[ It takes goddamn effort, but he manages to grit each word out between waves, between the wordless, shameless noises that tear out of him – groans of pleasure and keens of distress and want.
He swears, vicious and vile, when Vasquez presses his cock against his stomach, instinctively rocking his hips to feel that delicious pressure, to feel the way the callouses on Vasquez's hand catch on the soft, sensitive skin of his cock. It's rough and dry, but so fucking good.
Because it's Vasquez.
He's wanted this for ages, and the reality is miles and miles and miles away from his paltry little fantasies.
... Jesus Christ, Faraday has no fucking idea what he's going to do with himself when this night is over.
(Probably go back to the bottles, he thinks. Probably try to drown away those stray thoughts and feelings and the thought of Vasquez's hot mouth and rough hands on his body.
... It never worked before, but, hey, maybe this time?)
Vasquez finally pulls out of him, and Faraday couldn't have stopped the sharp sound of protest that shot out of him if he cared to try. He's a wheezing, sweating mess, he knows, his hair a complete lost cause, and his mouth feels horrifically dry from the way he's been trying desperately to catch his breath, and God, he already feels so goddamn wrung out, but—
He hooks a leg around Vasquez's waist, pulling him in. He shoves himself up onto an elbow and curls his hand pointedly around Vasquez's dick.
He pants out, ]
I will murder you if you don't fuck me proper right the hell now.
no subject
fucking—
bastard—
[ It takes goddamn effort, but he manages to grit each word out between waves, between the wordless, shameless noises that tear out of him – groans of pleasure and keens of distress and want.
He swears, vicious and vile, when Vasquez presses his cock against his stomach, instinctively rocking his hips to feel that delicious pressure, to feel the way the callouses on Vasquez's hand catch on the soft, sensitive skin of his cock. It's rough and dry, but so fucking good.
Because it's Vasquez.
He's wanted this for ages, and the reality is miles and miles and miles away from his paltry little fantasies.
... Jesus Christ, Faraday has no fucking idea what he's going to do with himself when this night is over.
(Probably go back to the bottles, he thinks. Probably try to drown away those stray thoughts and feelings and the thought of Vasquez's hot mouth and rough hands on his body.
... It never worked before, but, hey, maybe this time?)
Vasquez finally pulls out of him, and Faraday couldn't have stopped the sharp sound of protest that shot out of him if he cared to try. He's a wheezing, sweating mess, he knows, his hair a complete lost cause, and his mouth feels horrifically dry from the way he's been trying desperately to catch his breath, and God, he already feels so goddamn wrung out, but—
He hooks a leg around Vasquez's waist, pulling him in. He shoves himself up onto an elbow and curls his hand pointedly around Vasquez's dick.
He pants out, ]
I will murder you if you don't fuck me proper right the hell now.