Vasquez shrugs, because he does like Faraday. He likes him too much, which is the problem that he's run up against. He's a foul-mouthed, smelly, bastard of an asshole man and Vasquez adores him in ways that he doesn't want to talk about out loud.

It's his bad taste, that's all. "It's not begging or cleaning my horse, it's just getting to know me better. And no, not Carlos," he says, rolling his eyes as they go, eyes sliding down to Faraday's ass, snorting because that's a thought he has entertained.

He can't imagine that working so well.

"I know yours already," he taunts. "Joshua," he says, his accent working over the name with pleasure as he feels how it sits on his tongue.