His friend's got an older sister and an older brother. Freddy's not sure what the problem is but it's clearly becoming a Major Family Issue. Awkward. Mr. White's not officially inducted yet so both he and Freddy evacuate the premises together, as if they have a choice. They're standing on the curbside watching the house. They can't see anything going on inside but they can sort of hear the yelling. Lots of yelling. Freddy rubs the back of his head.
"That kind of happens all the time at his place," Freddy shrugs.
"It's news to me," White flicks his cigarette on the ground. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this family time shit."
"Huh? You mean you're serious about the old lady," the kid hooks his thumb at the house.
The old man gives him a serious look.
"Oookay..." Freddy flaps his hands.
White laughs. "You're a riot, kid. You want a ride home?"
Oh shit. Keep it in your pants it's just a ride you don't have to say yes. Say no. Say no. He's a stranger he's probably been to prison. Say no.
"Okay," Freddy accepts.
The old man drives a Lincoln Town Car that smells like his cigarettes, some kind of cologne, and leather even though his seats are made of cloth. It's a neat vehicle with trash only in the ashtray and a single empty cup. It doesn't have that brand new or barely used look to it, more like the look of a car driven by a man who really cares about his cars. There's enough space for Freddy to stretch his legs which isn't saying much when you barely top out at 5'7 but he's still growing okay (he's not). A song starts on the radio and it turns out to be one of Freddy's favorites. Without thinking he reaches for the knob and turns the volume up.
"I love this song. A modern day warrior, mean mean stride, today's Tom Sawyer, mean mean pride..." Freddy wiggles his fingers like he's got an air guitar but it's more like an air ukelele.
White's chiseled nose wrinkles up. "Keep it down, kid." Secretly he's pleasantly surprised, but White's song of choice is Working Man, if he had to pick one from Rush anyway. What's wrong with the classics like Elvis or Chuck Berry? Hell the Stones. CCR.
"Sorry, Mister..."
"Alvin." White seems anxious for a second. "You can call me Al or Mr. White."
I'm not calling you Al. The kid seems skeptical. "Okay, Mr. White. I'm Freddy."
"Freddy...?"
"Just Freddy."
Tit for tat. White nods. "Where do I drop you off?"
"I don't need to go home. You can drop me off at the comic store on Main, or the arcade. There's an arcade around the corner. I can hang out there." Freddy's cheeks warm up because he realizes how much he sounds like a nerd.
"A loner," White says, "the people you can count on sit in one fucking hand. I know how that feels, kid."
Freddy doesn't say anything.
"Do you want to come to my place? I have beer."
Suddenly Freddy's laughing on the inside. "Okay, Mr. White."
White's place looks just like his car. He's renting a small house on someone else's property so it's lived in but he's kept it tidy. The furniture doesn't appear to be his first choice however it's tolerable in aesthetics and comfortable in function. Good enough for him. There's a small living room, a kitchen-dining area, a bathroom, and a bedroom. Cozy and temporary until he gets a bigger place to call his own or with his partner of choice. Freddy's sitting on the plush living room couch with a rerun of Sanford and Son playing. The TV show choices could be better. White comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer. He pulls Freddy's slightly out of his reach when he sees the kid going for it.
"You're not old enough."
Freddy snorts. "I won't tell. Let me have it." He grabs.
White pulls back. "What would you do for it."
Freddy turns red as he flusters.
White hands the beer over, completely amused. He takes a seat in the matching chair to one side of the couch. Sip.
Re: Orange/White: daddy kink, age flexible, sex, spanking, with a twist
His friend's got an older sister and an older brother. Freddy's not sure what the problem is but it's clearly becoming a Major Family Issue. Awkward. Mr. White's not officially inducted yet so both he and Freddy evacuate the premises together, as if they have a choice. They're standing on the curbside watching the house. They can't see anything going on inside but they can sort of hear the yelling. Lots of yelling. Freddy rubs the back of his head.
"That kind of happens all the time at his place," Freddy shrugs.
"It's news to me," White flicks his cigarette on the ground. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this family time shit."
"Huh? You mean you're serious about the old lady," the kid hooks his thumb at the house.
The old man gives him a serious look.
"Oookay..." Freddy flaps his hands.
White laughs. "You're a riot, kid. You want a ride home?"
Oh shit. Keep it in your pants it's just a ride you don't have to say yes. Say no. Say no. He's a stranger he's probably been to prison. Say no.
"Okay," Freddy accepts.
The old man drives a Lincoln Town Car that smells like his cigarettes, some kind of cologne, and leather even though his seats are made of cloth. It's a neat vehicle with trash only in the ashtray and a single empty cup. It doesn't have that brand new or barely used look to it, more like the look of a car driven by a man who really cares about his cars. There's enough space for Freddy to stretch his legs which isn't saying much when you barely top out at 5'7 but he's still growing okay (he's not). A song starts on the radio and it turns out to be one of Freddy's favorites. Without thinking he reaches for the knob and turns the volume up.
"I love this song. A modern day warrior, mean mean stride, today's Tom Sawyer, mean mean pride..." Freddy wiggles his fingers like he's got an air guitar but it's more like an air ukelele.
White's chiseled nose wrinkles up. "Keep it down, kid." Secretly he's pleasantly surprised, but White's song of choice is Working Man, if he had to pick one from Rush anyway. What's wrong with the classics like Elvis or Chuck Berry? Hell the Stones. CCR.
"Sorry, Mister..."
"Alvin." White seems anxious for a second. "You can call me Al or Mr. White."
I'm not calling you Al. The kid seems skeptical. "Okay, Mr. White. I'm Freddy."
"Freddy...?"
"Just Freddy."
Tit for tat. White nods. "Where do I drop you off?"
"I don't need to go home. You can drop me off at the comic store on Main, or the arcade. There's an arcade around the corner. I can hang out there." Freddy's cheeks warm up because he realizes how much he sounds like a nerd.
"A loner," White says, "the people you can count on sit in one fucking hand. I know how that feels, kid."
Freddy doesn't say anything.
"Do you want to come to my place? I have beer."
Suddenly Freddy's laughing on the inside. "Okay, Mr. White."
White's place looks just like his car. He's renting a small house on someone else's property so it's lived in but he's kept it tidy. The furniture doesn't appear to be his first choice however it's tolerable in aesthetics and comfortable in function. Good enough for him. There's a small living room, a kitchen-dining area, a bathroom, and a bedroom. Cozy and temporary until he gets a bigger place to call his own or with his partner of choice. Freddy's sitting on the plush living room couch with a rerun of Sanford and Son playing. The TV show choices could be better. White comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer. He pulls Freddy's slightly out of his reach when he sees the kid going for it.
"You're not old enough."
Freddy snorts. "I won't tell. Let me have it." He grabs.
White pulls back. "What would you do for it."
Freddy turns red as he flusters.
White hands the beer over, completely amused. He takes a seat in the matching chair to one side of the couch. Sip.