have some hot steaming garbage

[sparkwhisperer]

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.

Comments

[warmesthugs]

Tarn can push all he wants; Helex will let him, but won't let him get away. He's not well, clearly, so it's better really that he starts to relax a little. Helex doesn't exactly relish the idea of having to manhandle the commander off to a medic or something.

But a different sort of handling starts to sound very appealing as Tarn explains, voice rough as it never ever is, even when he's furious. Helex decides he likes the way Tarn sounds right now and leers down at him, turning his face back up with both of his smaller hands.

"That so?" he rumbles. Gather charge and overheat. Tarn tries to make it sound so neat and clinical. Tarn likes his words neat. Call it what he likes, but it sounds to Helex like this flower nonsense gets people in the mood to rut. It's definitely working out that way for him, heat turning into electricity gathering on his circuits. He could just shunt it into the smelter and melt down some scrap and probably he'd be fine… but then… well, Tarn's right here. And no better off. "Got you all revved up, huh?" Helex goes on, leering at the dim, hazy glow of Tarn's optics.

It's at least partly the spores in his vent systems making him giddy, but it's the tension in Tarn's frame, too, the embarrassed tilt to his gaze. It makes him feel vulnerable in Helex's arms.

Helex rather likes the way he wears it.

"Bet I can take care of it for you," he says and pins Tarn against him with one huge hand cupped at the small of his back.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn groans as he's pinned against Helex's smelter. He knows that his teammate is strong but seeing him use it for this, rather than maiming List offenders, has his already distracting charge climbing at a rapid pace. His valve clenches on itself at the thought of Helex's size. Surely his thick spike would more than fit his needs.

Tarn's fingers squeal as they slide over the glass of his chamber. After a moment, he manages to make eye contact, optics flickering at the hunger he sees there.

"Please..."

He doesn't manage to say much else before his thighs begin to quiver and his panel snaps open. A thin trickle of lubricant drips from his swollen valve, smearing over Helex's plating.

[warmesthugs]

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.

[sparkwhisperer]

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.

[warmesthugs]

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.

[sparkwhisperer]

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.