Well, he supposes, the good news is that he won't have to die from the shame of having fucked up this friendship and partnership, because Vasquez might kill him right the fuck now. Vasquez hits Faraday's prostate with near unerring accuracy, and Faraday cries out with it, want and need lighting up his veins like wildfire. He holds Vasquez close, his leg still hooked around Vasquez's waist, desperate for the friction of Vasquez's stomach against his aching cock. God above, Faraday thinks he's going to burst apart at the seams with the way his orgasm builds and builds and builds, dancing just out of reach.
He feels like he's lost the ability to fucking talk, which is a miracle in itself, given his silver tongue and enjoyment of his own voice. All he can manage are fierce, half-formed swears and cries and groans of pleasure. He wants to offer his further encouragement, but all that escapes him is a chant of yes, yes, fuck, yes—
God, it's fucking good. It's fucking perfect – a sentiment that Vasquez apparently shares, and the dark growl in his voice goes straight to Faraday's dick, drags out a vicious swear. ]
Shit, oh God, darlin'—
[ And in a better moment, he might go red-faced for the whine in his voice, the wordless plea.
Right now, Faraday is too far gone to give a single shit.
Because that praise tips him over, and he throws his head back, crying out as his orgasm slams into him – too quick for him to offer a proper warning. His cum splashes over their stomachs, hot and thick, and his fingers twist in Vasquez's hair, dig into his back, desperate for an anchor before he's swept away. ]
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Well, he supposes, the good news is that he won't have to die from the shame of having fucked up this friendship and partnership, because Vasquez might kill him right the fuck now. Vasquez hits Faraday's prostate with near unerring accuracy, and Faraday cries out with it, want and need lighting up his veins like wildfire. He holds Vasquez close, his leg still hooked around Vasquez's waist, desperate for the friction of Vasquez's stomach against his aching cock. God above, Faraday thinks he's going to burst apart at the seams with the way his orgasm builds and builds and builds, dancing just out of reach.
He feels like he's lost the ability to fucking talk, which is a miracle in itself, given his silver tongue and enjoyment of his own voice. All he can manage are fierce, half-formed swears and cries and groans of pleasure. He wants to offer his further encouragement, but all that escapes him is a chant of yes, yes, fuck, yes—
God, it's fucking good. It's fucking perfect – a sentiment that Vasquez apparently shares, and the dark growl in his voice goes straight to Faraday's dick, drags out a vicious swear. ]
Shit, oh God, darlin'—
[ And in a better moment, he might go red-faced for the whine in his voice, the wordless plea.
Right now, Faraday is too far gone to give a single shit.
Because that praise tips him over, and he throws his head back, crying out as his orgasm slams into him – too quick for him to offer a proper warning. His cum splashes over their stomachs, hot and thick, and his fingers twist in Vasquez's hair, dig into his back, desperate for an anchor before he's swept away. ]