Wing jerks and shudders as Cyclonus licks out along one of his wings, his body squeezing down helplessly before Cyclonus' hips snap and he drives in hard. Wing doesn't bother trying to keep quiet, letting each thrust wring a ragged, aching sound from his throat as he dims his optics and just focuses on the sensation, the sweet, slick burn of Cyclonus pushing into him and the prickle of clawtips at the delicate mechanisms of his hips. He doesn't reach down to curl a hand around his cord yet, despite the insistent ache--just stretches himself out under Cyclonus and lets himself be fragged, his optics off lining completely and his lips parted and soft.