"No, n-," he protests for the briefest of seconds before Vasquez inhales a ragged breath, moaning out Faraday's name loudly, "Joshua," with the shock and surprise that's punched out of him the second his hand is on his dick, when he comes in for another kiss. He feels wild and out of control, loose and limbless, like he can tumble and be caught.

There's no holding back now, no warning him. The instant that Faraday's calloused hand had joined his, Vasquez had been a lost man and he comes with a loud cry, meaning that if anyone is in the room next to theirs, there'll be no mystery about what's happening.

Panting, Vasquez collapses back against the bed, staring up at Faraday with wonder, awe, and no small amount of sheer disbelief, laughing like he's been drinking instead of fumbling like a teenager again in a bed in the middle of the day. He reaches up, tangling his fingers in Faraday's short hairs to pull him down on top of him for a kiss, not caring how messy he is, wanting something as slow and heated and perfect as the rolling warmth in his stomach.

"Come here," he insists, because he doesn't want even an inch between them right now, eager for lazy kisses until he has the energy again to move or speak or think.