He's slept with more than a few women before, obviously. Been in towns long enough to sleep with them more than once, even, but he's never stuck around any one person long enough to court someone – though whatever strange thing he has with Vasquez could hardly be called "courting." More to the point, he's never maintained anything serious for longer than, say, a week.
(Even when he was a young man and had convinced himself he had fallen in love with dark-haired Ethel and her nightingale voice, he had never exactly gotten close enough to admit as much. The farthest he had gotten was doffing his hat and offering to buy her a drink.
Ethel had looked him over, barked out a laugh, and told him to try again when he didn't look like he still nursed from his mama.)
But this thing with Vasquez is— new. Strange. And Faraday fears now more than ever that they'll spark off of one another even more brilliant than before, that one little ember might make the whole thing blow up in their faces. He isn't any more careful than he had been before, because Faraday isn't naturally given to any sort of caution, but in quieter moments, he still mulls it over; the thought that Vasquez still might find reason to leave buzzes at the back of his head like a persistent fly that he can't swat.
Thankfully, Vasquez's damnably clever hands and tongues manage to quiet it, at least for a while.
Jack the demon horse, for once, is surprisingly docile beneath Faraday as he rides. Faraday wonders briefly if he senses Faraday's growing discomfort, when too much riding makes the old aches and pains flare to life. He focuses on the road ahead of them, the sun beating down against the back of his neck, when Vasquez's voice cuts through the rare instance of comfortable silence between them.
For a few seconds, Faraday is silent, then, slightly skeptically, "You wanna go back?"
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He's slept with more than a few women before, obviously. Been in towns long enough to sleep with them more than once, even, but he's never stuck around any one person long enough to court someone – though whatever strange thing he has with Vasquez could hardly be called "courting." More to the point, he's never maintained anything serious for longer than, say, a week.
(Even when he was a young man and had convinced himself he had fallen in love with dark-haired Ethel and her nightingale voice, he had never exactly gotten close enough to admit as much. The farthest he had gotten was doffing his hat and offering to buy her a drink.
Ethel had looked him over, barked out a laugh, and told him to try again when he didn't look like he still nursed from his mama.)
But this thing with Vasquez is— new. Strange. And Faraday fears now more than ever that they'll spark off of one another even more brilliant than before, that one little ember might make the whole thing blow up in their faces. He isn't any more careful than he had been before, because Faraday isn't naturally given to any sort of caution, but in quieter moments, he still mulls it over; the thought that Vasquez still might find reason to leave buzzes at the back of his head like a persistent fly that he can't swat.
Thankfully, Vasquez's damnably clever hands and tongues manage to quiet it, at least for a while.
Jack the demon horse, for once, is surprisingly docile beneath Faraday as he rides. Faraday wonders briefly if he senses Faraday's growing discomfort, when too much riding makes the old aches and pains flare to life. He focuses on the road ahead of them, the sun beating down against the back of his neck, when Vasquez's voice cuts through the rare instance of comfortable silence between them.
For a few seconds, Faraday is silent, then, slightly skeptically, "You wanna go back?"
Surely he misheard Vasquez.