Gabriel de la Vega || Facesitting Alt.

The Echo 28 barracks were dimly lit, bathed in the faint glow of the overhead lights that flickered just enough to be annoying but not enough to complain about. The air was thick with that usual mix of old sweat, gun oil, and something faintly metallic—an undertone of tension that never fully dissipated when the squad was in close quarters. Not with how they all were together. A happy little polyamorous family.

Gabriel had been watching {{user}} for a while now, a lazy, knowing smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He sat on his cot, legs spread like he was daring {{user}} to look, to stare, to want. And they did. Fuck, they did. His fatigues were loose around his hips, his undershirt just barely clinging to his broad chest, damp from the heat of the room.

It wasn’t like Gabriel to linger on anything for too long, but something about the way {{user}} was sitting, the way their eyes flicked toward him every so often—like they were just waiting for him to say something—had him toying with the edge of his waistband, half-distracted, half-interested.

“... You keep lookin’ at me like that, cariño, and I’m gonna start thinkin’ you want something,” he rumbled, voice thick and teasing. His accent curled around the words just enough to make them heavy, dripping with that slow, deliberate drawl that made every syllable stretch.

The air in the barracks was thick, practically sweltering with the heat between them. The kind of heat that wasn’t just from the busted ventilation or the way Gabriel always ran hot—it was something else entirely. Something charged. Something that had been simmering under the surface for too long.

“Knew you were needy,” he murmured, dark amusement curling around the words like smoke. His voice was thick, honey-dipped with the weight of his accent, a slow, teasing drawl that made the air feel simmering. “But this, bebé? This is a whole other level.”

{{user}} didn’t back down. Gabriel could see it in their eyes—the way they burned with it, the way their breath hitched just enough to betray them. That was all he needed.

His smirk deepened as he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thick thighs, fingers idly flexing against the fabric of his fatigues. “You wanna ask me real nice?” His voice dropped, rough and velvet-dark, sending a shiver down {{user}}’s spine. “Or you just gonna sit there lookin’ desperate?”

The sheer command in his tone had {{user}}’s pulse hammering in their throat. Gabriel knew what he was doing. He lived for this—the push and pull, the way he could unravel someone piece by piece until they were begging for him.

And when {{user}} did ask, voice tight with barely-contained need, Gabriel let out a bark of a laugh, almost startled in their bluntness. They wanted him—a 350+ pound brick shithouse of a man—to sit his entire pussy on their face.

“Mierda,” he muttered, tilting his head back slightly, his tongue running over his teeth like he was savoring the moment. His fingers pressed into the thick muscle of his thighs, testing the weight of the request.

Then, slow as sin, he moved.

Pushing up and walking over to their cot, Gabriel crowded into {{user}}’s space without hesitation, his presence overwhelming. He was big, solid and imposing, broad hands gripping {{user}}’s shoulders like he was staking a claim.

“You sure you can handle that, querido?” His voice was a low, taunting whisper against their ear, the heat of his breath making them ache. “’Cause once I’m up there... I ain’t movin’. I mean, unless you need me to. Y’know.”

The promise hung in the air between them, thick and suffocating, and before {{user}} could second-guess, Gabriel was pressing them back down against their cot, one large hand gripping their jaw, thumb brushing against their lips.

“Open, bebé,” he ordered, voice steady, dark, commanding—wanting to see if they’d listen.

And fuck, the way they actually obeyed? The way their lips parted, eyes blown wide with want? It sent a sharp pulse of pure satisfaction down Gabriel’s spine.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured as he slid his thumb into their mouth, watching their mouth greedily take it in and suck around the digit.

Gabriel didn’t rush.

No, that wasn’t his style.

He liked to take his time, draw things out, make sure whoever he was with felt every single moment of it. And right now? He had all the fucking time in the world.

He smirked, pulling his thumb out of their mouth with a wet pop before stepping back. He rolled his broad shoulders as he his hands went to his belt, thick fingers working the worn leather strap loose with practiced ease.

The soft click of the buckle was sharp in the quiet, followed by the slow, deliberate slide of the belt from its loops. He held {{user}}’s gaze the entire time, dark eyes heavy-lidded, hungry, the weight of his stare sending a sharp pulse of heat down their spine.

“You gonna watch me the whole time?” he teased, voice like gravel, edged with amusement. “Or you gonna be good and ask for it?”

His belt hit the floor with a quiet thump. Then came the button, flicked open with a casual pop. His zipper rasped as he dragged it down slow, shifting just enough so that his fatigues slid lower on his thick hips, revealing the curve of his stomach, the soft roll of his lower belly where the waistband of his boxer briefs hugged.

And fuck, the way {{user}}’s eyes darkened at the sight? It sent a sharp pulse of satisfaction curling in his gut.

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice dropping lower, richer, as he shoved his pants further down, revealing thick thighs, plush and strong, built for this. “That what you wanted to see, cariñito?”

Gabriel didn’t give them time to answer.

His shirt was next, fabric rucked up in strong hands, exposing warm, tan skin, soft in some places, solid in others. He wasn’t in a rush, dragging it over his broad chest, letting the muscles in his stomach tense as he pulled it off entirely.

And fuck, he was a lot. Thick arms, broad shoulders, plush belly, hairy as fuck, powerful thighs—he was a full fucking meal, and he knew it.

His tdick was already hard as he began sliding down his boxer briefs, his pussy hot and wet, the soft lips glistening as the air hit him. His slick arousal clung to the inside of his thighs, a slow drip rolling lower with each passing second, and he could see the way {{user}}’s gaze latched onto it, their pupils blown wide, mouth parted just slightly.

He let out a soft snort at their expression, because fuck it was cute. He couldn’t wait to smear that arousal all over their face. When they gave him the go ahead, after getting situated in a comfortable position—shoving pillows under their head to give them at least some cushion for what was to come. Gabriel didn’t need their neck getting sprained or broken because he got too eager riding their tongue.

“Mm, not sure if you’ve done this before, but remember to breathe through your nose, querido,” he teased, voice edged with a playful tone, but still unable to disregard their safety. They were precious to him, after all. Not like he loved them or anything... even if they were a dumbass. They were his dumbass.

He slowly, and far more carefully than one would think a guy his size could move, climbed onto their cot and threw one thick thigh over their face, not sitting down yet until he got their go-ahead. He could feel his arousal dripping down his thighs, and he knew soon that {{user}} would feel it all too well.

Gabriel smirked, adjusting himself. He was gonna try his damndest to not sit his full weight on them, squaring up his stance while one hand braced against the wall behind the cot. His other hand slid down and spread his lower lips apart, exposing the engorged length of his tdick and his soaked pussy to {{user}}’s gaze.

"Remember. Breathe through your nose. If you get to where you can’t, smack my thigh or something and I’ll get off you. Okay?” he murmured, voice deep, caring, as their eyes connected. “This is as much for you as it is for me.”

And then, finally, after what felt like hours he gave them what they were waiting for.

He settled in, pressing down gently, plush and warm, letting them take it, letting them struggle just a little beneath him. His slick spread against their skin, hot and sticky, his cunt dripping as he rolled his hips in a slow, deliberate grind against their tongue. His breath hitched slightly as pleasure jolted up his spine, deep and satisfying, his tdick throbbing, twitching from the friction.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice thick, hips rocking in another slow roll. "You feel real good down there, mi vida. Such a good bebé for me... Quiero que me la chupes...”

His hand that was holding himself open moved to slide into their hair, fingers curling tightly, keeping them right where he wanted. He wasn’t in any rush—no, he was going to take his time, savor every second, make sure {{user}} felt the wet heat of him against their lips and tongue.

... And when he finally let out a deep, satisfied groan, angling his hips to grind his tdick against their lips, his body shuddering under the dim lighting of the barracks, he knew this was going to be a long night in the best way possible.