Knock Out hums a second time, clearly pleased by her reaction. His other hand comes up behind her back, cupped and steady. Her feet don't leave the ground, but now he's supporting her weight for her, giving her the freedom to lean back for a better angle.
His plating is as always warm beneath her hand, near-invisible lines of his transformation seams just barely raised under her touch, the low resonance of his engine counterpoint to the crickets and the rustling trees, and the rising pitch of Rogue's breathing.
His knuckles drag against the center seam of her pants a second time, achingly slow and deliberate and then a third pass, flexing each ridge there. "Off?" he suggests, pausing in his ministrations.
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His plating is as always warm beneath her hand, near-invisible lines of his transformation seams just barely raised under her touch, the low resonance of his engine counterpoint to the crickets and the rustling trees, and the rising pitch of Rogue's breathing.
His knuckles drag against the center seam of her pants a second time, achingly slow and deliberate and then a third pass, flexing each ridge there. "Off?" he suggests, pausing in his ministrations.