It's insanely gratifying how Vasquez responds without an ounce of reservation, how he bucks into Faraday's touch like he fears he'll never feel it again. (A voice at the back of his head reminds him that for a while there, that had very much been a reality for the both of them; Faraday is quick to shove it away.)
And when Vasquez moans like that, voice heated and desperate as it shapes his name – well, now. That's certifiably intoxicating, and Faraday feels his own cock pulse in response. He'd only gotten as far as yanking off his shirt and vest before he had stepped in to help Vasquez strip, which means that when Vasquez pulls them flush together, Faraday is still wearing his jeans. He huffs out a puff of a laugh, readjusting his grip on Vasquez's cock, shuffling a little awkwardly when Vasquez herds him toward the bed.
The backs of his legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he nearly trips; his drinks from back at the saloon have made him a little clumsy, have made balance more of a suggestion than a hard rule. His free hand catches hold of Vasquez's shoulder, keeping himself upright, and Faraday lets out another snort of a laugh.
"Well, first off," he begins, though he cuts himself off with a small, approving hum. He tilts his head, giving Vasquez a little more room to press against his neck. The heat of Vasquez's breath makes him shudder a little, makes want jolt down his spine like lightning.
"First off," he repeats, "you're gonna have to let me get naked. And second off, you're gonna have to get some slick."
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And when Vasquez moans like that, voice heated and desperate as it shapes his name – well, now. That's certifiably intoxicating, and Faraday feels his own cock pulse in response. He'd only gotten as far as yanking off his shirt and vest before he had stepped in to help Vasquez strip, which means that when Vasquez pulls them flush together, Faraday is still wearing his jeans. He huffs out a puff of a laugh, readjusting his grip on Vasquez's cock, shuffling a little awkwardly when Vasquez herds him toward the bed.
The backs of his legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he nearly trips; his drinks from back at the saloon have made him a little clumsy, have made balance more of a suggestion than a hard rule. His free hand catches hold of Vasquez's shoulder, keeping himself upright, and Faraday lets out another snort of a laugh.
"Well, first off," he begins, though he cuts himself off with a small, approving hum. He tilts his head, giving Vasquez a little more room to press against his neck. The heat of Vasquez's breath makes him shudder a little, makes want jolt down his spine like lightning.
"First off," he repeats, "you're gonna have to let me get naked. And second off, you're gonna have to get some slick."