#penals

“one day i ought to figure that shit out, huh?”   the boat motor across will’s floor,  however,  has his attention for now.  the work with his hands is mindless,  soothing,  especially with the wet press of dog noses that occasionally touch along his back and hands.  

something crooked that resembles a smile tugs at frank’s mouth.

“maybe you can teach me.”

“if i knew how i did it, i’d teach you.”

his hands itch for something to do, but there’s a quiet comfort in this, just watching—frank with his dogs, frank with his motors, fitting into his space like he’s meant to be there. their knees just touch, the way they’re sitting, will ostensibly supposed to be teaching him something or other, probably, but frank knows his way with his hands. will can see the ebb and flow of tension all the way up the firm muscles of his arms with each precise movement. there’s a certain degree of power visible in everything frank does, even something as minute as this.

idly, one hand finds the dip between frank’s neck and shoulder, and will rubs with his thumb in slow circles. a step over the line into intimacy.

“i used to have nightmares. terrible ones, almost every night. sleepwalked for a while, too. —i had encephalitis. hanni—dr. lecter, he, uh—” it’s one of those things he doesn’t talk about, and the words come out halting. honesty as intimate as any touch. “he hid it from me for months. even convinced this corrupt neurologist—you ever hear of a corrupt neurologist?—to fake a negative MRI. killed him to cover it up. killed a witness to cover that up.”

lucy lays her head on will’s knee, and he gives her a lazy scratch behind the ears with his free hand. it’s okay like this, being honest. it’s safe.

❛ hey, y’know, FUNNY STORY --- we’re actually BEST FRIENDS in my universe. we have friendship bracelets and everything. ❜ okay, he’s exaggerating by a whole lot, but admittedly, he’s trying NOT to make this situation worse. he had just pinned frank’s gun to the wall beside him with his webbing, and he simply puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants after descending to the ground level where the other is. ❛ soooo, i THINK that counts for SOMETHING, right? like you not trying to kill me after this? right? ❜ he hopes. ❛ in all seriousness, i can’t let ya kill anyone here, buddy. i need answers and y’know, killin’ people ... doesn’t ... uh, help me with that. ❜

clarice: you’re—what, five years older than me???