[He gasps. He would have been louder, but he holds himself back. No one has played with, attended to, or even touched his wings in longer than he can really remember. The wing shivers and flicks under Predaking's mouth, but does not pull away. His own plating heats rapidly, and little rasping pants come out of his throat, accompanied by equally heated air.]
[In counterpoint to the rapid motions of the bigger frame, his own his grind more slowly, more leisurely against Predaking's. He wants to draw this out, if he can, to make the biggere bot work for this. So he holds back, keeps his paneling closed. Even while his wings are being fondled, sending sharp pangs of need straight down through his core.]
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[In counterpoint to the rapid motions of the bigger frame, his own his grind more slowly, more leisurely against Predaking's. He wants to draw this out, if he can, to make the biggere bot work for this. So he holds back, keeps his paneling closed. Even while his wings are being fondled, sending sharp pangs of need straight down through his core.]