anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue Voicetesting Thread

"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.

A soothing counterpoint to the frantic overstimulation of before- an easing of heightened nerves to something far more bearable. Delta shivers out a soft sigh, fingers carding through Locus' long, dark hair. He can see the appeal.

Perhaps if he ever wished for his own body he might make certain to have longer hair.

"I could not have expected anything like this. I know- roughly- the intent. The reactions. How his nerves react but- I could never have expected everything else. Knowing what he feels and experiencing it myself-"

Very different.

"And it's yours." Not someone else's, witnessed or felt by proxy. This is for him, every bit of it, and Locus presses his lips to the underside of his jaw. "I'm glad I was able to give you that."

Little AI growing from the experience and becoming something more in the process. And all that aside, there's something else there now, too. It feels like a bond strengthened, reaffirmed.

A bond he feels they may revisit in the days to come.

"As vexing as I found York witholding his muscle memory-" And he was vexed, no lie- "I agree that it was for the best, now. This is..."

He cannot find the words and doesn't try, too busy tipping his head to the side to offer Locus more. There is so much he hasn't tried, so much he wants to experience with Locus. "After we have time to recover, could we-"

Could he?

Delta's hand slips down to rest on Locus' hip. "Try this the other way around?"

Strange. There's no hesitation at all, not a second thought before he lets his head fall back, a small smile curved on his lips as he stares up at Delta from under heavy lids. "If you'd like."

Obviously if York had reservations about the idea, he'd say something right about now. Felix had come with conditions, but with Delta? He doubts the same restrictions stand.

"York is alright with it. We discussed my list of things I wished to try before he handed over control. His opinion is as long as you were alright and consented, he would as well." There is a trust here that goes beyond trusting Locus with Delta.

York is trusting Delta with Locus.

Locus hums. "Then I don't see any reason why not."

He's curious, he admits, what sort of lover Delta would choose to be, given free rein. He's just now learned exactly how it can feel, and doubtless he's taken the lesson to heart.

"This, though..." He leans down to press his lips against Locus' pulse. "This is comfortable and I am not inclined to move away just yet."

It's affirming, this affection, this embrace. "I do wonder if I will not feel more...or rather if I will not feel less delicate if I am the one doing the taking."

"Delicate?"

While acknowledging the request to stay, at least for a moment, he's not letting that one drift by without commentary. There's a small quirk of his lips, even if he doesn't stop that idle petting, nor the slow nuzzling to help ease them both down again.

"So I make you feel delicate."

"I do not know how Taylor feels any other way. You are..." He smooths a hand down Locus' chest, eyes half closed. Languid. "Powerful. Massive. Broad and strong and- the term he would use is 'brick shithouse.' By comparison we are..."

Wirey. Well muscled but damn near lithe.

"I see."

He has a fair point. By work of nature alone, few can stand as a physical peer to him. But it's not a question of mere strength, and he leans close enough to murmur low against Delta's ear.

"And if someone that powerful were to do as you say, what would that make you?"

"Fortunate." A shiver ripples down Delta's spine, skin flushing pink in short order for the rumble and implication of Locus' voice. What else would he be, to have Locus obey? To have him serve and serve gladly. "That I would be worthy of that trust."

He turns his head enough to brush his lips against Locus' jaw, hands shifting from the gradual, soothing passes of before to something more exploratory. There's so much of him to touch, so much of him to experience- and Delta wishes to experience all of it. Every inch, every warm, angled cant and shift of smooth bellied muscle.

It is his to explore.

Locus allows him to ply him open by degrees, lets him feel and taste his way inside, all while a pleased rumble catches in the back of his throat. It's Power, Delta. To have that sort of sway over the powerful makes you powerful, not delicate at all.

Calloused fingers span over Delta's sides, over familiar scars and dips in muscle, but the movement is uniquely Delta's. Curious and bright and birdlike, and so terribly fitting.

What starts as a calculated pattern meant to cover as much in as much detail as possible deviates as this or that catches Delta's interest. The rough skin of scar tissue along his ribs, the wiry hair under his navel- the flex and shift of tendon and muscle where leg meets hip before a curious nudge from York has his hand sliding up, palm resting flat against Locus' pectoral, thumb swiping idly back and forth across his nipple.

The smooth assurance of York's movements isn't present. Varying pressure, light, flitting touches until he becomes more settled and confident that he is allowed this, that Locus truly means to give him leave- and even then it is more fingertips and nails than palm and a full bodied lean.

He is patient. And Delta is still finding his feet, in an almost literal sense.

It's not the quick stirring of passion that comes from York, where they clash and mesh and find ways to draw that heat from one another. But that does not make it unpleasurable. His eyelids lower lazily as he lets Delta do as he pleases, while his own hands slide up his back, smooth over the curve of a shoulder blade or the dip of his spine. Just steady, grounding pressure and touch as he finds his way.

And occasionally, when he strikes upon a tender spot, when his fingers pluck or nails catch somewhere sensitive, he earns a softly pleased noise in response.

York, when finding such spots, hovers and hounds, applying the same pressure over and over as though to reassert that it's pleasurable. Delta merely pauses in his exploration for a moment, head tilting to one side curiously, and continues to seek out more of these patches of skin. Only after he is fairly confident he's uncovered the bulk of what is to be found on Locus' torso does he revisit them with precisely the same pressure as prompted the initial sound.

Building a new equation out of the results- this and this with such pressure equals the same, or more? Or less? More is the goal and gradually he realizes there are more points of stimuli to explore than he has limbs and he bends to the task with his mouth, lapping and teasing Locus' nipples while his hands work along ribs and hips and inner thighs, working to understand what pleases Locus on his own rather than pulling on York's memory.

Slower to start, but more precise overall. Locus's eyes roll shut as Delta sets tongue and lips to a nipple, the sharp tingle that follows sinking deep and skittering under his skin, connecting to each point he can feel his fingers trailing. Like the whole thing is connected somehow, in a way that would make sense to an AI, naturally.

His purpose is not to follow that pattern or understand it. Instead, he reacts to it. His thighs shift and spread slowly as his cock begins to stir, back rolling slow against the sheets as he hums his pleasure.

Another point of stimuli, the most obvious- and Delta doesn't discount it. One hand skims down to trail feather light fingers along the underside. Feeling out the shape of him, the thing that worked him open and broke him so sweetly not that long ago. Human bodies are a wonder to fit even in not terribly intuitive configurations.

He works his way down, none of York's skill but far more precise and quietly enthused as teeth and lips and tongue drag along every point he'd sought out with his fingers, the pattern a long line of increasing enjoyment, softest to loudest, of what made Locus react before he presses a perfectly chaste kiss to the head of his cock. He's still- sorting out how to get all of that in his mouth.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject