Honestly, it's a goddamn tragedy for everyone involved when Vasquez actually listens to Faraday, when he pulls away that blessedly hot mouth and his calloused hands away from Faraday's bare skin. Faraday ought to feel smug that, for once, he's the one being smart about this; instead, his body practically keens with loss as Vasquez backs away.
For a breath, Faraday almost regrets making those suggestions, sound as they were. But he quickly kicks that feeling aside for how stupid it is.
Vasquez is quicker than Faraday expects, though, plucking that familiar little bottle from his few belongings. He watches with open interest as Vasquez moves onto the bed. Vasquez has always been slimmer than Faraday – though he's hardly a small man by any means. His body is lean where Faraday's is broad (leaner than usual, Faraday notes with a pang of worry that he tries desperately to keep off his face), and Faraday's always appreciated the other man's athletic build, though it took him quite some time to own up to that appreciation.
He makes a show of rolling his eyes at Vasquez's demand, and just to be a contrary bastard, he decides to take his time. It took him a while to get used to the way Vasquez watches him, the way the other man's gaze roved over his scarred and battered body. Faraday may still be handsome, his facial scars faded or hidden beneath his beard, but seeing him bare-chested is another thing entirely. It's an ugly patchwork, his skin pitted and knotted, torn and slashed with red lines, but he's become a little less ashamed of it, at least where Vasquez is involved.
It's a goddamn relief when he frees his hardened cock from his jeans, though, and he lets out a small sigh for it. Slowly, deliberately, he pushes his pants down, leaning against the bed post as casually as he can manage to help support his bad side. He steps out of them, kicking them away, before spreading his hands and waggling his fingers.
"Satisfied?" he asks blandly, a hint of challenge in his eyes.
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For a breath, Faraday almost regrets making those suggestions, sound as they were. But he quickly kicks that feeling aside for how stupid it is.
Vasquez is quicker than Faraday expects, though, plucking that familiar little bottle from his few belongings. He watches with open interest as Vasquez moves onto the bed. Vasquez has always been slimmer than Faraday – though he's hardly a small man by any means. His body is lean where Faraday's is broad (leaner than usual, Faraday notes with a pang of worry that he tries desperately to keep off his face), and Faraday's always appreciated the other man's athletic build, though it took him quite some time to own up to that appreciation.
He makes a show of rolling his eyes at Vasquez's demand, and just to be a contrary bastard, he decides to take his time. It took him a while to get used to the way Vasquez watches him, the way the other man's gaze roved over his scarred and battered body. Faraday may still be handsome, his facial scars faded or hidden beneath his beard, but seeing him bare-chested is another thing entirely. It's an ugly patchwork, his skin pitted and knotted, torn and slashed with red lines, but he's become a little less ashamed of it, at least where Vasquez is involved.
It's a goddamn relief when he frees his hardened cock from his jeans, though, and he lets out a small sigh for it. Slowly, deliberately, he pushes his pants down, leaning against the bed post as casually as he can manage to help support his bad side. He steps out of them, kicking them away, before spreading his hands and waggling his fingers.
"Satisfied?" he asks blandly, a hint of challenge in his eyes.