Fortunately for Rampage, Sixshot doesn't really manage to stay smug for long. The slick heat of the other's body, the stroke and rake of appendages over his cord has the Sixer panting with exertion. His plating was too tight, everything was too hot and charge was rolling over his plating like a storm.

Leaning down, Sixshot rakes his teeth over Rampage's armor yet again, this time hard enough to mark, hard enough to make sparks dance over the red plating as paint and metal was stripped away. He was close and getting closer and there was a knot beginning to swell up at the base of his cord, the length twitching against slick mesh walls.