cowbabes | you had jesus on your breath (and i caught him in mine)

[ He lets out a scoffing sound. ]

I dunno. I still might kick your ass for that.

[ And he answers Vasquez's nip with one of his own.

Faraday kisses Vasquez again, deep and heated and fierce, but eventually he shoves them apart, retrieving his keys. He climbs out of the car and unlocks the door to the house – and once it's shoved open, the muffled noise of Jack's guttural barking and snarls comes into sharper focus.

The barks cut off the instant Jack spots Faraday, and the dog bounds toward him, snuffling and whining and circling Faraday, throwing himself bodily against Faraday's legs. The dog is massive, though it's broader than it is tall, some sort of mix between Pitbull, Rottweiler, and demon. The only people who have a handle on the dog are Faraday – obviously – and the miracle worker of a dog walker that Faraday's hired on a Statesman tech's recommendation.

Of course, Jack's excitement seems to shut off the instant it spots Vasquez, and he stands alert, ears perked and tail twitching.

Faraday nudges the dog with his knee. ]

Be nice, Jack.

[ Jack responds by letting out a low growl. ]

[ Again, Vasquez just laughs – good-natured and amused. He follows Faraday out of the car, but he wisely hangs back as Jack comes bounding down the hall. If he’s honest, he has no idea why Faraday has this dog or why he keeps it; Vasquez can’t imagine it makes one night stands especially convenient.

Jack turns his attention to Vasquez, and Vasquez just holds his hands up, palms out.

Don’t shoot.

To Faraday, ]

Come on; call him off.

He's not gonna hurt you.

[ And he says it breezily, a hand resting on Jack's head.

Meanwhile, Jack looks very much like he intends to hurt Vasquez.

But Faraday whistles again to get the dog's attention. Faraday says "home" in a sharp, commanding voice, and reluctantly, Jack trots off to a dog crate in the living room. Once Jack is flopped over inside, Faraday shuts the door behind him, latching it shut. ]

You oughta be nice, too.

[ This, cast over his shoulder and directed toward Vasquez. ]

Woulda served you right if I let Jack tackle you, after the stunt you pulled on the drive over.

[ Vasquez watches with a measure of caution, but as Jack is finally tucked away, Vasquez relaxes. He casts Faraday an unimpressed look. ]

That’s very different, I think.

Besides, you handled that just fine.

Doesn't make you any less of an asshole.

[ Still, the insult is as good-natured as it usually is, and he closes the space between him and Vasquez again, grabbing hold of his shirtfront and hauling him in for another heated kiss. He uses his other hand to pull Vasquez in by the small of his back, pressing their hips together.

Faraday doesn't do anything by halves – he either dives in, or he doesn't. And in this case, Faraday has decided to dive in headfirst, and damn the consequences. ]

No more messin' around. If you don't get your ass upstairs, I'm gonna let Jack shred you to ribbons.

[ This game, at least, Vasquez knows well. He knows the steps to the dance, and he can feel himself thrumming with relief as Faraday drags him in, as he meets that feverish kiss with equal heat.

He laughs on a breathy exhale. ]

And then there would be none of my ass left for you to enjoy. That sounds like a shame for you, conejito.

[ He drags Faraday in for another rough but brief kiss before he starts to pull away to head for the stairs.

(The farther he is from Jack, the better.) ]

[ He snorts, the quality of it a little derisive. ]

That better mean handsome.

[ Faraday's not sure how many other weird curve balls he can take today from Vasquez and his dumb nicknames.

They've drunk themselves silly at the Back Lane and stumbled their way to Faraday's place what has to be hundreds of times over the years – which means that Vasquez has been here enough that Faraday takes for granted that the other man knows his way around.

And over the years, Vasquez and Jack still haven't found any sort of common ground.

Go figure.

(The opposite is true, too – Faraday has been over at Vasquez's enough that he knows where the other man stashes his best beer and snacks, and he doesn't bother asking for permission anymore before he snags one or the other. Aside from Statesman HQ, it's practically Faraday's second home.)

So when Vasquez starts tugging them toward the stairs, Faraday is the first to pull back. He bodily turns Vasquez, pushing him to lead the way.

Once they reach Faraday's bedroom, Faraday tosses off his hat, shrugs out of his jacket, and leaves both mostly forgotten on the floor. ]

So.

[ And his tone is deceptively conversational. ]

Any suggestions for round two?

[ Navigating Faraday’s place is basically habit by now. Vasquez has crashed on his partner’s couch (and floor, and chair, and bed, depending on who manages to get there first) enough times that it’s all second hat. He knows where Faraday keeps his shit, and he also just assumes by now that he’s welcome to any of it – if only because he feels like the same is obviously true for Faraday.

Whatever Faraday needs or wants, Vasquez would never begrudge him.

He may complain to hell and back and chuck something at Faraday’s head, but that doesn’t mean he won’t share with Faraday, anyway.

Back in Faraday’s bedroom, Vasquez tosses his hat onto the dresser, starting to toe off his boots. He glances back at Faraday with a toothy grin. ]

I like how you ask that like you’re wondering if we should order pizza or no.

[ He drops his vest with his hat, turning to Faraday and cocking his head to the side. ]

I’m flexible, guero. Am I making you scream again tonight?

[ The question draws out a laugh, even as want sparks down his back, makes his pulse pick up a little. ]

How 'bout you tell me what you want, and I'll do my best to oblige?

[ This, as he loosens enough buttons on his shirt to tug it up and over his head. ]

Seems only fair if I return the favor.

[ Considering Vasquez had done him one hell of a turn the other night. ]

[ Vasquez pauses at his own shirt to watch Faraday, to admire the broad shoulders and chest now on display. Faraday hadn’t made it easy, the other night, and there had been so much of a rush to slake their mutual need that Vasquez hadn’t appreciated his partner the way he wanted.

Of course, he’s seen plenty of Faraday in other contexts, but Vasquez had at least been polite enough not to ogle the other man. ]

You make a good point. [ And he repeats Faraday, ] Seems only fair.

[ He flashes Faraday that wild, challenging grin as he returns to his own shirt, shrugging out of the fabric. It joins his vest, though he doesn’t bother folding anything. ]

Is that mouth of yours any good for more than speaking bullshit?

[ Faraday can't help but grin back before he affects a lofty air. ]

My mouth is good for a whole lot of things, but I fully admit, bullshitting is my personal specialty.

[ But after that, he plants a hand on Vasquez's chest, pushing him back toward the bed. ]

Care for a practical demonstration?

[ Vasquez hardly needs the persuading, and with Faraday’s pointed little shove, he backs towards the bed until he can drop down on the edge of the mattress. ]

I feel unless I see for myself, I’m just going to think you’re all talk.

[ Like Faraday isn’t 90% talk on a good day. ]

Now, that's insultin'. When have you ever known me to be anything but an honest, genuine individual?

[ And he sounds artificially wounded as he cups the back of Vasquez's head, fingers tightening in his hair. He leans over, capturing Vasquez's mouth in another demanding kiss – licking into his mouth, biting at his lips, drinking down the faint, strange combination of gin and tequila.

Faraday had been absolutely convinced he wasn't getting another shot at this – and while it was Vasquez who had suggested they do this more, Faraday still wants to take as much as he can, just in case good sense manages to catch up to one of them.

(It won't be Faraday, he's reasonably sure. He's been running away from good sense for years, now; he doubts it'll ever find him.)

He pulls back, smirking, before he gets to his knees, dexterously working at the fastenings of Vasquez's jeans. ]

[ Vasquez snorts, but just as he’s about to throw something undoubtedly sarcastic Faraday’s way, the other man catches him in another one of those rough kisses.

Apparently, that’s enough to shut Vasquez up.

His lips sting with the forceful meeting of their mouths, the graze of Faraday’s teeth, but Vasquez wouldn’t have it any other way. He likes the physical reminders (obviously), and swollen (potentially split) lips fall squarely in that category. Faraday kisses like he fights, and in the same way Vasquez has learned to compensate on a mission, to go right when Faraday goes left, he meets his partner blow for blow in that heated, wordless exchange.

It leaves him out of breath when Faraday pulls back.

Vasquez pants to settle his heart rate, but he knows trying to calm down is a lost cause by now. He’s been half hard since the car, stoked by the vicious kisses and the promises of the evening, but he can feel himself throb as Faraday drops to his knees with that insufferable smirk on his face. God, it’s a good look for him, but Vasquez somehow manages to avoid any snide commentary.

Vasquez spreads his legs a little wider, makes space for Faraday as he lifts his hips to give Faraday more freedom getting into his jeans. ]

You look like— what do you say? “The cat who got the canary”?

[ He snorts out a laugh, and having taken care of the fastenings on Vasquez's belt and jeans, he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband, boxers and pants alike, and tugs them down. ]

D'you get that from a book?

[ He's not sure he's heard anyone say that aloud in earnest within this decade – possibly not even this century. Faraday's reasonably sure he only knows it because he heard it from an old cartoon.

But once Vasquez's clothing is taken care of, tossed away to the side, he lets himself take a good look at Vasquez again, at his flushed, hardening cock.

Not for the first time, he thinks, Shit. Yes.

He curls his hand lazily around the base of Vasquez's cock, and maybe with someone else, he might take a little more time to experiment and explore. With Vasquez, though, with all the time Faraday has spent wanting to fuck him, with all the time between the hotel Faraday has spent thinking about getting his mouth on Vasquez's cock—

Surprising no one, Faraday's impatience gets the best of him.

He licks a hot, wet stripe along the underside of Vasquez's cock, tasting that faint bit of salt, before he wraps his lips around the head, taking him into his mouth. ]

[ Vasquez is perfectly happy to make it as easy as possible for Faraday to get him out of his pants, to leave him sitting naked on the bed. He half expected Faraday to just undo his fly and get right to it, but, well, now Vasquez is the first one fully exposed.

(He's not too bothered by it.)

Vasquez can't take his eyes off of Faraday, and he sucks in a sharp breath when that broad hand wraps around his cock. He'd had a small chance to experience that contact the other night, but it still feels different now – probably because Faraday is so much more intent, so fixated on this, instead of the two of them scrambling to get their hands on each other. ]

Mierda, Faraday—

[ Vasquez hisses out a curse as the slick heat of Faraday's mouth wraps around him properly. Vasquez's thighs clench with the effort not to buck into the relief on instinct, and one hand clenches in the duvet, his other burying fingers in Faraday's cropped hair. He tries not to yank or forcefully direct Faraday, but damn if it isn't a trial when his body just screams for more. ]

[ He admits, the way he smirks around Vasquez's length is once again very much reminiscent of a cat who happened to catch a canary.

He slides his mouth along Vasquez's cock, using his hand to stroke what he otherwise can't reach. It's good, feeling how Vasquez's body tightens like a string pulled taut, listening to the muffled curse and gasp of Vasquez above him, the timbre of it startled and pleased all at once. Faraday might be ashamed to admit that he's thought about this a lot, has whiled away more than a few lonely nights with fantasies about getting his mouth on Vasquez's cock – but he supposes the happy end result of that fantasizing is that he knows what he wants.

He finds the hand Vasquez has in Faraday's hair, and he squeezes it pointedly – not to pull it away, but to wordlessly tell Vasquez that there's no need to be gentle.

After that, Faraday exhales, swallowing Vasquez down. ]

[ If not for that scrap of permission, Vasquez might have genuinely tried not to pull Faraday's hair. He might have tried to hold all that tension in his muscles still, but Faraday's essentially given him carte blanche.

So when that hot, wet mouth slides down his cock, when muscles tighten and swallow around every sensitive inch of him, his fingers go almost brutally tight in Faraday's curls. He groans deep in his chest, caught off guard just as much by this newest bolt of pleasure. His head tips back as he pants for breath, letting his grip relax (incrementally) as he keeps his hips steady, instead of fucking up into that dizzying slick heat. ]

Dios, who the fuck taught you to suck cock like this, cariño?

[ Vasquez hisses through clenched teeth, looking back down to Faraday to watch his partner, to memorize the sight of those snide lips curled around his own dick.

Fuck, it's a pretty picture. ]

[ Vasquez's grip in his hair goes tight, and Faraday sucks in a sharp breath, feels want bolt down his spine and straight to his cock.

Faraday's always liked it rough, has always enjoyed it best when it felt like a fight – when it felt like a constant back and forth to gain the upper hand. And considering their working relationship, Faraday is hardly surprised – but exceedingly pleased – that Vasquez manages to fall into it without even the barest hitch.

He backs off, laving a long, wet stripe along Vasquez's cock, circling the sensitive spot beneath the head with his tongue. The question earns Vasquez a snort of a laugh – and even if Faraday knows it's rhetorical, he still shoots the other man a look that says, You don't really wanna know that. ]

[ So much for easing his grip.

The drag of Faraday's tongue runs broadly up Vasquez's length, and again, Vasquez's fingers go tight, his hips jerking once in surprise before he forces himself still. Some filthy string of swears comes spilling out of Vasquez in Spanish, encouragement and damning in turns. He doesn't release much pressure on Faraday's hair as that devilish tongue keeps running over that one spot, and Vasquez shakes with the exertion that comes with holding back, with trying not to come in such an embarrassingly short time.

Maybe it's just because it's been a while since he's gotten such thorough and enthusiastic head. Maybe he's just been burgeoning with tension and stress and this is exactly what he needed. Or maybe it's just because it's Faraday who's got his mouth wrapped so perfectly around Vasquez's prick.

Now is clearly not the time to try and divine any rhyme or reason from how intensely this affects Vasquez, and he doesn't particularly care to examine it, either.

Vasquez's teeth dig hard enough into his lip that he feels the absent threat of accidentally leaving himself with the taste of his own blood, and he tries to force away some of that tension, to refocus on Faraday, fucking gorgeous Faraday and his obscene and perfect mouth. He releases the blankets to curl his palm around the hinge of Faraday's jaw, thumb smoothing over the rough bristles of the other man's beard. He likes these sensory details that cement the moment for himself, these reminders of who exactly he's falling into bed with; this isn't some random hookup or a stranger he's dragged home for a flash of relief.

This is Faraday.

How did he end up such a lucky bastard tonight? ]

[ It's unquestionably sinful, the recursive loop of Vasquez's enjoyment and desire feeding back into Faraday's, spurring him on to lick and suck and tease at Vasquez's cock. He tastes that faint hint of salt on the back of his tongue, drinks in the constant white noise of Vasquez swearing above him – and maybe Faraday doesn't understand it, exactly, but he definitely knows filth when he hears it.

He feels himself throb with it and groans around Vasquez's cock, briefly tilting his cheek into Vasquez's palm, and his free hand starts working at the fastenings of his own pants.

Fuck. He should've done this earlier, when he helped Vasquez to shuck his clothes.

One-handed, he unfastens his belt, unbuttons his fly, and all the while he sucks Vasquez's dick like it's the last time he'll get the chance. (Hell, maybe it really is.) His fumbling takes him longer than it rightly should (of course it would, considering where the majority his focus currently lies), but finally, with his clothing pushed away only enough to accommodate his impatience and growing need, he slips his hand past the waistband of his boxers, curls his fingers around his cock. He lets out a low, relieved noise, pumping himself in time with his every pass of his mouth. ]

[ Fuck, it should be absolutely illegal how good it feels when Faraday groans, when that sound rumbles down Vasquez's cock and sends lightning bolting up his spine. Muscles clench and release in his belly, something hot and golden building, even as he tries to beat it back. He selfishly wants to keep enjoying this as long as he can, but Faraday is almost unfairly good at this.

How the hell is he supposed to keep himself in check?

Vasquez is almost single-mindedly focused on Faraday's mouth, but he can see the other man fumbling below them, and he distantly curses how shitty his angle is to fully appreciate the sight of Faraday jerking himself off. It just feels like even more proof of how much Faraday is enjoying this, and something about that is unreasonably erotic.

The hand curled around Faraday's jaw shifts, his thumb glancing over Faraday's swollen bottom lip where it's stretched around Vasquez's cock. ]

Tan hermoso, cariño.

[ And he means it, too.

Except this is all proving to be overwhelming, and as his hips keep unintentionally rocking up to meet Faraday's mouth, Vasquez sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath, and he finally manages to find English again. ]

Fuck, I'm close— Faraday, fuck—

[ Vasquez may be hurtling towards an unavoidable orgasm, but he still thinks he owes Faraday the courtesy of warning him first. ]

[ See, Faraday has no goddamn clue what Vasquez just said.

He hopes it was nice. It sounded, nice at least, based on the heated reverence in Vasquez's delivery of the words, on the almost gentle way Vasquez's hand curls over his cheek, his thumb ghosting over his lip. It's a weird fucking contrast – that soft touch and the white-knuckled grip Vasquez has on Faraday's hair.

A compliment, Faraday decides, or at least something meant to sound complimentary.

Given the arch today has taken, and given that Vasquez hasn't been quite as disparaging as Faraday had assumed, maybe Faraday shouldn't be so quick to assume the worse.

He keeps working at Vasquez's cock, keeps stroking his own – not with the amount of effort he'd need to get himself off, but enough, at least, to take the edge off. Vasquez sounds fucking fantastic above him, and he tries to commit to memory that stream of Spanish, the breathless sounds Vasquez keeps making. Faraday feels Vasquez's dick throb in his mouth and under his hand, and when Vasquez offers that frantic warning, Faraday feels that prickly surge of want run through him again.

He wishes he had a good enough angle to watch Vasquez come undone, but he supposes he'll just content himself with the knowledge that he made it happen. Instead of backing up, Faraday loosens his grip on his own cock to curl his hand around Vasquez's balls, tugging on them carefully before pressing his fingertips to the sensitive spot just behind them.

And after that, he offers a hoarse, encouraging sound before swallowing Vasquez back down. ]

[ At this point, Vasquez is perfectly convinced Faraday is just going to murder him with this blowjob, and some hysterical part of his brain is more than willing to posit that this is why Faraday is so damn good with the occasional honeypot mission thrown onto his plate.

What a way to go.

Vasquez's panting turns ragged, his fingers twisting brutally in Faraday's hair with enough force he might be concerned at another moment. The sounds out of him trail off in coherence – growls, whines, curses, praise – until Faraday's hand cups the tight weight of his balls, fingers pressing up—

Vasquez has to release Faraday's jaw to keep himself from arching back, from falling onto the mattress with the force of his orgasm slamming into him. He loses control of his hips bucking into Faraday's hand, into his mouth, once, twice, until he's spilling down Faraday's throat with a hoarse cry of his partner's name. ]

[ Shit, he sounds good like that, with words escaping him entirely. (Well, Faraday might say later, with all the smugness in the world. 'Least I've got a surefire way to shut you up.)

The involuntary thrusts of Vasquez's hips, the relentless grip he has in Faraday's hair, the almost helpless noises that escape him – it's fucking heady, sends sparks flying down Faraday's spine and pooling low in his stomach. And when Vasquez finally climaxes, Faraday groans with it, relaxing his jaw to let Vasquez move as he needs to. He tastes salt on the back of his tongue, swallows down each burst of Vasquez's cum, and he curls one hand around Vasquez's hip – an anchor point, more than any attempt at helping the other man keep steady.

Once Vasquez seems spent, Faraday slides back, licking his lips, before he turns to kiss at the inside of Vasquez's thigh, following it up with a sharp little bite.

Planting a flag. Staking a claim. ]

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