orangetoughguy | phone post

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.]

[The part about not being able to sing makes Freddy laugh. So this is what he's up against, the standard she's set, unless White's gone and lowered his own straight to cock. Shit don't think like that, Newendyke, he's so much better than something so selfish.]

Kept you on your toes, huh?

[At least Orange doesn't have to be on his to dance with White.]

I didn't think of it like that at the time but you hit the nail on the head. It wasn't all her fault though. She had so much shit happen. Most of it she never told me for the longest time or else it would have made more sense. Everybody's got their secrets.

[A man marked her life so much deeper than a tattoo. It was all so different then. A different state of mind and a different feeling. How could he even compare? Larry dips his head some to rest it against Orange's. His hair is soft, the color of butterscotch candy in that indistinct blonde brown sort of way.]

I had my fill. So did she.

[Secrets. Freddy has a lot of those. At least he can rest easy knowing White's used to it. What cocksucking criminal isn't?]

I get it.

[He says quietly, White doesn't have to say more. The feeling of the old man resting against him is so good. Freddy lifts a hand from Larry to brush his fingertips over his darker (but graying) somewhat wavy hair.]

Why'd you wanna know?

[His eyes are half lidded and the touch to his head is so soothing. Maybe he should cool off, put his guard back up. They fucked and it was a good time. Being guarded will mean he can stay objective.

It's too late. Far too late. He's in Mr. Orange's clutches just as much as Mr Orange is in his arms.]

Do you have a story for me too?

[His lips move close to his ear brushing on hair.]

Was she an angel or a bitch? ...both?

Why not?

[That's some quick sharp thinking there, Newendyke, but now fuck he's going to wonder if he's being defensive, building walls, put his own guard back up when it's so goddamn down.]

No...not a good story...

[Freddy whispers as if he's speaking into White's ear when it's sort of the opposite.] ...It never felt right.

[Unlike this moment.]

I think I might have time for a long story in a couple of weeks.

[After the job. Dread swells like a balloon in his own gut to realize what sort of hopes he's voicing. They're shooting the shit. They're wasting time. This is just a fucking phase, a fling. This isn't what it looks like or sounds like.

Larry Dimick is a fucking idiot. He can't take the words back and Mr. Orange's are mighty personal. So much for Joe's rules.]

[Oh fuck that cuts like a knife. Freddy does his best to hide his guilt, his shame, the redness that makes Mr. Orange look a little younger than he really is.]

Me too. With all that ice. A guy could go anywhere.

[Play it cool, Newendyke, real real cool. He can't tell White, Larry Dimick, how badly he wants to be there. Not outright. It hurts that way.]

Uh huh.

[Ice. Business. Larry sighs just a little, his chest doesn't move much but it sure does muss some of Freddy's hair on the exhale that he's got to comb it back for him. Polite thing to do and all. He touched it before the other night.]

You're gonna go far, I can tell.

[In the business and with the sort of flights of fantasy he has. But maybe he won't go alone. Only time will tell.]

Stones or no stones.

[What a fucking flatterer. Freddy is fucking smitten.]

Don't lay it on too thick, old man.

[Please lay it on as much as you want. He loves the way his thick fingers brush through his hair.]

...I like this song.

[Not great to dance to but it's kind of funny how ELO's "Evil Woman" starts playing.]

You say thank you and you like it asshole.

[Words like that don't come easy or lightly to just anybody. Larry can be indifferent if he tried. So far trying and Freddy aren't quite what is in the cards. It's hard to say exactly why. All he's doing is asking questions and trying to figure things out, being funny and honest and altogether an amusing hunk of man.]

Yeah?

[Because it makes him think of evil women. They're still moving together. Oh fuck he enjoys it.]

Decent vocals.

Thanks. [Aw shit the warmth and redness are glowing again. He clears his throat.] It ain't no Donna but it's a good song.

[He shuffles a little more with the rhythm because it's more upbeat than a rainy night. It's Newendyke territory. He was a kid in Fresno back then.]

[He lets Orange lead. Since it's a song of his and because he's more perceptive to his own tune.]

Donna isn't the peak of good songs. [Larry will admit that much. The kid may already be figuring him out bit by bit.]

I do like her quite well though.

[His big hands feel the kid through the fabric of his shirt at the waist. Does he still have the bruises?]

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