Vasquez lets out a disbelieving huff of laughter, glad he has whiskey for this. He never thought that they would be having this conversation, especially when he's still shaking his piss-poor mood that's mainly working as a front for his jealousy. Still, the part of him that can't believe the shitty education Faraday had tells him that yes, they are going to talk about it.

Apparently, he'd learned things as a farmhand that drunken idiots don't pick up during a game of poker. "You are stupid," Vasquez tells him, which isn't new, but it's said with a wry and amused note, something like fondness in his voice.

"You never were taught about the fact that you don't just have to use your hand and a little spit?" he asks, because they're not even getting close to talking about fucking at this point, and Vasquez can't help but sneak a surreptitious glance at Faraday's palms, wondering if maybe he shouldn't be so jealous after all. World's greatest lover, not in this world, he thinks to himself and can't help the way he laughs, even if it's mean and Faraday didn't even hear it. It's definitely not a topic he should be encouraging, not given what he dreams of at night, not what he thinks about in the day, but he's stupid too. That's the trouble with him.