The turn of this conversation means that it’s Faraday’s mood that starts to darken, thanks in no small part to the way Vasquez grins and laughs at him. The insult is hardly the worst thing anyone’s ever lobbed at him, and that strange note of warmth in the words keeps Faraday from reeling back and punching that smug look from Vasquez’s face.
It doesn’t stop him from swiping up a pebble from the ground beside his boot and chucking it in Vasquez’s general direction, however. Faraday is nothing if not petty.
“Asshole,” he grumbles, though it’s nowhere near as sharp as might have been months ago.
When Vasquez continues on, when his meaning finally settles, Faraday feels a sense of mortification wash over him, and heat starts to rise up his neck. He’s by no means a shrinking violet, and God knows he’s bedded more than his fair share of women, but this is almost certainly not the chat he wanted to have tonight. (Especially not after having left that saloon girl with her pretty red lips and dark hair and dark eyes.) Faraday is simply of a mind that what a man got up to in his own time was his own blessed business.
He drags a hand down his face, letting out an affronted sound.
“Jesus goddamn wept, Vasquez,” and some of his embarrassment bleeds into his voice, muffled by his palm, thanks to the way he covers the flush creeping up his face. “I am not discussin’ this with you.”
no subject
It doesn’t stop him from swiping up a pebble from the ground beside his boot and chucking it in Vasquez’s general direction, however. Faraday is nothing if not petty.
“Asshole,” he grumbles, though it’s nowhere near as sharp as might have been months ago.
When Vasquez continues on, when his meaning finally settles, Faraday feels a sense of mortification wash over him, and heat starts to rise up his neck. He’s by no means a shrinking violet, and God knows he’s bedded more than his fair share of women, but this is almost certainly not the chat he wanted to have tonight. (Especially not after having left that saloon girl with her pretty red lips and dark hair and dark eyes.) Faraday is simply of a mind that what a man got up to in his own time was his own blessed business.
He drags a hand down his face, letting out an affronted sound.
“Jesus goddamn wept, Vasquez,” and some of his embarrassment bleeds into his voice, muffled by his palm, thanks to the way he covers the flush creeping up his face. “I am not discussin’ this with you.”