He lets Vasquez tug him forward, hands coming to rest on Vasquez's shoulders. The question draws a quick huff from Faraday – a breath that approaches a fond laugh – and he cards his fingers through Vasquez's unruly curls.

"I wanna see you," is Faraday's answer, and he offers it up quickly enough. Maybe on a different day, taking Vasquez from behind will be his preference; there is, after all, much to be said about having that leverage, about seeing the long line of Vasquez's back and watching his muscles tense and coil. But today, right now, after all this time apart, he wants to be able to watch Vasquez fall apart.

"Go on," he says, and he gives Vasquez a light nudge, urging him further up the bed. "On your back, sweetheart."