"Feels different," is all Vasquez grunts, as if he hasn't been sneaking his own little names in, under the guise of Spanish. He's yet to tell Sweeney what querido or carino means, but he suspects that he's going to figure that out soon enough. Snatching the bottle back, he tips his head back and lets it slide down his throat, burning all the way until he has to close his eyes for the sting of it, cursing as he sets the bottle on the nightstand.

That hand on his waist is distracting, the reminder of what's below too, but with sparkling eyes (warm with whiskey), Vasquez decides to press all that luck. "What about other shit that I want to request from you, hmm?"