Wing moans, hungry and sweet, and leans in to swallow First Aid whole. His lips tighten softly as they touch his baseplate, plating already slick, optics burning as they lock on First Aid's face. His hands stroke up First Aid's thighs, not restraining him, and one slips in between his legs to touch light fingertips against his valve before they press a little harder, circling his anterior node. He shudders as he presses harder, fingers slipping up and in as his thumb replaces them, stretching First Aid gently and dimming his optics as he works his mouth against sensitive plating, moving in a slow, steady rhythm between First Aid's legs.