Each of Sixshot’s fierce thrusts earn its own gasp or cut of moan of pleasure. He can feel the spike’s knot forming as his partner’s mods come online, stretching him far past his limits each time is squeezes past the rim of his valve. It occurs to Tarn in his pleasure-drunk haze that Sixshot’s spike is much bigger than last time he had taken it. He was currently pinned beneath the full monty of Phase Sixer; no sub-spaced mass to fit into the tiny shower. But, with the pollen in his system all he feels is blinding pleasure.

So he pushes back, continuing to meet Sixshot thrusts with enthusiasm, oblivious of any damage that he may be causing himself. As his fingers find a particularly sensitive wire he is rewarded with a deep growl that sends sinful vibrations to his very core. Tarn pulls harder.

His valve is dripping. Lubricant, energon, Tarn doesn’t particularly care as long as the Phase Sixer keeps going. Nothing else matters in the world other than the wonderful slide of that huge spike inside of him, filling him, claiming him. He slams into sensor nodes that Tarn didn’t even know he had.

His mouth opens into a scream behind his stifling mask.

“Frag- Sixshot! Keep going…"