"Fuck you till-" Christ. Till what? What'd he say? "Till your hologram fizzles out. Till you can't think straight-"

He says, well on the way to that his own damn self. Hard to breathe, hard to hold, hard to keep track of limbs and time and anything more complicated than base, animal rutting in and in and in over and over while he licks that taste from Felix's mouth. The intimately familiar salty tang of Sam's come sliding along their lips hooks in deep and it doesn't matter how much of his senses Delta tries to dull or remove to keep them going- he's on his last legs here.