Amazingly, Fisher and James had something in common, apart from determined lunacy- they had both started their journey here from prison. Of course, how it was decided they'd come to Midian were two very different processes, but the start had been the same.
Again, James laughed, and Fisher wondered if maybe the guy wasn't as uptight and angry as he seemed to be. Or maybe Fisher was just using up every ounce of luck he had for the rest of his life. He smiled, a little, still feeling totally mortified but at least he didn't feel disgusting about it. He hadn't wanted to let it slip that he'd ever touched another guy's dick. On the streets, though, you did anything asked of you for a score.
The severe gaze James gave him, the way he licked his lips, his low, steady voice... Fisher trembled a little. James was fucking scary when he was being mean, but he was fucking scary when he was being nice. He wasn't saying anything threatening, or doing anything intimidating, and that worried Fisher the most. Starting to sweat a bit, Fisher nodded. "O-okay," he agreed, glancing around the room. The catatonics were "watching" tv, Nursezilla was still reading, and a few other people were milling about, one of them chewing on a domino. No one was looking in their direction. While James situated himself, Fisher flexed his fingers, uncurling himself and putting one foot on the floor, the other leg bent in front of him between them. After another second's hesitation, he raked his fingers up and down James' back gently, his touch feather light and slow. Warm up the muscles first, then work on the deep tissue. He'd dated a massage therapist his freshman year of college, and she'd taught him a thing or two.