robothell | Trashcan vs. Trashcan

Trashcan vs. Trashcan

Who: Tarn and Rampage
What: Rampage is pretty sure Tarn's life isn't shitty enough.
When: After Tarn's banishment.
Where: The boonies
Warnings: Two horrible murderbots for the price of one thread.

Rampage has unfinished business with Tarn. Now the the immediate rage of Tarn's attempted murder has faded, he's not certain what form the business is going to take, but he did tell Tarn that there was nowhere he could hide, and as such he's determined to pay the now banished mech a visit.

He wasn't lying about Tarn being unable to hide from him, either. Rampage isn't certain just how sensitive his spark is, but there's certainly nowhere any Cybertronian can go on this planet that's too far for him to sense them. So into the wasteland he goes, trundling over the terrain in beast mode, many legs devouring the miles between him and the ripple against his spark he knows to be Tarn.

When he gets close enough for Tarn to hear, he calls out, "Come out, come out, wherever you are, unless you're too frightened to face me!"

Does he still welcome the challenge?

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It’s been over a week since his banishment. Spinister had done his best to repair Tarn’s injured knee, but his wrecked throat was more complicated. Though, lately, his clicks and wheezes have almost begun to resemble words. Enough that on occasion he can squeeze out a painful sounding word or two before it dissolves into useless static.

Tarn has taken to leaving his shelter to escape companion's contemptuous gaze more and more frequently. He’s found a formation of rocks, sheltered from prying eyes and secluded enough in the wastes that he hasn’t considered the possibility of guest.

Rampage’s taunting call rouses him from his morose thoughts and he stiffens with apprehension. With no weapon and no voice, he is having a difficult time convincing himself to reveal himself to his adversary.

However, weakened or no, he refused to hide like a coward. Tarn gathers to his feet, making his way out of the rocks to face Rampage head on.

He has a limp, but his head is held high and proud as he locks eyes with the beastformer.

Rampage watches Tarn as he approaches, gaze sweeping over him. Amusement bubbles in him at the limp in Tarn's steps and the prideful angle of his chin. His own demeanor is relaxed as he transforms, rising onto two legs. His horns twitch with a smirk.

"Oh, what pride!" he says, clapping his hands together in mocking applause. "But I suppose you don't have much else to cling to, hmm?"

Tarn glares fiercely, crossing his arms across his chest.

“What do you want?” He manages to slowly croke out. Loathe as he is to admit it, Rampage is right. He has nothing but his own tattered pride to keep himself afloat.

He stays a safe distance away, not foolish enough to get into the mech’s personal space. He isn’t sure how this will play out. Wounded, and weaponless, and voiceless against a mech who he couldn’t damage even with his strongest weapon; against Rampage who seems to be making good on his word on hunting him down to settle their unfinished business.

He tries to sigh, steeling himself for the worse and tensing in anticipation of an attack.

Rampage lets out a bark of laughter at the sound of Tarn's voice. Oh poor thing! What a shame. That voice had been fascinating.

"Well, I'm not here to kill you, if you're worried about that, my sweet," he answers. He begins to saunter lazily around Tarn, just circling without closing or opening the distance between them.

"That would be such a waste of good misery."

Tarn watches as Rampage circles, frame drawn tight. He doesn’t come closer even as he simpers a reassurance, but the taunting edge in his voice does little to put Tarn at ease.

He fights the urge to lash out, if only to stop that infuriating circling.

“Leave me—“ It’s all he can manage before his voice cuts to static.

"Leave you? Let me think about that for a moment." Rampage rubs a hand over his chin as if seriously contemplating the matter. "Hmmm... No, I don't think so."

He gives another laugh, still circling slowly. "Unless you meant to say 'leave me in pieces'. Then you might be able to convince me."

Tarn can’t even growl his frustration; his damaged vocalizer has seized up from overuse. A knot of apprehension forms in his tanks. He continues to glare, taking the smallest step back.

Tarn isn’t sure what the beastformer wants from him, and he’s not sure that he wants to find out. His fist clench at his sides, preparing for a fight the he hardly wants.

Part of him wonders how many times he can get the shit beaten out of him before Spinister just stops repairing him.

Frustration and apprehension. Just enough to whet his appetite but not enough to satisfy. It's stronger emotions his spark craves. It's always been about making others just as miserable as he is.

The little step back is enough to make him laugh again.

"Oh, so that's not what you meant?" he says, brows raised in feigned surprise. "You should be more careful with your words, friend. Someone might get the wrong idea!"

He stops, hands braced on his hips. "You should be more careful with your actions, too. Otherwise someone might get hurt."

As though plenty of people haven't been hurt already, from First Aid to Tarn himself and everyone in between.

Tarn hunches slightly. Of course this is about First Aid; he never had any illusion that it wasn’t. At least Rampage has stopped circling him like prey, it makes it easier to watch for signs of an impending attack.

Surely a fight is what is he wants out of Tarn. However, he isn’t sure that he can give it at the moment; he’s too injured and tired to really put his heart into it. The only thing in his favor is that he has literally nothing left to lose.

With a vicious hiss of static he spreads his arms, offering himself to Rampage’s whims, daring him to strike at an already broken adversary.

Rampage takes advantage of Tarn's offer to step closer to him, close enough to strike, closer than that, until he looms over him, staring down at with optics that are more amused than anything.

But he doesn't lash out. That would be too simple, too obvious. He's not about to do what Tarn expects him to.

"I saw your little failure of an execution," he says. "What fun it would have been to be there! To watch as you were thrown away like so much trash by the faction you love so dearly." It's a bit of a guess, not actually knowing much about Tarn, but who wears the symbol of something they don't care about as their face? "How did it feel when they decided you weren't even worth enough to kill, hm?"

Anger and misery war inside Tarn as his optics blaze in wild fury. He's weary of being made a fool by other mechs, but he can't let himself be consumed into a pit of despair. Instead, he settles firmly on outrage.

"H-- dare you--!" he tries to spit, squaring his shoulders and facing Rampage fearlessly. Tarn takes a step forward, chest brushing against his adversary's plating. He doesn't care if this mech rips his spark from his chest, Tarn refuses to be insulted in such a heinous manner.

Rampage's optics dim slightly in bliss at the sweet surge of anger and misery spilling from Tarn.

"Delicious," he mutters out loud to himself. Then his gaze refocuses on Tarn's face as the ex-Decepticon steps closer to him, the taste of his emotions growing stronger with his spark so close to Rampage's own. He leans down until his forehead almost brushes Tarn's.

"Oho, touched a live wire there did I? Such a temper." Pot here to call you black, kettle. "Isn't that what got you into this mess in the first place? What was it, jealousy? Couldn't bear the thought that Sixshot might want to dip his cord in someone other than you? That he might like an Autobot more than he could ever care for your miserable spark?"

He's digging now. Feeling for the ripples of emotion with every word he speaks, trying to find the sorest places for him to verbally poke. It's a shame about the lack of fear, but he'll take what he can get. Right now Tarn is a feast.

Tarn hears the word muttered under Rampage’s breath and squints suspiciously. Delicious? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

The thought is quickly tossed aside as he presses even further into Tarn’s personal life. His business with First Aid has nothing to do with Sixshot and everything to do with the small medic’s attitude and lack of respect. Regardless, the accusation and mere mention of his ex-lover sends him into a blind fury fueled by regret and sorrow.

Tarn finds his hands reaching up to Rampages shoulders and shoving the mech with all of his strength.

“—know nothing!—“ He bellows, voice pitching strangely and tinged with static as he pushes his volume.

The shove knocks Rampage back, but he grabs Tarn's arms as he stumbles and turns, dragging the ex-Con with him. He grips him tight, tight enough to dent, but not enough to break, and tries to push him down to the ground, bearing down with his own considerable weight.

"Such pain," he hisses, his optics bright with delight. The miserable mix of emotion and rage is intoxicating, and he can feel his spark pulsing with it, drinking in the sweet pain. Oh how he missed this, pulling the dark emotions out of others and making them hurt as much as he did.

Why did he ever give it up?

Because of Transmutate, he reminds himself, a cold dose of sobriety to temper his excitement.

But it was alright. He wasn't going to kill Tarn. And as far as he was concerned, Tarn was an acceptable target. Who was going to care if Rampage hurt his feelings?

"How does it feel," he asks, trying to further exploit the sore spot Sixshot seems to be, "Knowing that you'll never touch him again? Never feel his warm plating against yours? Never feel his body moving against yours? How does it feel knowing that you'll never have Sixshot again, while he can have him whenever he wants?"

Tarn goes down easily the minute that pressure is put on his injured leg. A yelp of pain is covered by a sharp crack of static from his maimed vocalizer. As Rampage bears down upon him, Tarn begins to thrash in an attempt to free himself from the pinning weight of his opponent.

The taunting words hit their mark as Tarn's processor spins, plagued with images of his lover’s disappointed and furious gaze. And, for the first time since his banishment, he realizes that Rampage is right. The thought that he may never be with Sixshot again tears viciously at his spark, robbing him of his strength. As he stops struggling against Rampage, his helm falls back against the ground with a dull clang; consumed entirely with crippling sorrow.

First Aid had won, after all.

Rampage refuses to let himself be tossed off, forcing Tarn's wrists to the ground and straddling him. His horns curl with the unique sort of sadistic ecstasy that comes with another's utter despair.

"That's it. Give in to your pain. It's all you have left now." His voice is almost tender now, soft and soothing. His grip on one of Tarn's arms loosens, slides up his wrist to lace thick fingers between Tarn's. "He'll never forgive you, and it's all your fault. You've ruined everything."

It's euphoric, feeling another fall so low. Addictive. His spark buzzes with the emotions and it's a feeling not unlike being drunk.

"You should have known it wouldn't turn out well. Angered murdered rarely does."

He tugs Tarn's hand up, lowering his head to nuzzle at his fingertips. Surely a little nibble couldn't hurt?

Tarn turns his face away as Rampage leans closer. The almost affectionate contact makes him uncomfortable, and he feels utterly humiliated and trapped as his heart breaks in front of his enemy. He’s pathetic. His fingers try to twitch out of Rampage’s grip, but the laced digits hold him fast.

“wasn’t supos— to find—“ He wasn’t supposed to find out. No one was supposed to know beside himself, and Helex, when he eventually had the parts smelted down.

Tarns optics snap back to Rampage as his hand is lifted up to his face. The affectionate nuzzle has Tarn balking, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s ripping his hand free and delivering a powerful slap to the toothy face hovering above him.

"Ha-ha!" Rampage laughs as Tarn's slap knocks his head to one side. "You've still got some fight in you!"

He grabs for Tarn's hand again, ready to grip tighter, his jagged mask splitting down the center to bare his teeth. He wants a taste of sweet metal, lovely energon, tangy hydraulic fluid... Just a bit, just a bit, just a fingertip-!

"He was always going to find out!" he crows. "There's nothing you could do to keep him from finding out!" His voice drops into almost a sing-song. "Oh, he knows, he knows, his nose knows..."

Wild laughter echoes around the pair as Rampage enjoys himself far too much.

The maniacal tone tinting Rampages voice puts Tarn on edge as he tries to pull his arm in and keep his hands close to his body. His sharp maw snapping so close to his fingertips certainly doesn’t help. Though the beastformer is still straddling him, he tries to curl onto his side and keep everything tucked in.

However, Rampage is heavy and he finds that it is easier said than done. Especially when he is weak from his injuries and low on fuel.

“Get off—"

Laughing louder, Rampage keeps a hold of Tarn's arm long enough to lunge forward and - snicketysnack just like that - neatly bite off the tip of his pinkie finger, right at the knuckle.

Ah, such a tiny morsel! He really wants more. To crack major fuel between his fingers and drink them dry. To set a fire in his frame and let the fluids pop and sizzle. Peel open his chest and pick out all his favorite treats until all that's left is his aching, beautiful, agonized spark-

But he can't, and he sighs sadly, shifting his weight up and away from Tarn, crouching back on his heels instead. Killing Tarn means his fun has to end, and he's hoping to keep this source of tasty emotions around for a very long time.

Tarn hisses and jerks as Rampage snaps off the tip of his finger; though it takes a moment for him to realize what has actually happened. When he does, his eyes go wide with shock, yanking his hand back and holding it to his chest protectively

“Y-You F—“ words are getting harder and harder to force out, and certainly the bewilderment isn’t helping.

He ate it. He didn’t just break it off, the fragger ate it. And here comes the tinge of fear that Rampage has been missing, just in time for Tarn to frantically start bucking and pushing at the beastformer as he sat back to enjoy his snack.

"Ho-ho!" Rampage laughs as Tarn squirms frantically away from him. He doesn't try to stop him, but nor does he move. Watching him wriggle in the dirt like a worm is great entertainment. And, ah!, that spark of fear, the finest seasoning for his meal.

"You what?" he asks jovial. "You freak? You monster?" He rests his chin on his hand as he watches Tarn, fingers tapping against his cheek. "You're only just noticing? You have quite a reputation of your own! I thought us monsters recognized our kind."

“You fragger!” Tarn bites out, frustrated by the downright jovial tone in Rampage’s voice. He wants to punch him in his smug face, but refuses to risk putting his fingers anywhere near that gaping maw ever again. After all, he has no idea if the mech intends to continue to snack on him.

Instead, Tarn continues to try to wiggle free of the legs straddling his hips. He just wish he knew what to do to get Rampage away; some way to strike back at the seemingly indestructible.

The only thing he can do is protect his most vital parts and hope for the best. He just needs keep the monster away from his t-cog. It's all he has left to soothe himself.

"So now we're name-calling, hmm?" Rampage leans forward, bracing a hand on either side of Tarn's head, weight slowly shifting onto his hands and knees and off of Tarn. "I see how it is. So eager to give pain, but so hesitant to receive it! How generous, of you. But please, won't you let me return the favour?"

He lunges forward, teeth and mask snapping audibly. He doesn't intend to actually take a bite, but it would fun if Tarn thought he was going to. If only he could wring some proper terror out of his lovely treat.

Tarn takes full advantage of the weight lifting from him, twisting more fiercely and shoving at Rampage with his knees. His injured joint throbs in protest to his actions, but Tarn is desperate as those jaws snap so close to his face and throat.

If Rampage is wanting fear, he gets it; despite the DJD Commander’s express wishes. It’s a brief, but strong, flare of emotion, accompanied by a staticky shout. He doesn't cower away, instead he fights savagely, fingers gouging at the beatformer's plating, drawing vivid energon. He's determined to at least leave a mark of his own.

"Oh, that tickles!" Rampage laughs as Tarn's fingers rake his plating. As fast as the energon spills out, the torn metal seals itself again, leaving nothing but a bright stain to show that it was there.

The scent of energon, even his own, makes the hunger blossom stronger in him. He wants more. More pain, more fear, more energon...

His self-control is slipping. If he stays much longer he'll regret it. After all, if he eats all his cake now how can he have it later?

Pressing his weight back down on Tarn - and he can feel that knee twinging - he grabs Tarn's face with both hands, holding him in place long enough to lean in nuzzle him.

"I won't kill you today," he says softly, oddly affectionately, "but some day I'm going to devour you alive."

Tarn grunts in pain as Rampage's weight is put back on his knee. It twinges and creaks in protest against any further exertion, leaving him weak. Frustration grips him as every wound that he leaves behind heals almost immediately making it impossible to inflict lasting damage. How jealous Tarn is.

He stills completely as the mech grabs his helm, preventing him from turning away. He stiffens even further as Rampage nuzzles at him affectionately, steeling himself for pain that never comes.

Despite the fear gripping him, Tarn fights to keep it from his voice
,
"We will see." He growls lowly, glaring fiercely up at his attacker.

"We will," Rampage agrees with a deep chuckle. His mandibles squirm as he pulls back, and he's so very tempted to take a bite out of Tarn's mask but... he moves away, climbing slowly to his feet. His spark is singing with Tarn's fear, and it's as good a place to end this tryst as any.

As he turns to walk away, leaving Tarn to deal with himself however he pleases, he can't help but offer one last parting shot.

"You know, I'm fucking Sixshot, too."

Tarn waits for Rampage to stand fully before beginning to drag himself a safe distance away, gathering to his own shaky legs. He clutches his throbbing, injured hand to his chest, taking a few more steps back to put extra distance between them.

“Send him my regards.” Tarn growls, refusing to turn his back to Rampage even as he watches the beastformer start to walk away.

Rampage is just going to laugh all the way home. Not that he actually has a home. Whatever.

He'll see Tarn again. He's not sure when, but he'll definitely be back for a second serving.

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Trashcan vs. Trashcan

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