He’s not too far behind Vasquez when the other man moves to the blankets. Vasquez’s sharp teasing is answered with little more than a flat, unimpressed look, though that quickly melts away into a look of appreciation as the other man lies back, looking and sounding far more at easy than he had only moments ago. Vasquez was hardly a slight man, but he was leaner than Faraday, hard, wiry muscle on a long frame. In the early days of their traveling together, he had never quite understood the warm twist he would feel low in his chest whenever he caught sight of the other man stripping down.

These days, though, now that he understands that feeling all too well – heat and want and desire – in spite of how frequently Vasquez annoyed the hell out of him.

“If you keep talkin’ like that,” Faraday says as he quickly unbuttons his vest, shrugging out of it and tossing it alongside his saddle, “I’m rollin’ right over and goin’ to sleep. I’ve had an awfully tryin’ day.”

But it’s hardly a threat, all things considered, especially not with the low rasp of his voice signaling the stirrings he feels low in his gut. And especially not with the way he closes the distance between the two of them in a couple of loping steps, straddling Vasquez’s hips and working at the fastenings of the man’s clothing.

“Now, you gonna be cooperative, or are we turnin’ in for the night?”