Chapter Text
TARN
Fellow Decepticons. Your Leader Megatron is speaking. Today we have won a great victory. Today I speak to all of you who have served the Decepticon cause faithfully during this time of hardship, who have fought bravely and with utmost determination for our common dream. I speak remembering all those who have given their spark so that we can fight on. Be assured that their sacrifices shall never be forgotten.
In the confines of his private quarters aboard the Peaceful Tyranny, Tarn choked out a frustrated moan. He had been going at it for cycles now and it was getting harder and harder to stay completely silent. To punish himself for his weakness, he withdrew completely from the source of pleasure. Suddenly bereft of all friction and warmth, his whole body protested and twitched in desperate need. But he did not allow himself to give in to his frame’s desire to sink back down and provide some relief with his own servo at least. Not yet.
Megatron’s voice in the recording dropped down to a deeper pitch. It was as if his Lord had the talent to manipulate Tarn’s own spark, for it stuttered behind his heated chest plates. The words were like caresses to him. He took in every word of the old speech with utmost devotion. When Megatron all but purred his approval of his followers’ unwavering loyalty, Tarn’s interface equipment pulsed a few times. It almost made him fall over the edge and he was not even touching himself. This was the power of his master’s voice.
Tarn had to remain motionless for a few moments, lest he disgrace himself. But the charge did not decrease, not even without any direct stimulation. All the while the adored voice of his leader kept talking, promising to reward the faithful and to destroy all that dared stand in his way. Tarn briefly contemplated if one could go mad from the constant crackling burn of charge, but he found that he did not really mind. This was the sweetest agony. It was only comparable to his other addiction, just more visceral. He could not stop himself, he never could, but he could not allow himself to give in either. Because this was Megatron. And Tarn was not worthy.
As Megatron started talking about punishing all traitors, dealing out justice without mercy, Tarn shivered and lowered himself down once more. He forced himself to bear the pleasure as it threatened to overwhelm him. He needed more, just a bit more and he would overload in a white hot surge of pleasure, made all the greater after having denied himself for so long. He was so sensitive that the vibrations almost physically hurt, so desperate that the pleasant friction threatened to drive him insane. Just a bit longer, just a bit longer, he told himself, just until Megatron had finished his speech.
He was right at the brink of overload, but he fought it, tried to hold it back. His whole body shook with the effort it took him. Then the recording was at its end. A nanosecond before the pleasure in his spark would have erupted, Tarn pulled himself away. Suddenly bereft of all stimulation, his frame protested violently, straining to go over the edge. His interface equipment pulsed hard. Strong legs shook. He could hear himself groan as he finally managed to pull back from overloading.
Bracing himself with one hand on the floor, Tarn savored the little spasms of his spark. Every single joint in his body ached with sweet agony. The charge burned in his fuel lines, a sensation that was at the same time familiar and yet indescribable. Only very slowly did his body begin to cool down. Tarn smiled to himself. Once again, he had not managed to stay completely silent.
Well, that could only mean one thing. It seemed another punishment was in order. Tarn waited a few more kliks, cycling hot air through his vents until his core temperature had reached a non-critical level.
Then he set the recording to replay.