It'd be easy to let York's muscle memory take it from here- but Delta is too enraptured, too present to let his body do anything but what Locus prompts and what he needs to be comfortable. Arching enough to settle against the sheets, hands sliding down to comb through that dark hair and- it's a singular point of fascination for York. Delta can understand the appeal. It serves no purpose, the long hair, save that of aesthetics.

"He's right-" He manages before that first glide slides along hypersensitive skin and steals most of his breath, a faint tremor rolling up his spine. Soon. Soon he'll have Locus, he'll experience that integration sincerely-

Delta swallows and manages in a softer, awed voice. "It does make you pretty." And powerful. And- like this, hanging enough to block some of the light? Makes the moment more intimate.