That's the problem. They keep their heads down, they run. They do it again and again, until they die because they get exhausted. "Joshua," he breathes out, aching for touch and relief and a promise that it will all get better, but he screwed that up the moment that he'd shot that ranger. "What kind of life is that?"
What kind of life for him, but what kind of life for Faraday, too? Selfishly, Vasquez is a man infatuated and in love, he wants to protect him and to please him. This setback does neither.
"What if you'd been later? What if they'd decided to shoot?" He grunts, stroking his fingers over his mare's hair, feeling really strained. "We got lucky. I already am very lucky, I know," he swears. "I tricked myself, I think. I thought it would be different."
“Quit it,” he says quietly, without heat. “Quit thinkin’ about what might’ve happened. That won’t do neither of us any good.”
He closes the space between them again, resting a rough hand against Vasquez’s neck. Faraday keeps his touch gentle but firm in an effort to keep Vasquez from winding himself up more and more. His thumb brushes over the other man’s pulse point.
“I got there when I got there, which was just in time,” he says, certainty putting steel in his voice. “That’s all that matters, and that’s all there is to it. If this happens again? Then I’ll just keep comin’ after you. I’ll get there when I need to, and you’ll pace a trench into the ground over it, like you’re liable to do now, until you get it outta your system.”
He glares back at Faraday when he tells him to stop, because he thinks he's due for some irritation and panic, despite the fact that he doesn't want to do anything other than lean into Faraday's body, wrapping both hands around his neck like he might strangle him.
Instead, he buries his fingers in Faraday's hair and holds on tight, staring at him and trying to tell himself that Faraday's right, that they'll be fine, but they won't be. "Fuck me," he insists sharply. If he's going to calm down from this, if he's going to have half a chance at it, then he needs to be distracted.
Otherwise, he'll just think about how close he came, or he'll be stuck thinking about what his life turns into after this.
The demand startles the hell out of him, and Faraday can hardly help the bark of startled laughter that escapes him. His eyes widen, and his smile is small but disbelieving.
“What,” he asks, almost incredulous. “Now?”
Not that Faraday has any specific qualms on it, but after all the shit that just happened, he almost can’t believe what he heard. He expected at least twenty more minutes of Vasquez raging and panicking and speaking to him in tongues, but— well, if they can cut that bit out, Faraday won’t mind the loss.
"If you don't fuck me, then I'm just going to keep ranting and complaining," Vasquez warns, because he can feel it. It's a bubble of panic just on the edge of everything he knows and if he lets it consume him, it's not going to go well. If Faraday gets his hands on him, then he'll be able to ignore all the shit, put it behind him, focus on something else.
He exhales and though he'd promised to do this earlier, this definitely isn't what he had in mind when he mentioned begging. "Joshua, please," comes out wearily. "I need to have something good when my life is so shitty."
"Please?" he coaxes, fingers stroking Faraday's neck.
His expression softens all the more with the other man’s obvious desperation, with the quiet little “please,” and Faraday exhales quietly through his lips. Vasquez gets no arguments from Faraday that things today had completely gone to hell, but he hardly agrees with the man that his life is shitty. Difficult, sure. Complicated, he’ll grant that. But shitty? Hardly. And Faraday feels he’s something of an authority on the subject, considering how much time he’s spent at Vasquez’s side.
But arguing won’t get them anywhere. Vasquez clearly needs doing, not saying, and it’s a sentiment Faraday understands all too well.
“Easy, darlin’,” Faraday breathes. He rocks forward, capturing Vasquez’s lips briefly, heated and sharp with promise. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
He pulls away after that, turning to Jack and making quick work of unsaddling him. Faraday may be impatient as hell, but there are still a few basic things he understands needs taking care of. His saddle falls to the dirt with a heavy thud, and he spreads his saddle blanket on the ground after that.
“I’m not fuckin’ you,” Faraday says at length, firmly, doffing his hat and tossing it atop his saddle. There’s a wry lilt to his voice as he continues. “We’re in the middle of nowhere on the side of a road with no shortage of wild animals lurkin’ around. It’s unsanitary.”
He closes the space between them again, hooking his forefinger around the knot of the wild rag Vasquez had borrowed from him earlier in the day. He tugs the other man closer for another sharp kiss, his free hand curling a little possessively around the hinge of Vasquez’s jaw. He pulls back just enough to leave a whisper of space between them, and when he speaks, his lips still brush against Vasquez’s.
“I’ll give you the next best thing, though,” he offers, and one corner of his mouth tugs upward in a smirk. “Lie down ‘fore I change my mind.”
Better. Vasquez can already tell that this is getting better, with the kisses that he's getting. He leans forward, almost rocking into it, nipping and biting as he kisses own Faraday's jaw and to his neck, right up until he's gone. It's not that Vasquez is a man who sulks, but he feels petulant now as Faraday goes back to Jack instead of him.
There's a rude comment about the horse that he doesn't say, even if he wants to, inhaling sharply as he watches Faraday lay down the blanket. "What, you never fucked anyone dry?" It'd hurt, true, but it would keep his mind off everything else.
Still, he knows Faraday enough to know that this is a decision that he won't be swayed from, so trying is probably a stupid idea. The animals, the side of the road, the chance for passers-by, they're all dangers and after today, maybe Vasquez shouldn't be so quick to an impulse decision.
Letting his gaze fall to Faraday's lips in the scant space between them, he inhales sharply, licking his lips. "The next best thing to you fucking me?" He heads for the blanket, sitting himself down and prying off his hat as he sprawls back on his elbows, kicking one boot on top of his toes so he can look at him with intent.
"What, if you change your mind, are you going to go find someone else to do your next best thing to?" he challenges. "Maybe you could find a very sexy coyote."
He’s not too far behind Vasquez when the other man moves to the blankets. Vasquez’s sharp teasing is answered with little more than a flat, unimpressed look, though that quickly melts away into a look of appreciation as the other man lies back, looking and sounding far more at easy than he had only moments ago. Vasquez was hardly a slight man, but he was leaner than Faraday, hard, wiry muscle on a long frame. In the early days of their traveling together, he had never quite understood the warm twist he would feel low in his chest whenever he caught sight of the other man stripping down.
These days, though, now that he understands that feeling all too well – heat and want and desire – in spite of how frequently Vasquez annoyed the hell out of him.
“If you keep talkin’ like that,” Faraday says as he quickly unbuttons his vest, shrugging out of it and tossing it alongside his saddle, “I’m rollin’ right over and goin’ to sleep. I’ve had an awfully tryin’ day.”
But it’s hardly a threat, all things considered, especially not with the low rasp of his voice signaling the stirrings he feels low in his gut. And especially not with the way he closes the distance between the two of them in a couple of loping steps, straddling Vasquez’s hips and working at the fastenings of the man’s clothing.
“Now, you gonna be cooperative, or are we turnin’ in for the night?”
Vasquez might have had a trying day, too, but there's nothing like Faraday bearing in on him like that, with intent and desire in his eyes. He shifts only a little as he leans back a little more so he can stay on his elbows, but with his legs flat to the ground. Absently, he reaches up to slide his fingertips over the line of Faraday's temple, through the hair there.
It's not undressing him, it's not being cooperative, but it's showing how much Vasquez appreciates this man. "It wasn't supposed to be trying for either of us," he says, digging his nails a little firmer into Faraday's scalp as he strokes his fingers through again and again, sitting up so he can lean up to kiss him. They're steady and consistent things, but no more than a gentle brush of lips. They say I love you without him having to put it into words, because he does.
If there's any constant he holds in this world, it's that he does, and it scares the shit out of him. He's never been responsible for anything until now, and now he's gone and fallen in love with a guero that will probably get him killed.
He reaches for the bandanna around his neck to start untying it, working buttons on his shirt alternately between desperate reaching kisses. Of course, he can't give in that easy. "When am I ever cooperative, querido?"
The gentleness of Vasquez’s touch always catches him off-guard, makes something warm clench in his chest, makes it hard to breathe. Faraday isn’t used to that type of tenderness, that type of care, nor is he ever entirely sure if he deserves it. There’s a depth to Vasquez’s gestures that Faraday still doesn’t quite understand, and he still doesn’t know what to do with it all.
The other man’s token protests earn him a flat look, an unimpressed scoff, though the insistent press of Vasquez’s lips help to keep Faraday’s usual annoyances at bay. Their hands fumble with one another’s clothing, and Faraday shoves the shirt off Vasquez’s shoulders. He yanks his own shirt up and over his head, baring his mottled, patchwork skin.
(It’s easier, these days, letting the old scars show. Faraday still finds them unpleasant reminders of his brush with death, and more than that, vain creature that Faraday is, he finds them downright homely. Vasquez never seems to mind, though, and with time, Faraday’s become more and more comfortable with leaving them exposed.)
Faraday tosses their shirts aside, and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight beneath him. He smooths calloused hands down Vasquez’s chest, feeling the other man’s heartbeat like a war drum under his palm.
Impatient as he always is, with need and want fanning the flames gathering in his gut, Faraday decides enough is enough and instead goes for the buckle on the other man’s belt, working it loose and yanking the belt from the loops of Vasquez’s pants. All the while, he keeps his mouth slotted over Vasquez’s, turns that gentle press into something sharper, more intense, teeth catching on the other man’s lips, tongues sliding together.
Vasquez practically tears off at his shirt when Faraday gets it to his shoulders, not wanting it on him for a single second more when it could be off him and he could be mostly naked. Leaving it in a crumpled pile behind him, Vasquez surges up and grabs Faraday by the neck to haul him in for a messier kiss, growing frantic with every moment that passes without the clothes off every more.
Breathless, Vasquez leans back on his elbow when Faraday goes for his belt, tugging him down so that Faraday will fall on top of him, but he's not smart enough to let Faraday do this without at least one or two little remarks.
Besides, there is the part where he genuinely wants to know, "What happened to not fucking me?" is his heated and rough demand, voice hoarse.
He lets out a startled sound as Vasquez pulls him down, has to catch himself on the other man’s shoulder to avoid knocking their teeth together. Reluctant as he is to part from the other man, he growls between the press of their lips, “You ass,” before letting the kiss distract him again.
His voice, at least, betrays a tone of good humor. Apparently Faraday didn’t mind overly much, though he would almost certainly be singing a different tune if the two of them had banged their brows together.
When Vasquez pulls back enough to let that question hang between them, Faraday snorts out a laugh, pulls back just enough to let Vasquez get the full force of his flat, unimpressed look.
“I said I wasn’t gonna fuck you, sure,” he replies, voice similarly rough and heated. The cool air presses against his heated, flushed skin, and he takes a deep breath, taking in the scent of tobacco and earth and that unique crispness of the night. He reaches for the fastenings of Vasquez’s pants, fumbling a little in his hurry. “Don’t mean we don’t got other options, darlin’. My hands, for instance. Or my mouth.”
But he stops to flash Vasquez a sharp, roguish smile in the dark.
Vasquez laughs at the huff, like all the stress from earlier is bleeding out like someone just popped all the air out of him and he's left with nothing but sheer delight, wrapping a hand around Faraday's neck so he can distract himself with constant kissing, having discovered that no one's a better kisser than Faraday (not that he plans to bulk up his ego by telling him).
"It seems like you're on your way to fucking me," he points out, given how much he's getting stripped near to naked, but he inhales sharply when Faraday manages to get his pants undone, a warm feeling in his chest, swelling and making his heart feel two sizes bigger.
He really does love this idiot of a man, though he's not always sure how to say it, so he tries to show it. "You know I dream about your mouth on me," he says, and it's a raw admission, a hoarse truth. "Only if you want, though."
Faraday’s expression pinches a little, mouth twisting over to one side.
“Is this your way of askin’ me to put my shirt back on?” he asks, though it’s a token complaint, considering he makes no move to retrieve his shirt, occupied as he is with unfastening Vasquez’s trousers.
He pauses, though, when Vasquez makes that little admission, something odd and warm and a little squirrely twisting in his chest with those words. Faraday often touted himself as the world’s greatest lover, sure, often waggled his eyebrows suggestively in hopes of drawing out a laugh from the other man, but it’s not often that someone is so candid about wanting him. Sure, he’s heard more than enough from pretty saloon girls about wanting sex in general, making vague remarks that they surely told to every man who crossed their path, but no one specifically wanting Faraday.
And as with many things, Faraday isn’t entirely sure what to do with this strange feeling.
So he ignores it.
“You oughta know by now that I don’t do nothin’ I don’t want to,” he says simply. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Vasquez’s pants, giving them a quick tug to signal his intentions of dragging them down.
"Never," Vasquez confirms like it's a wild thing that he's saying, his eyes sparkling with mischief, even though the fire in his eyes isn't playfulness but a desperate energy that's trying its best to burst free. He needs to think of something other than what happens tomorrow, when all is said and done. That's what terrifies him the most.
"You're the most stubborn bastard this side of me," he agrees, which doesn't come without its fair share of fondness, too, that aching clear in the way he wants to reach out and have Faraday touch him in other ways, but he helps to hitch his hips off the ground.
Shoving at his trousers, he wants them gone, too, reaching to thread his fingers through Faraday's hair, like he's ready to get a good grip, already knowing he needs to be easy, otherwise he might get a fistful of actual hair. "Nene, come on," he hisses at him, willing to withstand some teasing, but not that much.
“Easy,” Faraday says, tossing the clothing to one side to get it out of the way. He smiles at Vasquez, sharp and crooked. “You know better than to rush me, darlin’.”
But even as he offers that little complaint, he crouches over Vasquez, slots their lips together in a heated, bruising kiss. The other man is desperate, frantic, needs a quick outlet for whatever it is that has him so terribly wound-up, tighter than a spring. (Faraday has an inkling on why, of course, though his assumption has more to do with today’s close call, with the desperation that accompanies such near brushes with death.
He has no idea that Vasquez’s panic is more far-reaching than that.)
But soon enough he breaks the kiss, traveling down Vasquez’s body, biting as his throat, his collar bone, down along his chest. He bites a dark mark into the flesh just above Vasquez’s hip bone – Faraday, it seems, does not do gentle – before he pauses, glancing down at Vasquez’s cock. This is unfamiliar territory for Faraday, certainly, but he’s something of a man of his word. He promised Vasquez he’d do something for him, and he’s damn well going to give it to him.
He curls a hand over the other man’s hip, half to hold Vasquez still, half to brace himself; his other hand wraps around the base of Vasquez’s cock, and slowly, carefully, he takes the other man into his mouth.
Vasquez wouldn't know what to do with gentle if it smacked him across the ass, so he's more than a little grateful for him to suck whatever marks he wants into his skin, shivering and gasping when it makes him buck up, his whole body moving as he looks down, warily.
He wants this, of course he does, but he doesn't want to push Faraday too far. That's why he's going to keep his hips down, refuse to buck up. He's going to let Faraday set this pace, nothing else. "Carino," he murmurs, the 'sweetheart' so soft and sweet and careful, so tender, and he loves this man more than he thought he could love anyone.
Maybe that's why everything aches so much, why he's panicking, because today showed him what's going to tear it apart. Draping an arm over his eyes, he lets that be his cover as he licks his lips, letting Faraday do this wonderful thing for him.
Vasquez’s cock is heavy on Faraday’s tongue, the weight of it unfamiliar and odd, but far from unpleasant. Faraday’s never done this before, but he’s been on the receiving end more times than he can count; he hopes that experience means he knows at least a little of what he ought to do.
He licks a stripe along the lower vein running along Vasquez’s cock, tentative and careful, before he takes him into his mouth again – shallow, at least at first, before he takes him in further and further, bobbing up and down and matching the rhythm of his hand to it. He tries to watch Vasquez’s face by the dim, silver light of the moon, though that’s made even more difficult with the arm he’s thrown over his eyes. But maybe that’s encouraging, too? Stands to reason that a posture like that signals a man is submitting to the sensation, is letting himself get lost to it.
And that’s a damn sight better than the panic Vasquez had demonstrated earlier, that frantic desperation that reminded Faraday more than a little of a man staring down a firing squad.
But then Vasquez has to go and say that word again, that little pet name, delicate and warm and fond. It steals Faraday’s breath for a second before drawing out a quiet, shuddering, involuntary moan from him, the sound of it humming along Vasquez’s cock.
If Vasquez is honest, Faraday could probably give him the worst blowjob in his history and he'd still like it, if only because the man had willingly offered this before descending on him, which is so much more than Vasquez had ever expected. Here he'd been, asking only to be fucked. Instead, Faraday had been insistent on giving him so much more.
Even with the panic at the edges, he wants to see this and the arm comes off so he can struggle his way onto his elbows, moaning almost without meaning to at the first sight of Faraday with his mouth on him and if that isn't enough, then the way he works tentatively over him and the way that fades into something more confident.
"Fuck," is in English, so Faraday can understand how much he's unraveling Vasquez, especially with that fucking little hum. "Joshua," comes next, his brow furrowed with the pleasure of it. "Te amo," he breathes, caught off guard with it, but it's true.
It's not often Vasquez turns Faraday's given name on him, and he says it with that strange, unexpected – though far from unwelcome – warmth an affection that makes Faraday's chest clench. The words that come after, though, Te amo, are new on him, foreign as they are, and he pauses briefly, cutting Vasquez a quick, almost puzzled look in the dark.
A new pet name, Faraday has to figure. A new little endearment to add in alongside guapo, carino, and nene.
Funny, how much he's starting to like hearing those words, when what feels like lifetimes ago, he had bristled with them, thinking they were insults.
He keeps working, bobbing slowly, carefully, up and down along Vasquez's cock, one hand echoing the movement. His other hand smooths along Vasquez's thigh, up to the hard blade of his hip. He can feel his own cock, hard and uncomfortably pinned by the material of his trousers, but he can ignore it in favor of the breathless sounds Vasquez is making, in favor of the way Vasquez moves beneath him.
Faraday pulls back a little, searching Vasquez's face in the dim light. When he speaks, his breath still ghosts along the head of Vasquez's cock.
"You okay, darlin'?" he asks softly. One of Faraday's hands smooths up along Vasquez's side, back down to his hip, while the other moves up and down along Vasquez's cock in slow, even strokes. "You need anythin' different?"
Faraday doesn't stop, which probably means that he didn't understand. Vasquez hates the flood of relief through him, but he knows that if Faraday did know what it all meant, then he wouldn't keep going the way he is. He'd stop, not let Vasquez have more of this, because he's still sure he's a few steps ahead in this game.
He arches, just a little, but not enough to choke. This is Faraday helping him, his mouth on him, this isn't Vasquez getting to fuck his face. When he moves away, but keeps stroking him so tenderly, the choked sound in his throat resembles a whimper.
Grabbing at Faraday's hair a little tighter, he tries to incline him back to what he'd been doing. "No, you're perfect," he says bluntly, no insult required, not when Faraday is taking him apart so well. "Please, keep...keep, this," he insists, gesturing wildly to his cock. "And then, maybe, fuck me," he barks, refusing to take no for that answer.
Faraday breathes out a warm little laugh, curling his hand over the blade of Vasquez's hip. The man looks good like this, arching and panting beneath him, and he wishes the moonlight was just a bit brighter so he could see the the flush on Vasquez's skin, the way his eyes go dark and half-lidded as need crashes through him.
The grip in Faraday's hair makes him wince a little, but it's not enough to hurt. There's a new sort of impatience, there, and Faraday far prefers this to the panic of earlier.
"One thing at a time, sweetheart," he says, and the words are cast wryly, fondly, his breath ghosting over Vasquez's length.
Insistent as Vasquez is, Faraday moves back over his cock, taking him into his mouth. This is his first time doing this, but Vasquez seems to be enjoying himself, which Faraday takes as a good sign. He picks up the pace a little, his hand working in tandem with his mouth.
Shit, it's not going to take him long. He'd be embarrassed, but it's not like his reputation is what he's worried about, now. After all, there are much worse things that could happen today apart from him coming undone so quickly. He whines again, hips arching up, and the heat of Faraday's mouth is fucking too much, in a good way.
"Nene, te amo," he breathes, because in for a penny, lose all the pounds at this point. "Dame todo mientras podamos, antes de que me dejes," he rambles, not even half aware of what he's saying, until he feels the flood of warmth and that telltale sign...
"I'm going to come," he warns, voice low and hitched.
Faraday moves with Vasquez, easing back a little as the other man arches up to keep himself from choking on his length. But he finds his rhythm, soon enough, bobbing up and down along Vasquez's cock, feeling a little more at ease as Vasquez seems to lose control.
The words that fall from the other man's lips earn him a brief look, something caught between amused and puzzled. Faraday isn't entirely sure if those are words of encouragement or quiet swears, but the reverence in the other man's voice tells him it's probably something good.
And sure enough, Vasquez switches to a language they both understand, and Faraday hesitates for less than a second, wondering what he ought to do, whether or not he should pull back and finish Vasquez off with a few jerks of his hand.
But the hesitation doesn't last long, and Faraday answers with a low, approving hum, his lips and hand still wrapped around the other man's cock.
"Cabron," comes his appreciative wheeze of amusement and fondness, the grip on Faraday's hair shifting to something more tender as he rubs his thumb over Faraday's temple, the burst of warmth in his gut from the blowjob, but also from Faraday's willingness to swallow, take him whole. Would he have ever thought this possible before?
No, but fuck before, this is a thousand times better. Eyes squeezed shut, he tries to last, but no, it's a lost cause. "Josh," he gets out, a barely there breath and then he comes. With it, he feels like his energy goes and some of the panic.
It's replaced by the settling grief of knowing what his future is going to be, if he wants to live, but there's no reason to tell Faraday now. Why ruin a good night?
Instead, he keeps stroking his fingers through Faraday's hair as the last of his orgasm leaves him boneless and the lack of panic makes him feel weary and sated, all at once. He hasn't forgotten Faraday, though. With half-lidded eyes, he cranes his head to the side and looks at the other man. "You want to fuck me? You can."
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What kind of life for him, but what kind of life for Faraday, too? Selfishly, Vasquez is a man infatuated and in love, he wants to protect him and to please him. This setback does neither.
"What if you'd been later? What if they'd decided to shoot?" He grunts, stroking his fingers over his mare's hair, feeling really strained. "We got lucky. I already am very lucky, I know," he swears. "I tricked myself, I think. I thought it would be different."
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He closes the space between them again, resting a rough hand against Vasquez’s neck. Faraday keeps his touch gentle but firm in an effort to keep Vasquez from winding himself up more and more. His thumb brushes over the other man’s pulse point.
“I got there when I got there, which was just in time,” he says, certainty putting steel in his voice. “That’s all that matters, and that’s all there is to it. If this happens again? Then I’ll just keep comin’ after you. I’ll get there when I need to, and you’ll pace a trench into the ground over it, like you’re liable to do now, until you get it outta your system.”
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Instead, he buries his fingers in Faraday's hair and holds on tight, staring at him and trying to tell himself that Faraday's right, that they'll be fine, but they won't be. "Fuck me," he insists sharply. If he's going to calm down from this, if he's going to have half a chance at it, then he needs to be distracted.
Otherwise, he'll just think about how close he came, or he'll be stuck thinking about what his life turns into after this.
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“What,” he asks, almost incredulous. “Now?”
Not that Faraday has any specific qualms on it, but after all the shit that just happened, he almost can’t believe what he heard. He expected at least twenty more minutes of Vasquez raging and panicking and speaking to him in tongues, but— well, if they can cut that bit out, Faraday won’t mind the loss.
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He exhales and though he'd promised to do this earlier, this definitely isn't what he had in mind when he mentioned begging. "Joshua, please," comes out wearily. "I need to have something good when my life is so shitty."
"Please?" he coaxes, fingers stroking Faraday's neck.
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But arguing won’t get them anywhere. Vasquez clearly needs doing, not saying, and it’s a sentiment Faraday understands all too well.
“Easy, darlin’,” Faraday breathes. He rocks forward, capturing Vasquez’s lips briefly, heated and sharp with promise. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
He pulls away after that, turning to Jack and making quick work of unsaddling him. Faraday may be impatient as hell, but there are still a few basic things he understands needs taking care of. His saddle falls to the dirt with a heavy thud, and he spreads his saddle blanket on the ground after that.
“I’m not fuckin’ you,” Faraday says at length, firmly, doffing his hat and tossing it atop his saddle. There’s a wry lilt to his voice as he continues. “We’re in the middle of nowhere on the side of a road with no shortage of wild animals lurkin’ around. It’s unsanitary.”
He closes the space between them again, hooking his forefinger around the knot of the wild rag Vasquez had borrowed from him earlier in the day. He tugs the other man closer for another sharp kiss, his free hand curling a little possessively around the hinge of Vasquez’s jaw. He pulls back just enough to leave a whisper of space between them, and when he speaks, his lips still brush against Vasquez’s.
“I’ll give you the next best thing, though,” he offers, and one corner of his mouth tugs upward in a smirk. “Lie down ‘fore I change my mind.”
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There's a rude comment about the horse that he doesn't say, even if he wants to, inhaling sharply as he watches Faraday lay down the blanket. "What, you never fucked anyone dry?" It'd hurt, true, but it would keep his mind off everything else.
Still, he knows Faraday enough to know that this is a decision that he won't be swayed from, so trying is probably a stupid idea. The animals, the side of the road, the chance for passers-by, they're all dangers and after today, maybe Vasquez shouldn't be so quick to an impulse decision.
Letting his gaze fall to Faraday's lips in the scant space between them, he inhales sharply, licking his lips. "The next best thing to you fucking me?" He heads for the blanket, sitting himself down and prying off his hat as he sprawls back on his elbows, kicking one boot on top of his toes so he can look at him with intent.
"What, if you change your mind, are you going to go find someone else to do your next best thing to?" he challenges. "Maybe you could find a very sexy coyote."
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These days, though, now that he understands that feeling all too well – heat and want and desire – in spite of how frequently Vasquez annoyed the hell out of him.
“If you keep talkin’ like that,” Faraday says as he quickly unbuttons his vest, shrugging out of it and tossing it alongside his saddle, “I’m rollin’ right over and goin’ to sleep. I’ve had an awfully tryin’ day.”
But it’s hardly a threat, all things considered, especially not with the low rasp of his voice signaling the stirrings he feels low in his gut. And especially not with the way he closes the distance between the two of them in a couple of loping steps, straddling Vasquez’s hips and working at the fastenings of the man’s clothing.
“Now, you gonna be cooperative, or are we turnin’ in for the night?”
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It's not undressing him, it's not being cooperative, but it's showing how much Vasquez appreciates this man. "It wasn't supposed to be trying for either of us," he says, digging his nails a little firmer into Faraday's scalp as he strokes his fingers through again and again, sitting up so he can lean up to kiss him. They're steady and consistent things, but no more than a gentle brush of lips. They say I love you without him having to put it into words, because he does.
If there's any constant he holds in this world, it's that he does, and it scares the shit out of him. He's never been responsible for anything until now, and now he's gone and fallen in love with a guero that will probably get him killed.
He reaches for the bandanna around his neck to start untying it, working buttons on his shirt alternately between desperate reaching kisses. Of course, he can't give in that easy. "When am I ever cooperative, querido?"
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The other man’s token protests earn him a flat look, an unimpressed scoff, though the insistent press of Vasquez’s lips help to keep Faraday’s usual annoyances at bay. Their hands fumble with one another’s clothing, and Faraday shoves the shirt off Vasquez’s shoulders. He yanks his own shirt up and over his head, baring his mottled, patchwork skin.
(It’s easier, these days, letting the old scars show. Faraday still finds them unpleasant reminders of his brush with death, and more than that, vain creature that Faraday is, he finds them downright homely. Vasquez never seems to mind, though, and with time, Faraday’s become more and more comfortable with leaving them exposed.)
Faraday tosses their shirts aside, and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight beneath him. He smooths calloused hands down Vasquez’s chest, feeling the other man’s heartbeat like a war drum under his palm.
Impatient as he always is, with need and want fanning the flames gathering in his gut, Faraday decides enough is enough and instead goes for the buckle on the other man’s belt, working it loose and yanking the belt from the loops of Vasquez’s pants. All the while, he keeps his mouth slotted over Vasquez’s, turns that gentle press into something sharper, more intense, teeth catching on the other man’s lips, tongues sliding together.
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Breathless, Vasquez leans back on his elbow when Faraday goes for his belt, tugging him down so that Faraday will fall on top of him, but he's not smart enough to let Faraday do this without at least one or two little remarks.
Besides, there is the part where he genuinely wants to know, "What happened to not fucking me?" is his heated and rough demand, voice hoarse.
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His voice, at least, betrays a tone of good humor. Apparently Faraday didn’t mind overly much, though he would almost certainly be singing a different tune if the two of them had banged their brows together.
When Vasquez pulls back enough to let that question hang between them, Faraday snorts out a laugh, pulls back just enough to let Vasquez get the full force of his flat, unimpressed look.
“I said I wasn’t gonna fuck you, sure,” he replies, voice similarly rough and heated. The cool air presses against his heated, flushed skin, and he takes a deep breath, taking in the scent of tobacco and earth and that unique crispness of the night. He reaches for the fastenings of Vasquez’s pants, fumbling a little in his hurry. “Don’t mean we don’t got other options, darlin’. My hands, for instance. Or my mouth.”
But he stops to flash Vasquez a sharp, roguish smile in the dark.
“Unless you got any complaints?”
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"It seems like you're on your way to fucking me," he points out, given how much he's getting stripped near to naked, but he inhales sharply when Faraday manages to get his pants undone, a warm feeling in his chest, swelling and making his heart feel two sizes bigger.
He really does love this idiot of a man, though he's not always sure how to say it, so he tries to show it. "You know I dream about your mouth on me," he says, and it's a raw admission, a hoarse truth. "Only if you want, though."
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“Is this your way of askin’ me to put my shirt back on?” he asks, though it’s a token complaint, considering he makes no move to retrieve his shirt, occupied as he is with unfastening Vasquez’s trousers.
He pauses, though, when Vasquez makes that little admission, something odd and warm and a little squirrely twisting in his chest with those words. Faraday often touted himself as the world’s greatest lover, sure, often waggled his eyebrows suggestively in hopes of drawing out a laugh from the other man, but it’s not often that someone is so candid about wanting him. Sure, he’s heard more than enough from pretty saloon girls about wanting sex in general, making vague remarks that they surely told to every man who crossed their path, but no one specifically wanting Faraday.
And as with many things, Faraday isn’t entirely sure what to do with this strange feeling.
So he ignores it.
“You oughta know by now that I don’t do nothin’ I don’t want to,” he says simply. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Vasquez’s pants, giving them a quick tug to signal his intentions of dragging them down.
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"You're the most stubborn bastard this side of me," he agrees, which doesn't come without its fair share of fondness, too, that aching clear in the way he wants to reach out and have Faraday touch him in other ways, but he helps to hitch his hips off the ground.
Shoving at his trousers, he wants them gone, too, reaching to thread his fingers through Faraday's hair, like he's ready to get a good grip, already knowing he needs to be easy, otherwise he might get a fistful of actual hair. "Nene, come on," he hisses at him, willing to withstand some teasing, but not that much.
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But even as he offers that little complaint, he crouches over Vasquez, slots their lips together in a heated, bruising kiss. The other man is desperate, frantic, needs a quick outlet for whatever it is that has him so terribly wound-up, tighter than a spring. (Faraday has an inkling on why, of course, though his assumption has more to do with today’s close call, with the desperation that accompanies such near brushes with death.
He has no idea that Vasquez’s panic is more far-reaching than that.)
But soon enough he breaks the kiss, traveling down Vasquez’s body, biting as his throat, his collar bone, down along his chest. He bites a dark mark into the flesh just above Vasquez’s hip bone – Faraday, it seems, does not do gentle – before he pauses, glancing down at Vasquez’s cock. This is unfamiliar territory for Faraday, certainly, but he’s something of a man of his word. He promised Vasquez he’d do something for him, and he’s damn well going to give it to him.
He curls a hand over the other man’s hip, half to hold Vasquez still, half to brace himself; his other hand wraps around the base of Vasquez’s cock, and slowly, carefully, he takes the other man into his mouth.
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He wants this, of course he does, but he doesn't want to push Faraday too far. That's why he's going to keep his hips down, refuse to buck up. He's going to let Faraday set this pace, nothing else. "Carino," he murmurs, the 'sweetheart' so soft and sweet and careful, so tender, and he loves this man more than he thought he could love anyone.
Maybe that's why everything aches so much, why he's panicking, because today showed him what's going to tear it apart. Draping an arm over his eyes, he lets that be his cover as he licks his lips, letting Faraday do this wonderful thing for him.
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He licks a stripe along the lower vein running along Vasquez’s cock, tentative and careful, before he takes him into his mouth again – shallow, at least at first, before he takes him in further and further, bobbing up and down and matching the rhythm of his hand to it. He tries to watch Vasquez’s face by the dim, silver light of the moon, though that’s made even more difficult with the arm he’s thrown over his eyes. But maybe that’s encouraging, too? Stands to reason that a posture like that signals a man is submitting to the sensation, is letting himself get lost to it.
And that’s a damn sight better than the panic Vasquez had demonstrated earlier, that frantic desperation that reminded Faraday more than a little of a man staring down a firing squad.
But then Vasquez has to go and say that word again, that little pet name, delicate and warm and fond. It steals Faraday’s breath for a second before drawing out a quiet, shuddering, involuntary moan from him, the sound of it humming along Vasquez’s cock.
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Even with the panic at the edges, he wants to see this and the arm comes off so he can struggle his way onto his elbows, moaning almost without meaning to at the first sight of Faraday with his mouth on him and if that isn't enough, then the way he works tentatively over him and the way that fades into something more confident.
"Fuck," is in English, so Faraday can understand how much he's unraveling Vasquez, especially with that fucking little hum. "Joshua," comes next, his brow furrowed with the pleasure of it. "Te amo," he breathes, caught off guard with it, but it's true.
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A new pet name, Faraday has to figure. A new little endearment to add in alongside guapo, carino, and nene.
Funny, how much he's starting to like hearing those words, when what feels like lifetimes ago, he had bristled with them, thinking they were insults.
He keeps working, bobbing slowly, carefully, up and down along Vasquez's cock, one hand echoing the movement. His other hand smooths along Vasquez's thigh, up to the hard blade of his hip. He can feel his own cock, hard and uncomfortably pinned by the material of his trousers, but he can ignore it in favor of the breathless sounds Vasquez is making, in favor of the way Vasquez moves beneath him.
Faraday pulls back a little, searching Vasquez's face in the dim light. When he speaks, his breath still ghosts along the head of Vasquez's cock.
"You okay, darlin'?" he asks softly. One of Faraday's hands smooths up along Vasquez's side, back down to his hip, while the other moves up and down along Vasquez's cock in slow, even strokes. "You need anythin' different?"
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He arches, just a little, but not enough to choke. This is Faraday helping him, his mouth on him, this isn't Vasquez getting to fuck his face. When he moves away, but keeps stroking him so tenderly, the choked sound in his throat resembles a whimper.
Grabbing at Faraday's hair a little tighter, he tries to incline him back to what he'd been doing. "No, you're perfect," he says bluntly, no insult required, not when Faraday is taking him apart so well. "Please, keep...keep, this," he insists, gesturing wildly to his cock. "And then, maybe, fuck me," he barks, refusing to take no for that answer.
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The grip in Faraday's hair makes him wince a little, but it's not enough to hurt. There's a new sort of impatience, there, and Faraday far prefers this to the panic of earlier.
"One thing at a time, sweetheart," he says, and the words are cast wryly, fondly, his breath ghosting over Vasquez's length.
Insistent as Vasquez is, Faraday moves back over his cock, taking him into his mouth. This is his first time doing this, but Vasquez seems to be enjoying himself, which Faraday takes as a good sign. He picks up the pace a little, his hand working in tandem with his mouth.
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"Nene, te amo," he breathes, because in for a penny, lose all the pounds at this point. "Dame todo mientras podamos, antes de que me dejes," he rambles, not even half aware of what he's saying, until he feels the flood of warmth and that telltale sign...
"I'm going to come," he warns, voice low and hitched.
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The words that fall from the other man's lips earn him a brief look, something caught between amused and puzzled. Faraday isn't entirely sure if those are words of encouragement or quiet swears, but the reverence in the other man's voice tells him it's probably something good.
And sure enough, Vasquez switches to a language they both understand, and Faraday hesitates for less than a second, wondering what he ought to do, whether or not he should pull back and finish Vasquez off with a few jerks of his hand.
But the hesitation doesn't last long, and Faraday answers with a low, approving hum, his lips and hand still wrapped around the other man's cock.
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No, but fuck before, this is a thousand times better. Eyes squeezed shut, he tries to last, but no, it's a lost cause. "Josh," he gets out, a barely there breath and then he comes. With it, he feels like his energy goes and some of the panic.
It's replaced by the settling grief of knowing what his future is going to be, if he wants to live, but there's no reason to tell Faraday now. Why ruin a good night?
Instead, he keeps stroking his fingers through Faraday's hair as the last of his orgasm leaves him boneless and the lack of panic makes him feel weary and sated, all at once. He hasn't forgotten Faraday, though. With half-lidded eyes, he cranes his head to the side and looks at the other man. "You want to fuck me? You can."
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i'm so sorry this took so long; this month has been awful work-wise
<333 I'm very happy for the tag! I will reply and then link to a new one with a mini time jump
new link!