#╰ ––––––– ✧ JOSHUA FARADAY : seven angels of vengeance ❨ main verse ❩˙

[everythingheard]

Aiden ( @halliwellauto ) ▌sent 🎁 for a starter.

His elbow atop the table and playing cards fanned out in his hand, Joshua tilted his head as he feigned consideration of his options. Oh, he already knew what he planned to do, yet there was no reason to clue in any of his competitors to the fact of it ( act like you're ' takin' it serious ' but not ' too serious ' as to be counted as a threat until it was too late for anyone to do anything about it )! The man to his left was bouncing a knee like a nervous tic and the eyes of the one across from him were darting far too rapidly while speaking to insinuate any degree of confidence and he was about to win. Joshua almost never lost a game of Brag, and he wasn't liable to start tonight.

At least, until a loud crash was heard from upstairs, followed by two voices in vexed conversation: one a little softer, the other more gruff. In fact, if he thought about it, the latter surely belonged to the companion of three others clustered around a game of Faro across the room, who had disappeared a short while ago in the company of one of Aiden's girls — and speaking of Aiden, it was then that he heard her familiar tone join the dispute, though he couldn't quite make out the words. While aware that she was capable of handling the situation, the palm that had been planted on his upper thigh beneath the table, elbow jutted an angle, slid towards his holster.

Perhaps the reaction was less unnecessary than Joshua had conjectured, as the man's friends stood to advance towards the stairs. Clearly anticipating a fight in which they had no interest at stake, the few remaining patrons scattered from the building, including his opponents at Brag ( well, dammit ). Withdrawing his gun and cocking the hammer with the side of his thumb, he aimed it at the three rabble-rousers. "I wouldn't."

They didn't care to heed the warning as they were swift to pull their own pistols, though Joshua's first shot managed to hit one in the hand, sending their firearm clattering to the floor, before he used his foot to kick over the table stacked with cards for use as a barricade. "Tryin' to go up there, makin' me lose that money — pieces of shit," he muttered. Some of it had been set out and was now on the floor, sure ( and he would be back to collect it later, after this was over ), but he could have won more, and that was the point.

After the ' dust settled, ' two of the men were on the ground while the first one had managed to scramble out of the saloon in the ensuing firefight. Would've been nice to get him too, everyone'd be better off — the thought flickered through Joshua's mind as he headed up the stairs. He had just reached the top landing when he heard another shot ring out from the closest room, followed by a body collapsing to the ground in the doorway and partially into the hall. "It's me," he called ( the last bit of shit luck he needed was to be mistaken for one of the assholes downstairs and get a bullet in his chest ).

Brusquely shoving the man aside with his boot, Joshua stepped inside with a grin playing across his lips. "Now, this is why I always end up passin' through this town — your pretty face, 'n never a dull evenin'." As he holstered his gun, he continued, "You alright?"

[everythingheard]

Joshua hadn't arrived in town with a determined date for his departure, yet he still managed to feel as though he had remained longer than initially intended. Perhaps it was because the last instance he had stayed anywhere past a week, it had been in Rose Creek — first in preparation to drive out the mercenaries hired by the industrialist bastard who had seized control of it, then for months after while he recovered from the burns he had sustained across his body from blowing up their Gatling gun in that final ' battle '. For a time, such a brush with the reality of his own mortality had left him more restless than ever, always moving. If it had stemmed from a desire to outrun the memories of pain or his own thoughts after spending far too long alone with them while recuperating, Joshua couldn't say and didn't particularly care to know. What he was certain of now was that he had lost count of the days he spent with Aiden, only to find that he didn't mind.

Truth be told, it was a prior promise to meet up with his friends in another town nearby that finally compelled him to leave. They never failed to ask where Joshua had been when they came together again and, though he was just as likely to sidestep the inquiry with a jest or something too thoroughly outlandish to be real, he was beginning to suspect that their private conclusions were closer to the answer than he had originally believed ( despite their comradery, the habit of keeping what actually mattered to him private was a slow one to break ). Besides, moments with her reminded him that any explanation he might attempt to give wouldn't be enough to expound upon all that they were, all that they weren't, and all that he wouldn't reach for. It was seared into the final kiss they shared in bed before he left — her lips soft against his while his hands slid into her dark hair, her arms around his neck as he reveled in the sensation of bare skin and murmured goodbyes.

The memory was tangled in Joshua's thoughts even as the town disappeared from view behind him, unlikely to fade anytime soon. However, he hadn't ridden terribly far before the sound of someone riding up behind him, fast, permeated the quiet. Turning, he was surprised to recognize one of Aiden's girls approaching, her face pinched with fear; it was a sight that froze him immediately, for there was no other reason she might come after him other than something was wrong — and he was right. As she described the way an unfamiliar band had descended on the saloon and Aiden's fight to protect everyone inside before being dragged away while tears spilled down her cheeks, Joshua grew more and more sure of the culprits. Whoever the unruly patron had been on the first day of his arrival, it was obvious the man held a degree of sway, considering the others he had taken out when they tried to cause further trouble for the women; maybe this was retribution.

Wasting no time, he gathered as much information from the girl as she could recall, then continued on his previous path ( although this time, the leisure in his pace was replaced by urgency ); if anyone he was hastening to meet had planned for them to attend to a problem elsewhere, it would damn well have to wait. During those few hours, Joshua couldn't permit himself to dwell on what might be happening to Aiden, instead flooding his mind with thoughts of what he would do to anyone who had laid a hand on her. It didn't make the minutes seem any quicker, yet it stopped him from turning around to confront the kidnappers on his own. If it had been for his sake alone, he was liable to have chanced it amid the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, but her life wasn't worth risking in his recklessness. Upon reaching his destination, the others were swift to leave with Joshua, yet not before questioning if anyone in the neighboring town might know who had taken her. From the sound of it, they were more than simple thieves and prone to violence when crossed.

When they finally came upon the previously abandoned house where she was being held, attack was the only clear option — and he was glad of it. Making his way through the building, fury pounded in his chest like a second heartbeat with each pull of the trigger, until he found a locked room. Joshua shot the lock off the door, then forced it open. As his eyes met Aiden's, not even a second passed before he crossed the room to her, his free hand pressing to the side of her face while his thumb brushed away the tear trickling down her bruised cheek. "You can bet on me." In spite of a reply usually uttered with an air of humor, it was devoid of it now. "You can always bet on me when it comes to you."

His gaze fully taking in her battered appearance, his anger rose even as he tried to stifle it. "We're gonna get outta here, and no one who hurt you is ever gonna leave." Withdrawing his pocket revolver, Joshua set it in her hand. "The bastards outside are bein' taken care of, but I'm not sure who's left in the house that might wanna stop us." Speed was imperative, yet he couldn't help but to wrap an arm around Aiden's waist and pull her to his chest. "But they're gonna be sorry if they try."

@everythingheard

Aiden groaned as she slowly started to wake up. She was mentally cursing those men for what they did to her. she had hoped that one of the girls was able to reach Joshua about what had happened. When they attacked her saloon, she had been caught off guard. it had seemed like they were after her specifically. though it didn't stop her from wanting to protect her girls and her bartenders. No one came to help them which made her wonder if she wanted to stay in the town. Though she couldn't really blame them. It wasn't like the men that came were the friendly kind.

She wasn't sure how long she had been held prisoner and how long they tend to keep her. She assumed that the reason she was taken was because of her killing that one man who attacked Abigail. They did ask her questions about the other dead men. the constant one being, 'did you have help?' Whenever she ignored the question, they made sure to strike her as hard as they could. If she wasn't tied up, she would have shown them the same treatment.

She could only imagine how her body looked. It was hard to move without a sharp pain shooting through her body. she couldn't even tell what time of day it was from the windowless room she was in. The only thing she could hear was any noise happening outside. Which was what woke her up. There was a lot of shooting and yelling from what she could tell.

When it got quiet, she started to back away towards the wall. She wasn't sure if it was her captors that were heading towards her door. she braced herself, a small whimper leaving her lips. Though when she saw who it was, she couldn't help but smile, a tear rolling down her face.

"I knew you would find me."

[everythingheard]

with Teddy ( @justteddyq ) ▌from here.

For a moment in that beat of silence, Joshua wondered if he had pushed Teddy a little harder than some might be liable to think he should have. Still, regardless of the answer, he didn't regret it. Despite the fact that his words were far from soft or gently reassuring, Teddy had decided to crack that vulnerability open to him — though he was uncertain of the reason, whether because they both knew what it was to be burdened with guilt they hadn't earned since their earliest memory or something else. When a reply finally broke through the din of the saloon, noise that had almost faded into the background of his consciousness amid the close tilt of their heads and their conversation, a faint grin crept across Joshua's face. "To hell with 'em," he affirmed.

As Teddy's teary eyes lifted to meet his, he felt a strange stirring in his chest, like a single plucked guitar string. "Alright, alright. Don't get all weepy on me." Joshua lifted his hand to graze the back of his still-curled fingers against Teddy's cheek to brush away a wayward tear that had spilled over before it could reach the other man's chin. There was a second in which he was oddly compelled to use his thumb to wipe away what traces of it remained, before he returned his palm to the top of the bar instead. But everything left something behind, didn't it? And the longer you held on, the greater the endurance of its remnants. Some people eased it with something they enjoyed, or someone; that latter notion recalled to mind the manner in which Teddy had seemed to find romantic feelings for Emma Cullen absurd. What about it was so preposterous? She was beautiful, with a fire that seemed nearly alight behind her eyes. Had Teddy come to view her so much as a friend that it wasn't even noticed? A question to mull over, though his attention persisted on his companion's more recent words.

"Still stings after you let it go, but at least you're not carryin' it 'round with you. It's easier to figure out what you wanna do with both your hands free." He gave a brief nod of his head. "Even when I wonder 'bout whether all the shit I'd been told's true, I'd rather figure it out for myself than listen to someone else's voice screamin' it in my ear." Oh, Joshua hardly counted himself as a good person, but he'd be damned if he ever let anyone push him around again. Not like that. Whatever he was or had turned out to be now, he had only been a kid then; a kid who had run from a remorseless asshole just to find another one, wishing the whole time for someone to simply tell him that they were glad he existed at all. He had probably been too young when he realized that until he dropped that figurative hot pan, he would never have anything else.

Then, Joshua paused, his lips parting slightly as he considered Teddy's countenance not for the first time that night — thinking. When he spoke again, it was so quiet as to almost be under his breath. "But maybe some voices are worth listenin' to."

[everythingheard]

with Vasquez ( @gotnowhereelsetogo ) ▌from here.

Joshua had known there was nowhere he could be that he wouldn't want Marcelo by his side. When they were together, everything felt like more — a hand squeezing his arm, a back pressed against his, the prolonged quiet as a his friend's dark eyes met his green ones — and the hurt did, too — flaring tempers, the possibility of loss. And yet, to feel Marcelo's lips against his was like the inevitable culmination of all of it, a warmth that left even the memory of hesitance crumbling in its wake. Everything only enhanced Joshua's eagerness, whether it was that initial, slipped sound that intermingled with their kiss or the other man's arm wrapping around him to grab his shoulder, causing a sharp inhale as his pulse spiked. More wasn't enough ( perhaps it wasn't possible to get enough! ), but he would pull Marcelo closer until the two of them was all there was. Right now, he could think of little else.

However, warmth bloomed into heat as Marcelo's tongue brushed against Joshua's, garnering him a second, deeper moan. He could hear the beat between each of his breaths shorten with his deepening fervor while his heart thrummed rapidly inside his chest, though he was far too focused on curling his fingers tighter within the black curls under his palm to care. Pressing his tongue further, the taste he was rewarded with was so good and so thoroughly Marcelo that a moan rose in his own throat unbidden. Beneath Joshua, one of his heels dug into the grass for better purchase.

Then, his grip withdrawing from dark hair, he ran his hand firmly down Marcelo's back, and over the vaquero's hip and outer thigh until he grabbed the knee resting atop his leg. Although he hadn't lingered yet, he wanted to leave his touch everywhere he could, even if now for only for a moment. Remaining aware of the spurs that posed a bit of a risk ( was it possible to actively hate a pair of inanimate objects? if so, he did ), Joshua pulled Marcelo's knee as far over his leg as they would possibly allow him to.

It was as if the world had become like ink on parchment after it was hit by a raindrop, blurring until it was only them.

[everythingheard]

Joshua's grin widened at Goodnight's swift reply ( whether it was mostly genuine or mostly humor didn't quite matter, it was amusing all the same ). Although he always enjoyed coaxing forth his friends' laughter, he was glad not to hear it now. It had sounded like it was becoming too much for Goodnight after all of the talking that had already been done. Shifting his gaze back to the scene splayed out before them, he took the chance to drink it in once more. It was one of those stupid, little things Joshua appreciated after finding himself stuck in that hotel room for the beginning stages of his recovery — a view that consisted of more than four walls that he would swear he had grown so familiar with that it had bred contempt, even if he was still grateful for them all the same.

Considering Goodnight's options for the evening brought another laugh to his lips. "Shit, sounds like one hell of a night. Careful not to get too wild." Really, he had no place to tease the way that he was. What was Joshua going to do that would rival Goodnight's plans? A whole lot of nothing. Thinking about it made him feel like he had an itch he couldn't scratch regardless of what he did. He truly hated resigning himself to sitting around to the degree that he was, as well as the idea that if he were to attempt to do anything to the contrary, he was liable to be bitched at for it ( rightfully, too, which served to further his annoyance ).

A heavy exhale escaped Joshua then, as he slid the card he had been weaving between his fingers back into his pocket. "Maybe I'll spend the night drinkin'. Or smokin' on the porch, or takin' Jack for a ride. Could be I'll do so much of the first one that I don't get to the rest of it." Running his hand through his hair, he only let his words hang there for a second before he continued, "But maybe not, if I wanna get old like you someday." There was one point in his life when he wouldn't have cared about that so much. "And you're not that old, anyhow. Don't think 'bout you like that, at least."

In lieu of a laugh this time, there was only another flash of teeth in the angle of Goodnight's own smile and a brief dip of his head. He doubted either of them had set foot in a church for years before coming to Rose Creek. Maybe Faraday also saw no reason to, like Goodnight did. Regardless, he had to stop himself from dwelling for too long on the idea of the gambler being as pious as Horne, least he laugh himself into chest pains.

Goodnight did catch that sincerity in the answer to his offer about keeping secrets. Some of the amusement ebbed from his expression, leaving an amicable, relaxed softness behind. He didn't give an answer yet, beyond a small nod of gratitude and affirmation; better to focus on evening out his breaths. When asked about what he had planned for the evening, Goodnight's look turned thoughtful though his reply was prompt.

"And what a loss that'll be. ...But, truth be told, I don't know," he admitted, turning his gaze outward to the deepening sunset. One hand lifted to scratch idly at the edge of his beard, a short hum in the back of his throat. "Might check in on Billy. Turn in early maybe, hope more rest will actually heal me faster." A humored huff past his teeth colored his exhale. "Good lord, I really am getting old."

[everythingheard]

with Goodnight ( @fameisasarcophagus ) ▌from here.

Joshua had never liked dwelling on his own mortality, even if reminders of it had lingered everywhere for as long as he could remember: in his mother's drawn-out death, looming over a game of cards where the loser harbored a particular propensity for violence, alongside every gunfight he raced headlong into. Despite his efforts of avoidance ( or perhaps because of them ), the reality of it had been made plain in his past and his present. There was surely no reason to expect the same wouldn't be true of his future, though he did wonder if he was capable of altering it if he tried. Josh Faraday steering clear of trouble — now, that Joshua wasn't certain he could utter aloud with a straight face, and maybe no one would believe him if he did. The notion that such was probably for the best just barely skirted around his thoughts as Goodnight's gaze turned to meet his.

A short laugh that sounded too loud for the tranquil quiet they inhabited escaped his lips at the words the older man followed with. "Damn sure hope I don't know." If Joshua was aware enough to register that he was dead, that implied his soul ( if they even existed ) lingered elsewhere, and that outcome seemed mighty risky to him considering the place he had always suspected it would end up. When he had decided to trade his life for the town, he had hoped for redemption of a sort — but his mind had been settled on the people of Rose Creek, not necessarily on the long-term aftermath. "When I'm done here, think I'd rather just be done." Of course, to believe so would entail accepting that no part of the people he had lost existed anywhere either, soul or otherwise, which unexpectedly disconcerted him.

Joshua could really use a drink right about now.

A smile rising along his mouth that he didn't fully feel, he pointed an index finger at Goodnight and tacked on, "Don't tell Horne I said that, or he's gonna try 'n give me another talkin' to. Already got an earful a coupla days ago 'cause I didn't take my hat off while he was prayin'." He lifted his eyebrows. "I got shit on you, too, 'course — since you started it, with your talk of not knowin' that we'll be dead. Practically led me right off the clean path of goodness into the weeds of sin." That sparked a genuine grin upon Joshua's countenance; the statement was so patently absurd that he couldn't quite help it.

[everythingheard]

faraday tag drop!

[everythingheard]

with Vasquez ( @gotnowhereelsetogo​ )  ▌ from here.

Joshua Faraday had always found the notion of explosions riveting, but ever since the battle at Rose Creek, every muscle in his body instinctively tensed whenever he allowed any extensive thought to them. Oh, he still liked explosions in theory, he’d readily admit to that. They performed as deliverers of destruction and compelling distractions all in one, and it was because of the dynamite he’d set off on the hill that he’d been able to give everything to aid in the protection of the town, of the people he had come to care for before he’d even realized it was happening. And yet now, at the mention of them, Joshua could never shove away swiftly enough the memories that’d begin to gnaw at him, recollections that were more akin to nightmares that invaded his mind both when he was awake and asleep.

He’d been thoroughly convinced he was riding to his death, that there would be a flash, then he’d never open his eyes again. Except he had, to a brand of pain he couldn’t have designated even if he tried, and those surrounding him staring as if he looked as bad as he felt — because he did. The doctor had given Joshua some spiel about how the oil and lime-water liniment on the cotton strips covering his burns would help, and as long as they didn’t succumb to infection, he’d live. Bullshit. He’d intended to blow that Gatling gun to hell and go out in a ‘ blaze of glory ’ right along with it, and this slow, agonizing decline stole the latter away from him; instead, he’d die over days, suffering.

Even after he’d actually begun to improve, nothing about it was easy, even when he’d reached the point of rising from bed and putting on his own clothes again. Someone had suggested he have Vasquez help him the first few times since the other man had acted as such a consistent presence, a proposal which left Joshua vehemently irritable in his refusal. He loathed looking at himself now: it was as if he was staring at a body that didn’t belong to him, and his mind couldn’t accept that it did. He didn’t want any more people than necessary to fully see him like this, either ( for a reason he’d been uncertain of yet steadfast in, Vasquez least of all ). Although everyone in town knew to some degree or another that his scarring was hidden just out of sight, Joshua preferred to believe that as long as it remained covered and they hadn’t witnessed all of it completely or directly, they might forget it. He wished he could, too.

Perhaps that was unfeasible, but what seemed to him even more-so was that there were moments of all this that he didn’t quite desire to lose. After all, by taking out the Gatling gun, Joshua had left the rest of their band of seven in the position to finish off Bogue’s army, which they had. And even while he’d drifted in and out of consciousness, he’d known that nine times out of ten, the next instance his blurry gaze scanned the room, a familiar face would be waiting there, willing him to survive. That it belonged to Vasquez ( who’d fought alongside him pressed back-to-back, who was his friend, who was part of the reason he’d been prepared to die up on that damn hill to begin with — all things he probably should’ve said but hadn’t ) was another. Then, there’d been the first time Joshua did seemingly insignificant things he had never thought he’d do again, like taking care of Jack, cutting a deck of cards, sitting out on the porch as the others smoked while he eagerly anticipated the day he’d be doing the same, or telling stories to pretty girls at the saloon while glancing at Vasquez from the corner of his eye because that’s whose reaction he found himself most curious about. His body hadn’t entirely finished mending, but every day brought him closer. Plus, hell, he wasn’t dead.

Yeah, it was because of the good that he could joke about it. And if he turned it into a joke, that meant that the bad didn’t hurt so much anymore; that if he did so quick enough, he could head off those waking nightmares of memory until they stopped coming for him. At least, that was what Joshua told himself.

“Not today, anyhow.” His cadence remained buoyed by levity, until he glanced over to Vasquez. The manner in which those dark eyes were fixed on him was different than usual, Joshua could almost feel it. He’d been picking up on tics and tells at card tables for far too long not to notice their subtleties; as it was, he’d also grown well-acquainted with Vasquez’s expressions to the point that he would be embarrassed if he hadn’t noticed. Nevertheless, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was it vexation? Joshua had annoyed Vasquez plenty in the past ( both inadvertently and at other times, admittedly, very much on purpose ), yet he wasn’t sure about now. One eyebrow lifting slightly higher than the other, he pondered for only a moment if he was imagining it before he spoke again, amusement no longer laced through his words that were now stated like unceremonious facts. “But maybe solvin’ the first problem’s worth what comes with the rest of ‘em after.” Despite the sentiment’s brevity, he felt uncomfortably exposed by it — probably because it was true. Joshua hadn’t wanted to die then and he didn’t want to die now, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t do it all over again to finish what he’d started, to shield Rose Creek, his comrades, Vasquez. Whether it meant living through the pain once more, or if his eyes didn’t open in the end.

A slanted grin curving his lips now, he continued with renewed humor in his voice, “And so far, so good, right?”

[everythingheard]

As the fading pink blush bloomed once more into red, Joshua's grin widened just a little more, and a stray notion about whether the color might travel down the back of Teddy's neck if it ran out of room upon that freckled visage flitted through his mind. However, his attention was then caught by the ensuing words like the tip of a boot tripping over a slightly raised floorboard. That's not how I meant it — the thought almost reached Joshua's lips before it was forced back. Well, it was better that Teddy accepted the phrase so directly. ' Don't let anyone understand you too readily ' was a precept he had retained since he was young, yet seldom did he wish that it wasn't so easy for him to keep. Like he did now. He shouldn't. Irritated with himself, Joshua rescinded the glass from his grip as he began bouncing his knee under the counter.

Nevertheless, his gaze remained on Teddy, only for his eyebrows to draw together in bemusement at the murky sentiment he was allotted. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Perhaps he had misheard it, and the alcohol was hitting him harder than he had thought. "Dunno what you think you're gonna lose by tellin' me anything — except maybe the chance of you ever gettin' that red outta your cheeks." The second he said it, it was as if something he hadn't quite been able to contend with had snapped into place.

The way it didn't seem there had ever existed any wish for some of those girls who had looked at Danny to look at Teddy, the scoffing at even the mere suggestion of a romance with Emma Cullen like it was funny, the fact that Joshua had never caught those hazel eyes glancing towards any of the women in Rose Creek even when death had appeared imminent, still without a wife despite the stability to offer someone, and the blushing that struck him as the sort that would usually be reserved for a lady sweetheart: what if Teddy didn't want that sweetheart to be a lady at all? Suddenly, just how much he liked prompting those flustered reactions crept up on him differently this time, prickling along his skin until he could feel his own face warming. Dammit.

Averting his gaze to the bar again, his fingers itched to grab for the cup they had previously abandoned but they remained in front of him ( it was empty, what was the point? ), curling marginally against the wood. As it was, this had started because of Teddy, which was what he chose to fixate on. Was his conjecture even correct? It would count as personal, for damn sure. ' Losing something important ' might mean safety and, as much as Joshua wanted to bristle at the possible implication if it were true, he couldn't; of course Teddy would be scared regardless of who it was. But it wasn't as if Joshua was able to ask ( and especially not in a saloon of all places ). And what if he was misconstruing those observations and confusing the meaning to an already vague comment?

He didn't think he was, even if he couldn't say so.

"Well, whatever it is you're worryin' over? Don't. Anyway, you're a good person." Joshua's eyes finally shifted back to the visage beside him, his voice a little slower, quieter, as he tacked on the other man's name. "Teddy."

By God, did he wish he could hear what Faraday was thinking - or at least, that he could cool off his own damn blush. The silence between his words and Faraday's wasn't even that long, but it somehow felt like agonizing minutes. Teddy tried hard not to let his thoughts and assumptions get out of hand, something more and more difficult with each passing heartbeat.

Though he couldn't quite tell how much of that warning was a joke and how much was serious, the relief of getting any measure of friendly answer proved enough to escape in a rushed breath, ending in a soft chuckle. He didn't know if God truly bothered to listen to somebody like him, but Teddy thanked Him anyway for the luck he'd had so far. Granted, he'd never been direct in admitting the very thing he feared others might learn; it still felt like luck that he didn't have to watch all of Faraday's good regard, and even closeness perhaps, fall away. Yet, at least.

Teddy only realized he'd been tracing the gambler's features with his gaze the whole time when Faraday met his eyes again. Swallowing hard and hoping the other man hadn't noticed his stare, his agreement came far easier in a single nod. Teddy did believe everything he said, though his boasts about himself were pretty rare, and never so personal as the kinds Faraday sometimes claimed. His face had just begun to cool down, only to warm anew at the other's grinning questions. Teddy felt like he shouldn't look away, and didn't want to. That didn't stop his eyes from sporadically darting over Faraday's expression and posture.

"I know you do, Mr. Faraday. Don't think I'd 've said half of what I did otherwise. And yeah, I believe all that about you. If it ever seems like I don't, it..." A brief bite of his lower lip and closing of his eyes, to gather his nerve. "It's only 'cause what I wanna say is a little too personal and I'm, I don't wanna lose... somethin' important." Another glance to meet Faraday's eyes. No sooner had the vague words reluctantly tumbled out of his mouth than Teddy wished he could take them all back, hide them away again so there wasn't even a hint of a clue what he might be talking about.

[everythingheard]

with Goodnight ( @fameisasarcophagus​ )  ▌ from here.

“’Course — just never thought I’d count sittin’ on the porch as exercise.” As he spoke, Joshua stretched his arms out in front of him. However, the movement was slow and practiced, as opposed to the easy way of it previously, when he’d enjoyed the pull of his muscles, reaching upwards until one would believe he was attempting to skim his fingers against the sky itself. Now, he’d discerned just how high his hands could go before he began to hurt, the angle of it to avoid too much discomfort. The discrepancy might’ve frustrated Joshua were it not for the fact that not terribly long ago, he couldn’t even climb out of bed for weeks on end ( though, perhaps it irked him a little ). While he’d never been adverse to genuine repose when he could get it, to suddenly have no choice in the matter served to turn him from the prospect completely. It was one thing to appoint it, and another entirely to be forced into it. Yet here he was all the same, seated on the hotel porch because it was the most exciting aspect of his day thus far.

Even so, as he slumped back in his chair again ( a marginal drawing together of his eyebrows the only sign that maybe he should’ve been just as deliberate in that movement as the one prior ), Joshua supposed the ‘ friendly company ’ was quite a suitable consolation. As it was, it was due in part to just such camaraderie that he was still alive, and that the destruction of the Gatlin gun was a success. Were it not for Goodnight and Billy risking themselves to take out Bogue’s men as they’d closed in behind him, he might not have made it at all. The thought flickered through his mind as Joshua allowed his gaze to shift towards the other man for a brief moment before returning to the picturesque scene in front of them. It should be a painting — though no one would be capable of truly appreciating the violence that’d permitted this peace to flourish aside from them, and the people of Rose Creek.

With a tip of his chin towards the stag bathed by the glow of the setting sun, he said, “Reminds me of that story ‘bout the stag lookin’ at the reflection of his antlers in the river, but it’s all really just a front for a moral.” He allowed a shrug of his shoulder. “You know, like the kinda thing you’d say.”

[everythingheard]

with Teddy ( @justteddyq​ ) ▌from here.

A return to Rose Creek wasn’t an outcome Joshua had paid much heed to before today. It wasn’t a conscious choice, but rather a result of his predilection for forever moving forward. Dwelling on the past rarely did anyone much good, in his mind ( though his own nightmares didn’t appear to subscribe to the same philosophy, as they were keen on consistently dredging up memories he’d attempted to diffuse in a variety of manners that never lasted as long as he’d prefer ). Perhaps, in his own way, that was why Joshua was compelled to return: to prove to himself that he could, and that it didn’t matter. When he and Jack had arrived at a junction with two towns of a roughly equal distance away, one of which was Rose Creek, he hadn’t allowed much time to mull over the decision before heading in the direction he’d been down before, that’d altered his life in the most irreparable of fashions — for both better and worse in turn.

He wasn’t certain of how he felt as he rode into town, though he’d be damned if he ever permitted his countenance to betray him. On the contrary, Joshua maintained his usual self-assurance, with just the proper hint of nostalgia of one returning to someplace familiar. The town looked superior to when he’d left it: the buildings were upkept as opposed to hollowed out, the people casual instead of cowering indoors in fear. Of course, his own lengthy stay throughout his recovery in the aftermath of the battle with Bogue’s army had borne witness to some alteration, yet it’d prospered all the further since then. Naturally, Joshua was inclined to ascertain whether or not the saloon had fared the same; wasn’t it only right that he revisit every avenue in town?

Plenty of folks recognized him, yet it was Teddy’s incredulous acknowledgement which amused him the most. “Right in with the questions, huh? Nothin’ like how nice it is to see me or that you wanna buy me a drink? If I didn’t know any better, I might start to think you hadn’t missed me at all.” A grin captured his visage as he spoke that final sentence. The sincerity which marked the other man’s bearing was what had struck Joshua during their time in one another’s company, and it was still present now; it was an unusual quality to run across, at least in his experience, but it suited Teddy’s demeanor and quiet determination. “Right now, I’m only plannin’ to stay a few days — Jack needs the rest and Rose Creek was closest.” Although he wasn’t certain if anything specific was intended by ‘ everything that happened ’ ( the battle itself? the excruciating injuries he’d sustained that left him scarred? both? ), he decided to merely address the first option, the one that all of them had endured that day. It was all he was open to entertaining at the moment. “Not gonna hold your town accountable for Bogue bein’ a piece of shit.” Joshua’s lips curled briefly at the sentiment, as if he’d just sucked on a lemon. 

Then, levity crept onto his face again as he nudged Teddy with his elbow. “C’mon, you’ve gotta have a drink with me.” There was a strange reassurance he liked about the fact that, in spite of everything, Teddy maintained that same sort of genuine nature. Not many people would. “You’re a whiskey man, right?” Even if Teddy wasn’t inclined to down much, Joshua was more than capable of drinking for the both of them.

[everythingheard]

Marcelo's laugh, whether it was boisterous as they joked or quiet against his lips like it was now — it was one of Joshua's favorite sounds. Although he never would have admitted so aloud, it had likely ranked as his best-loved before today, alongside the fond lilt of his bestowed nickname when it was employed. At the moment, they were required to share space with two additional contenders that included the way Marcelo said his full name, and the delicious noises that were prompted by their kisses, by their touches. The latter was dangerously close to procuring victory at present, with the prior purr in the other man's throat fairly reverberating in the very tips of the fingers that had rested there, as if he had somehow managed to capture it while harboring no intention of letting it go.

Despite the question he had murmured into the nearly nonexistent space between them, Joshua was already of a mind to begin fiddling with the next vest button when the arm around him moved so that a firm palm might press against his chest. He didn't have more than a second to think about it before he was on his back in the grass once more, this time with Marcelo on top of him. Widened slightly in surprise, his eyes remained locked on the vaquero, who was silhouetted from behind by the last light of the sunset, cast in alternating shadows and fleeting warm glows. Marcelo was beautiful. Joshua had known it, of course ( even mused over it more than once, turning it over in his mind like a riddle he sought an answer for without realizing it ), but now? He couldn't divert his own attention to someone else, couldn't look away until it was no longer the forefront of his thoughts — and he didn't want to.

Such contemplation almost left his tongue, though the entrancement was broken when Marcelo turned to unbuckle a spur, prompting his next exhale to release as a breathless sort of laugh. "Don't gotta suggest that one twice." However, the subtle shifting atop him sent Joshua's heart hammering inside his chest as he reached for the second fastener in a row of them that seemed too damn many in the moment. Somehow, he managed to undo them all just as deftly as if he wasn't so preoccupied; drawing the vest open, he didn't bother attempting to push it off regardless of how much he wished to, not when there was still another spur to be rid of. He instead began untucking the button-down shirt that had been revealed beneath it until it was free from Marcelo's waistband.

Nevertheless, Joshua's hands didn't retreat to more buttons as soon as they were done. They couldn't. Sliding under the fabric, they pressed along warm skin as they traveled up Marcelo's sides. The sensation elicited an eager hum and a parting of his lips before he allowed one set of fingers to trace around to the small of Marcelo's back, to where they had lingered for a too brief beat earlier. "Marcelo — " Joshua wanted to repeat back that phrase that had been imparted to him, yet he couldn't recall the words precisely enough not to worry that he might say them wrong and embarrass himself. It rather frustrated him, but he had been too distracted by the way they sounded, and what they meant. "There's nowhere I'd rather be. Nowhere."

At first, the way Joshua described the spurs sounded akin to a cat's bell, and the comparison nearly made Marcelo laugh. That sound tumbled out a tad belatedly, to match the other's huffed amusement. Still, the sentiment which hung behind it, and behind the humored admission of hatred, curled soft around Marcelo's heart. He couldn't recall anyone paying such attention to him as to differentiate the sound of his spurs, not for an actual good reason, at least not in a very long time. Nerves fluttered his pulse again, but with excitement and anticipation more than any anxiety. He was safe here, with Joshua. There was no need to brace for the click of a revolver's hammer, no need to soak his desire in enough alcohol to give them both an easy out come morning. There was only this, only them, that was so much more than enough yet never too much. What was too much, was the amount of clothes remaining between them. He just prayed the other man thought the same.

Marcelo leaned his whole body into the kiss, torn once again between pulling Joshua as close as he could and leaving room for exploring hands. The graze of callused fingers down along his neck to his chest sparked a low, soft, nigh-purring sound in his throat, while his back curved in a shallow arch. He very nearly chased after Joshua's mouth, but the gentle pinch and drag of teeth over his lower lip kept him in place, lashes fluttering in time with the stutter of his inhale.

That subtle, brief tug on his vest as Joshua unfastened its top button stumbled Marcelo's exhale as well, though it elongated into an eager chuckle at the question breathed against his lips. He leaned in further, sliding his palm forward onto Joshua's chest and adjusting his own draped leg, until he was straddling the gambler's waist. "I'll take off as much as you want me to, guerito. You could help." His tone bore certainty and earnestness and desire, but lacked any overt effort of seduction. Marcelo had often let the looseness of a drunken tongue steer him through most past encounters; it had done well for him then, so the best he could do when sober was try to be honest. In the meantime, his free hand reached down to start unbuckling one of his spurs, to pull it off his boot and toss it aside.

[everythingheard]

justteddyq​:

His throat tautened a little at that initial answer to his assertions, before he swallowed hard and strove to keep his eyes on Faraday’s face. It was what he thought, and so far as he could figure, it was all true. No one had to be a saint to be a good person. If anything, in Teddy’s view, showing some flaws made those better moments stick out brighter; someone who seemed perfect tended to rile his suspicion. Bright lights and dark shadows and all that. With Faraday, it was clear how genuine his care was, even if the gambler did often mask it with nonchalance or crass, blunt language.

Even when the other then offered a teasing remark, Teddy did his best not to look away. He only bit the inside of his lower lip and tried to ignore the warmth rising to freckled cheeks again. In a certain sense, he welcomed the shift to something more somber. As Faraday leaned closer, Teddy mirrored the motion partway, so the older man wouldn’t have to talk too loud. His eyes did widen a little at the admission, though they carried no true surprise. There were all kinds of rough and brash folks out in the world, and a man like Faraday must have rubbed elbows at the card table with quite a few of them.

He only looked away for half a moment as the other man slapped the card down, remembering the lesson that Faraday then mentioned. Teddy tipped his head at first, as he’d already known the man had been making fun of him. It still nagged at him in passing, but not with any real venom; he must indeed have seemed like an ignorant greenhorn to the world of gunfighting, because he actually had been. The straightening afterward slowed to a pause, however, when Faraday offered a reasoning that Teddy didn’t know about. He did remember the lesson, so he supposed he couldn’t fault the gambler for thinking so - but it had still left him rattled, the image of Faraday pointing a gun in his face still haunting that night’s sleep. All the tension and stress of Rose Creek’s preparations had only paled in comparison to the actual fight; both of which, he hoped he’d never have to do again. The reassurance that Faraday didn’t intend on hurting him was a mild relief, on reflection. Especially when he could guess the man hadn’t learned the same lesson from someone with good intentions.

Teddy felt his blush resurface, but it was less of an effort this time to keep his eyes on Faraday. Sure, he’d thought about all of the seven men they’d hired to help free their town from Bogue, but Faraday had been their first wildcard, such a stark contrast against Chisholm’s steadiness and quiet. It hadn’t been until their little lesson that Teddy had seen just how skilled Faraday could be, had made some unfair assumptions of his own. Now that they both knew each other a bit better… Thank the Lord he’d limited his drinking. If he’d kept pace, he might’ve done something unwisely affectionate right there in the saloon. Instead, Teddy just let his hands fidget idly atop the wood, distracted by Faraday’s small smile but still able to meet the other’s gaze. “…Guess I dunno what to say to that. I hope I don’t ever need that kinda lesson again, but… I’m glad I got it. From somebody who at least doesn’t hate me enough to actually shoot me,” he added with a light chuckle, his attempted levity hindered a little by sincere hazel eyes.

When another blush colored Teddy’s cheeks, Joshua was intrigued to find that the eyes meeting his own didn’t dart away, now or in the moment prior. In a way, it reminded him of his interest in his companion’s reactions towards him the night of their ‘ personal gun lesson. ’ All he was sure of was that it wasn’t what he would have expected, and it coaxed a grin to his lips each instance. Funny how the same memory had ultimately played a role in this conversation and the one away from the campfire that night. It wasn’t as if trouble was an unusual place for Joshua to wind up, yet imparting the same trick he had used to espy a way out of it so recently to Teddy had seemed like a good idea at the time — especially since shared whiskey had been involved. Half of him hadn’t quite cared then how the manner in which it was presented may shape an opinion of him, while the other half cared that it could someday act as a key for the other man’s survival ( besides, it got him that bottle, too ). He might have believed that he didn’t care about that first half now, either — except that he must, to explain to Teddy why it had mattered when he hadn’t bothered back then. Son of a bitch.

Teddy’s reply turned Joshua’s musings outward again, a short laugh escaping him at the admittance of not knowing what to say. An offhand comment was ready on the tip of his tongue ( ‘ I’ve got that affect on people ’ or some variation thereof ), only the the beat of quiet, filled primarily by the usual resounding of a rowdy saloon, didn’t lengthen. Instead, the answer continued, and the resumption was just as interesting as what had preceded it: Teddy was glad. He had expected a fresh view of understanding, perhaps, though not that. As Joshua slid his playing card off the counter and slipped it back into his pocket, he fleetingly hoped that Teddy would never again need to witness or participate in the kind of brutality that had overtaken Rose Creek right up until the moment of Bogue’s death. Although the bright, sincere visage across from him didn’t appear to have been darkened by the battle, prolonged exposure to killing could eat away at a man — inflicting it and watching it. Maybe very little was capable of changing the way Teddy viewed the world, yet why risk the possibility of seeing those big eyes dull?

Before he could linger over it for too long, the answer’s conclusion coaxed an expression of bemusement to his face. “D’you really think I hate you? At all?” Joshua wasn’t sure whether Teddy’s statement struck him as humorous or annoying. Maybe both, and both tinged the tone of his voice in-tandem. “’Cause if I did, all that gun lesson would’ve amounted to was me makin’ fun ‘a you. Hell, I sure as shit wouldn’t still be sittin’ here.” The fingers of his left hand curled loosely around the base of his glass, despite the fact that it was empty ( habit and want sure did feel interchangeable at times, didn’t they? ). “Maybe you think I care, but I don’t care that much. And if you believe I do, then that pretty head of yours don’t got me all figured out like you thought.” 

[everythingheard]

gotnowhereelsetogo​:

A tad taken aback by how quick Faraday’s knowledge was assured, Vasquez’s brow furrowed as dark brown eyes darted over the other’s face again. It hadn’t really sounded as sharp as his friend might have meant it to; or, maybe it wasn’t meant to be, considering the sentiment that followed. If anything, it sounded like exactly the way Vasquez felt about the gambler: knowing that Faraday had been through plenty and could manage well alone didn’t stop him from wanting to keep the man safe and happy. The world just didn’t feel right otherwise.

Vasquez swallowed silently at that squeeze to the back of his neck, but before a subtle stiffness could return to his relaxed shoulders, the retreat of Faraday’s hand was made not through the air but along his arm. It only made him even more hesitant to let go of his friend either, sorely tempting him to instead pull Faraday in for an embrace. Maybe something else, too. It was fear of a certain kind of loss which kept a tight rein on that urge.

Instead, Vasquez hung his curiosity on the gambler’s vague beckon, especially as it reminded him they were still standing on the saloon’s front porch. Wherever Faraday had in mind, it was likely to be less public, and thus less of a risk for losing what sanctuary Vasquez had here. Whether that risk was material or not didn’t much matter to the learned reflex of his worry. One hand trailing down to rest lightly on the other’s free wrist - the most forward he’d ever been in public while sober - he glanced in the direction Faraday had nodded toward, tilting his head as well. “Lead the way.” A ribbing of ’so long as you’re not planning to kill me’ was on the tip of Vasquez’s tongue, yet remained unsaid. It didn’t feel right, didn’t fit in with the atmosphere now hanging between them. He might be wary about surprises, but after that moment with the card in particular he doubted Faraday had anything bad in mind for… wherever they were going.

While the movement of Vasquez’s hand echoed his own, traveling down his arm as if reluctant to withdraw the hold he himself had preemptively regretted losing, Joshua remained stock-still. Rarely in the past had he considered any decision to combine their personal space with much conscious clarity; he had simply done it at times because it felt right, like resting his arm on his friend’s shoulder while they bantered, or grabbing the knee next to him when they were sitting down to garner attention for whatever reason had seemed important to him in that moment. He had liked it, just as he liked this, but the other indefinable facet to it all that was always suspended in the air between them had grown into what seemed akin to a tangible sensation he could now reach out and grasp if he only would. As Vasquez’s fingers drifted from the sleeve of his shirt and onto his bare skin, Joshua drew in a breath that he released slowly, convinced that their palms were about to meet. Only they didn’t, that touch pausing instead upon his wrist. For a second, frustration began to well in his chest. Why the hell was Joshua disappointed? Why did it matter? It wasn’t as if he’d wanted —

Oh. Holy shit.

He had wanted it. And suddenly, everything made sense. Why Joshua felt that twinge of pleasure whenever Vasquez was there; why he always glanced out of the corner of his eye to ensure that Vasquez was listening while he told stories at the saloon; why he was willing to go out of his way to work on tasks with Vasquez in particular; why he spent an inordinate amount of time considering Vasquez’s face, hands, gaze, expressions, posture, even how the other man’s lips formed certain words; why he liked the idea of Vasquez dreaming about him so much and wanted those unconscious visions to be good ones; why dropping Vasquez’s touch left him with a cold regret; why he hadn’t been able to stand the possibility of losing Vasquez to the degree that it had been a factor in deciding that risking his own life in aiding the town seemed like a better decision than not; why the idea of no longer remaining side-by-side now felt insurmountable. Finally, it was as if what had been just a little too distant on the horizon to see clearly had arrived right in front of him.

It was also why he was currently staring at his companion, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted. What was he to say, now that it felt as though his entire world had been shifted on its axis? “All right, then.” Je—sus wept, that was it? Yet Joshua was so inundated by his realization that stringing together more than those few words felt like a daunting venture. Pulling back, he allowed his wrist to turn so that his fingertips brushed along Vasquez’s palm before he stepped off the saloon porch. His mind was veering in multiple divergent directions at once with a formidable rapidity, but at the forefront was the thought that if he could coax another smile to his friend’s countenance, all of it would blow away like sand in the wind. Joshua turned to face Vasquez once more, walking backward as he spoke. “You didn’t even ask what it is.” In spite of himself, a grin played across his visage. It was soft, a parallel to the levity which next accompanied it ( quiet enough to betray that it was only a thin veil over the sincerity that lingered there ). “I reckon you must trust me, huh?”

[everythingheard]

fameisasarcophagus​:

Goodnight permitted himself a single hummed huff of humor amid his nod to Faraday’s initial mention of his experience in charging for a bit of theater. His train of thought steered the same direction, onto the somewhat showy but honest competitions he and Billy had been running when Faraday and young Teddy Q had found them in Volcano Springs. The arrangement had worked, so well that on occasion Goodnight would express concerns privately over random aspects about it; the act of calling them into question was, if he really thought about it, a way to check if it was real. Billy, bless his beautiful soul, never failed to be patient and honest in his answers, even if Goodnight had a nagging feeling that the worries sometimes grated on his companion’s nerves.

His gaze turned upon Faraday once more, only to find the younger man staring out at the landscape with what seemed like a thoughtful look. Curiosity piqued, as ever, but he reined in any questions or observations that it would have spurred. When his eyes were then met, Goodnight wondered if he’d get an answer to any of the unspoken intrigue that had passed through his mind - only to instead get a question in return. Still, it was one he didn’t mind entertaining.

“Of course.”  Another quiet pause, as Goodnight mulled over all the options that came to mind.  “��I think I’d want to show him New Orleans, see how it’s gotten on since I left. Give Billy a chance to have the best food of any state or territory,” he added with a grin, one that ebbed back into earnest consideration.  “Maybe go up north to watch the leaves turn. Maybe even visit where his family’s from, if he wanted.” Goodnight didn’t elaborate much on that last part. While he doubted Billy would mind all that much, he nonetheless didn’t know if anyone in Billy’s life besides him had ever heard the stories his friend had shared in some of their quietest moments.

In that brief pause before Goodnight answered his posited inquiry, Joshua was imbued with a sensation he could only describe as a comingling of relief and ruefulness. Any possibility, regardless of how remote, that his deeper musings might somehow push their way to the tip of his tongue before he could rein them in had been averted — yet there was a smaller, quieter part of him that regretted squandering the opportunity to present a question that had been lurking in the back of his mind for a little while now to one of the few people he felt that perhaps he could. After all, who better was there to discuss matters such as the positives and pitfalls of committed companionship ( romantic or otherwise ) than Goodnight? Maybe Horne had lived both with and without, but he harbored no dubiety on the nature of the lectures he would be constrained to endure were he to govern his questions in that direction. It was better this way, though, wasn’t it? Yes.

Grounding his attention back in the moment, Joshua shifted slightly in his chair again when Goodnight spoke ( it struck him once more just how damned tired he was of sitting around all the time, and of knowing that a failure to do so before he was closer to fully recovered would only result in further pain when he was also tired of feeling like shit ). The other man’s answer was as thought-out as he might have conjectured it would be, with each suggestion offered with carefully weighed reasoning. As it was, the stark contrast between the sort of replies he could anticipate from Goodnight and the ones he often received from Billy amused him endlessly. Whenever Joshua was the beneficiary of more than a single sentence at a time from the latter, it pleasantly surprised him.

Speaking of Billy, he wasn’t taken aback by the notion that Goodnight might wish to return to the places where they both hailed from. That was another rather unfamiliar concept to him: having somewhere to go back to. “Well, if you somehow hypothetically manage any of ‘em and decide you need a charmin’ tagalong to make all that travelin’ time in-between less dull, y’know where to find me.” Joshua’s grin widened. “I wouldn’t mind doin’ some drinkin’ in New Orleans. Or anywhere, if we’re bein’ honest with each other.” As if the statement was a shocking one.

[everythingheard]

Transfixed, Joshua watched each of Marcelo's reactions to his touch with rapt attention: the way certain muscles tensed, how the vaquero's lips parted. And that was to say nothing of the sounds! From the noise elicited by the mere graze of his fingers along Marcelo's length to the more obvious moan as a result of his attention to the flushed tip, he silently swore he wouldn't miss any of it. If these were the responses he was garnering now, what might accompany swifter strokes of his hand or the addition of his mouth? The mere thought prompted Joshua's own arousal to strain all the further against the confines of his trousers. Damn, Marcelo really was beautiful — how many times had the thought already flickered through his mind?

The realization that he had uttered the sentiment aloud didn't quite hit him until he felt the other man's fingers on his arm. Settling his gaze on Marcelo's face, the smile that accompanied the blush Joshua found there spoke to it well enough, with any remaining doubts quashed by the reply that came next. Red returned to his cheeks, though he found that he wasn't sorry he had said it, especially not when it coaxed forth such an expression to that handsome visage. He grinned at the compliment he then received in return, yet he was simultaneously so flustered by it that he was almost tongue-tied. With only the rising moon to bear witness, the words had left Marcelo's enticing lips — not while looking at Joshua before the battle, but as he was now. His heartbeat fairly stumbled over itself under that dark gaze, and he didn't care.

Following another tantalizing groan, Marcelo's hips lifting in search of further friction unconsciously sent his own canting forward slightly. The fingertips that then dragged down Joshua's chest and stomach were akin to a palpable demonstration of the earlier reply, one that he leaned into with an eager resounding in his throat. Marcelo's question, however, was almost an echo of the one that had earlier sent him into a state of near panic: ' Can I return the favor? ' Only this time, he would answer the way he wished he could have then ( he wasn't the least bit hesitant to be rid of his trousers, before or now ).

"Yeah." The grin upon Joshua's countenance widened at the sheer pleasure of saying it, like it was a rectification of the response that he had hated so much. His thumb teased just beneath the head of Marcelo's cock as he leaned in for a kiss, briefly catching that inviting lower lip between his teeth before he pulled away. "I want you to see what you're doin' to me." Taking Marcelo's hand, he shifted it lower to press the palm against his aching arousal. "How much I want you." Joshua was eager to have nothing left between them, only Marcelo's skin against his. He reached behind him to tug off his boots as he continued, "You can help me get the rest of this off, or you can watch." The flash of levity in his green eyes suggested he found merit in either choice.

Meeting Joshua's stare, and seeing redness bloom on moonlit cheeks after his trousers were tossed aside, melted Marcelo's curiosity into his arousal and anticipation. Even as his hips lowered to settle in Joshua's hold, his back arched in a shallow curve at the slide of the other's hand over his inner thigh. The latter left a subtle tingling in its wake, warm and pleasant as a campfire in winter. Marcelo wanted to bask in that sensation for as long as he could, as long as Joshua would give him.

Though he watched and felt his favorite gambler's hand inch ever closer to his groin, a breathy vocal noise still jumped from his throat, as if in surprise, when fingertips skimmed down the underside of his length. Absence of any bed partners since long before Chisolm had recruited him, plus such sharper clarity of sensations compared to alcohol-fogged memories, left Marcelo more sensitive than he'd expected. He reached to rest a hand over the one holding his hip. His next breath shivered softly while Joshua's hand stroked with perfect, frustrating slowness over his cock. It was an effort not to squirm or thrust up, his thighs and stomach tensing a few times.

Marcelo's mouth fell open a bit wider with the attention focused on his tip, a more apparent moan escaping at the teases. He wanted more, so much more, wanted to drown in Joshua - but just as ardently, he wanted to take as much time as they could stand. He wanted to pull down all his walls, just for his dearest friend, his lover, whatever they were now; he hoped Joshua would do the same.

That simple, murmured word deepened Marcelo's blush even as it sparked a toothy smirk. His touch trailed up Joshua's arm, while his free hand still clung to the grass. "You should see yourself, hermoso." A needy groan was only partly swallowed back, and this time he did allow himself a roll of hips, just enough for more friction along his length. Spread fingers trailed from Joshua's shoulder down his front, underlining Marcelo's praise. "Can I return the favor?" Blunt nails caught and flicked at Joshua's belt to illustrate what he meant.