"Let's stop talking about my cock," Sixshot mutters, casting Rampage a decidedly bemused look as he strides cautiously closer.

"First Aid," he starts and then stops, the whiff of burning circuitry lingering in the back of his mouth, derailing his train of thought. The little mech was frying. The scent sends a shimmer of conflicting signals running through the Phase Sixer's relays, a dark, hungry glow of arousal under his spark casing that was cut through with sharp slivers of worry.

"There's water nearby." Kneeling down, he reaches out to pick First Aid up so the medic wouldn't have to walk. "Come on, let's get you cooled down."