The soft touches and softer sounds Wing makes stoke the low burn in Magnus' circuits and encourage him to be just a little bolder. He lifts his hand from the pallet to cup Wing's elbow, fingers light, and draw him in closer; his kisses turn slower and firmer, questing. Questioning. He's afraid to actually ask with words.

Words can sting. This… doesn't.

So he asks with the cautious tug of his lips, kissing each corner of Wing's mouth, pausing on his lower lip to lean in. Heat seeps through him from his core outward, leaving him a little light-headed, air blowing from his vents and hardly doing a thing to alleviate the pressure or the static in his arrays, the static that seems to trail behind Wing's fingers everywhere he touches. It feels good. Magnus sucks in a breath, shivers; it feels wonderful.