If he meant to shut him up, he had the right of it. There's a spark of orange as Locus's eyes widen, sweat trickling down his temple as everything peaks, driving relentlessly now towards a breaking point, and there's no stopping. No breath between, just the steady pumping at his cock as a counterpoint to that wash of heat, that punch of air out of his lungs, over and over and over again.

Those moans turn louder, desperate. Almost pleading. Felix is silent, reveling in the feel of it and drinking it in, the closer and closer they push, until...

Like a thundercrack, it hits. Locus jerks and cries out, spilling over his own fingers and belly in static spurts, thighs trembling where they rest against York's shoulders.