Wing moans around Ambulon's length, a shiver wracking him before he pulls back and spreads his legs wider, ducking down. His mouth finds a bare patch of paint on Ambulon's inner thigh, lingering there before he moves up to press his lips to wet mesh, parting them, tasting slowly. His tongue slides in, curling to lick up lubricant and making a helpless, hungry little noise before shifting up to close his mouth against Ambulon's anterior node. His tongue works against it, hard and rough, while his fingers slip in to touch at Ambulon's entrance. Two slide in deep, slow and steady, until they can stroke at the terminus of Ambulon's valve in gentle circles and he resists the urge to reach down between his own legs with his free hand.

His head pulls back, mouth wet, optics a little wild with heat, and he leans in to close his mouth around Ambulon again, thumb pressing to his anterior node and his tongue working along the underside of his spike. His noises are louder now, needy little hitches in his vocalizer as Ambulon squirms, enough to sound like its his own spike getting sucked as he writhes a little between Ambulon's legs, wet and hard and empty and aching but not demanding more.