anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

"You." Without any hesitation or shame. Now that he knows it's okay to want this, to act on it? He's gonna. Peeling himself away to pull his shirt off and toss it to the side feels almost impossible- but he wants everything he can wring out of this, just in case it's a one time deal. He'll worry about the details later. "However you want me."

On him, under him, hands or mouth or thighs or- whatever Locus wants? It's his. Here under the million stars overhead he can have whatever he wants and York'll give it over without batting an eye.

No lubricant on him, but...there are ways around that. Ways to secure this, and he stares openly as York peels away his shirt, muscle gleaming in the moonlight. There are now a list of things he'd rather like to do, but practicality narrows the list down substantially.

"Your mouth, then."

Risky business with those fangs, but he trusts York to be careful.

That's all he need to hear. Some scraps of his old swagger return as he tips his head to the side licking his lips, eyes trailing Locus from mouth to navel. "You're gonna have to lose the shirt."

Not that it's in the way of the main goal but- he wants to see all of Locus. Taste all of him too.

Is he now? A smirk curves the edge of Locus's mouth before he reaches for his own shirt, peeling it upwards and away with little effort.

Was this what he was after? Broad shoulders, still tanned and muscled, thick chest and that wiry hair leading in a trail downward past the waist of his pants.

"Goddamn-" There's so much of him. All that muscle and hair and skin just begging to be touched, nipped, to be enjoyed. He leans in, starting at Locus' throat to drag his teeth downward to his collarbone- not breaking the skin; that's not the point anymore.. The point is feeling all the possible sensations available. It's getting Locus off and enjoying him while he's got the chance.

Settled between Locus' thighs he works his way down, mouth and hands dragging over swaths of muscle, combing through wiry hair as he tongues a nipple.

He's clever with his mouth, isn't he? It had been a good choice, and how he's taken to it. Locus allows him to take his fill, to touch where he pleases, and at that tongue against his skin he hums quietly. One hand settles at the small of his back, stroking slow. Encouraging.

It's not as sweet or enthralling as blood- but it's just as deserving of his attention. Of all the focus he can pour into testing Locus' reactions for what he enjoys, for pulling tricks out of a bag long since set aside in favor of survival. Nails catch and glide as he drags his mouth ever downward, teeth nipping (lightly, no biting for blood) along his ribs and the skin under his navel. He twists a hand around to finesse open his belt but takes a moment to lock eyes with Locus.

And begin working his fly with his teeth and tongue.

"Impressive."

He's skilled. Likely had a long list of lovers before to perform for. Everything about him is certain, measured, but not so cold as calculating. Each scratch of his nails brings a fresh thrill of want down his spine, and he returns the favor, his own nails biting upwards in a long line along the curve of his back, until his fingers can cradle the nape of his neck.

Someone else might wink. Might give a smug little smirk- but there's only the bright crackling joy of having impressed Locus that flits over their connection. Pleased that he's pleasing, careful in how he works Locus' fly open to nuzzle the warm skin revealed. It smells so strongly of him here- between the scent and the hand on the back of his neck? He's drifting.

He's hard already. For all that calm exterior, York has definitely woken something in him that wants, needs, desires. To feel his breath there, the touch of those fingers, earns another small shiver down his spine. Those eyes gleam sharp and bright as he watches him.

It's like the pull of the blood, but not quite so intense. It lingers on the outside sinking inward, warm and inviting.

"Go on."

So much of him every which way. Broad chest, thick thighs, and god- He takes a careful moment to stroke Locus' cock from root to tip, eyes going half lidded and hazy. All the blood they've had and shared- he's warm. Almost alive and the thought occurs, finally, that does earn a smirk.

He doesn't need to breathe anymore.

Careful as he can be, mindful of the fangs, he licks a line up the underside o Locus' cock, swirls his tongue around the head, and sucks him down inch by inch, slowly working his way to the root with no sign of stopping.

It's that slow, smooth movement of swallowing him down that finally earns him a moan. It leaves his lips unbidden as that heat surrounds him, slick and wet, and watching York work is incredible to behold.

The urge is there, to thrust, to take his mouth until he's found completion, but he didn't live this long without some sense of restraint when needed. He's doing just fine on his own, and if Locus needs to participate, he settles for kneading his fingers along the nape of his neck, spreading his thighs a little further to accommodate.

This he knows how to do. It's been almost a goddamn decade, but he remembers how to relax around the intrusion, keep his tongue up tight against the underside, and power through any gag reflex he might have left. Down, down, until his nose is buried in the curls at the base of Locus' cock, eyes bright and wicked and so, so damn pleased. All of him. He's got all of him down and he can stay here, casually swallowing around Locus, until he feels like popping off.

Because he doesn't NEED to breathe anymore. How 'bout that? He smooths his hands down Locus' thighs, nails digging in to drag up in a slow scrape from knee to groin.

Clever, clever boy.

Teeth glint as Locus grits them tight, nostrils flaring. That hot, pulsing pressure around his cock feels incredible, and he'd been so damn close just a few minutes ago with York drawing back from him. This is more than he's felt in a long, long time.

But he doesn't break easily.

He lets him sit there instead, being pleased with himself, while his hips slowly rock. Not enough to withdraw, just enough to feel the movement, the slick pressure bobbing slightly, and watching York's lips grow slick where they sit wrapped around him.

"You're...quite the sight like this."

No fair, talking when he's got his mouth full. He does try to send along a sensation of being pleased- of that warm glow a well placed compliment gives. He hasn't felt terribly attractive in a long while. Hasn't wanted to- but now? Hard to not feel some kind of phenomenal to twist this kind of approval out of someone normally so stoic.

Taylor's lips lock tight around the base of Locus' cock as he withdraws in a steady drag, teeth set in gently to offer the barest of scrapes. More sensation to earn, hopefully, more of those low groans.

"Careful."

Uttered even as the scrape has his toes curling. Damn. If he had a pulse, it'd be racing. As it is, that need is less throbbing and more writhing, fluid, sinuous, curling tighter and tighter as he sucks and bobs, and as Locus pulls him in.

Just like that. Just...

He lets those floodgates unlock themselves, pouring the sensations back towards York. Letting him feel as he does, how very close he is.

Like this it's easy to drift. To let the steady thrust of Locus' cock in and out of his mouth lull him into that quiet, sweet place in the back of his mind even Delta can't quite reach. It's good, hot and gliding, lips slick and puffy and stretched wide around him and all he can taste, all he can smell? Is Locus. Not the blood that keeps them this warm and alive; just. Him.

Whoever he'd been before imprinted on his skin forever.

Then there's a click, a switch flipped and it's almost like a mouth on his cock, like pleasure pooling tight and hot and sudden in the pit of his stomach and he gags around Locus for his moaning. He pulls off with a wet pop, panting against his ribs as his hips hitch against the metal of the machine, trying to steady himself enough to finish. "Cheater-"

"Too much for you?"

Not the least bit repentant, for his part. York's earned that taste of what he feels, what's being done. They are connected after all, there's no reason not to share it with him...especially not with a reaction like that.

"Together." And a palm cups against his cheek, thumb swiping across those damp lips.

"Little warning-" Would've been nice, but there's no resentment. Just. Shuddering gasps against Locus' hip as he adjusts to the new wave of stimulation. But he's not about to complain. Not when he can bear down with his lips and suck him in and feel that happening just as much as Locus.

Not when he can stare up the long line of his body and start humming, his hands fisted in the fabric of Locus' slacks. Too much and almost enough and god, he needs. He aches and he's almost, almost there-

It's beautiful. There's no other word for it. Moonlight in his eyes and playing across his skin, and the sound of him humming down to his bones. The warmth of him splaying under his skin in a warm wave as the tension grows even tighter.

His hands stays there, cradled against the side of his face, fingers teasing the edge of his hair, as York swallows him down again. This is new, this curl of possessiveness that sits heavy but welcome inside. He lets himself move, thrusting up once, twice...

Then that tension breaks, cracks and shatters into a thousand pieces, and it's as though he can feel each one falling, bouncing against the rest before settling to the dirt. It's a ragged breath that escapes him, a low and rough noise like he might lose his breath if he had it.

There.

He feels that curl right along with everything else- a hook of something catching and pulling him to- himself? No. To Locus. This moment is theirs. He? Belongs to Locus. Locus belongs to him. It's a weird, gnarled tangle of emotion and sensation and sentiment he can't help parsing and can only ride out with every tight glide of his lips on Locus's- his- their cock.

Tighter and tighter, swallow after swallow, humming and shuddering, hips rocking against the metal under him until he simply can't bear it anymore but he can't come, caught up so tightly with Locus' pleasure. Can't come, won't come until that groan rips through him like a bullet and lets him finally go boneless.

Unaware if there's anything to swallow- he does all the same. Shudders and laps at Locus' cock to clean it, pulling off with a wet pop and whining at his own oversensitivity.

No, nothing, save the spitslick still shining on his cock when York pulls off, but the feeling is there. That trembling wave that comes after, when everything feels like a little too much. York's whine is what drags some semblance of his senses back to him, and his eyes open.

When had they closed? At some point he'd simply laid back and let it wash over him, but now? Now he reaches to draw York up to lie alongside him, to press close and let the sensation pool over them both.

He's more than earned it.

He goes easily, boneless and shivering all the way up. Part of him misses the feel of having something in his mouth afterward- something to taste, something to swallow. The rest is content with a lack of cleanup to worry about. Or. Will be once he can think straight again.

When he can move he tangles their legs together, nuzzling back into his customary spot, forehead pressed to Locus' throat. That was... intense. More than he'd expected.

It makes him wonder what the rest would feel like but for now? He basks, humming.

Locus simply folds arm around his waist. No need for words, not right at this moment. There was the cool of the night air, the stars above them, and this. A quiet moment to enjoy the echo of ecstasy in one another's presence.

More will be...interesting, to say the least. But even this much is a great deal more than he was expecting, tonight.

Uncertain if he has to- if that connection is still wide open or not- York focuses enough to let that thrumming, boneless contentment seep across their bond. He's...happy, here. Like this. He's comfortable and feels safe, settled.

That itch to be touched has been scratched thoroughly.

Tucked up like this? Wrapped around Locus? He's satisfied. Even that thirst that haunts them both doesn't feel so omnipresent.

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