Oh yes. Cyclonus's smirk fades as his face goes slack with ecstasy. He cries out with each harsh thrust, hard enough to make his seldom-used valve ache, combining with the pleasure of his crackling nodes into something wonderful.

This is what he really needed.

He doesn't last long, Wing's rough thrusts driving him steadily over the edge. When he overloads it's with a scream and a roar of engines, fluid gushing from both cord and port to spatter over the floor. He's tense in Wing's tight grip, valve clenching rhythmically around his spike.

He stays that way, the moment stretching, then sags against the ground.