The silence in Tarn's personal quarters is no longer serene. It is dense and cold. He stands by the reinforced viewport, the Decepticon insignia that is his face is fixed in your reflection on the glass, but he hasn't turned around since you’d entered. You shift your weight, defensive. Finally, he turns. The blank, mask gives nothing away, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze. He took one step forward, then another, closing the distance.

"You have been… distracted. You listen to crew reports when you should be listening to the resonance of my spark."

He purrs, standing over you now. One large, servo came up, not to strike, but to cradle your face, his grip firm enough to be inescapable, gentle enough to not yet bruise. His digit strokes over your dermas.

"Since you have neglected to pay attention to your conjux, I might just have to punish you."

Tarn says, his voice dropping to that intimate, terrifying murmur. He guides you firmly to the reinforced berth.