"It can be mine with informed skills-" Now he might be pouting a little, lips pressed thin as he tries to remember how it was York would shift or twist to light up Locus' eyes- that was always a very pleasing expression and managing that on his own would be an achievement. But working from known patterns works better than stabbing in the dark.

Rude, York.

But firm hands settle on his hips and guide him into a motion that seems familiar enough and- "Oh-"

he loses a moment. A few moments. That slow grind drags and sparks all kinds of nerves till he's trembling and the next twist? Less clumsy. Less inelegent.