"Would you take the mask off for me?"
Tarn turned an incredulous look on the comparatively tiny Autobot stood beside him, looking up with a smile more fit for a dopey puppy than a Cybertronian.
"... no, it is part of my uniform. A badge of honour." Stupid as that smile was, he did feel a little guilt when it dropped to a disappointed frown.
"But you have Con symbols everywhere! You have them on your stationery!," Riptide exclaimed, picking up and pointing at a Decepticon clad pen for emphasis.
"Those were a creation date gift."
"So why do you need one on your face?" Tarn sighed, closing his optics. "Am I supposed to just wonder what you look like under there forever?"
"Would my appearance change your opinion of me?"
"Well... no?" Tarn opened one optic. "I mean, maybe... if you had like a huge nose, crooked denta, an unexplained third eye and serious dermatology issues. It might put me off a little bit." Tarn dropped his head into his hand. "I'm not saying it will... I mean you don't have any of that, right?"
"Who knows...!" Voice heavy with exasperation, the DJD commander resigned himself to the possibility that focusing on his work might give Riptide a hint to drop the subject. He picked up his datapad and began reading reports.
"... if it was just an unexplained third eye, I probably wouldn't mind so much!" Sweet Cybertron it never ended.
He huffed quietly, browsing through reports and notes, and after a few moments Riptide had apparently decided he didn't like being ignored. "Tarn? Tarn. Tarn, Tarn, Tarn-" The Autobot clambered up onto Tarn's desk, kneeling in front of him and trying to tug the datapad down to get his attention. "Tarn, Tarn, Tarn, Tarn, Tarn, Tarn, Tar-"
"As much as I like the sound of my own name, that's a very good way to get yourself tossed and locked out of my office." Riptide sulked, glaring at the Con over the edge of the pad. He resorted to lightly bumping his forehead against the back of it repeatedly for a few minutes, then got bored and picked up one of his pens and began furiously clicking on it. He waved it around wildly in the general space around Tarn's head, clicking defiantly until his hand slipped and he nearly lost his balance on the desk. He gave up on the pen and started fiddling with the desk tidy. When that began to bore him, he let out a melodramatic sigh, and glared at Tarn again.
He'd get bored enough to leave and play with Vos or The Pet, Tarn concluded, continuing through the reports. So he simply let Riptide sulk on the desktop, losing himself in routine, until Riptide's head suddenly popped up in front of the pad's screen.
"Aha!," the Autobot chirped triumphantly. Tarn scowled at him, but Riptide just beamed bright and sunny at him, so proud of his clever little idea. His hands were planted on the arms of Tarn's chair, back arched down to get his head under the datapad and right up in the Decepticon's personal space.
"Riptide, I swear to the Matrix-" Riptide planted a chaste little kiss right where Tarn's nose would be, and the Con blinked. "... that I will toss you out into the hallway-" Another kiss pecked on his cheek, then another. "Gff- stop that- I'm not taking it off- what are you-" Riptide pushed up and knocked Tarn's arm aside, resting his hands on the Con's strong neck for stability and the illusion that Riptide could actually hold Tarn still, and kept smothering the mask with kisses. Tarn's free hand gripped Riptide's back for a moment, ready to pull him away, but the grip got a little weak when the damn goof started giggling. "Mmrrrf...!," Tarn grumbled, twitching and fidgeting in his seat.
Riptide kept beaming right in his face, making exaggerated kissing sounds and cooing at a Con almost three times his size, hands moving to cup his jaw and cradle it.
Tarn went quiet after a good few minutes of this, and a while later, Riptide paused to grin at Tarn, sitting back slightly.
"... what was that?," Tarn grunted.
"Maybe some incentive to take the mask off?" Riptide wiggled his eyebrows at him playfully, despite the blunt look he got in return. Tarn stared irritably at him for a good hard minute, then quietly lifted his hand, and nudged the mask ever so slightly up. An awkward frown was the only thing peeking through, but Riptide looked thrilled. "Oh hell, I'll take it!," he exclaimed gleefully, grasping Tarn's jaw again and pressing their lips together.
Tarn made slow, calmer attempts to return all of Riptide's excited kisses, trying hard to keep his hands on the arm rests of his chair. In the end, Riptide somehow managed to move from kneeling on the desk to straddling Tarn's lap in his chair, and the commander's hands had found their way to the Autobot's waist and the back of his head. He wasn't sure where the datapad had gone, but Riptide's tongue kept sidetracking that thought process.
An hour or so later, Riptide hopped out of Tarn's lap with a pep in his step. "I need to go now, I'll get chewed out if I stay out much longer." He very nearly skipped to the door, swinging on it as it opened. "See you tomorrow!"
Tarn watched him leave through the one eyehole his skewed mask allowed him to look through. He then pressed the lock for the door on his desk, and blocked any incoming comms.
There was a very pressing issue in his groin plating that needed tending to.