Cyclonus's savage resistance barely registers to Galvatron. His optics are blazing, trails of red light following the movements of his head as he kisses his former companion savagely. He breaks the kiss to trail his tongue over the mess of spilled energon running down his neck, then sinks his fangs into the cabling. The armor at his shoulders shreds under Cyclonus's claws, his blood spilling hot from the wounds and dripping down his back.

He doesn't need to reach between their frames to release his aching cord. The warmth of the Tetrahexian's panel so near his own is enough to make it fold away on its own. His cord pressurizes, a thick and heavy organ with studs along the length, and he shoves his hips forward, smearing lubricant and prefluid along the other mech's array and the apex of his thighs.

"Open." Galvatron's voice is barely above a growl from his impatience. He ached to be inside the warm, tight, familiar confines of Cyclonus's valve and to spill himself deep in him, marking him again.