Faraday nearly barks out a laugh at Vasquez’s question, but he’s still reeling still completely blindsided by the realization. And how stupid can he truly be to not see it until this very moment?
Pretty damn stupid, he thinks. Maybe Vasquez has the right of it, after all.
But it’s something of a relief that Vasquez’s tone has shifted away from that biting, angry sharpness, and if Faraday has to suffer through his usual overblown worry for it, Faraday figures it’s a fair enough exchange. He goes where he’s led, slumping on the edge of the bed and rubbing at his brow. He only looks up when he hears Vasquez get to his feet, when he speaks, and even with the reassurance, Faraday still sits bolt upright.
“Wait, hold on—”
But Vasquez is already gone.
He’s back soon enough, though, and when Vasquez holds out the glass of water, Faraday gulps it down without complaint, gaze darting away once Vasquez crouches in front of him. The mention of a doctor makes Faraday scowl – he’s had enough of doctors tutting over him to last him a lifetime – and he sharply shakes his head.
“I’m fine,” he grunts out, finishing off the rest of his glass and setting it aside on a nightstand. He scrubs his face before risking a glance at Vasquez.
Hell, the bastard looks so worried, so earnestly concerned, and when the hell has anyone looked at Faraday with anything less than strained amusement or outright frustration or anger? When has anyone given enough of a shit to make sure he was well, darting off to grab glasses of water, ducking against him to take his weight when his leg gave out? Shit, it makes something warm twist in his chest, steals his breath away, and as obnoxious as he usually found it, gratitude still punched him in the gut, sudden and startling.
“I just...”
Faraday trails off, uncertain of where he was going with that. He swallows thickly, licking his lips.
He’s already falling, he figures. Falling and reeling and spinning, and his stomach leaps up to his throat for it. Faraday had been so careful, earlier this morning, to avoid wrinkling Vasquez’s clothes when he had gone to such trouble to gussy himself up, but—
Apparently Faraday no longer cares, because he grabs two fistfuls of Vasquez’s sleeves, his grip so tight that he’s sure to leave deep wrinkles in the material. He hauls the other man up half the way and leans down to close the rest of the distance in a clumsy, awkward kiss.
In Faraday’s defense, he’s never kissed a man before. In fact, he’s never had an interest in it until Vasquez.
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winterfish
no subject
Date: 2018-01-10 06:19 pm (UTC)Pretty damn stupid, he thinks. Maybe Vasquez has the right of it, after all.
But it’s something of a relief that Vasquez’s tone has shifted away from that biting, angry sharpness, and if Faraday has to suffer through his usual overblown worry for it, Faraday figures it’s a fair enough exchange. He goes where he’s led, slumping on the edge of the bed and rubbing at his brow. He only looks up when he hears Vasquez get to his feet, when he speaks, and even with the reassurance, Faraday still sits bolt upright.
“Wait, hold on—”
But Vasquez is already gone.
He’s back soon enough, though, and when Vasquez holds out the glass of water, Faraday gulps it down without complaint, gaze darting away once Vasquez crouches in front of him. The mention of a doctor makes Faraday scowl – he’s had enough of doctors tutting over him to last him a lifetime – and he sharply shakes his head.
“I’m fine,” he grunts out, finishing off the rest of his glass and setting it aside on a nightstand. He scrubs his face before risking a glance at Vasquez.
Hell, the bastard looks so worried, so earnestly concerned, and when the hell has anyone looked at Faraday with anything less than strained amusement or outright frustration or anger? When has anyone given enough of a shit to make sure he was well, darting off to grab glasses of water, ducking against him to take his weight when his leg gave out? Shit, it makes something warm twist in his chest, steals his breath away, and as obnoxious as he usually found it, gratitude still punched him in the gut, sudden and startling.
“I just...”
Faraday trails off, uncertain of where he was going with that. He swallows thickly, licking his lips.
He’s already falling, he figures. Falling and reeling and spinning, and his stomach leaps up to his throat for it. Faraday had been so careful, earlier this morning, to avoid wrinkling Vasquez’s clothes when he had gone to such trouble to gussy himself up, but—
Apparently Faraday no longer cares, because he grabs two fistfuls of Vasquez’s sleeves, his grip so tight that he’s sure to leave deep wrinkles in the material. He hauls the other man up half the way and leans down to close the rest of the distance in a clumsy, awkward kiss.
In Faraday’s defense, he’s never kissed a man before. In fact, he’s never had an interest in it until Vasquez.
But, hey, so far, so good.