[ There’s a brief, delirious moment where Vasquez is left wondering if they just pretend like their unwelcome company doesn’t exist, the waiter will just disappear. Because Faraday is moaning into the kiss, and then there are fingers in Vasquez’s hair, and fuck, he doesn’t want this moment to end.
(He doesn’t? God, if he’d just be honest with himself, maybe that would be easier to admit. But he also knows what’s at risk, what they’re staring down professionally – and even personally, when Faraday is probably the closest thing Vasquez might come to calling someone a friend.
He can’t mess that up.)
The kiss is more intoxicating than any liquor they’d enjoyed tonight, and Vasquez would trade the finest whiskey in the world just to stay in this moment. He wants to let himself explore Faraday, get a proper sense of the goddamn tease he’s given himself by finally finding bare skin. He doesn’t want to stop, he doesn’t want to —
Finally, that near-shriek startles them apart. The more of a taste that he got, the more he started to forget they were trying to accomplish something (and, fuck, even just something that brief got to him), and he’s almost baffled by the interruption. He blinks at the poor, embarrassed waiter, actually letting his brain catch up to the rest of him.
... Oh, right.
Vasquez clears his throat, extracting his hand from under Faraday’s shirt. ]
Ah, lo siento.
[ Okay, they actually need to bolt now, to get out while they still can, but —
No, stop. Refocus.
He doesn’t allow himself much time for thought as he reaches for Faraday’s hand, curling their fingers together to lead him around the poor waiter so they can get back to the rest of the party – and maybe back to their room. He’s not especially worried about fixing his rumpled jacket or his hair, if only because it gives a slightly more reasonable explanation for why he and Faraday will be emerging from a “staff only” location.
That’s assuming the room has recovered from the literal “pants on fire” incident. ]
no subject
(He doesn’t? God, if he’d just be honest with himself, maybe that would be easier to admit. But he also knows what’s at risk, what they’re staring down professionally – and even personally, when Faraday is probably the closest thing Vasquez might come to calling someone a friend.
He can’t mess that up.)
The kiss is more intoxicating than any liquor they’d enjoyed tonight, and Vasquez would trade the finest whiskey in the world just to stay in this moment. He wants to let himself explore Faraday, get a proper sense of the goddamn tease he’s given himself by finally finding bare skin. He doesn’t want to stop, he doesn’t want to —
Finally, that near-shriek startles them apart. The more of a taste that he got, the more he started to forget they were trying to accomplish something (and, fuck, even just something that brief got to him), and he’s almost baffled by the interruption. He blinks at the poor, embarrassed waiter, actually letting his brain catch up to the rest of him.
... Oh, right.
Vasquez clears his throat, extracting his hand from under Faraday’s shirt. ]
Ah, lo siento.
[ Okay, they actually need to bolt now, to get out while they still can, but —
No, stop. Refocus.
He doesn’t allow himself much time for thought as he reaches for Faraday’s hand, curling their fingers together to lead him around the poor waiter so they can get back to the rest of the party – and maybe back to their room. He’s not especially worried about fixing his rumpled jacket or his hair, if only because it gives a slightly more reasonable explanation for why he and Faraday will be emerging from a “staff only” location.
That’s assuming the room has recovered from the literal “pants on fire” incident. ]