He can't say he hasn't thought about this, even before this place and the things that Vasquez has told him. Not that the reality is anything like the images he'd held, or the ideas of what this might be like.

It is so much different. The brush of hair against his lips that isn't his own. The solidness of Vasquez's body pressing him to the wall. Both hands gripping at Vasquez's shirt, almost clinging to him, knowing he didn't want him to move away.