Disorientation makes Cyclonus's head spin. There are metal hands on him, someone very near him. His lips part in a silent gasp with a surge of arousal at the proximity. His plating is hot.

Who...?

He tries to focus, pulling his control back together, jerking away from the hands - he wants them all over him touch him more - and standing stiffly.

"Drift?" The name slips out of him before he gets a better look at the other Cybertronian. It's not Drift. "No, my apologies."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and wills himself to focus.