Good Lord, Faraday’s name sounds good like that. He tended to go by his surname by choice – it reminded him too much of being a child with a skinned elbow, sniffling as his ma tended to it – but he supposes If Vasquez says his given name like that, he doesn’t mind it overly much. It sends a dark jolt straight down his spine, and he makes a low, pleased noise, the sound of it trapped between the press of their lips.

Vasquez’s mouth is warm against his, the kiss shameless and rough in a way that leaves Faraday breathless. The hand at Vasquez’s hip smooths up along his side, back down to his hip, while his other hand tangles into Vasquez’s dark, unruly hair, keeping their lips locked together. He can get used to this, Faraday thinks, and he bites at Vasquez’s lower lip. He feels the way the muscles of Vasquez’s waist jump, the way the other man twitches and moves against Faraday’s touch, and there’s something— oddly pleasing, to realize that even this scant contact has this sort of effect on Vasquez.

He pulls back a little, forehead resting against Vasquez’s, sharing his breath. Vasquez’s reactions has left Faraday feeling a little bold, it seems, and he hesitates only a bare second before he wraps his hand around Vasquez’s length.

“Go on, darlin’,” he murmurs, ducking back in to capture Vasquez’s lips. “I’ve got you.”