Wing tries to be patient--Cyclonus is running far hotter than he is, clearly unused to not having control of himself, and Wing does genuinely like doing this, spreading his partners out and pleasing them--it's usually one of the things that gets him revved up the fastest. But the noises Cyclonus is making erode his tight self-control until he's squirming as he sucks, leaking from his still-closed panel and trying not to choke as he makes thin, needy sounds back around Cyclonus' spike. When Cyclonus bucks up and clutches at him, the last few fragile threads of his control snap and he shoves back, vents heaving, his optics a little wild.

"Please," he gasps, pulling Cyclonus up and leaning in to bite at his mouth. He can't be more eloquent than that just now, but he makes a soft whimpering sound as he drags Cyclonus to his knees and turns, pressing his back to Cyclonus' chest briefly and hooking his fingers in the collar of Cyclonus' armor to drag him down with as he bends over. They end up with Wing pressed face-down with his panel open and Cyclonus' spike sliding against wet heat. Wing groans thinly as he abandons trying to hold himself up, pressing his palms and breastplate to the berth and rocking back against the thick slide of Cyclonus against him.

"Please!" he says again, sharp as a demand despite his spread, vulnerable position, pushing back needily. "Cyclonus, please, I need this too."