[He whimpers, softly - has to let go of one of her wings to reach out and take hold of her hip, instead, needing something to steady him - needing some sort of control over the pace]

[His other hand ruffles through her feathers, firm and restless; the vine squirms its way under her shirt, more of it sliding inside so that it can reach both of her nipples]

[Meanwhile the one on her hip slips downward, tracing over the skin of her thigh]