anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue Voicetesting Thread

[ It's unrelenting, that kiss. The weight of it bears him forward, and Taylor back, until he racks him back up against the wall of the shuttle. And even then, there's little pause, a low noise in the back of his throat as his free hand falls to start tearing at his armor, a piece at a time.

No apologies. Not yet. ]

[ Crowded in, full bulk of Locus plus armor plus intent pressing him back? York can't do anything but go. But thud against the wall of the shuttle as the usual tradition hooks in and twists all that panicked, frantic energy into something sleeker, sharper, hotter.

Till he scrambles to pull off Locus' armor in the same way he's being tugged free. ]

[ There's no thought to it, only a need.

This was almost gone. Like so many other things. They'd spoken before about this, how fleeting those good things could be, how neither was sure if this was real. And it had very nearly been snatched away again.

But there's no room to plan on how to do it better, only a bone-deep need to reassure himself that this is still here. He needs to feel that heart pumping under his fingers, feel the swell of breath in his chest, the taste of him on his lips. He is not losing him. He refuses.

Piece after piece clatters to the floor until he's down to leg armor and the undersuit, already peeling open, and he's still kissing him. Lungs burning for need of air but no, it can wait. It can wait a few moments more. ]

[ Like field stripping a rifle his hands find familiar catches, works the mag locks to pop out pauldrons, gauntlets, the segments of his chest plate- anything he could reach. Cutting away bit by bit, whittling Cerberus down to the thin neoprene titanium weave suit that acts as a bloodless membrane between the weapon and Locus.

Partners.

His partner and there's a coil of something aching and possessive he can't quite shake as he worms his way out of the undersuit- skids a hand down to finish stripping himself first. Can't see with his eyes closed, can't hear over the thundering of blood in his ears, can't breathe- and he doesn't want to. It's crushing an grounding rather than cloying and claustrophobic- because he knows this hungry heat. ]

[ Once he's out of the suit completely, then Locus does break the kiss. There's barely any green left to see in those eyes, dark and heavy and still tense with anger, the fingers in his hair still rigid and unyielding.

And then York is spun about to face the wall of the shuttle, up against cold steel. Locus's teeth find the crook of his shoulder, biting down hard enough to bruise, as his hands slide down the length of his back. The briefest of pauses as he yanks off his gloves, and then there's just heat, warmth, the callous catch of his palms as he grips his hips, squeezes at his ass.

Then hauls back and smacks, hard. ]

[ Dazed, he needs to take a moment to breathe. Pant, really, shuddering in Locus' grip but far too wired to begin to fall. ]

Locus-

[ Okay, words aren't gonna be a thing, he can do that. His hands skid against the wall as he braces himself, biting down on his arm to muffle the groan teeth in his shoulder prompt. Less restrained, less measured, closer to the first time on the mats than anything else and while he doesn't mind that-

The sharp crack of Locus' hand without so much as a 'ready go' has Taylor attempting to twist away and yelping. ]

Fuck- talk to me, man!

[ But there's nowhere to squirm to. Locus keeps him there, walled up by the sheer weight and size of him, a hand on the back of his head...

Not the nape of his neck, though. Not even now. He's present, he's aware. And he's leaning in to catch teeth at the edge of his ear. ]

Do you know what it felt like, watching you fall?

[ The words are heavy, thick with things he won't say, can't say, but it's the closet approximation he can get to why. His palm slides across the cheek he caught him on, tracing after the warmth that follows in the wake of the initial sting. ]

Thinking I was too late?

[ Oh.

Well. Shit. Looks like a verbal apology's not gonna cut it. Now that he knows where this is coming from, now that he gets it? Some of the frantic tension bleeds out of Taylor. That jackrabbit, caught prey pitch of his breathing slows into something sustainable. Fight and flight eases off. ]

Fucking awful.

[ Okay. This is- well it's gonna be a ride, but it's ok. ]

I'm sorry.

[ There's a stretch of time long enough for Locus to take a breath, to turn his head, nose pressing into the soft short-clipped stands of his hair, just behind his ear. ]

...I know.

[ And then that hand comes down, smartly smacking across the other cheek. Not as hard as can hit, but it's not gentle. It's meant to sting, to pull his attention entirely. ]

[ Things they don't say for so many reasons. Things they can't say buried under hands and teeth and sweetly bruised skin. ]

Go ahead.

[ He's on for the ride, now, head dipping low, forehead pressed to his forearms as Locus' hand comes down and snaps a jolt right through him. One, he counts in the back of his head. Who knows how many he's got coming. ]

[ It's not a matter of counting, not a method. Nothing precise or ordered. It's something else, instinct, feeling this out, what he should have done at the start of all this.

Yet it's brought him here. Given him this very large, very defined chink in his armor. So when that vulnerability is threatened, he does the only thing he knows how to do. ]

They won't have you.

[ The words burr against his skin before the third strike lands, the smack echoing against the shuttle walls. ]

I won't let them.

[ Taylor sucks in a sharp breath, skin stinging against the blow. Hard to feel like he's outside his own skin, hard to worry about how fucking easy it would've been for the teleporter to fuck them up.

How close he'd actually been to taking that bullet to the throat. Locus doesn't need to know that.

He'd seen more than enough from the vents as is. ]

I know.

Do you know why?

[ Smack! The next blow snaps against his skin, starting to burn under his touch, undoubtedly a very familiar shade of red, or at least growing to that point. There's a pause then between the strikes, fingers kneading over his skin, nails catching and dragging in long, slow stripes down to the edge of his thighs. ]

Nngh-

[ Hard enough that he rocks with it, leaning into the cold metal wall of the shuttle. Fucking against the bulkhead- number 34. He's revised the list a couple of times but, uh, damn. Every welt, every red sting has his shoulders unknotting, his breath getting slower, deeper, more even.

Taylor licks his lips. Swallows. ]

Because I'm yours?

[ That's it, isn't it? That's the answer. He's his partner, his weakness, his...whatever this is. His. That just slips in and knots itself tight around every frayed wire that's gotten the better of him tonight, and with a snarl he presses in, forgoes the next blow for gripping his hip tight, pulling Taylor back into him with a grind of his hips, a heavy breath against his throat. ]

Say it again.

[ If he weren't rock fucking hard and half desperate already, three words and one grind has him there in a fucking heartbeat. Taylor groans as he tries to shift his hips into that grind. Find some proper friction, get the heated length of Locus' cock rubbing somewhere it'd do him some good. ]

Yours. [ Low, almost pained. ] I'm yours.

[ Not a question this time. The words spill off his lips and Locus breathes deep, eyes sliding shut as his hips give another sharp, possessive little grind. But Taylor is winding back against him, he knows, he feels that little tug too, surely. The pull those words have, the realization knotted up in them. ]

Yes. You are.

[ Locus draws back, just enough, another swat landing across reddening skin. ]

[ Later, when he's not in the doghouse, he'll flip this on Locus. But he's still in the doghouse, still holding on tight for the ride while trying to tamp down on a niggling, hopeful thought. This is something different. A whole new pattern to sort out with its own rules and expectations and obligations. Doesn't make it any less grounding to hear the certainty in Locus' voice. ]

Bite me.

[ He cranes his head to the side to offer his throat, body a tense arc pinned between Locus' bulk and the steel wall. ]

[ Without hesitation, Locus takes the offer, and teeth dig bluntly into the meat of his throat. This is connected to what's being felt out here, the claim being laid, so he's certain to dig in hard enough to leave a mark that will last for days.

All with a low noise caught in the back of his throat, a needful, hungry sound. ]

[ Taylor can feel the bruise blooming immediately, something that'll ache like a bitch anytime he turns his head. It's perfect. It throbs in a direct line to his cock, twisting a groan out of him to match Locus'. ]

Tell me what you want.

[ One hand skids free of the all, twisting up and back to grip Locus' neck, holding him against bruised skin. ]

What do you need, Locus?

You.

[ The word is easy to find. The descriptors that need to follow, less so. But he knows, knows what he needs from him. His hands lift, fingers digging in along the lines of his ribcage and drawing back in a long, curving line of raised pink. ]

I want under your skin. I want to push you up against this wall. Open you up with my fingers.

[ The lubricant's somewhere nearby, he knows it. One of the little cabinets or containers. His teeth nip at Taylor's earlobe again. ]

I want your legs wrapped around me while I take you, and I want to hear you scream when I make you come. That's what I want.

Fuck-

[ Technically not a single vulgar word spoken- Locus' longstanding habit of never swearing has, on occasion, had Taylor pull back a little on his own. But like this? SOmehow it makes everything that much hotter. It's unfair.

Lube, where's the lube- ]

What are you waiting for?

[ That's an A+ plan in his book, he is most definitely in favor of getting cracked open and wrecked against the bulkhead. This isn't a situation where he's gonna slip down in to that soft edged, distant space. He''s too grounded, too wound up in wanting to be here for Locus. That makes it better. ]

I'm not done with you yet.

[ He'll get all that. In fact, Taylor had better enjoy the breaths between he's still able to take.

And Locus's hand flies, cracking across his cheek once again, this time almost in reprimand for trying to skip ahead, to push past what Locus already has in mind. But, in the very same instant, those teeth rake over that fresh blush of red starting to blossom across his throat. ]

You said you were sorry. I didn't say I forgave you.

Oh?

[ He's got no leg to stand on, here. No room for cheek or sarcasm or any kind of sass but- shit happens in the field. He's sorry. It's awful, he feels bad, but part of him remains uncharacteristically frustrated. Normally he accepts his fuckups with grace, leans back into blows given- drops easily, gratefully. But this time-

They won.

They completed the mission, he scraped by the skin of his teeth in more ways than he'd care to think. So he pushes back, digs his nails in against Locus' scalp. Mouths off. ]

What, do you want me to beg for it?

Do you really think begging would move me?

[ Smack!

It's entirely possible that they'll continue until he feels Taylor's had enough, until he's riding that thin line of too much and not enough. But the digging of nails doesn't do anything to convince him that he's through, no.

Those teeth nip sharper at his throat, before his hand comes down again, the burn of it soaking through his palm, radiating up his arm in sharp tingles. He knows he has to be feeling it, too. ]

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