[ Wash is an impeccable liar when he wants to be, has a perfect and practiced poker face -- skills that he developed out of necessity, in his particular circumstance. Maybe someone like Dick would still be able to read past it, but to an extent, that hunger and want in his eyes is visible because Wash wants it to be, because he wants him to see and know exactly how ready and hungry he is to break him in half.
He notes the way Dick almost closes his eyes -- almost, still looking up at him through those long lashes dark against his cheeks, and there's something about that that just makes him burn more. How clearly he wants this, how much he enjoys it -- and how being submissive and willing doesn't mean he still isn't sharp. The answer's a lie, they both know it, and he's done a lot worse to interrogate people than this -- whether or not he's ultimately going to get an answer, at least right now, is less important than the game. But he's certainly going to try. ]
You got shortlisted. Culture fit questions, now.
[ He cups his palm over him more deliberately -- not enough to give him the pressure or friction he might really want. Just on the edge, never quite enough, Wash got terribly good at learning how to ride that edge of frustration for Dick over their not-quite time together, learning how to recalibrate to any differences there might be about him now. ]
The city knows us better than anyone wants to admit. And you've got more scars on you than even the worst of your boarding school teenagers could inflict.
[ He met quite a few people over the course of his fake-life and in all of them what they ended up doing there and how they acted spoke to some truth within themselves. They chose a police officer for Dick, and his suspicion is that that has to speak to something more than one job out of a very storied career -- that, and he's too smart. Too sharp. He saw the way he swept the room, how he'd measured his steps before hitting the wall. That's an instinct ingrained in people who are more like him, ready to assess every space for every threat and danger. Less so for zumba instructors.
Wash pushes his thumb against the pulse of his throat, just enough for him to feel it, for it to be just the slightest bit uncomfortable when he speaks or breathes -- for Wash to count his heartrate. ]
no subject
He notes the way Dick almost closes his eyes -- almost, still looking up at him through those long lashes dark against his cheeks, and there's something about that that just makes him burn more. How clearly he wants this, how much he enjoys it -- and how being submissive and willing doesn't mean he still isn't sharp. The answer's a lie, they both know it, and he's done a lot worse to interrogate people than this -- whether or not he's ultimately going to get an answer, at least right now, is less important than the game. But he's certainly going to try. ]
You got shortlisted. Culture fit questions, now.
[ He cups his palm over him more deliberately -- not enough to give him the pressure or friction he might really want. Just on the edge, never quite enough, Wash got terribly good at learning how to ride that edge of frustration for Dick over their not-quite time together, learning how to recalibrate to any differences there might be about him now. ]
The city knows us better than anyone wants to admit. And you've got more scars on you than even the worst of your boarding school teenagers could inflict.
[ He met quite a few people over the course of his fake-life and in all of them what they ended up doing there and how they acted spoke to some truth within themselves. They chose a police officer for Dick, and his suspicion is that that has to speak to something more than one job out of a very storied career -- that, and he's too smart. Too sharp. He saw the way he swept the room, how he'd measured his steps before hitting the wall. That's an instinct ingrained in people who are more like him, ready to assess every space for every threat and danger. Less so for zumba instructors.
Wash pushes his thumb against the pulse of his throat, just enough for him to feel it, for it to be just the slightest bit uncomfortable when he speaks or breathes -- for Wash to count his heartrate. ]
You shouldn't lie on your resume.