anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue Voicetesting Thread

Teeth, vein, his mind skitters through calculations on clamping, damage, bleeding out- his pulse rockets, his breath goes tight, shallow until York reaches forward enough to calm him. It is only Locus. Locus who wants them to enjoy this, to feel good, who would never hurt them.

The momentary anxiety subsides leaving only that hyperawareness of his mouth, his tongue, the inevitable trail they are taking. Delta swallows, fingers twitching in Locus' hair as he deliberately tips his head back to offer him more room to work. "Affirmative."

He swallows thickly, his other hand skidding up to curl in Locus' hair. It feels the safest place right now. "Should I- ah. Disrobe?"

"If you like."

One more kiss and Locus leans back, pushing himself up onto his knees to allow Delta the room to do as he pleases. And to observe that flush under his skin, of course, the darkened red mark against his throat, the tousled appearance of his hair and his slight breathlessness.

He certainly looks like he's enjoying himself.

Just get the shirt off, bud, don't worry about being graceful.

It is a simple thought to have, a more difficult one to execute as there is this...need. To impress or otherwise entice Locus. Something of a compulsion, something of habit, and he's glad York opted for a button down for this very reason. Easier to remove slowly than a t-shirt.

Carefully he reaches up to unfasten the first button and it is so different from peeling out of armor- and yet just as intimate. His eyes dip down for a moment as he finesses the next few buttons before they catch on Locus' lips and his hand goes still, mind wild with speculation.

And at that moment, something ticks in the back of Locus's head. Something remembered, and he smirks faintly before lowering his head, lips playing over the back of Delta's fingers. Finding the button is easy, but teasing it open takes an admirable amount of skill. Taylor had been more clever and agile about it, but Locus is slow, purposeful.

Teeth and tongue manage to work one button open, before sinking down to the next, with a brief glance upwards to catch the look on Delta's face.

York and Delta's minds stutter to an absolute halt at the brush of lips over his fingers. Delta's in confusion, York's in tense anticipation. Delta- wasn't aware of this particular trick. Something York recalled doing now and then to impress someone but-

It is incredibly impressive. His breath stutters in his chest, fingers twisting about to stroke Locus' cheek, eyes rapt upon the movement of his lips, tongue.

He can't manage it with near the quickness, but it doesn't need to be. They're not in a rush. And the look on Delta's face is completely worth it, before his focus falls back to peeling those buttons open one by one.

When he's gotten to the last he leans close, nose nuzzling against warm skin just above the waist of his pants, nipping gently once there, as well.

Slow is better. More to watch, more to appreciate, more time to take in all the little details. The flick and curl of Locus' tongue, the brush of his lips, the heat of his eyes- it is a little overwhelming at first. York needs to remind him to breathe, to do or say something to show he's still present. Ultimately he opts for combing Locus' hair back as again, he swallows past a mouth gone dry.

A predator above him, one intimately known. One he cares for. One that cares for him in turn.

The bite has him twitch, a sharp, startled noise snapping out of him before he smooths a thumb against Locus' temple. "Is this sufficient?"

"Delta."

And Locus lifts his head again, eyes playing over him briefly before he presses another kiss to the warm skin of his belly. "You can participate as much or as little as you feel appropriate. We're going at your speed."

His thumb flicks idly over the fastening of his pants as he shifts down a little further, knees digging into the sheets. He pauses briefly before cocking his head.

"If you'd like...I do like it when you run your fingers against my scalp."

"I want-" This. You. The experience, the connection. Simple words and ideas he cannot quite give voice. "to reciprocate."

There.

"To participate as much as possible." That is how York enjoys these moments. Taking pleasure and giving it back tenfold. Losing himself in Locus' enjoyment of his hands and mouth. Delta has none of those skills, none of that experience- but he wants it all the same. At the prompting he smooths his fingers back along Sam's scalp again, licking his bottom lip. "Like this?"

"Mmm."

Locus's eyes shut, head tipping for a moment to appreciate the touch like a cat leaning in to be pet, before he dropped his head low again and began quietly mouthing against the front of his pants. Not quite disrobing just yet, just the idea of what would be done, the heat of his breath trapping behind the tense fabric.

The implication of intent is just as weighty as the actual act- Delta's fingers curl against Sam's scalp as he feels the first sincere stirrings of arousal. A heat coiling in the pit of his gut, a strange tumescence he only has York's experiences to fall back on as normal.

And this is normal. What he'd asked for.

Slowly, that button at the waist of his pants comes undone. When he peels his pants off of him, it's slow, methodical, letting him feel every second of it and understand it for what it was, before shuffling them down towards his knees to be kicked off, if desired.

Meanwhile, a few nuzzling kisses make their way down, over his hip and down the inside of his thigh, before brushing right up against the shaft of his cock. Gentle mouthing and a few tender licks, that's all he gets for the moment, to try and settle himself in it.

Delta had wondered why York opted to ignore underwear of any kind before handing over the controls but now? He sees the appeal. The simple act of opening his fly stirs against sensitive skin, and that hyperawareness triples as he frees a hand to prop himself up on his elbow to watch. Flush extending to his thighs, breath shallow, bottom lip caught in his teeth, Locus almost lazily settling between his legs-

Overwhelmed might be a good word for the sudden wave of heat that has him perspiring. For the way his heart thuds in his chest, the contentment that settles in the back of his mind where York rests. Half hard and on his way to full arousal he gasps at the brushes of Locus' tongue- hips twitching up on instinct that is hardwired into this body.

"Tell me how it feels to you."

This is the same little AI that was talking about urethral penetration and fisting, getting so delicately wound up by a tongue on his cock. Of course, overestimating oneself isn't a sin, and he wants to tailor this to Delta's comfort level.

There's a long, purposeful nuzzle up the length of his dick before he laps at the tip, teasing just along the slit before nosing back down again, breathing warmly against his balls. Safe to say he's learned a few things about teasing from Taylor.

"Intense-" He tries to slow his breathing, to settle. To not let something so small overwhelm him but it is. Difficult. The flick of Locus' tongue along the head, where the highest concentration of nerves rest, doesn't help in the slightest. York doing what he often offers when their positions are swapped-

That helps. "Good. Very good."

He lacks the adequate vocabulary but the low, somewhat awed tone has to convey his meaning all the same.

Edited 2016-12-12 02:03 (UTC)

"We can continue this way, until you come."

Which would be satisfying all on its own, and not necessarily the end of anything they chose to do. But there would be a limit, eventually, and he doesn't want to wear him out too early.

Those gray-green eyes flicker upwards.

"Or I can hold you off, and we can pursue something else. You mentioned penetration, before."

The concept holds significant appeal- all the more so due to York's preoccupation with the rarity of the gesture. But there's more. His body can only stand so much, York can handle multiple orgasms over the course of an evening without his mind becoming jelly and Delta-

Is not so certain of his own ability to withstand the sensations.

"I want-" Always that hesitation, that moment of making certain he is permitted to want something, to express that desire. "To pursue more. This is- it is pleasant and pleasing but-"

Insufficient? "Not what I had in mind."

"I understand." It's not insulting, at the very least, and he did ask for a reason. Still, he leans close to let his teeth scrape ever so faintly against the skin, before humming to himself.

"However, I think it might help with what we're wanting..."

A glance up provided the location of the lubricant, allowing him to slick up his fingers while he eyes Delta's cock with a thoughtful tilt of his head. Just a little time to preoccupy him, to get him to loose up. The dual sensations tended to help.

With another glance upwards he sinks down, wrapping his lips around the head of his cock, letting his tongue move in slow, warm strokes over the tip. And a second later, the warm tip of a finger strokes against the cleft of his ass.

Delta-in-York's eye flares a bright green, the sudden surge of stimulation crackling through him like nothing he's ever experienced before-

Backed with an undercurrent of pure protective fondness he cannot quite articulate. Pride? Something of the sort. He swallows and slides a hand down to continue combing his fingers through Locus' hair, thighs tipping apart obligingly. As an AI he has no shame about the body he wears, York is remarkably well put together in his humble opinion, adequately attractive and, apparently, sensitive.

Or perhaps that is simply him. Breathing settles in slow and deep, York slipping forward enough to keep D from choking, to let him enjoy how it feels- "He is-"

Delta starts, hitches his hips slightly to rock experimentally down against Locus' fingers. "Overwhelmed with fond appreciation for you right now."

The care he is taking. The consideration. "I find it difficult to differentiate from my own sentiments."

"The feeling is mutual," Locus rumbles, pulling back just enough to speak, lips spit-slick and glossy in the light. He doesn't waste much time on words, however, and spends his time instead on lapping at the head of his cock, swirling his tongue, flicking up against the underside of the head, all while those slick fingers tease against that tight hole.

Then, gradually, he lets one finger slip inside, just to the second knuckle. Just enough to let Delta feel the weight of it, the pressure, the sensation of that pad stroking him from the inside.

His eyes flicker up a moment later, gray-green and clear, watching the sensations play across Delta's face -- across York's face, too, because he's still there, still feeling this too, and it's true. That fond warmth curls tight in his chest, every bit as strong.

He'll take care of them both. Always.

York is correct: the visual is just as enthralling and stimulating as the sensation, his habit of looking away to make the moment last longer often baffled Delta but now? He understands quite well the urge. But the quiet, calm, mildly possessive bent insists he continue two watch. To analyze every moment of this experience, even if it drives him to distraction.

Delta's breath stutters out in a slow shudder, hips giving in to habit, instinct, and York's inherent muscle memory. Rolling back against that finger to show he wants it. Wants this. The insertion is strange and weighty and hot and they can take more. So much more. Quiet awe settles in behind his eyes partly from Delta but mostly from York. All this care, all this affection, and yeah letting your best friend fuck your whatever is weird but-

They're not normal. Don't need to be. "Locus-"

Low, rasped, losing the usual measured cadence as he swallows. "Please?"

It sounds like a question, sounds like a plea. It could mean any number of things, but he's grown better at intuiting meaning. York's taught him how, the things to look for, ways to empathize and sense what people want. Even an AI can be plain enough in its meaning.

So he pulls back again, nuzzling his cheek briefly against damp skin before giving a hum of acknowledgement. "I'm going to work up to three. If you want more fingers after that, I'll give them to you. But..."

And that finger flutters, before easing back, just enough to press a second in against it. Testing just how well Delta's learned to relax, gauging the tension in his body before plying him open further.

"If you'd rather integrate, we can do that first. It's up to you."

It's so far from normal, everything about this. But nothing since the day he and York met has been anything close to normal. Delta is damn near a part of him, as much as he is his own person as well, and all three of them want this. Not just fucking, but a full physical exploration of that care, that desire to make things good.

Just be good to me, he'd said, months ago. A lesson taken well to heart.

A goal, then, presented with an almost dizzying weight of possibility. They've done it before, Delta could run the numbers on the give and flex of a human body around a human hand and come up with an adequate length of preparation required for avoiding harm to the nanosecond- but he couldn't quite conceptualize how it would feel. One finger, one mouth has him driven to distraction, the equations York throws him to keep him grounded fuzzy and indistinct in the face of this potential joining.

Two and he recalls enough to relax. To angle his hips with York's shamelessness and none of his grace, none of his experience to do anything more than lay there and wait for what he is given. A million little sensations from the sheets against his back, the strands of Locus' hair in his fingers, every nerve crackling in individual bliss at that weight and pressure and oh- breathing. He needs to breathe.

Does, eventually, with a shuddering twist of a moan. "I want-"

To want. To have. To feel and here he is being given that. Allowed to want, given so he can possess this for even a moment and feeling-

Feeling so much it threatens to overwhelm him for a moment, the sentiment and sensation alike. His hands slide forward to cradles Locus' face gently, his voice warm and thick with more than desire. "You. I want you."

When he says that to Taylor, it generally means he's at a loss. He wants what comes, wants more, and cannot articulate more than that. It might be different for Delta, but it can't be that different.

Not with the look reflected in the green of his eyes. Locus's expression eases, warms in turn, before catching the corner of Delta's mouth in a kiss.

"Spread your legs a little more for me. There's something I want to show you," he rumbles, and when Delta obliges him, he slips those finger deeper and curls. He knows where that little bundle of nerves rests, it's just a matter of lighting it up, and watching Delta feel all of it in the process.

Little pieces of what's to come, to prepare him for the whole.

he leans into the kiss easily, fingers carding through Locus' hair to hold him there for a moment more. Infinite variations on a singular theme and Delta finds he wants to attempt all of them from slow and easy to fierce and biting, so long as it is done with Locus. Warmth in his chest that drops like a stone to the pit of his stomach at so simple a phrase- but he does as he's told.

Tips his thighs apart, one foot braced against the mattress, one settling to rest his heel against Locus' thigh for a further point of contact and-

Light, heat, sensation-

Even knowing how it feels in the abstract and knowing it's coming his back bows as his head falls back, a sharper, sweeter cry tumbling from his lips as the world goes bright and distant- lean thighs trembling on either side of Locus' hips, nails curled in to dig at his scalp.

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