Darrow - Sexswitch for Sweeney

[quinientos]

There's room on the bed when he wakes up.

When Sweeney stays over, there's never room. Someone's elbows are pressed in awkward places, knees are shoved in and usually they have to stack in order to make sure that no one falls off. This morning, when he wakes, there's still a long line of warmth beside him, but Vasquez isn't half falling off the bed (barely), and his toes aren't dangling off (though still near the end). When he rouses, hair is in his face. His hair. Well, if he can call it that, because it's frizzy and the right curl and colour, but it's longer than it should be, not to mention there are things missing on his body that shouldn't be.

Panic swarms Vasquez as he sits bolt upright, patting his bare body down and growling under his breath to see what's happened. It's some form of strange magic, a wicked tease, and glaring down at the leprechaun currently in his bed, Vasquez doesn't think that it's a long stretch to figure out who could be responsible. Shifting his weight until he can kneel above Sweeney, he doesn't bother going light as he backhands him with a slap to his face, following up with a heated one to his chest.

"Puta madre, pinche cabron," he hisses, voice growled and low so he doesn't have to hear the tonal changes that he can't ignore. "What did you do?" he demands heatedly. "I keep your beer out," he gripes, hating how much he sounds like one of his sisters, "I make your offerings, is this funny?" he demands, shoving at his shoulder to wake him past any lingering sleep. "I promise I can make it very unfunny for you."

Comments

[onlythebranch]

For a very long, very hungover moment, Mad Sweeney can't remember who it is he'd gone to bed with.

The blow to his face isn't strong enough to be Cassius -- who hasn't exactly invited him to stay the night anyway -- and the voice isn't Lucy's, so as his head rocks back from the slap -- a good one, one that sends a tingle through his body -- he scrambles to figure out who this might be. There's a good chance she's a stranger, it's not as if he's never done that before, but he hasn't done it recently. For a long time there'd been no one and in Darrow, the only person whose bed he tends to sleep in besides his own is Vasquez.

"Christ's blood," he mutters, his voice thick with sleep. His eyes open and sure enough, the face is unfamiliar, but the words sure as fuck aren't. That's Vasquez hovering over him, Vasquez with a very feminine face and a superb set of tits that Sweeney reaches for without giving it much thought. It's not the strangest thing in the world, after all, not for him. But then, he'd been a bird. Being a woman seems like a bloody gift in comparison.

"Wasn't me, lad," he answers. "I deal in luck and you fuckin' know it."

[quinientos]

He hates the high pitched sound of affront the grab causes, but he's quick to swat at Sweeney's hands to get them off, letting loose another round of invective Spanish profanities cursing Sweeney, his heritage, and his dirty hands before Vasquez searches the room desperately, but not in vain. Yanking up Sweeney's t-shirt, he pulls it on to give himself some coverage before he starts to work the mess of hair into a messy braid, having done this for horse hair enough.

"Wasn't you?" he replies heatedly, fingers flicking as he knots the braid and he can lean down to press his knee dangerously close to Sweeney's private area, but with the murderous look in his eye, there's no tease here so much as threat. "You're magic, you turned into birds, you had nothing to do with this?" Because it seems very unlucky to him.

Digging a hand with longer nails into Sweeney's chest to keep him pinned, he's trying not to fixate on the inches he's lost (both in important places and in height, judging by the fact he can't be more than 5'11 now), the way he's still lean and narrow, but he has an ass and a chest (modest as they are) and a waist that's narrower than even his thinnest while on the run.

Palming a hand over his face, he wonders why he fixates the most on his beard being gone, but he does. "I need a smoke," he mutters, though that requires moving, and right now, this seems like the right place to be to restrict any unwanted touching (as if his current position doesn't go against that completely).

[onlythebranch]

"I was turned into a bird, lass," Sweeney answers, using the term of endearment very pointedly. There's a knee awfully close to his balls and he knows Vasquez is serious about hurting him, but it seems he hasn't quite learned his lesson yet. That Sweeney likes to be hurt and that hardened gaze only serves to make him wonder what it'd be like to fuck this much smaller and very different version of the fiery man he's been fucking so far.

"Someone else put that curse on me, I sure as fuck didn't put it on myself and if I wanted t'wake up with a woman bad enough that I'd turn t'magic, I'd just go to bed with a woman in the first place. I'm a bloody leprechaun, not a wizard. If you end up with bad luck because of me, it's still just the regular kind that can be blamed on just about anything, not the sort that ends with you losing a dick and growing some beautiful tits."

Reaching back blindly, he finds the bedside table, his silver cigarette case and lighter, then passes them to Vasquez. He doesn't want him to move.

[quinientos]

The 'lass' is what does it. His eyes steely and wide (maybe a little possessed of fury), he moves his knee and slams as hard as he can, paying little mind to the fact that last night, he'd been treating Sweeney much nicer (but last night, he'd been himself). Yanking the silver case and lighter out of his hands, he digs out a cigarette to light up, grateful the shirt covers him in all ways as he moves the knee back, lifting his chin imperiously as the butt ignites, ignoring any reactions and cries from his forceful move.

"If it wouldn't hurt so probably much, I'd cut them off," he mutters around the cigarette, inhaling as deeply as he can before leaning over to place it between Sweeney's lips, careful to keep a little space between them. "I heard you could turn into a young version of you, but not this," he mumbles, voice as low as ever, probably from all the smoking. Raising a brow upwards pointedly, he lets his gaze slide between them.

"Wonder what you'd look like, all changed like this," is his smug addition.

[onlythebranch]

It hurts like a motherfucker, a blazing sort of burn that sparks out suddenly in his balls and then fills his groin with leaden warmth, but there's a little tickle of pleasure in it, too. And Sweeney groans, reaches down with one hand to cradle his balls, but he's grinning all the while, a little wildness coming into his eyes. Violence is a language he speaks well, one he understands at all times, no matter who's doling it out, and it pleases him when someone knows how to do it properly.

Under other circumstances, he'd probably haul off and punch Vasquez as hard as he can, but he figures he ought to give the man at least a few moments to recover himself.

"Why the fuck would you cut 'em off?" he asks, his voice a little hoarse from the pain in his balls. "Christ, lad, you're lookin' at this all wrong. It's fuckin' magic, right? It'll get undone one way or another, magic never fuckin' lasts." And then he grins, the expression wide and amused. "And I'd be a fuckin' goddess. I'd sure as shit make the most of it."

[quinientos]

He's on the edge of a petulant shit-show of a sulk, but Vasquez reels it back with every deep inhalation of a cigarette, moving from where he's positioned to knee Sweeney in the balls again to a lazy straddle of his thighs, sitting back against loose boxers to stare down at him, far from impressed.

"Make the most of it?" he echoes, wrinkling his nose. He settles the cigarette in his lips (oral fixation that he has), and absently exhales to the side, trying not to shiver for the hoarseness in Sweeney's voice, but struggling to not be affected. "Tell me how I should be looking at being robbed of my body, then?" he challenges. Spider-walking his fingers up Sweeney's bare chest, he cranes his neck to one side. "God, that you are," he breathes out the words, pinching when those fingers get to a nipple.

[onlythebranch]

If those are his options, a female version of Vasquez or a child, Mad Sweeney is sure as fuck glad this is the one he's gotten, even if he is in a bad fucking mood as a result of it. Waking up in bed with a child would have been the sort of fucked up that he doesn't even want to consider and he tilts his head, watching as Vasquez settles a little.

This sort of thing doesn't seem so unbelievable to someone like him. For someone like Vasquez, though, it has to be pretty goddamn strange. Sweeney isn't exactly what anyone would call kind, but he figures maybe he ought to go a little easier on him.

He twitches when Vasquez pinches his nipple, then gives him a pointed look where he's straddled across his hips. The question seems silly, given his current position. "Think you got the basics down already, lad."

[quinientos]

The dark look is back in Vasquez's face, because no matter how much he enjoys sleeping with Sweeney, something prickles in him (defiant and panicked and wary) at doing it like this. Of course, whether that means he'll resist longer than the token protest in his mind, that's another story, but as it stands, Vasquez rises to his feet to stand for the first time, putting some distance between them. "You really think I'm going to let that happen? What if I'm a good girl, hmm?" he challenges, unable to help the sass.

(Because he knows what will happen if he stays there, he's not stupid)

He presses the fabric of the shirt in around his waist, glancing over his shoulder in the mirror at the trail of braid, sneering and sure that it looks none too attractive. He's still tall, which is good, but not tall enough. Nothing is going to fit, either, which is a separate problem. "Me veo ridículo," he mutters, pushing hair back from his face and wondering how long this magic will last.

[onlythebranch]

"Christ's blood, lad, tell me you're taking the piss with that good girl shit," Sweeney says with a snort as he adjusts himself on the bed, then reaches for his cigarettes again. His balls ache and he puts one hand between his legs to cup them gingerly, knowing Vasquez hasn't done any permanent damage if Laura had been unable to, but they're tender and his cool hand makes them feel a little better.

Reluctantly he lets go to light his cigarette, then blows smoke into the air and watches Vasquez look at himself in the mirror. He's still tall like this, still good looking, and Mad Sweeney knows this could be a hell of a lot worse.

"You got a problem with women?" he asks with a smirk, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Ain't a damn thing you can't do in this body that you did before."

[quinientos]

Vasquez gives an amused snort when Sweeney asks if he's joking, cocking his head to the side because it's obvious to him that he'd been joking. He puts out the last of his cigarette as he drifts closer to the bed, making a point as he cups his groin with a palm, making a face when nothing at all hurts.

"I think there are some things that I can't do that I did before," he says pedantically, his eyes sliding to Sweeney's lips and the cigarette. "You want me to kiss that better?" he asks with a smirk. "I have no problem with women, but I'm not one," is his reply.

Crawling back onto the bed, he stretches out still-long limbs as he grabs hold of Sweeney's shoulders for leverage, leaning above him. "We should get drunk," he insists, a determined look in his eye at the idea, despite the early hour.

[onlythebranch]

"Suppose you can't give a full salute," Sweeney agrees, his gaze flicking down briefly. Not that it really matters, he figures, because there are replacements for dicks if Vasquez really wants to do the things one needs a cock for. Besides, although Sweeney hasn't exactly had any experience in a woman's body himself, he's been with enough to know they can feel things men can't even hope to feel and he's pretty sure Vasquez might not miss his dick much in that scenario.

"It's your flat, darlin'," he answers when Vasquez brings up drinking. Instead of responding to the comment about kissing him better, which he'd truly have no problem with at all. The thought of Vasquez's pretty mouth taking care of him is nearly enough to make him immediately hard and it's only through very determined concentration that he's not giving his own full salute right then and there. "You bring me the booze, you can be sure as fuck I'll be drinkin' it."

[quinientos]

"Don't call me darling," he warns, because that's not going to go over so well if it keeps happening. Of course, Vasquez is the idiot who also doesn't match actions to words, because rather than a reprimand, he leans down to grab him by the back of his neck and kiss Sweeney hard, slightly dazed by the different feel of it, the way he doesn't have as much power, how his mouth feels smaller.

How the beard scrapes and scratches like a motherfucker (how Vasquez maybe doesn't find that so bad). Already, he's contemplating how that will feel against mostly bare thighs and the thought makes him smirk, because maybe bad magic can have some perks.

"Alcohol," he agrees, digging in the bedside drawer where his supplies are (lasso, lube, all the important things, and there beside it, whiskey). He pries off the lid and takes a swig instantly, handing it over to Sweeney while he uses a thumb to wipe the excess droplets away from a hard swig taken.

[onlythebranch]

Sweeney is just about to point out that he'd call Vasquez darling if he was still in his usual body, too, that he doesn't discriminate when it comes to shit like that, but then he's being kissed and there's not a damn thing he wants to do about that but sit back and enjoy it.

There's truly nothing like a woman. And Vasquez isn't a woman, he knows that, but the body he's currently inhabiting certainly feels like one and Sweeney's free hand falls to the slim curve of his waist.

It ends too soon, but at least it's replaced by whiskey, which Sweeney happily takes, tipping his head back to take a long swallow. It burns down into his belly, joining the faint ache of pain that's still settled there and then he smirks and holds it back in Vasquez's direction.

"Called you darlin' before and you didn't seem to give a fuck," he points out, though he can't honestly remember if that's true or not. "You get that shit whether you've got a cunt or a cock."

[quinientos]

"Feels different," is all Vasquez grunts, as if he hasn't been sneaking his own little names in, under the guise of Spanish. He's yet to tell Sweeney what querido or carino means, but he suspects that he's going to figure that out soon enough. Snatching the bottle back, he tips his head back and lets it slide down his throat, burning all the way until he has to close his eyes for the sting of it, cursing as he sets the bottle on the nightstand.

That hand on his waist is distracting, the reminder of what's below too, but with sparkling eyes (warm with whiskey), Vasquez decides to press all that luck. "What about other shit that I want to request from you, hmm?"

[onlythebranch]

"Such as?" Sweeney asks, leaning back against the pillow and looking up at Vasquez with a smirk. This time he doesn't move, doesn't try to grab any part of him, just leaves his hand where it is on Vasquez's waist and waits for an answer. He'd gotten a knee to the balls for being a prick, that's true enough, and it's true, too, that he'd actually rather liked how it had felt, but that doesn't mean he's about to make it easy on the other man. Not after everything.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke into the air between them, letting it hang there as silently and heavily as his question. It's probably fucked up that his first reaction to this is to get Vasquez drunk and try to fuck him into the mattress, but he doesn't much care if it is.

He's never claimed not to be an asshole.

[quinientos]

Vasquez grins as he winds his fingers in Sweeney's hair, enjoying how it threads over his fingertips. The burn of the whiskey is a little much, making him just a little dizzy with the warm good burn of it and he slides his fingers through Sweeney's hair again and again, stroking the pad of his thumb hard against his temple and down to the sideburns, scratching it into his beard.

"I want to feel this," is what Vasquez says, eyes glittering with the promise of an idea that he thinks is brilliant, but then, when he's drunk, he thinks everything is an amazing idea. The smoke is a heady thing, something Vasquez inhales sharply, licking his lips. "This," he says again, cupping Sweeney's chin before tangling those fingers in Sweeney's hair again. "Down, between my thighs," he finishes.

His breath catches because if he's going to have lost his dick, he might as well get some fun out of this.

[onlythebranch]

"Now you're makin' the most of it, love," Sweeney answers with a grin, shifting on the bed just enough to put his cigarette in an ash tray, leaving it still smouldering for the moment. Then he has both hands on Vasquez's slim waist, pulling him off his lap, putting him back down on the bed in a movement that probably shouldn't be as smooth as it is. He's only had a little whiskey, though, and he's more or less still got his wits about him.

One hand presses against Vasquez's chest, feeling the swell of his breasts even though the t-shirt he's wearing -- Sweeney's shirt, he realizes -- and he holds him down against the bed as he gets himself settled, shifting until he's on his knees, still wearing that maddening grin.

Without another word, he pushes up the hem of that shirt, big enough and long enough to nearly be worn as a dress on Vasquez as he is now, and he ducks his head at the same time. He pushes Vasquez's thighs apart, partly with his hands, partly with his head, then presses his mouth to the inside of one knee, his skin smooth and warm under his lips.

[quinientos]

Vasquez presses a fist to his mouth as he settles, the moaned little querido sound stifled by his fingers as he buries one hand in Sweeney's hair, the other reaching back for the headboard to give himself something to hold onto. Licking his lips, he's not sure what to expect, but given how everything is hazy sweet and warm with liquor, he can't imagine it will be anything but great.

That grin is trouble, always has been, but now it kicks something up in Vasquez, like the adrenaline before the fight. Letting his thighs slip apart, he tries not to flinch when the brush of scratchy beard on smooth skin tickles. It wouldn't be very good to start this kicking him in the face with a heel.

"Don't have to be so gentle," is his permission. "I want to have red marks, to remember this by."

[onlythebranch]

"Shut up," Sweeney answers, biting the inside of Vasquez's thigh lightly before he looks up at him, smirking. "You don't know what it's like to have a cunt yet, so let me get started before you start in with the complaints."

His hands slide up, under the shirt Vasquez is wearing, over the edges of his hipbones where he anchors his grip and holds on. Then he bites down a little harder, pushes Vasquez's thighs apart further and pulls back a little, just allowing himself to take a look at everything that's waiting.

"Aren't you fuckin' lovely?" he asks with another small grin.

[quinientos]

Vasquez gives a huffy sniff of a sound, but his complaints fade away when Sweeney starts biting like that, his back arching off the bed when his hips are anchored. Despite the reprimand, Vasquez never did know when to shut up.

"Don't need to have a cunt to know I like the itch of beard burn," he retorts, but even those words falter at the next bite. "Am I lovely? Good," he says, full of pride and vanity.

Good both ways, he'll take that.

[onlythebranch]

Most women are lovely in their way and Vasquez isn't a woman, Mad Sweeney understands that, but he's in the body of one at the moment and Sweeney plans on enjoying that exactly as he would otherwise. His hand glides up the inside of Vasquez's thigh, his fingers pressing gently, exploring. He's warm and wet and Sweeney stifles a groan against his skin.

Then he flexes his hand and presses one large finger inside of Vasquez, lifting his head to watch his reaction. The body is new, after all, and Sweeney doesn't know what the fuck that might mean, but he doesn't want to hurt Vasquez.

Not unless he wants to be hurt.

[quinientos]

That is a very big finger, but fuck if Vasquez isn't eager for it and more. After all the time they spend preparing him, it's a lot different to have a slick, wider space for that finger to go into. Rocking his hips to roll that finger inside him, the only thing Vasquez shows in his eyes is pure determination.

"More than one," he coaxes, like he's disappointed they're even bothering with something so small. Biting his lip until it's practically ragged, it's anticipation that he's coaxing onwards, reaching down to thread long fingers through Sweeney's hair, dragging the thumb in a stroking pattern up and down the temples, ready to push hard, if it needs to happen.

"What, do you want a kiss? Encouragement?" He smirks. "Me to put my heel to your back and prod you on like my horse?"

[onlythebranch]

"I'm gonna fuckin' gag you," Sweeney threatens, but he slides his hand back, then slips a second finger inside of Vasquez, fucking him a little harder. At the same time he lowers his head, his tongue sliding across Vasquez's clit and Sweeney doesn't know what it feels like himself, but he's heard enough breathless moans to figure that might finally shut Vasquez up.

He tastes different than he usually does. Sweeney notes that almost immediately and he groans, pressing himself harder against Vasquez's cunt.

Even though he's threatened to gag him, Sweeney does reach down for Vasquez's slim leg, tugging it over his shoulder to get a better angle as he fucks his fingers deeper inside of him and curls them, stroking, putting pressure inside of him.

[quinientos]

Somehow he doesn't think he's really in danger of having a gag, but ends up laughing with delight all the same, as if a dare. Turns out the gag isn't the concern as he's pulled into a new position, digging his heel into Sweeney's back when those fingers start curling and petting.

Hand on his forehead, the other buried in Sweeney's hair, he feels light with dizzy pleasure. The stroke of tongue is unbelievable, making him wonder if he's this good with women. "Puta," he breathes out with reverence. He doesn't stop the whining whimper that topples off his lips, heel dug in a little harder as he grips tight to Sweeney's hair, probably making a mess of it.

[onlythebranch]

Sweeney's gaze flicks up, wanting to see what Vasquez looks like when he's like this, knowing it's going to be different from all the other times they've fucked and he's certainly not disappointed. It makes him even harder still and he rolls his hips into the mattress, thrusting harder into Vasquez, not letting up with his tongue.

There have been periods in his life when he's gone without sex for years, longer than most people ever seem to manage and he tends not to miss it all that much when he's not getting it. This, though, going down on a woman, this is something he always misses.

The sound he makes is almost a whimper, reluctant to move away, and he hopes Vasquez feels it as a vibration across his skin.

[quinientos]

Oh, Jesus, that sound might actually make him come, but he doesn't. The hair trigger that he's been expecting doesn't come and the pleasure keeps swelling and building, almost to a maddening level as it clouds his head. Gasping, he goes from frantic sounds to high praise. "Sweeney, dios mio," is his fluttered moan.

That scrape of beard against his thighs is amazing and itches and burns. He adores it, never wants it to stop, and the rolling waves of pleasure is driving him wildly mad.

"Fuck me, you're so...so good," he gets out, a space after the first demand because he's more than ready for Sweeney's cock now.

[onlythebranch]

"Only good if I can make you come like this," he answers, his words muffled because he hasn't really pulled back, still all but buried between Vasquez's legs. It's not like he's never sucked the man's cock before, but this is different. His skin is smooth, his muscles long and lean, and he smells and tastes so much different than he ever has before.

Sweeney's not exactly selfless, but he could spend a long damn time down here if that was what Vasquez wanted out of him.

He curls his fingers again inside of him, stroking harder, his tongue moving over his clit, tracing designs, sucking and licking.

[quinientos]

"You doubt you can?" It's a challenge from Vasquez to Sweeney even though he barely has the words to make that into a sentence, what with the way his body is trying to collapse on him, muscles weak, warmth pooling low in his belly, feeling something the likes of which he's never felt before in his lifetime.

The little breathless exhalations of Spanish are nonsensical, little stammers and whimpers and nonsense, but Vasquez grips Sweeney's hair a little tighter for every suck and lick, scraping when the pleasure builds and builds, and then just holds off, like he's not sure what he wants or needs.

"Fuck me," he decides, blunt and fast. "Come on, to make me come, fuck me."

[onlythebranch]

Although Mad Sweeney can be a prick, although he doesn't like to be told what to do, it's been a long fucking time since he's slid into the warmth of a cunt and he can't resist that request. He's a hell of a lot bigger than Vasquez now, but he pulls back, drags himself back up the length of Vasquez's body. He tugs the t-shirt as he goes, wanting it off, because if he's about to fuck Vasquez like this, he wants to appreciate the entirety of what's being offered.

And he doesn't think about condoms now either. They've been fucking often enough that he doesn't much give a shit and he's fairly certain there has to be some power at work to prevent this body from getting pregnant.

"Get this fuckin' thing off," he says, pulling at the shirt again before he braces his weight on his elbow and his knees.

[quinientos]

Vasquez mutters under his breath, not exactly wanting to be completely naked, but he also feels very stupid wearing nothing but a t-shirt when being fucked, so he tangles long fingers into the fabric to push it off, shoving it to the side of the bed and wriggling back to get back on the bed.

He's always been long and lithe, the months of hiding out from a bounty nudging him towards starvation and losing even more weight, so it's no surprise to him that even like this, he's not exactly like some of the women he'd fucked before at brothels. Give him a decent vest and a hat and he thinks maybe he could even pass for a man.

Excitement flaring, Vasquez cups a hand at Sweeney's neck to hold onto him, tilting his chin upwards for a kiss to say thank you without actually saying the words. "Better?" he can't help but tease, that glimmer of mischief still in his eye, as if he doesn't enjoy seeing Sweeney just as naked.

[onlythebranch]

"Better," he agrees, reaching down between them to grab his cock. Stroking a few times, he smirks down at Vasquez and then nudges the head of his cock against him, rubbing where just a moment before he'd had his mouth and his tongue. It's like a little electric shock going through him and he fights back a groan, swallowing it down so Vasquez doesn't end up more smug than he already is.

"Sure you're ready for this?" he asks, still managing a smirk. "It's a little bit more than just my fingers."

It's more than just a little bit more, but Vasquez has been fucked by him before. In a hell of a lot more sensitive arrangement than this. The body he's in now is smaller, but it's made to accommodate him.

[quinientos]

If Vasquez turns off the thinking parts of his brain, he doesn't have to spend too much time thinking about the lithe lines of his body in this changed state. He tips his chin upwards to catch Sweeney's eye, a determined look there even as he squirms a little, not wanting to admit that he's fucking nervous.

He's been fucked before, but not like this, and he's heard enough stories from whores and other women to know that a man without care can hurt them. Then again, given the attentions he's been getting, Vasquez isn't stupid enough to imply Sweeney would be like that.

Besides, a little hurt isn't so bad.

"Are you saying you don't want to fuck me?" counters Vasquez pointedly. "I never said no, nene," is his encouragement, bearing down on the bed to press Sweeney's cock an inch or two further inside.

[onlythebranch]

"Gotta work a bit on your English there, darlin'," Sweeney answers with a smirk, rolling his hips forward, his cock sinking deeper into him. "I never said any of that."

Sweeney's hand slides down, over the curve of Vasquez's hip and he might not be amply curved, but it's still different. He hangs onto him there, pressing himself in deeper and he's still not being a complete asshole, but he's not hurrying either.

It's a hell of a lot more fun sometimes, dragging it all out.

[quinientos]

Vasquez would retort sharply with a mean comment, but he's currently not paying much attention given that his eyes have widened with the sudden full sensation that he's never experienced before. "Cabron," should be ruder than it sounds, but the way it comes out is awed and delighted, but when he doesn't start moving, Vasquez makes a face.

"Puta," he mutters, much angrier as he slaps Sweeney on the ass like a stubborn mule that needs to be made to move. He wants him to go, to move, to get him over that crest of a hill he'd been so close to, but the pause and the frustrations only delay it again. "Come on," he half-pleads.

[onlythebranch]

Vasquez's body is warm and tight around him and he's being urged on, which Sweeney can only take as an indication he's not hurting him too badly, so he rolls his hips back and then forward again, sinking deeper inside of him.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Do that again."

Because the sting of pain he feels at his ass being slapped sends tingling pleasure down through his body, along his spine and into his balls. Shifting on the bed, he loops one strong arm around Vasquez, lifting him slightly, angling his hips and then sinking deeper inside of him.

[quinientos]

It's a strange, tingling warm sensation to understand because for all the times he's wanted to feel touched and surrounded and safe, he never thought a leprechaun fucking him while he's a woman would be the ultimate feeling in that, everything building to such warmth and amazing power. Doing as he's told, he slaps at Sweeney's ass again like he's a misbehaving horse, sharply gasping when it rolls him in deeper.

He means not to come, not just yet, but the endless attention, the force, the warmth, the heady feeling, it's all so much.

Vasquez manages a muffled, soft, "Sweeney," before he feels his limbs warm and tingle. "What do you need?" He asks in slurred tones. "Tell me."

[onlythebranch]

What Sweeney needs boils down to the warm body and the thrust of his hips, his breath catching as he pants and moves and holds onto Vasquez. He's hard as a fucking rock and he can feel the way Vasquez's body is so entirely different, warm and slick and he feels like he could just move like this forever.

"Just let me fuck you," he practically growls. Right now he doesn't need anything fancy. He's still half asleep anyway, he's not sure he'd be capable of anything more than this, but later he can find all sorts of things to do.

[quinientos]

Instead of answering with words, Vasquez reaches up to loop a lanky arm around his neck, pulling him down to absently kiss him through that warm, hazy feeling that surrounds him, like he's drunk and this is his permission for Sweeney to do whatever he wants, because Vasquez feels fucking wonderful.

Sliding back, he reaches for the headboard to hold on, shoulders arched, and the daring gleam in his eyes is promise enough that Sweeney can go as hard as he wants. At this point, walking funny tomorrow is practically something he wants. "Do it," he agrees. "Cógeme, querido."

[onlythebranch]

The way Vasquez moves, that glorious stretch of his body as he extends his arms overhead, it's like he belongs in this body and Sweeney knows better than to say something like this, but it drags a long groan out of him and he braces his knees and his other hand against the mattress and thrust into Vasquez harder. Maybe he'll hurt tomorrow, maybe even later today, but the way he's arched up like that, it's permission, Sweeney can feel it.

Maybe the hurt is part of what he wants. It's not as if Sweeney doesn't understand that.

He's driving into him, panting harshly, pressing his mouth, his teeth to any skin he can find. There's the sound of skin on skin in the room and that drags a long shudder of pleasure through his body.

[quinientos]

Vasquez holds onto the headboard tightly, his hands sharply holding. It's not the same as being tied up, because he would never allow himself to have such things happen to him, but with every frantic, fierce, hard push, it drags a low guttural groan out of him, nothing more than a hiccup of sound.

"Yes," is repeated, again and again, hissed and moaned and murmured, "yes, yes, Sweeney, cabron, carino, yes," he hisses through his teeth, finding it very strange to feel that though he's only come a few minutes ago, he can feel himself on the edge again.

Maybe all those years, he has been missing out on all the glories women can experience with sex. "Come on," he coaxes, eyes half-lidded. "Aren't you almost there?" Smirking, Vasquez releases one hand from the headboard to smack his ass again, thumb sliding lower to circle and lightly press against his entrance, as if he plans to fuck him after somehow.

[onlythebranch]

Sweeney manages a grunt, somehow both pressing back against Vasquez's thumb and then into hims again, grinding deeper. His eyes open, just barely, and there's a bead of sweat sliding down his temple, but he manages another smirk, shifting his hips so he pelvis is able to give Vasquez a little more friction against his clit.

"Want you to come first," he manages to say and it's the truth. Not out of some selfless sort of act, but because he loves that feeling, the way a woman's body will tighten around him rhythmically. Nothing else feels like that. Not fucking a man, not getting punched in the face, nothing is as satisfying as that feeling.

"For you it can just keep going," he continues, dropping his head, speaking against Vasquez's ear. "And going and fuckin' going."

[quinientos]

Vasquez tries to squirm away from the lips at his ear, not because he doesn't want them there, but because they're doing so much for him. Normally, he likes to think he has more control than this, but between waking up a woman and Sweeney's relentless, stubborn ambition to make him come, he feels a little like he's falling apart.

He tries for words, but they falter off his lips, turned into soft gasps, edged with mild frustration. Determined to have some control, he slips his thumb a little further inside, but admits defeat when he presses his temple hard to Sweeney's face, sweat-sticky hair tangling as he turns to steal a kiss, pushing back against every rock forward, his other hand slipping off the headboard to grab hold of Sweeney's shoulder.

"Fuck you," he manages to get out, but there's no heat in the words, just teasing delight, gasping when Sweeney slides in and it's nearing too much. "Oh, fuck," he gets out, because as he struggles to grip Sweeney's shoulder, that's when he comes, a sensation he's still not used to, despite it happening only a little bit ago.

[onlythebranch]

It almost makes him laugh and perhaps if he wasn't so caught up in how fucking incredible everything feels, he might still do it, but he can feel that Vasquez is coming, he can feel the way his muscles tighten and it rings a groan out of him again. After hundreds of years of fucking all kinds of people, Sweeney still doesn't know if he prefers men or women, has long since given up trying to decide because it doesn't fucking matter, but he does know this is something unique to a woman's body.

It's just different and he fucking loves it.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Fuck, yes, just..." But he doesn't manage any other words before he comes, his hips snapping forward, burying himself inside Vasquez.

[quinientos]

That's different. More different that Vasquez had been expecting, if he's truthful, but also not entirely in a bad way. His fingers tangled in the longer strands of Sweeney's hair, he absently pets him as the strangely wonderful feeling starts to dissipate through his bones and makes him feel normal again.

Collapsing back against the waiting pillows with a heavy thump, he feels sated and sleepy and so fucking good, pushing hair off his forehead in absent little pushes, something to keep his fingers occupied. "So that's making the most of it? Not bad at all," he murmurs, a rave review if ever he's given one.

[onlythebranch]

It takes Sweeney a few attempts to push himself back and off Vasquez, not wanting to crush him if he collapses, but he also doesn't really want to move. With a low groan, he finally pulls himself out, then rolls onto his back and collapses beside him, one arm thrown over his heaving chest.

"Fuck," he breathes. It was better than simply not bad and he thinks Vasquez knows it, but he'll take what's offered to him in the moment.

"That's makin' the most of it," he agrees.

[quinientos]

He won't ever admit it but when he wriggles to get over and plaster himself to Sweeney's side, that's something that he'd happily do normally, as touch needy as he is. In fact, he absently picks up Sweeney's hand and directs it near his neck and scalp as suggestion.

"Still don't want it to last too long," he says but maybe with more attentions like this, the worst if it might not be so bad.