Oh hell, Vasquez is good at this, and reluctant as Faraday usually is to allow the other man to feel any sort of vindication, a few broken words of praise still fall from his lips – a nonsensical sort of babbling, bubbling past his lips as he gasps and pants.
His pulse pounds in his ears, near thunderous, and he groans, rocking his hips in time with Vasquez's attentions. Whenever the other man eases back, whenever he coughs, Faraday has mind enough to offer a quick, sincere little apology, quiet though it may be, and he's more mindful to restrain himself.
It's relentless, the way Vasquez works him, the way his mouth and tongue and hands drive him closer and closer to the edge. He can hardly tell if it's too soon or not soon enough, but a molten heat quickly builds low in his gut, growing and growing and growing, and Faraday groans with it, starting to lose the rhythm.
"Vas—" apparently he still has mind enough to offer a quick warning, the words frantic and breathless. His free hand scrabbles to grip the bedspread, his fist tangling and twisting in the sheets. "Vas— Alejo— I'm gonna—"
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His pulse pounds in his ears, near thunderous, and he groans, rocking his hips in time with Vasquez's attentions. Whenever the other man eases back, whenever he coughs, Faraday has mind enough to offer a quick, sincere little apology, quiet though it may be, and he's more mindful to restrain himself.
It's relentless, the way Vasquez works him, the way his mouth and tongue and hands drive him closer and closer to the edge. He can hardly tell if it's too soon or not soon enough, but a molten heat quickly builds low in his gut, growing and growing and growing, and Faraday groans with it, starting to lose the rhythm.
"Vas—" apparently he still has mind enough to offer a quick warning, the words frantic and breathless. His free hand scrabbles to grip the bedspread, his fist tangling and twisting in the sheets. "Vas— Alejo— I'm gonna—"