Wing sucks in a shivering vent of air, slams his hips forward--and stops.

He hikes Cyclonus' knee higher as he presses in close and pushes down with his hips, leaving Cyclonus even less leverage as he drags one wrist down to pin Cyclonus' arm behind his back, leaving the other free as he presses down.

"That isn't very nice," he says, his voice low and liquid, optics glittering as he watches the side of Cyclonus' face where it's pressed into the cool floor, his optics intently focused, searching for any sign of real discomfort. "Try again."