The long scratches fade almost as quickly as they're made, but the sting of them still has Rampage shuddering under Sixshot's bulk, a throaty groan vibrating through him.

His valve throbs with charge, each strut-shaking thrusts bringing it higher until his port is spasming around Sixshot's spike, mating limbs squeezing and scratching.

When the stretch at his entrance begins to increase, he's done for, the ache of it mixing with the sweet burn inside of him and throwing him over the edge. He howls in overload, every one of his legs curling tightly as he shudders, port clenching, fluid gushing from him.