robothell | Phase Sixer On Doorstep Delivery

Entry tags:

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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Tarn smirks slightly, huffing at Sixshot's awkward demeanor. He finds it oddly charming in a strange way. Purple hands slide up to the Phase Sixer's shoulders, using them to steady himself as he stands.

"I must admit, it has been a while for myself as well. As you can imagine there aren't many jumping for such an encounter with, well, me."

Tarn takes another step forward, coming close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from Sixshot's frame. His hands slide up higher on his shoulders, fingers digging slightly into the green plating as they lock eyes.

"I, ah, that. Yeah." That was kind of painfully relatable. The other Decepticons were so terrified they hardly ever stuck around for a report, much less, well, this.

Speaking of this, Sixshot swallows anymore words at the arms around his shoulders, his own hands automatically settling on Tarn's waist to help support him as he stood up. The warm press of another body and the fingers against his armor makes the Sixer's spark swell and swirl with a strange mix of emotions.

"Should we... maybe somewhere more private?" he manages, unable to look away from Tarn's gaze.

He's right, this common space isn't particularly private. Tarn glances around trying to determine the most secluded and comfortable place to go about this.

Just as he is about to suggest his own meager temporary quarters he actually looks at Sixshot's plating. He thought it looked more dull than usual but had brushed it off as his own depression coloring his perception. It isn't until his hand wipes away some of the grime that Tarn realizes that Sixshot is actually just covered in dirt and mud.

"Spinister has recently built a shower. The space is relatively small but it is private and it seems you could use a bit of a wash." The tiniest hint of a smile edges it's way back into his voice as he swipes a finger through the layer of dirt.

If Sixshot's cooling system wasn't the kind of beast that could keep a fusion cell powered death machine running around without guttering out, he would absolutely would have been overheating just from the embarrassment right now. Here he was, possibly about to have sex with the leader of the DJD, a notoriously refined Decepticon, and he wasn't even presentable for the occasion.

"That was fast," the Sixer utters, somehow maintaining a level tone despite the finger wiping the mud off his shoulder. "I only found that cleanser tank two days ago..." It was about then that Sixshot realizes he was leaving pale, dusty hand prints on Tarn's side.

"Primus, I am so sorry," he says trying to make as little contact between them while still supporting his comrade. "I- scrap. Show me the shower?"

Tarn presses a bit closer when he feels Sixshot try to minimize his contact. It doesn’t really matter if he is getting dirt on himself, he will be washing it away soon enough.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sixshot. I can handle a bit of dirt on my plating.” He gently steers the Phase Sixer to a side room. “I don’t think I’ve seen him do much else other than work on the shower since you dropped that tank off. I guess his priorities have to be somewhere. “

Opening the heavy steal door Tarn reveals a relatively well assembled wash rack, complete with overhanging shower head. Given the lack of supplies Spinister had to work with Tarn couldn’t help but be impressed with what he managed to cobble together.

Tarn lets go of Sixshot, taking a few steps into the room before stopping to look over his shoulder to ensure that he was following

"I just. Didn't want to get anything in your joints..." Sixshot mumbles as he lets Tarn steer him about the small living space. Also, he might be stalling a bit, waiting to see if the purple mech would finally get annoyed and change his mind. It's a tactic that'd worked stunningly well when he hadn't intended for it to before.

Tarn lets him go and Sixshot pauses on the threshold, one hand resting on the door frame. It wasn't the most well lit of shower racks, but he could now see the welding scars scattered over the tank-former's dark back, shoulders and arms, bare patches where paint had been stripped off, darkness where biolight strips had been. The empty space Tarn's fusion cannons had once occupied.

Drawing in a quiet, deep in-vent of air, the six-former finally steps in after his companion, sliding the door shut behind him. Tarn's optic catches his as he reaches out and flattens his hands against the mech's back, pale mask pressing against heavy treads.

"Think I should've been there."

Tarn is silent for a moment as he feels Sixshot press against his back, smooth face mask caressing his shoulder. Perhaps he’s right. Maybe the Phase Sixer should have been there.

"There's nothing you could have done." Tarn murmers, "You would have been ordered to stand down." Or worse, be ordered to help Megatron 'pacify' him.

He bows his head, turning so that he's facing his partner. Their chests brush together as Tarn rests his head in the crook of Sixshot's neck, warm air seeping from the slit in his mask as he sighs softly.

It is an intimate caress, especially for Tarn, but he presses further forward, hands coming back to clutch at the Sixer's shoulders. It’s been too long, he decides, since he has felt this sort of warmth from another mech. He missed it. His fingers brush against vents and he dims his optics.

“It doesn’t matter. Not right now.”

Tarn wasn't... entirely wrong. Sixshot still has his own will and mind, even after so many years being the tyrant's loyal hound. But Megatron would have just shut him down with that secret little off-switch before he could've done anything, much less oppose their ex-leader.

A heap of good he'd have been, then.

The press of a smooth face against his neck draws Sixshot back from the sudden, deep unhappiness and he cycles air sharply out of his vents. This time, he returns the warm gesture instead of flustering, wrapping his arms around the other mech, fingers sliding along armor seams. A soft click resounds through the small room and then warm lips press against the crack that cut through the crest of Tarn's mask.

Tarn hesitates. He wants to return the gesture but he has long sense given up his identity, locking his face securely behind his mask.

Perhaps a middle ground could be had…

Sixshot’s fingers feel nice as they trace against transformation seams and armor plating. Tarn arches into the touch, his own fingers sliding down to his chest plating, running over his Decepticon badge.

Throwing caution to the wind, Tarn loosens his mask with a soft hydraulic hiss, just enough that he can slide it up to reveal his own scarred lips. It isn’t often that he takes this step, but part of him feels obligation to return the favor if Sixshot was willing to take down his own defenses. Pressing his lips to his partners collar assembly, he huffs a soft ex-vent, hoping that he isn’t about to make a fool of himself.

The press of heavily scarred lips against his collar draws a soft sigh from the Sixer, his own lips making their way down, gliding over Tarn's audios. It does strike him as odd that Tarn would not have had the scars healed up- but then Sixshot was more weapon than ideologue and flaws like this wouldn't have been tolerated by the specialists who'd kept the six-former up and running.

Here and now, the uneveness of the scars against his plating felt... interesting anyhow.

Suddenly curious, Sixshot presses closer, thighs sliding against Tarn's, arm curled around his waist. Moving a hand up to cup the side of the purple mech's helm, he gently urges his partner to tilt his face up so that their lips would meet.

Allowing his face to be tilted up, the DJD commander brushes lips with Sixshot before wriggling ever closer. The kiss that follows is more firm, a hint of the raw power that still resides inside coming out in small bursts. Fingers dip into the Sixer's shoulder joints to pluck playfully at hidden wires as his own frame begins to warm, charge beginning to gather slowly.

Sliding one of his own thighs between his partner's, Tarn grinds forward, nibbling gently at Sixshot's lower lip in a silent command for more.

Sixshot drops his hand to Tarn's shoulder, fingers digging into the treads there, mouth parting in a wordless gasp of pleasure. He presses his hips down against the warmth of his partner's thigh, free hand sliding up the mech's dark side armor, thumb strumming over a biolight strip.

"How do you want me?" he whispers, tentatively, between eager little kisses.

Ignoring Sixshot's question momentarily in favor of grinding his pelvic plating up the thigh he was straddling, Tarn blindly reaches behind himself to fumble for the controls to the shower.

After a few moments warm solvent begins to spray down and he pulls helplessly at his partner's shoulders, finger sliding over the wet plating. He opens his mouth into the kiss, glossa venturing forward just a bit to meet the Sixer's. Primus he needs this, he thinks, to let go of his poisonous thoughts and concentrate solely on physical pleasure. With his body too mangled to transform properly he needs the distraction

"Frag me." Tarn pants against Sixshot's mouth, "Hard." the last word is almost growled as he continues to grind against the metal between his thighs.

It distantly occurs to Sixshot that Spinister wasn't going to happy about the end result of this bout of carnal rough and tumbling. It was a little hard to be too concerned with Tarn grinding the paint off his thigh and the warm cleanser cascading down his back though.

He can taste just the faintest wisp of high grade on Tarn's tongue and it sparks off a nostalgic warmth in the back of his mind that has the Sixer pushing his partner up against the now slick wall, chasing after it. A hand slides under the DJD commander's thigh, lifting it, hooking it over Sixshot's hip as his free hand slides between their bodies, pressing between Tarn's legs and teasing the seams there.

Tarn bucks into Sixshot's touch, spreading his thighs even further to allow him better access. He groans as he allows his partner to dominate the kiss, engines humming as inquisitive and flirting touches cause his interface panel to heat further.

Well that certainly isn't fair. Tarn isn't about to let himself be upstaged by this Phase Sixer. After all, he has talents that the other doesn't possess. Breaking the kiss he brings his mouth to the side of the Sixshot's helm, panting hot bursts of air.

"Ah- Sixshot..." Tarn purrs into his audio, voice plucking playfully at his lover's spark. Its an all consuming pleasure, wrapping itself wholly around the others very being. "You are very skilled at this."

Most of the experience Sixshot has had with sex was limited to the physical variety and even then, usually pretty vanilla by Decepticon standards. Short too, due to time constraints or just plain nervousness on either his or his partner's part.

Spark play has never really occurred to him as a thing that could be done. The sudden bloom of pleasure suffuses his whole body and his mind goes blank, vision whiting out.

When the world comes back into dizzying focus, he finds himself on his knees forehead pressed against Tarn's abdominal plates, over-warm and gasping.

"Uhm."

How's that for coherent?

Sex with the Commander of the DJD is bound to be many things, but vanilla is not one of them.

Tarn stares down at Sixshot, having caught himself against the slick wall when the Sixer went down to his knees. With a small huffed laugh, he settles a thigh over his partner's shoulder, interface panel front and center.

"Hm... did you like that? I can continue if you wish." Smug is the only word that could be used to describe Tarn's voice as he regards the Phase Sixer at his feet.

Tilting his head back, Sixshot peers up at Tarn with wide optics, too stunned to say much, much less protest the leg that was slung over his shoulder.

"I'm. I."

Eventually, the Sixer's peculiarly youthful face twists into what could only be a pout. He reaches up and pointedly cups his hands over Tarn's aft.

"That's unfair," he declares casually, the words spoken as he brushes his lips over dark pelvic plating. His tongue finds the seams of Tarn's interface array, teeth scraping over the thin plating. Oh, and he gives that purple aft a good, vengeful squeeze too.

A strangled groan escapes Tarn before he can stop it, the back of his head hitting the walk with a dull clang. Sixshot's mouth is hot as he presses into it, hands clutching desperately at his helm begging for more.

He can't hold back any longer as his panel clicks open and slides back. His valve has already begun to lubricate, a slow bead sliding from the opening. The biolights surrounding it pulse brightly with charge as his spike extends ridge by ridge to stand between them.

"I never said it was fair." He pants, smirk tugging at one side of his scarred lips.

"Could've warned me," Sixshot points out, although the words weren't particularly accusatory. He's somewhat distracted by the sight of Tarn's plates unfolding anyways, a small smile curling the side of his mouth when the head of his partner's spike bumps against his lower lip.

He casts one last look up at Tarn's face before pressing a kiss against the tip and trailing more down to the base plate. Then he pushes the mech slightly higher, up against the wall and ducks his head between grey thighs, pushing his tongue past the rim of the valve in a deep and lazy lick.

All thoughts of logic and commentary leave Tarn's mind as Sixshot licks deeply into his valve, upper lip stroking against his exterior node. Optics dimming, he bends over the Phase Sixer's helm slightly. Tarn's hands clutch at his lover's wings to anchor himself as he presses his his valve more firmly against the soft mouth.

Eventually he is able to pull himself together enough to form coherent words.

"Primus, Sixshot..." His voice is rough and low with lust as it caresses more gently against the Sixer's spark.

The words and the pleasure rippling over his spark make Sixshot shudder, wings twitching in Tarn's grip, optics offtine and a soft moan pressed against the lip of the valve. He was more prepared for it this time and with the other mech dialing it down, the sensations were manageable, if still very, very intense.

Was this normal? Was his spark supposed to feel like it was fluttering and shuddering to some strange, strut-deep beat?

Cycling a dense sigh of warm air through his vents, Sixshot digs his fingers into Tarn's hips and pushes in deeper, chasing the taste of lube and the sharp bite of charged nodes. The long, slow licks are interspersed with him wrapping his lips around that glowing external node, suckling and rolling it over his tongue.

Tarn squirms in Sixshot's grip, heaving pants of hot air when special attention is paid to that sensitive little node. He can't remember the last time his valve has been serviced in such a manner. So thoroughly consumed by the eager mouth beneath him.

Pleasure sears through him as the Sixer's tongue strokes against sensors deep inside his valve. It clenches greedily, trying to pull him further in.

"Frag..." Tarn growls, leg involuntarily kicking out , "Primus, Please..."

The squirming and kicking has Sixshot panting a low laugh against Tarn's valve, readjusting his grip on the mech. He can feel the way the slick mesh clenches around his tongue and mmm...

Drawing back slightly, he frees up one of his hands and slips it between Tarn's legs, sliding two wet fingers into the tight heat there, knuckle deep in one smooth push. His now unoccupied mouth finds the node again and the Sixer licks and sucks as he sets up a hard and harsh little rhythm of thrusts.

Tarn moans clutching tighter to the Phase Sixer as thick fingers shove their way into his valve; the rough pace that is quickly set only intensifies his pleasure. He can feel the lubricant slick mesh of his valve stretching to accommodate, sensors and calipers burning after so many years of disuse.

He wants more. Pawing ineffectively at Sixshot’s back, his mouth opens in a silent plea as he grinds his hips harder into the dueling sensations of a hot mouth and skilled fingers. He can feel his face begin to heat a bit under his mask, embarrassed that he is this charged up from a few simple touches. He quickly decides that the Sixer isn’t nearly turned on enough himself.

Tarn slowly drags his tongue up the edge of one of sixshot’s wings before his hands expertly find and tease hidden flight sensors.

“Sixshot…” The phase sixer’s name is purred in the most silkily low voice, “Another…”

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