robothell | 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

Tarn lets his head fall back onto the berth with a dull thud as Pharma really sets to work. His hips buck up ever so slightly into the doctor's touch as he grinds his fingers over his wet, charge swollen valve opening.

His node aches with need as it's passed over for his Spike housing. Tarn is about to growl something snappish when his mouth opens into a quiet gasp as Pharma slowly plunges his digits into his slick heat.

"Not that it's any of your businesses," Tarn manages to bite out, covering a slight quiver in his voice, "But you will be the fourth."

There is a small, self-righteous glimmer of judgement in his eyes as he works back over to the node, curling his fingers to rub it between the firm pressure of two knuckles.

"Fourth? After three, you're still not sated?" He actually sounds clinically intrigued by that, his medical opinion overriding his smugness over the situation for once, which makes the increasingly-bold way he slips yet another finger into Tarn's valve almost laughable in terms of contrast.

"Ah--!" Tarn bites off a cry of pleasure as Pharma rubs his charge-swollen nub beneath his knuckles. His hips jerk as he tries to push harder into the stimulation.

His valve clenches, swallowing the Autobot's fingers eagerly in it's wet heat

"The effects fade, but only immediately after overload. When they return I'm more charged up than before." Tarn squirms a bit before bracing himself on his elbows to glare at the doctor fingering him.

"Is that all you've got? I must say I'm disappointed-- I had imagined that you might have a bit more enthusiasm in you."

He's trying very hard to not let on how desperate he is for an overload.

"Well, if you'd rather I step away -"

He starts to slip his fingers out of Tarn's valve teasingly despite continuing his other hand. He hums contemplatively, unaware his cooling fans have turned out in the midst of all this teasing and the hungry way Tarn's body is practically begging for him.

Despite the teasing, he can't possibly let Tarn down now, so he goes full-hog and shoves four fingers in, leaving only his thumb unaffected by the heat of Tarn's valve.

"Really an itch you can't scratch. That's unfortunate."

Tarn thrashes as Pharma spreads his valve wide with four fingers. His calipers clench and quiver against the digits as he tries to find his voice. The obscene squelch of lubricant slick mesh is all Tarn hears for a moment, outside of the whirring of his own cooling fans.

After a moment he realizes that his cooling fans are not the only ones that he hears.

"You had better not." the spread and pressure on his nodes is wonderful, but there's just not enough to bring Tarn to overload. He's getting desperate and charge clouds his judgement as he opens his mouth to beg. Perhaps if he sinks low enough to play on the doctor's ego he will get what he needs.

"Hh--please, Pharma... Please it's not enough." After what he's taken from his previous partners, a few shallow fingers just aren't going to cut it. He needs it deep.

Tarn's optics are hazy as he sinks completely under the control of the pollen, grinding his hips into Pharma's touch. For once the Autobot is getting control over Tarn.

Tarn's reduced to begging. And god, does that really get him going. But he pulls himself from the haze long enough to contemplate this, attempting to force his fingers in a deep as they can go.

"Well, I'm not entirely certain I can go much further, but -"

His body finishes the thought for him, his panel opening and spike housing retracting to let it pressurize.

"I'm sure we can work something out," he finishes with a small gasp.

Tarn looks down his chest as Pharma's spike panel clicks open. He wants to say something cheeky, but his mouth goes dry as the medic's chord pressurizes smoothly between his thighs. The pollen wreaks havoc on the DJD leader's mind, making it impossible to do anything but lock onto that length.

In the end all he can do is tilt his hips to give Pharma better access to his needy valve.

He can't say no to that sort of invitation. He can't even pretend that he can, with whatever this is hitting him full force now that he's let his guard slip.

He grits his teeth, adjusts for a better angle, and pushes forward with a small noise of surprise - he manages to slip most of his spike into Tarn in one go almost effortlessly, and he savors that feeling for just a moment, core temperature starting to skyrocket.

He only gets enough of a grip on himself to start actually thrusting, and from there, all bets are off.

have some hot steaming garbage

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