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This is real and beautiful, though it sounds as if Tarn was taking relationship advice from Vos (or maybe the Pet, who gets all squeeful when he fetches a gnawed-on spark casing back to Kaon and gets all the good boy turbofox scritches…Tarn would like good boy turbofox scritches from a certain deep-frozen medical jet).
“Well, obviously, the best way to get your crush to notice you is to take off your face and screw it onto his face, so he sees you every time he looks at himself, assuming that his optics are still working and he can pay attention while doing all that screaming,” Vos explains in translation. “And if there’s anybody that he particularly likes, you could always rip them open and paint declarations of your love on his walls with the vital fluids.” Vos leans in close, as if imparting the wisdom of long experience to the uninitiated. “Bitches love face screws and vital fluids,” he says.
“The mask doesn’t come off. Period. Not even for him,” Tarn asserts, though he feels the visceral appeal of using such a technique to confess his tender Pharma feelings. Vos scoffs and launches into some passionate counterargument, but Tarn’s optic has already been caught by the Pet, who scurries in through the airlock-style, maximum security pet gate, shedding Messatine blizzard all over the damn floor AGAIN, yipping excitedly as he runs over to Kaon and plops a severed Autobot miner arm in his friend’s lap.
“Aww, you went all the way out to the mines in the snow and brought a present back for ME? Such a good boy!” Kaon gingerly picks the limb up by a chewed-on finger. Huge patches of discolored turbofox froth are frozen all across the surface. “Who’s my super best boy? Is it you?? Are you the best turbofox ever??” The Pet wriggles and whines and then literally squees with glee when Kaon reaches down and rubs underneath all the armor around his ears and jaw, shuffling it out of place to massage all the sensory wires and struts underneath.
Tarn swallows heavily. I could bring in more than just an arm, he thinks. Medics probably love extra spare parts. Maybe I’d even leave the t-cog in, just to show him how serious I am. The Pet sighs and burbles and leans against Kaon’s leg, gradually going limp as the audial scritches drain all the tension from his body. Tarn’s audials twitch in craving. Vos is in the midst of a lecture about the erotic appeal of transforming into an immobile object that requires an operator to function (the trust is totally hot, he notes, but there doesn’t have to be anything submissive about it, I mean, there can be if you want, but topping from the handgrip is absolutely a legitimate lifestyle choice); Tarn lifts a hand to cut him off in mid-rasp.
“I just remembered something that I needed to do somewhere,” the commander vagues before charging out into the snow in tank mode.
Hours later, Tarn comes home with sheets of spray-bottle solvent frozen to his armor and a great emptiness in his spark. Vengefully, he squirts both Vos and the Pet with the Pet’s no-no bottle until they both run off hissing. It only makes him feel a little bit better. He slumps into his command chair and begins to swivel it in slow, grim, thoughtful circles. …Perhaps Vos was on the right track with that loving facial mutilation angle. Or…Pharma is so frighteningly smart; perhaps he’d thaw out with a little brain play? Helex could teach him all the best brain play tricks. Or maybe Tesarus…