With a soft growl, Cyclonus shifts until spike presses against spike, rolling his hips in a smooth motion and moaning at the drag of ridges over ridges.

His optics are offline now, simply taking in the sensation of Wing's body against him, the warmth of his lips against his own, the coil of heat in his belly and his spark. It's a sort of meditation, to focus purely on the physical to push away unwanted thoughts.