Faraday probably shouldn't be surprised that Vasquez is practically relentless, now that he's given the bastard half a chance, and when Vasquez picks up the pace, when his fingers dig into the hard line of his hips to keep Faraday from rocking up into the heat of his mouth, Faraday groans. He digs his heels into the mattress as he bucks up against Vasquez's grip, trying to dislodge those damned hands, trying to thrust himself into the slick, inviting heat of Vasquez's mouth, but the bastard keeps him distracted with his damned talented tongue.
When Vasquez finally releases his hip and eases off, Faraday curses beneath his breath with the loss, trying to bring Vasquez back with the hand he still had tangled in those dark curls. The effort is a halfhearted one at best, though, and he practically scowls down at Vasquez when he perches above him, smiling that stupid, impish smile.
(It's goddamn unfair, Faraday thinks. Vasquez shouldn't look so goddamn good like that, with his hair mussed, his eyes dark, and his lips slightly swollen.
The sight steals the breath from Faraday's lungs, for a second, and it feels like a punch straight to the gut.)
Faraday licks his lips, trying to maintain an air of defiance, even as he tries desperately to find his voice, to gather up his words and try to imbue them with his usual irritation. A small, distant part of him wonders what a sight he must be, all scarred and mottled and red like a beet, breathless and snarling like a cornered beast.
"You're bein' a goddamn tease," Faraday snaps out, and he privately pats himself on the back for controlling his voice enough to keep the desperate tremor out of it.
(What Faraday had really wanted to say in the moment, though, was, "You're so good. You're wonderful," but like hell is he going to admit it now, with Vasquez smirking at him like that.)
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When Vasquez finally releases his hip and eases off, Faraday curses beneath his breath with the loss, trying to bring Vasquez back with the hand he still had tangled in those dark curls. The effort is a halfhearted one at best, though, and he practically scowls down at Vasquez when he perches above him, smiling that stupid, impish smile.
(It's goddamn unfair, Faraday thinks. Vasquez shouldn't look so goddamn good like that, with his hair mussed, his eyes dark, and his lips slightly swollen.
The sight steals the breath from Faraday's lungs, for a second, and it feels like a punch straight to the gut.)
Faraday licks his lips, trying to maintain an air of defiance, even as he tries desperately to find his voice, to gather up his words and try to imbue them with his usual irritation. A small, distant part of him wonders what a sight he must be, all scarred and mottled and red like a beet, breathless and snarling like a cornered beast.
"You're bein' a goddamn tease," Faraday snaps out, and he privately pats himself on the back for controlling his voice enough to keep the desperate tremor out of it.
(What Faraday had really wanted to say in the moment, though, was, "You're so good. You're wonderful," but like hell is he going to admit it now, with Vasquez smirking at him like that.)