orangetoughguy | phone post

Uh huh. Just a dance.

[If it makes him feel better to say it and hear it back. Larry steps out of the car. The windows are rolled down so the car stays on. He turns up the sound just a little more. The ditty keeps on going he tries not to look so eager. Compared to fucking what the hell is a dance?

Lawrence Dimick hasn't had a long history of dancing with gents. Bama loved this song. She would sing into her hair brush or on those nights when she took the wheel it would be her Donna Summer tape playing. Isn't it nice how all the positive things surface with enough time and not the screaming or busted bottles.

He waits until Freddy meets him on the passenger side. They've got the car blocking the street and behind them is the mural. Shadows are all around. The nearest street light is at the corner. Private is what you'd call it.]

[Nope. Sorry. It doesn't really make him feel better at all. In fact it gives Freddy butterflies in his stomach and this is a young man who's pretty sure his is made of dwarf-forged iron. That's saying something. He doesn't say or do much of anything else until White's right there waiting. You've bitten off more than you can chew, dude. He crumples up his wrapper, wipes his hands, then climbs out.]

So what kind of dance are we gonna do?

[No hands touching? Just a boogie? Oh please oh please let there be touching.]

Tell you what, we'll start small.

[Older experienced eyes can tell that he's not completely confident in the exercise. The biggest step is saying yes. Being the man to make the challenge dictates that Mr. White take the lead. Without asking and going into motion he takes one of Freddy's hands to put on his shoulder the other one he puts at his waist. Unlike last night there won't be any desperate clutching or scratching there.]

I step, you come on after.

[With the music still wheeling and no resistance Larry keeps them going from the first step to a sway.]

Okay.

[Freddy answers with that characteristic mix of confidence and deference, almost like the first time he consented to letting Mr. White play with his cock. Hands on each other only deepens the color in his face. It's not just clawing and scratching as they fuck each other's brains out and that's what puts more at stake. He follows the old man's motions as instructed, keeping the pace but a little stiff because he's not sure he's doing it right.]

There. Doin' fine. Loosen up. [He cranes his neck to look down at their feet some. This also let's him speak softly and still be heard.] Nobody's here but me and Donna.

[Does the kid think he's gonna call it quits because he's got nerves? It's only a dance. That's the third time it's repeated. He can make out Mr. Orange's expression but he doesn't say a thing as they keep up the motion. It's not a boogie that's for sure.]

You're not doing so bad by my count.

[Just him and Donna. Donna and Mr. White. Lawrence Dimick. And Freddy Newendyke. Well, Mr. Orange to him. He's noticed they don't even use their codenames sometimes, just 'you' and the occasional 'baby'. Shit was it easy to fall head over heels for this old man.]

It's not my first time.

[Freddy insists, because it's not! He's danced this close with other people before. It's also kind of a joke, something to give Orange confidence. He might not have the moves nailed down but he's got a mouth on him.]

Thanks anyway...

['You' for when other people are around. 'Baby' in his head, in the dark and maybe even right now. Orange is who he is, Larry will know eventually. They gotta play by the rules at least until the heist. Then they'll be all clear. Except the old man is sure that even when he does learn this man's real name he may still be 'baby'.

Larry snickers.]

I can tell this ain't your first time. You're not that tense.

[Or tight. He shakes his head and clears his throat.]

You wanna quit already?

[Mr. White hasn't let go yet nor has he stopped their swaying. On the radio woah oh oh keeps repeating like the song won't end.]

What? No.

[Orange responds like he's almost offended White would even consider him defeated so soon. Bullshit. As long as the veteran crook is going to keep snickering at him the new guy is going to keep dancing. Yeah, that's what Freddy tells himself, now it's a game and games make everything seem a little less serious.]

Is this a special tune or just a special lady?

[Brown sugar and all.]

A bit of both.

[Orange couldn't know what sort of a lady. Donna is a darling to Mr. White. Brown sugar has always been a favorite flavor. Except he keeps on having that old flame flicker into his thoughts like a bad penny. Who knows what it is. Larry's not a big enough fool to believe it isn't over. Over was a long time ago even. Why should he bother even breathing a word when they're having themselves a good time?

He sighs and brights his partner closer.]

Ever think about the words, man?

[Baby.]

It's a mighty convenient wrap up to have someone else sum up all the shit you wanna say to the person who should hear it and it works out.

[Oof. The closeness is nice. Real real nice. Fortunately Larry's talking again and that distracts Freddy enough to not glow bright like a fucking stoplight.]

Yeah it's hard when you've got one chick telling you she's heard it on the radio then you've got another saying you probably think this song is about you.

[Women. Fff. Finally the kid seizes a brief moment to lead a step or two.]

[Hard to see without direct light but there might be heat radiating off the guys face like gamma radiation or something.]

Sounds like you've been there before.

[He's surprised but does not fight Freddy's lead at all. Larry knew he had it in him. Mr. Orange is a laid back guy who can take charge any time he likes.]

I listen to a lot of music. [Freddy reasons ever so casually.] Good and bad.

[He lifts his shoulders in another shrug. His lead's starting to relax, almost like his guard coming down. Technically it was down the moment they met.]

Me too.

[It's what any one could say, the older man really, really means it. Donna can't last forever. For a minute he panics thinking the moment is broken. Not so. The DJ at K-Billy is on their side. Rainy Night in Georgia hits the waves with the wavering sweet guitar riff.]

Y'like this one better?

[Who's leading and who's following? It's all sort of coming together and they sway. Mr. White pulls the kid on nearer. Body contact on an already warm night isn't all about friction and force. They're in Los Angeles, it won't rain.]

This one's okay...

[He answers a little more softly after being pulled in so closely because he can feel the broadness of Larry's chest. It's not like he hasn't been with this man in such close quarters before, hell he's had Mr. White far up his ass and loved it. But it's different. The kid feels like Mr. Orange is leaving Freddy Newendyke vulnerable.]

[With the traffic and the radio there's so much sound. Larry's ears are straining to hear him breathe.]

Slow music is easier to dance to, I figure.

[Dance like they're dancing. Easy movement and they are going together so well. When was the last time Dimmy's done something like this? He lightly shuts his eyes a moment and tries not to dwell there.]

[Freddy leans into Larry a little more, face tilted so maybe he can hide his expression in the crook of his neck.]

It ain't easier.

[The kid remarks in a cool casual manner, nothing too serious but not flippant either. It is what it is. He's slowdancing with an old motherfucker he absolutely adores and will have to put into fucking handcuffs soon. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. Too fucking soon.]

How do you figure, baby?

[He tilts his head to one side, inviting the other man to lay his head where he likes. There goes that word again.]

You don't have to move fast or try anything fancy.

[Discussing the mechanics of dance is the chosen line of conversation. Mr. Orange has a different smell of his own when he's not wearing the cologne of hard fucking. He doesn't know about any trap he's walking into with an open heart. They'll have their heist and then hopefully not go separate ways.]

It's nothing.

[Freddy shakes his head where it's laying, right on Larry's broad shoulder.]

I don't dance much, what do I know.

[He says it as a joke, trying to throw the old man off his trail if he's detected any scent of something deeper.]

Y'should. From what I can tell you don't have left feet.

[Times have changed. Dancing isn't the life blood of socializing for youth or anybody else. Is that why? Orange could cut a rug if he felt like it. He seems to be too fucking cool. Lo and behold look at where he is with Mr. White.]

Wait. I get it. You don't want the partner to get sore you're dancing with someone else.

[It's a tease, that's all it is. Boy does that feel like he's getting under his own skin playing it so cool and carefree when all he can think about is how much he'd like to make this a usual thing. It's bad. Real bad.]

What partner?

[He asks, genuinely curiously and genuinely stupid for forgetting the ring on his finger. Fuck. Freddy's still not even thinking twice because it's so easy to be himself as Mr. Orange.]

My mom's a dancer. Not a dancer like she works on a stage or something. [Or a pole, never ever mistaken her for a poledancer.] She likes to dance.

Oh.

[That was not what he was expecting, not one little bit. Larry nods and tries to recover from the surprise.]

Did she teach you?

[When she wasn't taking the floor with his pop. He can see it already. It only makes the old man feel more dumb. Orange is a nice young man like that. Swell that he's got his mother. White sure doesn't.

Alabama was his girl, his partner. Fuck there he goes again except it's not a sting any more.]

Kinda.

[He won't say 'You know how moms are.' but that's the general feeling. Aw shit he's showing his age. Freddy tries to lead a little bit again.]

I never danced with a guy like you.

[The more accurate confession is 'I've never danced with a guy.' But he's wanted to. Freddy's always wanted to and been too shy to man up for it.]

I see she was trying to raise you good.

[Doing the best that she can do he's gonna go on and rob a jewelry store. Larry clears his throat. All of the layers between them have gone away and somehow he feels more bare than he hand at the motel room.]

Last time I was like this with my gal. It was more than a year ago. We were on the out and out.

[His mouth feels dry so he licks his lips.]

...Not your father?

[That's no stab at the Orange family lineage he knows nothing of, he somehow assumes or figures that there's gotta be more to his picture. Or maybe he's trying to give the guy more credit. All Larry knows for sure is that he doesn't want to have to have them come apart and retreat from this closeness. Thinking about it is dangerous, he might label it as intimacy.]

I guess so.

[Sometimes he still doesn't know what his mom's thinking but it's always the kid who questions whether or not his parents reared them right. When Larry asks about his dad Freddy snorts. He lifts his head and leans back too but only enough to just give the old guy a look.]

You're kidding me.

[Not his dad. Freddy leans in again. He's no longer really paying attention to the music, he's just moving with White.]

What was she like. [He asks.]

Okay. Not your father.

[Very much corrected there. Pop was either not in the picture or not worth showing up. And that's fine by the old man. Larry would normally hesitate. Remembering her is one thing, talking about her? It comes as easy as breathing with Orange.]

Sweet as she wanted to be, real cheery on the day to day. She liked to dance and she'd try to sing too. Shit, she couldn't sing.

[Larry laughs just a little.]

Once you cross her all the halos melt and wings burn. She knew how to make a man sorry for what he's done.

[Or what he didn't do.]

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