Poor Sixshot. He was just not equipped to handle this much dirty talking. His field tightens in embarrassment despite the strong current of pleasure, his optics over-bright. Up until the day the pollen started spreading the kinkiest thing he'd done was don out oral sex and fuck in slightly unusual locations.

The Sixer squirms as First Aid talks, his fans skipping a few beats. Rampage was big and it was an undeniable fact when he had his hand wrapped around the thing: big and heavy and everything Sixshot wanted right now and more- but admitting that fact was hard and all that came past his vocalizer was a strangled, mortified and needy noise. The touches on his spike weren't helping either, First Aid's fingers gliding over his length and he presses his hand against the medic's side, venting heavily both in mild panic and extreme sexual frustration.

Then Rampage joins in and he mostly just wants to explode, the hard press of the crab's fingers making his pelvic span jerk, cord jumping in First Aid's hand. His thighs clench against the crab-former's sides, heels digging into the ground. Yes, god, anything, oh Primus he wanted First Aid's hot little body above him. Oooohhh Primus. Ohh- wait-

"S- should?" Sixshot manages, suddenly very concerned, worriedly running his fingers over First Aid's shoulder armor.