"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.
That’s gratifying, Faraday thinks, grinning against Vasquez’s mouth. They way Vasquez writhes, desperate and wanting; the way he shouts, completely out of control. For a second, he wonders just how long Vasquez has wanted this; months, the man had said, but the way he had moved, frantic, like starved man at a feast, makes Faraday wonder just how long that means.
Vasquez spends, fast and vicious, and it slicks Faraday’s hand, falls hot across Faraday’s belly. When he’s done, it’s charming, the way Vasquez laughs – giggles, almost – and the way he falls boneless back on the bed. Even the way he looks at Faraday like he might actually think Faraday is more than some silver-tongued, half-corned gambler steals Faraday’s breath, makes color rush up his face, when moments ago Faraday might have felt himself bristling with unfamiliarity.
He wants to reach for his scarf to start cleaning up the mess, but Vasquez catches him first, drags him down for a kiss. And with how Vasquez smiles at him, how he stares like he thinks Faraday isn’t quite real – how could Faraday ever deny him? Faraday breathes out a quick laugh, settling atop Vasquez and slotting his mouth over the other man’s again.
And a small part of him is surprised at how easily he’s fallen into this, when just minutes ago he had felt awfully wrong-footed. Faraday is far from self-assured, at the moment, but he’s at least spurred onward by how Vasquez had sounded and looked as he had fallen apart, and how wildly attractive Faraday had found it.
Vasquez can't help how he grins back against Faraday's lips into the kiss, wrapping an arm around Faraday's neck to keep him from going too far, because he's not intending to let Faraday move for at least a minute, maybe two (maybe ten). "No," he says, honest and half-numb. "I don't think I can feel my toes," he admits, laughing brightly.
He absently lets his fingers drift into Faraday's hair, stroking it as he reclines back on the single bed in the room, wondering how this happened, when today he thought he'd be coming into town to win a bet and prove he was more charming by wooing someone else into bed. Apparently, not. His heart is still racing wildly in his chest, but he doesn't want to move.
"I still think this is a dream," he confesses bluntly, because it feels like it can't be real. "Of course, in my dream, you never wear any clothes." He lets his eyes roam over Faraday's body hungrily. "Wait. Never mind, maybe it is a good dream."
Faraday can't help the way he barks out a laugh along with Vasquez, bracing himself with an elbow on the mattress beside Vasquez's head to keep from smothering the other man. He can feel the way Vasquez's heart drums against the inside of his ribs.
It's a compelling sight, the other man beneath him, smiling and dazed beneath him. And apparently the man is affectionate while he enjoys the afterglow, fingers carding through Faraday's hair in a way that feels intimate and pleasant. When Vasquez speaks again, when he gives Faraday's scarred form a ribald once-over, Faraday snorts out another laugh.
"Well, in my dreams, there isn't so much of a mess," he says archly, though he hardly sounds bothered for it. "You ever gonna let me up?"
Vasquez gives Faraday a pointed look that says how much he'd like to not let him up and that giving him an option in this case isn't bound to end with Vasquez wanting anything but more, but Faraday does have a point. There's going to be a sticky, uncomfortable mess if they don't clean up, which is basically his fault.
Letting his lower lip slip out for a considerate moment, he finally relaxes his hold on Faraday, stretching his arms above his head and stretching his limbs out as far as they go, yanking the pillow for behind his head, one leg bent and the foot pressed to his knee. "Go on, then, if you're so rushed," he directs with a flick of his fingers.
The smirk on his lips and the amusement is his way of saying how much he wouldn't mind letting his gaze lazily track Faraday's naked body around the room. "We are doing this again," he says firmly. "Just in case you had doubts."
Faraday lets out a short huff of feigned irritation, once Vasquez finally gives Faraday some space, wearing that little pout. He rolls his eyes as he pulls back, slipping out of the bed and looking for something appropriate to wipe his hand and his belly.
He sacrifices his wild rag for it, feeling the way Vasquez tracks his movements with an oddly hungry gaze, and Faraday hesitates, trying to decide if he finds it embarrassing or if he ought to indulge the other man by taking his time. He splits the difference, unhurried but not molasses-slow, and returns to sit on the edge of the bed with the rag, holding it out for Vasquez to wipe himself down.
"You seemed to be the one havin' doubts," Faraday replies almost smugly. "Seemed like you were the one who needed convincin' of that fact."
Vasquez reaches out for the rag, finally sitting up once he's found some energy within himself to do it. He takes his time with it, not taking his eyes off of Faraday while he works the rag, setting it on the bedside table when he's mostly clean.
Sitting up (if a bit reluctantly), he reaches for where he's discarded his shirt, tugging it back on even if it's a wrinkled mess, followed by his underpants, sitting on the edge of the bed only to light up two cigarillos, handing one out to Faraday before he slumps back against the headboard. He must look a mess, with his lips swollen and shiny, his hair a disaster, but the sheer satisfaction on his face shows that he's happy it happened.
"This morning, I didn't think you wanted any of this," he points out, with a gesture of his smoke. "Now you're talking about again? I had to make sure."
Once Vasquez starts getting himself decent, Faraday all too happily follows suit. He was a good-looking man, once, with only a handful of scars to recommend him; now, though, he feels like he must be a frightful mess. Vasquez might be accustomed to the sight, as is Faraday, but that doesn't necessarily make it a pleasant one.
Faraday pulls on his shirt, tugs on his underwear and pants, and sits on the edge of the bed, his back pressed against Vasquez's knee. He doesn't fare much better than Vasquez, really, his own lips similarly swollen, with a bit of sweat glistening on his brow. Vain man that he is, he tries to straighten his hair a bit, for all the good it'll do him.
He takes the proffered cigarillo – Faraday typically preferred his own cigars, but he had never been one to turn down a good smoke – and he rests it between his lips. He calms a little, pulling in a mouthful of smoke. At Vasquez's words, he breathes out a small, barely there chuckle.
"Trust me, compadre," he replies with a small, crooked smile, "no one's more surprised 'bout all this than me."
Somehow, though, he manages to sound pleased about it. He takes another pensive drag from the cigarillo, letting the smoke drift out from between his lips to the ceiling.
Slowly, he says, "I think I'm good, though. If you're good, that is." He pauses for a second, then adds a little pointedly, "Which means if you try'n' skip out on me, I'm trackin' you down and beatin' the hell out of you. Hear me?"
Vasquez does make a disappointed noise when Faraday starts to busy himself in getting himself dressed, his own legs still mostly bare as he stretches them out on the bed, smoking with the ease of someone who hasn't managed to get feeling back to all his limbs. Reaching out with a hand, he slides his thumb in a rubbing circling motion against Faraday's hip as he tries to pluck and pull at his shirt, getting close enough for a kiss.
"I'm not going anywhere," he vows, his voice low and rough. Smug as anything, he lays back on the bed and thinks that they're not going to have as much luck roughing it in the future, not now that they've done this, not when there's so much more to do.
The very thought of actually fucking Faraday, letting him fuck him, gives him a shiver, but he can be patient and wait. "Wouldn't want to give you any reason to have to do work," he jibes, but the touch and the smile on his lips counters any words.
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no subject
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.
no subject
Vasquez spends, fast and vicious, and it slicks Faraday’s hand, falls hot across Faraday’s belly. When he’s done, it’s charming, the way Vasquez laughs – giggles, almost – and the way he falls boneless back on the bed. Even the way he looks at Faraday like he might actually think Faraday is more than some silver-tongued, half-corned gambler steals Faraday’s breath, makes color rush up his face, when moments ago Faraday might have felt himself bristling with unfamiliarity.
He wants to reach for his scarf to start cleaning up the mess, but Vasquez catches him first, drags him down for a kiss. And with how Vasquez smiles at him, how he stares like he thinks Faraday isn’t quite real – how could Faraday ever deny him? Faraday breathes out a quick laugh, settling atop Vasquez and slotting his mouth over the other man’s again.
And a small part of him is surprised at how easily he’s fallen into this, when just minutes ago he had felt awfully wrong-footed. Faraday is far from self-assured, at the moment, but he’s at least spurred onward by how Vasquez had sounded and looked as he had fallen apart, and how wildly attractive Faraday had found it.
“You alright, there?”
no subject
He absently lets his fingers drift into Faraday's hair, stroking it as he reclines back on the single bed in the room, wondering how this happened, when today he thought he'd be coming into town to win a bet and prove he was more charming by wooing someone else into bed. Apparently, not. His heart is still racing wildly in his chest, but he doesn't want to move.
"I still think this is a dream," he confesses bluntly, because it feels like it can't be real. "Of course, in my dream, you never wear any clothes." He lets his eyes roam over Faraday's body hungrily. "Wait. Never mind, maybe it is a good dream."
no subject
It's a compelling sight, the other man beneath him, smiling and dazed beneath him. And apparently the man is affectionate while he enjoys the afterglow, fingers carding through Faraday's hair in a way that feels intimate and pleasant. When Vasquez speaks again, when he gives Faraday's scarred form a ribald once-over, Faraday snorts out another laugh.
"Well, in my dreams, there isn't so much of a mess," he says archly, though he hardly sounds bothered for it. "You ever gonna let me up?"
no subject
Letting his lower lip slip out for a considerate moment, he finally relaxes his hold on Faraday, stretching his arms above his head and stretching his limbs out as far as they go, yanking the pillow for behind his head, one leg bent and the foot pressed to his knee. "Go on, then, if you're so rushed," he directs with a flick of his fingers.
The smirk on his lips and the amusement is his way of saying how much he wouldn't mind letting his gaze lazily track Faraday's naked body around the room. "We are doing this again," he says firmly. "Just in case you had doubts."
no subject
He sacrifices his wild rag for it, feeling the way Vasquez tracks his movements with an oddly hungry gaze, and Faraday hesitates, trying to decide if he finds it embarrassing or if he ought to indulge the other man by taking his time. He splits the difference, unhurried but not molasses-slow, and returns to sit on the edge of the bed with the rag, holding it out for Vasquez to wipe himself down.
"You seemed to be the one havin' doubts," Faraday replies almost smugly. "Seemed like you were the one who needed convincin' of that fact."
no subject
Sitting up (if a bit reluctantly), he reaches for where he's discarded his shirt, tugging it back on even if it's a wrinkled mess, followed by his underpants, sitting on the edge of the bed only to light up two cigarillos, handing one out to Faraday before he slumps back against the headboard. He must look a mess, with his lips swollen and shiny, his hair a disaster, but the sheer satisfaction on his face shows that he's happy it happened.
"This morning, I didn't think you wanted any of this," he points out, with a gesture of his smoke. "Now you're talking about again? I had to make sure."
no subject
Faraday pulls on his shirt, tugs on his underwear and pants, and sits on the edge of the bed, his back pressed against Vasquez's knee. He doesn't fare much better than Vasquez, really, his own lips similarly swollen, with a bit of sweat glistening on his brow. Vain man that he is, he tries to straighten his hair a bit, for all the good it'll do him.
He takes the proffered cigarillo – Faraday typically preferred his own cigars, but he had never been one to turn down a good smoke – and he rests it between his lips. He calms a little, pulling in a mouthful of smoke. At Vasquez's words, he breathes out a small, barely there chuckle.
"Trust me, compadre," he replies with a small, crooked smile, "no one's more surprised 'bout all this than me."
Somehow, though, he manages to sound pleased about it. He takes another pensive drag from the cigarillo, letting the smoke drift out from between his lips to the ceiling.
Slowly, he says, "I think I'm good, though. If you're good, that is." He pauses for a second, then adds a little pointedly, "Which means if you try'n' skip out on me, I'm trackin' you down and beatin' the hell out of you. Hear me?"
no subject
"I'm not going anywhere," he vows, his voice low and rough. Smug as anything, he lays back on the bed and thinks that they're not going to have as much luck roughing it in the future, not now that they've done this, not when there's so much more to do.
The very thought of actually fucking Faraday, letting him fuck him, gives him a shiver, but he can be patient and wait. "Wouldn't want to give you any reason to have to do work," he jibes, but the touch and the smile on his lips counters any words.