"Fff, fhuck you..." But any further words are stolen by the addition of that third finger, his mouth hanging open, voice coming out in a wordless moan; he curses, rolling his hips up to try and fuck himself on those fingers, hands grasping at the edges of the tire to brace himself.

He doesn't care about touching the Omnic. It's not his job to make it feel good or comfortable.

"... hhf. More." His first word, as soon as he can form words again, is a command. He writhes beneath him, needy, almost pleading. "Ca... ca'mon, ca'mon, hhh..."