Sixshot was plenty turned on. He was just... very much more focused on Tarn's pleasure than the pings from his own equipment at the moment. His partner licking along the tip of a wing and teasing the flight sensors does a tidy job of bringing it to the forefront of his mind however.

Moaning a low, muffled noise of pleasure, the Sixer arches into the touches, teeth finding the edge of Tarn's pelvic plating. Pleasure jolts down into his gut, grounding itself behind his interface panel and he gasps a soft curse when it snaps open, the warm cleanser almost achingly cold against his equipment.

Tarn's voice has him gasping again, fingers clenching over purple hip plates.

Another?

Tilting his helm back, Sixshot runs his tongue over Tarn's spike, licking from base to the vent at the tip, moaning in quiet pleasure. He draws his fingers back, only to slide three back in, spreading the valve's slick walls apart inch by inch.