orangetoughguy | log post II

[The timing and setting seem alright. I mean, it's an alley. There's a can not that far away. It's not very Venetian, but looks like the need for caffeine knows no setting. Maybe it would have been better if he asked at home. The mood didn't strike him so much as it does right now.]

Sure.

[Please say yes.]

[Oh God oh God oh God oh God...stay cool, Newendyke. Bitch be cool.]

...Okay.

[His hands come out of his pockets but Freddy doesn't have the slightest idea what to do with them.]

[For a few short seconds he thought that Freddy would refuse. Which wouldn't be awful...there were plenty of hopes he wouldn't though.

Larry cracks a smile and takes a hold of his fingertips for a second to shake them.]

Loosen up for fuck's sake.

[A little step, a little sway. That's how they do it. The old man takes something of the lead. It's more like dancing near one another rather than with for starters. Maybe that'd make it less of a big deal.]

[He laughs at the smile Larry's cracking but it's still a somewhat anxious laugh. Freddy can't help feeling a little strange about this, about dancing together near one another whatever, out in public, under dusk, to music, on a day like today. This is the stuff teenagers dream of and the old man has done an excellent job of putting the kid back in that place.]

You know I'm white right? I mean I listen to the music but I don't move the same.

[That's Freddy's attempt at a poor joke with some truth embedded in it. He's moving around with the barest minimum of stepping for now, but he's moving.]

[No teenagers here. This could happen any place. Casual, simple. A dance is only a dance. On a day like today. With company like this though, can you blame a man for going more sentimental than usual?]

I know exactly how you can move. Don't gimme that.

[Larry has a courtesy laugh for the joke. No shit that Newendyke is as white as they come even with his nigger street rap music shit blasting.

If you say run, I'll run to you...]

Not your kinda song?

[As though they can take requests from where they are. Larry keeps on moving in his way.]

It ain't that, I don't move all too good. [Freddy explains. He's got nothing against Bowie, at all. Especially when he's growling his words looking at you with those strange eyes. Ahem.] I'm kinda surprised you know it.

[Aaaaand there we go. A smile. The scrappy blonde guy gives the dark haired old gun a smile.]

[Have an audible scoffing.]

Bullshit. [After waking up to the rumbling stereo several mornings (against his will) in succession he knows for a fact that Freddy can move pretty well.]

Thought you like surprises.

[It's enough to brighten up the street that has gone pretty dark with the sunset. He'll relax in due time if he keeps on grinning like that.]

[Hey now dancing as an audience member is totally different from performing as a rockstar. Freddy can absolutely do a rendition of Tom Sawyer in their own kitchen but put him in front of Geddy Lee at the boards and well...since when was waving your hands and banging your head considered dancing anyway? Come on.]

I do.

[His smile broadens. They may be outside of the Palace borders but knowing how the song goes the kid grinds his hips in time with the guitar riff he knows by heart.]

[The visual helps the waking bear tune out the audio the minute he reaches the living room. Tom Sawyer could be anything else, anything good. Even when he's not up to all that much, Freddy Newendyke is an attraction for a crowd of one. Worth watching, worth waiting for...worth the early morning wake up.

Larry reaches out to loop a finger into the waistband of his pants to pull them closer to the building sides, into the shadows. Now they can dance much closer together.]

[Looped, hooked, and reeled in, the kid doesn't fight it--he has no reason to--and when they're in the shadows his hands curl against the other man's sides. Are they really dancing or just moving together? Close to each other? Loving? Touching? Squeezing?]

I think I hear Journey.

[For real. Green eyes actually glance over his shoulder as if this'll confirm what he hears only for his attention to draw straight on back to Larry's brown eyes.]

[Isn't dancing just moving together? Whatever they're doing they're pretty close together. The better for those loving, touching, squeezing kinda moves.]

Don't we have this one?

[The album. Larry can't remember. Their collection's grown quite a bit. So many records, so little time. Two hands moving on him, down his arms then up. A short lean and he brushes his mouth against Freddy's forehead.]

I dunno we got a lot now.

[A lot. In so little time, sure, compared to the amount of music they've amassed. But is six months really so little time? Freddy doesn't want to think about time flying. Green eyes don't slide shut when he feels that mouth on his forehead. Instead they look up, as if they can actually see the point of contact.]

When I'm alone...all by myself...you're out, with someone else. Lovin' [His hands rub.] Touchin' [His fingers press.] Squeezin' [Then he squeezes.] Each other.

[This dancing thing really is easier when he considers himself a performer and not another dancer in the audience. Larry's not just another guy either.]

We gotta start sorting em.

[Besides Larry's side, Freddy's side. Alphabetize them maybe? Though that's a beast for the new ones. Man, he can't even remember the last time he had shared so many records. As if sharing an apartment wasn't the epitome of closeness.

Demonstrating Journey lyrics, that's another one. Dimick nows now that he loves this song.]

You're tearin' me apart. Every-every day. You're tearin' me apart. [Why bother shooting for the falsetto. He doesn't. And he'll be squeezing, touching and loving on whatever he damn well pleases, as well as sliding a hand into Freddy's back pocket.]

[All the Elvis goes on Larry's side. That's a given. All the Queen goes on Freddy's. Isn't that fitting? He can feel that big old paw in his back pocket. It's nice.]

It won't be long yet, til you're alone when your lover... [Yeah, he held that note out.] Oh he hasn't come home, cause he's lovin' who he's touchin', he's squeezin' another.

[But he's not belting it out so as to keep this moment to themselves. Freddy's got a look though, the same kind he wears when he's trying to be Iggy Pop in just a towel. He presses his mouth to Larry's before there's anymore breath to sing.]

[Lips start to move on for the next verse but are happily stopped in their tracks. Both pockets now pulling them tightly together, Larry turns so that it's Freddy know who's got his back to the wall. He almost hides the man, almost. They're still moving, swaying not too fast or too hard.]

[Oof. Even though they're switched he doesn't miss a single beat. Instead of singing the words he's sort of acting them out by grinding harder against Larry, swaying to the rhythm and taking breaths as if he might start singing some more only to kiss him again and again.

Is this what's dancing together supposed to be like? Would he have wanted this as a teenager? Aw who the fuck knows, the important part is that he has this now.]

[And he said he couldn't dance. Hah. Liar. Lawrence Dimick is an excellent dance partner. As much as he would adamantly deny it, the guy may be light on his feet. Though how dainty of a skill can it be when you learn it from running like hell away from authorities of all shapes and sizes in your time?

He's grinding back just as hard, though mindful that he's not trying to press the man against the wall. Not yet at least. But dancing can be like this, and more. The darker the room the more the word dance applies to a whole series of activities. Ah, youth and your wayward experiences.]

[Are they singing na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na yet? Sounds like it.

That's Freddy's cue to snake his arms around Larry completely, holding them both together. Touching and squeezing. Slow dancing, maybe? It's something. The kid rubs floppy hair along the other man's jaw, along the underside. He may as well be a dog rubbing a bear to say hello.]

[Why yes.]

Mmmmm.

[One hand vacates Freddy's pockets to move on up his back, tapping the beat here and there before threading through his hair. Naturally a bear would rub on back with a paw to say hello in return.

What a fucking faggot you are Larry Dimick. He couldn't be happier.]

[A whole long moment passes where Freddy's content to stay like this, just sort of swaying and touching, feet moving side to side a little, still rubbing and kissing. He loves feeling that hand on his head, even tilts to better lean into the touch. A whole long moment and only then the kid realizes:]

The song's over, tough guy...

[But he's still moving with Larry. Happily. Sounds like they're switching gears to a girl who wore a raspberry beret.]

[Short sway, half a step here, half a step back. It's like they're now drifting with one another rather than some street canal.]

I know.

[Hard not to. Though the mood still hangs. Larry dips his head again to take a deep kiss. It complements the rubbing that has picked up the pace since the song is faster and the squeeze in his pocket.]

Still wanna dance, Freddy Astaire?

[He parts his lips to accept that kiss, deeply and fully, even licking the roof of his mouth then his lip when they part. ...Wow. The kid doesn't know whether to be charmed or groan at that one. It's a little bit of both, honestly. Freddy laughs.]

Okay, Larry Rogers. [Yeah you asked for that one, Lawrence Dimick.]

[Whatever works. It's all Freddy's fault. Larry's not in his head at all with him around. Words like that spill on out with no thoughts to them.]

Ginger doesn't sound a thing like Larry.

[Not a protest. Just an observation. Since it's a faster song he pulls back a little. There will still be about the same amount of body contact, just spread out. Don't want to spend it all in one place anyhow. Brown eyes do their best to be discrete trying to take a glance around. He's supposed to be the confident one. Confident people want their privacy.]

Deal with it.

[Deja vu? The kid just smiles and shrugs like it ain't no thing, because it isn't. He can still count on the old man to catch him if dancing on walls doesn't work out. They've been out dancing long enough he can move without needing the cover and guidance of one confident motherfucker, but he'd be lying if he said that confidence wasn't a turn on.]

I was nineteen when this came out.

[Nobody else can call him Ginger. That's between the lines. It's a gift kid.

Got dark pretty damn quick. A little cooler too. Anybody would have to come pretty close to get any idea of funny business. That's how it should be.]

Still a kid. [He nods still movin'.] I was thirty five.

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