[ He grumbles unintelligibly under his breath before reluctantly loosening his grip on Vasquez's curls, releasing the bottle into Vasquez's hand.
He looks smug about what a mess he's made of Vasquez's hair, ruining all the careful work Vasquez had done with his light-smelling pomade to tame those curls, about the red, swollen spot he had left on Vasquez's lower lip. ]
Already took care of the foreplay in the hall.
[ And the elevator.
And— the thing is, normally, Faraday isn't opposed to drawing things out; he can't claim to be the world's greatest lover if he didn't know the value of winding someone up so tightly that they might snap. And, hell, narcissist that he can be, he would love to bask in whatever attentions his partners might throw his way. And God, what he wouldn't give to get his mouth and hands all over Vasquez, to taste every fucking inch of the other man and trace out every muscle and tendon with his tongue. And fuck, the things he'd do to get Vasquez's cock in his mouth, to lick and suck him off till the other man was a quivering, frantic mess, but—
But he thinks, any second now, the spell is going to break. The proverbial clock is going to strike midnight and yank them apart, either because work will take that chance to intervene, or someone (Vasquez, if anyone) is going to come to his senses.
Faraday would never consider himself a coward – would likely shoot anyone who insulted him by calling him one – but he's afraid that this is his only shot. He's probably never getting another chance at this. ]
C'mon. Are we doing this?
[ ... maybe he is a bit of a coward, because, noticeably or otherwise, he deliberately omits the second half of that phrase:
no subject
He looks smug about what a mess he's made of Vasquez's hair, ruining all the careful work Vasquez had done with his light-smelling pomade to tame those curls, about the red, swollen spot he had left on Vasquez's lower lip. ]
Already took care of the foreplay in the hall.
[ And the elevator.
And— the thing is, normally, Faraday isn't opposed to drawing things out; he can't claim to be the world's greatest lover if he didn't know the value of winding someone up so tightly that they might snap. And, hell, narcissist that he can be, he would love to bask in whatever attentions his partners might throw his way. And God, what he wouldn't give to get his mouth and hands all over Vasquez, to taste every fucking inch of the other man and trace out every muscle and tendon with his tongue. And fuck, the things he'd do to get Vasquez's cock in his mouth, to lick and suck him off till the other man was a quivering, frantic mess, but—
But he thinks, any second now, the spell is going to break. The proverbial clock is going to strike midnight and yank them apart, either because work will take that chance to intervene, or someone (Vasquez, if anyone) is going to come to his senses.
Faraday would never consider himself a coward – would likely shoot anyone who insulted him by calling him one – but he's afraid that this is his only shot. He's probably never getting another chance at this. ]
C'mon. Are we doing this?
[ ... maybe he is a bit of a coward, because, noticeably or otherwise, he deliberately omits the second half of that phrase:
Or not?
He doesn't want to put that in Vasquez's head. ]