Tarn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sparkwhisperer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
robothell2015-08-10 03:19 pm
sparkwhisperer) wrote in robothell2015-08-10 03:19 pm
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.
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"Hah," he breathes, trying to cover up the slip with some humor. "You'll be sick of me soon enough. I'm awful company."
no subject
“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.
no subject
"... 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?
no subject
“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."
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.