Warning for Freddy having vaguely sexual thoughts about Iris, some purposefully vague sex scenes involving Iris (VAGUE!!! VERY VAGUE!!!), depersonalisation, and non consensual sexual violence.
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Sport's rushing down the hallway to Iris's door before he's got a good hold of the money Freddy presses into his hand. "Sorry, baby boy. Can't talk, places to be."
Freddy nods and keeps his mouth shut. It's been three hours since he talked anyone upstairs and he's starting to get mighty bored. All the comics in his room he's read ten times or more and he's not allowed to slip out to the cinema. He'd ask about getting a TV installed in his room but the way the others talk about it, that's a luxury that has to be offered rather than begged for.
He could beg. Some of the customers like it when he begs. A couple have tried to bypass that speech Sport gives about how no one's supposed to mess up anyone's faces but they changed their tune fast when reminded who they would be dealing with if Freddy showed up with a shiner.
Sport's star is rising fast. Freddy wouldn't sorry so much about the speed with which he whips round to collect cash every few mornings except that his eyes never settle anywhere for too long. The over indulgent, lingering gazes that he's come to expect have vanished, replaced with brief appraisals to be sure he's keeping well before heading back out of the door. It's stupid and he knows it, but it leaves Freddy feeling jilted and sullen.
He sincerely hopes that this moody shit is just a biproduct of how fucking bored he is.
It's not like Iris is fairing much better in Sport's attentions, but she doesn't seem to care so much. A handful of words is exchanged between the two, voices rumbling low and even though Freddy's still leaning up against the door frame, staring at Sport's back, he can't really make out what they're saying.
Money changes hands, Sport makes to leave but pauses on the top stair, looking back over his shoulder at the two of them but never settling long enough to say that either of them has his attention. "You kids busy today?"
"Nope. Slow as shit." Iris bounces out of her room, leaning up against the banister. "Right, Freddy?"
"Right." Freddy agrees. He wonders if he could ask for someone to run out and grab the past four Batman issues he's missed. He's still trying to come up with a concrete argument for why Brown is so fucking wrong about the guy being a sexually submissive, bestiality riven pervert.
Sport clicks his tongue. "That's a real shame. Tell you what, why don't you pop over to Danny's and see if he's done fixing up my suit yet. Who knows, you might meet some nice fellas on the way." He winks at the two of them, fishing a handful of bills back out of his hand and passing them back as 'pocket money'.
Freddy waits until he hears the front door slam closed, three floors below before he lets himself try to understand what the fuck just happened. "Wait, is he letting me out?"
"I told you." Iris grins, counting back the money like five dollars is a generous tip. "You just gotta be patient. He treats us all alright in the end."
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Danny turns out to be a second rate tailor who all the girls hate but who Sport has made a habit of employing over the past couple of years. His shop is just five blocks away, but Freddy could smell that the air smells better once they're away from the tenement. It's still ninety second street, but there's a lot to be said for street corners that don't feel like they've been burned into the back of your eyelids.
"I don't wanna go back." Freddy whines as the shop door falls closed behind them. Iris is carrying the suit that Sport's had tailored, wrapped in an opaque green bag but they're absolutely going to take a peak before they return.
Iris looks at him like he's stupid. "Why the fuck would we go straight back? C'mon, we got pocket money."
"There ain't no curfew or nothin'?"
"We're s'posed to be old enough to look after ourselves." Iris digs him in the ribs. She's in the middle of a growth spurt and in her ever present platforms she's officially taller than him. It's all going into her legs, stretching her out till she looks like a barbie doll.
And maybe sometimes Freddy wonders if she wouldn't like to show him what she can do. Maybe he catches himself trying to flirt every now and then. He's bad at it, but he figures she doesn't really have any other guys that she's close with, he's gotta be in with a chance.
She's twelve. His head snarks back at him. He tries very hard to care.
They head a little further afield, till they hit a Greek place that does weird little pastries that Iris insists he's going to want to try. They buy up a few pieces of something called baklava which looks like little more than a loose collection of nuts and head out to the stoop to eat.
Iris shoves the first piece into her mouth so fast that she's left with greasy sugar smeared over her lips. She groans low in her throat and the weird juxtaposition of her childish excitement and the sound that Freddy knows she learned under Sport's tutelage has Freddy seeing double.
"C'mon!" She urges, when she swallows and he's still staring at the bag, not sure where to start. She reaches down and breaks off a piece, laughing when he stumbles his way to opening his mouth.
His lips just catch the tips of her fingers and then it's gone, replaced by the sickly sweet mess of filo pastry, nuts and syrup.
She wasn't lying, it's delicious. Freddy's eyes go wide, chewing hard to clear his mouth fast enough to say as much. "Fuckin' hell."
"I know." Iris grins, taking another piece for herself.
"Well what do we got here?" It's a sunny day, warm without clinging too hard to the inside of Freddy's lungs. The light streaming down onto the sidewalk is interrupted by a dark shadow looming in over them.
Freddy blinks up and sees a guy in this thirties, reasonably good looking. The beginnings of a beer belly but his arms are well toned and his jaw is strong below a dark crop of hair plus stubble. "Can we help you?"
The guy flicks his eyes between Freddy and Iris. "I'll say you can."
Iris nudges him, and Freddy already knows what she's trying to say. Too fucking easy, man. Two easy by half.
----------------------------------------------
Sport, on the other hand, is somewhat resistant to the idea. "You want what now?"
"I wanna show these two kids of yours a good time." The guy leans in. "So how about you tell me how much?"
Definitely not convinced. Sport glances over to Freddy and Iris. "You two head up, I'll sort things down here. Orange's room."
He's considering it then. Freddy slips back into the building after Iris, already kicking himself for not having stalled for longer back at the deli. Back in the same four walls all over again, this isn't what he had in mind when he imagined what it would be like to be allowed outside. In his head, any errand that he got would see him out and about for most of the day.
And now Sport doesn't like the John he rustled up. Fucking great.
It's not till they're shut up in his room that Freddy really starts to think about what's on offer here. Iris throws aside her sunhat and kicks off her shoes the same as ever, but if all goes well downstairs it's not going to be long before she's shedding a lot more than that. His mouth goes dry and a wave of dizziness washes over him. He doesn't want that, not really. The hypothetical he has let himself entertain is extremely limited and entirely between the two of them.
He doesn't. I don't.
They sit in silence, which Freddy suspects is more comfortable for Iris than it is for him as she flops down on the bed and blows raspberries to amuse herself. Her shorts are too short, he shirt doesn't cover enough.
A soft knock on the door. For a second, Freddy expects Iris to answer, till he remembers that this is his place. He lets it fall open a crack and sees the warm, welcoming eyes of Sport staring him down.
Looking at him, really looking. Freddy could cry in relief.
"Hey, baby." Sport coos, reaching out to run a finger down Freddy's cheek. "You feeling ok?"
"Yeah."
"You're shaking like a leaf."
"I'm fine."
"Just excited?" Sport raises an eyebrow. "I bet, I bet. Such a good boy. I got that customer you picked up, we've managed to work something out. I just wanted to make sure you and Iris knew the rules before you got started.
Freddy pushes the door all the way open and calls Iris over to stand at his shoulder. Behind Sport, the John shuffles his feet, not quite sure where to look though he keeps coming back to the space between Freddy and Iris's heads.
"So this is how it's gonna work." Sport starts. "It's gonna be quite a party you two are getting in two, so I need you to be open minded, ok? He's got you for the full hour and that's what he's paying for, even if he backs out early. Might get a little rough with you but he's gonna leave your faces alone."
Iris shrugs. "Cool."
Freddy has never wanted to die quite so perfectly cleanly as he does in the moment. The urge to fall down and let his heart stop beating is real and profound but his body won't catch up to his brain on the matter and he stands aside gormless and terrified as the guy comes through.
"Stay safe now." Sport whispers, just for Freddy, as the door swings closed. "I'm right downstairs if you need me."
Inside, with the curtains drawn to create the illusion of privacy, everything feels way too dark. Iris is arranging the money with enviable candor but the words don't sound right in Freddy's ears. He stumbles forward, dropping down onto the bed because that's where he's sure he's wanted.
Time breaks down and fragments around him, and he could swear he can feel floorboards pressed up against his cheek. Clothes are shed and words are said and the sharp sting of something harder than a hand hitting his buttocks is the only thing that rings true.
"Freddy!"
It sounds like Iris but he can't look at her. If he looks at her then it's real and the last fucking thing he needs right now is to know what she looks like naked.
"Freddy! Fuck I-" Her voice is choked and insubstantial. Someone is calling her a bitch and telling her to shut up but he's never met them before in his life.
"Freddy!" A final wheeze and his vision comes back to him, in horrible high quality. There, on the other side of the bed, with fingers wrapped around her neck, Iris is turning blue.
It all clicks into place. "Get the fuck off her!" Freddy surges forward, trying to dislodge the guy but he's all skin and bones and at best, all he does is make him angrier. Dashing for the window, he throws aside the curtain to get it open, shouting a meaningless plea for help down to where Sport should be standing on the pavement.
And that's not good enough, there's not enough time. Iris's fists are starting to lose their potency, turning from a volley against the John's shoulders to ineffectual taps. Freddy has no idea how long it takes to strangle a twelve year old girl, and he doesn't want to find out.
There's a lamp on the bedside table, the base shaped out of porcelain because that's supposed to be fancy or some shit. Freddy scoops it up and staggers back to the bed, raising it high with two hands and bringing it down on the back of the John's head.
And again, and again, till the funky metal rods that hold the whole contraption in place have left a bloody mess at the nape of his neck. He's still breathing, collapsed on the bed, but he's not conscious any more.
With shaking arms, Freddy casts aside the remnants of the lamp and hauls the John off the bed. Iris bolts into a sitting position, hacking and gasping for air, a hand coming up to trace the outlines of the bruises blushing dark and deep at her neck.
"I...I got you." Freddy sobs, putting am arm around her and pulling her in close. He doesn't look at anything but her face, he doesn't want to know.
Sport doesn't knock, just barges straight in, tearing the lock clean off Freddy's front door. "What the fuck is goin' on?"
Eyes dart from the unconscious, bloody lowlife on the floor to the two kids huddled up together on the bed.
"He tried to." Iris tries to speak but her voice comes hoarse. Freddy shushes her before he can think better of it and gets a scowl in return.
Sport's face is drawn and blank. He's furious. Freddy doesn't have to have seen it before to know. Tension zaps into him like a bad batch of smack, straightening him out and putting fire in those deep brown eyes. "What the fuck happened?"
Sport approaches to get a look at Iris's neck, winding when he sees the extent of the damage done. "The cocksucker. The fucking cunt piss cocksucker. Oh baby girl what the fuck did he do to you?"
Maybe Freddy's just a little upset by how quickly Iris pulls herself away from him to fall into Sport's arms, but not by much. His heard is hitting way too fast, adrenaline working overtime to keep him alert.
Sport nods to the guy on the floor. "What did you do."
"Brained him with the lamp on the desk." Freddy mumbles. He wishes he knew where his clothes are.
The next half hour passes by in a hyper focused daze. They all get dressed, Iris tucked up in her room with the promise of a doctor on his way and a couple of other girls to keep her company. A car pulls up outside and a collection of the guys that Sport's been hanging with recently tumble out, ready and waiting for the vaguely conscious John who's ferried in to join them, no doubt in for some kind of horrible fate that Freddy doesn't really want to know about.
He watches the car leave, trying to decide if that kind of shit is worth it to get to go outside.
"You did good today, sweetheart." Freddy's not even alarmed to find Sport creeping up behind him, slipping an arm round his waist. "Real good. It coulda all gone south if you hadn't been here."
"Yeah." Freddy says, unable to think of anything else to say. Playing humble feels wrong, not playing humble feels wrong. He's all messed up.
"I hadda real bad feeling about that guy." Sport continues, his tongue reaching out to trace the shell of Freddy's ear. "I think maybe you did too, you just didn't know it yet."
"I don't know." Freddy tells him the whole fucking truth. Sport is solid and real behind him, supportive and unyielding. He leans back and is rewarded with a second hand coming up too stroke through his hair as a mouth searches for his pulse point.
"Missed you, baby."
"Missed you too, daddy."
"I know you have. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I gotta treat you better. I wanna treat you better, sweet boy."
It's not everything Freddy ever dreamed of, but it's not exactly awful. There, on the filthy sheets, with the window still open.
Let the neighbours hear them. If they were going to take offence, they would have been out of here years ago.
Re: Sport/Orange - shady skeevey stuff - 25/?
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Sport's rushing down the hallway to Iris's door before he's got a good hold of the money Freddy presses into his hand. "Sorry, baby boy. Can't talk, places to be."
Freddy nods and keeps his mouth shut. It's been three hours since he talked anyone upstairs and he's starting to get mighty bored. All the comics in his room he's read ten times or more and he's not allowed to slip out to the cinema. He'd ask about getting a TV installed in his room but the way the others talk about it, that's a luxury that has to be offered rather than begged for.
He could beg. Some of the customers like it when he begs. A couple have tried to bypass that speech Sport gives about how no one's supposed to mess up anyone's faces but they changed their tune fast when reminded who they would be dealing with if Freddy showed up with a shiner.
Sport's star is rising fast. Freddy wouldn't sorry so much about the speed with which he whips round to collect cash every few mornings except that his eyes never settle anywhere for too long. The over indulgent, lingering gazes that he's come to expect have vanished, replaced with brief appraisals to be sure he's keeping well before heading back out of the door. It's stupid and he knows it, but it leaves Freddy feeling jilted and sullen.
He sincerely hopes that this moody shit is just a biproduct of how fucking bored he is.
It's not like Iris is fairing much better in Sport's attentions, but she doesn't seem to care so much. A handful of words is exchanged between the two, voices rumbling low and even though Freddy's still leaning up against the door frame, staring at Sport's back, he can't really make out what they're saying.
Money changes hands, Sport makes to leave but pauses on the top stair, looking back over his shoulder at the two of them but never settling long enough to say that either of them has his attention. "You kids busy today?"
"Nope. Slow as shit." Iris bounces out of her room, leaning up against the banister. "Right, Freddy?"
"Right." Freddy agrees. He wonders if he could ask for someone to run out and grab the past four Batman issues he's missed. He's still trying to come up with a concrete argument for why Brown is so fucking wrong about the guy being a sexually submissive, bestiality riven pervert.
Sport clicks his tongue. "That's a real shame. Tell you what, why don't you pop over to Danny's and see if he's done fixing up my suit yet. Who knows, you might meet some nice fellas on the way." He winks at the two of them, fishing a handful of bills back out of his hand and passing them back as 'pocket money'.
Freddy waits until he hears the front door slam closed, three floors below before he lets himself try to understand what the fuck just happened. "Wait, is he letting me out?"
"I told you." Iris grins, counting back the money like five dollars is a generous tip. "You just gotta be patient. He treats us all alright in the end."
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Danny turns out to be a second rate tailor who all the girls hate but who Sport has made a habit of employing over the past couple of years. His shop is just five blocks away, but Freddy could smell that the air smells better once they're away from the tenement. It's still ninety second street, but there's a lot to be said for street corners that don't feel like they've been burned into the back of your eyelids.
"I don't wanna go back." Freddy whines as the shop door falls closed behind them. Iris is carrying the suit that Sport's had tailored, wrapped in an opaque green bag but they're absolutely going to take a peak before they return.
Iris looks at him like he's stupid. "Why the fuck would we go straight back? C'mon, we got pocket money."
"There ain't no curfew or nothin'?"
"We're s'posed to be old enough to look after ourselves." Iris digs him in the ribs. She's in the middle of a growth spurt and in her ever present platforms she's officially taller than him. It's all going into her legs, stretching her out till she looks like a barbie doll.
And maybe sometimes Freddy wonders if she wouldn't like to show him what she can do. Maybe he catches himself trying to flirt every now and then. He's bad at it, but he figures she doesn't really have any other guys that she's close with, he's gotta be in with a chance.
She's twelve. His head snarks back at him. He tries very hard to care.
They head a little further afield, till they hit a Greek place that does weird little pastries that Iris insists he's going to want to try. They buy up a few pieces of something called baklava which looks like little more than a loose collection of nuts and head out to the stoop to eat.
Iris shoves the first piece into her mouth so fast that she's left with greasy sugar smeared over her lips. She groans low in her throat and the weird juxtaposition of her childish excitement and the sound that Freddy knows she learned under Sport's tutelage has Freddy seeing double.
"C'mon!" She urges, when she swallows and he's still staring at the bag, not sure where to start. She reaches down and breaks off a piece, laughing when he stumbles his way to opening his mouth.
His lips just catch the tips of her fingers and then it's gone, replaced by the sickly sweet mess of filo pastry, nuts and syrup.
She wasn't lying, it's delicious. Freddy's eyes go wide, chewing hard to clear his mouth fast enough to say as much. "Fuckin' hell."
"I know." Iris grins, taking another piece for herself.
"Well what do we got here?" It's a sunny day, warm without clinging too hard to the inside of Freddy's lungs. The light streaming down onto the sidewalk is interrupted by a dark shadow looming in over them.
Freddy blinks up and sees a guy in this thirties, reasonably good looking. The beginnings of a beer belly but his arms are well toned and his jaw is strong below a dark crop of hair plus stubble. "Can we help you?"
The guy flicks his eyes between Freddy and Iris. "I'll say you can."
Iris nudges him, and Freddy already knows what she's trying to say. Too fucking easy, man. Two easy by half.
----------------------------------------------
Sport, on the other hand, is somewhat resistant to the idea. "You want what now?"
"I wanna show these two kids of yours a good time." The guy leans in. "So how about you tell me how much?"
Definitely not convinced. Sport glances over to Freddy and Iris. "You two head up, I'll sort things down here. Orange's room."
He's considering it then. Freddy slips back into the building after Iris, already kicking himself for not having stalled for longer back at the deli. Back in the same four walls all over again, this isn't what he had in mind when he imagined what it would be like to be allowed outside. In his head, any errand that he got would see him out and about for most of the day.
And now Sport doesn't like the John he rustled up. Fucking great.
It's not till they're shut up in his room that Freddy really starts to think about what's on offer here. Iris throws aside her sunhat and kicks off her shoes the same as ever, but if all goes well downstairs it's not going to be long before she's shedding a lot more than that. His mouth goes dry and a wave of dizziness washes over him. He doesn't want that, not really. The hypothetical he has let himself entertain is extremely limited and entirely between the two of them.
He doesn't. I don't.
They sit in silence, which Freddy suspects is more comfortable for Iris than it is for him as she flops down on the bed and blows raspberries to amuse herself. Her shorts are too short, he shirt doesn't cover enough.
A soft knock on the door. For a second, Freddy expects Iris to answer, till he remembers that this is his place. He lets it fall open a crack and sees the warm, welcoming eyes of Sport staring him down.
Looking at him, really looking. Freddy could cry in relief.
"Hey, baby." Sport coos, reaching out to run a finger down Freddy's cheek. "You feeling ok?"
"Yeah."
"You're shaking like a leaf."
"I'm fine."
"Just excited?" Sport raises an eyebrow. "I bet, I bet. Such a good boy. I got that customer you picked up, we've managed to work something out. I just wanted to make sure you and Iris knew the rules before you got started.
Freddy pushes the door all the way open and calls Iris over to stand at his shoulder. Behind Sport, the John shuffles his feet, not quite sure where to look though he keeps coming back to the space between Freddy and Iris's heads.
"So this is how it's gonna work." Sport starts. "It's gonna be quite a party you two are getting in two, so I need you to be open minded, ok? He's got you for the full hour and that's what he's paying for, even if he backs out early. Might get a little rough with you but he's gonna leave your faces alone."
Iris shrugs. "Cool."
Freddy has never wanted to die quite so perfectly cleanly as he does in the moment. The urge to fall down and let his heart stop beating is real and profound but his body won't catch up to his brain on the matter and he stands aside gormless and terrified as the guy comes through.
"Stay safe now." Sport whispers, just for Freddy, as the door swings closed. "I'm right downstairs if you need me."
Inside, with the curtains drawn to create the illusion of privacy, everything feels way too dark. Iris is arranging the money with enviable candor but the words don't sound right in Freddy's ears. He stumbles forward, dropping down onto the bed because that's where he's sure he's wanted.
Time breaks down and fragments around him, and he could swear he can feel floorboards pressed up against his cheek. Clothes are shed and words are said and the sharp sting of something harder than a hand hitting his buttocks is the only thing that rings true.
"Freddy!"
It sounds like Iris but he can't look at her. If he looks at her then it's real and the last fucking thing he needs right now is to know what she looks like naked.
"Freddy! Fuck I-" Her voice is choked and insubstantial. Someone is calling her a bitch and telling her to shut up but he's never met them before in his life.
"Freddy!" A final wheeze and his vision comes back to him, in horrible high quality. There, on the other side of the bed, with fingers wrapped around her neck, Iris is turning blue.
It all clicks into place. "Get the fuck off her!" Freddy surges forward, trying to dislodge the guy but he's all skin and bones and at best, all he does is make him angrier. Dashing for the window, he throws aside the curtain to get it open, shouting a meaningless plea for help down to where Sport should be standing on the pavement.
And that's not good enough, there's not enough time. Iris's fists are starting to lose their potency, turning from a volley against the John's shoulders to ineffectual taps. Freddy has no idea how long it takes to strangle a twelve year old girl, and he doesn't want to find out.
There's a lamp on the bedside table, the base shaped out of porcelain because that's supposed to be fancy or some shit. Freddy scoops it up and staggers back to the bed, raising it high with two hands and bringing it down on the back of the John's head.
And again, and again, till the funky metal rods that hold the whole contraption in place have left a bloody mess at the nape of his neck. He's still breathing, collapsed on the bed, but he's not conscious any more.
With shaking arms, Freddy casts aside the remnants of the lamp and hauls the John off the bed. Iris bolts into a sitting position, hacking and gasping for air, a hand coming up to trace the outlines of the bruises blushing dark and deep at her neck.
"I...I got you." Freddy sobs, putting am arm around her and pulling her in close. He doesn't look at anything but her face, he doesn't want to know.
Sport doesn't knock, just barges straight in, tearing the lock clean off Freddy's front door. "What the fuck is goin' on?"
Eyes dart from the unconscious, bloody lowlife on the floor to the two kids huddled up together on the bed.
"He tried to." Iris tries to speak but her voice comes hoarse. Freddy shushes her before he can think better of it and gets a scowl in return.
Sport's face is drawn and blank. He's furious. Freddy doesn't have to have seen it before to know. Tension zaps into him like a bad batch of smack, straightening him out and putting fire in those deep brown eyes. "What the fuck happened?"
"He was choking her." Freddy explains. "Like, really choking her, look."
Sport approaches to get a look at Iris's neck, winding when he sees the extent of the damage done. "The cocksucker. The fucking cunt piss cocksucker. Oh baby girl what the fuck did he do to you?"
Maybe Freddy's just a little upset by how quickly Iris pulls herself away from him to fall into Sport's arms, but not by much. His heard is hitting way too fast, adrenaline working overtime to keep him alert.
Sport nods to the guy on the floor. "What did you do."
"Brained him with the lamp on the desk." Freddy mumbles. He wishes he knew where his clothes are.
The next half hour passes by in a hyper focused daze. They all get dressed, Iris tucked up in her room with the promise of a doctor on his way and a couple of other girls to keep her company. A car pulls up outside and a collection of the guys that Sport's been hanging with recently tumble out, ready and waiting for the vaguely conscious John who's ferried in to join them, no doubt in for some kind of horrible fate that Freddy doesn't really want to know about.
He watches the car leave, trying to decide if that kind of shit is worth it to get to go outside.
"You did good today, sweetheart." Freddy's not even alarmed to find Sport creeping up behind him, slipping an arm round his waist. "Real good. It coulda all gone south if you hadn't been here."
"Yeah." Freddy says, unable to think of anything else to say. Playing humble feels wrong, not playing humble feels wrong. He's all messed up.
"I hadda real bad feeling about that guy." Sport continues, his tongue reaching out to trace the shell of Freddy's ear. "I think maybe you did too, you just didn't know it yet."
"I don't know." Freddy tells him the whole fucking truth. Sport is solid and real behind him, supportive and unyielding. He leans back and is rewarded with a second hand coming up too stroke through his hair as a mouth searches for his pulse point.
"Missed you, baby."
"Missed you too, daddy."
"I know you have. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I gotta treat you better. I wanna treat you better, sweet boy."
It's not everything Freddy ever dreamed of, but it's not exactly awful. There, on the filthy sheets, with the window still open.
Let the neighbours hear them. If they were going to take offence, they would have been out of here years ago.