robothell | have some hot steaming garbage

have some hot steaming garbage

Who: Tarn and ???
Where: around
When: sex pollen time
What: Fuck this trash heap
Warnings: smut

[A- Outside the city]

He's restless. After weeks of managing to avoid most everyone, Tarn finds himself with a lot of pent up energy to let out. Leaving the base, and the prying eyes that come with it, far behind, he quickly finds himself just outside the city.

Still alone, but at least able to move around and get some frustration out, he paces an open field teeming with local wildlife and a strange flowering plant. Tarn might think it was beautiful if he was not being distracted by what could only be described as a full scale Transformation binge. He leaves deep gouges in the dirt as the rapid fire transformation disturbs the local flora. Spores from the flower drift through the air, getting caught in the cracks in his armor and recesses of his treads. The pollen seeps through the cracks in his mask, trapping itself against his face.

He sputters and coughs, brushing at his plating and trying to clear his vents. Unfortunately for him, it’s already too late.

Only minutes later, heat begins curling inside him. Tarn groans, trying to flush his system as he wanders in useless circles, dazed.

Something is very wrong with him. He needs to get out of this field.

Tarn's frame desperately tries to expel heat as he stumbles free from the patch of flowers, attempting to return to his much needed solitude at the Decepticon base. He can handle this himself.

[B-Dececpticon Base]

Heat engulfs Tarn as he ruts uselessly against his berth; having finally made it successfully to his habsuite. His interface array is blazing as lubricant leaks desperately from its seams.

With his processor spinning, he tries to control himself. This is ridiculous, and shameful, and he isn’t sure how to handle this himself.

a low moan escapes Tarn as he curls in on himself, fingers beginning to probe gently at his outrageously sensitive pelvic plating.

He just hopes that no one will be able to hear him.

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"If you’d like.”

Tarn tries not to let disappointment edge into his voice. His own frame tightens as that long tongue curls against his jaw, bringing with it a wave of heat.

He doesn't want to let go of that physical link between them. The absolutely full feeling of his valve as it clenches against Sixshot like a vice has his frame slowly gathering charge.

But, Tarn was not about to reveal that to Sixshot when the Phase Sixer clearly was done with him.

The sight and feeling of the hot, slick valve clenching around his fingers has First Aid's venting in a quick, swallow rhythm. The lubricant spills over his hand, dripping from his wrist in thick globs, and for a moment he indulges in the fantasy of it being his spike instead buried in and stretching the walls of the mech's cunt. It gives a jump against Tarn's leg, the tip dripping a glob of fluid that he smears with a thrust.

"You want it, don't you? Are you close?"

He presses his thumb firmly against the stiff node, slowing to a grind, then switches the rubbing to his other hand to free his thumb. First Aid twists his wrist, circling the stretched rim with his one remaining free finger, then curls it, wiggling in and inside. His whole hand presses up into Tarn, curled together to ease the slide, but as his fingers brush the end of the mech's channel he spreads them open, straining against the calipers.

"Five fingers," he purrs, a huge grin spread across his lips. He rubs harder at Tarn's node, then thrusts his fingers up against the ceiling of the valve. "That's how many I have in you."

Distantly he hears a familiar irritated tone; barely discernible over the overheated hum of his systems

Pharma?

His attention instantly snaps to the door, optics wide.

"Don't come in here. I mean that; you will regret it." His voice is uncharacteristically rough and buzzes with static. Pharma can't see him like this. Any respect that the doctor might have for him will vanish. Certainly it would do irreparable damage to their already paper thin rapport.

Tarn's optics flare wildly as heat courses through his system. Finally, the fullness that he’s been craving.

He grinds down helplessly, valve swallowing more of First Aid's wrist, clenching helplessly against his fingers.

As the medic spreads his digits, Tarn bucks feebly, vocalizer screeching static. It's an entirely different feeling from having a thick spike spreading him open. Each finger teases at different sensors, stroking independently and fluidly. His fingers dig deep furrows into the dirt as he tries to ground himself, thrashing with pleasure.

It no longer matters to Tarn who his wrist deep in him. He just needs it to continue.

“Move.…” His voice straining, static popping wildly. “ Please-”

Well, there you go, Pharma, head off and mind your own business now.

He doesn't. He pauses, placing a hand against the door and taking note of the static in Tarn's voice. Maybe Tarn is afflicted with whatever this is, too. If so, maybe Pharma can take the opportunity to study it -- figure out what this is. Pharma successfully convinces himself that's solely why he's curious and doesn't wander off.

"I wouldn't be a very good designated physician if I didn't inquire."

Sometime after Tarn had taken his attention from touching himself, his interface array had slid open, dripping a puddle of lubricant onto the berth between his thighs.

Even as he hears Pharma press the issue from the other side of the door, he cant help but slide two fingers into the needy, swollen lips of his valve, biting down another moan.

"Go away." He snaps, hoping to frighten the nosy medic away. Unfortunately there is just the slightest bit of panic in his voice that manages to seep into the command.

Something about Tarn's voice makes him take a quick in-vent, makes it harder to tell himself to walk away. His fingers curl slightly against the door;

"Tarn. Let me see."

It's not a physician's demand. It's a plea. Why the hell is he pleading to get inside? Because some part of him knows what he'll find in there? And then, maybe, what that might lead to.

He gets a small grip on himself, just enough to add, "I think I might know what's going on. You touched a strange plant, yes?"

Whether Tarn wanted him to or not, Sixshot heard that heavy note of disappointment. It draws a huff of warm air from his vents, part exasperation and part growing arousal. This was... a difficult thing to try and work through when the pollen was starting to work charge through his neural relays again.

"Tarn," Sixshot shifts his weight, trying to alleviate the pressure around his spike somehow and only managing to make it worse and the strain makes his voice fuzz over with static.

"I want-" he presses his nose into Tarn's shoulder, shuttering his optics. "I want to stay." He wants to make up for this blunder.

Tarn remains stubbornly silent as he plunges his digits roughly into the silky heat of his valve. His calipers clench desperately at his thick fingers with each punishing thrust, trying to hold them in with each ebbing slide.

"I know what's happening, you fool." He bites out, static heavy in his voice. He can barely string thoughts together and forming sentences takes time and energy.

"Which is exactly why you should not be here. I can handle--ah--this."

The slick sound of Tarn's fingers fills the room. He bites down on his tongue when a whine catches in his throat. It's not enough; he knows that. But, the alternative is simply unacceptable.

Tarn’s thighs grip at Sixshot as he shifts his weight, spike throbbing against the DJD Commander’s over-sensitized valve. He swears the tip still bumps his ceiling node with the slightest movement. His own mounting charge is becoming difficult to ignore as the effects of the pollen begins to make itself known once more.

His hands settle gently over the wolf’s shoulders as he leans into the nuzzle. He doesn’t respond, instead he tentatively grinds his valve further onto Sixshot’s swollen chord with a soft sigh. His anterior node smears gathered lubricant and spots of energon against the six changer’s baseplate with each rub.

"Then I suppose you're well aware you'll overheat if --"

He cuts off his thought at the faint sound of something when he presses his audial to the door. Heat flushes through his frame, mind drifting to imagine just what he might be doing in there. His voice drops slightly.

"As your physician, I think it'd behoove you to consider a professional opinion about this, no?"

Tarn growls lowly. It’s clear that Pharma is listening to him self service behind the privacy of his door. The doctor isn’t going to leave. Weather he’s listen to Tarn overload and fantasizing about what may be happening behind the door or watching it first hand…well he isn’t sure which is better. Who knows what obscene display he may be concocting in that twisted processor.

“Fine...Fine, you can come in. Let's just make this as brief as possible."

Sixshot rumbles at the hands on his shoulders and slides his tongue over Tarn's throat, following the curve of his jawline and up to the edge of his crest. When he moves again, it's slow and deliberate, despite the growing howl of cooling fans filling up the room.

He locks his claws into the berth and rocks into the push of his partner's hips, slowly, constrained by the knot holding them together. He couldn't draw back, but that does little to stop him from slamming into Tarn in short, hard thrusts.

They grind together seamlessly. Tarn’s comparatively smaller mass writhes up from the berth to meet Sixhsot’s hips with each short thrust.

He moans openly at the feeling of that slick tongue as it brushes his audio. His plating flares to release a torrent of charge and hot air with a loud hiss.

The thick swell and grind of his partner’s spike against his oversensitive node have Tarn squirming, wanting deeper, faster, anything other than these teasing shallow thrusts. He continues to cling to Sixshot, resting his face against his shoulder. He tastes energon as he bites through his lip to keep from whining.

There's a pitched screech of metal crumpling as Sixshot drags a set of claws down the berth, his frantic gasps underlining Tarn's moan's.

"Tarn," the name slips past his teeth as he presses his nose against the mech's shoulder, jaws parted and optics dim. He curls a paw under his lover's aft as their coupling gets more frantic, the thumps of each thrust rocking the bed hard enough to make the metal rattle and squeak.

Curling his tongue over Tarn's throat, he tastes the static fuzz of electricity as it begins to accumulate over their plating.

Tarn’s thighs tighten rhythmically against Sixshot’s hips as he feels another overload behind curling inside him. The lift beneath his aft traps his hard spike between their overheated frames, rubbing him with each eager thrust.

He grunts and throws his helm back, giving his lover more room to lap at his burning plating, arm shakily reaching behind him to support some of his weight. Dark hips buck wildly, caught between that massive paw and the immovable Phase Sixer rutting against him. Tarn’s optics flicker and dim in pleasure; his valve fluttering against Sixshot’s massive girth with each flick of that tongue against his throat.

His mind is only barely able to make a coherent thought.

“Mmmm- teeth…use your teeth again, Sixshot.."

Sixshot's teeth find the crook of Tarn's unbitten shoulder and his tenuous hold on self control snaps. Energon drips, sharp and warm on his tongue, and all his higher processing power leaves him, mind blanking out, world narrowing down to Tarn and nothing but Tarn.

He heaves, thrusts beginning to lose rhythm beyond just being harder, deeper, faster, frame singing with pent up power from their desperate coupling. It lasts all of three more, strut rattling slams and then-

A long, pitched whine escapes the Sixer's vocalizer, the sound almost lost under the deafening clap of static snapping between their frames, the scream of his powerplant as it rattles the entire building on its foundations from the vibrations. His cord surges inside of Tarn, pulsing even more transfluid into his lover's overstretched valve until it spills out from around the Sixer's heavy, thick knot.

The sharp pain of teeth piercing his armor has Tarn thrashing against Sixshot. Pleasure sears through his circuits as he feels the Phase Sixer lose his tenuous grip on his self control, spike roughly hitting every node in his valve at its punishing pace.

The deep thrum of the sixformer’s powerplant rumbles though him, reaching to his very core. His valve flutters against the spike’s girth, teetering on the very precipice of overload. Tarn’s optics are dim and hazy as he clings tighter, a thin stream of oral fluid dripping down the chin of his mask.

The crack of static has his entire frame quivering in a wild overload, lubricant dripping in heavy drops to mix with the transfluid spilling from around Sixshot’s spike. A low half-whimper wrenches itself from Tarn’s vocalizer has his arm buckles and he falls back to the berth in a limp pile.

He's quiet for a moment, fans still spinning on high in an attempt to cool his burning frame.

“I-incredible.” The statement is soft, but ernest.

Steam streaming off of his body, Sixshot cycles air through his vents in a long, low sigh before he lets himself sag, the weight of Tarn's limp frame pulling him down. Very slowly and very, very carefully, he tugs his teeth out of Tarn's shoulder and laps away the streaks of energon left behind.

The knot at the base of his cord starts to shrink at last, letting previously sealed fluids splash messily over the berth and the Sixer spares a moment to lament having to clean that up. It's not a very long moment: he's quickly distracted.

Rearing back, the massive wolf transforms into his root mode, shunting his mass into subspace and gouging a few new holes into the walls in the process as well. He sits, panting between Tarn's fluid stained thighs for a moment, just watching his lover, cord still half hard against his hip.

Then he lazily leans forwards onto his hands and knees, mask sliding apart as he crawls up the length of Tarn's body in order to give the mech a warm, slow, kiss.

Tarn reaches up with shaky fingers, flicking open the clasps holding the mask to his face when Sixshot climbs up the length of his body. His lover's lips are warm against his own as he slides the purple insignia up and away from his mouth. His hips shift in their mess as he tries to pull the Phase Sixer down to his chest.

He's sore, but he's warm...and for once he's content. His engine purrs lowly in pleasure as he stretches his legs.

"Thank you... truly. It's nice to have someone familiar." Tarn rumbles, lips sliding against Sixshot's cheek.

"We should do this more," Sixshot purrs between kisses, letting Tarn pull him down, chest to chest, radiating warmth and satisfaction. "You know, when we're not hopped up on weird plant dust."

He runs his tongue delicately over the scars on his lover's lips, framing his arms around the taller mech's helm. Their thighs slide comfortably together and Sixshot slowly lets himself really relax. It wasn't going to last too long, not with the pollen still humming in their systems, but for now... for now he was content.

“I would enjoy that.” He smiles into the attention of that talented tongue, leaning up to capture Sixshot's lips.

His technique is a bit uncoordinated from lack of practice, but what he lacks in skill he makes up for in passion.

“I would like to spend more time with you in general…I feel as if i barely see you.” Often it was only in brief passing in the halls of the base, or perhaps Tarn might catch a glimpse of him prowling the streets, weaving between piles of rubble.

The passion in Tarn's kiss surprises Sixshot, simultaneously sending his temperatures spiking and making his spark flip anxiously at the intimacy. He leans into it despite himself, hungry for the closeness and caught in the afterglow, cupping his hands over the side of the DJD commander's helm.

"Hah," he breathes, trying to cover up the slip with some humor. "You'll be sick of me soon enough. I'm awful company."

Tarn huffs a quiet laugh at Sixshot’s modesty. So unlike what he would expect from one of Megatron’s best soldiers. He turns his face into one of his quiet hands, giving it a gentle kiss.

“I find that had to believe. Your company is rather soothing, in my humble opinion . I don’t feel that I need to be someone else in front of you.”

He’s warm under the weight of his lover and settles into a more comfortable position.

"We're both officers, there's not exactly much of a rank difference to worry about," Sixshot blurts out. He's not... he's not good at this. Wow, actually he's kind of terrible at this. Tarn just told him he liked his company, this was not. No.

"... I like," the Sixer tries again. "Being around... you too. I just. I will try to stay around more often?"

Feelings? Talking about... feelings? What was this?

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