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Berths rarely accommodated Overlord’s massive frame. Even in his own quarters his pedes would dangle awkwardly over the edge, leaving him little choice but to position himself in an awkward curl while his systems gradually shut down. On several occasions a particularly frustrated Overlord had disengaged his combiner and let his legs recharge beside his torso, and when Damus walked in on him like that once the orange bot had immediately turned away.
Overlord didn't particularly mind sharing with Damus though; Damus was far smaller than him, and his weight hardly affected the berth more than Overlord’s already did. Overlord would curl around Damus and cradle the disgruntled mech to his chassis with a gleeful smirk tugging at his lips, and he had often forced a shutdown to his systems the klik Damus complained about Overlord’s weight smothering him.
Now, faced with Tarn… his berth was large, but the mech was only a little over one helm shorter than Overlord, which often caused trouble when it came to their joint recharging habits. Though Overlord often brought up the very reasonable argument that Tarn’s couch was big enough to fit the DJD commander’s frame but too small for Overlord’s, Tarn still kicked him out of the berth and snapped at Overlord about how he made do with Damus’s berth in the past, so it shouldn’t be a problem for him.
Tarn rarely liked to recharge with Overlord next to him. Said it had to do with Overlord’s whims and the number of times the Phase Sixer had left him with damage to his exterior vents. When Overlord asked mockingly if it was to keep room for Megatron, Tarn’s expression hardened and he promptly forced Overlord to his knees with nothing but his voice; threatened Overlord that he could, and would, lock the Phase Sixer in alt-mode for as long as he damn well pleased to.
Occasionally, when the mood struck him, Tarn would let Overlord into his berth. Would let Overlord curl around him like he used to, gave a weak grunt in response to Overlord telling him he was pathetic and should be ashamed of himself. Overlord’s servos raked down his sides as he’d berate Tarn, negating the venom behind his words.
Overlord would also drag his digits further down Tarn’s frame and finger at the seams between his interface panels until he’d open them, where Overlord would shove his digits inside and bring Tarn to several screaming overloads until his processor gave way to exhaustion. Of course, Overlord would take even a recharging Tarn’s popped panels as an open invitation and leave a little… surprise on Tarn’s frame for when he awoke. Tarn would groggily demand Overlord clean it out, but never did he deny the Phase Sixer this indulgence, and very rarely, he would even go as far as to commend Overlord for his… support the lunar-cycle prior.
But to wake up with Tarn actively reciprocating Overlord’s indulgences was very, very odd indeed.
Overlord woke up with a groan spilling from his lips. The first thing he noticed was that he was still in Tarn’s berth, and though he sensed Tarn’s presence, he couldn’t quite make out where he was. There was also the heat pooling low in his frame, but it wasn’t unusual for Overlord to wake in a state such as this. What was unusual though, was the presence of a mouth on his array, working over his spike while clawed digits steadily pumped his valve.
“Mm, well good morning to you too.” Overlord shifted his legs apart to see Tarn lying between them on his front, a free servo pressed against his abdomen to keep him still.
Tarn caught his gaze. Seeing Overlord had woken up, he used his servo on Overlord’s frame as leverage to hoist himself upright, letting the Phase Sixer’s spike slip free of his intake. He wiped his mouth with the back of his servo and cocked his helm with a lecherous grin. Tarn very notably had yet to stop fingering Overlord’s valve, which brought a question to mind.
Overlord swallowed a moan caught in his throat and quirked an optical-ridge. “How did you get in my panels?” he asked, curiosity riding on thinly-veiled amusement. “You didn’t rip them off,” he remarked, tutting.
Now it was Tarn’s turn to raise an optical-ridge at Overlord. He did something clever with his digits that saw a shudder rattle Overlord’s frame. Overlord only craved more. “Why not? It would not be outside of my capabilities,” countered Tarn.
“Tarn, you? Don’t make me laugh!” Overlord did, in fact, laugh, but Tarn cruelly twisted a claw inside Overlord’s valve and punctured a cluster of nodes. Overlord gasped, bucking his hips. “But feel free to do that again.”
Tarn’s smirk had faded. He cycled his optics and heaved a vent. “You are incorrigible. Fine, I will bite.” Tarn withdrew his servo, much to Overlord’s dismay. Tarn caught his petulant pout and growled, jabbing Overlord’s anterior node with his thumb. “Your perversion extends even to your recharge cycle. You lubricated all over my berth. I felt inclined to clean up the mess.”
“All I see you doing is making it worse, dear Tarn,” Overlord snorted.
The corners of Tarn’s mouth twitched up in the approximation of a smirk. “Oh, Overlord, when I have you laid bare for me, how could I not grant myself this indulgence?” He stroked a servo up Overlord’s thigh, his touch deceptively gentle. The scrape of Tarn’s claws against his plating had Overlord revving his engines, meeting Tarn’s not-quite-a-smirk with a genuine one of his own and baring glistening fangs in lustful delight.
“That’s much more like you,” Overlord said. He reached over, hooking a digit under Tarn’s chin and almost effortlessly dragged Tarn’s frame up to his own. Tarn tried to cover a surprised squeal by clearing his intake, but Overlord had already heard it. He gave Tarn time to wind his thighs around Overlord’s waist until he pulled Tarn down into a kiss, eager to get a taste of his own prefluid through Tarn’s glossa.
Neither Tarn nor Overlord was keen to relent dominance to the other, and so, such as all things between them tend to be, the fiery passion of their kiss was heavily characterized through the coppery taste of energon, as fangs bit with intent to maim and pierce through soft mesh.
They parted with a thin thread of spit dangling between them until Overlord poked out his glossa and licked a mixture of energon and lubricants alike off Tarn’s lips. A cut in the mesh caught on the ridges of Overlord’s glossa. Overlord intentionally deepened the wound and drew back with a smug yet dazed smirk adorning his features, looking intently for his own reflection in Tarn’s optics: Tarn was in a state, but Overlord hardly thought he looked any better himself.
Overlord’s attention was brought back to Tarn’s hard spike brushing against his chassis. “Ah, I did mean to ask,” he began, swallowing down a mouthful of lubricants before he continued, “What did you plan to do with that?” Overlord gestured to Tarn’s spike.
Tarn looked unimpressed. “Would you like a demonstration?” he drawled.
“Actually, now that you’re offering, I would.”
Tarn blinked. He sat frozen for a nano-klik, taken aback. He shook his helm then, scooting down Overlord’s frame, and as he repositioned himself between Overlord’s legs, he shot the Phase Sixer a glare. “If you insist.”
Overlord opened his mouth to say that yes, he did, in fact, insist on it, but Tarn chose that exact moment to shove his spike inside the surprisingly tight heat of Overlord’s valve, and all that left his lips was a loud gasp. In another lifetime perhaps, Overlord would’ve been surprised by the copious amount of lubricants drooling from his valve, but here they only delighted him and allowed Tarn to freely rut his spike in as brutally as he wished. Which happened to be quite brutal.
Tarn’s hips slammed against his as he plowed Overlord’s valve with strength and speed befitting his reputation. Overlord’s optics rolled back and static crept into the edges of his vision, but he was still conscious enough to wrap his legs around Tarn’s waist, digging the heels of his pedes into seams just above Tarn’s aft.
“Oh, Tarn, harder!”
Tarn bared his teeth with a vicious snarl. He seized Overlord’s hips, his claws boring holes through the metal until they were less than a breath away from Overlord’s protoform, tickling the supple mesh every time Overlord’s frame was jostled. It was maddeningly addictive, and Tarn's punishing pace was enough to shunt even Overlord’s insanely heavy frame further up the berth with the sheer strength behind his thrusts.
Overlord wanted to complain. Even though he had nothing to complain about, he knew it riled Tarn up and drew out his aggression to an even higher extent. He loved it, yet his vocalizer spat out nothing but wanton noise in praise of Tarn’s efforts.
Tarn suddenly paused. Overlord couldn't suppress the frustrated groan bubbling up in his throat. Tarn smirked. “Is there something you perhaps want, Overlord?”
“I almost thought you were smarter than this, Damus,” Overlord said, his voice dipping low, bordering on a growl. The guns lodged in his chassis hummed low and threateningly as Overlord let charge accumulate in them, preparing them to fire and tear straight through Tarn. Overlord eagerly anticipated Tarn’s response.
Tarn leaned down, lips brushing Overlord’s shoulder turret. Tarn nipped at the tip, drawing an odd noise from Overlord’s vocalizer. “Oh, darling, please rest assured, I have everything under control.”
Overlord’s spark hiccuped at the timbre carrying Tarn's words. Rarely did he ever call Overlord by anything other than his designation, so much so that Overlord knew by spark the way Tarn uttered his name was indicative of his moods.
Not that Tarn was hard to read in general, without his mask. Overlord knew how and, more importantly, where to push Tarn’s buttons to bring him to that feeble line between aroused and frustrated. Overlord loved to push him past that edge and Tarn would pounce, able to pin Overlord down with nothing but his voice, threatening to crush Overlord’s spark with a sweet whisper while coiling around his very being.
Overlord cocked his helm. “This is delusional, even for you,” he mocked, watching how Tarn’s optics narrowed in the approximation of a frown but never did his smirk falter. Overlord wanted to either kiss or gnaw it from Tarn’s face, and couldn't make up his mind as to which he wanted more. “Well, don't keep me in suspense! Out with it, be a good mate and give me a laugh to start my day.”
Tarn rolled his optics, and for lack of a better term, Overlord recognized it was being done fondly. “Impatience did always kill your mood faster than anything else could,” he said. Either because he couldn't deny his own urges or wanted to give Overlord at least something to prevent triggering the Phase Sixer’s impulsivity, Tarn gyrated his hips and ground his spikehead against Overlord’s ceiling nodes by doing so.
Oh. Overlord breathed a chuckle, his thighs twitching at stimulation to nodes only his own digits had ever been able to reach, before. It wasn't enough to offline his guns, though, and they thrummed ominously, heat wafting from the barrels. “What makes you think that I won't fi– mm, there— fire?”
Tarn’s grin threatened to split his face as it grew wide and wicked. He leaned over to nose at Overlord’s right audial, and purred, “I know you won't, Overlord. Even if you wanted to. Do you wish to know why?”
“I have a few ideas,” Overlord drawled, but he didn't sound bored, not when soft gasps and significantly louder moans spilled from his intake. “But it is as you said—my patience is running out, Damus. Get to the point.”
“You will not open fire on me.” Tarn’s voice shot like venom straight through Overlord’s fuel lines, his path fixed and destination quickly reached. The steady thrum of his guns died down, and with Tarn’s next words, licking at Overlord’s spark like fire that made him feel dizzy, they offlined entirely. “Lay down your weapons. I have far more interesting ideas as to what we could do with these…” Tarn raked his claws across the exposed barrels. “...holes.”
“Really? Consider me—?!”
Tarn gave Overlord no time to snark. He grasped the purple turrets on Overlord’s shoulder and flicked the pad of a digit across each tip, gently so, before he dug his claws into the metal and ripped a shout from Overlord’s intake.
“Oh, you like that, don't you, Overlord?” Tarn crooned, granting Overlord no reprieve as he picked his pace back up and filled his quarters with the sounds of their frenzied coupling. Overlord’s valve was sopping wet, lubricant squirting out with an obscene squelch each time Tarn slammed back in.
Overlord mustered a delirious grin but gave no response otherwise, as he thought that to work his vocalizer for anything other than the symphony of wanton noise which further spurred Tarn on would be a damned shame indeed.
Tarn’s digits plunged inside his guns and he further punctuated his intent with a brutal thrust of his hips. Overlord lurched, gasping and nearly sobbing his way through an overload unlike any other he had in his functioning. It knocked a few of his higher processing functions offline, and frankly, he didn’t mind at all and was at least conscious enough to ripple the calipers in his valve around Tarn’s spike to milk his partner for an overload of his own.
“Slag,” Tarn cursed, lodging his spike deep in Overlord’s valve. Not that he had another choice; the walls of Overlord’s valve gripped tight, holding Tarn’s spike hostage.
Overlord chuckled after he caught his breath. “Well, what do you know, you have some value after all.”
“Enough for you to still search for me after millennia passed,” Tarn retorted with a quip. He made to pull out, and a mixture of lubricants and transfluid alike gushed from Overlord’s gaping valve. Tarn cocked a brow-ridge at the excess lubricants. “I see you still have a thing for fluids,” he remarked.
“A keen observation,” Overlord drawled, pushing himself to sit up. Though he felt sated, something in Tarn’s field still pulsated, rampaging beyond Tarn’s conscious control.
Overlord didn’t even have to ask: the thick scent of Tarn’s lubricants penetrated his olfactory unit, overwhelming him, but in the best ways possible. Overlord cocked his helm with a smirk and seized Tarn’s hips, fingering between joints. “Oh,” he purred, “Oh, Tarn, you’re so wet, aren’t you? Come here, let your mate take care of that for you…”
Tarn had never been able to deny his carnal needs, and Overlord knew this, preyed on it. So it came as no surprise when Tarn sighed, rubbing his temples with his servos, and nodded. “Fine. One more overload.”