anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue Voicetesting Thread

[ 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. ]

Depends-

[ Harder to keep his voice even, impossible to bite back the gasp that hit twists out of him. Fire under his skin- and isn't that exactly where Locus said he'd wanted to be? Inside his skin? Taylor's voice dips low and rough as he jerks through the next bite, the next scrape of Locus' palm. ]

I can beg real pretty, I hear.

[ Probably toeing a line, there. Probably pretty damn stupid to bring up to the guy that just bit a bruise and growled mine into his skin like it would brand the fact into his bones that he'd fucked around before he'd met him. Locus has...impressive issues with possessiveness. Poking at them to wind him up? Will either end really well or poorly. But if it gets him more of that desperate growling, that sharp crack of Locus' hand?

He'll poke. ]

[ Consider him poked. Taylor gets the growl he's looking for, seconds before Locus's fingers slide to curl around the base of his throat, tugging his head back, fingertips digging into that bruise. ]

I am not them.

[ Fury kindled, the burn in his chest growing thicker and heavier, Locus draws his hand back again. The snap is sharper this time, catching at an angle, less blunt, fully intending on getting a yelp out of him if he can. ]

You'll have to try harder.

[ Signs point to things ending well. Awesome. ]

Ngh-

[ Taylor swallows as his head tips back, scrambling for whatever part two of this plan was. He did have a part two, right? Aside from jerking sharply at the next hit and yelling, rocking back on his heels just as hard for the next. Glutton for punishment, that's him. ]

No, you're not- [ Christ. ] You're better. None of them ever hurt me like you do, fuck me like you do-

[ There it is again, the thought that someone else has hurt him, has fucked him, that he's lain out beneath them the way he does for him, trusting and needy and saying all these pretty words...

Again, his teeth find purchase in Taylor's skin, this time along the slope of his shoulder. Can't bite his throat, too busy squeezing those fingers down, digging in, grinding his hips in against too-warm skin, and oh. It's going to be sweet when he finally does take him. He's going to get that scream he wants this time, no question. ]

I'm not-

[ Theirs he starts to say, his lips shape the word as those teeth come down hard and he's locked tight against the overwhelming heat of Locus' body. Held down, cracked open, eyes half lidded and hazy as he shouts at the ceiling. Under Locus' fingers his pulse is jackrabbit fast, breath a shuddering scrape as he tries to find his train of thought. ]

Theirs. I'm not- I'm not theirs. I'm yours- Just yours, only yours-

[ The next blow doesn't come. Instead he shifts back, far enough to reach for the hiding place for the lubricant, as he recalls from their last mission. He doesn't let go of York's throat, however. ]

They don't matter.

[ And that goes for every last 'they' in the galaxy as far as he's concerned. When he's found what he needs, he returns, dragging his teeth against the new mark. ]

This is for us. Just us.

[ Getting hard to breathe, now, and that's a rush. Leaning back away from the wall to try and follow Locus, to try to get some of the pressure off of his throat, to try to get more of his skin rubbing against Locus'. ]

Just you.

[ Them, this- whatever it is, however long it lasts? Its theirs. ]

[ That is, apparently, the right answer. The pressure eases off his throat as Locus lifts his head, lips and teeth following familiar paths over the curve of his neck.

And then there's a faint clicking sound, followed by cool, slick fingers parting Taylor and pressing up against his hole. Little time is wasted before one finger crooks into him, sinking into that tight heat with another low sound. ]

[ Taylor sucks in deep, gasping breaths once he's got the room too, dizzy with it- lax and sagging back against Locus. Just on the outside of being able to hold himself up, his other hand slips to brace himself against the bulkhead as finally that finger slips in. ]

Fuck-

[ His throat's gonna be a raw line of bruises and welts when they're done- and it's gonna be awesome. ]

[ They'll have time to recover. There's no way they're going back out again any time soon as it is, so it's safe enough to leave those marks, to know that Taylor is going to be sore and aching for days to come.

He'll take care of him, once it's done. Make sure he's comfortable and tended to. That's new, learned over the months, a strange tenderness that seems at odds with the steady grip of his fingers, the push, drawing Taylor taut against him as he works him open with slick fingers exactly as he'd said he would. ]

That's it. Show me how well you take it.

[ Just enough time to catch his breath before it's worked out of him again by a tight hand and the unyielding press of Locus' fingers working up and in. He strains to hold himself upright, throat bobbing against Locus' hand, half strangled twists of sound stuttering out on every rasped exhale. Between the fight and the adrenaline and this he's skin sweat slick and trembling.

Rocking back into every sharp grind of that finger like he needs it. ]

Please-

[ He doesn't need to worry about falling. He couldn't. Locus wouldn't let him.

Instead he holds him against the wall, feels that full-body trembling and pushes into him, deeper, faster, not quite the slow coaxing he usually employs. It's meant to make him feel, to draw his focus utterly, to see that battle with keeping himself steady on his own two feet lost.

Please. That strained little plea slips right in under his skin, and those thrusts come faster, pumping in and out of him without pause, the slick sound rising against the metal walls. ]

[ No time to breathe, no relief, Locus just pushing and pushing and pushing in a tight-raw scrape over tightly wound nerves. Any other time it'd be too much too soon but it skates along the perfect edge of rough and attentive, the burn coiling tight in the pit of Taylor's stomach as his legs give out after a particularly vicious jab. ]

Jesus fuck- Locus!

[ He clings. Claws at the wall and lets himself fall back on his hand, fall against his body, spine twisting with every sinuous attempt to get more, chasing that manic edge. ]

[ He has him. He has him, and the grip on his throat shifts down to rest against his chest, keeping him pressed back and pinned in place as Locus noses against his ear. Drinks in that growing, coiling tension with satisfaction.

No one hurts me the way you do.

He slows only when introducing a second finger, forgoing the relentless thrust for that slow stretch, the burn that follows in its wake, giving Taylor just enough time to adjust to the additional thickness before starting to build that pace anew. ]

[ Taylor coughs once he's able to breathe properly and it's still not enough, frantic, shallow gasps don't help fill his lungs but he can't fucking manage anything deeper with every sharp grind up and in like Locus is trying to lift him off his toes. It's good. It hurts. It hurts in a way he hasn't wanted in forever.

Hasn't needed in just as long. ]

Please please please please please please-

[ When he can think straight he'll beg properly, use more than just a broken word against that slow, all consuming burn. ]

[ It's the only word he needs.

Locus has forgone the use of words, falling silent again. Taylor had wanted him to talk, needed that reassurance, that grounding, but they were on the same page now. Taylor keened and twisted and Locus pounded those fingers into him, feeling the warmth of still-red skin against his knuckles when he hit deep.

He let his eyes fall shut, turned his head into the crook of Taylor's throat, not biting, but holding him fast. Breathing in the scent of his skin, his fingers poised and digging in just so over the frantic beating of his heart.

Again, that pace only slowed when the addition of another finger came, and Taylor was stretched that much wider around them. Still so tight, tight enough that those shivers could be felt in brief, quivering clenches. Soon. ]

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