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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Tarn laughs, mouth curved into a disarmingly charming smile. He can’t help but find Sixshot’s awkwardness in the entire situation a bit delightful.

“You make me feel calm. A lifeline in a chaotic sea to help ground me.” He presses his own palms against his lover’s helm, sliding over the white plating. “I hope that I can be the same for you."

For the briefest of moments, Sixshot looks utterly and completely starstruck.

He realizes, after said moment, that he's just staring at Tarn and he reboots his vocalizer with a cough of static before turning his head away in embarrassment. Here is Sixshot, Warrior Elite, destroyer of worlds and once commander of a symbol ship, reduced to a love stricken teenager.

"Thank you," he manages, very, very quietly, hiding his face against Tarn's chest.

Edited 2015-11-27 22:05 (UTC)

Tarn runs a hand down Sixshot's back, sighing against the top of his helm as he burrys his face against dark grey plating.

"I'm just being honest."

Tarn doesn't even think to be embarrassed by his admission; he's far to content with the state of things. Perhaps Tarn leader of the DJD would not have time for such frivolous dalliances, but things have changed in this Cybertron. He thinks that today he may be optimistic enough to believe that he can be happy here.

Helex grins and wastes no time pushing Tarn to the ground now that Tarn's been so good as to say please. Helex lacks grace, he knows that; he's not seductive. But he has four arms, and with one large hand he tries to pin both of Tarn's to the ground above his head. He braces his own weight with his other heavy arm, and with his two smaller hands he feels his way across Tarn's hips, between his thighs.

"Please what?" he rumbles, feeling heat and electricity swell behind his own panel at the slickness on his fingers.

Tarn pulls and bucks against Helex's strong hands. The slightest brush of fingers against his anterior node has him biting out a needy grunt. He can't stop himself from grinding down on his warm digits, legs splaying wider.

"Frag me..." He growls the command, optics flaring with intent. He lets just the barest hint of his vocal talents seep in to brush against Helex's spark in a teasing caress.

That low rumble rolling up through Tarn's frame and the faint, light pull it has on his spark lends a new urgency to Helex's movements. He presses Tarn's thighs down and takes a split second to appreciate the sight of his commander's bare, gleaming valve and Tarn himself spread open and wanting.

Maybe he likes it too much, but Helex can worry about that some other time.

He slides his interface cowling back with a low groan of his own, tightness easing as his spike swings free to grind across Tarn's port, Helex rolling his hips a few times, unable to help himself. And then he shudders and drives himself down and in, needing to feel Tarn wrapped around him to the baseplate now.

Tarn’s optics white out and his mouth opens into an unholy groan of pleasure. Helex is big; bigger even than First Aid’s forearm. Luckily, his previous dalliance has left him stretched enough to take the majority of the length without much trouble.

Tarn arches his burning frame into the all encompassing sensation, wanting it deeper. He manages to slide his hips up into Helex’s thrust, valve opening to take him to his baseplate, it's tip nudging the terminus of his port.

His helm tosses to the side, the edges of his mask scraping deep grooves into the dirt. Heaving ventilations stir dust into the air as Tarn struggles to hold still, enjoying the feeling of being so blessedly full and allowing himself some time to adjust.

The stretch of Tarn's valve around his hand was amazing. First Aid enjoyed the sight of it more than he wanted to admit. He takes a moment to enjoy the view, leaving Tarn on the edge almost to the point of torture, and then he drags his fingers out almost completely and balling it into a fist.

"All right, since you asked nicely."

First Aid thrusts his hand back in, all the way up to the apex of Tarn's valve, then uncurls his fingers to rub his knuckles against his ceiling node. He begins a rhythm, repeating the pattern, twisting his wrist on every other thrust in to rub other nodes and open the calipers.

He keeps his visor fixed on Tarn's face. Even though the mask covered any expression, the movement of his head and the flicker of his optics were arousing enough. Part of him feels humiliation at that; the desires he was having about taking his pleasure from him was shameful. It helps him reign himself in, focusing on Tarn rather than his own throbbing need.

He keeps his other hand rubbing at Tarn's exterior node, speeding up the circling of his thumb to build up static. With both hands occupied, he leans down again to stretch his lips around the head of the tank mech's spike, pressing it just past his teeth and swallowing.

The push of knuckles against his ceiling node has Tarn seeing stars and his valve drips a steady stream of lubricant, gathering around the stretched rim to ease the slide of First Aid’s forearm. He moans outright, helm tossing in the dirt.

Tarn turns his head away from the obscene squelch of his interface array each time that fist buries itself inside of him. He can’t bare to look down at First Aid, even as he wraps his lips around Tarn's thick cock, to ashamed to acknowledge who has taken him so firmly in hand. Finally, he’s getting the stimulation that his body craves, feeling every push against his straining calipers. Slowly, Tarn begins canting his hips up into the thrust of First Aid’s fist, wanting it harder, faster.

He wants it to hurt.

Good. That sounds good. It's for science. Pharma takes a deep breath and comes in and holy shit he wasn't expecting that Tarn would be that far gone. Every medical justification he was trying to come up with flies right out the damn window.

He's staring. He looks away with a cough.

"It -- it's hit you fairly hard, I see."

Thighs spread wide on the berth, giving Pharama the perfect view of his fingers burried in his dripping valve, Tarn doesn't have the presnce of mind to be embarrassed. His optics are dim and cloudy as he continues his punishing pace.

"What were you expecting? Isn't this what you've been wanting to see?" His voice is low and breathy as a thumb strokes his anterior node

"Have a good look, Pharma, surely you haven't suddenly become demure." He punctuates the taunt by burying another thick finger in the slick mesh with a soft squelch. If he's forced to be in this situation you'd better believe he'll find a way to be in control.

He snorts quietly at the accusations, looking back - his gaze flickers downwards slightly as Tarn fits another finger in there with seemingly no effort, good lord, then makes eye contact. "No, you're just shameless. I shouldn't be surprised."

Finally, he starts to approach, trying to put on a medical professional face. "For such a severe reaction - you've been holding this back for quite some time, haven't you?"

Only a few hours...I've had my fill previously." Which is probably why he's able to fit so many fingers inside of himself with such ease. It isn't as if Helex's spike didn't stretch him plenty. Or First Aid's fist for that matter.

His optics follow Pharma as he approaches, and he spreads his thighs even further to allow the doctor a good look. The squelching noises of his finger's working his valve are almost as obscene as the velvety groan of pleasure that leaves Tarn's vocalizer.

"And what is your professional opinion of how to remedy such a relentless reaction?"

Pharma tsks quietly, putting his hands on his hips and trying not to stare. Seeing Tarn have such little control over himself is pretty exhilarating, but he sees an opportunity here.

"Oh really? How greedy of you, then."

Unfortunately, what Tarn says next takes his theory completely out the window, and he's hesitant to admit it. "Have you tried a cool oil bath?"

"A cool oil bath? Really?" Curling his fingers, Tarn works a particularly sensitive node at the front of his valve. The slick puddle beneath his aft grows exponentially.

"Where, pray tell, am I to find one of those? We just barely have a shower." Tarn bites his lip beneath his mask, smothering a whine. "Besides... How is a cool oil bath going to help me overload?"

He somehow manages to keep his condescending tone, despite burning with charge.

"Oh relax, you drama queen. I was being facetious."

Although the increasingly glazed look in his eyes is telling another story. His spark hums louder and louder in his ears at each passing moment, especially as Tarn continues shamelessly and manages to sound condescending.

"Well. I would suggest literally fragging yourself but apparently that isn't helping."

He adjusts to cross his legs just slightly while standing.

"unfortunately you're right. As much as I wish that I could handle this myself, it seems that I'm in need of some medical assistance."

Tarn pulls his fingers from his valve, bringing with them a thick splatter of lubricant. The gesture gives Pharma a good view of his stretched opening and charge swollen valve lips.

Well, there's no subtlety in that. Pharma has to visibly swallow before he can even begin to think of an answer.

"Oh - and you suppose I'd just lower myself to that? That's making quite an assumption."

Never mind that he's already halfway convinced.

"Oh no? Very well." Tarn's thumb rubs a gentle circle over his anterior node.

"And here I thought you would be jumping for the opportunity to finally have me under your control. To have me moaning and wanting beneath your touch..." His tone turns breathy as he gives the node a bit of a cruel flick. His hips shift in his own mess and his optics, although hazy with the effects of the pollen, shine cruelly as he dares Pharma to walk away from him.

Oh. Well, then. Pharma watches for a long moment like a deer in headlights. Finally, he sighs like he's just been asked to write a 10-page essay and he comes forward towards the bed, eyeing the copious amount of mess with a judgmental eye.

"Well, might as well help make sure you don't turn into a drooling idiot. Besides, you're going to hurt something going on like that."

He sounds just a twinge eager despite that.

Tarn inclines his head slightly, Staring down his own chassis as Pharma sidles up to the foot of the berth. His valve clenches eagerly on itself in anticipation for what Pharma might bring to the table.

"Of course doctor. Perhaps you can put those famous hands to good use, hm?

He reaches out to slide his fingertips down Tarn's chassis, tracing the edges of seams. "Is that a suggestion or a request?"

This is a very tantalizing position to be in, having Tarn there, ready and wanting - granted he knows full well it's the effect of whatever the hell is going on outside, an effect that's starting to waver his self-control as well, but that does nothing to stall his excitement.

"Either way, I concur."

Tarn makes a show of arching into Pharma's fingers as the slide down transformation seams. If he wants him to get on with it, he knows that he has to play into that massively inflated ego of his.

"Ah- merely a suggestion. I'll leave the decision up to you-- I know that you can be quite creative."

A smile curls on his face and he moves to lift up and lean a knee on the berth, curling his fingers lower and lower. He pauses just above Tarn's valve but eventually he slips two fingers down, capturing an exterior node gently between two fingers as a deliberate contrast to how Tarn was practically mauling himself.

"So trusting all of a sudden."

Tarn makes a show of arching under Pharma's touch. The fingers slowly trailing down his abdominal armor bring with them an all consuming blaze as he finds himself free falling into carnal bliss. When Pharma pauses just above his valve, Tarn gives him a glare of warning. He better not stop now.

He doesn't have to wait long until he feels the brush of fingers exactly where he wants them.

The comparatively gentle touch against his node has his vents hitching as he jerks. The touch is almost feather light in comparison to how he had touched himself and it leaves him nearly breathless, needing more.

But he wont beg. He'll never stoop to begging an Autobot for anything. Not even when his frame is as overheated as it is.

"Haah-- Come now, no need to treat me like a delicate petal. I would like to be able to actually feel it."

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have some hot steaming garbage

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