It was like his spark had become a tuning fork and Tarn had just whacked it against the side of a tabletop. Sixshot feels his entire body light up like an over-charged flash bulb as he surges against his partner's frame.

The world was static and pleasure nothingness for a brief second, just on the knife's edge of overload. He finds himself drawing back with the metallic taste of Tarn's paint on the edge of his teeth.

And then the Sixer leans back in to kiss and nip at at vulnerable neck cables, slamming his hips up harder, forcing the knot deeper, rhythm growing erratic. Strands of electricity snap over his armor the closer he gets.