anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue Voicetesting Thread

Two fingers. That was two fingers- how could he possibly hope to take a hand? To have this so intensely he feels it in his teeth? Delta loses a little time trying to work out how much he could take as opposed to how much he wants to take before he's jarred out of it by another brush as sweet and intent as the last.

Lips slack, brow furrowed, eye dark and locked on to Locus' face- rapture in it's most sincere form. No point of reference to lessen the sensation, no desire to lessen the weight of sentiment.

This is his, for now, and that possessive curl in York's heart has an answering echo in Delta's processes. "Please."

Yes, please more, every inch of his body tipping up, legs sliding as far apart as he can manage comfortably to invite Locus in. "I want you. I want this. Please-"

"How does it feel?"

The sensation. The wanting, the desire. Let him worry about that rather than the logistics. Locus has that well enough in hand -- no pun intended -- that he needn't concern himself. Already he's spread himself far enough for a third finger to have relatively little issue in easing in and now, rather than just the spike of sensation, there's also that pressure. That feeling of fullness multiplied.

Academic curiosity is one thing. What Delta feels now is much more important, and while Locus has grown more adept at guessing? He'd rather leave none of this to chance.

"Full-" And that is something he has never experienced in any capacity. Too much data doesn't give him this slow, boneless molasses sensation. Too much anything doesn't register, he merely handles it as needed but now? Now it isn't too much- it's just enough. It's perfect and he rolls his head forward enough to watch with wide eye'd curiosity down past his leaking erection (A curious sensation in and of itself) to where Locus' wrist flexes and works between his thighs.

"Connected. Fragile? I- this is a vulnerable position." And yet he doesn't think twice about Locus being above him. "Protected. Certain, fond."

His throat clicks as he swallows, eye sliding back up to Locus'. "Immeasurably fond."

"Immeasurably? High praise."

Locus chuckles, bending his head lower to press his mouth to the hollow of Delta's throat, momentarily blocking the view before rising back once more. In, out, in again work those slick digits, until he can feel an ease to the motion. It won't last, there's a world of difference between three fingers and a cock, but they'll take it slow as need be.

'Protected.' He is surely that.

There's a soft hum as he eases his hand free, thumb smoothing over the slick muscle in a parting gesture, before reaching for himself. "If it becomes too much, or if it hurts, you will tell me."

Command. Not a request. But it is gently spoken, all the same.

"Some things cannot be so neatly described in numbers." Such as this hook in his chest that belongs to York, something that tangles them both to Locus. The flutter of his pulse when he leans close enough to kiss him, that certainty above all else. There are no equations for these variables, merely the knowledge that this exists beyond calculating.

And for the first time in his existence- Delta is alright with that.

Such a firm line of command has him shivering- but nodding in agreement all the same. "Of course."

Unlike York- Delta can be and is patient. No less greedy but- their integration is inevitable. He knows it is coming, that it is something he will have, and makes no move to hurry Locus- somewhat fascinated by the play of those slick fingers over Locus' cock.

He pays relatively little attention to himself, in contrast. It is not a show, he does not know how to perform the way Taylor does, but his eyes flick up to meet Delta's. He watches him, watching him, like a feedback of whateve voyueristic pleasure he recieves in seeing those broad fingers working over dark, slick skin.

And then he's shifting upwards, one arm reaching for Delta's leg and hoisting it higher, enough nearly to have the back of his knee resting against his shoulder. Locus leans close, that curtain of dark hair falling over his shoulder as he braces against the bed, still conscious of the body beneath him and wanting to keep every ounce of his focus there.

Be good to him.

Shifting his hips, he brings the slick head of his cock across that tight hole, just rubbing at first before pushing. Testing the give. Letting him adjust to that first taste of just how different this is going to feel, in comparison.

It'd be easy to let York's muscle memory take it from here- but Delta is too enraptured, too present to let his body do anything but what Locus prompts and what he needs to be comfortable. Arching enough to settle against the sheets, hands sliding down to comb through that dark hair and- it's a singular point of fascination for York. Delta can understand the appeal. It serves no purpose, the long hair, save that of aesthetics.

"He's right-" He manages before that first glide slides along hypersensitive skin and steals most of his breath, a faint tremor rolling up his spine. Soon. Soon he'll have Locus, he'll experience that integration sincerely-

Delta swallows and manages in a softer, awed voice. "It does make you pretty." And powerful. And- like this, hanging enough to block some of the light? Makes the moment more intimate.

Locus gives a quiet huff, even as he finds himself tipping his head into the touch. 'Pretty' is not something to be proud of, but it's become a common enough endearment from York that he's learned not to mind it. Now, Delta's going to start in on it too?

"I thought the symmetry of my features was more to your liking," he replies with an arched brow, as his hips rock slowly. It's gentle as it can be, but finally the head of his cock catches, pushes, sinks a little deeper and spreads him a little further.

Then, it's just a matter of easing in, an inch at a time, letting him feel the progressive expansion, the heat, the friction and the slide as tight muscle works to accommodate him.

"Breathe for me. Nice and deep."

"The juxtaposition of softness with the strong angles of your bone structure-" It's difficult to continue this line of conversation while he's being rocked into. Go figure. So many nerves alight and crackling, so much of him drawn tight and shivering as he's given this and oh-

Oh-

The spark of green in York's eye crackles but Delta remains as he is, rooted deeply in York's nervous system. This is- he feels- he can't-

Locus bids it and he breathes past where air had been caught in his throat, coiling out of him like so many strands of green code in a drawn out sigh. Good. It's. Good. "Makes it. Appealing- oh."

Locus finds his lips creasing into a smile as Delta stutters and falters, so wrapped up in the new sensations slamming through him. One hand smooths against his hip, a reassurance, before he dips his head further and briefly catches the AI by the lips. It's warm, slow, something to anchor him while he eases in further...until at last he's buried to the hilt.

"Good."

His forehead presses against Delta's as he lets out a slow, shuddering breath of his own. Doesn't matter how many time he takes him, it still feels incredible. These bodies know how to fit around each other by now, but Delta's responses are new on the whole, and utterly distracting.

"Just move when you feel you are able. When you want more." Another kiss, this one lower against his jaw.

"Oh-" Words. He should- words. York can speak easily and gladly to great vulgar extent while buried or penetrated but all Delta can manage is that single syllable. Less than that, even, when more and more eases in slow and inevitable like the press of his chip into York's implant. Like the many iterations required to find the proper solution and this- this is it. The balanced equation.

The key to his body's encryption, the reason for the warmth in his chest that doesn't belong entirely to York. As much as he is able to feel this fondness, this affection? It coils and curls and settles in alongside everything else of him that had been broken. Forms something new.

He is, after all, meant to learn. Adapt. Grow.

With shakey breaths he clings to Locus, lips working in senseless desperation for a little more of that grounding contact. "I feel-"

A beat- and Locus knows how he was made. Knows what he is, what he'd gone through.

"Whole."

A singular feeling for a broken AI fragment to feel. There's no need to rush past that feeling, letting Delta drink it in, because Locus remembers the first time having sex with York gave him that feeling. When the edges filled in, and the ragged, broken bits smoothed over, and he felt new. Lacking nothing in the world.

"That...that is what this gives us. You asked me once, if you remember." Rather than move, Locus shifts his grip to help keep Delta pressed flush against him, another kiss pressed lower along his throat.

"That is what it is to be with someone you care for. What I feel, too."

"Whole?" Even before Felix. Even after- to have this rough edged uncertain twist to him and find a compliment in York. Perhaps even to include him in this though Delta is certain Locus wouldn't agree to introduce him to these sensations and sentiments if Locus didn't feel a shred of that for him as well.

Solid. Safe. Certain. A constant. The word Delta fights so hard to help York hide lights up his mind but he doesn't say it.

Can't. That is not his to say, at least it is not his to say first as he must dissect the notion. A fine distraction while his body shifts and molds itself around Locus, as his arms curl around shoulders and he turns to press his lips to his temple. "He feels it as well, with you. Whole."

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.

The first press had felt like so much. Too much, too intense, too warm to possibly bear but that small brush of contact- lips and nose against his jaw, his throat- the twining of their fingers? Suddenly make what was too much nowhere near enough. He aches in ways he cannot hope to articulate, needs what he does not have the words for.

Ever helpful, York prompts him with a mental smirk.

"Locus-" Are you certain?

Yeah, he'll love it. "I need you-"

And if that isn't a desperate scrape of voice, a hitch of his hips and knot of his throat, he doesn't know what is. "I am yours for the taking."

There's a hot twist in his gut at the words, and a rumble in his throat as he draws back to gaze down at him, eyes heavy-lidded and dark.

"Then you will take, as well."

He has to bear in mind that this is not York. This is Delta, who's never known anything like this before. He has to hold himself in check, at first, when his hips draw back and roll forward in that first deep, smooth thrust. Heat bursts under his skin and washes through in a flood, and all he wants is to bury himself deep again and again. To never escape that warm embrace.

And he watches. Keeps his eyes fixed on Delta's expression as he moves into him, again. And again. Filling him, pressing tight, hand squeezing his.

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.

That unsteady plea is met with a swift response. As he watches Delta start to lose composure, to fall into instinct and reflex rather than pure thought, he quickens that pace. Still rhythmic, still steady in a way that can be counted on and prepared for, just more. Harder. Faster. Increased by increments as he lets his own reserves loosen a little at a time.

It is never only one of them that is undone by this. Not when it's done properly.

"I've got you," he promises in low, rough tones, before hitching his hips hard, and this time angling to strike deep and true. He sees that flicker in his eyes, and knows for a fact that better than that can still be earned...

There is nothing like this as an AI. No equivalent sensation or allegory- the rush of a puzzle, the satisfaction of having fulfilled his purpose? Do not come close to this deep, carnal integration. The thrust of Locus almost constant, aligning with the thrum of his pulse. The sparks crackling in the back of his mind where York lives- and all of this happening on two levels. The human, the immediate-

And the vast infinite space between each moment he experiences as an AI. An eternity of bliss, acceptance, connection, time to analyze and memorize every microexpression, every fleck of green in Locus' eyes. Too much, not enough, overwhelming-

"Locu- ah!" The green in York's eye flickers out entirely for half a second, consumed by that sudden surge of precise pleasure before flittering in again, Delta clining, panting- keening.

There it is. That's what he's after, and Locus's pleasure is evident before he sets to this new pattern. Watching Delta flicker with the intensity of it all is deeply satisfying, and more than anything else that sticks out in his mind as he moves. Making this good for him, letting him feel as much as is possible for someone like him.

"Breathe, Delta."

And that hand drops from his hip, trusting Delta to keep his hips angled exactly as he needs, before his fingers slip around his cock to curl warmly, thumb rolling over the slickening tip.

"Locus-" There, he managed a word, he managed consonants, he managed coherence. Goal made and attained in the span of a moment and he allows himself enough leeway to bury himself deep in the neural lace. To tangle and snare along every singing nerve so this is his experience.

York happily rides shotgun, shivering under Delta's soft cries, his clawed fingers grasping at Locus' shoulders. "Too much-"

He wants this to last. He wants it to continue for as long as possible, forever-

True to his word, he eases back. The stroke of those fingers becomes a firmer grip, tight against the base of his cock, and those strokes slow, dragging out the space between to an almost aching degree.

It gives him a moment to breathe without stopping, lets him swim in the sensations flooding the neural lace.

"Better?"

His head cocks slightly, nose near the brushing against Delta's cheek.

"Yes-" Infinitely so. How York can lose himself so gladly in frantic, quick rutting when the nerves of this body are so easily pleased by this slow seduction, Delta can't imagine. Perhaps it is because everything lasts longer for him. Everything is just that much more-

Between one shivering cry and the next he turns to catch Locus' lips with his. Nips at his mouth delicately in a way he recalls York employing in the past and murmurs. "Might we change position?"

This is- being covered and impaled and in constant contact- it is wonderful. But there is so much more he'd like to explore.

"Mm."

Locus slows at that, eyebrows lifting before he nips the edge of Delta's jaw in answer. "I think I know the one," he rumbles, and a second later his grip adjusts. Delta's legs are both being tugged up, to rest on either side of his hips. "Hold on."

From there, it's just a matter of twisting in the sheets, rolling himself onto his back to allow Delta to settle on top. To ride him, as York so loves to do. It will give Delta more control over their movements as well, and it seems as though he's warming to the idea.

Delta experiences a brief moment of disorientation-, the world spins and resets itself and he's braced on Locus rather than covered by him and it is-

He still feels so much smaller. Finer. Being the one above and in charge of their pace does not make him feel more powerful at all and that? Isn't as distressing as he thought it might be. No. He is too enraptured with the splay of Locus' hair across the pillows, the intense glint to his eyes as he peers up at him, the searing heat of his cock inside as he gives his hips a clumsy, inelegant twist.

"Taylor is not allowing me his muscle memory-" he'd pout if he had a mind, a small furrow appearing between his brows.

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