(no subject)
I should just be killed idk.
#01 - Air.
He’s been warned about it- about how strange it is, about how it’s going to be adjust, but nothing prepares him for the moment when Delta shifts and sinks into him, settling over his mind like thin webbing; York jerks, and tries to breathe though it.
#02 - Apples
For a while, Delta doesn’t understand York’s fondness for snacks, healthy or not. Food is for nourishment, it’s to keep one’s body running, and well, yes, it’s helpful if it’s enjoyable, but it’s not altogether important. It’s not until York covers an apple in melted caramel, barely waiting till it’s cool enough to bite into, that Delta admits that maybe, it’s somewhat worth it.
#03 - Beginning
In the beginning, York thinks he’s invincible. The weight of his armor resting on his shoulders, the training in the back of his mind, and Delta lingering, monitoring, being makes him practically hum with anticipation, almost grinning as he looks at Texas beside him, her back straight, hand on her gun at all times, like she wants to draw it even now, before they’re even deployed. As if she senses his gaze on hers, her head turns, and he almost squirms, because even he can feel the stare, and is unsettled by it. Omega-- well. York tries not to think about it, because Texas was already a little rough around the edges before, so maybe her and Omega are a good pairing.
#04 - Bugs
“….There are bugs, here, York,” Delta says, and some small, worn down part of York wants to laugh as he closes the door to the shop, and sits on the desk in the center of the room, its surface covered in dust. He could break them into better, he knows, but breaking into better means that he’d have to disable an alarm, perhaps, and he doesn’t feel like dealing with that right now. No, this will do for the time being, and he removes his helmet, taking a deep breath in, the smell making his throat itch with the thickness of it.
#05 - Coffee
“Four shots, please,” York rasps, and watches the liquid get poured in, his coffee strong enough to make the dead dance, and he reaches for it, rubbing his fingertips along his chin absently, realizing he needs a shave. Once the drink is in his hands, he’s already burning his mouth on it with his eagerness, feeling Delta protest faintly.
It’s the first and last time he ever has that much coffee, because for the rest of the day, his hands shake, and Delta hums almost audibly in the back of his mind, running processes and subprocesses, crunching numbers, doing all sorts of things that make York hold his head and wish he’d actually quit coffee like he’d planned to.
#06- Despair
Delta’s never been too sure of his grasp of human emotions. They’re complex things, and no matter how long he studies them-- studies York, in particular, he thinks they’re never going to make sense. For example, death. They’re both familiar with it- have caused it, even, because being a Freelancer means killing people, and they’re both aware of that. Death never meant much past that, though, even if York does feel regret for what he does, but Delta considers it a part of the job, and doesn’t understand that faint tinge of something with every kill.
It’s only when York’s (their) chest blooms with pain and Delta realizes that Texas is hovering over them, demanding questions that he answers to the best of his ability while making sure York is comfortable, that he realizes he understands despair, now; he understands knowing there’s absolutely nothing one can do when faced with death.
#20 - Green
They’ve all gone through the same training; they’ve worked together months now, and York knows just which Freelancers he works best with, who he can trust to watch his back, and who he’s not so sure of. Delta takes note of everyone and everything, offers advice, council, and statistics, filling the back of his mind with a comforting hum.
#09 - Drink
York rarely drinks, doesn’t like the idea of putting himself into a less than safe position, doesn’t like the idea of putting Delta in a less than safe position. Safety’s an uncertain thing, sometimes, but with the anniversary (Ha, what a stupid fucking word) of his eye being busted, York picks his way into a shop and slips off into the night with a full bottle of something pretty and amber, in a nice bottle. Delta says nothing, just hovers warmly in the back of his head, and that feeling seems only emphasized the more shots that sink into his belly and warm it.
In the end, Delta’s quiet voice recommending bed makes York laugh faintly, cap off the alcohol and put it away, getting out of his amror before crawling into his bed with a quiet groan. He’s not drunk, but his fingers tingle and he’s warm, warm enough that he kicks the sheets off for the moment and buries his face in the coolness of the pillow. He didn’t drink enough to get a hangover, thankfully, Delta’s quiet monitoring of everything ensuring that much.
Inhaling, then exhaling, he stretches and takes up the whole bed impressively, falling asleep within minutes, eyes heavy.
He wakes up after a dream (bending her over something, anything flat, up until she laughs, and flips them and rides him until he’s incoherent with want under her, and she’s cursing and mocking him in the same breath) with his cock hard and ready in his boxers, hand already sneaking down to cup himself without even realizing.
York makes a strained noise, jerking into his sweat-slick hand, curled tight on his side, making a noise almost like he’s in pain as he comes, too fast for him to even want to think about. A moment of groping, and he finds the tissues, wiping his hand and his dick off with no grace at all, before he rolls onto his stomach again and tries to fall asleep.
#27 - Metal
He has dreams he’s not so proud of, sometimes. Sometimes nightmares- anyone who was in their line of “work” probably had their fair share of nightmares here and there, but even while he’s a soldier, he’s also a man, and some of the dreams he can’t hold back or fight away.
Delta stays out of them, for the most part, keeping himself tucked into a corner of York’s mind, watching impassively, observing and soothing if it’s ever needed.
#01 - Air.
He’s been warned about it- about how strange it is, about how it’s going to be adjust, but nothing prepares him for the moment when Delta shifts and sinks into him, settling over his mind like thin webbing; York jerks, and tries to breathe though it.
#02 - Apples
For a while, Delta doesn’t understand York’s fondness for snacks, healthy or not. Food is for nourishment, it’s to keep one’s body running, and well, yes, it’s helpful if it’s enjoyable, but it’s not altogether important. It’s not until York covers an apple in melted caramel, barely waiting till it’s cool enough to bite into, that Delta admits that maybe, it’s somewhat worth it.
#03 - Beginning
In the beginning, York thinks he’s invincible. The weight of his armor resting on his shoulders, the training in the back of his mind, and Delta lingering, monitoring, being makes him practically hum with anticipation, almost grinning as he looks at Texas beside him, her back straight, hand on her gun at all times, like she wants to draw it even now, before they’re even deployed. As if she senses his gaze on hers, her head turns, and he almost squirms, because even he can feel the stare, and is unsettled by it. Omega-- well. York tries not to think about it, because Texas was already a little rough around the edges before, so maybe her and Omega are a good pairing.
#04 - Bugs
“….There are bugs, here, York,” Delta says, and some small, worn down part of York wants to laugh as he closes the door to the shop, and sits on the desk in the center of the room, its surface covered in dust. He could break them into better, he knows, but breaking into better means that he’d have to disable an alarm, perhaps, and he doesn’t feel like dealing with that right now. No, this will do for the time being, and he removes his helmet, taking a deep breath in, the smell making his throat itch with the thickness of it.
#05 - Coffee
“Four shots, please,” York rasps, and watches the liquid get poured in, his coffee strong enough to make the dead dance, and he reaches for it, rubbing his fingertips along his chin absently, realizing he needs a shave. Once the drink is in his hands, he’s already burning his mouth on it with his eagerness, feeling Delta protest faintly.
It’s the first and last time he ever has that much coffee, because for the rest of the day, his hands shake, and Delta hums almost audibly in the back of his mind, running processes and subprocesses, crunching numbers, doing all sorts of things that make York hold his head and wish he’d actually quit coffee like he’d planned to.
#06- Despair
Delta’s never been too sure of his grasp of human emotions. They’re complex things, and no matter how long he studies them-- studies York, in particular, he thinks they’re never going to make sense. For example, death. They’re both familiar with it- have caused it, even, because being a Freelancer means killing people, and they’re both aware of that. Death never meant much past that, though, even if York does feel regret for what he does, but Delta considers it a part of the job, and doesn’t understand that faint tinge of something with every kill.
It’s only when York’s (their) chest blooms with pain and Delta realizes that Texas is hovering over them, demanding questions that he answers to the best of his ability while making sure York is comfortable, that he realizes he understands despair, now; he understands knowing there’s absolutely nothing one can do when faced with death.
#20 - Green
They’ve all gone through the same training; they’ve worked together months now, and York knows just which Freelancers he works best with, who he can trust to watch his back, and who he’s not so sure of. Delta takes note of everyone and everything, offers advice, council, and statistics, filling the back of his mind with a comforting hum.
#09 - Drink
York rarely drinks, doesn’t like the idea of putting himself into a less than safe position, doesn’t like the idea of putting Delta in a less than safe position. Safety’s an uncertain thing, sometimes, but with the anniversary (Ha, what a stupid fucking word) of his eye being busted, York picks his way into a shop and slips off into the night with a full bottle of something pretty and amber, in a nice bottle. Delta says nothing, just hovers warmly in the back of his head, and that feeling seems only emphasized the more shots that sink into his belly and warm it.
In the end, Delta’s quiet voice recommending bed makes York laugh faintly, cap off the alcohol and put it away, getting out of his amror before crawling into his bed with a quiet groan. He’s not drunk, but his fingers tingle and he’s warm, warm enough that he kicks the sheets off for the moment and buries his face in the coolness of the pillow. He didn’t drink enough to get a hangover, thankfully, Delta’s quiet monitoring of everything ensuring that much.
Inhaling, then exhaling, he stretches and takes up the whole bed impressively, falling asleep within minutes, eyes heavy.
He wakes up after a dream (bending her over something, anything flat, up until she laughs, and flips them and rides him until he’s incoherent with want under her, and she’s cursing and mocking him in the same breath) with his cock hard and ready in his boxers, hand already sneaking down to cup himself without even realizing.
York makes a strained noise, jerking into his sweat-slick hand, curled tight on his side, making a noise almost like he’s in pain as he comes, too fast for him to even want to think about. A moment of groping, and he finds the tissues, wiping his hand and his dick off with no grace at all, before he rolls onto his stomach again and tries to fall asleep.
#27 - Metal
He has dreams he’s not so proud of, sometimes. Sometimes nightmares- anyone who was in their line of “work” probably had their fair share of nightmares here and there, but even while he’s a soldier, he’s also a man, and some of the dreams he can’t hold back or fight away.
Delta stays out of them, for the most part, keeping himself tucked into a corner of York’s mind, watching impassively, observing and soothing if it’s ever needed.