He comes back to himself as Vasquez speaks, as he lays down truth after little bit of truth. And Faraday—
Well, shamefully, his cheeks color with it again, embarrassed to have it laid out before him like that. Hell, Vasquez is really going to make him try and explain himself, isn’t he? And Faraday hardly knows what he’s doing, what he’s feeling, because emotions and sentiment are complicated topics. He swallows thickly, gaze darting away. Holding Vasquez’s gaze while he tries to sort through this aloud is practically impossible. Bad enough the man has his weight against him, pinning him more or less in place. And maybe in a different moment, he’d feel trapped by it, but not now.
“I don’t...” he tries, voice hoarse with hesitance, but that’s a false start. He licks his lips, tries again, “I’ve never...”
Jesus goddamn wept. He can feel his face heating, and after he takes a deep, rallying breath, he forces the words out in a rush:
“I’ve never been with a man.”
It hardly seems like an explanation, admittedly, but after another breath to compose himself, Faraday continues on; he traces the woodgrain of the floorboards with his eyes.
“I didn’t... when you— flirted, I didn’t think... I thought it was— I thought it was a joke.” Which was more or less in line with their usual modes of conversation, half-truths and mischievous smirks. At any given moment, half of what either of them said was probably bullshit. “I hadn’t considered it a possibility.
“And I do like women,” and this comes out almost a little defensively, like Vasquez might accuse him of lying, but he backs away from that tone quickly enough. He lets out a shuddering breath, head bowing further. Then, slowly, hesitantly, “But I... I think I... For a little while, now, I think I’ve—”
He trails off, frustrated with his inability to say it outright, and he huffs out a sharp sigh. His cheeks feel like they’re burning when he finally grunts out, “You’re not so bad.”
By which he means, I think I like you, too, but apparently too much honesty makes Faraday want to vomit.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
winterfish
no subject
Date: 2018-01-11 12:26 am (UTC)Well, shamefully, his cheeks color with it again, embarrassed to have it laid out before him like that. Hell, Vasquez is really going to make him try and explain himself, isn’t he? And Faraday hardly knows what he’s doing, what he’s feeling, because emotions and sentiment are complicated topics. He swallows thickly, gaze darting away. Holding Vasquez’s gaze while he tries to sort through this aloud is practically impossible. Bad enough the man has his weight against him, pinning him more or less in place. And maybe in a different moment, he’d feel trapped by it, but not now.
“I don’t...” he tries, voice hoarse with hesitance, but that’s a false start. He licks his lips, tries again, “I’ve never...”
Jesus goddamn wept. He can feel his face heating, and after he takes a deep, rallying breath, he forces the words out in a rush:
“I’ve never been with a man.”
It hardly seems like an explanation, admittedly, but after another breath to compose himself, Faraday continues on; he traces the woodgrain of the floorboards with his eyes.
“I didn’t... when you— flirted, I didn’t think... I thought it was— I thought it was a joke.” Which was more or less in line with their usual modes of conversation, half-truths and mischievous smirks. At any given moment, half of what either of them said was probably bullshit. “I hadn’t considered it a possibility.
“And I do like women,” and this comes out almost a little defensively, like Vasquez might accuse him of lying, but he backs away from that tone quickly enough. He lets out a shuddering breath, head bowing further. Then, slowly, hesitantly, “But I... I think I... For a little while, now, I think I’ve—”
He trails off, frustrated with his inability to say it outright, and he huffs out a sharp sigh. His cheeks feel like they’re burning when he finally grunts out, “You’re not so bad.”
By which he means, I think I like you, too, but apparently too much honesty makes Faraday want to vomit.