[ There's a thrill to it, that's for certain. Not knowing if Wash will take the opportunity in front of him or not. He can guess, of course. If Washington were going to shoot him, surely he would have done already. Instead the tension stretches deliciously onward, even as cool metal presses in against his overheated skin.
Locus does in fact tip his head upwards, but that steady gaze doesn't move. Doesn't even blink. Heart hammering loud enough to thunder in his ears, he keeps his expression as steady as he can. ]
That doesn't answer the question.
[ He wants to move. Wants to continue to squeeze, to stroke, to get himself off to this despite logic telling him how sorely he needs to reach for his weapon instead. But holding himself in check is almost doing just as much for him, waiting for some sign from Wash that says what he suspects must be the case.
Whatever is happening to him? Is happening to the Freelancer as well. ]
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Locus does in fact tip his head upwards, but that steady gaze doesn't move. Doesn't even blink. Heart hammering loud enough to thunder in his ears, he keeps his expression as steady as he can. ]
That doesn't answer the question.
[ He wants to move. Wants to continue to squeeze, to stroke, to get himself off to this despite logic telling him how sorely he needs to reach for his weapon instead. But holding himself in check is almost doing just as much for him, waiting for some sign from Wash that says what he suspects must be the case.
Whatever is happening to him? Is happening to the Freelancer as well. ]