robothell | Phase Sixer On Doorstep Delivery

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Phase Sixer On Doorstep Delivery

Who: Sixshot and Tarn!
Where: The Decepticon, uh, 'base'.
When: Some time after Tarn gets fixed up after his fight with Megatron.
What: Sixshot finds some high grade.
Warnings: Weird Decepticon fluff? Also, NSFW as heck.

Sixshot arrives with a box tucked under one arm and about an inch of dust and grime on his frame. It's been a surprisingly productive past few days of digging around the city and finding random, necessary knickknacks. He usually leaves them near the makeshift base's front door before wandering off again.

Today, however, he's found something that seemed a bit more fitting to be delivered in person. As he reaches the warped door frame, however, Sixshot slows to a stop. The hallway leading into the building looks like it'd just been cleaned. He looks down at his decidedly rather filthy feet.

Hmm.

Leaning somewhat awkwardly into the building, careful not to touch the door frame, he peers into the unlit hall.

"Tarn?"

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Grazing his teeth along the side of Tarn's helm, Sixshot groans at the wet, tight heat around him, the weight of the other's cord pressed against his abdominal plating, the clench of fingers around his shoulders. He braces his legs against the floor and hilts himself in a single smooth thrust, warm air hissing out of his vents the moment his hips meets Tarn's.

"Primus," he mutters, voice strained, shuddering at the clench of slick walls around his cord. It takes him a moment to gather himself before he could move, rocking into his partner with slow, shallow movements.

Tarn bites down on Sixshot's throat to keep himself from crying out as the Phase Sixer buries his chord inside him. He can feel the small knot at it's base stretching just inside the rim of his port.

He finds himself unable to contain his whine of pleasure when his partner begins to shallowly thrust inside him. It's so much and not enough at the same time and it is driving Tarn insane. He pulls away to lick up the rivulet of energon spilling from the bite mark, panting hot air against his plating.

Sixshot arches into the sting of teeth against his neck cabling, a sharp gasp hissing past his lips. He hooks Tarn's knees over his elbows, freeing his hands up and they roam over his partner's frame, gliding over seams and welding scars.

One slips down between their bodies, black fingers wrapping around Tarn's spike. He begins to pump it in time with each roll of his hips, faster and faster as he picks up his pace, squeezing the base of the length every time he works the knot back into the other mech's clenching body.

Tarn bucks into Sixshot's skilled touches, frame hissing as he begins to overheat.

"F-Frag, Sixshot, please!" He pants against his partner's plating, purple fingers scrambling for something to anchor himself with. The thickness of the knot stretches him ever wider and Tarn desperately pushes harder against it. His port aches and clenches as his exterior node swells with excess charge, overload slowly beginning to creep up on him.

It was getting harder and harder to force the swell of the knot past the rim of Tarn's valve- so Sixshot stops trying to, favoring shorter strokes, moaning softly. Raking his fingers up wet purple and grey thighs, he tips his head and licks Tarn's throat, tasting cleanser and the warmth of energon.

The Sixer shoves the hand around Tarn's spike lower, palm grinding down against the charged anterior node, feeling an electric pop against his plating. His lips find his partner's again in a hungry, hard kiss and he pushes his hips up, engorged knot stretching the other Decepticon to his very limits.

Tarn screams into Sixshot's mouth, squirming as the thick knot is forced into his valve. He can't remember ever feeling so full in his entire life, and it is absolutely divine.

As the Phase Sixer continues to move, Tarn moans. His voice warbles eerily off key, dragging his partner's spark into a crushing embrace. mouth gaping against the other Decepticon's lips, He pants hot air while his hands slide to Sixshot's back to pull him closer.

"Harder, please Primus, harder," The breathy deep rasp of Tarn's voice is beginning to sound desperate as he tries to push back against the Sixer's spike in a needy grinding motion.

It was like his spark had become a tuning fork and Tarn had just whacked it against the side of a tabletop. Sixshot feels his entire body light up like an over-charged flash bulb as he surges against his partner's frame.

The world was static and pleasure nothingness for a brief second, just on the knife's edge of overload. He finds himself drawing back with the metallic taste of Tarn's paint on the edge of his teeth.

And then the Sixer leans back in to kiss and nip at at vulnerable neck cables, slamming his hips up harder, forcing the knot deeper, rhythm growing erratic. Strands of electricity snap over his armor the closer he gets.

Sensors and relays fire in confused pleasure as the knot is thrust deeper inside him, putting a fair bit of constant pressure on a particularly sensitive cluster of nodes lining the soft mesh of his valve. It tightens and flutters in response, trying to pull the thick spike impossibly deeper.

Tarn leans into Sixshot's mouth, tilting his head back slightly to give him better access . The DJD Commander feels his thighs begin quivering in the Sixer's grip as a bright bolt of electricity dances from Tarn's inner thigh to his partner's hand. Overload builds rapidly as he slams his valve harder on Sixshot's spike; it hurts in the most perfect way when he is stretched past this own threshold.

Climax hits Sixshot in a sudden, hammering jolt. His fingers leave deep imprints in Tarn's thigh plating as he wrenches his partner down into a final, wall warping, thrust and holds them there, power plant growling loud enough to rattle the whole room.

This time, Sixshot tastes energon on his tongue when he bites down, the fizz of electricity against his lips. He squeezes Tarn's cord with a wordless gasp as the knot swells into his final size and traps the hot gush of his transfluids behind it, pulsing heavily against valve walls.

Its hard to say what pushes him over the brink. Whether it is the harsh squeeze to his chord, the sharp bite to his throat, the frame crushing final thrust, or the burn of Sixshot's knot trapping the flood of transfluid inside of him.

Whichever it is, Tarn finds himself spiraling into one of the most intense overloads of his life. He howls in pleasure, red optics bleaching to white as his port clenches and ripples on the sixer's girth. His own chord jerks as it shoots a jet of transfluid to coat own stomach.

Tarn collapses forward onto his partner with a strangled wheeze, optics flickering off as he pants trying to cool his overheated frame.

Tarn's overload sends aftershocks pulsing through Sixshot between the fluttering clench of his valve and the snap-CRACK of charge being released. Ozone filled the Sixer's olfactory sensors, heady and heavy.

Shuddering violently, he licks at the cuts his teeth had left in Tarn's neck, stroking his fingers over the purple mech's cord, thumbing the vent at the tip through the sticky fluids.

"Mmm," Sixshot rumbles, catching the DJD commander as he collapsed, armor plates unfolding to let heat escape with a hiss of steam. He turns his head slightly to press languid kisses along Tarn's treads, optics darkening at the sensation of fluid sloshing around his cord.

Tarn's body heaves as he pants, armor ticking and pinging as metal begins to cool and treads rustle as shiver rips through him. He's not sure if he could stand even if he wasn't still stuck to his partner. Instead, he clutches tightly to the Phase Sixer's shoulders in an attempt to ground himself.

Sixshot's gentle touches bring him out of his daze, just slightly. He attempts to speak but just spits static as his processor tries to catch up. After a moment a resets his vocalizer with a soft click. Tarn turns his face into Sixshot's neck, resting the cracked crest of his mask against his shoulder.

"Well you didn't hold back, that's for certain." He huffs a laugh, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'm impressed."

"If Spinister comes after me, I'm still telling him it was your idea," Sixshot murmurs as he nibbles a lazy path over Tarn's shoulder. He slowly lowers them, sliding his hands under the other mech's aft to support him as the Sixer sinks down onto his knees.

Pale lips eventually find the side of Tarn's head and the nibbles melt into wordless nuzzling for a while. At least up until Sixshot's newfound sense of worry gets the better of him.

"Seriously though, I didn't pop any welds, did I?"

To be honest, Tarn isn't sure. all he can feel is the tightness in his valve, and the vague sloshing of transfluid trapped inside of him. Everything else is pleasantly numb, lost in a post overload haze.

Tarn relaxes onto Sixshot's lap as they change positions, jostling the hard spike inside of him, sending a jolting aftershock of pleasure through him. He only moans softly in response.

"Mmm...I don't think so..." although he does have a lovely hand shaped dent on his inner thigh. "How long until we...ah, separate?" the DJD Commander isn't in any rush he decides as small shocks of residual charge zap in his hip joints. Tarn strokes the flat of the sixer's wings soothingly in response to the gentle kisses and nuzzles.

"Five," Sixshot mutters, muffled against Tarn's wet plating, wings trembling under the touches. His own hand presses flat against purple chest armor and draws down, fingers sliding over cracked biolights and gliding lightly over the weld marks in damaged abdominal plates.

"Minutes, I mean." The little pops of residual charge between their frames makes the six-former hum pleasantly, spike twitching within the confines of Tarn's valve. "Roundabout."

Between the cleansers and the overworking fans, the heat in his frame was quickly beginning to dissipate, leaving behind a comfortable warmth instead.

Tarn makes a noise of acknowledgement as he seeks out Sixshots lips, brushing his own scarred pair against his partners smooth one. He purrs softly at the feeling of fingers against his damaged chassis, leaning into the gentle touch as a strut deep exhaustion grips him.

He does concentrate enough to swipe away some of the wet grime from the Phase Sixer's chest as he begins the task of scrubbing the mech's plating. He knows that across the room there is a rag that would be much more helpful for getting into transformation seams and joints, but that will have to wait until he is able to actually get up. For now, this will have to do.

Tarn's attempt at cleanup has Sixshot puffing a hot breath of air through his vents at the ticklish sensations across sensitized plating.

He doesn't protest it, however, not with the brush of Tarn's lips against his. Pushing closer, the Sixer presses lazy kisses against his partner's mouth, enjoying the shift of texture across scars and undamaged metal as the other mech leans against him in exhaustion.

This was nice. Comfortable in a way he hadn't really expected.

Which was roundabout the time when the cleanser stream cuts out.

"... Huh," Sixshot says, turning his head up to eye the shower head.

Tarn startles at the sudden cut of the warm cleanser. He looks up quizzically; had the tank run out already? Had he really just wasted all of that solvent?

"Did...did the tank run out?" he asks, dragging himself from his lethargy. He looks around the room, noting the tread width dent in the wall, the transfluid and mud now covering both of their frames and smeared onto the floor and walls by proxy, the dents on his thighs, the empty tank of cleanser.

Yes, Tarn is sure that Spinister will be having words with him.

He's not sure why he turned the shower on first. Clearly he didn't foresee this being an issue.

There's a second as Sixshot does some mental math. It had been a pretty big tank of cleanser, heavy too, and even with a good amount of use, it shouldn't have been used up quite so quickly.

Looking at shower handle, he notices it wasn't quite in the same position as when they'd, uh, started.

"I think," he says, reaching out and gingerly turning the shower head back on. "That Spinister is a bit more conscious about shortages than we are."

Memo to self; find more cleanser tanks.

This wasn't going to save Tarn from having to explain things to poor Spinister, but at least he could do it clean. Speaking of, Sixshot carefully leans back, careful not to jostle Tarn too much on his lap as he reaches for one of the scrubs in the corner.

Tarn can't help the sigh of relief that escapes his vents as the shower turns back on. The DJD have never had to worry so much about shortages. Yes, he tries not to be wasteful, but he never found himself in dire need of supplies for himself and his team. Inventory schedules kept them well stocked before they got to any sort of hardship.

"Yes, it seems that he is quite used to living with supplies in paucity. To be honest, it makes him a valuable asset; worth turning a blind eye to his various idiosyncrasies."

Despite Sixshot's obviously careful motions, the chord still jerks inside of his port. Tarn gasps softly; not pain, but from the sort of strange feeling when a bit of transfluid begins to leak from his stretched opening as the knot begins to subside ever so slightly.

"He's very... particular, certainly."

Sixshot's words skip a little beat at the sensation of warm transfluid sliding down his inner thigh. Turning back to Tarn with scrub in hand, he tilts his helm and presses slow kisses along the other mech's jaw line.

"Where did you pick him up? He doesn't seem the sort you'd keep on your crew," he murmurs as he starts scrubbing the paint transfers and fluids off of purple chest and abdominal armor.

Tarn accepts the bit of pampering, turning his head to meet Sixshot's lips briefly.

"It's kind of a strange story I suppose. He was on The List. He and his scavenger compatriots were found guilty of treason; aiding a coward in leading an attack on my team." Tarn sighs, relaxing back into the Phase Sixer's grip, loosening his armor so that the scrub could better clean into some of his seams.

"Spinister has somewhat of a reputation, however, as a sort of idiot savant. His ability to make something out of nothing is nearly unmatched. So, when I arrived here and saw him lost , and confused, and alone, I technically should have just dispatched him then and there. But instead I offered him a something of a deal."

Tarn pauses to shift his weight a bit, resulting in a sort of wet sound as even more transfulid drips from his stretched port. He bites his lip briefly, before continuing his thought.

"I told him that if he agreed to join me here as a sort of field medic and ally, I would remove him from The List. He was of course skeptical of my sincerity, but ultimately agreed."

"Scavengers?" Sixshot questions distractedly, entranced momentarily by the flash of teeth against those scarred lips as Tarn bites down. "What an odd team name."

And coward taking part in attacking Tarn's team seemed oddly contradictory.

He's beginning to think that Spinister is not much of an idiot; if he'd been put on the List and Tarn had come to him with the promise of being pardoned, he wouldn't believe it either. If the fate of a mech on the list was decided by Tarn alone, then, well.

It would be terrible to slight him, wouldn't it now?

"I'm glad you didn't off him," Sixshot continues, trying for a lighter note. "I haven't showered in weeks as is."

Edited 2015-04-24 00:10 (UTC)

Tarn huffs a quiet laugh as he thinks back on the past few weeks. Spinister had really come through for him in the end. "Yeah, me too."

As he begins to attempt to ease himself from Sixshot's lap, transfluid and lubrcant gush from his over sensitized and stuffed port. After a minute of hissing and wiggling Tarn finally manages to free himself, dripping and smearing an almost impressive amount of fluids onto the Phase Sixer's plating in the process. He wobbles a bit as he kneels, reaching around Sixshot to grab a scrub of his own.

"The shower is a nice plus. I do like to keep myself clean." Tarn smiles, wetting the cloth and beginning to clean weeks of accumulated mud from his partner's transformation seams.

Tarn's squirming makes Sixshot suppress a grunt as overstimulated sensors send flickers of sensations through his relays again. He reaches out and somewhat gingerly helps the other mech slide himself free, biting his tongue to stop any potentially embarrassing noises. It doesn't really stop him from gasping at the sudden rush of warm fluids over his lap though. Good Primus, that was... he kind of forgot how messy the aftermath tended to be.

"Honestly," the Sixer manages after a moment of gathering his composure again, sliding his palm down Tarn's abdominal plates as the DJD Commanders leans over him him to fetch the cloth. "I really, really don't want to face him covered in transfluid and tell him what happened to the shower."

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Phase Sixer On Doorstep Delivery

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