Darrow - Sweeney | Powers

[quinientos]

It's been happening for three days since New Years'. He can summon up water and fire, the earth and the air, controlling them to his whims. Only, every time that he does that, he starts to get dizzy and the headaches press in. He's been using his matches and lighter to start a fire, then controlling the flames until they start to dwindle and the blood starts to pour from his nose.

Every time he looks in the mirror, too, he sees the black eye staring back at him. He should want answers, he should want to learn how to control it, but all that he actually wants is to run away from it. It's a bad habit for him, unfortunately, it's one that he doesn't want to break. That's why he sends Sweeney a text to meet him at Vasquez's apartment and to bring as much alcohol as he can.

He probably shouldn't be drinking, not with the blood he steadily loses, but again, running from his problems somehow seems like the better idea than actually facing that he has strange magic powers suddenly and that he can't seem to control without becoming weak and sick like he only is when he's beyond drunk and sick. Grabbing yet another linen handkerchief to press to his nose, he digs out his matches to light up a new cigarette, cursing when the flame goes wildly out of control and reduces the cigarette to ashes.

"Puta madre," he hisses, and what's worse is that the sudden flare of his newfound strength only makes his head pulse worse. He makes it to unlock the door and then staggers back to collapse in one of his very comfortable chairs, grabbing his hat so he can cover his eyes, the light making it hurt.

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[quinientos]

"I'm not going to fucking burn you," he snaps back at him, bending over to bite Sweeney's ass, scraping his teeth as he slides two fingers in, a little more frantic than he'd like to be. It'd be better if he could pretend he was sly and smooth, but he's so fucking eager to fuck him, something he's dreamed about for so long, that it's probably not exactly the best he could be.

He probably doesn't slick Sweeney up as much as he could, but he grabs hold of his shoulder and settles against the other arm of the chair, hauling at Sweeney to try and get him to turn around. "Ride me," he says, heartbeat wild, his eyes wide. "Let me fuck you like that? Or do you want me to shove your face in the couch?"

[onlythebranch]

"Fuckin' make me turn around and get all comfortable and then you drag me back," Sweeney complains, but he's moving, because at this point he honestly doesn't care how it gets done, so long as he gets to finally feel a cock in his ass. The fingers are good, but this will be better and even if the couch makes the whole thing kind of a joke, given the size of them both, he doesn't much care about that either. If they end up on the floor, then they end up on the floor.

"Sit back," he says, shoving at Vasquez's chest, pushing him back against the arm of the couch before he takes his cock in hand and strokes him a few times. It takes him a second to get situated, to get his feet planted in the right way, but then he lifts his hips and guides Vasquez's cock toward his ass.

[quinientos]

"You can do a little work before you get fucked," Vasquez replies, but he's smirking as Sweeney moves him, heart beating wildly with the anticipation. Fuck, but he's wanted this for so long and it might not be Christmas anymore, but it's probably the best gift he could get (outside of a decent bottle of liquor).

Letting out a litany of creative Spanish profanities when Sweeney strokes him, it's not like it gets any better when he sinks down onto him. He grabs hold of Sweeney's hips as hard as he can, knowing that with the size of him, there's only going to be so much he can do.

Still, as he rocks his hips up to start fucking him, he knows he's not planning to just lie there. "Fuck," he hisses, as he slips a little off the side of the couch when he tries to move a little more and ends up losing space. He can already see what's going to happen and, with a hapless exhalation, he decides to just accept it when it does happen and they slip off.

[onlythebranch]

Sweeney has to plant one foot on the floor, there's simply not enough room on the couch otherwise, but he shifts himself angling his hips, letting himself sink down onto Vasquez with a choked off moan. He hasn't been fucked by anyone in awhile, hasn't had anyone inside of him and it's not that he'd forgotten how good it could feel, but it's always new. Doesn't matter who it is, no one feels like anyone else.

"Jesus fuck," he breathes, using his feet, his thighs, setting himself into a rhythm. He's got one hand on the back of the cough, the other planted on Vasquez's chest and he's using each point of contact to move, to make this work.

They're still going to end up on the damn floor.

[quinientos]

Vasquez is trying to work with the room they've got, grabbing Sweeney's hips so he can use the leverage to thrust up, but it's quickly clear that the couch is only temporary. Reaching over to the side, he shoves at the table, cursing, and when he needs the extra help, he closes his eyes and thinks of a great gust of wind to help him, the legs of the table scraping as he moves it. At least now when they fall, no one's getting bruised.

The pang of a headache kicks in, but it's not as bad as it could be. "Fuck," he bites out, even though he's not stopping in fucking Sweeney, wanting to haul Sweeney down to kiss him, but struggling to do that and now tumble halfway off. Scrambling to get his hands up to Sweeney's shoulders, to his neck, he arches his back, hips snapping up, and fuck, he can't think of anything but how tight and warm it is.

It's been a long time and god, but he wants more of it.

[onlythebranch]

It almost makes Sweeney laugh, the impatience of it all, but damned if it doesn't feel good, too, and he groans instead, the sound caught somewhere in between. At least Vasquez has had the foresight to move the table, although Sweeney wouldn't have minded much if he'd taken a blow on the way down, whenever the inevitable tumble does happen.

Eventually he gets one hand on the cushion behind Vasquez's head, his fingers digging hard into the fabric as he leans forward and catches his mouth in a sloppy kiss. He bites down hard on Vasquez's lower lip, hard enough to maybe draw blood, hard enough that it's going to leave a mark he wants to see later. The muscles in his thighs are burning pleasantly as he rides Vasquez, fucks himself onto his cock.

[quinientos]

There's too many things he wants to do right now. He wants to wrap a leg around Sweeney's waist to hitch him up higher, wants to grab hold of him and get him closer, wants to slide a hand between them to wrap around Sweeney's dick to offer him something in return. He settles for rocking his hips upwards, the hard snap pushed on by the kiss that's hard enough to make him push profane curses against Sweeney's lips, but fuck if the pleasure of fucking him doesn't override the burn.

His ass keeps slipping on the fabric of the couch every time he rolls his hips back, but fuck it. Tangling his fingers in Sweeney's hair to grip tightly, he uses that for leverage, yanking at it with every push upwards. "You want more?" he asks, rough and heated. "More pain? Deeper? Harder?"

[onlythebranch]

"The fuck do you think, asshole?" Sweeney answers with a wild sort of laugh, moving with Vasquez, finding his rhythm and sinking into it with a groan. It's not possible for most people to be able to push him around, but Vasquez is big enough that he can if he tries.

What he wants is to be bent the fuck over, pushed into an uncomfortable position, used however Vasquez wants to use him, but Mad Sweeney is used to giving, not asking. It's not that he doesn't know how to take, but he's of a different breed than all these people. All these mortals. Everything is different. Apart.

Even sex.

[quinientos]

He knows, but maybe he just wants to hear it. Fuck, this isn't going to work on the couch anymore, which means he has to make a decision. Hissing and cursing suddenly, he grabs Sweeney by the shoulders and pushes them so that Sweeney falls onto the floor and Vasquez topples after him, adjusting rapidly so that he can shove up his leg, get right back to fucking him after.

(There had been a terrifying moment when he thought maybe he'd sprain or break something, but he seems to have managed with only some bruises to his knees)

Grabbing at his hair, shoving at his knee, he doesn't have to worry about falling off a couch anymore, but he can't help his wicked smirk as he starts to fuck Sweeney again, eyes bright because there's some very ugly carpet under Sweeney's ass right now that's definitely going to cause a burn. "I think I like to hear it, still," he counters, stubbornly.

[onlythebranch]

"Fuck me," he grits out, his teeth pressed tightly together as he looks up at Vasquez. "Fuck me harder. Just fuck me."

His fingers are curled under, looking for some kind of purchase on the carpet, but he finds none and instead reaches out for the leg of the table Vasquez had shoved away. It gives him a bit of leverage and he uses it to arch up, to lift his legs higher, to change the angle to Vasquez can get deeper inside of him. His dick is hard again, which he wouldn't have thought possible so soon, but it feels so damn good to just be filled like he hasn't in such a long time damn.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, just... fuck me," he says again.

[quinientos]

That's about all that he needs. Vasquez shuts his mind down so that he isn't thinking about anything other than how good Sweeney looks, the tight and hot feel of him around his dick, something that he's been wanting for so long that it's ridiculous.

Yanking him closer with the hand in his hair, he kisses him roughly, to help push him on, to keep words away, to heatedly offer one more point of contact as he moves, grabbing at Sweeney's ass and snapping his hips to fuck him, no real rhythm, no actual pace, just a messy and rough movement. "You feel so good," he hisses through his teeth in Spanish, biting at Sweeney's lower lip before he shuts himself up with another kiss.

[onlythebranch]

He has no fucking idea what Vasquez is saying, frankly doesn't much give a shit at this point, just wants him to keep doing exactly what he's doing as he pants and groans. Any words he might have said are lost, though, into Vasquez's mouth, against his lips and it takes Sweeney a minute longer to think to reach between his legs and grab his dick. Stroking himself roughly, Sweeney moves with Vasquez as best he can, though there's really no rhythm to what he's doing.

It feels so fucking good, though, and he holds on tightly to the table leg, knowing there's every chance he might break it in another moment or two and not much giving a fuck about that either. Not when Vasquez is fucking into him so hard, so rough.

[quinientos]

The heat surrounding him is making him stupid, probably. That, or he's just not thinking about a single thing other than how good he feels and how much he's missed this, because apart from a few waking fantasies about doing this with people he doesn't want to name, he hasn't even come close to this.

"Sweeney," he breathes out reverently, his head empty of thoughts, but he doesn't need to think in order to let his name spill from his lips, as blessed as anything. Tightening the hold on his hair, he bows his head to kiss and bite and scrape at Sweeney's neck as he keeps fucking him, but he's slowing down, knowing he's not going to last.

"Fuck," he bites out, a sharp staccato English burst. "I'm so close," he hisses, knowing it won't be much longer.

[onlythebranch]

It worries him a little, even in a moment like this, the way Vasquez says his name. When his luck begins to fall apart even more than it has already, it'll be those who've left him offerings, who've worshipped him in some way who'll suffer right along with him and he knows he ought to tell them all to knock it the fuck off.

But he can't. He hasn't. He doubts he ever will.

"Fuck, just..." But he doesn't have any other words. At this point he's just along for the ride, letting Vasquez use him as he needs, arching his back, exposing his throat, giving Vasquez access to whatever he wants. He's breathing hard, he knows he'll come himself with just a few more strokes.

[quinientos]

Vasquez needs to focus, needs to do something, and even through the haze of his own pleasure, he keeps fucking Sweeney, but manages to bring himself back to actually thinking, which is when he disentangles his fingers from Sweeney's hair so that he can wrap it with Sweeney's hand on his cock to help him.

He's breathing hard and heavy, his own action pushing himself over the edge, not even able to form a name or words when he comes, only a babble of incomprehensible vowels and syllables as his whole body tenses and then bleeds out of him, his free hand dragging blunt nails down Sweeney's hip as he lets his head fall back.

[onlythebranch]

It doesn't take much more, not between Vasquez's hand and the way his entire body feels when he comes and Sweeney finds himself moaning, arching up into him before his muscles pull taught and then suddenly release as he comes. He's still holding onto the damn table and he's panting and groaning, his back hurts from the rug burn he inevitably has, but he feels good, too. And he expects at this point Vasquez has to feel a hell of a lot better.

He hasn't burned anything, which is a point in his favour.

"Fuck," he breathes out suddenly, collapsing onto his back.

[quinientos]

For a few scary seconds, Vasquez feels a little like everything is bubbling up inside of him, like it might actually pop into the air around him, but when he rolls over and collapses on his back, it pushes the breath out of him, a smooth exhalation that he sees in the air with the gust of it.

Shoulder to Sweeney's torso (because he's tall, but not that tall), he thinks that now is when he wants that cigarette more than ever, but he thinks that maybe he's so blissed out that he can do it. Reaching out for his pack, he's able to strike a match and watch the flame for a second, reaching out and letting it curl in his palm as he lights the cigarette with a stupid grin.

"Not bad," he murmurs hoarsely, collapsing with a thud as he lets the cigarette rest in his lips.

[onlythebranch]

"Yeah, not fuckin' bad," Sweeney agrees from where he's sprawled on his back, his chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He thinks he tastes blood, maybe from having bitten the inside of his cheek, but mostly he just feels wrung the fuck out. In the best possible way.

He looks over at Vasquez when he lights the cigarette, wary for a moment, but he seems to have fucked most of his energy out and that's something of a relief. It'd be a damn pity for them to burn the building down now, after all this.

[quinientos]

Vasquez feels a little better, his head not pounding so much, which makes him snort with laughter to think that he fucked himself better. Well, fucked Sweeney to make himself better from magic, which is something that's annoying and strange, but he's fairly content not to move anywhere.

Moving a little to slump over Sweeney's chest, he offers out the cigarette. "I think maybe this is the least I can offer," he admits. "That was much better than just a cigarette."