"Is it truly hiding when the victim comes face-to-face with 'the end'?"

my tendencies as s social butterfly," is followed by a faux heavy sigh. "One doesn't require a mask to talk." He rubs Starscream's tongue briefly before withdrawing, then swipes over his lip a second time.

And trust him - there is an entire list of people awaiting their conversation with Tarn.

"Is

Just as generous as Tarn is, right now. It's difficult to hold the vomit bubbling in his throat as he watches the flyer speak against his servo.

While his mouth is still open, his thumb slides inside Starscream's mouth and presses his glossa. Red eyes watch with a heated interest.

"Yet you forget

lip. "Perhaps the strict communication typically kept? Or the lack of physical interaction? Maybe. . ."

"Truly? I'm 'the modest' type to you?"

Tarn shifts with the other mech, accommodating his needs. A slight tickle under the chin, he gives, pleased with the better angle to admire.

He's always had such lovely features. So striking.

"*Is* it the mask?" The pad of his thumb slides over his lower

Goodness, a fondness? From Starscream? How sickening. How intriguing.

"*Modesty?*" A laugh, dark and from the gut. "You mistake my so-called 'charm.' I'm not modest." Soon comes Tarn's other hand, a curled finger hooking the other Decepticon's chin to face him. "It's only *my* business."

"& thus, your word is absolute?" Amused, perhaps a grin laced in his voice, he watches the other preen & purr in his lap.

Tarn slowly breaks their joined hands to lace his larger fingers between smaller ones. Starscream's hands are smoother; they feel...delicate.

"I haven't quite decided.."

"Not even for a kiss? My, how you surprise." The attention seeker, rejecting attention? *Affection,* even?

Still, their touch is welcomed by another low rumble in Tarn's chest. It's followed by a huff of amusement. "Patriotic, you say; dogmatic others would."

"If you ask nicely, you may have more." He does enjoy gambling here and there, after all; although it's more of a tease.

Tarn's thumb trapped in blue, the rest of his digits come to rest around the closed bridge.

"But I know *you* know never to 'hold your breath.'" Pretty words carry only so far.

There is intrigue behind his veil, perhaps evident in the slight crinkle of the corners of his eyes. He doesn't withdraw from the touch, instead giving a hum, his own servos coming to claim the flyers. It's almost intimate, thumb gently rubbing the centre of his palm.

"You look, but don't touch."

Like I said. I could consider.

How very you.

I could probably get behind this.

Not very easily, mind, given size differences, but. . .

Tako eaxtebho...

Ooc should not be UGLY LAUGBING