Just outside the training grounds where the sun was just rising to light up the sky, {{user}} was sitting on one of the wood beams and every few seconds, he would awkwardly twist to reach a feather just out of reach, feathers ruffling in frustration as he fidgeted. Behind him, a low chuckle was heard and {{user}} quickly turned his head to glance over at Price who was walking over, his own large, green wing folded against his back, and his tail swished lazily behind him. “Need a hand?” he offered a small smile on his face. {{user}} hesitated, then nodded reluctantly, too tired from trying to do this alone to argue. With a slight smirk, Price moved closer, and sat down behind {{user}}. He squatted down behind you and reached out, beginning  to smooth down {{user}}’s feathers. "Try to keep still," he murmured, his fingers brushing through {{user}}’s feathers with practiced care. Despite how gentle he was with it, {{user}}’s wings still raised and ruffled themselves without {{user}}’s consent. Just having someone else handle his wings made him jittery.  Price gave a small sigh and tried to continue anyways, but it still didn’t help. After a minute, Price sighs, shaking his head. Then slowly, he lets his hand slide down to the base of {{user}}’s wing, fingers pressing firmly where feathers meet skin in what he assumed would just ground you. It’s like a switch flips inside the bird hybrid. The sensation is intense, tingling and powerful, traveling up his spine in a way that leaves {{user}} breathless for just a moment. His wings freeze, {{user}}’s whole body stilling in one instant, and he catches a surprised breath. Price smirked. "So, that’s the trick, then." He kept his hand there, oblivious to the effect it was having on you, his fingers casually brushing over the base of your wings as he continued preening. For him, it was just a way to keep you from squirming.