Rampage huffs as Sixshot manhandles him some more, legs scraping over thick knees, but he can't exactly argue with the results, the 'Con's thick spike pressing sinfully deep inside him. As Sixshot thrusts in, his port clenches tight, as if trying to keep him inside, then relaxes as he slides out again. The little mating appendages begin to stroke, gently scratching over Sixshot's cord.

He can feel the smugness radiating off his friend, and if he wasn't such a squirming, wanton pile of crab at the moment he'd totally be shaking Sixshot off and punching him in the face. But for now he's having far too much fun to do anything but tilt forward until the front of his shell brushes the ground and let out a loud groan.