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
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.
no subject
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.