Theirs. Theirs. Not Hargrove's not Felix's- theirs. York staked his claim before Delta was ever in the picture but this? It's just as Locus said. Confirmation. Affirmation of what they know is true, that which they are certain of in every line of code and drawn tight fiber of their being.

It's a fight to keep his eyes open. To watch Locus watching him, to ride out the steady snap of his hips without faltering and it's too much, it's just enough, and he quickly makes the mental comparison to overclocking before something feels like breaking.

Snapping, he bows over Locus, eye wide, green glow sputtering but present because York won't let him fall back when this is everything he'd wanted. Every nerve singing, everything as drawn out and slow, a silent eternity between one nerve's screaming bliss and the next firing off and under it all- Locus. There. Watching. Shuddering. "Mine."