Daddy's Bastard, Very Strong

Move something slightly to the left, rumple the sheets of his berth a little, drink out of the carton in the fridge. He had yet to get an angry comm about it, but.

It brought him SOME joy to do it.

"I like my tea with sweet cream energon, if y'all have any? Pretty please?" There- mechs like manners, didn't they? He had manners. Plenty of manners. ..when he felt like it called for it.

"Sweet cream energon? Yes, we should have some..." He never used it himself, holding a preference for things on the more bitter side. However, he knew Tarn well enough that he had no doubt he kept the cooler well stocked with the sweetened energon. He simply couldn't stomach the stuff; it always seemed to make him queasy.

'I 'preciate ya plenty fer havin' me.' It wasn't exactly like he was given a choice on the matter...though, he did suppose he appreciated the niceties.

"A pleasure, truly." He answered, though mostly on reflex, trotting around the kitchen space as he set about getting them both a glass of tea. He, much like Overlord, was familiar with the space, quickly plucking the necessary ingredients from their rightful places, mixing up his own while he brewed a larger size for his...guest; the sweet cream energon being exactly where he knew it would be, pouring a hearty helping into Overlord's glass before placing it back in the cooler, gathering up the comically large cube, and offering it out to him.

Obsession, Compulsion, a mix of the two. Rage certainly. A few others. He couldn't really name love. It was foreign in the way that Earth had been to most Cybertronians. Alien, even. What was it about love that made even someone like Tarn switch his tune for another song? If Overlord hated anything, he hated not knowing things.

But love also made a fool of people, so it wasn't terribly awful, not knowing.

As Reign made himself busy, Overlord brushed the tips of his digits over the nearby countertop as he sat at the table, as comfortable as someone who had sat there before, then resting his elbow on the surface, and his chin in his palm. His optics tracked Reign. Who would've thought such a little scrap could be dangerous?

Overlord had done enough prying to know. Cute. Cute cute cute. It made his denta grind together a little, as though he was picturing sinking them into Reign's neck.

Nearly every Decepticon had at least heard of Overlord, though even fewer seemed to survive a run-in with the Phase Sixer; it was something Reign had very little to fear initially, as his work with infiltration tended to place him on opposite corners, away from the general violence and destruction where such a mech like Overlord would thrive.

Now, he had suspected that his chances of running into the other would only increase the longer he spent in Tarn's company, as they seemed to keep frequent company—or rather, Overlord made it a point to seek out the famed DJD leader when he was particularly bored.

Reign took a step back, optics trailing up, craning his helm backwards to get a proper look at him. He hadn't expected this fated meeting to take place while Tarn was otherwise…engaged, leaving him alone with the behemoth mech.

Overlord still wasn't entirely sure about how he.. felt. About it. Not entirely unjealous, but not because he wanted to be Tarn's conjunx. It was a matter of attention, really. Another mech threw that into chaos, and Overlord hated overlap that left him out of the loop. So, he reasoned, why not come and see what all the fuss was about?

And what a little scrap of a thing, too. He'd thought if Tarn was going to take a conjunx, it'd be that medic he'd harassed, surely, or someone a little bigger. Color him surprised.

...And were they even still alive?

He took another step back, straightening his posture as the large Phase Sixer knelt before him, letting him 'inspect' him before speaking once more. He was starting to believe his earlier suspicion was true—that Overlord had managed to find out about him, and decided to seek him out.

Move something slightly to the left, rumple the sheets of his berth a little, drink out of the carton in the fridge. He had yet to get an angry comm about it, but.

It brought him SOME joy to do it.

"I like my tea with sweet cream energon, if y'all have any? Pretty please?" There- mechs like manners, didn't they? He had manners. Plenty of manners. ..when he felt like it called for it.

Nearly every Decepticon had at least heard of Overlord, though even fewer seemed to survive a run-in with the Phase Sixer; it was something Reign had very little to fear initially, as his work with infiltration tended to place him on opposite corners, away from the general violence and destruction where such a mech like Overlord would thrive.

Now, he had suspected that his chances of running into the other would only increase the longer he spent in Tarn's company, as they seemed to keep frequent company—or rather, Overlord made it a point to seek out the famed DJD leader when he was particularly bored.

Reign took a step back, optics trailing up, craning his helm backwards to get a proper look at him. He hadn't expected this fated meeting to take place while Tarn was otherwise…engaged, leaving him alone with the behemoth mech.

Overlord still wasn't entirely sure about how he.. felt. About it. Not entirely unjealous, but not because he wanted to be Tarn's conjunx. It was a matter of attention, really. Another mech threw that into chaos, and Overlord hated overlap that left him out of the loop. So, he reasoned, why not come and see what all the fuss was about?

And what a little scrap of a thing, too. He'd thought if Tarn was going to take a conjunx, it'd be that medic he'd harassed, surely, or someone a little bigger. Color him surprised.

A sharp gasp- Overlord's servo came up to just barely cover his open parted lips, optics cycling wide in, surprisingly, genuine delight.

Oh, Tarn, you really should not have said that. Overlord mock-swooned against him, pressing against him heavily, and made a low groan. "Oh, I fascinate you- careful now, I'm dainty, you'll make me faint, talkin' like that.."

Overlord's optics squint a little under his grin, and he beckoned Tarn a little closer, helm tilting.

Digit tracing along to the side, he felt for the.. the latches? Clasps? Maybe it was magnetized, which meant he'd have to rip it off.

...too much effort.

Sometimes, First Aid wishes he could be more emotive without having to lower the safety of his faceplate. Hopefully the veritable barbedwire tangle of disgust and fear in his field is enough to get the point across.

But he stands his ground anyway, warily eyeing the procured bottle. He's slipped one too many deadly substances into drinks himself to trust gifts from enemies.

Overlord snorted softly and set the bottle down on a nearby surface with a soft 'clink' noise.

Sometimes, First Aid wishes he could be more emotive without having to lower the safety of his faceplate. Hopefully the veritable barbedwire tangle of disgust and fear in his field is enough to get the point across.

His lips stretched in a smile.