They grind together seamlessly. Tarn’s comparatively smaller mass writhes up from the berth to meet Sixhsot’s hips with each short thrust.

He moans openly at the feeling of that slick tongue as it brushes his audio. His plating flares to release a torrent of charge and hot air with a loud hiss.

The thick swell and grind of his partner’s spike against his oversensitive node have Tarn squirming, wanting deeper, faster, anything other than these teasing shallow thrusts. He continues to cling to Sixshot, resting his face against his shoulder. He tastes energon as he bites through his lip to keep from whining.