The room was almost too cramped, but Sixshot couldn't summon enough care to try and shove more of his mass into subspace right now. He's too busy trying to shove it into Tarn instead, addicted to the heat and the electrical waves of pleasure rolling off of the other Decepticon's frame, the scent, the sounds.

Tarn's fingers in his seams draws a room rattling growl from the Sixer, one massive claw slamming into the berth next to the masked mech's helm, the other locking down on purple hips. The knot was already beginning to form and he has to push harder and harder to force it past the rim of Tarn's valve, each thrust sending their combined fluids splashing onto the berth.