Faraday watches Vasquez stomp and huff around – and reasonably, Faraday is in more or less the same mood. He hardly has room to comment. But when the other man pauses in the door, looks so damnably lost, something twists in Faraday’s gut.
He closes the distance again, and though he hesitates, he rests his hand against the back of Vasquez’s neck – all the warning he offers before he yanks Vasquez in close for a bruising, desperate kiss.
There’s no argument from Faraday that Vasquez surely had the short end of the stick, here, but Faraday had spent the whole evening terrified in an ugly, visceral way – a feeling he hadn’t experienced since he was a skinny snot of a thing, too green for the hard life out west. He didn’t feel this way even on the eve of Rose Creek or the morning before the battle, not even after getting shot or blowing himself up to kingdom come, and not even when he had blearily blinked up at a too-blue sky and Vasquez’s blurry form slipped into view before unconsciousness took him.
No, it took those bastards hauling Vasquez away to who the hell knows where to make Faraday feel real, genuine fear for the first time in ages.
When Faraday pulls back, a second or two later, his thumb brushes over the line of Vasquez’s jaw.
“We’ll get it sorted,” he promises quietly. “But first thing we gotta do is get the hell outta here.”
The kiss brings some of the fight back into him. It's like Faraday is breathing the life back into him with a kiss, like a fairytale he wants to indulge in. He grabs at Faraday's shirt, scraping his blunt nails down the fabric of his shirt, tugging him in and letting out a sound like he never expected to be rescued.
Maybe a part of him had honestly thought that he wouldn't make it in time. The adrenaline of being rescued is warring with that worry and it's pumping through his veins now, which means that they need to get out. Still, not until he gets at least a little more of a kiss, leaning in for a second round as he tells himself not to push himself on Faraday and demand more.
He sees a bit of spark return to Vasquez’s eyes, and he nearly sighs in relief. Instead, he just roughly grabs hold of the other man’s hand and moves.
He crouches, staying low to the ground despite the protests of the old injury in his leg. He keeps his eyes and ears peeled for any flicker or sound of movement. It’s late, and late enough that no other soul should bother them out here, unless they’re very, very unlucky. (Faraday occasionally thinks that he’s drained his well of luck ages ago, when that first shot in the back didn’t kill him, then and there.
Getting shot again and again, blowing up a Gatling gun, and surviving? That was just rubbing salt in the wound. He hopes Lady Luck doesn’t have it out for him, after exhausting all of her good will.)
But they make it to the horses, and Jack nickers impatiently as they approach. Faraday hisses at the stallion, gestures sharply with a hand to keep the horse quiet, and Jack reluctantly complies, tossing his head a little. Beside Jack, Vasquez’s relatively calm mare stands, waiting.
“Go on,” Faraday hisses at Vasquez, nodding toward the mare, as he prepares to haul himself into Jack’s saddle.
He doesn't need to be told twice to get on the horse now that he's here. He's in such a hurry to get on that he nearly falls off the other side, struggling to make sure that he stays right. It's a mixture of the adrenaline, the panic, and the relief, but he's a little dizzy. Kicking the mare into a canter, he thinks sourly that their plans definitely went awry.
No bed, no comfort, but at least Faraday was able to get supplies while Vasquez was being waylaid in order to get him hung for killing one ranger (who deserved it). His stomach feels like it aches, but nowhere near as badly as his heart as he rides, picking up the pace.
He only stops when he can hear the horse struggling, hating that his own breathing is no longer masked and when there's miles between them and the town, he veers off course suddenly, taking his horse and guiding them to where there's a copse of trees. As soon as he's dismounted, he yanks his hat off and rubs his hands over his face again and again.
"Todo está arruinado, ¿verdad? Nunca será arreglado, esta es mi vida para siempre," he's rambling, babbling, knowing Faraday won't understand, but he'll hear the undercurrent of panic and frustration as he fumbles for a cigarette, striking match after match unsuccessfully.
Faraday is hardly bothered by their waylaid plans, but he is concerned about Vasquez, about the desperation and barely contained panic as he rides. Jack keeps up well enough, and Faraday grits his teeth as it jostles his sore leg. Still, he doesn’t fault the other man for wanting to put as much distance between themselves and the town as they can. Even if it is reckless to ride this hard in the dark.
When Vasquez takes his horse off the road, Faraday pulls Jack up short, alarmed.
“Vas,” he hisses in the dark, but when Vasquez doesn’t stop, Faraday spares only a second to look after him in concern before clicking his tongue, guiding Jack into the wooded area.
He dismounts once Vasquez does, his leg twinging but deigning to hold his weight, and he gives Jack an affectionate pat on the neck before looking to the other man. In the dim light of the moon, Vasquez sounds like a man possessed, moves around like one, too, and Faraday closes the distance between them.
“I can’t understand a word you’re sayin’,” Faraday tells him with a hint of exasperation. When Vasquez goes for another match, Faraday captures his hand, looking at him meaningfully before taking it and the box from him. His own hands are far steadier by comparison, and the match finally catches fire. The little flame glows between them, casting the two of them in a low, flickering glow.
Calming down isn't exactly what Vasquez feels capable of, but he leans in to light up the cigarette, breathing out raggedly once he's had a few puffs. He doesn't want to have to think too hard, so instead of repeating what he's been saying in Spanish, he instead keeps on smoking until he's done, putting it out on his trousers and tucking it behind his ear.
If he sags forward, if he allows himself this weakness, he knows it won't get better. Then again, none of this is going to get better. Life on the road is one thing, but a punishing life where you can never have comforts, that's another.
The trouble is, he sees the future for what it is. There are two options. He either keeps on like he was, never stopping, always hiding. Or, he goes to Rose Creek and he settles where it's safe. If he does that, he thinks he'll be losing Faraday, because he can't see the man settling. He can barely see himself settling, it's just that it's his only option.
"There's nothing to be calm about," he heatedly insists. "I nearly got killed because all I wanted was a soft bed."
Faraday leans against Jack as he waits for Vasquez to work his way through whatever the hell the man has going through his head. As a rule, Faraday isn’t a patient man, but he manages it for now. They’ve both had a hell of a day, Vasquez especially, and he can’t blame the man for needing a moment to unwind.
... Except he hardly seems to be unwinding. Hell, he looks like he’s getting even more twisted up in the reprieve Faraday offers him, and Faraday frowns in the dark, eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting together.
When Vasquez finally speaks, Faraday feels himself softening a little with sympathy.
“I hear you,” he says quietly, one hand up in a placating gesture, like he’s speaking to a spooked horse. “But we got out, didn’t we? We’re fine. It’s over. We’ll just be more careful about keepin’ our heads down.”
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.
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winterfish
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Date: 2018-06-22 06:54 pm (UTC)He closes the distance again, and though he hesitates, he rests his hand against the back of Vasquez’s neck – all the warning he offers before he yanks Vasquez in close for a bruising, desperate kiss.
There’s no argument from Faraday that Vasquez surely had the short end of the stick, here, but Faraday had spent the whole evening terrified in an ugly, visceral way – a feeling he hadn’t experienced since he was a skinny snot of a thing, too green for the hard life out west. He didn’t feel this way even on the eve of Rose Creek or the morning before the battle, not even after getting shot or blowing himself up to kingdom come, and not even when he had blearily blinked up at a too-blue sky and Vasquez’s blurry form slipped into view before unconsciousness took him.
No, it took those bastards hauling Vasquez away to who the hell knows where to make Faraday feel real, genuine fear for the first time in ages.
When Faraday pulls back, a second or two later, his thumb brushes over the line of Vasquez’s jaw.
“We’ll get it sorted,” he promises quietly. “But first thing we gotta do is get the hell outta here.”
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Date: 2018-06-22 07:17 pm (UTC)Maybe a part of him had honestly thought that he wouldn't make it in time. The adrenaline of being rescued is warring with that worry and it's pumping through his veins now, which means that they need to get out. Still, not until he gets at least a little more of a kiss, leaning in for a second round as he tells himself not to push himself on Faraday and demand more.
"Lead the way, querido, I'll follow you."
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Date: 2018-06-26 05:00 pm (UTC)He crouches, staying low to the ground despite the protests of the old injury in his leg. He keeps his eyes and ears peeled for any flicker or sound of movement. It’s late, and late enough that no other soul should bother them out here, unless they’re very, very unlucky. (Faraday occasionally thinks that he’s drained his well of luck ages ago, when that first shot in the back didn’t kill him, then and there.
Getting shot again and again, blowing up a Gatling gun, and surviving? That was just rubbing salt in the wound. He hopes Lady Luck doesn’t have it out for him, after exhausting all of her good will.)
But they make it to the horses, and Jack nickers impatiently as they approach. Faraday hisses at the stallion, gestures sharply with a hand to keep the horse quiet, and Jack reluctantly complies, tossing his head a little. Beside Jack, Vasquez’s relatively calm mare stands, waiting.
“Go on,” Faraday hisses at Vasquez, nodding toward the mare, as he prepares to haul himself into Jack’s saddle.
no subject
Date: 2018-06-26 06:11 pm (UTC)No bed, no comfort, but at least Faraday was able to get supplies while Vasquez was being waylaid in order to get him hung for killing one ranger (who deserved it). His stomach feels like it aches, but nowhere near as badly as his heart as he rides, picking up the pace.
He only stops when he can hear the horse struggling, hating that his own breathing is no longer masked and when there's miles between them and the town, he veers off course suddenly, taking his horse and guiding them to where there's a copse of trees. As soon as he's dismounted, he yanks his hat off and rubs his hands over his face again and again.
"Todo está arruinado, ¿verdad? Nunca será arreglado, esta es mi vida para siempre," he's rambling, babbling, knowing Faraday won't understand, but he'll hear the undercurrent of panic and frustration as he fumbles for a cigarette, striking match after match unsuccessfully.
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Date: 2018-06-26 06:28 pm (UTC)When Vasquez takes his horse off the road, Faraday pulls Jack up short, alarmed.
“Vas,” he hisses in the dark, but when Vasquez doesn’t stop, Faraday spares only a second to look after him in concern before clicking his tongue, guiding Jack into the wooded area.
He dismounts once Vasquez does, his leg twinging but deigning to hold his weight, and he gives Jack an affectionate pat on the neck before looking to the other man. In the dim light of the moon, Vasquez sounds like a man possessed, moves around like one, too, and Faraday closes the distance between them.
“I can’t understand a word you’re sayin’,” Faraday tells him with a hint of exasperation. When Vasquez goes for another match, Faraday captures his hand, looking at him meaningfully before taking it and the box from him. His own hands are far steadier by comparison, and the match finally catches fire. The little flame glows between them, casting the two of them in a low, flickering glow.
“You gotta calm down.”
no subject
Date: 2018-06-26 06:55 pm (UTC)If he sags forward, if he allows himself this weakness, he knows it won't get better. Then again, none of this is going to get better. Life on the road is one thing, but a punishing life where you can never have comforts, that's another.
The trouble is, he sees the future for what it is. There are two options. He either keeps on like he was, never stopping, always hiding. Or, he goes to Rose Creek and he settles where it's safe. If he does that, he thinks he'll be losing Faraday, because he can't see the man settling. He can barely see himself settling, it's just that it's his only option.
"There's nothing to be calm about," he heatedly insists. "I nearly got killed because all I wanted was a soft bed."
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Date: 2018-06-26 07:56 pm (UTC)... Except he hardly seems to be unwinding. Hell, he looks like he’s getting even more twisted up in the reprieve Faraday offers him, and Faraday frowns in the dark, eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting together.
When Vasquez finally speaks, Faraday feels himself softening a little with sympathy.
“I hear you,” he says quietly, one hand up in a placating gesture, like he’s speaking to a spooked horse. “But we got out, didn’t we? We’re fine. It’s over. We’ll just be more careful about keepin’ our heads down.”
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Date: 2018-06-26 08:17 pm (UTC)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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Date: 2018-06-27 12:30 am (UTC)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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Date: 2018-06-27 01:30 am (UTC)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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Date: 2018-06-29 06:41 pm (UTC)“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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Date: 2018-06-29 08:58 pm (UTC)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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Date: 2018-07-02 10:52 pm (UTC)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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Date: 2018-07-02 11:07 pm (UTC)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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Date: 2018-07-02 11:20 pm (UTC)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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Date: 2018-07-02 11:34 pm (UTC)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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Date: 2018-07-12 07:26 pm (UTC)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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Date: 2018-07-12 11:14 pm (UTC)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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Date: 2018-07-12 11:37 pm (UTC)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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Date: 2018-07-13 12:07 am (UTC)"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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Date: 2018-07-19 06:14 pm (UTC)“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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Date: 2018-07-20 12:27 am (UTC)"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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Date: 2018-08-04 12:12 am (UTC)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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Date: 2018-08-04 12:55 am (UTC)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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Date: 2018-08-15 12:12 am (UTC)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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From:i'm so sorry this took so long; this month has been awful work-wise
From:<333 I'm very happy for the tag! I will reply and then link to a new one with a mini time jump
From:new link!
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