[ wash, too, can feel it - the desire to touch, to pull off the armor and the undersuit, and reach down, touch locus, the scars across his body and the feel of his skin. he feels like he can already feel the heat on his own skin - but he knows that's only his own.
he drops the helmet behind him, hearing the sound of his armor. there's an idea that grows, but it takes a moment for his brain to formulate it. ]
Pull it out.
[ he isn't specific but 'it' is pretty obvious what it is. as it stands, wash steps closer, and lets go of the gun to reach to his hip, pulling out his pistol.
he raises it as he pulls the rifle away, attaching it to the mag strip on the back of his armor. the pistol lets him get in closer, and he presses it to locus' chin. ]
Look forward, Locus.
[ wash's voice is rough, strained - it's hard to fight against the pull, the desire to just touch and sink into it. but he's trying, even if his eyes are blown wide. ]
no subject
he drops the helmet behind him, hearing the sound of his armor. there's an idea that grows, but it takes a moment for his brain to formulate it. ]
Pull it out.
[ he isn't specific but 'it' is pretty obvious what it is. as it stands, wash steps closer, and lets go of the gun to reach to his hip, pulling out his pistol.
he raises it as he pulls the rifle away, attaching it to the mag strip on the back of his armor. the pistol lets him get in closer, and he presses it to locus' chin. ]
Look forward, Locus.
[ wash's voice is rough, strained - it's hard to fight against the pull, the desire to just touch and sink into it. but he's trying, even if his eyes are blown wide. ]