Certain that things have cooled enough to relinquish control, Delta steps back, allowing a sheepish slump to overtake York's posture. His hands slip to Locus' shoulders to hold himself upright, fighting down the urge to comb his fingers through Locus' hair or straighten his clothing. He'll compose himself on his own. Right? Right.

"If, uh- you need." Space. Time. A quick handjob. "Anything. Lemme know?"

Though he is loathe to peel away right now, liking this look, liking a peek under Locus' usual stoic exterior.