"I'm not gonna rush," Freddy shakes his head, cheeks slightly flushed because fuck Larry knows him so well he was going to rush before he mentioned it.

"Okay. Get a drink or something,"

It's a casual suggestion. It's one the kid doesn't seem to realize sounds a little bit like treating one as a guest in his own home. He pats Larry's hand and tilts his head as if wanting to brush those lips with the edge of his ear. When they separate Freddy gives him a brief look, apologetic, then he turns towards the bedroom. His bedroom. The one that has everything uniquely his even though he sleeps in the master bedroom that has everything uniquely Larry's.