Even if he tries not to, Faraday watches Vasquez's every move, like he expects a trick, like he's sitting at a card table, watching for double- or bottom-dealing. He licks his lips, glancing to Vasquez's hand as it wanders down the buttons of Faraday's vest, and when the other man pushes him back, Faraday resists – at least for a brief moment. But the other man isn't shoving him, just guiding him, and wary as Faraday is, he lets himself be pushed onto the bed.

As Vasquez moves to take off his boots, Faraday takes the moment to unbuckle his gun belt, setting it aside on the nightstand within easy reach – not because he expects he'll need them, but because he's always felt more comfortable with them nearby.

Vasquez crawls back into bed just as Faraday's fingers rest on the knot of his wild rag, tied around his throat, though he freezes the instant he feels the weight of Vasquez's palm at the buckle of his belt. Faraday looks up at the other man, caught somewhere between anxious and startled and intrigued. When it registers to him what Vasquez is offering, exactly, Faraday breathes out a laugh, shaking his head.

"Don't think that'd be necessary," he says, and if he sounds a little nervous, he'll thanks Vasquez not to point it out.