Adult Content Warning
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Summary
Habit makes him slow it down, ease it on, the way most people prefer to tentatively dip their toes into a kiss and then melt longer when they're comfortable. Festus doesn't want it that way. He springs and drags Quint onto his side. "Ain't wrassling if I just let you take it, now, is it, Comanche?"
"You want it so bad, you'll take it any which way." Quint holds his head in place by his hair. Then, with attentive caution, he lips at the bleeding spot at the corner of his mouth. He makes eye contact as he tenderly kisses the tear in his lip.
Festus whines. He pinches his ankles into Quint's thighs. "Aw, I done knowed it, I knowed Comanches was soft all the way through—"
Quint hooks two fingers into Festus's mouth and holds down his tongue. Saliva pools where he pushes down with his forefinger, pinning it in place. Those big brown-green eyes lock on him, genuine in their surprise. "I'm gonna shut you up, Festus. One way or another."
...
In which Quint finally makes Festus admit: Comanches ain't soft.