quinientos | for peacemakers

If you asked Vasquez how any of this could be possible, he wouldn't know how to answer. How could his wildest fantasies have started to creep into reality? How can he have known how the feel of Faraday's lips on his are, the way his body responds to his hands curling over him. Faraday hasn't stopped being a stubborn idiot, but now Vasquez laughs a little more at his ridiculous jokes, can't stop staring at him when they sleep or rise, curls in as close to him out in the wilderness. Even when he's irritated with him, he finds it boils over sooner because there are new ways for them to stop bickering.

He finds himself grinning like an idiot more, which he tries to control every time they're on the road and he catches a glimpse of Faraday, maybe stares too long. One thing that hasn't been very ideal is the situation they have with the hard ground under their backs of the road. For safety's sake, he knows that outside of Rose Creek, this is what has to happen, but after enough time that he hasn't been able to feel like they have privacy or comfort, he snaps.

"That town we passed yesterday, I think we should go back to it," he says stubbornly, as he doesn't want to have one more night on the ground. As warm as he can get curling up for body heat, it's not enough for him, and more than that, he's craving the privacy of a door, the softness of a bed, and the chance to have time to themselves.

(What he isn't remembering is how there had been a steady presence of warrant officers in towns recently, that other than Rose Creek which is too far away, nothing is truly safe for him)

He's not thinking about any of that, though. His only thought is of what they can get up to with just a little privacy.

All of this is still ridiculously new to Faraday.

He's slept with more than a few women before, obviously. Been in towns long enough to sleep with them more than once, even, but he's never stuck around any one person long enough to court someone – though whatever strange thing he has with Vasquez could hardly be called "courting." More to the point, he's never maintained anything serious for longer than, say, a week.

(Even when he was a young man and had convinced himself he had fallen in love with dark-haired Ethel and her nightingale voice, he had never exactly gotten close enough to admit as much. The farthest he had gotten was doffing his hat and offering to buy her a drink.

Ethel had looked him over, barked out a laugh, and told him to try again when he didn't look like he still nursed from his mama.)

But this thing with Vasquez is— new. Strange. And Faraday fears now more than ever that they'll spark off of one another even more brilliant than before, that one little ember might make the whole thing blow up in their faces. He isn't any more careful than he had been before, because Faraday isn't naturally given to any sort of caution, but in quieter moments, he still mulls it over; the thought that Vasquez still might find reason to leave buzzes at the back of his head like a persistent fly that he can't swat.

Thankfully, Vasquez's damnably clever hands and tongues manage to quiet it, at least for a while.

Jack the demon horse, for once, is surprisingly docile beneath Faraday as he rides. Faraday wonders briefly if he senses Faraday's growing discomfort, when too much riding makes the old aches and pains flare to life. He focuses on the road ahead of them, the sun beating down against the back of his neck, when Vasquez's voice cuts through the rare instance of comfortable silence between them.

For a few seconds, Faraday is silent, then, slightly skeptically, "You wanna go back?"

Surely he misheard Vasquez.

Now that he's said it, Vasquez thinks it's probably a good idea despite the reasoning being selfish. Maybe it's not smart to tell Faraday that the only reason he wants to go back is to give themselves some privacy, to offer something that hasn't been offered yet, but lucky for him, he's got plenty of excuses that handily fall in line with actual reasons.

Easing his mare into a steady trot, he settles at Faraday's side as they move through the hot day, reaching back to mop the sweat at the back of his neck with his rag. "We could use a top up of supplies," he admits, because in this heat, they're going through water faster. "Not to mention, you're moving slower," he adds, with a gesture at Faraday's leg.

Once he's in a comfortable enough canter, he glances around them to make sure that no one is keeping an eye on them before he moves his hand to Faraday's knee, squeezing gently before sliding his palm up his thigh, letting it drift away after. "And I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind a bed."

He feels like a boy again, tempted and tumbling through things that he can't believe are happening. The fact that he can do this is still a shock, sometimes he thinks maybe he did get shot and he's in some personal heaven, though that's definitely not the case. They still bicker, there's still arguments, but Vasquez also has a habit now of staring at Faraday with fondness for every insult and something warmer for every time they do end up tumbling together, like the brightest fire Vasquez has ever built.

"The next town isn't for days," he protests. "If we tried for Rose Creek, it'd be maybe a week." That should be the rational thought - get to Rose Creek where it's safe, where no one will be after him.

The trouble is, he's been hot and sweaty all day, his mind drifting, and it keeps landing on thoughts of letting Faraday take him apart in a bed in ways that they haven't done exactly yet. "Entonces tal vez podrías follarme," he says, mostly to himself.

The skeptical look remains on Faraday’s face as Vasquez starts diving into his reasoning – and in fact, it darkens into a glare when Vasquez motions to Faraday’s bum leg.

All these months, and Faraday still bristles at the implication that he can’t hold his own, at the reminder that his injuries have impacted the upper limits of what he can handle. His mouth opens to fire off one of his usual protests, likely coupled with a reminder that he’s still healthy enough to break Vasquez’s nose, if he has reason enough for it, but his teeth clack together once Vasquez’s warm hand travels along his thigh.

By now, he’s used to Vasquez’s casual brushes of contact, having grown accustomed to them while he was still healing from the war in Rose Creek. He was used to Vasquez’s hand at the small of his back, Vasquez’s sure grip as he helped Faraday to his feet, Vasquez’s steadying presence at Faraday’s hip, whenever he needed to travel the near interminable distance from the bed to the door.

But these days, Faraday can read the hidden meanings and implications, like he’s learned an entirely new language overnight, and Vasquez’s touch has the intended effect. Faraday’s expression changes from guarded and uncertain to warm and thoughtful. This... “courtship,” though Faraday knows for a fact that isn’t the right word for it, is still completely new to him and leaves him feeling wrong-footed.

The sex, at least, is a little easier to navigate.

When Vasquez switches to his native tongue, Faraday breathes out an overblown sigh, more for show than any true expression of annoyance.

“You know I can’t understand you,” he says, as if Vasquez needs the reminder. “What’d you just say?”

He's getting ready for the usual Faraday attitude, but it seems to melt away when Vasquez touches his leg, so thank God for small miracles. He hasn't gotten an answer back about the other town, but he's already facing his horse in that direction, like he's going to start riding with or without Faraday (as if he wouldn't turn around and join him if he didn't get his agreement to come with).

"I said," he starts, patient and calm, keeping his expression neutral, "that if we had a bed, then maybe you could fuck me." There, English, helpful, and easy for Faraday to understand.

He cocks his brow upwards, almost a challenge. "Should I repeat myself again? Maybe if I do, you'll start learning Spanish a little faster, guero," he can't help his little poke, seeing as he's stopped being so teasing and is starting to actually mean it when he tries to get Faraday to learn how to speak his language.

Easing back in the saddle, he plucks his cigarette from the brim of his hat, finds the matches in his saddlebag. "Don't make me beg," he mumbles around the cigarette, even though he will, because he wants the good night's sleep as much as he wants the other things.

... Now, that is patently unfair. Faraday huffs out a sharp breath, glancing away in a frankly pointless attempt to hide the coloring of his cheeks.

Thorny bastard, Faraday thinks to himself, even if he feels a flash of warmth work its way down his spine.

Faraday doesn’t turn Jack around just yet; instead, he looks back over his shoulder, at the road leading back to the town in question. If they head back now, they might make it back before sundown – if they head back. Faraday’s still not entirely sold on the idea, even if Vasquez is slowly but surely swaying his opinion.

He glances over at Vasquez, and he flashes the other man a small, knowing smirk.

“I dunno,” he says slowly, drawing a hand down his beard, though he does nothing to conceal the sly spark in his eyes. “Maybe I wanna hear you beg. D’you ever think of that?”

Vasquez's shit-eating smirks have only grown worse whenever he can get a visible rise out of Faraday, so when he colors, Vasquez feels vindicated and pleased, though he clearly hasn't won him over all the way yet. He's still stopped on the road, still not riding back with him. Getting as close as he can manage, he strikes up his match and lights the cigarette, head bowed low beneath his hat.

When it's lit, he lifts his head and inhales a few times, handing the cigarette over to Faraday so he can have a turn, but also press his lips to something that just had Vasquez's lips on it, the most daring he'll get about that in public (even with no one else around, because you never know).

Which brings him to his point -- there's always a risk, out here. Even with sleeping, there's too much cold and space between them, too much for him to want.

"Come back to town with me and I'll beg as much as you like," Vasquez guarantees, a hungry look on his face. "Maybe I'll just go without you, sneak into one of the inns, take myself up a room and get a peaceful night's sleep," he suggests, as if he's ever actually going to do that (it's bullshit and Faraday knows it, but he still presents the bluff). "Have some fun all on my own...?"

That’s absolute bullshit, and they both surely know it. In fact, Faraday casts Vasquez a dubious look, something that clearly asks, Who the hell do you think you’re foolin’?

He plucks the proffered cigarette from Vasquez’s fingers. He brings it to his lips, the bud flaring briefly as he takes an unhurried drag, and he hands it back. A private sort of kiss, Faraday knows – an innocuous gesture to anyone else, and one Faraday finds himself adhering to more and more easily with each passing day. It isn’t that Faraday gives two shits about what anyone might think of the two of them together – and Faraday has surely seen men being far more open without anyone batting an eye. It’s that he still feels a little shy about the entire thing. Still feels like he needs to guard this budding thing between them to give it a chance to take root, in case the exposure might destroy it.

The plume of smoke drifts toward the empty sky once he exhales, and Faraday gives another wary glance at the way from which they’d just come. They had agreed early on to avoid towns, to keep to the less-traveled roads to minimize the chance of some keen-eyed bounty hunter from spotting Vasquez in a crowd. The few times they had risked venturing into civilization together had been uneventful, sure, but Faraday, expert gambler that he is, knows far better than to tempt fate and good fortune.

But he’s always been a selfish bastard, too, and he must admit, Vasquez’s suggestions and offerings are more tempting than an apple in Eden. He finds his resolve quietly crumbling.

“I suppose,” he murmurs slowly, as he reluctantly starts to maneuver Jack around, “we could use a bit more water. Stock up on a bit more food, too, while we’re at it...”

Vasquez's eyes are on Faraday's lips when he smokes, intent on watching the way they purse around his cigarette, the lingering attention he gives to it. He inhales sharply when he realizes he's jealous of his own cigarette, shaking his head and reaching out to take it from Faraday so that he can let it rest between his fingers, giving his horse a light prod to get moving again when Faraday is heading in the same direction.

"And cigarettes," he points out, "it would be a shame if we were to run out of cigarettes before the next town, not to mention other supplies." So helpful, so clever, he thinks he's being. He doesn't even stop to think about changing up his appearance or shaving or smoothing his hair back.

All that he wants is to get into town, find a private bedroom, and let Faraday pin him to the bed and start taking him apart. Leaning over on his saddle, just so he's closer to Faraday, he can't help the smug smirk on his lips, even if he's about to give Faraday a taste of what he wants.

"Please," he says, voice throaty and low. "I know you won't regret it, nene."

"And cigarettes," he repeats almost patiently, making no effort to conceal the fact that he's humoring Vasquez, to a point.

But he urges Jack forward, the horse's steps still slow and even as he falls in line with Vasquez's mare. It's obvious that Vasquez has less than practical things in mind for returning to the city, and maybe in a different moment, Faraday would call him on it, would roll his eyes and laugh it off. But here he is, giving into Vasquez's apparent whims – and admittedly, he finds his own wants lining up neatly with the other man's.

And when Vasquez leans over, as he pitches his voice low and raspy in a way that makes something stir in Faraday's gut, as he uses that silly little nickname, Faraday does huff out a small, breathless laugh.

"Fine," he says, waving a hand as though he's offering some great concession. "We'll go back to that one-horse town. Get you those cigarettes and that bed you're lookin' for."

Pleased (and showing it), he's sitting a little straighter in the saddle, chuckling like he's told himself a hilarious private joke that only they're going to understand, and to be fair, the only thing in his head is the image of Faraday laid out in a bed, pinning him face down to the sheets, fucking him...

He shivers for the thought of it, giving him an earnest, more sincere smile. "Gracias," he says. Them, of course, because he can't help being a little bit of an asshole, he says, slowly, "That means thank you," as if Faraday needs to start his Spanish lessons now.

Occupying his hands with smoking, he knows they've got some time to ride before they get back in, which is now when it occurs to him that he should fix up. He can't shave, but maybe he can at least switch clothes, hats. After almost an hour of riding when there's a copse of trees, he nods towards it.

"Come help me find something to wear," he says, "maybe do something of my hair."

Insufferable smartass.

When he makes that little snide remark, Vasquez is lucky Faraday has nothing to throw. As it is, all he can cast the other man is a deeply unimpressed look.

The hour of riding is relatively slow, his thigh rumbling with a low ache as they move – dull enough that he doesn’t find reason enough to stop, but persistent enough that Faraday has to readjust every few moments, trying to subtly stretch his leg while they remain atop their mounts. The rest of his wounds were relatively quiet, most days; it’s his leg that never healed up quite right, though most days, he ignored it well enough.

When Vasquez’s mare begins to slow, Faraday pulls on Jack’s reins to pull him up short, as well. He glances over at the grove Vasquez points out, and at that request, Faraday can’t help but snort out a laugh.

“What, you don’t wanna just go in naked as they day you were born?” Faraday smirks at him, impish and knowing. “Seems you have somethin’ of a one-track mind when it comes to headin’ into town. I’m surprised you’re not lookin’ to save yourself some time.”

He's lucky he's not getting shot, is what Vasquez thinks about the glare that Faraday is giving him. Still, for all that he's got frustration, he can't help his privately fond smile as he keeps riding, ducking his head down beneath the hat so Faraday doesn't see it.

By the time he's dismounting, he's quick to head to Faraday's side, coaxing him to also get down. It's as much a break for him to get changed as it is for Faraday to stretch. "You really want me to go marching into town naked?" he challenges. "Never mind the bounty on my head, they'll lock me into a crazy house," he guarantees with a nod of his head.

He's already stripping off his vest, not only to change, but because it's too hot for it. Reaching for his water, he douses his face with it, scrubbing a hand over the dirt to try and dislodge some of it, rooting through his bags to find something he likes. "Where's that shirt you wore the other day?" he asks. "The linen one. Can I borrow it?"

“In fairness to my idea,” Faraday says with a bright, cheeky grin, “they’d be so focused on the state of you that I doubt anyone’d think about that bounty on your head.”

Faraday waves Vasquez off when the other man hovers at Jack’s side, something dismissive and fondly irritated. Faraday eases himself down under his own power, though he his bad leg hitches a little as he pulls it up and over the saddle. Once Vasquez’s back is turned, and once he’s washing his face with a bit of the water, Faraday tries to subtly stretch out his leg, hanging onto the pommel of Jack’s saddle to keep himself balanced.

By the time Vasquez has finished and has turned to his bags, Faraday does the same with his own. He fishes through to find the shirt in question and lets out a quick whistle to get Vasquez’s attention before tossing it over.

As an afterthought, Faraday digs through his bags again, pulling out a spare bandanna, much like the one Faraday currently has knotted at his throat, and holding it out for Vasquez.

“Put that on, too.”

"They would be, or you would be?" Vasquez taunts with a smirk, giving Faraday his usual time to fuss over his leg without him watching, because he knows that it happens all the time. Stripping off his shirt, he catches Faraday's, taking his time as he slides it on, buttoning it slower than he usual would.

He takes the bandanna when his shirt is only half-buttoned, flickering it in the air like he's a matador. "What is this for?" he asks, like he's willfully ignorant about what Faraday wants him to do with it. Raising it to his face, he wonders if he's trying to cover his face with it, but thinks that'd be more suspicious.

"I think maybe this is more attention on me than being naked," he says with a snort, draping it over his shoulder so that he can keep buttoning up.

Faraday rolls his eyes at the display, the annoyance more for show than truly genuine.

"Was thinkin' you'd wear it over your head like a bonnet," Faraday says archly. "Figured we could pass you off as an ugly old widow."

But after that, Faraday leans back against Jack's flank, the horse huffing a little though staying in place to allow Faraday to prop himself up. Faraday hooks his thumbs over his belt as he watches Vasquez put himself together.

"Failin' that, you might consider wearin' it around your neck."

Vasquez, now finished with buttoning himself, does exactly that and makes a moue of his lips as he wraps it around his hair like he's a little old lady. "What, like this?" he replies cheerfully, not even bothering to move an inch or dare to do anything that lets Faraday's eyes slip away from him.

Instead of tying it on himself, he crooks his fingers towards himself. "Come tie it how you want, I don't want to deal with your annoyed huffs and words when I do it the way you don't like," he says, aiming to hedge that off because if it happens, he's bound to roll his eyes until they fall out.

He slides his gun belt back on, draping the bandanna around the back of his neck as he reaches for some of the oil so he can rub it deep into his beard to tame it, and to the curls at the back of his head, which have grown unruly, almost long enough to pin up.

Faraday snorts out a laugh at the display, nodding approvingly as he says, "Perfect.

His gaze turns a little skeptical at Vasquez's instruction, though he still does as he's told. He carefully pushes off from Jack, closing the few steps between himself and Vasquez. Vasquez is surely capable of doing this himself, and could probably figure out a fancier way of tying this off. Faraday, on the other hand, only uses a simple knot.

Still, Faraday does as he's told, rolling up the wild rag in his own usual fashion and knotting it. He keeps the bandana relatively loose around Vasquez's neck, though not so much that he was liable to lose it. As Vasquez works his hands through his hair, Faraday pinches one of his curls between his fingers, examining it.

"Gettin' awfully long, ain't it?"

It actually takes him a moment to find his voice, because a nice little side-effect of Faraday tying the bandanna and then touching his hair is that he gets these little, lovely touches to his neck and his hair, slumping forward just a little as he soaks them up, inhaling sharply. Touching a hand over the knotted rag, he gets out a rough 'thank you' before he glances at Faraday while slicking it into something that doesn't curl so much, but still nearly reaches his shoulders.

"If I let it get long enough, maybe I can do what Billy does," he says, which isn't entirely teasing given the glimmer of interest in his eye. After all, no one really expects your death to come from a man's hairpin, which could be a very handy thing.

"Besides, I don't look good with my hair shorn short," he advises with a knowing nod. "It's no good for anyone, to do this."

Faraday only lets out a small noise of acknowledgment, apparently holding no strong opinions on the future state of Vasquez’s hair. The added length might do well to disguise the outlaw, he thinks, and slicking it back as he is now certainly changes how Vasquez looks in his wanted posters.

(And a part of him is all too glad to remind him of how pleasant it is, running his hands through Vasquez’s dark curls in more private moments.)

At length, Faraday shrugs, releasing the curl to let Vasquez slick it into place. He says, “When we get to Rose Creek, you consider seein’ a proper barber.”

The scarf is settled around Vasquez’s neck, but Faraday still fusses a little with it, a small frown of focus masking his reluctance to pull back. Faraday’s fingers brush lightly across Vasquez’s neck before his hands settle on the other man’s shoulders.

Taking a short step back, Faraday looks Vasquez over critically. The two of them are more or less the same height, but Faraday is far more broad; the shirt Vasquez has borrowed is loose on the other man, a little ill-fitting, but not obviously so from a couple paces away. The oil in Vasquez’s beard and hair make him look more put together than one might expect of a hunted man, but it doesn’t do nearly as much as Faraday would like to make him unrecognizable.

But there’s little they can do on that front, Faraday knows. At least, not with a few drastic changes, like chopping off those curls or shaving off that beard, neither of which Faraday imagines Vasquez would be very keen on.

“Suppose this’ll have to do,” Faraday sighs. Faraday was often accused of being reckless, but he is cautious when he needs to be – even more so, these days, now that more than his own life hangs in the balance.

"Maybe," he says, of the threat of a haircut in Rose Creek, because he does like the way it feels when Faraday's hands are threaded deep in his hair, yanking at it and making him beg and cry out. That's not something he's eager to give up, if he's honest.

Licking his lip and pressing his tongue to his teeth when Faraday studies him so close, he can't help the way he takes advantage of them being so close, grabbing Faraday by the belt to yank him in, standing toe to toe, his chin up like he intends to lay down a challenge.

"Is that sigh disappointment in the way I look?" he asks, voice low, like they have to keep secrets from the wilderness around them. "You didn't seem to mind it so much last time you saw me pinned over you, hand on you."

He lets out a small, startled sound as Vasquez yanks him in close, hands reflexively gripping Vasquez’s borrowed shirt to keep his balance.

“The hell are you—”

That’s as far as Faraday gets before Vasquez is glaring at him, and Faraday is caught off-guard by it. He blinks owlishly at the other man for a second or two, but then Vasquez speaks, using that low, husky tone that makes something white-hot twist in his stomach. Color rises in his cheeks at the reminder, and he licks his lips reflexively, mouth going dry.

Faraday has to admit, that particular sight from the other night was a pleasant one, and one he was all too happy to witness again.

But he inhales sharply, like he’s waking from a trance, and he rocks back to put a little space between them again – though only a little. Just enough to let him think clearly.

“Take this seriously, Vas,” he grumbles, though he knows the words are rich, coming from Faraday of all people. “You know we gotta go about this careful.”

He nearly darts forward to steal a brazen kiss, but Faraday steps back before he can, which leaves him to instead give him a patently disapproving look, not sulking, but annoyed. It's not Faraday's fault, either, it's just that every time they want comforts, he has to go through this stupid show of being someone else and looking like someone else.

"I know, I know," he grumbles, releasing his grip on Faraday's belt, reaching for his hat to tuck it away rather than putting it back on his head. "But," he admits, cocking his head to the side, "I know that you have my back," he points out.

That's what makes all the difference between before and now. That said, he tries to ignore the surging panic in his gut, the one that says that Faraday's going to eventually tire of all the trouble and work that goes into keeping him alive, that he'll go. He's not so good at hiding it, so he's sure the thoughts show on his face as he tucks everything back into his saddlebags.

"Do you want more time? Or should we keep riding?"

Faraday feels a pang of loss as Vasquez releases him – stupid of him, considering Faraday was the first to put some distance between them in the first place. He lets his hands drop to his sides for a moment, and at Vasquez’s words of reassurance, Faraday feels some of the tension drain from his frame. His expression softens a little, warms a little, because they rarely speak aloud how much they trust one another.

It can go unsaid, Faraday knows. By now, it would take a bigger fool than Faraday to understand that they trust one another with their lives, but hearing it still makes his chest clench a little tenderly.

He shakes it off when that dark look passes Vasquez’s face, though, and Faraday frowns at him. For a few seconds, he bites his tongue, uncertain of whether he should point it out. He nearly lets it lie, but in a shocking moment of clarity, Faraday recognizes that if he leaves it alone, it might distract the both of them. They have to ride into town with clear heads.

He ignores Vasquez’s question for the time being, tilting his head to better examine Vasquez’s expression and body language.

“What was that about?” he asks, a bare edge of concern slipping into his voice. “You had a peculiar look on your face, just then.”

What's the chances that he could lie and get away with it? Given how poorly the last lie had gone (though, he could also argue that the last lie turned out incredible seeing as look where they are now). Still, that doesn't mean he has to face Faraday when he confesses to the truth. Shrugging, he deliberately doesn't look in Faraday's direction as he decides that it's easier to just ignore him.

"You don't strike me as someone who wants to be around when things get hard and far from fun," he says with a shrug of his shoulders, because it's not like they've been facing adversity and Faraday's injury had meant Vasquez stayed.

Sometimes he wonders, if it had been the other way around, would he have been left to mend in Rose Creek on his own?

"I think, maybe, one day, you'll get tired of always having to watch my back, protect me, avoid towns and not have a real life." Selfishly, Vasquez knows that if he had a choice, it would eventually start to wear at even him. "I don't like the thought of becoming a burden that you start to resent."

for peacemakers

Catching Trouble

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