First Aid's field throbs with desire, his whole frame scorching, and the pulse of the spike in his hand makes his array ache. Rampage's finger suddenly felt too small. It didn't fill him enough or stretch his lining until it ached or make his calipers strain. He makes a frustrated sound, grinding onto Rampage's palm hard enough to make the tip of his finger scrape over his ceiling node and a ragged moan escape him.

"I think I'd like that very much. Won't you ready me for him?" he breathes.

The clamp of Sixshot's field against his frame suddenly draws his attention though, and some of that sexually aggressive edge melts away to the medic's usual sweetness. He gives the sixformer a concerned look gives Rampage a parting glance before he turns and stretches out over the mech's chest, laying his cheek against it as the slows the stroking over his spike.

"Are you okay? We can go slow."

For the moment, his mind drifts to positioning. It was difficult to choose which way he wanted to face. He wanted Rampage's spark, but he also wanted to see Sixshot's face. Most of all he just wanted to be enveloped by both of them, trapped between both their bodies, surrounded by their smell and warmth. His own field gives an affectionate pulse, brushing against Sixshot's.