Even without York's experience- Delta can see the restraint, the care Locus offers. How he keeps it slow and deep and good in ways that crackle behind his eyes and has him arching up against him, little movements that are entirely involuntary clicking to life like lines of code sliding into place. Not York, not entirely human and lacking those reservations, as though York had any in the first place-

His voice drags out high and long in a keening cry, hips hitching for more. He can take more, can't he? He thinks he can. Knows he can but the scrape of sensation that leaves him so warm, so full, like Locus is burrowing into his skin? Makes things unsteady in a way that is safe.

Trembling fingers hold fast to Locus' hand as he swallows. "Please-" More.