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.