Lester just sort of gives him a look when he says his age. He's not trying to give off the impression that he's interested, but he is at least a little bit curious. Maybe being turned off by the fact that Francis is a version of Hawkeye, particularly a Barton, isn't a complete deal breaker. Fuck, even he'd gone around in the purple tights calling himself Hawkeye for a while. He should be able to play nice if he needs to.

He hisses at first at the first feel of knife to skin and the weird warm trickle of his blood from the cuts. Francis doesn't ask what he should write, and he's thankful not to have that annoyance. The guy might have been a hero normally but right here in this room they'd both end up with the same label. At least his body count was more impressive.

When it's done he pulls his shirt back on, not caring if blood seeps out and into his clothing. Thankfully the cuts have stopped, and he's already able to think straight again. Well, as straight as he's normally able. "Play?" Lester isn't sure he means it in a sexual or violent way, but either way doesn't matter. He'll bite. "What if I'm not done with you yet?" He asks, slowly getting to his feet to avoid angering any of the fresh cuts on his skin.