Chapter Text
“I understand.”
Tarn narrowed his optics. “I sincerely doubt that.”
Prowl fixed him with a measured stare and then shrugged.
“As is your prerogative; I’m not going to sit here and argue this with you,” Prowl paused. “But… I doubt you’ll find many more autobots that like me than decepticons that like you.”
“I thought you weren’t going to argue this.” Tarn snorted and looked back out toward the assemblage.
“I’m not arguing.”
Tarn wanted to reach over and throttle him. But no, that would be pointless. And he was above that sort of reaction, even toward annoying little autobots. They lapsed into silence, the tank deciding he would rather let this conversation die. He looked out over the sea of cybertronians; decepticons and autobots and, somehow worse than the autobots, the factionless mingled together.
Well, sort of. It was… tense at best. The mechs below were still pooling in groups of their own faction. A silly idea, that they could be brought together at the snap of a servo. Tarn struggled to imagine the world they were moving into; it did not fit with what he knew and what he held, for lack of a better word, sacred.
Peace between the factions had been unexpected, to say the least. Tarn had always hoped the end of the war would be signaled by the Prime’s head on a stake; millions of years of fighting was meant to end in a victor not a handshake. But the word had spread through the many corners of the galaxy: Peace. A word he both loved and loathed now. It wasn’t supposed to come like this. That wasn’t what Megatron had taught.
And yet here he was on Cybertron. Autobots undefeated. Traitors unpunished. Traitors explicitly off-limits from being punished, he might add, by order of Megatron himself. If this was the end state then what was everything else for? He was a tool honed to exact Lord Megatron’s will; that was his purpose. His calling. He had done what he was asked and while he took no pleasure in it, he’d done all the necessary violence that his station required. And now that was in error? What in the pit was everything else for? What was it for? And what was he for?
The tank sighed and did his best to push those thoughts to the side. He had enough to deal with in terms of massive upheaval and he certainly wasn’t about to have an existential crisis in front of the autobot. So he’d have to wait until he had a hab to himself since he couldn’t seem to escape the strategist.
The DJD had, by nature of their purpose, not made many friends. This in and of itself was no great issue for Tarn; the mission, his life’s purpose, gave him the fulfillment he needed. However, upon returning to Cybertron, it meant that most mechs gave him a wide berth. Also fine. He still wasn’t interested in making friends. Unfortunately, it seemed the dark corners he liked to stand in were occupied already by Prowl.
At least he was quiet. Usually. Though it annoyed him to no end that Prowl was unbothered by him.
“Are you not afraid of me?” He’d asked Prowl, when he stood by him in the back of the peace talks the first time.
He’d been sure to look as imposing as he could, hoping to run Prowl off.
Prowl merely gazed up at him from the side of his optic.
“No. Why should I be?”
Tarn’s servos twitched.
Arrogant little thing.
And their interactions had not improved since then.
He couldn’t stand Prowl.
But he did find him interesting. Of course, Tarn knew the reputation. But the autobots were so… fond of each other, it was interesting to see how they regarded Prowl so coolly. None of them even seemed concerned that the black and white bot had taken up post next to the leader or the DJD. Must not care if he gets hurt. Or maybe they just thought Prowl was just as likely to cause him harm. Foolish thought.
At least that meant Prowl acted as a deterrent for other autobots approaching. Not that they were lining up to interact with Tarn, but the autobots didn’t seem to know how afraid they were meant to be of him.
Later, as the peace talks progressed, he’d tried a new method to run his neighbor off. Tarn learned everything he could about Prowl’s operations. Luckily for him Nickel was not widely recognized, as she was a newer addition to the team, which meant that while she was helping around Iacon’s various hospitals people were willing to speak to her. And did the autobots ever have things to say about Prowl.
“You’d think he was Unicron reincarnated the way they talk about them,” Nickel gesticulated wildly with her tools as she spoke. “I won’t say some of the things I heard weren’t pretty nasty. But wow, autobots might be more afraid of him than the decepticons are.”
“Surely he can’t have done anything that bad? He’s still in his position?”
“Welllllll–”
And the minibot did have quite a laundry list of deeds to share. But to be honest, while Tarn was genuinely surprised at the calculated cruelty of some of the stories, he found most of them to be… logical choices. Hard and sometimes destructive choices, but with a clear intent to complete the mission. He thought, perhaps, Prowl would have made a good decepticon.
But he’d made his choice, and surely if it caused outrage amongst his fellow autobots, these deeds would be enough to cause Prowl shame. So Tarn had needled him with them in the hopes that Prowl might occupy another dark corner. One far away from him. He had no such luck.
“Someone needed to make the decisions no one wanted to. Given the chance? I’d do it again. No one person is greater than the entire cause.” Prowl shrugged.
Unflinching.
Tarn was equal parts irritated and impressed. He was certainly no longer surprised as to why the other autobots did not regard Prowl fondly.
“Would you not say the same thing of your own mission?”
“Excuse me?”
“The DJD. Wasn’t that your whole purpose? Do the difficult task in the name of the cause?”
“I—” Rage was bubbling up inside of Tarn. His servos clenched and unclenched. “Our purposes were not the same! The decepticon cause—”
“The cause was different yes, but the mission? I mean I do think your methods were distasteful at best and abhorrent at worst, but I would be lying if I said that the idea of our own ‘Justice Division’ wasn’t appealing. Ultimately, we’re just less interested in killing our own I suppose,” Prowl said, not bothering to look up at Tarn glowering down at him.
“What do you know of it? Abhorrent! What a joke; it was necessary! It was righteous! It was… it was…”
Prowl turned to look at him fully.
“I understand.”
And here he still was. Standing next to Tarn. And they weren’t arguing.
In this moment Tarn desperately wished he had… friends. Anyone he could talk to in order to escape this presumptuous autobot. The rest of the DJD were… not requested at these discussions. He didn’t even know why he was requested. He was searching for some deeper meaning as to why Lord Megatron would want him here. Tarn had not yet been able to catch his leader, nor had Megatron sought him out to clarify anything. His gaze passed over Megatron and his optic twitched; seeing him sitting and conversing cordially with Optimus Prime was nearly unbearable.
“It seems wrong seeing them together this way.” A statement, not inviting reply.
Tarn simply growled. He tore his optics from his leader and continued surveying the crowd.
Traitor. Traitor. Should be on the list. Should be on the top of the list.
He felt like he was going mad. He wanted to scream. He wanted to bring everyone to their knees with his voice until the world made sense again. He wanted to see the light leave Deadlock’s optics. He wanted to see the grin wiped off Deathsaurus’ face as the rest of the DJD did what they did best. He wanted Megatron to turn these talks on their head and destroy Optimus right here in front of everyone. He wanted…
He wanted Megatron to give him the time of day. For him to explain what the real goal in all this was. For him to make clear what Tarn’s path was.
He clenched his servos so tightly he could hear the metal creak. He was stuck here, he would likely not get an audience with Megatron until the talks were concluded, and worst of all his only company was this autobot.
“You know you may not need to search for a new purpose yet.” Prowl broke the silence once more.
“How do you figure?” Tarn gritted out through clenched dentae.
“There are certainly members of both factions that aren’t going to be welcomed back. They don’t want to say it,” Prowl gestured down toward the main assembly. “But there are mechs who just won’t be able to integrate. Do you think mechs like Overlord are going to come back and play nice?”
Tarn turned to stare down at Prowl. Was the tactician guessing or did he actually know something about plans in motion? He was annoyingly hard to read.
“Your ‘list’ might get shorter but there’s mechs on both sides that need to be cleaned up. They would be foolish to waste your skills in that matter.” Prowl turned his gaze toward their leaders. “They may want to erase what you did and you for being a reminder of it, but they can’t escape why you were necessary in the first place. Why you’re still necessary now.”
“Are you still talking about me? Or are you talking about yourself now?”
“It’s true of both of us. They still need us to do what they don’t want to admit needs done.”
“Are you sure you shouldn’t have been on our side?”
Prowl glared up at him. “I believe in the autobot cause. And I believe in Optimus Prime. I would never have joined your side.”
Tarn was about to roll his optics and turn away when Prowl continued with greater passion.
“I also think that he can be too soft. Too trusting. And all of them think they can have everything; think they can win with all their morals and ethics intact and not lose any lives. That is not how you survive a war. So, I did all of the moral bending. I made the ‘decepticon-like’ choices because that is how the most people possible stay alive. The tough decisions that sometimes ruin lives are what win wars.”
“You didn’t win.”
“We survived. And apparently that’s all we needed to do.” He glowered up at the larger bot. “I don’t see any decepticon banners lining Iacon so you didn’t win, either. So what is it? We both lost? Or we both won? Either way both sides only survived because they had people to do the dirty work.”
Tarn stared down, almost stunned, then snorted.
“Be careful, Prowl. I just might start to like you.”
“A terrifying thought for the greater cybertronian populace,” he deadpanned.
Killing Overlord… Now there was a thought that was enough to bring Tarn out of his spiral and almost bring a smile to his lips. His mission wasn’t over. Megatron still needed him.
Suddenly cheering erupted. Megatron and Optimus Prime’s shaking hands met with relief and applause. Relief and applause from everyone except two, standing at the back of the assembly unmoved.
Just when Tarn thought he couldn’t hate being somewhere more than lurking in the back of peace talks for days, the celebration came. In another life, a smaller, weaker version of himself perhaps wondered what it was like getting invited to one of Iacon’s big fancy parties. But he was foolish back then. And that might have been a whole other lifetime but he was pretty sure he’d have hated it then almost as much as he hated it now.
Too many people. Too many loud conversations. Too many EM fields loosely extended about the room. Too many optics. Tarn couldn’t believe that little bot from his past ever considered it. The stares he’d have gotten. How he hated being stared at; even now, with no evidence of empurata, his plates crawled as optics lingered on him. Thankfully, now no one wanted to stare at him for too long. Good, let them be afraid. He had no interest in making small talk with anyone here.
He wouldn’t have even been here had Megatron not requested him. The tank sulked in the back of the gathering. At least his black and white shadow had found somewhere else to linger. Tarn had briefly spotted him being pulled around by another black and white mech. Jazz, if he had his names straight.
So Prowl does have friends. One more surprise to add to recent news.
Tarn continued to lurk. He fiddled with the small glass of engex he’d swiped before finding a place against the wall. He hadn’t drunk any of it, as he had no intention of taking off his mask, but it gave him something to do with his servos. He hoped Lord Megatron would come and relieve him of his obligation to be here.
His patience was rewarded, though he’d been here for far longer than he’d wanted. Tarn saw the imposing frame of his leader approaching over a sea of smaller bots and pushed himself off the wall, straightening up.
“Lord Megatron,” he bowed his head.
“You haven’t drunk any of that have you?”
Tarn was confused for a moment before remembering the engex in his servo. He coughed awkwardly.
“I… er… no. I haven’t.”
“Not feeling in a celebratory mood?” Megatron’s tone was measured. Tarn was certain he was being tested but he wasn’t sure what for.
“I suppose not… I would like to keep my helm clear.”
“What for?”
“Whatever… you might ask of me.”
“Ah.” Megatron’s eyes narrowed. Had he said something wrong? “Tell me, Tarn. What will you do now?”
A test of his dedication?
“I will return to the mission. What else?”
A twitch of his lip, further narrowing of his eyes; Tarn had not said what his Lord wanted to hear. Was he that out of touch? What was he missing? Nervousness began clawing at his tanks. It had been a very long time since he’d found himself outside of Megatron’s good graces.
“Tarn… there is no mission anymore, do you understand?” Megatron’s red optics bored into his. “The war is over. I’d hoped that attending the talks for the last few days would make that clear to you.”
“Yes, but… I thought…”
“There is no ulterior motive. There is no deception. It’s over.”
“That’s–”
“No!” Megatron was in his face now. When had he gotten so close? Tarn felt his plates clamp down, grinding against one another. “I need to know that you understand! Do you understand?”
“Even if the war is over–”
“It is over.”
“Even still! Surely you don’t plan on pardoning everyone on the List?”
“The List? To the pit with the List. The war is ended. The List is no longer needed! The DJD is not needed!”
Not needed…
Tarn felt incredibly small. They were nearly the same size and yet he felt dwarfed in this moment. All his parts were tense and grinding together as he folded in on himself. He needed so badly to transform, again and again until he no longer felt like his plates were going to rend each other apart. His grip on the fragile little engex glass tightened. He wasn’t needed? No. Impossible. He pulled for any string he could hold onto in his mind.
“What about Overlord?” He grasped at what Prowl had said. “He is welcome back? He’s going to return and make peace with the autobots?”
“When he comes back… if he comes back, we will deal with him as a united front. There is no need for shadow squads of assassins. Justice will be done to Overlord, but it will be overt.”
“Justice? That is what we were for! That is what we were made to do by you! Lord Megatron, we can still serve in that capacity! Let us continue to bring justice!”
A flash of anger crossed Megatron’s face, followed by a look that Tarn knew well. One he hated more than anything. Pity. He felt the glass of engex start to give way under his grip and he tried to cycle his vents as he felt rage boil up inside of him.
“Is that what you think you were for?” Megatron spoke softly. “Then I’m sorry, Damus. I’m sorry for what I’ve made you.”
Sorry for what I’ve made you… like I’m some sort of mistake. An error. A failed experiment. A Glitch.
“No! No!” Tarn growled. He felt the engex running down his hand.
“The DJD wasn’t about justice. It was about fear. Keeping your fellow decepticons in line.”
“Stop.”
“It was a cruel but successful experiment. But it’s over. It has no place in the society we’re trying to build."
A strangled, staticky roar ripped from Tarn. The few bots that hadn’t scattered when the conversation had started between them scampered off. He was glad he’d suppressed it enough to not garner attention from the entire party. He couldn’t deal with this now. He needed to transform or he needed nuke or he needed engex to drink. He needed anything but to be right here. After cycling his vents once more, he broke his optics away from Megatron’s and stormed away.
“Damus!”
“That is not my name.” He didn’t turn back.
As his optics scanned for exits, he snatched a new fragile little engex glass and then another, lifting his mask just enough to bring the drink to his intake. He stalked through the great hall, grateful that any mechs out on the fringes of the gathering were still parting for him as he passed through. This was one of the few large, ostentatious buildings that had survived the war. Well partially, a few of the top floors were missing but the lower levels were remarkably well maintained, or so he’d been told. He grabbed another engex. He wondered if the irony was lost on everyone else that they were celebrating the end of the war, started to free them from the senate, in a hall where those very mutual enemies celebrated. How gauche. He picked up another engex and a spare as he finally came upon an exit from the main room.
Tarn found himself wandering through some blissfully deserted halls. They were not as well-maintained as the great hall or entryways. The signs of wear from age and battle were evident. Larger debris had been swept away but there were scuffs and gouges taken out of the smooth walls, the gold and silver inlays were dull and tarnished, and a staleness lingered in the air. They should have left the rest of the building this way, instead of trying to dust and polish away any signs of the war. Maybe Megatron would throw a new coat of paint and polish on him and he could pretend he’d never made Tarn.
He replayed their conversation in his mind.
–it’s over. It has no place in the society we’re trying to build.
No. He was wrong. Tarn could accept that the war was over, even if he didn’t like the ending, but he could not accept what Megatron had said of his purpose. He was loathe to admit it, but Megatron was wrong. He would see. Tarn was certain. He knew all of Lord Megatron’s doctrine, every principle, every idea, every speech, every law; Megatron had personally ensured that Tarn understood the decepticon cause better than anyone before he entrusted him to enforce compliance to it. Perhaps Megatron thought he wasn’t needed now, but unless he decided to take back everything he’d ever said and believed he would surely come back around.
What had Prowl said? They still need us to do what they don’t want to admit needs done. But Megatron had told him directly to cease operating, how was he to reconcile that?
“Having an existential crisis?”
Of course. Of course, Prowl showed up as soon as he’d crossed Tarn’s mind. He stifled a growl as he turned to face the autobot.
“Hardly. What are you doing back here?”
“You’re not the only one not feeling… festive.”
Tarn snorted and polished off one of his glasses of engex before taking a deep swig of the second.
“What makes you think I’m not feeling festive?”
Prowl just stared at him then leaned against the wall across from him.
This silence dragged out for a moment longer before Tarn spoke.
“What... what do you do when Optimus Prime doesn’t want to do what’s necessary?”
“I do it anyway.”
“Even if he’s expressly told you not to?”
“Yes.” Prowl was unwavering in his answers.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“Sometimes.”
“So what, you think I should gather the DJD and just get back to work?”
“Well, I think your ‘List’ needs some refining first.”
“You think I would take orders from you, autobot?”
“Faction hardly matters at this point I think.” Prowl said dismissively.
“Hardly matters?!”
“Is fighting autobots a fundamental tenant of Decepticonism?”
“Well it…” Technically it wasn’t, much as Tarn didn’t want to admit it. “They’re fundamentally ideologically opposed!”
“Are they though?”
“Yes!”
Prowl raised an optic ridge.
“The war is over whether you or I like it. Where does your dedication lie then? In your cause or in fighting autobots? What is the decepticon cause for?”
“A peaceful, prosperous Cybertron! A free people!”
“And is that served best now by fighting me or by doing your previous mission, with some alteration, and defending that prosperous Cybertron from real threats?”
Tarn narrowed his optics. Prowl was exceedingly aggravating to talk to and yet his self-assured confidence did draw Tarn in. He wasn’t willing to bend the knee to an autobot though, and decided it was better not to reply than continue this debate. The tank went to take a drink only to remember his glass was empty. He lowered it with an angry growl.
“Just think about it, will you?” Tarn was about to shut him down when he held up a servo. “I sense you’re not in the mood, and I think I have something more interesting for the moment.”
In his other servo he held up a large carafe of engex. If Tarn had seen where they were keeping those, he’d have grabbed that instead of these tiny glasses.
“You’re right, that is more interesting than hearing you prattle on.”
“Then perhaps instead of my ‘prattling’ you can tell me more about your work. I’ve always wondered how you managed that List of yours.”
Tarn took the carafe, relaxing as the engex touched his lips. He leaned heavily against the scuffed wall.
“There’s a great deal of administration involved that people don’t expect. We aren’t just raving murderous lunatics. I’m not sure how interesting that is to hear about.”
“I assure you, that is of great interest to me.”
Tarn searched the other mech’s face for some sign of sarcasm and found none. He was a bit surprised; even his own team had no interest in the administrative aspects, no matter how much he emphasized their importance. After a moment’s consideration he offered the engex back to Prowl who took a deep swig.
“Very well. Though we may need more than this.”
“Easily accomplished.”
To Prowl’s credit, he paid a great deal of attention to what the tank had to say. If he was at any point glazing over, it went unnoticed by Tarn. It was refreshing being listened to, remiss as he was to admit it. Sure, the DJD listened to him, but they were hardly a rapt audience when Tarn started on proper procedure. Prowl listened and asked questions and most importantly, true to his word, went and swiped more engex when they ran low. Now they sat on the floor across from each other in this empty hallway. They had only been interrupted once and Tarn wasn’t sure by which faction since the unfortunate bot took one quick look at the companions and hurried back out.
Somewhere in the back of Tarn’s mind he was well aware Prowl was drinking far less than him. Probably not the wisest choice to overindulge with the enemy but the tank was desperate for anything that could provide relief from the reality he found himself in. Though he supposed Prowl technically wasn’t the enemy anymore. He wasn’t sure what to think about that. Tarn pushed those thoughts aside; one more thing he didn’t want to try and work through right now. Focus on detailing the methodology of maintaining the List and managing the team and assignments. Focus on discussing the importance of candid performance evaluations. That was easy. That was unchanging. Even intoxicated he could rattle off these processes.
Prowl took another small drink and shuffled forward to pass the engex back to Tarn. He couldn’t tell if the autobot was feeling this at all. Tarn was certain if he tried to get up now he’d sway and stumble, and whether Prowl was an enemy, friend, or something else, that was a moment of weakness he would not share. His optic twitched as he considered that being this drunk in front of the autobot was already a moment of weakness. Was this a test? He scowled, forgetting that his mask had been lifted up enough to drink.
“Something the matter?”
“Hmm?” Tarn did his best to reset his expression to neutral.
Prowl stared at him flatly. “I may not be renowned for my interpersonal skills, but I know when someone’s mood drops off a cliff.”
Tarn snorted.
“That’s a bit dramatic.” His muddled brain searched for an intelligent sounding excuse. “Just wondering what you’re playing at, asking all these questions.”
“I’m not sure I can make it much more apparent that I’m interested in your work.”
“But why?”
“I thought it was obvious that I’m interested in joining you on your mission from our previous conversation. I want a better understanding of how you work before I throw all of my faith in your work.”
“Having doubts now?” Tarn growled in irritation.
“I always work toward the highest probability of success. I need to know if I should simply throw in with you or if I should throw in with you and have a contingency or multiple contingencies.”
Tarn felt the smallest sensation of pride that apparently not utilizing Tarn’s skills hadn’t crossed Prowl’s mind. Not that he needed validation from Prowl of all people, he knew he was skilled, but it was vindicating nonetheless. He leaned in toward the smaller bot.
“And what’s the verdict? How many contingencies do you need on top of me?”
“I don’t think you need to know that.” Prowl closed the distance more, kneeling in front of where Tarn was seated. “But if you’re dying to know I think I can get away with just one contingency plan.”
“Was that almost a joke?”
“Why? Not funny?”
If he weren’t still partially wearing his mask they’d be nose to nose.
“I am more than impressed with your process,” Prowl continued. “If that puts your spark at ease.”
Tarn had just enough sense left in his muddled mind to stop his fans from clicking on. What was wrong with him? Fans going off at the barest hint of a compliment? As if this night couldn’t get more complicated. Was the autobot trying to toy with him? Prowl made no moves to open the distance between them. Tarn felt a servo rest on his own. Prowl held his gaze intensely.
“Is that what you wanted to hear?” Prowl’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Is that what Megatron would tell you?”
Anger surged through the tank.
“Do not speak of him,” Tarn growled. “You know nothing about him.”
“Oh? Maybe he didn’t tell you that he was impressed with your work, is that it?” Prowl shifted pressing himself up against Tarn, on his knees straddling one of the tank’s legs. “He didn’t appreciate you. Doesn’t appreciate the artistry in your work? Leaders rarely appreciate the ones that do the dirty work.”
“He didn’t need to say it… I know he understood…” Tarn wished he could fight off the doubt in that statement.
“But it would be nice wouldn’t it? To be acknowledged for your work? To be appreciated for the tool you’ve been honed into?” Prowl’s lips ghosted against his. “You want to hear him say you’ve done well.”
Tarn shuttered his optics. He didn’t want to hear any of this. He didn’t want this autoboot sowing doubt in his processor. The tank knew Prowl’s reputation for manipulation. But the engex felt good. The praise felt good. The closeness felt good. He cursed himself for his weakness; always looking for the next hit. He always needed whatever could provide relief no matter how temporary. Tentatively his lips met Prowl’s. The bot didn’t freeze or back away; Tarn felt him smirk against his lips.
Insufferable.
Prowl pushed forward, pressing Tarn back against the wall. His knee came up and pressed against Tarn’s plates. Tarn growled against Prowl but the autobot was unperturbed and bit at his lower lip.
“You can tell me to stop,” Prowl said, annoyingly level, in between kisses. His servos roamed into the seams of Tarn’s plating, eliciting a moan that came too quickly to smother. “Though it doesn’t seem like you want to.”
“Don’t think you know me.”
“Never,” Prowl’s knee pushed up against his panels once more and Prowl’s own plates were pressed down onto the top of Tarn’s thigh. “But there are some things that are fairly common across bots… like what it means when someone’s fans kick on.”
Tarn so desperately didn’t want to prove Prowl right… but at this point what could he do? Tell Prowl to slag off and find a corner to get the charge out on his own? That didn’t seem like much of a win either. Fine. He’d use this autobot. It was just blowing off steam; he could frag this autobot then his head would be clear and he could leave this party and never think of the black and white bot again. But he’d be damned if he was going to be the one handled. The tank used one clawed servo to pull Prowl down harder onto his thigh and with the other he pulled the bots helm back into a rough kiss.
The decepticon was rewarded with a glossa forcing its way into his mouth and Prowl’s still closed panels griding against his thigh. What Tarn had given was being returned with greater force and he quickly found himself being manipulated again by the smaller bot. Prowl broke away from his mouth and began kissing down to Tarn’s jawline and then his neck. The tactician sucked and nipped at the cabling there causing Tarn to mindlessly bare his neck to give him better access. Meanwhile Prowl’s servos prodded around his hip cabling and seams and Tarn struggled not to squirm.
“You do such fine work,” Prowl said against his neck cabling in an almost performatively breathy way. “Truly impressive. I want to see more.”
He continued to rut against Tarn and against his will the tank’s hips pushed forward against Prowl’s servos and knee. A small moan escaped his vocalizer as his helm lolled back further. What would Megatron say about this display? Tarn lost control after only a few seconds and all it took was a little physical contact and a few words of praise? Would he admonish Tarn? Would he be disappointed?
…
Would Megatron like this?
Tarn’s panels ached to open. He wanted so badly just to let go. He wanted to be blissed out of his mind. He wanted to let the relief from the turmoil wash over him like when he took nuke. He shuttered his optics and tried to temper his enjoyment of the physical feedback. But Tarn knew himself… he knew his failings. The second he let a single iota of pleasure in, he knew he would open the flood gates completely. He’d come back down off this tomorrow; he’d never let tomorrow’s regret stop him from today’s hit before, why start now.
To Tarn’s chagrin, Prowl stopped chewing on his neck and paused to look Tarn in the optics. He didn’t let up the pressure against his panels or his leg. The tank heard the click of Prowl’s panel retracting and fell the wetness of his bare valve against his thigh. Tarn’s optics went wide. Did Prowl really want to do this in the middle of the hallway? A hallway that wasn’t too terribly far off from where comrades from either of their factions might stumble upon them?
“Open your panels.” Blunt. An order.
“Pardon?”
Prowl chose to answer his query by grinding against Tarn’s closed panel and digging a servo into the seams of his hip. Tarn couldn’t restrain how his body bucked into the autobot’s touch or the gasp that escaped his intake.
“Aren’t you at all concerned about being seen?” It was a half-hearted objection, Tarn was sure his embarrassingly breathy voice did not suggest a bot who wanted to stop.
“Who from either side would even dare to say anything? Open your panels.”
Frag it all. Who even cared anymore. Everything had already gone to shit, Tarn may as well feel good for a moment. He retracted his panel and transfluids spilled out on to Prowl’s leg. Satisfied that his orders were followed, the black and white bot resumed biting and sucking at Tarn’s neck. Prowl’s already slick knee worked against the tank’s valve roughly, but at a steady pace; he moaned at the feedback. It had been… some time since Tarn had interfaced, and every touch sent a thrum of charge through his body.
Tarn’s servos rested lazily against Prowl, his mind too foggy to decide what to do with them but the smaller bot didn’t seem to mind. He backed his knee off of Tarn’s valve and ghosted his servo over Tarn’s anterior node and the purple mesh. The lightness of the touch compared to the pressure he’d applied before made Tarn squirm, it was torturous. Prowl hummed against his neck cables and dragged his intake up to kiss him on the mouth once more. With their faces pressed together, Prowl panted against him but Tarn could hear less static than from his own moaning gasps.
“Cybertron needs you,” Prowl breathed out against him. “Your mission is important–” Tarn pushed his valve up against Prowl’s servo. “We will do what needs to be done.”
The DJD is not needed… Megatron’s voice replayed in his head and he growled. His servos tightened around Prowl and he pulled him in closer, lips crushing back against the autobot’s.
Prowl made a little jolt of surprise at Tarn’s sudden enthusiasm but quickly regained his cadence while pushing himself harder against the tank. He matched the fervor of Tarn’s lips, biting at his lip; Tarn returned it with his own sharp fangs drawing the smallest prick of energon from the tactician’s lip. Prowl broke away and pushed him back, removing his hand quite suddenly from Tarn’s valve drawing a hiss from the tank.
“I decide if and when you get to mark me,” Prowl’s voice was low and his eyes bored into Tarn’s. “Do you understand?”
Tarn paused for a moment, panting. He nodded wordlessly.
“Good bot.” Prowl returned to his work without a moment’s hesitation and Tarn eagerly accepted the autobot’s kiss, though he minded where he put his dentae. He could still taste Prowl’s energon and while he wouldn’t bite again until bidden he eagerly sucked at the open wound.
The black and white bot’s servo gingerly teased over Tarn’s valve mesh, Tarn suspected this delicacy was less about gentleness and more about denial, and the first of his digits pushed between Tarn’s folds. The tank moaned into Prowl’s mouth and bucked his hips into the touch getting those white digits just a fraction further into himself.
Prowl pulled his digits back out and Tarn made a small sound of protest and held Prowl’s lower lip in his dentae. His optics locked with the autobot’s; challenging he hoped, though with his building charge he feared it may look pleading instead. The black and white bot held his gaze, unmoving for a moment before rolling his optics. Tarn was about to let out a growl when he felt a digit plunge into his valve. He released Prowl’s lip with a gasp and the autobot tucked his face into Tarn’s neck as he focused on the tank’s valve.
That single digit hooked into his valve as Prowl’s thumb rubbed at his anterior node. It wasn’t enough yet; he pulled Prowl in as close as he could, though there wasn’t much space left between them. Clawed digits dug into the autobot’s seams.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re impatient?” Prowl mumbled against his neck. “And needy?”
No. No one’s called him anything in this regard in… a long time.
He growled halfheartedly. But Prowl nonetheless probed a second digit along his opening and he hummed in appreciation. Tarn’s calipers began to engage, grasping at the offered digits. Charge pulsed through the tank and Prowl rhythmically pulsed his digits against his interior sensor nodes. A third digit pushed inside, spreading the purple mesh further. Calipers tried to pull them further and in the back of his mind he lamented that the autobot probably couldn’t reach his ceiling node unless he fit his whole servo up there. Prowl hadn’t released his spike so he would be left wondering about that.
Even without bumping against the ceiling node Prowl was lighting up tons of sensors, leaving Tarn gasping and writhing beneath him. Charge was shooting through him and quickly building to a head.
“Hmmm so eager,” Prowl’s voice was now laced with static. Deeper and more graveled, kind of like– “So good for me.”
All at once the charge burst through him and his calipers clamped down. His head knocked against the wall and his claws dug down into Prowl. Through the white-hot static of his overload, he heard Prowl hiss. Oops. He off-lined his optics and sat there panting. Tarn felt a tug as the autobot pulled his fingers out. The weight was lifted off his chest though Prowl remained firmly seated on his thigh.
“I hope you aren’t spent already.” Not a moments respite. Of course. “I’m not done with you, I’m also expecting to overload.”
Tarn cracked an optic open and looked down into the intense gaze of the bot on his leg. Prowl’s lip was slightly swollen from the bite, Tarn fought the urge to laugh at how it cut into the intensity of that face. His valve was still wet and pressed against the top of his thigh.
Tarn loosened his grip, noting that he was still dug into Prowl’s side, and started moving them down his body before a white servo stopped him short of the autobot’s dripping valve. He turned to give Prowl and inquisitive look; wasn’t he just asking for Tarn to give him an overload in return? He hoped the black and white bot wasn’t expecting Tarn to spike him… He knew the… stereotypes around larger framed mechs. Especially those with war frames like a tank. But it wasn’t something he enjoyed, nor was it something he was particularly experienced with…
“The ache in my side is not making me want to let those claws anywhere near my valve.”
Tarn scowled, groaning internally. Here it comes.
“I’d be fine with your mouth though,” he chewed his lip in consideration, sucking off a spot of energon that had formed. “I’ll forgive this bite as long as you don’t try and chew anything down there.”
“You want me to eat you out?”
“…Can you think of a better way to give me an overload?” Prowl’s optics flitted down briefly. “Because I’m not sure if I’m going to be ready to take your spike first–”
“No!” He cleared his intake. “No, that is fine. It’s only fair I suppose, that you overload as well.”
Not quite a smooth recovery.
He moved to lift Prowl and lay him down only for the smaller bot to wriggle and brace himself upright.
“Do you expect me to hold you up?” Tarn said frustratedly. “Not sure how you expect me to get to your valve with my intake from this position.”
“I’m not laying on my back on the solid ground!” Prowl flexed his doorwings in demonstration. “And before you try and flip me, no, I’m not interested in lying face down in the dust either.”
Tarn gave him an exasperated shrug. Needy little thing.
“What would you have me do then? Please enlighten me.”
“You lay on to ground and I will bring my valve to you.”
Prowl wants to sit on my face. Sure. What did Tarn even care anymore.
“Fine.”
Tarn lifted the autobot enough so that he could maneuver off the wall he was pressed up against, and laid down as gracefully as he was capable of while being drunk and fresh off an overload. His back awkwardly thudded against the ground and it took him a moment to readjust his kibble in such a way that he would be stable. He gave Prowl’s waist a tug and urged him forward. He awkwardly pushed himself up until he was sitting on Tarn’s chest.
Prowl considered for a moment how to position himself before pulling his right leg up and kneeled on Tarn’s treads, testing their sturdiness. When Tarn didn’t move or flinch he brought his other leg up; with both legs now splayed on the tread on either side of Tarn’s head he inched forward. Before sliding all the way down onto Tarn’s face Prowl paused and looked down.
“Is this position workable for you?”
“Worried about me?”
“Worried I won’t get to overload tonight if I crush some part of you.”
“I’m not made of glass, just sit.”
Prowl rolled his optics but pulled himself all the way down; Tarn’s treads groaned slightly under his weight. Prowl might have been slightly heavier than he looked but there was no way Tarn was going to back down now. Prowl’s valve was already dripping wet as it came to rest over Tarn’s face. Tarn hadn’t gotten a good look at it as it was pressed down on his thigh; the mesh was deep black and pearly white with bio lights of red and blue but as his eyes traveled up to his anterior node Tarn was surprised. He had expected Prowl to be the totally factory type and he didn’t have any wild modifications but there was a single, shining black ring looped right under his node.
A smirk found its way to Tarn’s lips as he pulled his mask back further, but it was quickly knocked off by a knee to the side of his head.
“It was a poor choice a long time ago. No, I won’t tell you about it, no, it wasn’t during the war. I just… didn’t ever have the time or need to remove it.”
“Feeling bashful, are we?”
Prowl glared down at him and fully sat on Tarn’s mouth, smothering any further comment. If he wanted to be that way, that was fine. The tank ran his tongue up the length of Prowl’s valve, intentionally tugging at the piercing as he went by.
Prowl let out a moan and brought a servo up to his mouth to suppress it. Taking advantage of the easy target, Tarn wrapped his mouth around the piercing and sucked at the autobot’s anterior node. This might be easier than he thought. For all Prowl’s demanding posturing, he was already writhing on Tarn’s face and letting out breathy gasps as the tank sucked and pulled on that little metal ring. Prowl sank back, free servo coming to rest behind him on Tarn’s chest to keep him upright. The tank could feel transfluids spilling out over his chin and neck cabling.
“Ah– can you quit playing?” Despite his best efforts, Prowl couldn’t keep the stunted, breathy keen out of his voice.
Tarn gave one more tug at the piercing then grabbed hold of Prowl’s hips and tugged him forward before dipping his tongue gently into the folds of his valve. Prowl’s thighs tightened around his head. Tarn’s nose pressed up against Prowl’s sensitive node as he buried his lips against the bot’s opening. The autobot writhed against him but Tarn held his hips firmly in place; he dipped his claws between the seams at Prowl’s hips, eliciting a cry he couldn’t suppress.
Tarn felt his arousal growing again as Prowl melted in his grasp. The irrefutable signs of Prowl’s enjoyment rang in his head like praise. To have the autobot that autobots and decepticons alike feared coming apart in his hands… It was also a closeness Tarn had not allowed himself with anyone for a long time, but he didn’t want to dwell on that. It was a thought he’d only allowed to surface from his intoxication, not one he wanted to evaluate. He merely wanted to enjoy the sweetness on his tongue and the music in his ears.
He pushed his tongue in further and felt Prowl’s calipers desperately attempt to latch on and pull him in. Tarn buried his face as far as he could and pressed his tongue up against the sensors in the black and white bot’s interior. He lapped rhythmically up and down the walls of his valve and relished in the fresh gush of transfluids as he went. He cracked an optic to peer up at Prowl whose optics were offline; if it weren’t for the servo he’d placed on Tarn’s chest the autobot probably would have fallen backwards based on the blissed-out look on his faceplate. Though based on the weight of Prowl in his servos as he held his hips, Tarn wasn’t sure the black and white bot was supporting much of his own weight. His servo hung limply from his mouth, totally forgotten as the moans slipped from his lips.
If the quivering white thighs locking his helm in place along with Prowl’s mewls of pleasure were any indication, Prowl wouldn’t last much longer. Tarn picked up the pace and finally pressed his tongue in far enough to hit Prowl’s ceiling node. Prowl jolted, thighs slamming against the tank’s head, and wailed. Tarn couldn’t help himself, he hummed against Prowl’s valve, just the slightest hint of his outlier in the note and pressed against his ceiling valve again. Prowl keened, back arching, as he overloaded and transfluid flooded Tarn’s face.
For a moment Tarn considered stopping, but a thought tickled the back of his processor. How far could he unwind Prowl? He still had his mouth on Prowl’s valve and the bot above him was still a staticky quivering mess. Before he had a chance to recover, Tarn brought one of his servos off of the bot’s hip to tease gently around his anterior node; his claw looped into the piercing, giving it a tug, before running his digit around the node. Prowl shook on top of him. The tank lapped at the transfluids from Prowl’s overload and continued his assault on his interior sensors.
The black and white bot spit static and quivered. He lost strength in the arm holding him up and Tarn quickly grabbed hold again before Prowl could fall back. Gently, the tank guided him forward and the autobot folded; his forearms gently hit the ground as he curled around Tarn’s head. The positioning was less then ideal but the limbless autobot wasn’t going to provide any assistance, so Tarn would make do. Clawed servos wrapped around Prowl’s aft, pushing his pelvis far enough to realign Tarn’s mouth with his valve.
Unable to reach it with his servo, Tarn once again wrapped his lips around Prowl’s anterior node. His tongue pressed rough circles against it and Prowl was panting once more. When he again felt the dripping of transfluids he nuzzled between the folds and dragged his tongue up to Prowl’s ceiling node. He lapped against it, doing his best to press against every sensor his tongue could touch. He could hear the black and white bot’s panting and moaning growing steadily about his helm. Each groan sent a bolt of charge through Tarn’s frame and he released his already pressurized spike. Keeping one servo firmly planted on Prowl’s aft, the other moved down to start stroking his length. Transfluid was already beading at the top of his spike.
He stroked himself slowly and as his own charge built he moaned against Prowl’s valve. Prowl shook on top of him. Tarn heard his servos rake against the floor as Prowl began rutting his hips against his faceplate. It was more than the tank could handle, he overloaded in his servo and as his body locked in pleasure Tarn dug his claws into Prowl’s aft and pulled him down hard enough that he put pressure on his anterior node with his face and overload rippled through Prowl once more.
For a moment Tarn could comprehend nothing but white-hot static. Then slowly his senses came back to him and his optics remained closed as he lay there panting with Prowl panting over him and twitching lightly. Tarn relaxed his grip on the autoboot and let his spike depressurize before re-covering it and then laid their waiting for Prowl to decide to move. Slowly, Prowl started to pull himself up though he was still over Tarn’s face. The tank was content to lay there and let the bliss and intoxication continue washing over him, so he could take as long as he liked.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of a glass break, a very awkward ‘sorry,’ and a very hurried exit. His optics shot open and he saw Prowl glaring at the entry way. Tarn shot up, tossing Prowl into his lap who turned his glare quickly to Tarn.
“Who was that?”
“No one you need to worry about,” Prowl grumbled as he wriggled off Tarn’s lap.
The autobot stood up shakily before stretching and dusting himself off.
“Well… that was enough fun for tonight. I will be in contact about what we talked about.” Prowl was already moving toward the exit but turned his helm back to give Tarn a once over. “You may want to clean yourself off… and don’t walk out right after me.”
Aft. Tarn rolled his optics before looking down at the state of himself. That was unfortunate… and he didn’t have anything to wipe the transfluids off with, either… He was about to ask what the hell Prowl expected him to clean himself off with before his eyes raked over the autobot’s back. Seemed Tarn wasn’t the only one who should probably get wiped off before heading out, but if Prowl wanted to play these games so could he. A tight smile graced his lips as he silently watched the black and white bot walk back out of the hallway and back toward the party.