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“Wanna make a bet?" Zavala arches a brow as his attention is drawn from the mounted screen overhead and to the Exo sitting beside him. Cayde's casual disguise still takes some getting used to- particularly the hooded sweatshirt with its garish lime green and gray promoting some long-gone energy drink- but the dangerous gleam of blue eyes from beneath the flopping hem of his hood is very much Cayde. “A bet? I’ve already allowed you to drag me to this...bar." Though Zavala loathes to acknowledge it as such. He hasn't spotted anything remotely resembling a liquor license on display among the the old neon signs and rusted beer advertisements tacked to every open inch of wall. He's quite certain they're currently seated at a plywood counter in someone's repurposed basement flanked by a handful of mismatched bar stools with some even sketchier couches occupying the farthest and darkest corners of the room. Zavala eyes the counter warily when he tries to gesture and the long sleeve of his borrowed flannel shirt briefly sticks to the surface. "How much more questionable can our evening be before I call Ikora out of guilt and ask her to court-marshal the both of us?" "You know Ikora’d be right here with us if she didn’t pull the short straw.” Cayde snickers over the mug of glowing azure in his hand. “And I’ll tell you right now, that she wouldn’t have to think twice about a little ol’ sparrow racing bet.” “I will not be bullied into a bet just to prove I am as cool as Ikora,” Zavala frowns into his drink as he weighs the risk of consuming it. “Well, you’re really not. Soooooo…” Cayde mutters before tossing back his mug's contents. Zavala’s frown deepens, despite what he may have previously thought his face capable of. “It is a moot point. Betting glimmer on sparrow races is illegal, Cayde.” “Ok, yeah, but only the organized stuff. I’m just talking about a bet between two friends. This is a huge race, Zavala! You always gotta bet on the big ones.” “No, Cayde.” “What if we don’t bet glimmer?” The Commander takes a cautious sip of his brew which, to the establishment’s credit, doesn’t immediately make him grimace, and resists the urge to roll his eyes at the Exo’s doggedness. It’s not as though Zavala will participate, but neither will it hurt to humor Cayde by listening to his terms. “What would interest me instead?” Cayde is flabbergasted- his thoughts apparently not having progressed past the option of Zavala’s outright denial- and he blinks and twists his head as he considers his fellow Vanguard. “I’ll do my paperwork? All my paperwork.” The Commander shakes his head. “That’s your job, Cayde. I’m not going to bet work you should already be doing.” Zavala checks the overhead monitor again. Racers are lining at the start. “Ok,” Cayde twists in his seat, anxious to seal the deal before the first horn. “I’ll turn in all my paperwork on time and I’ll spell check it!” Zavala stares the Exo down, not impressed. Cayde's face scrunches and he finally comes out to bat with a real offer. “Fine! If you win, I’ll take your next two night shifts and your Monday morning. I know there’s some art thing you want to go to.” There is, in fact, a limited-time exhibition that Zavala had simply resigned himself to missing on account of Vanguard duties but… It’s too late. Cayde has noticed he has Zavala’s interest and the Exo leans into Zavala’s space with an expectant quirk of his face. The Commander inhales carefully so as not to look too sold on the idea. “And if I were to lose?” Cayde throws an arm over the Commander’s shoulder in a seemingly companionable embrace before the Exo’s other hand sneakily slips beneath the cover of the bar top where the two men sit. Cayde scrapes Zavala’s hand off the Titan’s denim-clad thigh and settles it just above the stylishly ripped knees of the Hunter’s own ‘civilian camouflage’ instead. Metal lips tickle the shell of the Awoken’s ear when Cayde leans in to lay out the stakes. “You lose and you jerk me off right here.” Zavala’s ears burn and he clenches his jaw so that he doesn’t flinch away. It’s been a few days and Cayde is never one to let them forget their physical relationship for long. Zavala rather expected sex to be on the table at some point tonight. He just didn’t expect it to be under the table. But there are far too many people in this pit, scattered across the long bar and dotting the shadowy tables beyond. The Vanguard pair have taken certain precautions to go unnoticed on their rare venture beyond the Tower- between the disguises and their selection of the least populated end of the bar- but drunk or not, there are too many patrons to risk something as bold as Cayde suggests. Zavala tries to sway his partner with a carefully calculated, rumbling whisper. “I could do that back in your rooms.” “But where’s the excitement in that?” Cayde counters and squeezes the hand over Zavala’s. The Awoken hesitates. At some point, the race has started though it’s clear the event is still in its first lap. “You wanna see that weird rope thing on Monday or not?” “Macramé installation,” Zavala corrects automatically while worrying over his lips and judging the race with a critical eye. “I recognize your friend Marcus. I assume your bet rests on him.” Cayde hums affirmatively and coaxes their fingers just a little higher up the Exo's inner thigh- apparently to get Zavala used to the terms of the Commander’s looming loss. “Very well,” Zavala agrees as he rubs a teasing pass with his thumb and chuckles at the flicker of lights it causes in Cayde’s throat. After all, that’s as close as Cayde is going to get to his public deviancy. “There are five other veteran racers on that track, Cayde. Two of them Champions before your friend was ever raised. If any of the other five racers finish first, I win.” “Trying to play the odds huh?” “Exactly.” The admission is just a light murmur in Cayde’s general direction as Zavala watches the bartender and surrounding patrons cautiously. The room seems much more intent on their own drinks and conversations or watching the star-studded race than catching on to the overly familiar proximity of the Vanguard pair at the bar. Though, dressed in the civilian attire Cayde provided, it's all-together possible the regulars of this hole-in-the-wall establishment haven't realized who the men really are. Nor do they seem to care. That assurance lets Zavala drop a little of his concern and his competitive side rises as he leans to whisper into his partner’s ear. “One more thing. I’ll keep the night shifts. But when you lose, I’ll take that Monday off and when we get back to the Tower tonight, you’ll ride me until I say we’ve had enough. Is that a bet?” Static is about as close to a gulp as the Exo can get. “Damn,” Cayde finally croaks as his fingers twist ever-so-lightly in the Awoken’s collar. “That’s a bet.” Zavala slips his palm from the Hunter’s thigh and offers it for a businesslike handshake instead. Cayde complies with gusto and there’s a matching set of grins- each man knowing that there won’t be much of a loser no matter how tonight ends.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Of all the races..." Zavala mutters and stares at the screen in disbelief. Sparrows whine down to a halt as they’re abandoned off to the sides and racers swap light gear for heavier combat armor in a rippling wave of blue as a Fallen tank lumbers onto the track where a sharp turn cuts through a long-deserted residential area. Commentators are having a field day with the new development, laughing about whether it's misfortune for the SRL or the Fallen Walker that seems to have been purposefully deployed in the path of a whole cluster of adrenaline-amped Guardians who were only on the start of their third lap. The bartender finds a remote and ups the volume at a patron's request just as one of the announcers puts on an amusingly bad impersonation of Lord Shaxx and begins to call out notable armor sets while his co-host counts aloud the number of rocket launchers he can pick out. Every customer in the place migrates to the long bar top for a better view of the one small screen, laughing and joking along and becoming rather invested in a rare, live broadcast battle. "Think of the paperwork. It will be a nightmare to track down all those racers to sign off on the report for this," Zavala sighs under his breath. "Ikora's shift, Ikora's problem," Cayde reminds with a playful lilt. He takes the Commander's closest hand, pulling it away when it wants to rub at the stress forming on Zavala’s brow, and insistently guides the hand back to Cayde’s thigh before dragging it slowly upward until Zavala's fingers bump a suspicious shape distorting worn denim. Zavala startles and looks beyond Cayde, to a man standing just a few seats down the bar with his eyes locked on the screen above. "You know," Cayde sing-songs quietly as he rubs the back of Zavala's hand and settles his chin on the Commander's shoulder, "a postponed race is kind of like a tie. Which is kind of like saying we both lost." Zavala’s natural inclination is to contest the claim. Six veteran Guardians against one Fallen Walker will hardly cause much of a delay at all. But the eager way Cayde tilts his hips into Zavala’s hand reminds the Commander that victory isn’t everything. "I suppose you’re right," Zavala concedes with a firm squeeze that sets Cayde’s shoulders hunching and one leg hovering as if the Exo intends to turn and throw the limb over Zavala’s lap and straddle him right there. Zavala releases his grip on the Exo’s cock immediately to coax Cayde’s knee back down before the strange move can draw attention. He levels a firm look at his companion before checking nearby patrons. “But you’re going to have to play it much cooler than that.” Cayde blinks, almost stunned, as he finds his voice and rasps into the space between them. “Sorry, you’ve never choked my dick in public before. Gonna take some getting used to.” Not a lengthy adjustment period, apparently, as Cayde sits upright and draws up the same knee between him and the patrons collected on their right and hooks his heel on the highest rung of his stool to form a sort of shield. He crosses his arms, hooks them over the raised knee and leans forward to put more of his body between any onlookers and the mischief they intend to make. This time the move is far more intentional looking and, from an outside perspective, really looks as if Cayde’s invested in the battle unfolding on screen. No one can see the way Cayde’s opposite leg falls open in invitation. Zavala joins in on the feigned interest by resting his arm along the short back of Cayde’s chair and scooting in closer. Their faces may be turned toward the battle but the real show is what’s going on between the brackets of their bodies. Cayde’s eyes dim when Zavala cups him. His mouth falls open on silent hinges and shuts just as quickly and Zavala can only imagine the moan that never was. The Exo is wearing a fat dick tonight- one Zavala knows the shape and weight of by hand as well as mouth- and the Awoken entertains the likely notion that Cayde selected this particular mod with purpose for their evening out. “You’ve manipulated me from the start,” Zavala accuses lightly. “You’re welcome,“ Cayde smirks in the most unrepentant confession. No doubt Zavala’s Light churning beneath his skin has already given away his approval of the situation as a whole and taken the need or offer of apology completely off the table. That doesn’t mean the Commander is beyond seeking revenge. As agreed, Zavala jerks Cayde off but does so with the gentlest of strokes and loose fingers that he knows are the exact opposite of the sort of attention Cayde was hoping for. Cayde’s pelvis angles Zavala’s way in a few moments of pointed protest but it does not change the Titan’s slow torture. Zavala allows for the occasional hard squeeze to keep Cayde’s attention but is careful to watch the screen overhead and not his hand at work, especially when he feels the first damp spot blooming over Cayde’s crotch and hears the first squeaking whimper escape. Zavala sidles in closer, running his hand down the taught stretch of jeans to find the swell of tight balls and semi-soft give of taint that makes Cayde squirm and bob his head when prodded. No cunt tonight. Which is for the better now because they’d never be able to hide the mess such teasing would cause. Overhead, the Guardians are playing with the Fallen tank. No doubt the presence of cameras has them showing off for fans and sponsors alike who usually only see one side of their abilities. A filming drone catches a Hunter in a beautiful but highly unnecessary backflip over a line of turret fire that misses the racer by a mile but does see the drone itself torn to shreds. The bar crowd whoops and groans at the loss of the camera and Zavala tugs the bottom of Cayde’s sweatshirt over his dick just in case while they both wait patiently for the crowd to stop turning about and focus on the next shot that springs to life of a Warlock decimating one of the Walker’s legs with a curving Nova Bomb. The Hunter Vanguard is getting twitchy after even the brief interruption. Zavala squeezes Cayde’s balls and the Exo’s hands flex in an attempt at control while a fan kicks on softly somewhere beneath heated metal. Zavala travels back up to tend to the pulsing length trapped in Cayde’s pant leg and is not surprised to find a much larger smear of pre than before. Cayde sneaks a fumbling hand down to undo his button and zipper and Zavala obliges by pulling out the Exo’s slick cock. A Fallen Skiff shows up to ramp up the battle along with a second Walker. When the crowd cheers the exciting development, Cayde gasps. It’s not clear if the use of cover was intentional or serendipitous and equally unclear is which of those thoughts cause Zavala’s neglected erection to swell. Cayde hides his face in his crossed arms but he can’t completely hide the throat lights that set the space between them flickering. Zavala grabs the back of Cayde’s neck, forces him to look at the screen, but it’s less about maintaining their ruse and more about touching Cayde in some capacity when Zavala can’t rake his fingers down his back like he wants to. Can’t kick back their chairs, scoop the Exo up, throw him against the bar, and fuck him like he wants to. Zavala only realizes he’s breathing hard when Cayde peeks from under the cover of his arms with blazing eyes and Zavala’s breath stops altogether. The Exo shudders and reaches down again to hold his hand over Zavala’s in a desperate attempt to try and curb the mess he’s suddenly pumping over blue fingers. This time Cayde’s groan coincides with the bar’s cry of triumph as the first Walker collapses in a cloud of smoke and flame after a well-placed rocket rips apart its core. Of course there’s not a napkin in sight and hell if Zavala’s gonna risk flagging down the bartender for one. Instead inspiration strikes when another patron’s revelry gets a bit too boisterous and he turns to Cayde as if looking for someone to toast in victory. Zavala intercepts with a quick grab of his own mug and manages to ‘fumble’ the glass and upend its contents all over Cayde’s lap. Traveler bless, the Exo’s eyes clear in lightning quick comprehension. “Shit!” Cayde flails, knocking the toaster’s beer from his hands and causing a cascade of shouts and tipped drinks from the more crowded cluster of onlookers- like a line of inebriated dominoes that serve as distraction while the Exo tucks away his dick and yanks up his fly. “My apologies, replacements on me,” Zavala shouts as he tears the wallet from his back pocket and tosses more than enough City currency on the counter before all but falling off his chair in his haste to get he and Cayde both on their feet and out the door. They stumble into the street and then into the nearest alley, Zavala's gait stiff and awkward as he tries to compensate for his insistent erection and Cayde’s manic urging. “Come on”, Cayde growls as he dances backward while pulling Zavala's hands to his hips and summoning his Ghost for transmat, “It’s my turn to lose.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The kiss begins somewhere between their back alley departure and the reformation of their bodies in Cayde's room. Later, one of their Ghosts will surely lecture about the danger of transmatting two living creatures while so intimately entwined but, for now, both men would gladly swap a few atoms if that means the Commander's tongue can continue teasing the Hunter Vanguard's soft palate. Cayde's heel strikes the crate of civilian clothes and disguises still lying open in the center of the room. He stumbles but quick footwork and Zavala's helpful hands drag them back on course for the bed beyond. Zavala, ever the efficient one, shrugs off his borrowed flannel shirt and deposits it on top of the pile before making a grab for Cayde's hoodie. Lime green joins the heap the same time Cayde grinds forward. Zavala gasps but it’s not the good kind of gasp that usually comes with gripping hips and swapping spit and he recoils. Two sets of eyes are drawn to the source of Zavala’s surprise- a smeared wet patch on Zavala’s crotch. “Uh, yeah. Kind of a dick move with the drink, by the way,” Cayde gestures from Zavala's lap to his own fly still soaked by their impromptu escape from the bar, “I liked these pants.” Zavala arches a brow- as if to ask the Hunter to reexamine his priorities in the moment- but then surmises Cayde's pride as a fashionable Hunter is the only reason for the mechanical pout. Fortunately, Zavala knows plenty of ways to progress a stalled mission. He carefully eases back into the Exo’s personal space and murmurs along the plane of a polished cheek. “Don’t worry. You don’t need them anymore.” Cayde’s protest doesn’t reach the point of fully constructed sentence- the words interrupted by the whisper of fingers on cloth and the soft pop of a button from it's hole, followed by Cayde’s own groan. Zavala pushes until they both land gracelessly on familiar springs. Blue lips mouth over wet denim just to see if the action will make Cayde squirm. It absolutely does. The Exo curls and arches between panting swears and accidentally jams his zipper in his haste to remove his soiled jeans. Zavala takes pity, knowing the grumbling the broken zipper will inspire later, and tugs the slashed and worn jeans down otherwise bare metal hips to suck the smooth, black cock that springs from beneath. The noises Cayde makes ought to be loud enough to wake the Traveller. Metal fingers drag along the back of Zavala’s neck and Cayde tucks his chin to his chest as his throat blazes white in a sure sign the Exo is on the brink. Zavala pulls back with a slurp that screams in his own ears with its unintentional lewdness, “I thought you were going to ride me.” “I...I am a man of my word,” Cayde’s grip on blue skin tightens as he shudders and his face contorts with soulful pleading, “but I’m also a man of multiple orgasms and I'm really close to one right now.” Warm, dangerously voluminous affection wells in Zavala’s chest and bursts forth in a delighted laugh. “As long as you don’t forget…” The Exo's eyes flare in appreciation as Zavala resumes his previous position and gulps down fat silicone until Cayde is coming for the second time of the night. Blue lenses take a moment to light again as Cayde cycles through orgasm and all it’s post-system checks. “Oh, thank you,” the Exo sighs as he sinks back into the mattress. He gestures lazily at his slick cock as it recedes. “You never want to leave one in the queue or it’s a bitch to switch. Now, do us a favor and get naked so I can start paying up on my end of the bet.” While Cayde rolls and swings his legs off the bed to swap modifications, Zavala shucks all remaining clothing with relief and palms his long-neglected cock. It's not difficult to remain interested when presented with the sweeping lines of the Exo’s spine and an ass that was clearly designed by someone with immaculate tastes. “No, no,” Cayde whispers to his Ghost in a hurried aside. “The quick one. Yeah. Self-lubing. Go ahead and fill up the tank too.” The change only takes a few seconds but it seems a lifetime of waiting since the bet and the bar. Transmatted material has barely settled before Zavala snags Cayde around the waist and hauls him onto the center of the bed, presses them flush- broad chest to sleek back. “Shit, Zavala! You gotta let me test it fir...fuh…fuck...” Zavala’s fingers are already squeezing soft lips and dipping between while Cayde struggles to assess the installation. A strangled noise rattles in the back of Cayde's throat and he slumps against a muscular shoulder when the first well of lubricant meets insistent fingers. “Yeah. Ok, yeah, it’s definitely working.“ “Remember,” Zavala prompts sweetly by twisting a happy sigh from his partner and then immediately forcing his fingers to still. “Yeah, yeah. Didn't forget. Bet...riding…” Cayde begins doing just that, rocking slow and shallow onto the Commander's digits. He means to ease them both into it but his voice is already tight and his grip on Zavala's wrist a bit too eager. “I never thought you were the kind of guy to lord a debt over someone.” “I only want to be sure you deliver on your promise. It's a matter of...honor.” Cayde snickers at the Commander's stilted breathlessness, “It's a matter of horny,” “Can't I be a man of multiple motives?” “Deep.” Cayde chuckles but it’s strained as he slips off the Titan’s fingers- which are nice but not quite what the Exo is hungry for- and he spins to roughly pin Zavala to the bed. “You gonna hit me with some Plato next?” Zavala readily accepts that Cayde doing all the work constitutes a necessary amount of manhandling and simply grins from his place flat on his back. “I hope to be beyond such powers of recollection very soon.” “You're really asking for it,” Cayde teases, relishing in the fact as he grinds down, wet quickly smearing Zavala’s dick. “Cayde,” Zavala growls low in his throat, “I have been asking for it.” That does it for Cayde. He skips the part where he might usually continue to taunt for endearments by sheathing Zavala in coy, little slides and instead lines them up with a single hand and slams them together in a move that tears a startled grunt from Zavala before the sound settles into a pleased hum. Both hands now braced against the mattress and knees planted wide on either side of Zavala’s hips, Cayde easily sinks into a rolling pattern of barely-rising hips and measured thrusts that keep the Commander’s cock surrounded by constant, sweet heat. “Damn, Zavala, you look good when I fuck you.” The strange compliment in all its sincerity startles another short laugh from the Awoken and probably ruins whatever blissed arrangement of features Cayde had found attractive. “You should see yourself.” “Yeah,” Cayde queries with a hint of a smile wrapped around the edges of his best bedroom voice, “what do I look like?” Zavala isn’t known for being chatty. Not in the war room. Not in the bedroom. But he can’t ignore a direct question or the way Cayde’s movements speed up and lose a bit of their finesse in the mere seconds he waits for an answer. “You look like you’re meant to be here, taking me like this.” Zavala wraps warm hands around Cayde's ass but doesn't haul him closer, doesn't help at all, simply smooths fingers over the velvet soft material of twin globes while Cayde continues to work them both at what is becoming a nearly frantic pace. Zavala cannot help the twitch of his lips as he teases. “You look like you're about to come again.” And damn, Cayde isn't- or at least doesn't think he is- until Zavala says it and then the words twist something in Cayde's gut, send a hot jolt up his spine and then Cayde is coming. He pants and fritzes his release into the meat of Zavala’s chest and only thinks to stop moving his hips when he feels another suspicious mess of pleasure and white noise knocking at the back of his syrupy brain thoughts. “How...how’d you do that?” Cayde glares at what little he can see without moving which means Zavala’s chin catches the brunt of the Exo’s suspicion. He doesn't usually just go tumbling off sexual peaks left and right. “I haven't done anything,” Zavala answers innocently before he tucks his hands behind his head and barely thrusts into Cayde in a way that sets the Hunter disproportionally ablaze. Cayde can feel the hard length still inside and the buzz that sweeps through him when he rises up on shaky arms to begin again. “You're too sexy. That’s the problem.” Zavala does not deign to comment nor does he call Cayde out on the slur lapping at the edges of his accusation. Instead, he places the backs of two fingers- still faintly slick from earlier exploration- against the Exo’s sternum and drags them up and down in the barest hint of a caress. Cayde does his very best not to complain about how distracting such tiny contact can be while he’s basically swallowing Zavala’s dick with his still tingling cunt but he can’t help a whine here or there when his wet, smacking thrusts falter because he’s chasing the sensation of those damn fingers on his chest or the seams between rib plating. In between rolling like a damned Hive worm, desperate to get solidly groped, Cayde fucks Zavala until he can see the sweat building on flushed skin. Just when Cayde thinks he's got him- when the Commander’s eyes clench, his breath hitches, and two fingers become a splayed hand- Zavala flips them in a whirl of growls and gasps and then withdraws. Lubricant follows the departing cock in a slow wave that trips all kinds of delicate sensors that light up Cayde’s brain. There’s no time to object before something is gently circling Cayde’s sopping entrance in offering. Fingers, Cayde’s brain finally decides after a beat of gentle prodding. “You ass,” Cayde mutters to the sheets bunched beneath his forearms. Still, he wiggles back and rides Zavala’s fingers obediently for a few more thrusts before he's shaking and biting at the sheets below as his vision flickers out. It’s only a few seconds before the Exo’s voice weakly disturbs the whir of overworked internal fans in an otherwise silent room. “That...was dirty.” Cayde can’t see the smile, what with his eyes refusing to focus and his face half buried in crumpled white, but he sure can hear the pleased twist of Zavala’s lips when the Commander stretches out atop Cayde’s back and rubs dripping fingers along the curve of a metal hip.“‘Until I say we're done.’ That was the agreement. We did not define how I would reach satisfaction.” “You’re a monster,” Cayde jabs. “Are you being a sore loser?” Cayde scowls as best he can. Something might certainly be sore later. Zavala readjusts, his weight kind of nice if Cayde can stop feeling tricked long enough to appreciate the feel of it across his back. The Commander rubs his dick against the crazy mess between Cayde's legs and Cayde whines, sensitive and getting low on the lube reserves but so ready to take it. Zavala slips inside and Cayde groans. He’s not sure how it can still feel so good to have his insides rearranged by something that feels like a steel rod at this point. Cayde wants to make a joke. Something about how it’s a wonder Zavala has any blood left to keep his heart pumping but then Zavala is pulling out just enough for Cayde to think there’s another thrust coming, enough to make Cayde think Zavala has found some mercy and intends to finish himself off with Cayde’s body while the Exo takes a beat to recover. But Zavala stops, with his dick heavy and twitching half in Cayde’s sticky hole and says, “Like this.” Cayde blinks the errant pixels from his vision and turns his face into the sheets. He’s tired, his temperature warnings are teetering on that thin orangeish line between caution and danger, his lube tank is almost empty but still he wants it. “Just too sexy,” Cayde complains to the matress as he begins the slow rut back onto Zavala’s cock. The Commander slips both arms beneath Cayde and embraces him, molds them together so thoroughly that all Cayde has to to do is twitch to keep up the stimulation. Fine by Zavala's standards because a few last, desperate squirms is all either of them can manage before Zavala is choking out an overwhelmed cacophony of noises as he finally spills. Cayde whimpers and follows Zavala straight off that cliff. It's certainly not their most comfortable post-coital cuddle. What with Cayde face down steaming the sheets and Zavala's arms crushed beneath a six foot metal man. But Zavala grins dopily into the back of Cayde's neck anyway. "I release you from the bet. Debt paid in full.” Cayde's muffled snicker pulls Zavala's grin even wider. The Exo checks his fluid levels and calls the cost of his next refill absolutely worth it. With a groaning exhale, Zavala tugs an arm from beneath Cayde and flops down beside his partner. No amount of exhaustion could keep Cayde from catching a good look at Zavala sprawled out, sweat-slicked, and literally glowing...and somehow miraculously, confoundingly still erect. Cayde blinks before reaching out to fumble a heavy hand against a blue hip. "Hey, Zavala, I bet you can come again."