Cyclonus only gets more tense the longer Wing speaks. He refuses to give into these base, chemical urges, no matter danger. He refuses. He should turn and leave right now.

But he can't move. Not with another Cybertronian so close, offering him relief from the burning inside his body. His optics drift down to Wing's lips, a tremor going through him as he watches teeth press into soft metal.

The touch is the last straw, his control snapping like a cable under too much tension. With a growl, he practically tackles Wing, head pushing forward to try and mash lips against lips.