Ambulon doesn’t answer. His hand rubs reassuring circles at Wing's lower back, urging him let go to take his pleasure. The medic'a fingers pick up their pace, thrusting and curling against the charge swollen mesh walls of his partner’s valve. The amount of lubricant that he draws on each pull is frankly obscene; but really it only makes Ambulon’s charge climb faster.

Slowly, he draws back from the spike twitching against his tongue, before engulfing him again in one smooth swallow, holding fast against his base-plate. He owes this to Wing; after all he is the one who interrupted him in the first place.