anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue Voicetesting Thread

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.

"He wants this to be yours."

Which is thoughtful of him, in a way. Making certain that certain lines aren't blurred and that Delta can experience this as fully and genuinely as possible. But it also means Delta is going to need help. He looks as though he's floundering.

Locus settles his hands on either side of his hips, gripping firmly. "So do I. But here, I'll show you..." And there's a guiding tug, to show him how to move. Something to start with.

The rest might come naturally, when he stops thinking about it.

"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.

"Yes."

And Locus's lips curve into a wider smile at that, seeing him start to pick up on that. Feeling the way he molds around him and starts to pick up his hips, to shift the weight of his body to match the slide of that thick length pressing inside of him.

"That's it."

Careful encouragement as Delta finds the rhythm he's looking for, and Locus tilts his hips to encourage him further, feeling the warm clutch and drag ripple through him in soft shivers.

Like this? No a little- two degrees and a half along this axis- Delta attempts to quantify the motion with a slow roll, rocking up on his heels enough to get some height for the next drop and oh the heat that rockets through him, fever sharp and doubly sweet.

'Just go with it', offers York and Delta? Tries. It becomes easier with every twist and glide, easier still when he braces his hands on Locus' shoulders and stares down, seeing what he's done, what he's doing. "This is- acceptable?"

Locus's teeth find the corner of his mouth with that lift and drop, eyes flickering shut for just a moment, letting that sweet pulse of heat ride through him before allowing his gaze to fall back on Delta.

"More than." And it's honest, every word. He still keeps his hands balanced on Delta's hips to help guide him through it, but he's got it now. He's riding him now all on his own, each move smoother. More confident.

"How does it feel?"

"Hot. Full." Like it could break him, like Locus could break him- but he won't. Doesn't want to. There's an extension of that trust and it is as intoxicating as the steady grind against that bundle of crackling nerves lighting him up from the inside out.

The next drop punches a sharp moan out of him and his hips start to go on their own- instinct and intuition and his own stuttering rhythm- none of the seductive glide but earnest, aching. "Like I could, ha- drown in you-"

"Would you want to?"

Now his hands shift. One slips down to Delta's thigh, the other smooths up along his side, drifts towards his back before laying in with the curl of nails and dragging a faint trail down his skin.

"Take me in and never let go?"

"I am not well versed in-" He loses a moment, a thread of conversation as stimuli shifts and rebounds and resonates, becoming difficult to track. Overwhelming. "Figurative language and metaphor-"

Logic is straightforward. Analytical. Critical. And yet...

And yet.

Delta's hips hitch as he sucks in a breath, eye glowing brilliantly green as he stares down at Locus. "Yes."

His voice is low, fierce. A possessive twist he reserves for Taylor coils through.

"That is what it feels like."

To come together with someone you care for, someone who means the world to you. You want that space inside their hearts, under their skin, just so long as you can be a part of them. And they a part of you.

This is nothing but the physical extension of that, how good it feels to feel that joining, the way they fit and burn brighter because of it.

"And you feel this for York-" He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is what York feels for Locus. That thing he won't put words to, the thing he's afraid of saying. And Delta-

He isn't a full personality. He has known that and been content with what he is for as long as he has existed. And yet now? He thinks he might feel more.

Feel complete.

Feel whole enough to want this, to have this, to experience it. "Do you feel this for me?"

"Yes." As Delta drops down again in that building rhythm, the word catches on a strained breath, so he repeats it again. "Yes."

How fiercely protective he feels of Delta. How fond. He has been there with them, and he is entwined in this, and this moment shared between them is every bit the proof that whatever it is is real, mutual and shared.

Perhaps between all three of them.

"I-" Building, heat stoking higher, a fever roiling under his skin with Green eyes and dark hair and a voice that rumbles in his code. Delta fights for breath, fights for some sort of evening out point to make this moment last but the body wants what it wants and chasing this equation to completion is all he can manage.

'I feel this for you.' he wants to say. To lay it out in clear words but all he can force past his high, throaty cries are two words. "Ours. You're ours."

His. York's. Theirs.

"Yes."

Affirmation. He's theirs. They are his, and they...

It's all twisting tighter and tighter, that cord of tension stretched to the breaking point, but he stays focused. He keeps his eyes on Delta where he's started to grow a little frantic with his moments, a little more desperate. God, watching those thighs quiver, hear his normally tranquil tones straining, it's beautiful. Beyond words.

And once more those hands sink to his hips, his heels digging into the mattress, and then those thrusts are coming quicker. Faster. No time for breath between, just that steady smack-smack-smack driving up into him and pulling him towards that inevitable answer.

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."

And Locus pulls him in. "Mine," he replies, before taking his mouth with his, stealing breath while he continues to thrust. Hard, fast, pounding deep until that tension finally snaps and his nails curl inward, slamming home one last time and feeling that wash of warmth flooding through him.

He knows it's truth.

The moment hangs like a heavy fog, and he's loath to let go. Even when the kiss has to end for air, all he does is pull back enough to press his forehead up against Delta's, humming in contentment.

That something snaps and tension releases and this, Delta knows, is an orgasm. But the physiological mechanics of it are less important than this moment of emotional connection and catharsis- leaving him limp and sated and clinging, moaning into Locus' mouth with every sharp snap of his hips.

This is his. This is theirs. And they are- he is-

For reasons he can't articulate he finds his eyes warm and damp, tears welling. "Locus-" Low and warm and almost reverent. All the affection he's ever held for York rolled in with sweet, sappy sighing.

"I've got you..."

The words roll in a warm rumble over his lips, and he smooths a hand over Delta's cheek, thumb sweeping across his cheek. Let him drink this in, let him savor it, let him learn for himself what it is and what it brings, and why York and Locus sought this in one another.

Now it's his, too. Heart still pounding and breath still coming in soft pants, Locus pulls him in tight to let him rest against him, and let him feel the pounding of his heart against his.

"You do." And there's no question. No anxiety over allowing himself this vulnerabilty- over allowing Locus to mind York so well as he has for the past few months. He swallows past a knot of emotion he can't name in his throat and drops his lips to Locus', trying to distract them both from the thin sheen of tears he's blinking away.

This is how it feels to be wanted.

To be loved.

And he feels it for Locus as well. Why do they fear saying the words? This is where one should say them instead of a joke- and as Delta cannot do either? He continues to rest, curled over Locus, counting the rhythm of their hearts.

Locus kisses him quietly back, slow and simmering. The heat is starting to fade into that warm glow, and he does as he often does with Taylor, making certain to keep in contact as much as possible. Chest to chest. Nuzzling against his jaw and stroking his hair. Stretching that moment out as long as possible.

"...was it what you expected?" he murmurs, after a moment. After all, Delta's been privy to York's thoughts and feelings. He must have gleaned something from that, before now.

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