Tarn gasps as Sixshot’s spike shifts along over-sensitized nodes. Even the tiny movement reminds him of how widely stretched he is, punctuated by a sharp ache that he readily ignores.

He melts into the warm slide of his tongue against his plating, lapping at the sluggishly bleeding punctures. The gentle moment is a rarity and Tarn takes a moment to enjoy it, temporarily escaping the stressors of life and just focusing on the feeling of his lover’s plating snugly against his. He hums lowly in contentment, affectionately brushing the edge of his mask against the side of Sixshot’s helm.

"Thank you for helping."