anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

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.

His eyes slit open partway, though he's not looking at York. He stares instead into the mass of starlit sky overhead, through the swirling haze in his head, and his tongue darts over his lips as he feels York grind back against him.

It's good. It feels so good, even if this is the wrong place, the wrong time. It hardly seems to matter with York there and close and moving against him, pulling on his blood like a leash tightening.

"Taylor--"

His name has never sounded so good. So right. Low and rumbling and everything that had called him into this life and- it's too fast. It's far too quick for any kind of physical intimacy- but this isn't that, is it? Even if it feels like they're grinding their cocks together, even if it's like he's fucking Locus with only his teeth in his throat and a steady pull of blood in his mouth.

Uncertain exactly what all Locus did- he bites deeper. Pulls, a little, and tries to find that note that made everything wound tight and wonderful for him not ten minutes ago.

There's a snarl, deep and resonating, when York pulls like that. It's sharp, like nails on the back. It digs in like heels on his hips, and he turns his nails in against York's scalp as his head thuds back against the metal frame behind him.

Just like that. Harder, faster. It might not be sex but it incites the blood in the same way, the same urge and need, the thirst for it. York is more tender than he would be, but he takes it just the same.

And then.

"...enough..."

His gut instinct protests. This is good, isn't it? He's making Locus feel the same pleasure he'd felt before, he's reinforcing whatever bond they might share and aching for some sense of completion. Why stop? He's close, Taylor knows he's got to be close.

Doesn't he want that tension to snap? Doesn't he want to feel how Taylor had felt?

For a moment his teeth dig in, petulant. A little more. Just another sip, another swallow- A sharp crackle of green behind his eyes has him relenting. Cutting his tongue to flick over the wounds like he'd been taught, sitting back on Locus' hips. Though his skin is flushed and his eyes are bright- his face is relatively flat. Calm.

Delta's taken over for the moment to keep Taylor from doing anything he'd regret. "...Are you unwell?"

Locus, meanwhile, looks...rumpled. Flushed. Not a look he enjoys, and though they are alone here there is an acute sense of vulnerability that he does not care for. He swallows, attempting to straighten himself again until the weight of York's hold.

"It's...been some time," he explains, after a moment to catch his breath and compose himself. Quite the feat, considering how his nerve endings still sing. There's a sense of something missing, something he needs, gnawing at him from the inside, but--

Time. Just a little more.

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.

He sees that searching stare, despite York's abashed appearance. He seems repentant enough, but there's a gleam in his eye that says he'd want more, if allowed. Like his fingers are itching to move, his lips prepared to--

Locus's eyes narrow slightly. "Such as?" He's still regaining his bearings, the world still spinning slightly and that roiling want still burning under his skin, but he'll be damned if it gets the better of him without his permission.

"Space?" First thing out of his mouth is, of course, the least sexy but most pragmatic. People need space when coming down from a high, but-

Taylor's eyes flick to Locus' lips, the hollow of his throat, his belt buckle before slipping back up. "Or, uh. Help. With that."

He's half certain there's some kind of Vampire boner going on right now and while there's still a metric fuckton they don't know about each other- you don't leave a guy hanging if you can help it. And here, he can help it- if Locus wants.

Both of Locus's brows raise higher at the suggestion. Companionship is one thing, what he's suggesting goes a bit beyond that. Then again, boundaries always seem more complex when you share as much as they do, and when so many lines that might have existed as mortals have already been crossed.

And it is York suggesting this. Locus, for his part, looks calmly considering for a moment, despite still looking a little ruffled around the edges.

"Quite the offer. Is there something you're not telling me?"

Ugh, words. Talking about shit instead of just rolling with it. An A plus way to avoid impulsive actions but discussing shit, when outside of certain required parameters while diving into shit, is...it's a quick way to make Taylor feel self conscious.

His hands drop from Locus' shoulders to his thighs, his eyes flicking askance. Ok. Awkward. "Uh. I mean-"

It's obvious he finds Locus attractive, right? They're supposed to be attractive. That's the point of what they are, of how they hunt. Should he not? He should not. This entire moment, while awesome? Had been some kind of inappropriate. Jesus christ, Taylor, get your shit together. "I'm. Just gonna-"

Ollie out. That's what he's gonna do. As soon as he can get his feet under him.

"Stop."

And he moves upward, a hand going to York's cheek to turn his head back in his direction. No, they are living together. Hunting together. What they share is beyond what any other relationship could entail.

He's not running away from this. Not this early, anyway. Those grey-green eyes lock onto his, still hazy but determined all the same. And a moment later he's leaning forward, enough to press his lips to York's.

It's light, near chaste in comparison to the bite. A test.

One word and he freezes midrise, waiting for- well. Whatever would come next. He doesn't know the rules here, aside from 'don't get attached' and 'fire and sun are bad'. Everything else is nebulous enough to be a muddled grey area and whatever they are-

Whatever they might be? He wants to sort out without fucking it up like usual, by acting first and thinking later. He swallows as his face is turned back to Locus, for the first time looking a little wary. A bite is different from a kiss.

One's...bonding. Hot, but. Bonding. One's- human and affectionate and intimate and he's still and silent and tense under Locus' hands, tipping into the kiss all the same because it's been so long. So very, very long and he's missed it.

It's still enough for him to register that something isn't quite right. When Locus draws back, his expression is carefully blank. That breathless, flushed look? Gone, smoothed over.

"You're afraid." There's a thoughtful gleam in those eyes, his thumb running just beneath York's lower lip. "Of me?"

One would think they were rather past that point.

"Or of this..."

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