Whenever James laughed, Fisher smiled. A lot of it was relief. If James was happy, then it was less likely Fisher would end up like one of the many patients who'd been dragged off to the infirmary for saying the wrong thing to James. He wanted to be on his good side, because being on someone's good side was crucial in prison, and this place might as well have been prison.
Fisher lifted his hands, palms up and fingers spread, looking them over as though deciding how good they were. He'd given plenty of massages before, former girlfriends and friends, and everyone had always seemed pleased with the results. "They're... good?" he said, a little unsure. "I've been told I give good handjobs..." Oops. Fisher's hands flew up to cover his mouth, cheeks flushing a bright crimson. He peeked up at James, horrified that that had just slipped out.