Rumours spread throughout the prison-like wildfire. Like school girls giggling over the new hot boy in the next class over. Most of the men in the prison are more dangerous than the regular inmates in regular prisoners. Ugly mugs; sex appeal of an elderly humpback wheel with botanicals and scars all over. Even if someone was attractive enough to want to fuck, the amount of crazy wasn't worth getting your dick bit off. But most of these fuckers, including himself; we're in here for life. Might as well risk your jollies. So having a fresh, pretty-face killer in the prison had men jacking themselves off in disgustingly quick fashion.

Doe Eyes, Babyface, Cum Curls, Skinny Legs, Fuck Freckles—the nicknames went on and on. People wanted to fuck this skinny-ass, baby-faced doll that was on the other side of the prison from the bill. No one even knew what cell block he was in, his age or his name. Nevertheless what crime he was in for? Now that's the real question. He'd laugh if someone stuck their dick in crazy and instantly regretted it.

Sex never really interested him. Men, women, in between or outside the box, never did it for him. Sec never interested him growing up with his grandparents. And it didn't interest him now.

Sure, he tried. Found people he liked well enough and the sex was good, but they would never stick around long enough for him to settle into a comfortable sex life. Sex was nice, just... he had more important things on his mind. The hired kills did more than sex anyway. Sure, he gets sexually frustrated, but nothing a little wax in whack off couldn't help. Not like he'll ever have a stable relationship inside the prison. So no, he won't risk his jollies for an unsatisfactory fuck. But all this talk had him curious.

A week into this new prisoner's stay here, Bill had caught those Doe's eyes. The jumper swallowed him on his small body. His grey sleeves rolled up to his freckled elbows and his pants' legs folded just above his ankles. His jumper is a cold grey, telling Bill all he needs to know about the boy's crime. But how many or how still reminds a mystery he wants to find out.

At first, Bill kept his distance; preferring to watch the boy like prey as if he was one of his kills. But others seemed to swarm him like children to candy. Makes sense upon seeing the bright green jumpsuits wanting to cozy up to him.

But as he watched, the more he noticed prisoners going missing more than usual. Again, this isn't a run-of-the-mill, normal, prison. There weren't many rules and people died all the time. But people were dying at an alarming rate. All that surrounded the strange young man with the intent of fucking him.

So Bill got close to the boy too. Quickly nicknaming him Pinetree from the pine scent of his wash. It reminded Bill of when he was a child. For the first couple of years of his life, he lived alone with his grandparents in a house just outside the city before his mother was released from prison and took him into a God-awful life.

She quickly sold him for drug money before she ended up back in prison. As a kid, he thought his organs would be harvested or used for sex. He wasn't expecting to be taken in to be a hired killer.

But life is funny that way.

It was even funnier that in a few weeks he had grown more comfortable with Pinetree than why others were dying off so quickly.

Bill slid his arms around Pinetree's waist. If he wanted, Bill could crush his ribs if he wished. But he didn't. Just held him in his arms; breathing in the prison-issued shampoo that mixed with his natural scent. The warmth of Pinetree's back pressed against his chest is comforting. Bill could fall asleep against that small back. His eyes close, taking in more of the scent of the curls.

Bill's eyes open as well the small, young man stirs, turning slightly in his arms. He cups his hands to Bill's ear. Bill leans into the hot breath. "I killed a couple of people," Dipper whispers into His cupped hands.

Bill chuckles, "I know, Pinetree," he says. With careful hands, he grabs Dipper's left elbow. He unrolls the sleeve until the grey fabric covers the others' fingers. "Grey bodysuits mean murder. Bright Green means pedophile, red is for terrorism, and black is higher-up gang members. Etc, etc. Best to just stick with me."

His brown eyes widen slightly, but he tried hard to keep his face as natural as possible to not show his shock. Bill found it adorable. "So that's why you wouldn't let me near those other guys..." he says in a small voice. Before his eyes set on Bill's jumpsuit. "Yours is white."

"Yeah, you're right," Bill laughs with a calm smile. "Means I'm quite the overachiever."

"What did you do?" Dipper asks in a small voice; as if hiding their voices from prying ears. But there was no one to listen.

Bill frowned to himself before his arms subtly tighten around Dipper's waist to keep him close. He leaned into Dipper's shoulder, wanting to press his lips against his shoulder but retrained himself. "I'm a serial killer and government assassin. And the government grew sick of hiding my kills that weren't assigned to me."

Dipper stayed quiet for a bit. He sat in his arms, not attempting to leave or squirm. His toes wiggle, which Bill paid careful attention to. "I guess that makes us the same."

"Oh?" Bill tests the waters, pulling Dipper further against his chest. "Do tell?"

Dipper turned again in his arms, cupped his hands to Bill's ear once again and whispered, "I get paid to poison people to death." He paused for a moment before he whispered again. "I was given a hit list before being sent here."

And there it was. The reason that one is away at his mind—now sitting in a box labelled important. Because it was. He made more important things to store away in his brain space. Like how Dipper always relaxes when Bill holds him like this or how his favourite prison food is mashed potatoes. He prefers cats but once owned a snake because it was cool. All very important, he can assure you.

"Am I on that list?" Bill whispers back.

"...Yes."

"Are you gonna go through with it?"

Dipper fully turns into Bill's arms. He fit perfectly in between his thighs and against his chest. "Look at me," Dipper says. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have told you," he says sheepishly. He took Bill's hand—which is much longer than his. The rough palm of his hand is placed on his skinny neck. He could feel the bob of Dipper's adam's apple. "I'm in no way strong enough to pull you off if you wanted to kill me."

Bill slowly removed his hand, much to Dipper's stunned expression. "I don't think I'll kill you."

It made Dipper giggle a little. "You don't think so?"

Bill smiles, his chest puffing up a little. "Yeah," he said. "Think I've decided to keep you."

"Belong to the government."

With a wide smile, Bill shook his head. "Nope, not anymore." It had Dipper rolling with laughter inside his arms. "So stay close to me, okay?"

"Okay," his Pinetree said without hesitation.

—

They lay in Dipper's cot; practically half asleep already. The prison was mostly self-efficient other than n free reck time where they can cause harm. And Dipper is a paid killer, employed by the prison to lessen the prison's population so they can take in other prisoners; since they weren't killing each other off fast enough.

He got his cell for fuck's sake. Of course, Bill would sleep there rather than in his own cell.

"My job here is pretty much almost done here. The guards are getting ready to pull me out," Dipper signs into his pillow.

"Oh yeah?" Bill chimes. "You gonna come visit me once you're on the outside?" he chuckles lightly.

Dipper laughs softly into his pillow. "You know it's not that type of prison."

"I know." At this point, Bill knew he wouldn't be getting out of this prison unless it was in a body bag. But at this point, it didn't matter; his Pinetree had already belonged to him. And even if they never see each other again after Dipper gets out, that was fine with him.

He closes his eyes, intent on sleeping.

"I want to kiss you," Dipper whispered. He pushed up against the mattress to look down at Bill. "Can I?"

Bill opened his eyes, looking up at his pretty freckled face. He smiles to himself; knowing that he will never truly be content with the truth. That once his Pinetree is gone, it will destroy him. "Lay down," Bill said. And Dipper did.

Bill turned to face Dipper. Slowly, he gently pushed forward against press his lips against Dipper's. It started slow; eyes heavy-lidded and lips moving slowly.

Dipper was the first to pull back. He rests his head against Bill's shoulders and sighs. "I needed that," he says. They fell asleep like that. With Dipper's head resting against Bill's shoulder.

Bill needed it too.

—

Dipper poked Bill's face. One early morning. "Hey," he said. "The warden wants to talk to me about some junk. I'm gonna head down first. I'll see you at breakfast?" he says sweetly.

Bill rolls over with a moan of exhaustion. He grabs Dipper's hand and places a kiss on his knuckles. "I'll be up in a bit."

"Don't rush. Take your time."

"If I take my time, they would have stopped serving breakfast by the time I wake up."

Dipper hums. "I guess you're right." He leans forward to give Bill a kiss. "I'll see you in the cafeteria then," he said before he took his leave.

It wasn't long before Bill was up and making his way to the cafeteria. But first, he needed to take a piss; the showers were on his route to the cafeteria. Just a quick stop before he can see his Pinetree.

Bill turned the corner.

His chipper tone sunk to the bottom of his stomach. It was just like his Pinetree said. Anyone could overpower him and that's what a big man, with a bright green jumpsuit was doing. Practically, in a squat, to be closer to Dipper's height. One hand holding those skinny wrists above his head, and a knee between his crotch. The sound of hushed grunting fills the showers, skin being pulled and pushed against Dipper's open jumpsuit—pressed against his pelvic area.

A primal instinct to kill rose inside him. A fire burned inside his belly as he marched forward with a stony gaze. Excitement and anger mixed like a dangerous cocktail doused in cobra venom.

He took a fistful of the man's hair, yanking him back and off his Pinetree. Before the older man can react, Bill had his fist pounding against the man's face. Soon enough Bill tossed the man to the ground. Now, on top of him, he took both his fists hand and hand and whaled down on the man's already bloody skull. At that moment, he had forgotten about Dipper watching him. Those doe brown eyes baring down at him. What would he look like? It didn't matter.

Bill had hauled the man up to his feet again, now taking a liking to trying to place the man's head into the wall. Dipper slid to the ground. Blood had drenched his freckles; staining his jumper dark with blood. Bill knew those chestnut eyes were staring up at him, from where he sat, in horror as he continued to bash into the head of the man that touched what belonged to him. Once the man was limp in his grip, Bill carelessly tossed him to the side. His skull cracked against the tiles, more blood pooling into the

Dipper instantly folds, throwing up onto the white tiles. Bill sinks to his knees. He gets to work, whipping the blood and spit off of his Pinetree's face.

Dipper coughs and whips his mouth. "Jesus, that was violent," he gasps, still trying to get his barrings. "This is why I stick to poisoning people," he tries to laugh off.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Bill apologizes gently. "I shouldn't have left you alone. Fuck, I got his blood on you. Let me clean you." He pushes back his curls and continues to whip up the splattered blood with his palms.

"The fucker dragged me in here after my meeting," Dipper spat. He unfolded his legs just to give the body a fumbled kick. "Fucker. Hope you die."

"Let me get a blunt objective can't finish off the job," Bill says. He's just about ready to stand and yank a loose brick out of the wall. There were a surprising few made over the years.

But Dipper pulled him down and into his arms. Bill inhaled his scent, hugging the smaller man close to his chest. "Let's go back to the cell," Dipper mutters into Bill's shoulder.

Bill moves to pick Dipper up. His skin legs wrapped around his waist; Bill using used his arms to keep Dipper up.

"Fuck," suddenly blurts out.

Pine tree stirs in his hold. "What?" he asks in almost a panic.

"I forgot to take a piss."

(If you cannot tell, Bill is on the Ace spectrum. Thought I might add some rep for my own Sexuality. Yup. This is me telling you I'm Ace. Back for the first time in 84 years and I'm telling you I'm Ace. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it.)