Just to be safe, Faraday shoots Vasquez another glare.
Not that the attempt at censure lasts very long, because Vasquez decides to give him exactly what he asks for. And he thinks, a little briefly, a little deliriously, about what a bad precedent that sets, Vasquez giving in to his complaints and demands. That'll just encourage Faraday to do it more.
... Though the possibility of there being a next time to show Vasquez the error of his ways with this misbegotten lesson is slim to nil, Faraday figures.
He deliberately ignores the sensation of disappointment that clenches his chest.
Which is easy enough to do, once Vasquez slowly, relentlessly presses in a second finger, and Faraday rolls his hips, tries to fuck himself on Vasquez's fingers. ]
Shit, yes—
[ But when Vasquez curls his fingers just so, Faraday spasms, a moan clawing its way out of him. ]
Vasquez would give a whole hell of a lot to keep hearing Faraday like this. No griping, letting himself get lost in pleasure, reacting to everything Vasquez gives him and still demanding more.
But, rather than sliding his fingers back out, rather than continuing to fuck Faraday open, he maintains that pressure in place. He circles that bundle of nerves, rocking Faraday on his hand without giving him a second of reprieve.
Faraday had been complaining, after all, so why not give this stubborn mule of a man what he asked for?
(Vasquez doesn't know what this means for them, has no idea what they're going to do with themselves when the fragile glass house of this moment shatters, but he wants to commit this to memory, just in case. Just in case this is a one-off and he has to tuck his feelings back on a shelf to avoid complicating this.
God, it's complicated just because it's happening.) ]
[ He expects Vasquez to keep fucking him with his hand, to keep working him open so he can fuck him properly.
He does not expect the goddamn torture that Vasquez gives him instead.
It's good, at first, and Faraday groans appreciatively with it, hips rolling in an effort to keep that sensation going – that golden pleasure that makes it feel like his entire body is lit up with fireworks, sparks shooting up and down his spine.
And then it's just— overwhelming; his appreciative groans turn into low, frantic sounds, even as his body arches and writhes with each sweet curl of Vasquez's fingers. His cock fucking throbs, precum smearing on his stomach from the way it leaks, and he feels like he might actually explode if Vasquez keeps this up. ]
Vas—
[ Gasped out, thin and urgent. It's followed up by a breathy, helpless laugh that melts into an almost distressed moan when Vasquez nails that sweet spot again. ]
I thought you didn't want to be treated delicately, cariño.
[ His tone sounds so innocent, but the edge in his grin betrays how much he's enjoying watching Faraday go from eager to frantic. Vasquez shifts his other hand from Faraday's hip to his cock, firmly pinning it to Faraday's belly just to feel the way he throbs and pulses against Vasquez's palm. Faraday is flushed, whining for him, arching and squirming like he can't keep still, and, well, Vasquez doesn't blame him for that part.
He'd be much the same if their positions were reversed.
He allows himself a few more relentless sweeps over that sweet spot, Faraday's cock trapped under his hand, but, finally, mercifully, Vasquez eases away from Faraday's prostate. He slides his fingers back out, reaching for the abandoned lube. ]
You want another finger first?
[ Vasquez is certainly ready and willing to keep finger-fucking Faraday, but he also wants to make sure they're on the same page, that they're in sync instead of lagging behind or forging ahead prematurely. ]
[ 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.
[ God, how does Faraday look and sound this good? Vasquez has let his fantasy run wild some nights, but they couldn't hold a candle to reality. This intense, this gorgeous, this shameless – how could he have ever guessed Faraday was capable of it?
Vasquez is about to deal with the lube, but Faraday is suddenly yanking him forward, and Vasquez has to release Faraday's cock to catch his own weight before he accidentally headbutts the other man. A rough, heated palm curls around his own cock, and Vasquez inhales sharply, startled.
His surprise melts away into satisfaction, meeting Faraday's flushed glare with a breathless grin. ]
Te escucho.
[ He shifts his weight over Faraday, getting the bottle of lube open with one hand.
[ For a few moments, Faraday strokes Vasquez's cock, just feeling the weight of him in his palm, the soft, thin skin beneath his fingers. Faraday holds his gaze for a second, pointedly keeping his hand exactly where it is.
[ ... It's hard to keep looking smug when Faraday starts jerking him off. Watching Faraday spiraling into pleasure, seeing him react and causing it— of course it got to Vasquez. He's been hard, aching for too damn long, and even this is a shred of relief.
Vasquez licks his lips, but he doesn't protest, pressing the bottle into Faraday's hand. ]
Sweetheart— [ This, as he's finally releasing Vasquez's cock to pour lube into his palm. ] —I still haven't got a goddamn clue what you're sayin'.
[ Understanding or not, Faraday clicks the cap on the bottle closed, tossing it lightly to one side, ensuring it's still close by but not likely to be squashed. One-handed, he smears the lube over his fingers and over his palm, letting it warm for only a second before he's back to curling his hand over Vasquez's dick, spreading the lube over that soft skin.
And if he pays special attention to the sensitive spot just beneath the head, if he's mindful to tease the slit of Vasquez's cock with the pad of his thumb, if he's careful to lube the man up with tight, slow strokes – then surely it's an accident.
He grips the nape of Vasquez's neck, pulling him down while also using the other man to pull himself, meeting him halfway. Faraday crushes another kiss against Vasquez's mouth as he strokes him, as he feels the length of him, and he groans a little with the mental images of Vasquez fucking him open. ]
[ The lube isn't freezing, but it isn't immediately warm, either. Vasquez hisses with the initial contact, his hips unintentionally stuttering forward. The chill disappears quickly, and even though Vasquez expected Faraday to make quick work of it, that hand keeps moving, keeps stroking him with an unforgiving grip.
Vasquez's breathing turns ragged, rough, and he rocks into Faraday's palm, letting himself relish the contact with a shuddering moan.
(Because it's Faraday, it's Faraday.)
He goes where he's directed, a split-second of hesitation between meeting Faraday's lips and kissing him back just as fiercely; distracted as he is, he needs that heartbeat just to kickstart his brain again. There's nothing sweet in the kiss, but it's intent and personal, that rough edge bleeding through in teeth and tongue. Vasquez shifts over Faraday, leaning down to rest his weight on his forearms, lowering himself and Faraday back on the bed.
For the sake of fairness, Vasquez catches Faraday's bottom lip in a sharp pinch with his teeth before drawing back enough to pant for breath. ]
[ It's positively shameful, the way that sharp pain makes him shudder with want, the way it draws a quiet, needy noise from the back of his throat.
It's a damn good thing Faraday's given up on feeling ashamed by most things.
He chuckles, the corner of his mouth turning upward in a vicious smirk. A little mockingly, ]
So much for foreplay.
[ One more firm stroke, but Faraday releases his grip on the other man's cock, wiping off the excess slick on Vasquez's belly, like the paragon of maturity he is. ]
But with that final piece of the puzzle, Vasquez reaches for Faraday's leg, hitching his thigh higher before he shifts to guide his cock into place. Part of him wants to keep teasing Faraday, to just grind against him, to watch him get progressively more and more flustered and frustrated, but—
He's wanted this for too long. He's been waiting for ages, ages, and he's only teasing himself at this point.
Vasquez rocks forward, slowly pressing into Faraday. He doesn't rush through it, but it's a steady, unrelenting stretch. He doesn't stop until he bottoms out, until his hips are flush with Faraday's. Vasquez leans forward, catching himself on his forearm as he keeps a firm grip on Faraday's thigh, his blunt nails digging crescents into skin. ]
Mierda, cariño.
[ He feels lightheaded, flushed, and he has to hold himself still at first, overwhelmed by the consuming heat surrounding his cock. ]
[ He holds his breath as Vasquez presses in, and— yeah. Fine. Maybe a wiser man would have had Vasquez work him open more, but Faraday has never been particularly touted for his wisdom.
But— God, it's good, and the quiet burn as his muscles stretch open for Vasquez is goddamn delicious. He wraps his leg high around Vasquez's waist, and once Vasquez has pressed in fully, Faraday reaches up to tuck his face against Vasquez's throat, letting out a satisfied if slightly strained swear.
He's more than gratified to know that he's not the only one feeling overwhelmed; that hissed out "shit," Spanish though it was, was more than recognizable. He laughs, high and helpless. ]
Fuck, sweetheart, you feel goddamn amazing.
[ And Faraday has the sinking realization that Vasquez has fucking spoiled him for any future partners. For the rest of his goddamn life.
Jesus wept.
He takes a shuddering breath, shoving that feeling aside in favor of moving his hips in a languid, pointed roll, fucking himself on Vasquez's cock. He lets his head fall back to the pillows with curse. ]
Fucking shit. God. Why the hell aren't you movin'?
[ Vasquez groans when Faraday goes right ahead and kicks things off for them, a full-body shudder running through him as Faraday moves along his cock. He leans forward with another curse, pressing his forehead against Faraday's jaw as he recomposes himself with his own helpless chuckle. ]
Trying not to die, cabrón.
[ He drags his nails up Faraday's thigh, gripping the curve of his hip, before he finally rocks back on his own. Drawing out goes slowly, but the next thrust is sharp, pointedly filling Faraday again. God, he's overwhelmed by how Faraday feels around his cock, how he stretches to accommodate Vasquez, and it's fucking perfect.
More curses spill out in Spanish, but Vasquez finally begins to find a rhythm – withdrawing steadily and rocking forward with a quick snap of his hips. ]
[ He starts off a little slower than Faraday wants – the slow drag out, the sharp snap in – but Faraday can't find it in him to complain. Hell, he doesn't have all that many words left in him – most of them seem to have fucked off, leaving him only with oaths and curses and Vasquez's name rattling around in his head.
He rolls his hips to meet every thrust as well as he can, hands roving over Vasquez's back. He can feel the way his muscles coil and flex, can feel each sharp exhale escape Vasquez's mouth to ghost along his neck. He breathes in deeply, inhales the heady cocktail of cigar smoke and cologne and sweat and sex. His skin feels like it's lit up and buzzing at every point of contact, like it's two sizes too small. He feels like he might fucking shatter. ]
God— [ He moans it out as Vasquez starts to speed up, their hips snapping together obscenely. ] Yes, shit, just like that, darlin'.
[ Vasquez loses himself in how Faraday feels, in the radiating heat between them, the pleasure rocketing through his system at top speed. He genuinely doesn't remember the last time sex felt so intense, and he feels drunk on it, swallowed whole and wanting more.
He doesn't need the encouragement, but it sounds fucking perfect spilling from Faraday's lips. His fingers tighten again, and he knows he must be leaving bruises; right now, it doesn't matter. He uses his grip to drag Faraday into each thrust, sharp and rough. Usually, he'd have more consideration for the comfort of whomever he took to bed, but with Faraday, it still feels like a challenge, that relentless struggle against each other.
Vasquez restlessly presses his lips to Faraday's throat again, dragging kisses and scrapes of teeth anywhere he can reach, curses and praise growled in equal measure against his partner's skin. It's all Spanish, all quick and breathless, thoughtless when he's telling Faraday how perfect he feels, how goddamn good he is, how much he's wanted this—
The rough grip Vasquez has on his hips, the way his fingers dig into his flesh, nails leaving deep crescents in his skin—
The sharp, bruising snap of Vasquez's hips against his ass—
The way his cock drives deep into Faraday, over and fucking over—
He told Vasquez he wanted to feel this in the morning, but hell, he'll definitely be feeling this for days. He wonders if he'll even be able to sit comfortably on their plane ride home, and that idle thought shouldn't be as fucking enticing as it is.
He listens to the way Vasquez babbles, the predatory growl in the words, and Faraday hopes it's at least mostly complimentary. Could be that Vasquez is just calling him a goddamn slut in his native tongue; he supposes it doesn't matter much, either way, so long as the trajectory of this night hasn't changed Vasquez's opinion of him or their ability to work together, come morning.
But that's the million dollar question, isn't it?
He pushes it from his mind in favor of now, of the stretch of his body around Vasquez's cock, and he shifts his hips, and—
His cries out, vision going white when Vasquez's cock hits that sweet spot. He digs his fingers into Vasquez's back, his other hand tangling in in those dark curls again. ]
Maybe on a better night, he would have been moving Faraday into a position that made the angle instantly ideal, but he'd been so concerned with being close to Faraday – not to mention Faraday's own impatient demands. But that reaction? Priceless.
Vasquez growls against him with approval, and despite how fiercely Faraday holds onto him, Vasquez readjusts his grip, shifts his weight to support Faraday, enough to keep him just like that. He knows they're both going to come out of this covered in bruises, and he relishes that; as much as he can't wait to see his own marks on Faraday, he's eager to admire whatever mementos he gets to take away from tonight.
Normally, he might be more cognizant of the lasting effects of their tumble, considering their work, but he can't help how his body screams to take and take and take; it's hard to resist when Faraday is practically begging him for exactly that.
Vasquez drags his teeth over Faraday's jaw, panting against his cheek. ]
—perfect, you're fucking perfect—
[ And it's back to Spanish, back to the more unintelligible sounds of pleasure.
Vasquez might usually pride his own stamina,but everything is more intense right now. His nerves are singing with this, with how tightly Faraday is squeezing his dick, how Faraday sounds, and Vasquez almost wishes he could watch Faraday falling apart. But in reality, being any farther from Faraday than this is intolerable. ]
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. ]
[ Looking at Faraday, Vasquez genuinely never would have been able to imagine how good he could sound like this. He probably never thought Faraday was capable of these intoxicating, overwhelming responses. Not for the first nor last time, Vasquez wishes he could see the look on Faraday's face while he's losing himself, because he sounds and feels—
—perfect. Utterly perfect.
The way they're wrapped around each other is good for a lot of things, but not for the freedom to wedge a hand between them for Faraday's cock. Luckily for them both, they're so damn close, practically crushed together, and that seems to afford Faraday just enough friction.
And thank fuck, because Vasquez had no idea how much longer he'd be able to stave off his own orgasm.
Vasquez gasps against Faraday's throat as the other man tightens around him in every fucking way – pulling at his hair, digging marks into his skin, squeezing the goddamn life out of him through his cock. He crushes Faraday to him with a groan, shuddering against him as he manages a couple more savage bucks of his hips before his climax slams into him like a freight train. Vasquez wraps himself tighter around Faraday as he shakes through every golden wave that swamps his system, until he finally goes utterly boneless.
He manages not to completely collapse against Faraday, but he still holds his partner close, his face tucked against Faraday's throat as he tries to catch his breath.
Futile, probably, but he's so busy basking in the afterglow that he doesn't care. ]
[ Vasquez keeps fucking him through his orgasm, keeps fucking him through the aftershocks, then just— keeps fucking him. Thankfully not for long – God, Faraday might have actually expired if Vasquez decided then and there to try and drive him to another orgasm – and when Vasquez pulls him in close, when he comes, Faraday murmurs a few less than coherent encouragements.
And at last, they're both spent, sweaty and panting, and Vasquez's breath is hot and damp against his throat. Faraday forces himself to relax his grip in the other man's hair, tries to smooth away what must've been a sharp sting with quick strokes of the pads of his fingers over Vasquez's scalp.
With another partner clinging as close as Vasquez is, Faraday would make some quip about feeling smothered, about not being able to breathe. But— maybe he's just too cowed to speak, doesn't know what the fuck to say for fear of shattering the moment and inviting real life back in.
Or maybe it's just that he's goddamn exhausted, breath coming in rough, uneven gasps, aching in all the best goddamn ways. ]
[ In that moment, all Vasquez can think about is holding Faraday. He needs to pull away, needs to give Faraday space, but Faraday starts running his fingers through his hair, and Vasquez just melts. He feels preserved in this weird bubble, like the moment can only exist so long as they don’t pop the tenuous walls surrounding them.
Finally, after what feels like seconds and ages, Vasquez starts to shift over Faraday, pulling out of him so Vasquez can roll onto his side. (Vasquez chooses not to acknowledge his own involuntary little sound of disappointment as soon as they separate.)
He flops onto his back, looking dazedly up at the ceiling. His lips part in a crooked grin, and then, ]
[ Vasquez pulls out of him, and he can't help the quick noise that punches out of his lungs at the loss. And when shifts away entirely, Faraday—
Lets him. As much as he wants to protest.
He swallows thickly against the better disappointment that claws up his throat.
He's always had a good poker face, though, has always been good about keeping his voice even. It helped him a great deal when he was playing a part during an assignment.
And he puts it to good use now, forcing his voice, hoarse as it is, to level out, injecting it with his usual levity. ]
Just about.
[ He's too exhausted to move, even if he knows he's a goddamn mess, with cum smearing over his stomach and down his ass. ]
[ Vasquez just breathes out a low chuckle, heaving himself up to roll back onto his side. He reaches out thoughtlessly, resting his arm across Faraday’s chest. ]
I guess I will just have to try harder next time.
[ And goddamn, he’s buzzing too much on the endorphins to think about the implications of his words. ]
[ Faraday goes quiet at the easy contact, at those words, maintaining his poker face – that neutral sort of look, with just that touch of good humor in his eyes, tugging at the corner of his mouth.
A slip of the tongue thanks to the afterglow, maybe. Or else this fuck was good enough to convince Vasquez they should keep at it – and that, Faraday privately thinks, they absolutely should.
It's too much to parse with his mind as fuzzy and exhausted as it is, so for now, he just offers a joke, ]
Unless you've got plans to cause a literal explosion, I doubt you've got any tricks that'd do me in.
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no subject
It felt like an insult.
Just to be safe, Faraday shoots Vasquez another glare.
Not that the attempt at censure lasts very long, because Vasquez decides to give him exactly what he asks for. And he thinks, a little briefly, a little deliriously, about what a bad precedent that sets, Vasquez giving in to his complaints and demands. That'll just encourage Faraday to do it more.
... Though the possibility of there being a next time to show Vasquez the error of his ways with this misbegotten lesson is slim to nil, Faraday figures.
He deliberately ignores the sensation of disappointment that clenches his chest.
Which is easy enough to do, once Vasquez slowly, relentlessly presses in a second finger, and Faraday rolls his hips, tries to fuck himself on Vasquez's fingers. ]
Shit, yes—
[ But when Vasquez curls his fingers just so, Faraday spasms, a moan clawing its way out of him. ]
no subject
Vasquez would give a whole hell of a lot to keep hearing Faraday like this. No griping, letting himself get lost in pleasure, reacting to everything Vasquez gives him and still demanding more.
But, rather than sliding his fingers back out, rather than continuing to fuck Faraday open, he maintains that pressure in place. He circles that bundle of nerves, rocking Faraday on his hand without giving him a second of reprieve.
Faraday had been complaining, after all, so why not give this stubborn mule of a man what he asked for?
(Vasquez doesn't know what this means for them, has no idea what they're going to do with themselves when the fragile glass house of this moment shatters, but he wants to commit this to memory, just in case. Just in case this is a one-off and he has to tuck his feelings back on a shelf to avoid complicating this.
God, it's complicated just because it's happening.) ]
no subject
He does not expect the goddamn torture that Vasquez gives him instead.
It's good, at first, and Faraday groans appreciatively with it, hips rolling in an effort to keep that sensation going – that golden pleasure that makes it feel like his entire body is lit up with fireworks, sparks shooting up and down his spine.
And then it's just— overwhelming; his appreciative groans turn into low, frantic sounds, even as his body arches and writhes with each sweet curl of Vasquez's fingers. His cock fucking throbs, precum smearing on his stomach from the way it leaks, and he feels like he might actually explode if Vasquez keeps this up. ]
Vas—
[ Gasped out, thin and urgent. It's followed up by a breathy, helpless laugh that melts into an almost distressed moan when Vasquez nails that sweet spot again. ]
Fuck, you're— God, are you tryin'— to kill me?
no subject
[ His tone sounds so innocent, but the edge in his grin betrays how much he's enjoying watching Faraday go from eager to frantic. Vasquez shifts his other hand from Faraday's hip to his cock, firmly pinning it to Faraday's belly just to feel the way he throbs and pulses against Vasquez's palm. Faraday is flushed, whining for him, arching and squirming like he can't keep still, and, well, Vasquez doesn't blame him for that part.
He'd be much the same if their positions were reversed.
He allows himself a few more relentless sweeps over that sweet spot, Faraday's cock trapped under his hand, but, finally, mercifully, Vasquez eases away from Faraday's prostate. He slides his fingers back out, reaching for the abandoned lube. ]
You want another finger first?
[ Vasquez is certainly ready and willing to keep finger-fucking Faraday, but he also wants to make sure they're on the same page, that they're in sync instead of lagging behind or forging ahead prematurely. ]
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.
no subject
Vasquez is about to deal with the lube, but Faraday is suddenly yanking him forward, and Vasquez has to release Faraday's cock to catch his own weight before he accidentally headbutts the other man. A rough, heated palm curls around his own cock, and Vasquez inhales sharply, startled.
His surprise melts away into satisfaction, meeting Faraday's flushed glare with a breathless grin. ]
Te escucho.
[ He shifts his weight over Faraday, getting the bottle of lube open with one hand.
But... ]
You're going to have to let go again, first.
no subject
He holds his free hand out for the bottle. ]
Let me.
no subject
Vasquez licks his lips, but he doesn't protest, pressing the bottle into Faraday's hand. ]
No ensucies.
no subject
[ Understanding or not, Faraday clicks the cap on the bottle closed, tossing it lightly to one side, ensuring it's still close by but not likely to be squashed. One-handed, he smears the lube over his fingers and over his palm, letting it warm for only a second before he's back to curling his hand over Vasquez's dick, spreading the lube over that soft skin.
And if he pays special attention to the sensitive spot just beneath the head, if he's mindful to tease the slit of Vasquez's cock with the pad of his thumb, if he's careful to lube the man up with tight, slow strokes – then surely it's an accident.
He grips the nape of Vasquez's neck, pulling him down while also using the other man to pull himself, meeting him halfway. Faraday crushes another kiss against Vasquez's mouth as he strokes him, as he feels the length of him, and he groans a little with the mental images of Vasquez fucking him open. ]
no subject
Vasquez's breathing turns ragged, rough, and he rocks into Faraday's palm, letting himself relish the contact with a shuddering moan.
(Because it's Faraday, it's Faraday.)
He goes where he's directed, a split-second of hesitation between meeting Faraday's lips and kissing him back just as fiercely; distracted as he is, he needs that heartbeat just to kickstart his brain again. There's nothing sweet in the kiss, but it's intent and personal, that rough edge bleeding through in teeth and tongue. Vasquez shifts over Faraday, leaning down to rest his weight on his forearms, lowering himself and Faraday back on the bed.
For the sake of fairness, Vasquez catches Faraday's bottom lip in a sharp pinch with his teeth before drawing back enough to pant for breath. ]
Am I— fucking you or not, guerito?
no subject
It's a damn good thing Faraday's given up on feeling ashamed by most things.
He chuckles, the corner of his mouth turning upward in a vicious smirk. A little mockingly, ]
So much for foreplay.
[ One more firm stroke, but Faraday releases his grip on the other man's cock, wiping off the excess slick on Vasquez's belly, like the paragon of maturity he is. ]
no subject
Charming.
[ ... said like it's the exact opposite.
But with that final piece of the puzzle, Vasquez reaches for Faraday's leg, hitching his thigh higher before he shifts to guide his cock into place. Part of him wants to keep teasing Faraday, to just grind against him, to watch him get progressively more and more flustered and frustrated, but—
He's wanted this for too long. He's been waiting for ages, ages, and he's only teasing himself at this point.
Vasquez rocks forward, slowly pressing into Faraday. He doesn't rush through it, but it's a steady, unrelenting stretch. He doesn't stop until he bottoms out, until his hips are flush with Faraday's. Vasquez leans forward, catching himself on his forearm as he keeps a firm grip on Faraday's thigh, his blunt nails digging crescents into skin. ]
Mierda, cariño.
[ He feels lightheaded, flushed, and he has to hold himself still at first, overwhelmed by the consuming heat surrounding his cock. ]
You're— fucking tight.
[ This is it; this is where he dies.
Seems fine. ]
no subject
But— God, it's good, and the quiet burn as his muscles stretch open for Vasquez is goddamn delicious. He wraps his leg high around Vasquez's waist, and once Vasquez has pressed in fully, Faraday reaches up to tuck his face against Vasquez's throat, letting out a satisfied if slightly strained swear.
He's more than gratified to know that he's not the only one feeling overwhelmed; that hissed out "shit," Spanish though it was, was more than recognizable. He laughs, high and helpless. ]
Fuck, sweetheart, you feel goddamn amazing.
[ And Faraday has the sinking realization that Vasquez has fucking spoiled him for any future partners. For the rest of his goddamn life.
Jesus wept.
He takes a shuddering breath, shoving that feeling aside in favor of moving his hips in a languid, pointed roll, fucking himself on Vasquez's cock. He lets his head fall back to the pillows with curse. ]
Fucking shit. God. Why the hell aren't you movin'?
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Trying not to die, cabrón.
[ He drags his nails up Faraday's thigh, gripping the curve of his hip, before he finally rocks back on his own. Drawing out goes slowly, but the next thrust is sharp, pointedly filling Faraday again. God, he's overwhelmed by how Faraday feels around his cock, how he stretches to accommodate Vasquez, and it's fucking perfect.
More curses spill out in Spanish, but Vasquez finally begins to find a rhythm – withdrawing steadily and rocking forward with a quick snap of his hips. ]
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He rolls his hips to meet every thrust as well as he can, hands roving over Vasquez's back. He can feel the way his muscles coil and flex, can feel each sharp exhale escape Vasquez's mouth to ghost along his neck. He breathes in deeply, inhales the heady cocktail of cigar smoke and cologne and sweat and sex. His skin feels like it's lit up and buzzing at every point of contact, like it's two sizes too small. He feels like he might fucking shatter. ]
God— [ He moans it out as Vasquez starts to speed up, their hips snapping together obscenely. ] Yes, shit, just like that, darlin'.
Fuckin' give it to me—
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He doesn't need the encouragement, but it sounds fucking perfect spilling from Faraday's lips. His fingers tighten again, and he knows he must be leaving bruises; right now, it doesn't matter. He uses his grip to drag Faraday into each thrust, sharp and rough. Usually, he'd have more consideration for the comfort of whomever he took to bed, but with Faraday, it still feels like a challenge, that relentless struggle against each other.
Vasquez restlessly presses his lips to Faraday's throat again, dragging kisses and scrapes of teeth anywhere he can reach, curses and praise growled in equal measure against his partner's skin. It's all Spanish, all quick and breathless, thoughtless when he's telling Faraday how perfect he feels, how goddamn good he is, how much he's wanted this—
Thank god it's not English. ]
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The rough grip Vasquez has on his hips, the way his fingers dig into his flesh, nails leaving deep crescents in his skin—
The sharp, bruising snap of Vasquez's hips against his ass—
The way his cock drives deep into Faraday, over and fucking over—
He told Vasquez he wanted to feel this in the morning, but hell, he'll definitely be feeling this for days. He wonders if he'll even be able to sit comfortably on their plane ride home, and that idle thought shouldn't be as fucking enticing as it is.
He listens to the way Vasquez babbles, the predatory growl in the words, and Faraday hopes it's at least mostly complimentary. Could be that Vasquez is just calling him a goddamn slut in his native tongue; he supposes it doesn't matter much, either way, so long as the trajectory of this night hasn't changed Vasquez's opinion of him or their ability to work together, come morning.
But that's the million dollar question, isn't it?
He pushes it from his mind in favor of now, of the stretch of his body around Vasquez's cock, and he shifts his hips, and—
His cries out, vision going white when Vasquez's cock hits that sweet spot. He digs his fingers into Vasquez's back, his other hand tangling in in those dark curls again. ]
Fuck, God, yes, just like that—
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Maybe on a better night, he would have been moving Faraday into a position that made the angle instantly ideal, but he'd been so concerned with being close to Faraday – not to mention Faraday's own impatient demands. But that reaction? Priceless.
Vasquez growls against him with approval, and despite how fiercely Faraday holds onto him, Vasquez readjusts his grip, shifts his weight to support Faraday, enough to keep him just like that. He knows they're both going to come out of this covered in bruises, and he relishes that; as much as he can't wait to see his own marks on Faraday, he's eager to admire whatever mementos he gets to take away from tonight.
Normally, he might be more cognizant of the lasting effects of their tumble, considering their work, but he can't help how his body screams to take and take and take; it's hard to resist when Faraday is practically begging him for exactly that.
Vasquez drags his teeth over Faraday's jaw, panting against his cheek. ]
—perfect, you're fucking perfect—
[ And it's back to Spanish, back to the more unintelligible sounds of pleasure.
Vasquez might usually pride his own stamina,but everything is more intense right now. His nerves are singing with this, with how tightly Faraday is squeezing his dick, how Faraday sounds, and Vasquez almost wishes he could watch Faraday falling apart. But in reality, being any farther from Faraday than this is intolerable. ]
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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. ]
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—perfect. Utterly perfect.
The way they're wrapped around each other is good for a lot of things, but not for the freedom to wedge a hand between them for Faraday's cock. Luckily for them both, they're so damn close, practically crushed together, and that seems to afford Faraday just enough friction.
And thank fuck, because Vasquez had no idea how much longer he'd be able to stave off his own orgasm.
Vasquez gasps against Faraday's throat as the other man tightens around him in every fucking way – pulling at his hair, digging marks into his skin, squeezing the goddamn life out of him through his cock. He crushes Faraday to him with a groan, shuddering against him as he manages a couple more savage bucks of his hips before his climax slams into him like a freight train. Vasquez wraps himself tighter around Faraday as he shakes through every golden wave that swamps his system, until he finally goes utterly boneless.
He manages not to completely collapse against Faraday, but he still holds his partner close, his face tucked against Faraday's throat as he tries to catch his breath.
Futile, probably, but he's so busy basking in the afterglow that he doesn't care. ]
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And at last, they're both spent, sweaty and panting, and Vasquez's breath is hot and damp against his throat. Faraday forces himself to relax his grip in the other man's hair, tries to smooth away what must've been a sharp sting with quick strokes of the pads of his fingers over Vasquez's scalp.
With another partner clinging as close as Vasquez is, Faraday would make some quip about feeling smothered, about not being able to breathe. But— maybe he's just too cowed to speak, doesn't know what the fuck to say for fear of shattering the moment and inviting real life back in.
Or maybe it's just that he's goddamn exhausted, breath coming in rough, uneven gasps, aching in all the best goddamn ways. ]
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Finally, after what feels like seconds and ages, Vasquez starts to shift over Faraday, pulling out of him so Vasquez can roll onto his side. (Vasquez chooses not to acknowledge his own involuntary little sound of disappointment as soon as they separate.)
He flops onto his back, looking dazedly up at the ceiling. His lips part in a crooked grin, and then, ]
You still alive, guero?
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Lets him. As much as he wants to protest.
He swallows thickly against the better disappointment that claws up his throat.
He's always had a good poker face, though, has always been good about keeping his voice even. It helped him a great deal when he was playing a part during an assignment.
And he puts it to good use now, forcing his voice, hoarse as it is, to level out, injecting it with his usual levity. ]
Just about.
[ He's too exhausted to move, even if he knows he's a goddamn mess, with cum smearing over his stomach and down his ass. ]
Despite your best efforts.
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[ Vasquez just breathes out a low chuckle, heaving himself up to roll back onto his side. He reaches out thoughtlessly, resting his arm across Faraday’s chest. ]
I guess I will just have to try harder next time.
[ And goddamn, he’s buzzing too much on the endorphins to think about the implications of his words. ]
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A slip of the tongue thanks to the afterglow, maybe. Or else this fuck was good enough to convince Vasquez they should keep at it – and that, Faraday privately thinks, they absolutely should.
It's too much to parse with his mind as fuzzy and exhausted as it is, so for now, he just offers a joke, ]
Unless you've got plans to cause a literal explosion, I doubt you've got any tricks that'd do me in.
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