Infuriating bastard, Faraday thinks, still scowling at Vasquez, where he perches on his hip. The other man's voice is like a purr, low and heated in a way that makes Faraday's chest twist. His gaze flits over to where Vasquez's hands curl over his hips, his thighs, tracing over the ugly knots and rills of his scars, and for a few seconds, Faraday's self-consciousness over the appearance of his body stands at odds with how good it feels to have Vasquez's rough hands smooth over his skin.
Faraday swallows around the lump in his throat, and he rasps out, "You gotta damn well do it to find out what it looks like."
But it's nowhere near as defiant as he had managed earlier. In fact, he sounds breathless, his voice similarly pitched low. Inviting, almost, and warm with anticipation.
And Vasquez doesn't disappoint, finally licking up Faraday's cock, and Faraday groans with it. And when the slick heat of his mouth is on him again, Faraday's back arches a little off the bed. His grip on Vasquez's dark curls tightens, though he quickly tries to ease off in deference to the way Vasquez's hands sink into the mattress – still bracketing his hips, but not actively keeping him in place, like he meant for this to be some kind of torture.
Tentatively, Faraday rocks his hips – little incremental movements, and largely involuntary. Last thing he wants to do is make the other man gag on his length and make this experience all that more unpleasant. He shuts his eyes, mouth falling open a little as he pants, falling into a rhythm. He swears to himself, broken oaths and whispers that barely have more heat than actual shape.
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winterfish
no subject
Date: 2018-01-31 06:58 am (UTC)Faraday swallows around the lump in his throat, and he rasps out, "You gotta damn well do it to find out what it looks like."
But it's nowhere near as defiant as he had managed earlier. In fact, he sounds breathless, his voice similarly pitched low. Inviting, almost, and warm with anticipation.
And Vasquez doesn't disappoint, finally licking up Faraday's cock, and Faraday groans with it. And when the slick heat of his mouth is on him again, Faraday's back arches a little off the bed. His grip on Vasquez's dark curls tightens, though he quickly tries to ease off in deference to the way Vasquez's hands sink into the mattress – still bracketing his hips, but not actively keeping him in place, like he meant for this to be some kind of torture.
Tentatively, Faraday rocks his hips – little incremental movements, and largely involuntary. Last thing he wants to do is make the other man gag on his length and make this experience all that more unpleasant. He shuts his eyes, mouth falling open a little as he pants, falling into a rhythm. He swears to himself, broken oaths and whispers that barely have more heat than actual shape.