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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Each of Sixshot’s fierce thrusts earn its own gasp or cut of moan of pleasure. He can feel the spike’s knot forming as his partner’s mods come online, stretching him far past his limits each time is squeezes past the rim of his valve. It occurs to Tarn in his pleasure-drunk haze that Sixshot’s spike is much bigger than last time he had taken it. He was currently pinned beneath the full monty of Phase Sixer; no sub-spaced mass to fit into the tiny shower. But, with the pollen in his system all he feels is blinding pleasure.

So he pushes back, continuing to meet Sixshot thrusts with enthusiasm, oblivious of any damage that he may be causing himself. As his fingers find a particularly sensitive wire he is rewarded with a deep growl that sends sinful vibrations to his very core. Tarn pulls harder.

His valve is dripping. Lubricant, energon, Tarn doesn’t particularly care as long as the Phase Sixer keeps going. Nothing else matters in the world other than the wonderful slide of that huge spike inside of him, filling him, claiming him. He slams into sensor nodes that Tarn didn’t even know he had.

His mouth opens into a scream behind his stifling mask.

“Frag- Sixshot! Keep going…"

It's the scream that does it for him.

Sixshot thrusts in, deep as he can go, hips pressed flat against Tarn's as the knot swells to its full size and locks them together and the building charge snaps. His powerplant howls into a building shaking crescendo, static arcing between their armor with deafening snaps and blinding flashes of light.

The Sixer's growls turns into a distorted, pitched whine, teeth sinking further into Tarn's armor. His spike jerks against the squeeze of Tarn's body, white hot transfluid splashing against the valve's innermost sensors- and it just keeps coming, the knot trapping it all within.

Throughout it all, Sixshot keeps moving, rocking his hips, pressing his vibrating chest and armor plates against the length of his partner's body.

Tarn goes stiff as Sixshot’s charge plows through him, mouth open and panting, rough and ragged as his own overload draws ever closer.

In the end, its the swell of the impossibly thick knot and the blazing, seemingly endless, pulse of scorching transfluid as it fills him so thoroughly, that pushes him over edge. He thrashes under the hot thrumming frame, clawing deep scratches into the Phase Sixer’s paint. Tarn’s valve ripples over the huge spike as his overload consumes him, ripping away any semblance of the world around him, leaving only burning pleasure.

As he comes down, his frame twitches weakly with aftershocks of charge. The world starts to ease back into focus as he stares up at Sixshot’s frame with flickering optics. He can still feel the pollen’s effect on his body, but it is no longer the all consuming burn of charge that it once was. A slow smile tugs on Tarn’s lips beneath his mask. The relief, however temporary, is a welcome feeling. He can only hope that the warmth makes it up to his optics.

He slides a soothing hand over the scratches that he left, but otherwise remains silent.

Eventually, the sharp, hot surges of charge ease, dying down to static zipping between his joints. It leaves him shuddering and raw, braced over Tarn's hot frame as his armor plates flare to release the build up of heat under them with a low hiss of steam.

Sixshot gasps as if he were just waking, easing his teeth apart with the utmost care. His optics suddenly focus on Tarn's face as pushes some of his weight off of his partner, gaze sharp and sane.

"... You're bleeding."

He doesn't sound surprised, but he doesn't sound entirely pleased with the matter either. It wouldn't be the first time Sixshot had accidentally wounded a lover and it was especially worrying when he very much wasn't in control of his actions.

"Anything critical?"

Tarn make’s a noise of acknowledgement. As the fog of pleasure slowly dissipates he’s left with a distinct soreness, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’s had worse pain.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s just…relax for a moment.”

He reaches up to stroke the back of the wolf’s neck. He’s drained of energy, content to spend the foreseeable future under the warmth of his partner. The roaring of engines has begun to die down to a purr and the zaps of charge have become less frequent.

He’s never interfaced quite like that before. He knew that he liked it rough. Perhaps rougher than most. But, the raw power behind Sixshot’s beast mode was unmatched and exciting and exotic. Even if he hadn’t been pleasure drunk from flower spores he can imagine it would have ended very much the same way.

"Tarn," Sixshot starts, but the gentle touches over his neck ease some of the wolf mech's worries and he lets the words trail off. Slowly, he eases down to lie on top of Tarn, folding his legs to keep most of his weight off of his partner.

The movements shifts the knot against the overstretched walls of Tarn's valve despite his best efforts and he shudders quietly. The body beneath him was warm and the loose press of purple thighs against his flanks draws a low rumble from the Sixer as he leans down to gently lick at the bloodied marks his teeth had left on Tarn's shoulder.

Tarn gasps as Sixshot’s spike shifts along over-sensitized nodes. Even the tiny movement reminds him of how widely stretched he is, punctuated by a sharp ache that he readily ignores.

He melts into the warm slide of his tongue against his plating, lapping at the sluggishly bleeding punctures. The gentle moment is a rarity and Tarn takes a moment to enjoy it, temporarily escaping the stressors of life and just focusing on the feeling of his lover’s plating snugly against his. He hums lowly in contentment, affectionately brushing the edge of his mask against the side of Sixshot’s helm.

"Thank you for helping."

The warm press of Tarn's mask slows Sixshot's licks as he turns his head to gently return the gesture with a nuzzle. He wished he could accept the thanks, but the fact of the matter was that he'd been mindlessly driven by the heat.

He's honestly not sure he'd have come at all if he'd been in his right mind. Not with prom night and the aftermath thereof still fresh in his memories. Not with his confession to being a traitor.

"You should go see Spinister after this," he murmurs, muzzle against his lover's audial. "Assuming he's not afflicted too."

Tarn winces. Spinister must be awfully sick of looking at his crotch. He will avoid it if at all possible; he can’t imagine that its nothing a bit of time won’t fix. Going to see him was bad enough for outer plating damage. But this is far more…invasive, and awkward for both of them.

"I'll be alright. I'm sure Spinister has more pressing matters to attend to.” He tries to wave of Sixshot’s concern, moving his fingers up to rub gentle circles behind his ear nubs.

He has missed this; the sense of camaraderie between the. Since Prom Tarn has barely seen Sixshot at all, and exchanged words with him even less. He turns to his head to look up at the six changer.

“How have you been?” It’s typically a question asked before sex, but in this situation he supposes there can be an exception. It’s only slightly awkward that the only reason Tarn has the opportunity to ask is because they are literally tied together by their genitals and not able to move.

"I've... been."

Was Tarn expecting more out of that answer? Because Sixshot isn't really giving him anymore. It about sums up the current state of things anyways: he's been, like he's always been before, just existing and little else. Lonely, nihilistic navel gazing was a hobby the Sixer rather excelled at and found hard to give up, especially now that his tentative stray into socializing had blown up in his face.

"How about you?" he asks in an awkward attempt to steer the conversation away from the matter. Like it wasn't awkward enough to have this kind of talk while he's... physically connected with someone.

Tarn picks up on Sixshot's unease, deciding that it's best to let the topic drop. He sighs, taking the bait.

"Trying to do damage control." His fingers busy themselves as he picks a bit nervously (though Tarn would never admit it) at a patch of dried mud behind one of the wolf's ear. "Helex is here."

He tries not to think about what would happen if Helex found out that he had pardoned Sixshot's defection. A fight between the two would surely be disastrous to say the least. Tarn shifts uneasily on his partner's spike, swallowing a groan as his valve walls ripple against it weakly.

"Do I want to know?" Sixshot doesn't even sound surprised. Mostly, he just sounds tired, disappointed and conflicted, although the gentle fingers behind his ear nub mollifies him somewhat.

He's awful curious about what will happen now too. Morbidly so. Will Tarn tell him about Sixshot's betrayal? Will Helex put Tarn back on the path of righteousness? Will Helex be displeased about his boss having sex with a traitor?

... The Sixer really hopes that last topic doesn't come up. He is very done with his sex life being known by literally everyone.

His tone is not lost on Tarn, he knows exactly what Sixshot is thinking.

“Don't worry I've deliberately kept you out of our conversations. No, lets just say that my dear colleague hasn’t made the best first impression with Megatron. “

He can’t help but play scenarios over in his mind of disasters that could occur, each more horrible than the next. If Tarn is to be honest with himself, he’s not sure that he could protect his lover if Helex was determined to offline him. Really, its best if they never meet. He stares up at Sixshot, making a point to catch his eyes.

"Stay away from him, do you understand me? If he finds out about your treason, he could prove to be an extremely dangerous adversary. I would rather not have to stand between the two of you. Besides, I... care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt by this."

There is silence for a long moment. Then Sixshot's optics brighten sharply, his claws digging into the berth.

"Tarn." Sixshot's voice suddenly drops into something quiet and very, very deadly. "I told you that with the expectation of dying. The only way you would have killed me is if I'd lain there and let you do it and I was willing, then. I'm not worried in the least that you would mention it to Helex."

Teeth flash silently a few inches away from Tarn's helm and the Sixer's voice takes on dark, silken quality. "What did Helex do to Megatron?"

Possibly, just maybe, Tarn should be a little more worried about his minion here.

Edited 2015-09-03 06:36 (UTC)

Tarn’s optic’s widen in something similar to panic. Knotted to a furious Phase Sixer is exactly where he does not want to be. And yet, he can barely lean away from Sixshot’s gleaming teeth as they flash next to his helm, seemingly ready to strike.

It’s Tarn’s turn to be insulted now as his partner brushes off his heartfelt confession of affection. His gaze turns steely and cold in a snap and his voice chills to match.

“They fought. Megatron is fine, no need to be so concerned.”

It’s as if the six changer doesn’t trust his ability to keep things under control; as if Tarn doesn’t care about Megatron’s safety.

The tension melts from his frame as quick as it'd come. It idly occurs to Sixshot that he's possibly too quick to trust Tarn again- but then Tarn hadn't turned it on him yet, has he?

And if nothing else, Sixshot's immense power had always afforded him the ability to trust, for better or for worse.

"Tarn," his is voice is soft now, his snout pressed against the side of his friend's helm in quiet apology, tongue slipping gently between the cables of the DJD commander's neck. "Whatever happens between us, promise me that no harm will come to him."

The gentle nuzzle does little to sooth Tarn's wounded pride; though it does ease some of the tension in his frame. He turns his head away, uneasy with the topic of conversation. He hopes that his insecurity doesn't leak into his field.

Trying to smooth things back out he glances at Sixshot, red optics dim. There is not room for petulance on his part in this situation. This isn't about him, or his hurt feelings; it's about Megatron.

"I promise."

The words come softly, rumbling in his chassis.

This time, Sixshot's tongue follows the curve of Tarn's jawline. He didn't mean to question Tarn's control over his teammate and he didn't mean to disregard Tarn's expression of care- but Sixshot's forte had never been verbal apologies, and so he tries to make it up this way instead.

The temperature hike that accompanies it comes as a surprise however. He's suddenly hyper-aware of Tarn's warm frame, the taste of him, the smell of him- and the pressure of the mech's valve still locked around his cock.

"I- can transform if you'd like?" The change in mass should be enough to free Tarn. The knot wasn't fading away in its usual amount of time and he suspects the effects of the pollen were beginning to make a come back.

"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.

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’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.

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.."

have some hot steaming garbage

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gayy

that was the wrong thing to say

Re: that was the wrong thing to say

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