It's true, Wing is entirely forgiving of Deadlock's bedside manner. As long as he's here and willing to help, Wing is grateful. He doesn't really want anyone else to see him like this: beyond it just being embarrassing and hard to explain, he'd worry what would happen if something went wrong, if his T-cog engaged again suddenly... Deadlock can take care of himself. An organic? Probably not so much.

Rather than get caught up in and agitated more by the things that could go wrong, Wing pushes those thoughts away, concentrating on the touch of the Decepticon's hands as they glide over all his flight surfaces; the jut of a canard, the leading edge of a wing. He forces himself to relax, his cooling system pushing even, steady vents of air through his frame as his sensornet ripples with tactility, glossy surfaces that are often only stroked by the wind itself reacting to touch.

It's nice. It's beyond nice. It's...definitely making Wing feel things other than fear and embarrassment. Well, maybe a little of the latter because he really shouldn't get off on this. S-should he?

"T-try nearer the base of the wing..." No, his voice isn't a little husky. You're imagining that Deadlock. And if those hands wander? Well. They can sort that out later. Right?