Faraday’s made a habit of reading people, of catching little strange tells in body language and voices – which means he hears it, when Vasquez’s laugh turns odd, almost—

— almost something. Noticing isn’t the same as understanding, it seems, and Faraday frowns at him, lips parting to ask after the strange quality of his voice.

But Vasquez catches him, instead, with his fingers tangled in Faraday’s hair as they are, pulls Faraday down and traps the words between their mouths as they kiss. Faraday props himself up on his elbows and knees, straddling Vasquez’s hips. The questions sit at the back of Faraday’s mind, though, and when he hears Vasquez switch to his mother tongue, hears that new— nickname, he supposes? Something tightens in his chest with how sweetly Vasquez says it.

But there’s something odd there, too. Again. And “lo siento” sounds familiar enough, though Faraday can’t place the phrase’s meaning. He’s certainly heard it before – maybe not directed explicitly to him, but in general, he thinks. He hardly has time to ruminate on it, though, before Vasquez wraps a calloused hand around his cock, and Faraday lets out a startled, broken sound. He bucks into the other man’s grip, his cock hard and throbbing after attending to Vasquez.

“You don’t have to, darlin’,” Faraday offers again, though his voice is low and hoarse with want. “I’ll keep till mornin’.”