Far, far too long. So long in fact, Drift is loathe to break it now, to attend to his duties. His fingers play at the edges of those pockets of charge that lie beneath those wings, aching to touch but far too shy to do so. He's lost in the moment until Wing speaks, and even then the reluctance shows. Finally, he grips down hard on Wing's back, embracing the other close for one fierce moment before tearing himself away, his field even more reluctant than his hands.

"I should. But. We'll have time later, right?" Please just say yes? Call it the first, not the only.