A goal, then, presented with an almost dizzying weight of possibility. They've done it before, Delta could run the numbers on the give and flex of a human body around a human hand and come up with an adequate length of preparation required for avoiding harm to the nanosecond- but he couldn't quite conceptualize how it would feel. One finger, one mouth has him driven to distraction, the equations York throws him to keep him grounded fuzzy and indistinct in the face of this potential joining.

Two and he recalls enough to relax. To angle his hips with York's shamelessness and none of his grace, none of his experience to do anything more than lay there and wait for what he is given. A million little sensations from the sheets against his back, the strands of Locus' hair in his fingers, every nerve crackling in individual bliss at that weight and pressure and oh- breathing. He needs to breathe.

Does, eventually, with a shuddering twist of a moan. "I want-"

To want. To have. To feel and here he is being given that. Allowed to want, given so he can possess this for even a moment and feeling-

Feeling so much it threatens to overwhelm him for a moment, the sentiment and sensation alike. His hands slide forward to cradles Locus' face gently, his voice warm and thick with more than desire. "You. I want you."