of legitimate anger from the DJD. There was no shame in it; First Aid had seen many mechs fear them. He's seen what they can do, conversed with the mechs who killed Trailcutter.

Thinking about Trailcutter, the pain the other mech displayed to him earlier, made his own temper flare again.

"Oh yeah? And what if circumstances were different? What if Megatron didn't have you on a short leash? You wouldn't kill him for being friends with an Autobot?"

"If it weren't for the present circumstances He wouldn't be friends with you!" Tarn shouts, enunciating every word to be sure that First Aid understood him.

"He wouldn't be friends with either of us." He storms off, engex clenched in his fist, hoping to clear his head.

Unfortunately for both parties, their interaction doesn't end there. After a few hours and even more cups of spiked punch Tarn runs into First Aid again.

This was shaping up to be a pretty awful night for First Aid. He had come to the party to unwind and relax and all he's done is gotten drunk and moody. He's had the time to keep nursing his inebriation while Tarn has been gone, and by the time the mech bumps into him again he's pretty sloppy drunk.

"What do you want?" he asks as he turns to him, his voice sounding dull and tired, his visor glowing a bit bright from the overcharge.

Tarn’s talk with Sixshot has left him in a foul mood, only amplified by his extreme inebriation. While he wasn’t usually one to get overcharged, the current state of affairs have left him simply unable to cope any other way.

Tarn glares down at First Aid, suddenly becoming aware of his immediate presence. He sways slightly on his feet, armor creaking ominously.

“This is your fault.” He slurs sligtly, pointing an accusing finger at the medic. “You made this fragging mess."

At some point First Aid was able to focus on the finger pointed at his face, but it took him a moment.

"Yeah right. You were always a mess, Tarn." Being drunk didn't inhibit his ability to be dry and sassy.

He looks away, paying more attention to his who-know-what-number drink of the night.

Tarn squints down at First Aid when insulted, but ignores it otherwise. That same finger that was pointing now reaches down to prod him in the chest.

“I fucked him you know. That big protective Phase Sixer that you seem to have wrapped around your finger, he’s been making visits to me all along."

First Aid is right, though. Tarn is a mess. A mess barely held together by thin threads of anger and blinding inebriation.

If this was a movie, this would be about the time there was a loud record scratch and all the merriment turned into silent, angry staring.

Well. That was something.

First Aid's hand smacks Tarn's hard enough the clang was audible. It left his own hand stinging, but for the most part he doesn't even notice it because that? Those words? That hurt, and he was too drunk to keep it to himself or figure out why.

"You want me to believe you?" That can't be true. Tarn's just trying to get a rise out of him. "And even if it was true, how does that make you special? You'd open your legs for anyone who wears a Decepticon badge and can say 'Kill all Autobots'."

Tarn barely feels the slap through his own anger. Had First Aid just called him easy? He growls, pressing the matter further.

“I’m sorry that you seem to be so deeply in denial, First Aid but I assure you that it’s true. He is very talented with his tongue; I can practically feel it in my port if I think hard enough on it.” He takes an almost threatening step forward, close enough to the medic that their plating brushed. “And his chord... It is exceptionally thick, even without the knot. I don’t think i’ve ever been so thoroughly filled. Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me. I’m sure he will be happy to tell you how I made him moan in pleasure.”

He gives First Aid a little push, not nearly with all of his strength, but enough to make an impact.

“As for your wild accusation…at least I stick to mechs in my own faction. Next thing you know you’ll be in the berth with Overlord."

First Aid really, really doesn't want to hear this. It rings in his audio, over the thudding pulse of the energon in his lines, leaving him clenching and unclenching his hands in fury. His tank was in knots and it felt like his intake was dry and tight, his plating and visor too hot.

He loses his footing slightly at the push, stumbling back a step and dropping his drink, but he's back up in Tarn's face right after, pushing back.

"Yeah? He'd need to be big to feel anything from your loose port. Oral's probably the only way he'd get aroused enough to fuck you."

His fans were spinning loudly, trying to fight off the heating of his frame. He pushes again, using a shoulder.

"Overlord's not even the bottom of the barrel. Unlike you he doesn't need a mask to cover his ugly face."

Tarn bristles, catching First Aid’s shoulders in his grip. His ability to control the volume of his voice fails him and he ends up shouting. “Jealously is unbecoming, First Aid! You’re just angry because he would rather fuck me instead of you! Does it hurt to hear? Are you that thirsty for his cock?”

He gives the medic a shake. “Clearly my face hasn’t repulsed Sixshot enough to deter him. He seemed to be enjoying it just fine at the time.”

If Tarn were sober enough to be even slightly aware of the words spewing from his mouth, he may be mortified. As it stands he’s too angry to have any sort of filter. His processor spins, and his frame hisses and creaks; vents trying to expel as much of the excess heat as possible.

The difference in size and strength is more pronounced with the level of inebriation they were at. Tarn's shake has First Aid's frame rattling in his grip, his head snapping back and forward painfully. He has to reach up and grab onto Tarn's chest to steady himself.

If he was thinking about anything besides punching that stupid mask off the mech's head, he'd wonder how Tarn knew his name.

"You mean enjoying the mask on your face? It's like the equivalent of fucking someone with a bag over their head, scrapheap! You have to dress up like some bad cosplay of Megatron to get him to fuck you!"

He hisses, steam venting out from between his plates as the condensation burns off. He was thinking about it, no matter how much he tried not to; the mental image of them together was burned into his thoughts. He swallows, his throat tight, vocalizer spitting static.

"I bet you had to beg!"

If there are people staring at this point, Tarn is completely oblivious. He is too busy trying to shake the Autobot loose from his chest plate.

“Oh I was begging but not how you may think. He was already deep inside me by that point, fucking me against a wall with reckless abandon. I ached for days.”

His determination in dislodging First Aid increases with his anger.

“If you think I can properly kiss someone with a mask over my face you give me far to much credit. We trusted each other enough to bare our faces.” Tarn feels his tanks turn slightly at the word ‘trust’. His attention briefly flits away to remember his conversation with the Six Changer, before snapping back to the situation at hand. “Surely if you are as close as you claim he has done the same for you."

What a fucking mess.

Tarn's got him there. First Aid found himself struggling for a comeback as his rage crested and crashed down into despair, light streaming from his visor. Completely humiliating, crying in front of the leader of the DJD.

"You-- You high class prostitute! Cesspool!"

He's never even seen Sixshot's face. As far as he's concerned, as he knows him at least, he's a wolf. He knows that he's a six changer -- everyone knows that -- but he's never seen it. The Phase Sixer brings him candy and lays with him, but Tarn boasts that he slept with him.

It was a horrible feeling being bested by Tarn.

"I'll make you fragging ache for days!" Nope. He was done trading insults. Instead he's going to swing his arm in an undercut, using his height to his advantage to slam his knuckles into the metal covering Tarn's valve.

Edited 2015-05-30 04:01 (UTC)

There's no time for Tarn to revel in his petty victory before First Aid buries his fist in the DJD Commander's valve covering. A strangled whine escapes him as his knees buckle, hand immediately going to his dented interface array.

it takes only seconds for Tarn to come to his senses, and when he does he pins the medic with a fierce glare that promises pain.

In a flash he grabs First Aid by the throat and slams him hard against the punch table. He draws back a powerful fist, aiming for the Autobot's faceplate.

That was about the moment when Sixshot's paw comes down on Tarn's chest, pushing him away from First Aid and slamming the other Decepticon back-first into the ground, pinning him.

"Stop." Shifting, carefully so as not to injure Tarn, he places his free foreleg in front of First Aid, keeping them from seeing each other.

"Just... stop."

There wasn't anything else he could think to say. Sixshot was mortified beyond any ability to properly express it right now.

ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

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