Faraday feels oddly self-conscious, hunted, as Vasquez kneels above him, and he feels that peculiar nervous energy thrum through him, like the moments before a fight, where his fingers itch for a weapon. Instead, Faraday twists his hands into the coverlet, forcing his expression into something approaching calm and confident.
He lets Vasquez strip him down, his heartbeat kicking up to slam against his ribs as Vasquez studies him. He hisses in a startled breath once Vasquez strips him of his jeans and underthings – or at least pulls them down far enough to free Faraday's hardening cock. This time, Faraday doesn't have time enough to feel exposed, vulnerable, before Vasquez is bending over him, the slick heat of his mouth taking in his cock. A startled noise punches its way out of Faraday, trailing off into a groan as he falls back against the bed.
Vasquez is setting an almost relentless pace, almost like he worries Faraday might change his mind, and Faraday swears beneath his breath. His body seems to respond of its own accord, one hand gripping the bedspread, the other reaching for Vasquez. His nails skim across Vasquez's scalp, fingers tangling in those dark, unruly curls. And as much as he tries to keep himself under control, he rocks into the wet heat of Vasquez's mouth and that goddamn clever tongue.
"Fuck," he moans out, and his grip on Vasquez's hair tightens briefly. "Fucking— fucking hell, Vasquez—"
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winterfish
no subject
Date: 2018-01-21 04:22 am (UTC)He lets Vasquez strip him down, his heartbeat kicking up to slam against his ribs as Vasquez studies him. He hisses in a startled breath once Vasquez strips him of his jeans and underthings – or at least pulls them down far enough to free Faraday's hardening cock. This time, Faraday doesn't have time enough to feel exposed, vulnerable, before Vasquez is bending over him, the slick heat of his mouth taking in his cock. A startled noise punches its way out of Faraday, trailing off into a groan as he falls back against the bed.
Vasquez is setting an almost relentless pace, almost like he worries Faraday might change his mind, and Faraday swears beneath his breath. His body seems to respond of its own accord, one hand gripping the bedspread, the other reaching for Vasquez. His nails skim across Vasquez's scalp, fingers tangling in those dark, unruly curls. And as much as he tries to keep himself under control, he rocks into the wet heat of Vasquez's mouth and that goddamn clever tongue.
"Fuck," he moans out, and his grip on Vasquez's hair tightens briefly. "Fucking— fucking hell, Vasquez—"