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.

Comments

[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."