[ Faraday growls in exasperation at Vasquez's – admittedly, devastatingly predictable – response.
The two of them never can go about anything the easy way, can they? It was an almost fond complaint that Cognac threw their way every so often, when one or the other or both of them would come back from a mission, bruised or bloody or slightly singed.
So, sure. Faraday isn't surprised, but he doesn't have room to complain – especially not when Vasquez claims his mouth again, especially not when the wet slide of their tongues sends want spiraling through him. Vasquez readjusts his grip on their cocks, and Faraday swears into the other man's mouth, bucking into his hand, groaning at the dry slide of sensitive, velvety skin of Vasquez's cock against his own.
God, it's good. It's really fucking good, but it's not what he was hoping for. And maybe he's being greedy – especially considering Faraday had resigned himself to an existence where nothing like this would ever happen, except in his dreams – but Vasquez had made him an offer, and Faraday damn well means to collect.
He bites at Vasquez's lips again – hard, but not hard enough to break skin. ]
Jesus, Vas. Are you waitin' for a formal written invitation?
[ His voice is rough, the words heated with impatience and need.
He tangles one hand into Vasquez's hair, tugging in reprimand, while his other hand gropes around blindly for the bottle of lube Vasquez procured. ]
no subject
The two of them never can go about anything the easy way, can they? It was an almost fond complaint that Cognac threw their way every so often, when one or the other or both of them would come back from a mission, bruised or bloody or slightly singed.
So, sure. Faraday isn't surprised, but he doesn't have room to complain – especially not when Vasquez claims his mouth again, especially not when the wet slide of their tongues sends want spiraling through him. Vasquez readjusts his grip on their cocks, and Faraday swears into the other man's mouth, bucking into his hand, groaning at the dry slide of sensitive, velvety skin of Vasquez's cock against his own.
God, it's good. It's really fucking good, but it's not what he was hoping for. And maybe he's being greedy – especially considering Faraday had resigned himself to an existence where nothing like this would ever happen, except in his dreams – but Vasquez had made him an offer, and Faraday damn well means to collect.
He bites at Vasquez's lips again – hard, but not hard enough to break skin. ]
Jesus, Vas. Are you waitin' for a formal written invitation?
[ His voice is rough, the words heated with impatience and need.
He tangles one hand into Vasquez's hair, tugging in reprimand, while his other hand gropes around blindly for the bottle of lube Vasquez procured. ]
Just fuck me already, God damn you.