She's about to protest--weakly mind you, because in truth she's loving all the attention--when he takes up position on her aft, thighs sliding over the doorpanels that have fallen to her sides now.

"Nnnf," she says instead, her engine giving a low purring rumble, because there aren't many things that come in contact with her aft terribly often, protected the way it is by those panels. Certainly not his--YEAH ANYWAY. This is Flashpoint, trying to relax, maybe melt into the floor, and not think about how much of a turn-on this would be under different circumstances.