Tarn remains stubbornly silent as he plunges his digits roughly into the silky heat of his valve. His calipers clench desperately at his thick fingers with each punishing thrust, trying to hold them in with each ebbing slide.

"I know what's happening, you fool." He bites out, static heavy in his voice. He can barely string thoughts together and forming sentences takes time and energy.

"Which is exactly why you should not be here. I can handle--ah--this."

The slick sound of Tarn's fingers fills the room. He bites down on his tongue when a whine catches in his throat. It's not enough; he knows that. But, the alternative is simply unacceptable.