Wing moans as Ambulon pleads with him, tipping his head back and making short, hungry sounds in his throat as he shoves his hips down, his legs still shaky but his spike already starting to pressurize again. He reaches down and curls a hand around it, stroking in time with his short, rough thrusts and his optics dimmed and fixed on Ambulon's face.

"Can turn us over and let you frag me, if you like," he says, his voice crackling. His face breaks into a breathless grin and he clenches down hard, slow and deliberate. "Doesn't seem fair to make you do all the work, though."