[ Strange. There's no sense of renewed safety when the gun is drawn away, still slick in the light, and tossed aside. It feels every bit as dangerous when it's Washington's mouth crushing against his, his teeth closing against him, and Locus lets out a low snarl. He surges up, biting back, kissing back, it's hard to tell which.
But something hums inside him, satisfied. Yes, this. More of this, in particular.
The familiar pop-hiss of the suit catches releasing earns at least a fraction of his attention, and fingers scrabble to yank the armor out of the way, tossing it in the direction of the gun without a thought. ]
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But something hums inside him, satisfied. Yes, this. More of this, in particular.
The familiar pop-hiss of the suit catches releasing earns at least a fraction of his attention, and fingers scrabble to yank the armor out of the way, tossing it in the direction of the gun without a thought. ]