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."
The burst of salt across his tongue nearly catches Faraday by surprise, but rather than back off, he works Vasquez through it, hand stroking his length, lips still wrapped around the head. It's odd, but not entirely unpleasant, and more than that, the way Vasquez twists and tenses, jerks and moans beneath him is damn near intoxicating.
It's a hell of a sight, and more than that, Faraday starts thinking that this might very well be habit-forming.
Once Vasquez lies boneless beneath him, Faraday turns, spits out the other man's spend. (All grace, is one Joshua Faraday.) He turns back, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and while his smile is very near feral, there's something soft in, it too. Something warm.
"Darlin'," he says, low and husky and something unmistakably fond in his voice. "I appreciate the offer, but you look on the verge of passin' out."
It's been an achingly long day and tired though he might be, he's also not that much of an asshole to leave Faraday on his own without any release. He laughs, filthy and warm, when he watches Faraday spit out, even if it catches on something that wrecks it, makes it echo with a hint of grief.
"What kind of man passes out before he can give something back?" he demands, reaching out for him to tug him closer by his hair, even if for now, all he musters up is a languid, slow, open mouthed kiss, nuzzling at his neck and the bristle of his beard when he eases back. "Te amo," he murmurs. "y lo siento."
Sorry that he loves him? Sorry for today? Or just sorry for the future and what happens next?
"I might not move much, but come here," he murmurs, sliding his hand down Faraday's pants to wrap around his dick.
Faraday’s made a habit of reading people, of catching little strange tells in body language and voices – which means he hears it, when Vasquez’s laugh turns odd, almost—
— almost something. Noticing isn’t the same as understanding, it seems, and Faraday frowns at him, lips parting to ask after the strange quality of his voice.
But Vasquez catches him, instead, with his fingers tangled in Faraday’s hair as they are, pulls Faraday down and traps the words between their mouths as they kiss. Faraday props himself up on his elbows and knees, straddling Vasquez’s hips. The questions sit at the back of Faraday’s mind, though, and when he hears Vasquez switch to his mother tongue, hears that new— nickname, he supposes? Something tightens in his chest with how sweetly Vasquez says it.
But there’s something odd there, too. Again. And “lo siento” sounds familiar enough, though Faraday can’t place the phrase’s meaning. He’s certainly heard it before – maybe not directed explicitly to him, but in general, he thinks. He hardly has time to ruminate on it, though, before Vasquez wraps a calloused hand around his cock, and Faraday lets out a startled, broken sound. He bucks into the other man’s grip, his cock hard and throbbing after attending to Vasquez.
“You don’t have to, darlin’,” Faraday offers again, though his voice is low and hoarse with want. “I’ll keep till mornin’.”
Vasquez refuses to take his hand off of Faraday's cock, because if this is going to be the beginning of things being over, then he wants every last touch he can get, every kiss he can steal. He's been a robber and a bandit for so long, but all he wants now is to thieve away Faraday's sense.
"Callate," he hisses at him, leaning up to pepper slow kisses over his neck, breathing him in deeply as he tries to memorize him. "Déjame tener esto," he insists, his pace getting quicker as he works his calloused fingers over Faraday, unable to see him properly unless he tips towards his good eye, so he does and marvels at how good he looks like this.
Who knows? Maybe Faraday will come and visit him, at least until he finds himself another pretty Ethel who'll sing at him and want to stay.
Okay, then. Callate Faraday knows all too well, considering Vasquez has turned it on him more than a few times, and he can’t help the little huff of a laugh that escapes him. The rest of what Vasquez says is lost on him, but Faraday thinks he gets the picture.
Shut up and enjoy it.
And, well, Faraday has always been at least a little selfish, and rather than keep arguing, he offers a low, wordless sound of pleasure.
Vasquez’s grip is rough against his dick, and Faraday tips his head to one side while Vasquez’s lips travel the column of his throat. It’s an awkward position for both of them, and his old wounds twitch to signal their discomfort, but considering how wrung-out Vasquez seemed, Faraday isn’t entirely sure if the man has it in him to switch positions. But that’s fine, he thinks, as he rocks his hips, thrusting himself into Vasquez’s calloused palm. That’s just fine. More than fine, so long as Vasquez keeps this up.
His eyes go half-lidded, gaze growing distant, and his focus hones in on the roughness of Vasquez's palm, on the heat and of his mouth, on the rasp of his beard against Faraday’s neck. Dark as it currently is, Vasquez probably misses the way color rises up on Faraday’s skin. It’s not long before the rocking of his hips picks up, trying to force Vasquez into a slightly faster rhythm, and—
"Oh, hell," he murmurs, heated and rough. He lets out a strained noise, rutting into Vasquez's grip. "I'm close, sweetheart, I'm real close—"
Good thing that Vasquez is so ready for this, that he's at his nerves' end that he just wants to bring him off all the more, the frantic panicked energy in him feeding the speed in which he works his hand over Faraday's cock, tangling his other hand through Faraday's hair to coax him in and kiss him, trying to swallow up every word he's trying to say.
He's not trying to think about this as the last thing they'll get to do together, but it's hard not to. After all, he really doubts that once Vasquez goes back to hiding for safety and to keep his head, that Faraday will follow.
He kisses like that, as if he can claim these moments and push them back, working his hand as fast as he can right up until the moment he slows, thumb rubbing in circles, and his kisses turn careful and loving, too. Closing his head, he rests his forehead on Faraday's shoulder before he picks up the pace again, thinking that he can't bear to watch this.
He's not that brave.
i'm so sorry this took so long; this month has been awful work-wise
He goes where he's led, slotting his mouth over Vasquez's as that golden wave builds low in his gut. Faraday doesn't have much of a mind for speaking in any sort of coherent fashion, but his wordless groans are trapped between the press of their lips.
When Vasquez's almost feverish pace slows to a crawl, Faraday can't help the desperate sound he makes, something startled out of him that he can't quite hold back. Before he can even think to ask if something were the matter, though, Vasquez's hand renews its efforts, and Faraday's teeth clamp down on his lower lip to cage in the strained noise that claws out of his throat.
He spills over Vasquez's hand, gasping and moaning as his entire body seizes. He thinks he shapes Vasquez's name – Ale – but with the way his mind blanks, he's not entirely sure.
When he returns to himself, his limbs are shaking with exhaustion, though the worst of his old aches are sanded away by the hazy warmth that suffuses his veins. He lets his limbs fold under him in a controlled fall as he collapses to the blanket at Vasquez's side. He sits up long enough to retrieve one of the discarded bandannas to wipe the two of them clean, but after that, he flops back down. Throwing an arm across Vasquez's middle, he huffs out a breathless laugh.
He murmurs against the other man's shoulder, "Wouldn't mind endin' more evenings like this."
<333 I'm very happy for the tag! I will reply and then link to a new one with a mini time jump
Vasquez finds himself nosing at Faraday's neck, the tip of his nose tracing the warmth of his neck as he curls in, eyes closed, his mood sombre, and he thinks that it would have been nice if he had been someone else. If he hadn't been a wanted man, maybe they could do this more often and have this life.
As it is, it's at least a good way to end things, with him surrounded by Faraday's warmth. He's so worn from the day that he knows there's little fight in him, little of anything else. He still thinks he can't finish the night without saying one last thing.
"Te amo, Joshua," he murmurs, needing him to understand that, more than anything. "I mean it, no matter what." Because tomorrow, he knows that Faraday won't feel so much fondness towards him, not after what's coming. Still, for Faraday to live a life that's full and rich and not hiding, he knows that it needs to happen. Dragging Faraday towards him a little tighter, he doesn't plan to move from where he lies, not until the morning.
Until then, he's stealing every second he can get.
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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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It's a hell of a sight, and more than that, Faraday starts thinking that this might very well be habit-forming.
Once Vasquez lies boneless beneath him, Faraday turns, spits out the other man's spend. (All grace, is one Joshua Faraday.) He turns back, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and while his smile is very near feral, there's something soft in, it too. Something warm.
"Darlin'," he says, low and husky and something unmistakably fond in his voice. "I appreciate the offer, but you look on the verge of passin' out."
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"What kind of man passes out before he can give something back?" he demands, reaching out for him to tug him closer by his hair, even if for now, all he musters up is a languid, slow, open mouthed kiss, nuzzling at his neck and the bristle of his beard when he eases back. "Te amo," he murmurs. "y lo siento."
Sorry that he loves him? Sorry for today? Or just sorry for the future and what happens next?
"I might not move much, but come here," he murmurs, sliding his hand down Faraday's pants to wrap around his dick.
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— almost something. Noticing isn’t the same as understanding, it seems, and Faraday frowns at him, lips parting to ask after the strange quality of his voice.
But Vasquez catches him, instead, with his fingers tangled in Faraday’s hair as they are, pulls Faraday down and traps the words between their mouths as they kiss. Faraday props himself up on his elbows and knees, straddling Vasquez’s hips. The questions sit at the back of Faraday’s mind, though, and when he hears Vasquez switch to his mother tongue, hears that new— nickname, he supposes? Something tightens in his chest with how sweetly Vasquez says it.
But there’s something odd there, too. Again. And “lo siento” sounds familiar enough, though Faraday can’t place the phrase’s meaning. He’s certainly heard it before – maybe not directed explicitly to him, but in general, he thinks. He hardly has time to ruminate on it, though, before Vasquez wraps a calloused hand around his cock, and Faraday lets out a startled, broken sound. He bucks into the other man’s grip, his cock hard and throbbing after attending to Vasquez.
“You don’t have to, darlin’,” Faraday offers again, though his voice is low and hoarse with want. “I’ll keep till mornin’.”
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"Callate," he hisses at him, leaning up to pepper slow kisses over his neck, breathing him in deeply as he tries to memorize him. "Déjame tener esto," he insists, his pace getting quicker as he works his calloused fingers over Faraday, unable to see him properly unless he tips towards his good eye, so he does and marvels at how good he looks like this.
Who knows? Maybe Faraday will come and visit him, at least until he finds himself another pretty Ethel who'll sing at him and want to stay.
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Shut up and enjoy it.
And, well, Faraday has always been at least a little selfish, and rather than keep arguing, he offers a low, wordless sound of pleasure.
Vasquez’s grip is rough against his dick, and Faraday tips his head to one side while Vasquez’s lips travel the column of his throat. It’s an awkward position for both of them, and his old wounds twitch to signal their discomfort, but considering how wrung-out Vasquez seemed, Faraday isn’t entirely sure if the man has it in him to switch positions. But that’s fine, he thinks, as he rocks his hips, thrusting himself into Vasquez’s calloused palm. That’s just fine. More than fine, so long as Vasquez keeps this up.
His eyes go half-lidded, gaze growing distant, and his focus hones in on the roughness of Vasquez's palm, on the heat and of his mouth, on the rasp of his beard against Faraday’s neck. Dark as it currently is, Vasquez probably misses the way color rises up on Faraday’s skin. It’s not long before the rocking of his hips picks up, trying to force Vasquez into a slightly faster rhythm, and—
"Oh, hell," he murmurs, heated and rough. He lets out a strained noise, rutting into Vasquez's grip. "I'm close, sweetheart, I'm real close—"
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He's not trying to think about this as the last thing they'll get to do together, but it's hard not to. After all, he really doubts that once Vasquez goes back to hiding for safety and to keep his head, that Faraday will follow.
He kisses like that, as if he can claim these moments and push them back, working his hand as fast as he can right up until the moment he slows, thumb rubbing in circles, and his kisses turn careful and loving, too. Closing his head, he rests his forehead on Faraday's shoulder before he picks up the pace again, thinking that he can't bear to watch this.
He's not that brave.
i'm so sorry this took so long; this month has been awful work-wise
When Vasquez's almost feverish pace slows to a crawl, Faraday can't help the desperate sound he makes, something startled out of him that he can't quite hold back. Before he can even think to ask if something were the matter, though, Vasquez's hand renews its efforts, and Faraday's teeth clamp down on his lower lip to cage in the strained noise that claws out of his throat.
He spills over Vasquez's hand, gasping and moaning as his entire body seizes. He thinks he shapes Vasquez's name – Ale – but with the way his mind blanks, he's not entirely sure.
When he returns to himself, his limbs are shaking with exhaustion, though the worst of his old aches are sanded away by the hazy warmth that suffuses his veins. He lets his limbs fold under him in a controlled fall as he collapses to the blanket at Vasquez's side. He sits up long enough to retrieve one of the discarded bandannas to wipe the two of them clean, but after that, he flops back down. Throwing an arm across Vasquez's middle, he huffs out a breathless laugh.
He murmurs against the other man's shoulder, "Wouldn't mind endin' more evenings like this."
<333 I'm very happy for the tag! I will reply and then link to a new one with a mini time jump
As it is, it's at least a good way to end things, with him surrounded by Faraday's warmth. He's so worn from the day that he knows there's little fight in him, little of anything else. He still thinks he can't finish the night without saying one last thing.
"Te amo, Joshua," he murmurs, needing him to understand that, more than anything. "I mean it, no matter what." Because tomorrow, he knows that Faraday won't feel so much fondness towards him, not after what's coming. Still, for Faraday to live a life that's full and rich and not hiding, he knows that it needs to happen. Dragging Faraday towards him a little tighter, he doesn't plan to move from where he lies, not until the morning.
Until then, he's stealing every second he can get.
new link!