Tarn’s thighs tighten rhythmically against Sixshot’s hips as he feels another overload behind curling inside him. The lift beneath his aft traps his hard spike between their overheated frames, rubbing him with each eager thrust.

He grunts and throws his helm back, giving his lover more room to lap at his burning plating, arm shakily reaching behind him to support some of his weight. Dark hips buck wildly, caught between that massive paw and the immovable Phase Sixer rutting against him. Tarn’s optics flicker and dim in pleasure; his valve fluttering against Sixshot’s massive girth with each flick of that tongue against his throat.

His mind is only barely able to make a coherent thought.

“Mmmm- teeth…use your teeth again, Sixshot.."