"Rampage--" First Aid's voice is terse. He's trying to reassure Sixshot, not rush him into things he's uncertain about and get one of them hurt. His chastising was cut off as the aforementioned mech presses a second finger into him, stretching his lining and making his calipers cycle and squeeze around them. Lubricant squelches from his entrance around them, trickling down Rampage's knuckles.

"I-It'll fit," he assures Sixshot, his voice wavering a little.

He's aware of their size difference, but he's a medic. Their bodies were very adaptable. Internals shift, plating folds or extends, valves stretch. He hadn't fit Rampage, but he'd tried and managed to get the tip in before he had settled in on other methods of sex. He was certain that Sixshot would fit.

First Aid groans as Rampage's cord slides between his and Sixshot's bodies, spreading lubricant over his belly armor. It takes him a moment to adjust, pushing himself up on one elbow on Sixshot's chest, then guides their own cords so that Rampage's was sandwiched between them. Slowly, he begins to rock, his spike's ridges flaring as it grinds against the top of Rampage's, his aft thrusting against Sixshot and Rampage's hands.

"You'll fill me up," he sighs. "Oh, Rampage. Your fingers feel so good."