Reality
*Transformers: Tarn and Pharma
Ratchet, First Aid, Ambulon
AN: Time in this story is not linear, if you had not guessed. More exploration into insanity.
Huge servos traveled up and down the jets lower back, cupping his aft on occasion and petting at his engine housing. Pharma's helm tipped forward, jaw slack as he panted hot air from his oral vent. As he stood on the platform, a servo gripping each massive shoulder tread to keep himself upright, Tarn's unnaturally long tongue slipped past the gap in the purple mask to lick at the cables beneath the flyer's cockpit. He had not even opened his chest plates yet but that slender glossa was already snaking under to lap at his spark chamber and – oh, oh yes, please yes! His red and white crested helm lolled back, neural net alight, optics fritzing as the lock on the glass piece slid away on its own, desperate to allow the tank better access. He made a few sounds that were a cross between gasps and moans as the pointed mask leaned into the now open area, tongue busy at work; every flick of that tongue was a different sensation spreading all through the smaller frame. It lapped into the spark chamber a few times, never staying long enough to do more than tease. It felt so, so, so... good, so good, yes, more, please more!
The doctor hadn't realized he said any of that aloud until a deep rumbling chuckle vibrated against the rim of his spark. Swiftly, he tried to pull back, embarrassment biting at the remaining rational center of his processor but Tarn didn't let go. Instead, he tugged him closer with both arms coiled around his hips and that tongue darting inside his spark like a snake into a hole. The medic stiffened, servos gripping that masked helm in desperation, trying to control his reactions but failing to stop the long lusty moan that bubbled from his vocalizer.
In these times he could will himself into forgetting who, where, how, and what he was with, he could enjoy these odd pleasures. He could pretend that this was how it was supposed to be, the two of them lost in the simple rapture of the present, forgetting how sick it all really was. If he could put everything out of his processor and just ride out every tiny bit of enjoyment this creature gave to him then everything could be wonderful for this amount of time. Tarn and these activities allowed him to simply forget everything for a few precious hours and let him clear his thoughts and simply give into the passionate tendencies of his captor. Forgetting was a beautiful thing when one was in this sort of place, with this sort of dark future leering ahead. Pretending was all he really had.
When no one was around to watch him, no one he had to hold up his pride for, these could truly be fun moments. In the oddest of ways possible, Pharma felt safe allowing himself to be vulnerable when it was just the two of them. True, he never truly let go except maybe in the rawest moments of passion, and maybe not even then. Still, he allowed this Decepticon to get closer and more intimate than he did anyone else. Even Ambulon or Ratchet were not allowed into his mind or feelings the way this 'bot managed to squirm into it. Having the ability to manipulate his spark went a long way in causing him to open up. While it was never voluntary, it gave him an out for any shows of affection he might let slip past his guards during the gentler moments.
Undeniably, in his own strange way, Tarn let the jet closer than most as well. It showed through in the enjoyment he took in pleasing the medic, in the amount of things he let slide, in his rare acts of kindness that did not require paybacks, and in the simple fact that he kept the surgeon alive this long. They had shared secrets in each other from the very first, creating a very odd connection between them. For every sea full of darkness in the tank there were a few drops of kindness to be found and the jet was only too happy to accept them where they fell. After their 'games' the beast was far more willing to listen to a wish or show just a little more kindness than usual. This kept him in a good mood, and when Tarn was in a good mood, everyone could be.
The Autobot held no illusions of friendship and surely not love, but there was something between them. It would not save his life in the long run, nor ensure he would last through a fit of the D.J.D leader's temper, but it was all he had to cling to.
He yipped when immense arms lifted him from the platform, that solid body holding him up as if he were weightless. That tongue never pulled away from its attentive stroking of the Spark chamber, strumming the wires for a change in sensation. A few long, seductive moans were the tank's reward, and Tarn's engines threatened to turn over in response, purple biolights glowing brighter.
There was the barest minimum of power in knowing he could elicit those types of responses from the tank. He had a distinct hunch that Tarn with his spark manipulating voice, could feed off his pleasure as if it were his own. There had only been a servo full of times when Tarn let him near his own spark but he knew full well he managed to get pleasure out of these games. Understanding Tarn was an illusive if not impossible thing and he did not claim to really understand what had been done to that huge body of his under Megatron. None of the band of killer were exactly normal and they did not work the way normal 'bots did.
Their CPUs had all been tampered with at the minimum because there was just no way anyone could be as unquestioningly loyal to a mad pitspawn like Megatron as this bunch without there being something done to make them so. He would never know what happened without examining them and that would never happen. It was frightening to think about it too long so Pharma usually didn't. He could only imagine what his own processor would look like after his time on their ship, if he managed to live after it. He could hope he lived to find out how twisted he would be.
His body arched against Tarn's chest plate desperately, air streaming in gasps from his vents, pleasure rolling over him in waves as the tank ran his finger over the rim of his spark in little circles. The strokes of the tongue and the messaging were too much stimulation and Pharma plunged into overload with flashes of light behind his optics. Some part of him knew he was whining or even screaming Tarn's name, writhing and twitching like it was his first time, but he could not bring himself to care as ecstasy drove him to a beautiful madness.
When his optics came back online, and he was not even sure when they went off, he was laid out on a table. Alarm set in instantly when he realized he was strapped to it. Tarn stood at his peds, tightening a strap over them smoothly, very practiced at it.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Pharma had wanted that to sound less like a whimpered question but it came out just as fearful as he was.
Red optics glanced up at him, "What does it look like?"
Pharma did not trust his vocalizer to answer; instead he took a few more glances at the bonds. He was trying hard not to panic. This was not the torture room but that meant nothing and he knew it. He flinched violently, internal wires coiling when Tarn's servo rested on his thigh. Trying not to react was an act in futility when he was already frightened out of his processor!
"Now, Doctor, I had been forgetting to ask you... do you know anything about the missing key to the control room?" Tarn purred as he leaned closer.
The medic's optics widened, horror making his jaw slack, "N-no, no, Tarn, I haven't seen it."
"Are you certain?"
"I didn't even know you lost any keys, I-I swear!" He was desperately trying not to start trembling but he could feel it creeping in his servos.
Tarn absently began to pet the jet's chest plate, running his fingers into seams and along the edges so gently it made Pharma's terror all the worse, "Kaon thought he saw you near that room a day or two ago. He did not think a thing about it at the time... but you know, once things go missing, everyone starts to question things."
Pharma shook his helm slowly, "I don't remember going near it but I might have." Denying it would only be considered calling them liars and he knew that would go over not at all, "But I assure you, I did not see a key of any kind anywhere."
Servos skated lightly over plating and red optics followed the progress, "I hope you understand if I search you. Without a complete search there is no way to be certain."
"I understand." Pharma affirmed with as much tranquility as he could scrape together.
Acquiescing did not mean he felt any less horror as Tarn systematically removed every piece of armor that could be detached without damage. It also did little to calm him as the tank began prying at hatches to paw inside; the jet had no choice but to allow the invasion. Starting at the peds, Tarn worked his way slowly upward, taking his time to meticulously go over every wire and joint. Try as he might, Pharma could not stop himself from twitching as he was explored, involuntarily tightening hatch covers even though he knew they would be opened regardless, and he knew he had to let them be opened.
Each time the tank encountered a clenched cover, those optics would flick up to silently insist, and the insistence was met with compliance. The petting had started at the knee joints, fingers teasing wires and sending jolts up unwilling struts. It tickled most of the time but some spots were known to have Pharma arching in pleasure; Tarn never missed a trick. It was with deliberate motion that cables were uncoiled and stroked from base to connector; going so far as to run a finger around the rim a few times before dipping within.
Pharma's fans were all cycling, vented wide as he dragged in cooler air. He was struggling against the bonds without thinking, driven into desperation for a connection that involved more contact than petting cables one by one before setting them aside to drape uselessly over his frame or on the table – a few digits intentionally slid into a skidplate to massage. It really was torture to be splayed open, his cables uncoiled and hatches gaping, unable to move, and not daring to retract anything the other had opened. As a flyer and a doctor, he had extensive hatches, jacks, and multiple cables to connect with a range of other hardware; there were reasons for all of them but they were being exploited terrible at present.
At last, Tarn seemed to have reached his goal when Pharma's chest plates had been retracted fully and each cable was unwound and adapters gaping. The occasional flickers of charge at the ends of the connectors only seemed to amuse his captor, "Oh, Pharma, I am so forgetful…"
Pharma frowned, confused and worried even in his haze, "Forgetful?" He had no desire to know what had been forgotten and feared what more might be next for exploration; not his wings, please, not any of his flight equipment!
"Yes, you see, Kaon left the key in my office some days ago. Now that I think about it properly, I believe it is still there." Tarn sounded nearly rueful enough to be believed.
Pharma's CPU caught up with the truth of the situation quickly enough and he thrashed at his bonds with righteous indignation, "You slagging fragger! You knew the whole time – ghyaa!"
The tirade was ended skillfully with a light flick of a finger dipped into his spark.
One connector slide home easily into one of the jacks in Pharma's chest, followed instantly by one of the jet's cables sliding home into Tarn's own open chamber; when had he even opened it? No charge escaped the tank's side even though Pharma's own field was difficult to hold back, reaching desperately and trying to surge down the line even with the will of iron holding it back – his frame was eager but his anger was not interested. More cables made connections as the doctor looked on incredulously. His HUD pinged with an inquiry as well but he shoved it aside.
"Tarn, what exactly are you doing?"
"Connecting us," was the simplistic reply as the huge frame went about a meticulous process of plugging the right cords into the corresponding interfacing connectors.
The calm with which the response was offered both worried and excited Pharma, "All of them? Do you really intend to connect us so thoroughly? We never…" he hesitated awkwardly, "connect more than one, normally. Most partners connect three at the most at one time or risk an overload powerful enough to reset the system, burn out or singe wires… granted, the results of multiple connections causes a far more intense interface, both sides are often knocked into recharge until the system recovers from that much shared energy."
"We have all cycle." Was Tarn's catty response, "And besides, I think the two of us could last through two overloads before system lock over took us."
The empty array on Tarn's frame let off a few clicks, calipers working in absent anticipation and that was when Pharma knew just how false the calm façade in the tank was.
Blue optics dimmed with lust at the thought and he unknowingly doubled his efforts to escape the restraints, bodyshell struggling to get closer to the tank, "Oh? Awfully confident in your own stamina! The connection goes both ways, I will remind you."
"Do you think you can outlast me, Pharma?" The tone alone proved that Tarn was feeling playful, interested in games.
Pharma smirked, the haze of lust confidence clouding his CPU once again, "Want to try for three before we get locked up? Or do you think you can handle that much?" The anger had shifted to a sense of revenge and intent to make Tarn suffer.
There was a deep engine rev that shook the tank's frame, "I am a soldier, you know. I have been known to last quite some time without rest, doctor. My system has proven resilient on many occasions." He liked it when Pharma challenged him, resisted, giving as good as he got.
Pharma purred, leaning up as far as he could, "And I am a doctor. My stamina extends well beyond my ability in an operating room." The blatant hints were skyrocketing the core temperature in them both to make heat just roll from their fans.
Another connection slid into place and charge rushed from them both to clash in the middle. Pharma surged forward, back trusts bowed, jaw slack in a silent cry. Tarn's servos were crawling over his sides, taking advantage of the position to run up his back and fondle his turbine, feeding and directing charge back from the additional touch and playing his neural net like an instrument.
"L-Let me…" Pharma stuttered, jerking at his wrists in desperation to touch and return the delicious torture.
After a bit more struggling and charge plunging in and out of cables, Tarn relented and unfastened the bonds at his arms. The doctor heaved himself at the other, clawing wildly at the other to bring him closer. The huge body obeyed and he bent forward, resting himself on his elbows.
Pharms wasted no time sinking his servos into the areas so seldom accessible, frantically fondling every forbidden wire and dragging charge with his touch, taking care to linger over the most sensitive places. Red peds kicked at the remaining restraint but was preoccupied enough with his servos dance over cables to be overly bothered. The louder thrum of a tank engine made the doctor double his effort and use every trick he knew. The charge plunged back and forth through the interlocked connections ecstatically as they explored the respective frames to magnify every sensation, lighting arrays to ignite every center.
At this rate neither of them might live up to their own boasting but were unlikely to scrape up enough coherence between them to even care. The air between them had turned scorching as fans ex-vented raggedly. With their spark chambers so close and open, the stimulated sparks each reached with charged plasma strings for the other in an attempt to join. They should have pulled away, and would have if clearer processors had been in play but they were too pleasure drunk to notice.
Tarn in-vented sharply, a vulnerable, quiet noise falling from his derma, his spark glittered with overload; the sight caught Pharma off guard because, he realized suddenly, he had never seen it before. Tarn never gave him much opportunity to tough or tantalize, rarely letting the jet have control at all, but if there was any such chance, the doctor always overloaded first. The sight was incredibly gratifying, more than he could have guessed, and it sent him in a delectable spin into his own. There was hardly time to notice his HUD signaling the overcharge before it hit, and it was immense, beyond belief, so many cables igniting.
They were both shaking as the waves ran over them again and again, like an engex high that would kill them in the end but left them with no reason to care on the way. Their sparks grew closer the less strength the tank could focus into holding his frame at a distance. It was a poor choice, especially as charged as they were, and both knew better but did not care enough to stop it. Tarn's field was oddly more reticent than Pharma's, shying away in an attempt to be reasonable. Just a slight surge of heady need and desire from the jet's spark was enough to shatter reason, however, and chest plates ground together in a scream of metal clashing and engines roaring.
They might have screamed, the surge so intense it truly shorted more than one system. If it was possible to take a 'bot utterly offline from an overload alone, this would be that time. The pleasure was deep, bordering on painful and too much and their sparks hammered madly together, tangling like love-sick mates. Emotions too strong to fully understand swirled between them too fast to hope to tag them with names. There was affection however; honest attachment that made no sense in either case, but it was mutual. There was rawness to the feeling, an untouchable tender spot no one ever neared, like an unopened bud, but it existed.
The heat in the chambers elevated swiftly. Dawning past the haze of pleasure was a realization as his spark struggled and thrashed and rubbed; Tarn's spark was strong and overwhelming, too much so – to the point of suffocation. This beating, wriggling mass had all but left its own casing, invading the jets to surround it and encircle it, nearly dragging it free of its moorings. The moans coming from the tank, the doctor suddenly noticed, were draining his strength. From the sensations wafting from Tarn, there was no malice in the act; it was unintentional, but no less harmful. Unbelievable as well it was, he was being killed with pleasure. Pharma writhed under the hulking frame when he felt the coolant run dry in his wring, in-vented smoke, and felt as if Tarn was swallowing and drawing his spark in whole.
Fear rocketed through the connection as Pharma desperately tried to curl away, pleasure largely obscured even though it was still present. Tarn was too strong, too powerful, and he was swallowing the jet, smothering him in presence and voice. Understanding blinked back through the connection as Tarn felt his partners fear and took in the meaning. The low moaned hums ceased instantly and the spark pulled back into its own casing, petting gently as if in apologetic assurance.
The second overload had done them both in, however. Both their HUDs warned of the initiating stasis.
Tarn only had just enough wherewithal to shift to the side and break the spark connection before he succumbed to the forced recharge. Pharma was distantly grateful for that act even if he had no time to truly dwell on the potentials if one of them had not broken contact before his thoughts were nothing but blackness.
Noises filtered into dulled audio receptors as Pharma came around. He felt no less exhausted than he had the last time he came online on the medical slab. The white cover obscured his vision for the most part considering it had been pulled all the way up to his nose. He shifted both arms without any form of coordination, barely managing to work the soft tarp lower. Even with the tarp, he felt chilled though so he might be better off leaving it alone.
Blue optics rolled in order to find the source of the noise and hushed vocalizers.
A gruff vocalizer huffed out a long sigh. "For now, yes, but I would not be ready to call him stable." That sounded for the entire world like Ratchet. "The damage is just too extensive. No matter what we do, he will never have use of that array again, and considering where it connected, that is hardly encouraging. As medical professionals, we understand the workings in theory, but the link into the processor just cannon be predicted."
"He was barely online when we found him. His systems had been so overloaded that his CPU was shutting down even essential components. The improvement he has shown in the time he has been here might indicate promise." That was First Aid, no question.
"Might, might indicate." Ratchet sounded less than enthused, "But he is not functional on his own. His processor does not care to keep him online because it was fried from the inside by a forced connection to Primus knows what."
Flaking red paint came into view as Ambulon shuffled by Pharma with a datapad held up.
Pharma opened his oral vent but all he produced was static. It gained the intended targets attention though. Ambulon smiled weakly after the klik of shock passed. He carefully tucked the cover in before muttering; "Just rest… boss. We'll get it sorted."
From outside the door that gruff voice sounded frustrated, "He's coming down off something. I don't know what considering they could have been feeding him just about anything, but he has all the signs of being in withdrawal on top of everything else."
Pharma did not remember the ailing 'bot they were discussing, but Ratchet would handle it. While he did not remember his old mentor arriving, it did not matter over much. He was simply too tired to properly care. Let Ratchet work and be useful while he took some much needed time. Delphi pushed him so hard at every turn so he could let another doctor take up some slack while possible. Ambulon was not insisting he return to his shift so he saw no reason to. First Aid would be in soon to nag him into motion so it would be best to recharge until then. His dreams about Tarn were unlikely to be helping him actually rest so he could only hope he dreamt nothing else before the nurse demanded something.