[ He curses under his breath when it's all too clear that Vasquez doesn't intend to pull back and ease off, as he's been doing.
The blank check is enough to make that feral thing stalk the confines of his chest, but he keeps it restrained, keeps himself under careful control while it demands that he just take and take and take.
He fucks into Vasquez's throat with careful thrusts, and while he doesn't take his time, exactly, he's still mindful to be deliberate, to set a pace that Vasquez can easily follow. On their second outing, Faraday thinks it'd probably be awful form to wreck Vasquez's throat, to leave him talking with a notable rasp come tomorrow.
But Vasquez's throat is hot, wet, and tight around Faraday's dick, and those low, appreciative groans coming from Vasquez rumble along Faraday's length. God, he's wanted Vasquez for so fucking long, and all the fantasizing in the world couldn't hold up to the reality. Vasquez is fucking perfect, and Faraday feels a faint, familiar thought at the back of his head, whining and prickly and dangerous.
(He wants to keep this. He wants to hold on for dear fucking life and never let go.)
As wound up as he's been, as much free reign as Vasquez has given him, it doesn't take long for that fire low in his gut to build up to a white-hot, towering inferno, and he feels heat spilling out, unspooling into his limbs. ]
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The blank check is enough to make that feral thing stalk the confines of his chest, but he keeps it restrained, keeps himself under careful control while it demands that he just take and take and take.
He fucks into Vasquez's throat with careful thrusts, and while he doesn't take his time, exactly, he's still mindful to be deliberate, to set a pace that Vasquez can easily follow. On their second outing, Faraday thinks it'd probably be awful form to wreck Vasquez's throat, to leave him talking with a notable rasp come tomorrow.
But Vasquez's throat is hot, wet, and tight around Faraday's dick, and those low, appreciative groans coming from Vasquez rumble along Faraday's length. God, he's wanted Vasquez for so fucking long, and all the fantasizing in the world couldn't hold up to the reality. Vasquez is fucking perfect, and Faraday feels a faint, familiar thought at the back of his head, whining and prickly and dangerous.
(He wants to keep this. He wants to hold on for dear fucking life and never let go.)
As wound up as he's been, as much free reign as Vasquez has given him, it doesn't take long for that fire low in his gut to build up to a white-hot, towering inferno, and he feels heat spilling out, unspooling into his limbs. ]
Shit, sweetheart, I'm gonna come—