If his tongue, more of Locus' tongue, and that is enough to prompt a louder noise low in his throat, a longer flick of his tongue in turn. Chasing that slick twist of muscle as he pulls himself close, all but painted against Locus' side. It's so warm. So very warm and he feels that awareness spread, suddenly caught in the glide of their tongues, the hand in his hair. Tentatively he slips his hand up to stoke Locus', fingers combing gently.