"If Spinister comes after me, I'm still telling him it was your idea," Sixshot murmurs as he nibbles a lazy path over Tarn's shoulder. He slowly lowers them, sliding his hands under the other mech's aft to support him as the Sixer sinks down onto his knees.

Pale lips eventually find the side of Tarn's head and the nibbles melt into wordless nuzzling for a while. At least up until Sixshot's newfound sense of worry gets the better of him.

"Seriously though, I didn't pop any welds, did I?"