The press of heavily scarred lips against his collar draws a soft sigh from the Sixer, his own lips making their way down, gliding over Tarn's audios. It does strike him as odd that Tarn would not have had the scars healed up- but then Sixshot was more weapon than ideologue and flaws like this wouldn't have been tolerated by the specialists who'd kept the six-former up and running.

Here and now, the uneveness of the scars against his plating felt... interesting anyhow.

Suddenly curious, Sixshot presses closer, thighs sliding against Tarn's, arm curled around his waist. Moving a hand up to cup the side of the purple mech's helm, he gently urges his partner to tilt his face up so that their lips would meet.