Sixshot rumbles at the hands on his shoulders and slides his tongue over Tarn's throat, following the curve of his jawline and up to the edge of his crest. When he moves again, it's slow and deliberate, despite the growing howl of cooling fans filling up the room.

He locks his claws into the berth and rocks into the push of his partner's hips, slowly, constrained by the knot holding them together. He couldn't draw back, but that does little to stop him from slamming into Tarn in short, hard thrusts.