Sugar Daddy Tarn wine-ing and dining Pharma. Pharma flirting HARD and eventually ends up in Tarns berth. Tarn is going down on Pharma, eating him out as Pharma squirms and cries out. Tarn is absolutely a service top and adores watching my Pharma fall apart on his tongue and his spike.
If you're the person who requested a "Sugar Daddy Tarn" scenario set in the "Sugar Daddy Drift" AU, I just wanted to let you know I haven't forgotten about your request; I'm actually working on it ehehe
I really hope you enjoy this! It ended up being much longer than I expected because I loved the idea so much and wanted to do it justice aaaahh
I did have to trim the restaurant flirting scene a little though, otherwise this chapter would have turned waaayy too long lmao
MINORS DON’T READ THIS THANK YOU
Pharma had to fight to keep the surprise from showing on his faceplate when the waiter addressed him by his title.
“Lord Tarn is expecting you.”
The waiter gave a slight bow before extending an arm to indicate the way. Pharma nodded and followed him.
He felt decidedly out of place.
The Platinum Terrace was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, perched atop a gleaming skyscraper with breathtaking views stretching for kilometers through immense crystal windows. The menu was filled with dishes whose names Pharma could barely pronounce, each one carrying a price that rivaled an entire month's salary at the clinic.
His armor had been polished to perfection, and he'd even applied a few discreet drops of cologne to strategic points before leaving home.
Under normal circumstances, he could never have afforded to set pede in a place like this.
Were it not for Tarn's invitation -if it could even be called that, considering it had arrived as nothing more than a brief note delivered to his habsuite, informing him of nothing but the time and the location- he never would have crossed its threshold.
Still, there he was, looking his absolute best for dinner with an eccentric, unimaginably wealthy mech he knew almost nothing about.
Well, he knew his designation.
He knew he was one of the wealthiest and most influential mechs in the city.
And he knew that, ever since their chance meeting at the prestigious clinic where Pharma worked, Tarn had developed what could only be described as an obsession with him.
The lavish gifts had started arriving soon afterward -far too expensive to be considered casual gestures- and, somehow, Tarn always seemed to appear wherever Pharma happened to be. By now, Pharma was fairly certain fate had very little to do with those encounters.
Then again, Tarn was undeniably fascinating.
Tall and imposing, with his dark plating that seemed to swallow the light around him, he possessed the effortless confidence of someone accustomed to getting whatever he desired.
And, if Pharma was being honest with himself, wealth and power had always held a certain appeal.
So, if Tarn wanted to have dinner with him, why shouldn't he indulge him?
Pharma allowed himself to be led through the restaurant, past towering marble columns and tables draped in pristine white linen, until they reached a quieter, more secluded section of the dining room. Each table was shielded from the others by elegant cream-colored screens trimmed with gold, granting every guest a sense of privacy.
The waiter stopped before one of them, and with a respectful bow, he stepped aside and quietly took his leave.
Pharma drew a slow breath before stepping around the partition.
Tarn was already waiting for him.
The moment their optics met, the crimson glow of Tarn's seemed to brighten. He rose smoothly from his seat, his imposing frame making Pharma feel small by comparison.
“Pharma. I am delighted that you accepted my invitation.”
Without the mask he usually wore, the scar stretching across nearly half of his face was impossible to ignore. It shifted subtly as he spoke, giving his features an unusual severity.
Oddly enough, Pharma found it rather captivating.
“The invitation was... remarkably persistent.”
A faint chuckle escaped Tarn.
Then he extended a servo toward him.
Pharma reached out automatically, expecting a handshake. Instead, Tarn took his servo with surprising gentleness.
He bowed his helm ever so slightly, bringing Pharma's knuckles to his dermas.
The kiss barely brushed his plating.
It was a gesture so refined, so effortlessly courtly, that Pharma felt warmth bloom across his face before he could stop it.
As Pharma moved to take his seat, Tarn stepped forward and pulled out the chair for him before settling into the one opposite.
“An impeccable gentlemech.”
Pharma remarked, careful to keep any trace of how much the gesture had affected him from creeping into his voice.
Tarn simply looked at him.
There was an intensity in his crimson gaze that made Pharma feel as though the other mech were trying to look straight through him.
“Nothing less than the best for you, Pharma.”
His voice was low and resonant, carrying the effortless authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed, softened only by a warmth that seemed reserved for Pharma alone.
“I took the liberty of ordering the drinks.” Tarn continued. “I hope you don't mind.”
As if on cue, the waiter returned carrying a bottle of aged high-grade. He filled both glasses with practiced precision before quietly excusing himself once more, leaving them alone.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
Pharma picked up his glass, studying the blue liquid swirling inside.
“So,” he said at last, lifting his gaze to Tarn's, “what are we drinking to?”
A smile tugged at the corners of Tarn's mouth.
“Oh, I have quite a long list of possibilities.” His optics never left Pharma's. “I could drink to your optics. To your beauty. Or to the fact that you accepted my invitation.”
The mech was good at this.
Pharma became acutely aware of the warmth spreading across his faceplate.
“But,” Tarn continued, lifting his own glass, “I think I'll simply drink to the chance that brought us together.”
He tilted his helm ever so slightly.
For a brief moment, they held each other's gaze, then Pharma leaned forward just enough to raise his glass.
Crystal met crystal with a soft, melodic chime.
Pharma took a slow sip, fully aware that chance had had very little to do with any of this.
The dinner went surprisingly well, defying every expectation Pharma had had.
He had imagined Tarn as arrogant; a mech accustomed to taking whatever he wanted without question. Instead, the conversation flowed with an ease that caught him completely off guard.
Tarn showed a genuine interest in both his work and his hobbies, something Pharma wasn't accustomed to at all. He listened attentively, never interrupting, always waiting for Pharma to finish before asking another thoughtful question. Somehow, there wasn't a single awkward silence between them.
Far more pleasant than Pharma had expected.
What truly made his circuits hum with quiet satisfaction, however, was the way Tarn looked at him.
He wasn't merely watching him.
Every gesture, every expression, every subtle movement seemed to hold Tarn's complete attention, as though Pharma were the most fascinating mech in the room.
And, to Pharma's mild embarrassment, he found himself enjoying it.
Perhaps a little too much.
He couldn't help noticing the way Tarn's optics widened ever so slightly as he brought his fork to his dermas, or how they lingered on the graceful movement of his throat each time he took a sip of Engex.
Then there was the brief, accidental brush of Pharma's pede against Tarn's leg beneath the table.
The effect was immediate.
Tarn's frame stiffened almost imperceptibly before relaxing again, though his optics never left Pharma's face.
Pharma lowered his gaze to hide the faint smile threatening to betray him.
He was definitely enjoying this dinner.
At one point during dessert -a delicate confection so rich it practically melted on his tongue- Pharma found himself savoring each bite in silence, completely absorbed in its flavors.
As he looked up, he met Tarn's unwavering gaze.
The intensity of those crimson optics no longer made him uncomfortable; if anything, he found himself craving it.
He wanted Tarn's attention.
He wanted him to watch him, to follow his every movement, to remain utterly captivated by him.
Pharma remarked casually.
He lifted another bite to his dermas, deliberately letting his glossa brush the tines of the fork before drawing it away.
Tarn's reaction was immediate. A slow exvent escaped him, low and controlled, sounding almost like the effort of someone restraining an impulse.
“It's difficult not to.” Tarn replied, his voice softer than before. “Not when someone as captivating as you is sitting right in front of me.”
Pharma repeated, tasting the word as much as the dessert.
His glossa swept lightly across his upper derma. He noticed, with unmistakable satisfaction, the subtle shift in Tarn's expression as the other mech's gaze darkened ever so slightly.
Pharma smiled to himself.
“You're a splendid distraction.” Tarn said at last.
“So that's what I am to you?” Pharma replied, setting his fork down on the now-empty plate. “A distraction?”
His blue optics met Tarn's crimson ones, and within them he recognized something unmistakable.
“Would you rather be something more?” Tarn asked, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. “Considering how relentlessly I had to pursue you -with gifts and invitations you so graciously ignored- I wasn't under the impression you wanted anything beyond that.”
Pharma held his gaze without flinching.
“I know my worth.” He said calmly. “I know my time is valuable.”
He leaned forward slightly, the restaurant's warm lights glimmering across the immaculate polish of his armor.
“And I know I deserve to be more than someone's distraction.”
There was a brief silence before Tarn finally spoke.
“You're right. You aren't a distraction.” His gaze never left Pharma's. “You're... an interruption.”
“An interruption?” Pharma repeated, raising an optical ridge.
“Everything I once considered important became... considerably less interesting the moment I met you.”
It was astonishing how effortlessly Tarn could make him blush.
“Ever since I saw you that day at the clinic, nothing else has managed to hold my attention. My circuits have been consumed by thoughts of you; by the need to unravel you piece by piece, to discover what lies beneath that elegant armor, to see the mech you become when you finally surrender yourself to me... when you're mine.”
He reached across the table, gently taking Pharma's servo.
Instead, he let Tarn's larger servo close around his with surprising care, as though Tarn feared even the slightest excess of strength might hurt him.
“I'm not yours.” Pharma replied evenly, despite the frantic rhythm of his spark.
“No.” Tarn admitted, his thumb lazily tracing the back of Pharma's servo. “Not yet.”
Pharma had to suppress the urge to vent.
“What makes you think I ever will be?”
A faint smile curved Tarn's dermas.
“The fact that you're here.” His thumb stilled. “Because despite everything, I intrigue you.”
He tilted his helm just slightly.
“And I have the distinct impression that this desire to unravel someone, piece by piece...” His crimson optics met Pharma's unwavering blue ones. “...isn't mine alone.”
In the span of a few sentences, Tarn had given a name to something Pharma himself had yet to fully understand.
“And I can even prove that I'm right.”
Tarn said at last, holding his gaze with crimson optics that seemed intent on burning straight through him.
Pharma asked, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the frantic rhythm of his spark.
A slow smile tugged at the corners of Tarn's mouth.
“By asking you one simple question.”
Pharma raised an optical ridge.
“And what would that be?”
Tarn leaned forward ever so slightly, never breaking optic contact.
“Will you come back to my place for a drink and help me bring this evening to a proper close?”
The door to Tarn's hab-suite slid shut behind them, sealing Pharma inside a world that seemed meticulously crafted down to the smallest detail; the walls were paneled in dark metal, while the floors were laid with brushed titanium, polished to a muted sheen.
At the far end of the main room stood a sleek bar, its shelves lined with bottles of high-grade that glimmered beneath the warm amber lighting.
Pharma remained standing in the middle of the room, his optics sweeping over every corner in search of traps that simply weren't there.
His spark refused to settle, pulsing in a frantic, uneven rhythm within his chassis.
Tarn moved past him with the effortless confidence of a mech who owned everything his optics fell upon.
“Still tense.” Tarn observed, turning to face him. The intensity in his crimson optics softened, giving way to something quieter, almost reassuring. “You don't have to be.”
“Am I?” Pharma tilted his helm slightly. “Or are you simply hoping I'll relax enough to stop thinking clearly?”
A low, resonant chuckle escaped Tarn.
“Oh, no. I would never dream of depriving you of your intellect.” He held Pharma's gaze for a lingering moment before a faint smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Only of your defenses.”
He took a slow step closer, close enough for Pharma to feel the warmth radiating from his frame.
“Besides...” Tarn murmured, his voice dropping to a rich, velvety rumble. “You're still here.”
His servo lifted, the backs of his digits brushing lightly against Pharma's forearm; a touch so fleeting it was almost imagined.
His crimson optics searched Pharma's faceplate, unhurried, patient.
“I can feel it.” Tarn said softly. “Your spark; the way it races whenever I'm close.”
His fingertips lingered for the briefest moment before withdrawing.
“The way your frame leans toward mine,” a faint smile returned to his dermas. “...even while your processor keeps insisting you should walk away.”
Pharma's optics flashed with defiance.
“You don't know what I feel.”
Tarn's servo slid lower until it gently encircled Pharma's wrist, his thumb resting against the delicate plating there.
With the slightest tug, he guided him deeper into the hab-suite.
The berthroom was vast, dominated by a berth that seemed to stretch endlessly beneath layers of dark blankets and plush cushions. The lighting was softer here, intimate, casting long shadows that danced across the metal walls.
Tarn came to a stop beside the berth and turned to face him fully.
His crimson optics traveled slowly over Pharma's frame with a quiet reverence that made the medic's spark tighten within its chamber.
“Let me show you,” Tarn murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “what it means to be truly cared for.”
He should turn around and walk away.
Every rational process in his processor urged him to leave.
Instead, he remained exactly where he was, unable to tear his gaze away as Tarn slowly lowered himself onto one knee before him.
The sight stole the air from his vents.
One of the most powerful and influential mechs in the city... Kneeling at his pedes.
A shiver raced through Pharma's frame, leaving him momentarily breathless.
Tarn's servos rose to rest lightly on Pharma's hips.
Pharma managed only a single word.
A faint smile curved Tarn's lips.
His servos moved with practiced precision as he unlatched Pharma's interface panel, easing it open to reveal the delicate mesh beneath.
His valve was already slick, lubricant beading at the rim, a betrayal of Pharma's own desperate arousal.
Tarn breathed, unable to tear his optics away. He leaned in, his warm vents ghosting over Pharma's sensitive plating.
The first touch of Tarn's glossa was a broad, wet stroke that dragged through Pharma's folds with agonizing slowness.
Pharma's whole frame jerked; a sharp cry escaped his vocalizer before he could suppress it.
Tarn let out a quiet groan in response, the low vibration resonating against Pharma and sending another tremor through his systems.
He didn't rush, instead he explored with unhurried care; his glossa tracing every contour, every ridge, learning the map of Pharma's pleasure with meticulous devotion.
“Oh-” Pharma's helm fell back, his optics squeezing shut. “Tarn, that's-”
Tarn's glossa circled his anterior node, pressing and teasing, never quite giving the pressure Pharma so desperately craved.
He drew back just enough to speak, his dermas glistening with transfluid.
“What do you need, Pharma?” He murmured, his voice low and rough. “Tell me.”
“I need-” Pharma's voice broke, the words dissolving into a breathless sound.
A quiet laugh rumbled through Tarn's chassis, the vibration resonating against Pharma's valve.
“But I enjoy watching you squirm.” He pressed a lingering kiss against the sensitive mesh. “You're beautiful like this. Completely undone. All those walls you built... crumbling because of me.”
He sealed his mouth over Pharma's node, sucking hard, his glossa flicking against it in a relentless rhythm.
Pharma moaned, his frame arching involuntarily as his servos came to rest against Tarn's helm, seeking something to steady himself.
His overload crashed over him like a wave, transfluid spilling from his valve, and Tarn drank it down greedily as he worked Pharma through the peak.
When Pharma's struts finally gave out, his frame limp and trembling in the aftermath, he would have collapsed to the floor if Tarn hadn't caught him.
Strong arms slipped around his waist, effortlessly drawing him upright against a broad, heat-radiating chassis.
Pharma simply hung there, utterly spent, his vents cycling unevenly as aftershocks rippled through his systems. His peds barely brushed the floor.
Tarn looked at him, licking his own dermas clean, savoring the last traces of Pharma's transfluid.
His crimson optics shone with quiet, possessive satisfaction as they lingered on the medic draped against him.
“Beautiful.” Tarn murmured near Pharma's audial. “You're absolutely perfect.”
Pharma tried to speak -to offer a protest, a witty remark, anything- but no words came.
Sliding one arm beneath Pharma's knees, he lifted him effortlessly into his arms. Pharma offered no resistance, simply melting into the embrace, his helm coming to rest against Tarn's shoulder while his legs hung limply at his sides.
With slow, measured strides, Tarn carried him across the berthroom, holding him with a care that contrasted strikingly with his imposing frame.
“We're not finished yet.”
Reaching the berth, Tarn lowered Pharma onto the mattress with excruciating gentleness, settling him at its center before carefully parting his thighs.
The medic's frame looked almost luminous against the dark sheets, still trembling in the aftermath, lubricant glistening across his plating.
Tarn settled onto his knees between Pharma's legs, his crimson optics slowly drinking in the sight before him.
Pharma's own optics fluttered open, unfocused, still dazed.
“I told you,” Tarn murmured, “I was going to make you fall apart.”
His interface panel clicked open with a sharp hiss, and his spike surged free, thick and ridged, glistening with his own lubricant; the length of it intimidating even in the dim light.
Pharma's valve clenched involuntarily at the sight.
“Look at you,” Tarn breathed, his voice sinking into a low, satisfied murmur. “You're still aching for me. Even after everything.”
He dragged the head of his spike through Pharma's wet folds, coating himself in the medic's slick, teasing them both.
Pharma whimpered, his hips bucking helplessly against the intrusion.
Tarn's optics were fixed on where their bodies met, watching his own spike slide through the soaked mesh.
“Tell me what you need, Pharma.”
Pharma swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“I need… I need you inside me…”
The head of his spike stretched Pharma's calipers wide, the pressure stealing the air from his vents.
A broken cry escaped Pharma's vocalizer, dissolving into a ragged sob as his servos shot up to grip Tarn's arms.
Tarn commanded, his voice dropping into a growl.
Pharma's optics lifted at once, meeting the unwavering crimson of Tarn's.
“I want to watch you take all of me. Every inch.”
Tarn sank deeper, inch by agonizing inch. Pharma's valve gripped him like a vice, the heat and tightness making Tarn's vents stutter.
When he was buried to the hilt, he stilled. Every line of his frame trembled with the effort it took not to move.
“You feel perfect.” Tarn breathed, his forehelm pressing against Pharma's, their optics locked. “Like you were made for this. For me.”
Pharma gasped, but the word dissolved into a broken sound as Tarn began to move.
His thrusts were slow at first; deep, deliberate, almost torturously measured. Each one brushed against a cluster of sensitive nodes hidden within Pharma, drawing involuntary tremors through his entire frame.
His crimson optics remained fixed on Pharma's face, drinking in every shiver, every fractured breath, every helpless sound that escaped his vocalizer.
“That's it.” Tarn murmured, his pace increasing. “Let go. I’ve got you. I'm not stopping until you can't even remember your own designation.”
Pharma's frame felt as though it had been set ablaze.
Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter within his core, building toward an overwhelming peak.
Tried to cling to the last remnants of his composure, but Tarn's spike was relentless; hitting deeper, harder, driving him inexorably toward an overload he couldn't escape.
“I love the sounds you make.” Tarn continued, his voice a ragged whisper. “Every broken cry, every gasp. Every time you clench around me, I feel it in my spark.”
Tarn's hips found a brutal rhythm, pounding into Pharma with desperate hunger.
The berth creaked beneath them, the blankets soaking up the mess they were making.
Leaning down, Tarn found the cables along Pharma's neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against them. Every gentle bite was followed by the soothing touch of his glossa, as though unwilling to leave even the faintest mark uncared for.
“Overload for me.” Tarn commanded against Pharma's plating. “Give it to me. I want to feel you fall apart on my spike.”
The overload tore through Pharma like a shockwave.
His entire frame arched, his spark hammering wildly within its chamber as a broken cry tore from his vocalizer, echoing through the room.
Transfluid gushed from his valve, flooding around Tarn's spike, soaking the blankets beneath them.
Tarn's hips stuttered, his own overload ripped from him. He thrust deep, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled his transfluid in hot, heavy pulses, filling Pharma's valve until it overflowed, dripping down onto the fabric.
Tarn groaned, his frame shuddering through the peak, and for several long moments, neither of them moved.
Then Tarn slowly lowered himself over Pharma, his weight settling against him; not oppressive, but grounding.
His dermas found the cables along Pharma's neck once more, pressing slow, reverent kisses there.
Pharma lay beneath him, utterly spent.
His vents quivered with each uneven cycle, faint aftershocks still rippling through his frame.
All he was aware of was Tarn's warmth surrounding him, and the steady rhythm of their sparks beating close together.
After a while, Tarn drew back just enough to look at him.
The intensity in his crimson optics had softened into something unexpectedly gentle.
He lifted a servo and brushed it lightly along Pharma's cheek.
Despite everything, Pharma let his optics drift shut.
He allowed himself to be held.
He allowed himself to be claimed.
