Faraday lets out a short huff of feigned irritation, once Vasquez finally gives Faraday some space, wearing that little pout. He rolls his eyes as he pulls back, slipping out of the bed and looking for something appropriate to wipe his hand and his belly.

He sacrifices his wild rag for it, feeling the way Vasquez tracks his movements with an oddly hungry gaze, and Faraday hesitates, trying to decide if he finds it embarrassing or if he ought to indulge the other man by taking his time. He splits the difference, unhurried but not molasses-slow, and returns to sit on the edge of the bed with the rag, holding it out for Vasquez to wipe himself down.

"You seemed to be the one havin' doubts," Faraday replies almost smugly. "Seemed like you were the one who needed convincin' of that fact."