"I know." Vasquez has to take his lumps, especially now. It's his fault that all this happened and he doesn't think he can fix it. He knows he can't, because that means going back to undo the bad decision he'd made to try and give Faraday a better life.
He can only apologize and when he sees Faraday smile, he shakes his head, because he knows that can't be real, not after what he just said. Coming closer, he absently lets his fingers play with the buttons of Faraday's shirt, tugging him so lightly away from the bed.
"Are you going to let me start?" he asks, because that could mean plenty of things. "What would make you feel better? You could punch me. You could run away from me," he says, as much as that would break his heart. "Or I could show you that I miss you in other ways?"
Grudgingly, he lets Vasquez pull him forward, hands reflexively landing on Vasquez's hips.
"I'd rather punch you when you're not expectin' it," he says with false brightness – and though he delivers it as a joke, even Faraday isn't entirely sure if he means it or not. The offer to turn his back on Vasquez seems right out, too, considering Faraday is easing into the other man's space.
Which, obviously, means Faraday is almost certainly leaving himself open to option three.
This close, he has a much better look at Vasquez – the wild way his hair curls over his ears and over his brow, the length of his beard that can't quite cover the way his cheeks have thinned a bit since last they saw one another. What little liquor Vasquez has drunk tonight has made his eyes bright, but there are dark shadows beneath them, all the same. Something briefly sours in Faraday's gut with the sight, and he runs a hand down Vasquez's cheek, following the line of his beard until he can tug lightly at the tip of it beneath his chin.
"You look like shit, by the way." And this, too, he delivers as a joke, but there's a reluctant sense of concern flickering in his eyes.
Vasquez lets his head fall slightly, chasing after the warmth in Faraday's fingers as he inches closer so that he can lift his head and take his fill of looking at him. He's still not so sure that Faraday is real, even when he's completely whole and here with Vasquez, not a ghost at all.
His fingers keep sliding over the fabric of Faraday's shirt as he keeps his head low, knowing his exhaustion must be bleeding through. He knows he looks like shit, but the reason shouldn't exist. "I missed you," he admits. "I lost my appetite. I didn't sit to eat so much, I stopped bothering to care about my hair, my beard." Those things he preened about and kept tamed for Faraday no longer seemed to matter because he was alone.
More than that, he'd wanted to stay alone. He hadn't come back to Rose Creek to find new love, he'd come here to be safe and hidden while he gave Faraday a chance to go out there and enjoy his card games and be the man that he'd seen earlier at the saloon.
"Joshua, nene, I..." He thinks he should say something else, but he decides that words on a letter got him into this mess to begin with.
Instead of fumbling through another half-hearted apology or explanation, he cups Faraday's face with both hands, holding onto him like he's precious as he presses his body flush in against Faraday's, sending them stumbling until one of the bedposts stops them, gives him a place to angle up into a kiss, rough and clumsy and desperate. It's been so long since he did this and it's only in his dreams that he ever thought he'd get to have this again, but it's so good, even though it's more needy than skilled.
And once again he feels that weird mixture of frustration and worry and satisfaction, and his eyebrows knit together as he looks over Vasquez again. Faraday wants to tell him once again that Vasquez should have come looking for him, if he was this badly off, but Vasquez already looks sorry enough, in more ways than one. There’s little point in rubbing salt into still stinging wounds.
Faraday sighs, forcing away his annoyance – a surprising bout of maturity, for once. His lips part to speak, but Vasquez interrupts him – and that little endearment lances through him like a bolt of lightning. It feels like lifetimes since he last heard it, and something in him feels soothed for it. He forgets to speak for a second, and Vasquez steps into his space, brackets his face with rough, calloused hands. Vasquez’s touch is gentle, though, holding onto him like he’s some delicate, breakable thing – and Faraday isn’t entirely sure how to react to that.
(He’s not accustomed to being treated better than he feels he’s worth.)
His breath catches for a second, and he’s transfixed by the complicated mix of emotions on Vasquez’s face. Regret and relief and desperation and hunger. Faraday lets out a small, startled sound when Vasquez practically barrels forward, and his back hits the sturdy wood of the bedpost. Faraday wastes a second to catch himself, one hand curling into the material of Vasquez’s shirt, the other gripping the post behind him to make sure they don’t overbalance and topple in a heap to the floor. It’s artless, the way Vasquez kisses him, far more eagerness than skill, but it sends a shower of sparks down Faraday’s spine. He reaches up, curling a hand possessively over the line of Vasquez’s jaw, the other man’s beard tickling against his palm, and he eases Vasquez back a little, just to temper that hunger and slow him down.
“Easy, darlin’,” he murmurs against Vasquez’s mouth. He smirks a little before nipping lightly at Vasquez’s lower lip. “We got time.”
Vasquez makes a protesting noise when Faraday tells him to go easy, because that's the last thing he wants right now. He's not even sure what his end game is, but he knows that he doesn't want Faraday to leave this room before Vasquez can start managing to do some of his penance.
In this case, doing his very best to make up for his mistakes using his body, even if he's not so sure he wants to take off the layers of clothes so Faraday can see the extent of what his depression has done.
"That just means we can do it more times," he retorts, more aggressive than he needs to be and every bit as stubborn as he challenges Faraday with a lift of his chin, not sure what else they should be doing with all that time.
Faraday laughs, low and dark but genuinely amused by the vehemence in Vazquez's voice. He can hardly blame Vasquez for his lack of patience, considering his own less than stellar relationship with that particular virtue. Still, Faraday doesn't see any need to hurry.
He'd rather take his time, would rather enjoy this. The last time they had been together was a hurried thing, meant to soothe and sate than to savor. If he had known that would be the last he would see of Vasquez, Faraday would have done his best to make it worthwhile. (And maybe he should have done that anyway. Maybe Vasquez would've had second thoughts about leaving at all if they had just taken their time, that night after the run in with those bounty hunters.)
"We got time," he repeats, equally insistent. He adds with a wry smile, "This ain't a race, sweetheart."
It shouldn't be one, but Vasquez feels like he's under the gun to do something to keep Faraday. It takes everything he has to slow down and listen to Faraday, but maybe he is right. After all, it's been so long since they did this and he can't remember the last time they took it slow and did it right.
Maybe that's not such a good thing, he realizes, and he should calm his head down and do this properly.
"I missed you," he murmurs, running his hands protectively over Faraday's back as he does slow down, stepping away so he can nudge off his boots. "You can't blame me for wanting to get my hands on you again." He misses the explosive way they come together, not to mention the warmth and protection he feels when they're together at night.
Even if Faraday was the one to urge them to slow down, he still aches with loss when Vasquez steps back. He straightens a little, still propped up by the bedpost, before he pulls of his own boots, kicking them off to one side.
"'Course I don't blame you," Faraday says easily, his smile crooked and knowing, eyes glittering with good humor. "I'm the world's greatest lover."
He punctuates the statement with a wink before reaching for the other man, tugging at the hem of Vasquez's shirt to pull him in closer. He's careful to make the gesture unhurried, just to drive home the fact that they have time, that there's no need to rush. And maybe it's selfish of him, to draw this out when they've both missed one another, but part of him doesn't want a repeat of the rushed, frenzied bouts int he past. He wants to enjoy this, wants to make it last. (There's no telling what the future holds; maybe they won't stick it out together, after all. Maybe fate will separate them again. And if that's the case, Faraday wants at least one night to stand clear in his memory.)
"And now you've got me." His voice is pitched low, dark and a little rough. "Tell me what you wanna do."
Vasquez laughs at that, and it feels so good to be able to laugh at Faraday's ridiculous nature after he's been removed from it for so long. He should argue this, insist that he's not the world's greatest anything, but sex with Faraday has never been a disappointment, so he doesn't see the point in pricking that ego balloon.
Stepping in slowly, he cups Faraday's cheek and follows his pace, drifting in for an unhurried kiss that he takes his time with, breathing out slowly and thinking that all he really wants to do is this, for the next little while.
"I want to remember what it's like kissing you," he murmurs, doing just that, tangling his fingers in Faraday's hair. "Then undress you and remember how you feel on top of me, in me."
Faraday can do slow, apparently, but he can hardly do gentle. When Vasquez steps in, kisses him and holds him close, Faraday answers with heat, with sharp nips at the other man's lips and a calloused hand gripping the nape of Vasquez's neck. Vasquez's hair is longer than he remembers, and Faraday thinks he might like this particular change; he enjoys the feel of dark curls slipping past his fingers, looks forward to using Vasquez's hair as a handhold.
He hums against Vasquez's mouth, the corner of his own mouth pulling up in a smile as Vasquez speaks. "I think we can manage that," he says, voice falsely cool, like he's granting Vasquez some grand favor. The act is undone by the way his hips unconsciously rock, by the way color rises on his cheeks, and especially by the rasp in his voice.
He tugs insistently at the hem of Vasquez's shirt again, pulling upward this time to signal that he wants it gone. "Let me see you."
It's good that Faraday gives him that in return, because it unlocks that worry in Vasquez's mind that he'd broken something. He knows that there's a bridge between them and one good fuck isn't going to change it, but getting that intimacy back feels critical to getting to that next step.
He rocks his hips forward against Faraday, determined to get more of him as he moves, gripping Faraday's hips to haul him against his body to coax more friction. When he starts tugging at his shirt, he makes a noise for Faraday to be patient.
It does mean he has to step back, fingers sliding up to unbutton his shirt. He knows that he could just strip it off, but this feels more like them. Even now, teasing when he could just be easy, because making things difficult is part of their foreplay.
When he gets to the second to last button, he gives Faraday a heated look. "Seen enough yet?"
Turnabout is fair play, Faraday would say in any other instance – unless, of course, the play is turned around on him. "Easy," he had kept telling Vasquez, but when Vasquez spins that same command back at Faraday, Faraday answers with an annoyed grunt and another bite at Vasquez's lips.
But thankfully for both of them, Vasquez does as he's bid, and Faraday waits, watches, follows Vasquez's deft hands as he slips each button from its hole, one by one. Taking his sweet time, he knows, and Faraday clenches his jaw, swallowing down the impulse to urge Vasquez to move faster. But the outlaw bares himself, bit by bit, the material of his shirt parting and loosening and slipping, though not falling away entirely. Faraday makes a show of studying the other man, gaze greedy and lascivious, but he frowns a little. Even the peek is enough to reveal that Vasquez is thinner than he remembers, and that worry rears its head again.
"Vas," he murmurs, without the heat from moments ago; this time, his voice is tinged by something almost a little sad. Faraday reaches across the space, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of Vasquez's shirt as his shoulders, moving to push the shirt down and away.
He doesn't want to see that look of sympathy and it makes him bristle. He'd push Faraday away if it weren't for the fact that he wants this so badly. Still, the irritation flashes in his eyes and it half looks as if he's spoiling for a fight, even though that's the very last thing he wants right now.
"Don't," is his terse reply, shoving his shirt off completely and pushing forward to yank at Faraday's neck, hauling him back for a kiss that demands he shut up, warns him not to say a word, because he doesn't think he'll like it if he keeps going with that sympathy.
While he pushes forward, he works to unbutton his trousers, wriggling a little out of them. There's one thing that privacy means and he's been eager for it since Faraday yielded to this. "We can be as loud as we want," he mumbles into the kiss, a promise he intends to keep.
Faraday is more startled than he cares to admit when Vasquez yanks him forward, when he kisses him like he means to devour every word that might fall from his lips. In a different moment, he might have shoved right back, would have turned it into a fight, if only because Faraday isn't in the habit of being ordered around.
This time around, he doesn't. He reluctantly goes where Vasquez demands, moves with the other man like he's trapped in a fierce current. If Faraday were in the habit of being honest, he would admit that this feels too complicated, and he has absolutely no idea where to start with picking it apart. A subject for later, he decides, if, indeed, it ever comes.
But Vasquez moves to strip himself, and Faraday works to do the same, just shy of yanking at his own vest to undo the buttons to shove it off his shoulders. While Vasquez fumbles at the fastenings of his own trousers, Faraday moves to help, slipping his hands into the bare space between them to undo the fastenings. He slips his hand into Vasquez's pants, once there's room enough, and curls his fingers around Vasquez's cock. He strokes lazily, like he's reacquainting himself with the soft, sensitive skin, the familiar pulse of want that makes Vasquez's cock twitch.
"By all means, then," he says, his smile crooked and almost feral. "Let me hear you, darlin'."
He stifles his moan when Faraday reaches into his trousers to help, and when he wraps his hand around him, he stops everything he's doing as his whole body rocks forward into the touch. It's like he's gone completely useless at the touch of those warm, calloused hands. Vasquez really did think he'd lost them forever, and it's not long before his arousal makes his cock almost painful, it's so bad.
The desperation travels to his face and he lets out a pained sob, grateful and needy all at the same time. "Faraday," he lets out a cry. He's been this loud before when they're on the side of the road, but never when they're together in private like this, not in a room. They haven't done this in so many rooms with so many beds, never a place where he didn't fear being caught.
He doesn't want to step away, but his trousers are still around his ankles and he shoves at them, pushing them off to leave him in absolutely nothing. He grabs at Faraday's hips when he's free, bearing in to press flush against him, even if it makes the angle strange for Faraday's hand, trying to walk them towards the bed.
"I want you to fuck me," he murmurs, nuzzling and nosing at Faraday's neck. He thinks maybe he has just enough oil left for this, from when he'd unpacked his bag and shoved it away in a hurry, not strong enough to see it and be reminded of Faraday.
It's insanely gratifying how Vasquez responds without an ounce of reservation, how he bucks into Faraday's touch like he fears he'll never feel it again. (A voice at the back of his head reminds him that for a while there, that had very much been a reality for the both of them; Faraday is quick to shove it away.)
And when Vasquez moans like that, voice heated and desperate as it shapes his name – well, now. That's certifiably intoxicating, and Faraday feels his own cock pulse in response. He'd only gotten as far as yanking off his shirt and vest before he had stepped in to help Vasquez strip, which means that when Vasquez pulls them flush together, Faraday is still wearing his jeans. He huffs out a puff of a laugh, readjusting his grip on Vasquez's cock, shuffling a little awkwardly when Vasquez herds him toward the bed.
The backs of his legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he nearly trips; his drinks from back at the saloon have made him a little clumsy, have made balance more of a suggestion than a hard rule. His free hand catches hold of Vasquez's shoulder, keeping himself upright, and Faraday lets out another snort of a laugh.
"Well, first off," he begins, though he cuts himself off with a small, approving hum. He tilts his head, giving Vasquez a little more room to press against his neck. The heat of Vasquez's breath makes him shudder a little, makes want jolt down his spine like lightning.
"First off," he repeats, "you're gonna have to let me get naked. And second off, you're gonna have to get some slick."
Vasquez makes a noise of protest, because it's not fair when Faraday actually goes and has sense like this. He's not supposed to talk about the things they need, not when he's currently working his mouth over all that rough, hot skin, moving his hands to Faraday's bare waist so he can push his fingers into the warmth there, which he's missed so much.
"Fine," he agrees hoarsely, even though he doesn't think it's so fine and he definitely doesn't let him go so easily. He breathes out slowly and takes his hands off Faraday, even going so far as to hold them up in the air, like he's showing how well he can behave.
Swallowing back another needy sound in his throat, he steps back to give Faraday room to undress, walking with long, easy steps to get what's left. It's not much, and it's everything he had on him when he'd run away, but it's enough.
He holds it up triumphantly as he lobs it to the end of the bed, crawling in at the head to sprawl out, lying on his stomach so that he can make his way to where Faraday is, perched on his forearms and staring up at him, his body long and lean and naked and on display and even if he's not at his peak, he knows it's not a bad sight.
Honestly, it's a goddamn tragedy for everyone involved when Vasquez actually listens to Faraday, when he pulls away that blessedly hot mouth and his calloused hands away from Faraday's bare skin. Faraday ought to feel smug that, for once, he's the one being smart about this; instead, his body practically keens with loss as Vasquez backs away.
For a breath, Faraday almost regrets making those suggestions, sound as they were. But he quickly kicks that feeling aside for how stupid it is.
Vasquez is quicker than Faraday expects, though, plucking that familiar little bottle from his few belongings. He watches with open interest as Vasquez moves onto the bed. Vasquez has always been slimmer than Faraday – though he's hardly a small man by any means. His body is lean where Faraday's is broad (leaner than usual, Faraday notes with a pang of worry that he tries desperately to keep off his face), and Faraday's always appreciated the other man's athletic build, though it took him quite some time to own up to that appreciation.
He makes a show of rolling his eyes at Vasquez's demand, and just to be a contrary bastard, he decides to take his time. It took him a while to get used to the way Vasquez watches him, the way the other man's gaze roved over his scarred and battered body. Faraday may still be handsome, his facial scars faded or hidden beneath his beard, but seeing him bare-chested is another thing entirely. It's an ugly patchwork, his skin pitted and knotted, torn and slashed with red lines, but he's become a little less ashamed of it, at least where Vasquez is involved.
It's a goddamn relief when he frees his hardened cock from his jeans, though, and he lets out a small sigh for it. Slowly, deliberately, he pushes his pants down, leaning against the bed post as casually as he can manage to help support his bad side. He steps out of them, kicking them away, before spreading his hands and waggling his fingers.
"Satisfied?" he asks blandly, a hint of challenge in his eyes.
The taking his time is going to start eating away at him. Slowly, very slowly, Vasquez can feel his patience eroding and he knows that before long, he's going to get completely impatient and snap, but not yet. At least, not while he has some control and he's enjoying the way new pieces of skin are revealed.
It's all things he didn't think he'd get to see again, so he takes his time looking, breath sharp as he inhales and watches fondly, shifting to move to sit on the edge of the bed, greedy hands wanting to touch and take.
He's still just as handsome as when they met. The scars are just a reminder of how much courage he has in him and how brave he'd been to give up so much to save them. Vasquez is only lucky that they had been able to stitch him back together. When his cock is free, he bites his lip and reaches for Faraday by the hips, tugging him towards the bed.
"The best," he vows. "Now. How do you want to fuck me?"
He lets Vasquez tug him forward, hands coming to rest on Vasquez's shoulders. The question draws a quick huff from Faraday – a breath that approaches a fond laugh – and he cards his fingers through Vasquez's unruly curls.
"I wanna see you," is Faraday's answer, and he offers it up quickly enough. Maybe on a different day, taking Vasquez from behind will be his preference; there is, after all, much to be said about having that leverage, about seeing the long line of Vasquez's back and watching his muscles tense and coil. But today, right now, after all this time apart, he wants to be able to watch Vasquez fall apart.
"Go on," he says, and he gives Vasquez a light nudge, urging him further up the bed. "On your back, sweetheart."
There's a little voice in his head that's telling him that he doesn't deserve any of this. After all, he'd been the cowardly one to bolt away from Faraday when he should have been braver and stronger, tried to be with him without running away. And yet, Faraday is the one here, hands in his hair, calling him sweetheart and it makes his breath catch as he stares at him.
Nodding, he reaches for the slick and shifts to his back, digging his heel into the bedding to give himself leverage to start preparing himself.
With the posts, it almost creates an illusion of privacy, like there's no world outside of this area. It's exactly what he wants right now, because the only thing in the world that he's after is this. He keeps working his fingers inside of himself, his eyes never leaving Faraday. "Come touch me," he pleads, because he could say that he misses him again, but Faraday already knows this. "Joshua, please."
He kneels on the edge of the mattress once Vasquez shifts further up the bed. Faraday watches how eagerly Vasquez moves, how his slick fingers work himself open. There's a dizzying moment where he thinks about how keenly he had missed this fool of a man, how furious he had been at Vasquez for leaving him, and how quickly that had all been washed away in the course of a night. Maybe he ought to be a little more angry at himself for being so easily swayed, but mostly, he's relieved to have this again.
When Vasquez makes that demand, Faraday's smile turns from warm and fond to something slightly feral.
"Well," he says, low and heated. "I can't very well say no to that, can I?"
He moves further up the bed, slipping into the space between Vasquez's leg like it's the most natural thing in the world. His hands rest on his knees, smooth up along the other man's toned thighs to curl around his hips. His thumbs trace the blades of his hips – slightly more pronounced now, after this time apart, but he forces himself not to frown when he notices it. Instead, he relishes the heat of Vasquez's skin, and the familiar tense, toned muscles.
He reacquaints himself with Vasquez's body, calloused palms traveling the bared expanse of Vasquez's skin, tracing the contours of his muscles, following the path of old, faded scars. And he takes pains to avoid Vasquez's cock, swollen and twitching and leaking with precum as it is.
Faraday is, perhaps, following the word of Vasquez's plea, if not the spirit of it. After all, he is touching Vasquez, as he asked.
When Faraday starts getting closer, his breaths accelerate. He knows that he's going to get what he needs (not wants, but needs), but then Faraday's hands start to map his body in a way that he hasn't had for so long, but he knows that no one else could give him, not like this.
He's so happy for the touch that it takes him a moment to realize how much he's being teased. Though, when he does, it's not long before Vasquez starts to collapse into impatience, which is a spiral down that crashes soon enough. "Joshua," is a heated demand, slipping past his lips.
His eyes are wild, trying to track him, because there's two things he wants to be happening right now and neither of them are. "Kiss me," he pleads. "Or touch me, you know where," he hisses, reaching out to grab Faraday by the hair and yank him in a little tighter, trying to get him to do what he wants.
The naked impatience in Vasquez's voice earns the man a quick, almost feral smirk, challenging and knowing all at once.
"I am touchin' you," he cuts back almost blithely, hands bracketing the other man's hips, thumbs pressing against the blades.
Of course, Faraday should've expected Vasquez to take matters into his own hands, and when Vasquez grabs him, pulls on his hair, Faraday lets out a startled sound for it, catching himself by pressing a hand against the mattress before he accidentally headbutts the other man. He snorts out a laugh, still a little fuzzy thanks to the drinks back at the bar, but he finds his balance soon enough.
"Impatient bastard," he murmurs, but he ducks down and claims Vasquez's lips in a heated kiss. Positioned as they are, Faraday's cock presses against Vasquez's stomach, rubs against Vasquez's own cock, and it's an easy enough thing to reach between them and grab both of their lengths. He lets out a shuddering moan against Vasquez's mouth before biting a little meanly at the other man's lower lip. "You coulda knocked us both out just then."
He narrows his eyes at Faraday when he makes that stupid claim, because he's absolutely doing it to get on his nerves and unfortunately, it's even working. Why is he so enamoured with this jackass, is what he wants to know, and yet, he knows he loves him.
Lucky for him, Faraday goes easily with the pull, and Vasquez smirks into that kiss, feeling proud of himself though even that melts away as soon as Faraday is closer, tangling his fingers into his hair, trying to rut up against his cock as best as he can, desperate for the touching and the closeness.
"You should have just touched me then," he replies, eager and happy to be contrary.
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He can only apologize and when he sees Faraday smile, he shakes his head, because he knows that can't be real, not after what he just said. Coming closer, he absently lets his fingers play with the buttons of Faraday's shirt, tugging him so lightly away from the bed.
"Are you going to let me start?" he asks, because that could mean plenty of things. "What would make you feel better? You could punch me. You could run away from me," he says, as much as that would break his heart. "Or I could show you that I miss you in other ways?"
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"I'd rather punch you when you're not expectin' it," he says with false brightness – and though he delivers it as a joke, even Faraday isn't entirely sure if he means it or not. The offer to turn his back on Vasquez seems right out, too, considering Faraday is easing into the other man's space.
Which, obviously, means Faraday is almost certainly leaving himself open to option three.
This close, he has a much better look at Vasquez – the wild way his hair curls over his ears and over his brow, the length of his beard that can't quite cover the way his cheeks have thinned a bit since last they saw one another. What little liquor Vasquez has drunk tonight has made his eyes bright, but there are dark shadows beneath them, all the same. Something briefly sours in Faraday's gut with the sight, and he runs a hand down Vasquez's cheek, following the line of his beard until he can tug lightly at the tip of it beneath his chin.
"You look like shit, by the way." And this, too, he delivers as a joke, but there's a reluctant sense of concern flickering in his eyes.
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His fingers keep sliding over the fabric of Faraday's shirt as he keeps his head low, knowing his exhaustion must be bleeding through. He knows he looks like shit, but the reason shouldn't exist. "I missed you," he admits. "I lost my appetite. I didn't sit to eat so much, I stopped bothering to care about my hair, my beard." Those things he preened about and kept tamed for Faraday no longer seemed to matter because he was alone.
More than that, he'd wanted to stay alone. He hadn't come back to Rose Creek to find new love, he'd come here to be safe and hidden while he gave Faraday a chance to go out there and enjoy his card games and be the man that he'd seen earlier at the saloon.
"Joshua, nene, I..." He thinks he should say something else, but he decides that words on a letter got him into this mess to begin with.
Instead of fumbling through another half-hearted apology or explanation, he cups Faraday's face with both hands, holding onto him like he's precious as he presses his body flush in against Faraday's, sending them stumbling until one of the bedposts stops them, gives him a place to angle up into a kiss, rough and clumsy and desperate. It's been so long since he did this and it's only in his dreams that he ever thought he'd get to have this again, but it's so good, even though it's more needy than skilled.
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Faraday sighs, forcing away his annoyance – a surprising bout of maturity, for once. His lips part to speak, but Vasquez interrupts him – and that little endearment lances through him like a bolt of lightning. It feels like lifetimes since he last heard it, and something in him feels soothed for it. He forgets to speak for a second, and Vasquez steps into his space, brackets his face with rough, calloused hands. Vasquez’s touch is gentle, though, holding onto him like he’s some delicate, breakable thing – and Faraday isn’t entirely sure how to react to that.
(He’s not accustomed to being treated better than he feels he’s worth.)
His breath catches for a second, and he’s transfixed by the complicated mix of emotions on Vasquez’s face. Regret and relief and desperation and hunger. Faraday lets out a small, startled sound when Vasquez practically barrels forward, and his back hits the sturdy wood of the bedpost. Faraday wastes a second to catch himself, one hand curling into the material of Vasquez’s shirt, the other gripping the post behind him to make sure they don’t overbalance and topple in a heap to the floor. It’s artless, the way Vasquez kisses him, far more eagerness than skill, but it sends a shower of sparks down Faraday’s spine. He reaches up, curling a hand possessively over the line of Vasquez’s jaw, the other man’s beard tickling against his palm, and he eases Vasquez back a little, just to temper that hunger and slow him down.
“Easy, darlin’,” he murmurs against Vasquez’s mouth. He smirks a little before nipping lightly at Vasquez’s lower lip. “We got time.”
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In this case, doing his very best to make up for his mistakes using his body, even if he's not so sure he wants to take off the layers of clothes so Faraday can see the extent of what his depression has done.
"That just means we can do it more times," he retorts, more aggressive than he needs to be and every bit as stubborn as he challenges Faraday with a lift of his chin, not sure what else they should be doing with all that time.
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He'd rather take his time, would rather enjoy this. The last time they had been together was a hurried thing, meant to soothe and sate than to savor. If he had known that would be the last he would see of Vasquez, Faraday would have done his best to make it worthwhile. (And maybe he should have done that anyway. Maybe Vasquez would've had second thoughts about leaving at all if they had just taken their time, that night after the run in with those bounty hunters.)
"We got time," he repeats, equally insistent. He adds with a wry smile, "This ain't a race, sweetheart."
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Maybe that's not such a good thing, he realizes, and he should calm his head down and do this properly.
"I missed you," he murmurs, running his hands protectively over Faraday's back as he does slow down, stepping away so he can nudge off his boots. "You can't blame me for wanting to get my hands on you again." He misses the explosive way they come together, not to mention the warmth and protection he feels when they're together at night.
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"'Course I don't blame you," Faraday says easily, his smile crooked and knowing, eyes glittering with good humor. "I'm the world's greatest lover."
He punctuates the statement with a wink before reaching for the other man, tugging at the hem of Vasquez's shirt to pull him in closer. He's careful to make the gesture unhurried, just to drive home the fact that they have time, that there's no need to rush. And maybe it's selfish of him, to draw this out when they've both missed one another, but part of him doesn't want a repeat of the rushed, frenzied bouts int he past. He wants to enjoy this, wants to make it last. (There's no telling what the future holds; maybe they won't stick it out together, after all. Maybe fate will separate them again. And if that's the case, Faraday wants at least one night to stand clear in his memory.)
"And now you've got me." His voice is pitched low, dark and a little rough. "Tell me what you wanna do."
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Stepping in slowly, he cups Faraday's cheek and follows his pace, drifting in for an unhurried kiss that he takes his time with, breathing out slowly and thinking that all he really wants to do is this, for the next little while.
"I want to remember what it's like kissing you," he murmurs, doing just that, tangling his fingers in Faraday's hair. "Then undress you and remember how you feel on top of me, in me."
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He hums against Vasquez's mouth, the corner of his own mouth pulling up in a smile as Vasquez speaks. "I think we can manage that," he says, voice falsely cool, like he's granting Vasquez some grand favor. The act is undone by the way his hips unconsciously rock, by the way color rises on his cheeks, and especially by the rasp in his voice.
He tugs insistently at the hem of Vasquez's shirt again, pulling upward this time to signal that he wants it gone. "Let me see you."
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He rocks his hips forward against Faraday, determined to get more of him as he moves, gripping Faraday's hips to haul him against his body to coax more friction. When he starts tugging at his shirt, he makes a noise for Faraday to be patient.
It does mean he has to step back, fingers sliding up to unbutton his shirt. He knows that he could just strip it off, but this feels more like them. Even now, teasing when he could just be easy, because making things difficult is part of their foreplay.
When he gets to the second to last button, he gives Faraday a heated look. "Seen enough yet?"
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But thankfully for both of them, Vasquez does as he's bid, and Faraday waits, watches, follows Vasquez's deft hands as he slips each button from its hole, one by one. Taking his sweet time, he knows, and Faraday clenches his jaw, swallowing down the impulse to urge Vasquez to move faster. But the outlaw bares himself, bit by bit, the material of his shirt parting and loosening and slipping, though not falling away entirely. Faraday makes a show of studying the other man, gaze greedy and lascivious, but he frowns a little. Even the peek is enough to reveal that Vasquez is thinner than he remembers, and that worry rears its head again.
"Vas," he murmurs, without the heat from moments ago; this time, his voice is tinged by something almost a little sad. Faraday reaches across the space, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of Vasquez's shirt as his shoulders, moving to push the shirt down and away.
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"Don't," is his terse reply, shoving his shirt off completely and pushing forward to yank at Faraday's neck, hauling him back for a kiss that demands he shut up, warns him not to say a word, because he doesn't think he'll like it if he keeps going with that sympathy.
While he pushes forward, he works to unbutton his trousers, wriggling a little out of them. There's one thing that privacy means and he's been eager for it since Faraday yielded to this. "We can be as loud as we want," he mumbles into the kiss, a promise he intends to keep.
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This time around, he doesn't. He reluctantly goes where Vasquez demands, moves with the other man like he's trapped in a fierce current. If Faraday were in the habit of being honest, he would admit that this feels too complicated, and he has absolutely no idea where to start with picking it apart. A subject for later, he decides, if, indeed, it ever comes.
But Vasquez moves to strip himself, and Faraday works to do the same, just shy of yanking at his own vest to undo the buttons to shove it off his shoulders. While Vasquez fumbles at the fastenings of his own trousers, Faraday moves to help, slipping his hands into the bare space between them to undo the fastenings. He slips his hand into Vasquez's pants, once there's room enough, and curls his fingers around Vasquez's cock. He strokes lazily, like he's reacquainting himself with the soft, sensitive skin, the familiar pulse of want that makes Vasquez's cock twitch.
"By all means, then," he says, his smile crooked and almost feral. "Let me hear you, darlin'."
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The desperation travels to his face and he lets out a pained sob, grateful and needy all at the same time. "Faraday," he lets out a cry. He's been this loud before when they're on the side of the road, but never when they're together in private like this, not in a room. They haven't done this in so many rooms with so many beds, never a place where he didn't fear being caught.
He doesn't want to step away, but his trousers are still around his ankles and he shoves at them, pushing them off to leave him in absolutely nothing. He grabs at Faraday's hips when he's free, bearing in to press flush against him, even if it makes the angle strange for Faraday's hand, trying to walk them towards the bed.
"I want you to fuck me," he murmurs, nuzzling and nosing at Faraday's neck. He thinks maybe he has just enough oil left for this, from when he'd unpacked his bag and shoved it away in a hurry, not strong enough to see it and be reminded of Faraday.
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And when Vasquez moans like that, voice heated and desperate as it shapes his name – well, now. That's certifiably intoxicating, and Faraday feels his own cock pulse in response. He'd only gotten as far as yanking off his shirt and vest before he had stepped in to help Vasquez strip, which means that when Vasquez pulls them flush together, Faraday is still wearing his jeans. He huffs out a puff of a laugh, readjusting his grip on Vasquez's cock, shuffling a little awkwardly when Vasquez herds him toward the bed.
The backs of his legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he nearly trips; his drinks from back at the saloon have made him a little clumsy, have made balance more of a suggestion than a hard rule. His free hand catches hold of Vasquez's shoulder, keeping himself upright, and Faraday lets out another snort of a laugh.
"Well, first off," he begins, though he cuts himself off with a small, approving hum. He tilts his head, giving Vasquez a little more room to press against his neck. The heat of Vasquez's breath makes him shudder a little, makes want jolt down his spine like lightning.
"First off," he repeats, "you're gonna have to let me get naked. And second off, you're gonna have to get some slick."
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"Fine," he agrees hoarsely, even though he doesn't think it's so fine and he definitely doesn't let him go so easily. He breathes out slowly and takes his hands off Faraday, even going so far as to hold them up in the air, like he's showing how well he can behave.
Swallowing back another needy sound in his throat, he steps back to give Faraday room to undress, walking with long, easy steps to get what's left. It's not much, and it's everything he had on him when he'd run away, but it's enough.
He holds it up triumphantly as he lobs it to the end of the bed, crawling in at the head to sprawl out, lying on his stomach so that he can make his way to where Faraday is, perched on his forearms and staring up at him, his body long and lean and naked and on display and even if he's not at his peak, he knows it's not a bad sight.
"Well? Get naked faster," he insists.
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For a breath, Faraday almost regrets making those suggestions, sound as they were. But he quickly kicks that feeling aside for how stupid it is.
Vasquez is quicker than Faraday expects, though, plucking that familiar little bottle from his few belongings. He watches with open interest as Vasquez moves onto the bed. Vasquez has always been slimmer than Faraday – though he's hardly a small man by any means. His body is lean where Faraday's is broad (leaner than usual, Faraday notes with a pang of worry that he tries desperately to keep off his face), and Faraday's always appreciated the other man's athletic build, though it took him quite some time to own up to that appreciation.
He makes a show of rolling his eyes at Vasquez's demand, and just to be a contrary bastard, he decides to take his time. It took him a while to get used to the way Vasquez watches him, the way the other man's gaze roved over his scarred and battered body. Faraday may still be handsome, his facial scars faded or hidden beneath his beard, but seeing him bare-chested is another thing entirely. It's an ugly patchwork, his skin pitted and knotted, torn and slashed with red lines, but he's become a little less ashamed of it, at least where Vasquez is involved.
It's a goddamn relief when he frees his hardened cock from his jeans, though, and he lets out a small sigh for it. Slowly, deliberately, he pushes his pants down, leaning against the bed post as casually as he can manage to help support his bad side. He steps out of them, kicking them away, before spreading his hands and waggling his fingers.
"Satisfied?" he asks blandly, a hint of challenge in his eyes.
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It's all things he didn't think he'd get to see again, so he takes his time looking, breath sharp as he inhales and watches fondly, shifting to move to sit on the edge of the bed, greedy hands wanting to touch and take.
He's still just as handsome as when they met. The scars are just a reminder of how much courage he has in him and how brave he'd been to give up so much to save them. Vasquez is only lucky that they had been able to stitch him back together. When his cock is free, he bites his lip and reaches for Faraday by the hips, tugging him towards the bed.
"The best," he vows. "Now. How do you want to fuck me?"
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"I wanna see you," is Faraday's answer, and he offers it up quickly enough. Maybe on a different day, taking Vasquez from behind will be his preference; there is, after all, much to be said about having that leverage, about seeing the long line of Vasquez's back and watching his muscles tense and coil. But today, right now, after all this time apart, he wants to be able to watch Vasquez fall apart.
"Go on," he says, and he gives Vasquez a light nudge, urging him further up the bed. "On your back, sweetheart."
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Nodding, he reaches for the slick and shifts to his back, digging his heel into the bedding to give himself leverage to start preparing himself.
With the posts, it almost creates an illusion of privacy, like there's no world outside of this area. It's exactly what he wants right now, because the only thing in the world that he's after is this. He keeps working his fingers inside of himself, his eyes never leaving Faraday. "Come touch me," he pleads, because he could say that he misses him again, but Faraday already knows this. "Joshua, please."
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When Vasquez makes that demand, Faraday's smile turns from warm and fond to something slightly feral.
"Well," he says, low and heated. "I can't very well say no to that, can I?"
He moves further up the bed, slipping into the space between Vasquez's leg like it's the most natural thing in the world. His hands rest on his knees, smooth up along the other man's toned thighs to curl around his hips. His thumbs trace the blades of his hips – slightly more pronounced now, after this time apart, but he forces himself not to frown when he notices it. Instead, he relishes the heat of Vasquez's skin, and the familiar tense, toned muscles.
He reacquaints himself with Vasquez's body, calloused palms traveling the bared expanse of Vasquez's skin, tracing the contours of his muscles, following the path of old, faded scars. And he takes pains to avoid Vasquez's cock, swollen and twitching and leaking with precum as it is.
Faraday is, perhaps, following the word of Vasquez's plea, if not the spirit of it. After all, he is touching Vasquez, as he asked.
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He's so happy for the touch that it takes him a moment to realize how much he's being teased. Though, when he does, it's not long before Vasquez starts to collapse into impatience, which is a spiral down that crashes soon enough. "Joshua," is a heated demand, slipping past his lips.
His eyes are wild, trying to track him, because there's two things he wants to be happening right now and neither of them are. "Kiss me," he pleads. "Or touch me, you know where," he hisses, reaching out to grab Faraday by the hair and yank him in a little tighter, trying to get him to do what he wants.
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"I am touchin' you," he cuts back almost blithely, hands bracketing the other man's hips, thumbs pressing against the blades.
Of course, Faraday should've expected Vasquez to take matters into his own hands, and when Vasquez grabs him, pulls on his hair, Faraday lets out a startled sound for it, catching himself by pressing a hand against the mattress before he accidentally headbutts the other man. He snorts out a laugh, still a little fuzzy thanks to the drinks back at the bar, but he finds his balance soon enough.
"Impatient bastard," he murmurs, but he ducks down and claims Vasquez's lips in a heated kiss. Positioned as they are, Faraday's cock presses against Vasquez's stomach, rubs against Vasquez's own cock, and it's an easy enough thing to reach between them and grab both of their lengths. He lets out a shuddering moan against Vasquez's mouth before biting a little meanly at the other man's lower lip. "You coulda knocked us both out just then."
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Lucky for him, Faraday goes easily with the pull, and Vasquez smirks into that kiss, feeling proud of himself though even that melts away as soon as Faraday is closer, tangling his fingers into his hair, trying to rut up against his cock as best as he can, desperate for the touching and the closeness.
"You should have just touched me then," he replies, eager and happy to be contrary.