Locus hums in approval, turning his head to nuzzle warmly against Delta's ear, into the crook of his neck. Just more of that contact -- affection -- as Delta adjusts around him. If he can give Delta that feeling in turn, then he's glad for it. It's rare enough that he's more than aware of its value.

Taylor is his. Delta could be, too, if he wished. They are all intertwined at this juncture, in ways that can't be readily explained or categorized, but it makes it no less true.

One hand, the one not braced against Delta's hip, searches his hand out instead. Threads their fingers together and pushes them back into the sheets as his hips give a slow flex. Not withdrawing, not quite yet, but just that modicum of movement.