anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

Taylor gets quicker, slicker on the turns. Learns how he can fling himself around corners and maintain control, learns how to brace himself when he slams into reverse so he doesn't lose momentum. Shit he figured out in the armor- now with only denim and a button down protecting him.

Nothing weighing him down.

The next run around he slides under the machine and pops up, trying to cut Locus off at the corner.

It's sudden, but Locus tries to pivot. Swing around him rather than crash into him, reaching for the machine to haul himself up and out of the way. There's an opening, however.

If York thinks to take it, he could still stop him dead.

Delta catches it- relays the opportunity to York- who lunges. Leans. Snags at Locus with every wound up fiber of his being, focused on catching him and holding him still if only for a moment.

And Locus's back falls against the cold, flat surface of the machine, pale eyes staring up at York with something like pride, something that quickly bleeds across that connection they share.

It appears he's been caught. What now? that look seems to say.

He's got him pinned.

Well.

He's got Locus pinned because Locus wants to be pinned and the answering twist of pleasure at making his master proud is shot through with joy and a little, uh-

Attraction.

Something about the moonlight and his hair spilling behind him like this, about the intensity of his eyes and the way he can feel himself still wound so tight from the chase. He leans down, leans in- and catches himself at the last second. He doesn't...know Locus well enough to kiss him.

Much as he might want to.

"...Got you."

"So you do. Well done."

It's remarkable, how acutely something dead can feel. No matter how deceptively calm he looks, there is something inside that rumbles approval, that ever hungers. Perhaps not for blood, in the moment.

Still. Giving in to the beast is not always the wisest course. Locus tips his head back with a hum, surveying York for a moment. Reading him.

"Perhaps you should be rewarded."

It'll never feel quite right, this thundering in a pulse he doesn't have, the shallow gasps of breath he doesn't need. Anyone else when he'd been alive and it'd be the easiest thing in the world to kiss Locus.

But he doesn't know him. Is learning him, certainly, but- there's too much unknown. Too many variables.

Still he aches for something he can't ask for- and shivers a little at the promise in Locus' voice. "Uh- really?"

It's just a game but- he did catch him.

When his hand lifts, it's slow. Slow enough for protest before it curls against the back of York's head, drawing him in closer. Not to kiss, no. Locus's head dips long before that.

Instead, there's a sharp sliver of sweet pain as his fangs find his flesh, and he pulls. Slowly. York's fed twice tonight, so taking a little more without fear of his starving is possible.

And he'd already shown that he'd enjoyed it, greatly.

No protest. No fear, no wary dart of his eyes- merely tense anticipation. His pulse would flutter if he had a heart that beat but as it is? His eyes go dark, his body boneless at the first slide of Locus' teeth. Sharply sweet and carving right down to his core- he flushes.

Groans in the cool air and slips a hand down to cup the back of Locus' skull, holding him against his throat. It's-

There aren't words that aren't some shade of obscene.

It's beautiful, the noise that slips free of him. The way he clings to him as Locus draws slow sip after sip, warm blood spilling over his tongue, tasting of York. His essence. Strong and bright, tart and sweet, and filling him...

Careful, measured, because it always has to be, but there's something carnal in it. Something base and beautiful in this sharing of the blood. York can hide nothing like this, and what he feels? So too does his maker.

Teeth in his neck and losing blood like losing his mind- he doesn't need to breathe but his next moan wavers on a hitch, shivering out as his hips give a little reflexive grind. There's nothing almost carnal about it. It's as good as a hand on his cock, as riding Locus could be-

It's not hard to imagine, straddling him like this. Their connection thrums like gold in the back of his mind, butting up against Delta's mild curiosity and vague exasperation with Taylor's fixation on these sensations. Fond exasperation, but. Exasperation none the less.

"Please-" His voice is low, ragged and thick with several shades of arousal.

Locus's eyes open slow, as those pulses of please-want-need- come spilling off of York like a glass overflowing. One last taste. It's all he wants to risk for the moment, but York is asking for something more, something to push him further--

So those fangs dig in sharper, deeper, and he pulls. He feels it too, curling in his chest, sitting there with a brightness as hot as the sun. That is York, handsome and glowing and sun-blessed, stolen for the night, and it's satisfying to know that for all that?

He knows that in this moment, there is nowhere York would rather be.

The tension coiling in his gut tightens, shivers in a fine crimson band between them- and finally snaps as Locus does something he can't quite wrap his mind around. Every fiber of him is locked up and trembling, voice carving out a scraping moan of Locus' name as he goes boneless.

He doesn't feel like he's come in his pants but god, does he feel like he's come, eyes half lidded, body slumping against Locus' form as he lays there, panting, blissful and quiet and nuzzling into any bit of Locus' skin that he can find.

A brief nip, a drag of his tongue, and he draws away, feeling the thrum of whatever that was pulsing out from York like ripples in a pond. Of course, he can't get far. He's still leaning against the machine with York now draped over him, clutching hold and trying to nuzzle his way close.

He remembers well enough, and his hand smooths over the back of York's head as he straightens slightly. Locus, for his part, feels warmer than ever, everything in crystal-sharp focus, and if his heart still beat? It feels like it ought to be galloping.

Instead, he just holds his fledgling close. Waits.

"...s'a good reward." Taylor slurs softly, nuzzling in till his forehead's butted up against Locus' throat. He could tip his head back and bite but- there's a line. He doesn't have permission and he's feeling far too lethargic and good right now to risk this afterglow on impulse.

It's.

Nice, being held like this. Being his and he doesn't think about that too terribly hard.

It's not a thing worth thinking on, not just yet. They're still feeling out the bond between them, but he remembers what it was like for the one who made him. Their unique bond, as it was. This is a great deal more pleasant, though some things remain ever the same.

This. The resonating pleasure after feeding from one another. That sense of connection. He hadn't realized that he'd missed it this much.

"I thought it might be," he replies, tipping his head to peer down at York while he noses in like an overly-affectionate puppy.

Safe, held, connected. To go from relative isolation to this supernatural intimacy ought to be startling but-

He's craved contact of any kind for so long? That this is more than acceptable. More than enough to content him with whatever the loss of the sun or ability to connect with a group of people because he gets to have this instead. And this is beyond words, deep in his blood. "S'it as good for you as it is for me?"

"You remember I can feel what you do?"

One finger drifted low to trace where the bite had marked him, now gone, smooth, as if it had never been.

"When we are connected like this, you do not need to think it. It is a mere echo, but I am pleased if you are pleased."

Taylor shivers at the brush of Locus' finger, body feeling oddly hypersensitive on top of it's usual awareness. "Mhmm?"

Oh that- that makes a lot of sense now that he thinks about it actually. But how much does Locus get? Is it as sharp, as intense? Is it as good as that overwhelming thrum of sensation rippling up from his very core? Curiosity as him tilting his head, just enough to brush his lips against Locus' throat. "...May I, please?"

When in doubt? Manners.

Locus hesitates. It's not that he doesn't trust York, but there's a part of him that will always be cautious to baring his throat, some animal instinct that remains wary.

But York nuzzles so sweetly, asks so politely. After a moment of debate, wrestling with pride and impulse, he nods. Ever so slightly.

"...very well."

He tries to be gentle, in so much that a bite to the throat can be gentle- but he tries all the same. Makes it quick, makes it light- sipping at Locus' blood and oh.

The echo of the euphoria that made him lingers in this rich, almost earthy blood. Warm like mulled wine and so, so damn deep he's not sure how to mind himself so he doesn't take too much- Delta offers a counter in the back of his mind. Something to help him be careful.

Locus shudders, head falling back despite himself, and his eyes rolling shut as York's fangs sink into him. That pull feels like it's dragging through every vein and artery in his body, warm and pulsing, like a makeshift heartbeat.

Of course it hurts, but it's a good ache, a deep ache like a satisfying fight, or a vigorous encounter in bed. It twists slow and slithering and he lets himself sink back, a low sound catching in the back of his throat.

Like bitter coffee or dark chocolate, edged at in sweetness and spicy bitter on the back of his tongue- he wants to glut himself of this. Eaten twice tonight but this? This is the thing that calls to him. That curls in deep with every shallow sip.

That says Locus.

He could feed off a thousand girls in a thousand towns, a thousand men in a thousand clubs and he'd still ache for this the most.

This is different from opening a vein and letting him drink. The feel of it is...

Then it was calculated. It wasn't this intimate slipping under his skin, this body trapping his as the feeling of being fed on rakes across his senses. His breath hitches by impulse, not out of true need, and there's a slight arch of his hips that says maybe he's more affected by it than outward appearance might suggest.

Still waters. Inside he's moaning, clawing, begging for more, even if all that escapes in another soft sound and the tightening of his fingers.

Instinct and habit have Taylor's hips grinding down against Locus' and- this might be going further than he'd anticipated. Yet like this, teeth in his throat, blood on his tongue, he can't complain. He wants this. Knowing that it pleases Locus, feeling that sharp connection between them alive with pleasure. It's good and all he has ever wanted to be for someone? Is good.

This makes it easier, drinking lightly of him as their hips roll together, knowing that every blissful sigh he'd had before? Is now caught in Locus' throat.

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