That’s gratifying, Faraday thinks, grinning against Vasquez’s mouth. They way Vasquez writhes, desperate and wanting; the way he shouts, completely out of control. For a second, he wonders just how long Vasquez has wanted this; months, the man had said, but the way he had moved, frantic, like starved man at a feast, makes Faraday wonder just how long that means.

Vasquez spends, fast and vicious, and it slicks Faraday’s hand, falls hot across Faraday’s belly. When he’s done, it’s charming, the way Vasquez laughs – giggles, almost – and the way he falls boneless back on the bed. Even the way he looks at Faraday like he might actually think Faraday is more than some silver-tongued, half-corned gambler steals Faraday’s breath, makes color rush up his face, when moments ago Faraday might have felt himself bristling with unfamiliarity.

He wants to reach for his scarf to start cleaning up the mess, but Vasquez catches him first, drags him down for a kiss. And with how Vasquez smiles at him, how he stares like he thinks Faraday isn’t quite real – how could Faraday ever deny him? Faraday breathes out a quick laugh, settling atop Vasquez and slotting his mouth over the other man’s again.

And a small part of him is surprised at how easily he’s fallen into this, when just minutes ago he had felt awfully wrong-footed. Faraday is far from self-assured, at the moment, but he’s at least spurred onward by how Vasquez had sounded and looked as he had fallen apart, and how wildly attractive Faraday had found it.

“You alright, there?”