[ he notices that, just that slight hitch, how his breathing quickens ever so slightly. a gentle, amused hum under his breath as he mentions answering on his knees -- and a look in his eyes that makes it clear that he's entertaining that idea. and that image. ]
Maybe we'll try that next time, too.
[ he gestures to a waiter -- slightly an excuse to consider his question again. is there a specific part? yes, but also no. dick has already confirmed that he remembers the broad strokes of their encounters, maybe even more than that, but.
he settles their orders ( just straight black coffee for himself, almost too predictably ) before turning back to him. ]
You've told me enough that I think you remember most of it. [ there's what really happened, that one interrupted encounter in a dodgy brothel room, but there's all the implanted memories. wash wouldn't have been surprised to find out that the entirely fake ones might've faded away. but really, that's -- not quite why he thought he might hold something over his head. ] It's more that -- there's a lot you don't actually know about me. There's a lot I don't actually know about you, too. But.
[ he reaches out, covering dick's hand with his own, drawing it a little closer across the table. his hand is larger, though the difference in how scarred and rough wash's hands are might not be as stark as it would be with someone else dick's age. he shifts, his eyes never leaving dick's as he lets his palm slide over the back of his hand until he has a light grip over his wrist. one finger shifts -- finds some faint scar against the side of his wrist, something old and faded and that wouldn't be immediately obvious or distinct to most people. but wash clearly knows it, remembers it, traces it with an easy confidence and familiarity of someone who knows every single scar and line of his body. ]
There's a lot I do know, about you.
[ he never looks away, meeting dick's gaze with that same quiet intensity as his finger keeps tracing along that scar, far enough to just barely dip under the sleeve of his sweater. ]
no subject
Maybe we'll try that next time, too.
[ he gestures to a waiter -- slightly an excuse to consider his question again. is there a specific part? yes, but also no. dick has already confirmed that he remembers the broad strokes of their encounters, maybe even more than that, but.
he settles their orders ( just straight black coffee for himself, almost too predictably ) before turning back to him. ]
You've told me enough that I think you remember most of it. [ there's what really happened, that one interrupted encounter in a dodgy brothel room, but there's all the implanted memories. wash wouldn't have been surprised to find out that the entirely fake ones might've faded away. but really, that's -- not quite why he thought he might hold something over his head. ] It's more that -- there's a lot you don't actually know about me. There's a lot I don't actually know about you, too. But.
[ he reaches out, covering dick's hand with his own, drawing it a little closer across the table. his hand is larger, though the difference in how scarred and rough wash's hands are might not be as stark as it would be with someone else dick's age. he shifts, his eyes never leaving dick's as he lets his palm slide over the back of his hand until he has a light grip over his wrist. one finger shifts -- finds some faint scar against the side of his wrist, something old and faded and that wouldn't be immediately obvious or distinct to most people. but wash clearly knows it, remembers it, traces it with an easy confidence and familiarity of someone who knows every single scar and line of his body. ]
There's a lot I do know, about you.
[ he never looks away, meeting dick's gaze with that same quiet intensity as his finger keeps tracing along that scar, far enough to just barely dip under the sleeve of his sweater. ]