It was just nerves.

All those weird feelings and that dread bouncing around in his stomach were just nerves, he told himself as Nice Guy Eddie pulled up to the bar where his father, Joe Cabot, was waiting to meet them. Long Beach Mike wasn’t there to help cover his ass, so it was Freddy’s first time truly alone undercover. Of course he was nervous. He’d be an idiot NOT to be.

Freddy knew from the second he walked in that the place was shady - it was the first time in ages that he hadn’t been carded at the door. But it was a relief, since being mistaken for a high schooler at 28 wasn’t the best way to make an impression on hardened criminals.

Eddie led him through the packed dance floor to a table in the back for introductions. As he shook Joe’s hand, the back of his mind was giddy with the thought that Ben Grimm in a suit was a fucking crime boss. Paint the dude orange and slap some blue tights on him and you’d be good to go.

“We got one more, he’s in the can,” Joe explained with a nod towards the empty seat next to Freddy. There was a half-empty beer and a pack of Chesterfields sitting on the table.

“What, my competition?” Freddy joked, trying to hide the excitement that just came out of nowhere.

“Nothin like that,” Eddie shook his head. “One of Daddy’s old friends. He’s gonna give us a second opinion on ya.” Just then, his gaze bypassed Freddy to give someone a friendly nod. “Hey.”

“Hey, looks like I got perfect timing.”

Something about the new voice behind him made Freddy’s heart skip a beat. He turned around, to see…

(You’re gonna be okay, buddy boy!)
(Who’s a tough guy?)
(he’s gonna be okay, I'm gonna take care of him.)
(He’s a good kid.)
(Joe, if you kill that man, you die next!)

The sudden cacophony of words, words he’d never heard before but FELT like memories, overloaded him until there was just one word in Freddy’s mind:

Larry.

…How the FUCK did he know this guy’s name?

But he knew, somehow he just fuckin’ knew. He’d kind of bullshat the “hit with a bucket of panic” line when he practiced Holdaway’s story, but now he really felt it, like this man had just thrown one right over him.

What he hadn’t known is that he was staring like an idiot, until Larry-or-whoever-the-hell-he-was gave him a curious squint. “We meet before or somethin’, kid?” he asked, pulling out his chair to sit beside him. He was studying Freddy with those incredible fucking eyes. They were brown, everything about this guy was brown and earthy and meat-and-potato-y, but with eyes that looked right through him. Not with suspicion, but… interest, and the kind of warmth and intelligence you wouldn’t expect from a career criminal in a hilariously tacky shirt.

Freddy knew he should’ve been shitting a brick, but somehow he felt…calmer, now that this guy was next to him. Like a security blanket fresh out the drier. “Nah, don’t think so,” he shook his head. “Just when Nice Guy said you were one of Joe’s friends, I expected somebody a lot older,” he grinned, hoping this was acceptable ball-busting for a first meeting.

The chuckles around the table came as a relief. “He’s older than he looks, kid,” Joe said, gesturing at Maybe-Larry with his pinky as he picked up his scotch. “This here’s Mr… White. Old frienda mine. White, this is…” he mulled it over for a second - “Mr. Orange.”

Orange? Ah well. Why not? “Good to meet you, Mr. White.” Freddy held out his hand.

Mr. White shook it, with a warm, strong grip. The callouses on his fingers told Freddy right away that this guy spent a lot of time with a gun in his hand. “Likewise.” He looked over Freddy again, pausing on his face thoughtfully before turning back to his friend. “So why Orange, Joe? Kid looks more like a Mr. Green to me.”

Freddy felt the back of his neck getting hot. He didn’t even know he COULD blush there. He slumped into his jacket like a scared turtle.

“We already got a Mr. Green doin’ another job with us right now,” Joe replied, oblivious. “Anyway, what the hell do you care, I brought you down here to size the kid up, not name ‘im.”

Oh, Mr. White was sizing him up, alright. His eyes barely left Freddy, even as Joe sent Eddie off to the bar to get everyone drinks.

“So, the usual for daddy… what’re you drinkin, Mr. White?”

“Eh, surprise me,” he laughed, finishing off his beer.

“You are so going to regret saying that. Orange, how bout you?”

“Um… y’know what? Surprise me, too,” he shrugged and tried to ignore the second neck-flare that White’s approving smile set off.

“As long as you realize, you two are getting the gayest fucking chick drinks on the menu.”

“Hey Eddie, hold up,” Mr. White stopped him in mid-turn and pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket. “This round’s mine.”

“Holy shit. Since when do you and Ben Franklin go out together, you cheap piece of shit?” Joe guffawed.

“Brewers won last night.” White grinned.

“Miracles do happen, I guess,” Eddie whistled, plucking the bill from White’s hand. “I’m keepin the change.”

“Like hell you are!” Mr. White called after him. Still laughing, he turned back to Freddy. “Hope you’re not as much trouble as junior, kid.”

This time, fuck the buckets, a goddamn firehose of guilt nearly knocked him out of his chair.

Thanks so much, I kinda felt... well, like Freddy, coming in here never having written RD before with all these other fantastic prompt fills. I really appreciate the kind words. :)

I have about 5 more chapters WRITTEN, it's just deciding where to PUT them/try to make the voice a little more coherent...

Thanks a lot. I was actually going to start in the warehouse, but it didn't have enough impact, or setup for the overall story. Plus, putting an RD fic in chronological order just seemed blasphemous :) I'm glad that it had the right effect.

Unfortunately this means that the source for the title, and any actual KINK, got pushed back a bit...

Thanks a lot. :) And yeah, the title comes more into play a few chapters from now. It started as a short dialog gag, but the more I thought about it, the better it fit!

And now for some reason I really wanna see Freddy in one of the old-school TOS Kirk uniforms...shit. lakfalkfjlfj

Freddy jolted awake to find "Sky Pilot" by the Animals blasting out of the radio alarm, back in his bed in his shithole apartment.

With a gasp, his hands flew to his stomach, chest, head, looking for holes that had JUST been there, he'd fuckin' FELT them --

Nothing. Just his boxers and the Speed Racer t-shirt his ex used to always give him shit for - intact and blood-free, just like Freddy himself.

Which was simultaneously a relief and scary as shit. "The fuck," he breathed, fumbling at the nightstand for his cigarettes. Now that his lungs were whole again, might as well fuck them up some more, he thought.

He took a glance over at his calendar - it was as if 5 weeks had disappeared. It was last month, filled with X’s right up to this day - circled and annotated with MEET JOE 8PM.

It wasn't deja vu. It was real. Time was fucking repeating.

Of all the times in his life, this had to be the one that repeated.

The worst fucking time possible.

Well...

Ok, he had to qualify that.

Even since the first time around, he'd been attracted to "Mr. White" from the moment he saw him. Yeah, yeah, daddy issues, whatever, Freddy had a type, ok? And Mr. White was it. Older, bigger in the ways Freddy WANTED a man to be, ruggedly handsome. Looked tough as all hell, until he smiled. Then it was as if everyone else in the room got thrown out an airlock. That night at the bar, he was more interested in the nameless stranger's approval than Joe Cabot's. When it looked like he'd gotten it, he could've gone through the fucking roof. Luckily, Mr. White’s approval seemed to equal Joe’s.

The meeting ended around 1AM. Freddy took a cab home, jerked off to a rather fucked-up fantasy of Mr. White dressed as Captain America and himself like Bucky (1940s tights and all, which Mr. White had torn off his ass like wet paper), and gone to sleep, in disbelief of how fast things had gotten fucked up.

The first time.

This time around, he was more prepared. He knew what to expect, so he could focus more on Mr. White.

Or focus more on Mr. White, focusing on him.

He was too nervous, too busy keeping his cover, to recognize any of it the first time. He figured Mr. White just thought of him like a son - shit, with their age difference he well could’ve BEEN his son - and that was why they’d been so tight, so fast.

The second time around, it occurred to him that the only dads who touched their sons the way Larry touched him were the dads Freddy used to drag in on abuse charges. It was never straight-out, “show me on the doll” level touching. But it was constant, and so casual that most people barely noticed. Maybe once or twice Mr. Pink would raise an eyebrow, and Freddy thought that maybe the time Mr. Brown kept trying to talk to him about ‘Top Gun’ was related, but for the most part it went unnoticed. They were always just small things: a thigh a little too close to his in the backseat of Eddie’s car. Bumping ankles under the diner table, and never moving his foot. Never walking ahead, but gently guiding Freddy with an arm around the shoulder, or a hand on the small of his back. If Joe or Blonde or whoever asked for a light, they got that sweet zippo trick; if Freddy asked, Larry just leaned in and lit it with the tip of his own cig.

At his old precinct, if Freddy had treated any of his fellow cops like that, he would’ve gotten a blanket party for his troubles - ambushed, beaten and tossed in an alley like so much trash.

His final memory from the first time was his head cradled in Larry’s lap, as the man wailed like a dying animal; the way Freddy'd only ever heard out of a human when his grandma found granpap's body back in 9th grade. Before that, he didn’t know people could MAKE that sound. He’d figured at the time that it was for Joe. But now, he had to wonder if that howl of grief wasn't mourning Larry's old friend.

Maybe it was mourning him.

Freddy'd already died twice. He was probably going to die again anyway.

So if he had nothing to lose, why not go full-out Mata Hari?

Thank you so much for reading! The next chapter's up.

Yeah. I hate that too, but a lot of the appeal is the whole star-crossed-ness of the two :( I do feel bad for the UST-till-death universe Larrys, though...

Thanks so much! I'm really enjoying writing this. (My google history is completely insane now, but still)

New part is up, at least it's a bit more happy?

Another great update. This prompt is amazing and it becomes even better with the way you executed it in this story. I'm totally impressed with your writing talent! :)

"The worry in Larry's eyes had given way to the same wicked, playful gleam that had made Freddy fall so hard in the first place. He wasn't the greatest singer, but somehow watching his profile as the sun began to set was enough to make the young policeman forget that by the end of the month, he'd probably have one of this man's bullets lodged inside his skull again."
AUGH! soooo good, sooooooooooooooooo sad :s

sweet jesus please continue

my heart...

They raced into the motel room, not giving a shit if anyone saw them go in together. The second Larry had the door open, Freddy was shoving him in, only to get turned around and pushed up against the other side of the cheap metal door. Their faces hovered just out of reach of one another for a moment, taking the whole situation in.

Freddy’s whole body was thrumming, his back cold from the door, front hot from their shared body heat. Maybe it was emotion, maybe it was just memory residue taking effect, but Larry was WARMTH, heat, safety. His instincts since the bar had been to cling to him, and he finally could. He threw his arms around Larry’s shoulders, digging his fingers in as he pulled that warmth closer for another kiss.

There was no freezing, no hesitation this time, now that they were in a safe place. Within seconds Larry had taken control of the kiss, tilting Freddy’s head back with a gentle, but firm tug on his hair that made him fucking swoon. His other hand simply hovered on Freddy’s hip, driving him crazy. After a few moments, Freddy just grabbed it by the wrist and moved it firmly to his ass - where it belonged. As he squeezed Larry’s fingers against himself, he practically moaned. All that stuff about protecting and serving, or even just not getting killed, went out the window. Freddy’s entire world ended right where Larry’s touch did.

Larry, who was also making Very Nice Sounds against his lips, but just HAD to go and pull away. “I feel like a scumbag, doin this on the first date…”

Freddy just laughed. “You call THIS a first date?”

Larry smiled back, running his hands up and down the younger man’s sides. “Hey, I paid for your fuckin’ tacos, kid. Back in the day that’d mean we were going steady.”

“How about we skip ahead to prom night?” Freddy rocked his hips forward.

“Mmm…” Larry’s eyes fluttered shut with pleasure for a moment, before he shook it off. “Seriously, though. I don’t wanna push you too fast…”

“Hey.” Freddy took Larry’s face in his hands, holding him to meet his eyes. “I’m not a chick, ok? It’s really sweet that you wanna be all gentlemanly here and all, but I am FINE. Really. ”

There was a long pause, an awkward staredown only made awkward by the matching hardons pressed between them. Larry took a deep breath and looked away. “…Truth is, kid, I never did this before either. …Not by choice, at least.”

Jodie’s voice, a memory from the first time, bubbled up to the surface of Freddy’s brain and made him shiver.

(“He's only been convicted twice, which is pretty good for somebody
living a life of crime. Once for armed robbery, when he was twenty-
one, in Milwaukee. He got 18 months for that one.”

He dropped his hands instantly. “Fuck, if this is bringin’ up bad memories, man, we don’t have to…”

Larry’s fingers pressed up against his lips. “Shhh-shhh-shh, don’t go jumpin to any conclusions, now. I’m fine, just… don’t want you to get your hopes up too much,” he mumbled, a bit apologetic.

Freddy could’ve burst. He wanted to call Larry by his name, tell him he was crazy to even worry, but he knew he couldn’t.

So instead he wrapped his legs around the older man’s waist like a horny koala and tried to physically SHOVE all those feelings down Larry’s throat with his tongue.

Larry made a startled sound against his lips, then shoved Freddy back hard against the door, grinding against him as his hands moved down to cling to the tight, young ass writhing against him.

Larry buried his face in Freddy’s neck, breathing him in. "God, Kid, you are.... you are something else, you know that?"

“I dunno,” Freddy turned to whisper in his ear, taking the opportunity to drop a few kisses while he was at it. "Show me?"

He felt Larry’s breath suck in deeply, somewhere between a chuckle and bracing himself. “…Get on the damn bed.”

Freddy did so, happily, scrambling onto the mattress and tearing haphazardly at his clothes. When he’d finally tossed the last of them to the floor, he realized that Mr. White was still standing by the door, just watching him. His arms were crossed, but his gaze was one of pure admiration. “Jesus, you are fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“He says to the pasty stick with the giant nose?” Freddy brushed the compliment off, even if it did feel fantastic to hear. Years of books knocked out of his hands hadn’t done wonders for his self-image. If he even had a self-image…

Suddenly, it hit him: It was like he had a clean slate. Larry wasn’t looking at Freddy, the nerdy kid who used to smoke cloves and listen to Bowie behind the school in his shitty car, trying to convince himself he wanted to fuck SUE, not Johnny Storm. That kid wasn’t even in the fucking building. Mr. White was looking at Mr. Orange, and Mr. Orange was whoever the fuck Freddy wanted him to be.

Right now, that was whoever the fuck Mr. White wanted Mr. Orange to be. Because all Freddy OR Orange wanted was Mr. White.

Larry stepped a little closer, with a real tenderness in his eyes that made Freddy, for a VERY brief moment, wish Mr. White had been his father. “What are you talkin about? You’re beautiful, kid. Old man like me shouldn’t even be touchin you.”

Freddy wrapped his arms around himself, half-self consciousness, half to try and hide the shivers. “…You make it sound like I’m something special.”

Larry was standing over him now. “Far as I’m concerned? You are.”

Part of Freddy’s mind was screaming, ‘Save his life! Prove him wrong right now!’ but he couldn’t follow through. His heart ached too much, his body needed too much. And maybe, just maybe… “Not too special for you to touch me,” he whispered, reaching out a hand.

Larry took it, and let his still-clothed form be pulled down on top of Freddy’s naked one. They kissed again, slower this time, less frantic than before. Freddy slowly parted his legs, letting the older man’s body rest between them, their arousals flush against each other.

“Mmm….” He groaned, grinding against the fabric of Larry’s pants. “Come on, Mr. White. Please…”

Larry lifted himself up on his elbows. He reached up with one hand to stroke Freddy’s hair, that small, fond smile still on his lips. “What if I told you I’m too much of a gentleman to go all the way on the first date?”

“Why don’t you want me? Really?” The directness of the question, combined with the sheer PAIN in Freddy’s eyes, nearly knocked Larry off-balance.

He looked down at the younger man, that gentle smile replaced with worry and sadness. “It’s not that,” he whispered. He pushed himself up and off Freddy, rolling to lie beside him. “I want you, kid - fuck, you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, of course I want you - but I’m not gonna push you—”

Freddy groaned and covered Larry’s mouth. His face followed soon behind, long lashes nearly tickling the other man’s skin. “Look. I told you, if anyone’s PUSHING here, it’s me. This ain’t some misplaced respect for my elders here. I am naked, in your bed, because that’s where I wanna be. My only concern at the moment is why YOU are not naked, in your bed, with me. Now, are you worried about ME, or are you worried about YOU?”

Larry’s eyes were so sad. Why? He didn’t even know how doomed they were, and HE gets to look sad?

Freddy wasn’t having it. “Look, feel free to give me the edited for network television version if you’re worried about TMI. But SOMETHING’S wrong, I can tell.” He kissed him again, soft and gentle.

When their lips separated, Larry closed his eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths. It reminded Freddy of some of that meditation shit Holdaway had tried teaching him, except Larry actually made it look convincing. “Kid, when I was young, this kind of thing could get you a lobotomy. Shock treatment. Unless you were in a foxhole or a cell, it meant you were less than a man. …Even then, if you weren’t pitching.”

“That’s bullshit, though, you gotta know that, right?” Freddy chewed his lower lip as he reached down to squeeze Larry’s hand. It was surprisingly sweaty.

“In my head? Sure, I guess. But once you learn to look at the world one way, it’s really goddamn hard to change it. My God…” he looked Freddy over like a long-lost work of art. “You know how many times I fucked some cooze, imaginin’ she was someone like you? Fuck…” He closed his eyes, resting his forehead on Freddy’s bare shoulder.

It felt like Freddy’s heart was getting drawn and quartered every which-way. Someone like me! Oh god, poor Larry! Don’t fuckin tell me about cooze you fucked, you asshole! Shit shit shit. “I’m here now,” he whispered, unsure of what else to say. He hugged Larry close, stroking his hair, kind of like the way… he nearly hiccuped out a sob as the flashbacks hit him.

(“Larry, I’m so fucking scared, man…would you please hold me?”)

He was naked, right fucking UNDER Larry, and Freddy was still jealous of the Freddy that died in his arms. He got to say his fucking name, and that simple luxury felt like the Holy Grail of intimacy right then. All he could do was hold on.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, kid…” Strong arms hugged Freddy back, tight enough that when Larry laughed, it reverberated through his whole body. “You know, sometimes these last few days, I’d look at you, and thank my lucky stars I didn’t pass this job up. …And then sometimes all I wanna do is buy you a bus ticket to Idaho or somewhere, just get you the fuck out of here before you’re an old, lonely piece of shit like me.”

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. If THIS Larry didn’t remember any of what happened before, and he felt like this NOW…

Fuck. He was in love. Freddy was totally the fuck in love, with a guy whose name he wasn’t supposed to know, and who he wasn’t supposed to let get away, and who would probably kill him doubly now if he found out the truth. Nononononono. “You’re not an old piece of shit,” he murmured. “…And you don’t have to be lonely now.”

This time, it felt like Larry was shoving his feelings down his throat. They tasted like tears and smoke and all Freddy could do is let them in, take all of it and hope somehow it could just soak into him and change him to the bright-eyed, eager, still-salvagable kid that Larry THOUGHT he was. As if maybe somewhere there was an actual Mr. Orange that he could morph into, and they could both take that fuckin bus to Idaho.

His fingers shook as he reached down for Larry’s belt, just waiting or the last-minute-resistance he was sure would come. Instead, Larry just kept kissing him, with enough skill that Freddy could FEEL all the wasted time in it. Like all these years, Larry really HAD been imagining HIM in all those womens’ places… Freddy bet there were a lot. He must’ve been fuckin’ gorgeous in his youth… Fuck that, he still was. Freddy tugged open his fly, pulling out Larry’s cock almost reverently. It was hot and heavy in his hand, thick and hard and oh Jesus, this was gonna tear him in HALF and he couldn’t wait. “La-…..”He stopped, before one dumbass tongue slip ruined everything — “Lube, we’re gonna need somethin’…” he babbled, hoping he’d covered for his fuckup.

“You seriously want me to…” Larry was pushing himself up on his elbows again now, shrouding Freddy as the younger boy’s legs wrapped around him in an impatient attempt to push his pants the rest of the way off with the heels of his feet.

“How many—mmmn—fuckin times I, ahh, gotta say yes?” Freddy grunted back, feeling triumphant as he felt the the last barriers between their skin slide out of the way. From the waist down, at least. “You got anything?” He didn’t really want to admit he did unless he had to. For a second he wondered why he’d even brought the condom, then reminded himself that just the fact that he was here, rubbing his erection against Larry’s, instead of his fucking hand like the last time, was proof enough that maybe, just MAYBE, he could live through this.

They could live through this.

Oh God…. “Please,” he whimpered, but he wasn’t sure to who.

“Sorry kid…”

“’Salright, hang on.” Freddy stretched and just barely caught the cuff of one leg of his jeans, precariously hanging off the edge of the bed, He yanked it up, just barely catching his wallet before it fell from his pocket to the floor. “Been carrying this shit around so long wishful thinkin, it’s probably growin mold,” he joked, flashing a weak smile as he pulled the condom and a small packet of lube out. “But better than nothin, right?” he clasped Larry’s hand tightly as he handed them over. “Ah,” he laughed, reaching up to unbutton Larry’s shirt. “Guess that wasn’t all we forgot,” he said, pushing the fabric off Larry’s shoulders. There were a few more tattoos there to greet him - he recognized one as Marine corps, before he got distracted by the muscle beneath his hands, the softness of middle age just barely taking effect. “’Sbetter,” he smiled, running his hands up Larry’s chest. Skin. He just wanted to feel skin, no clothes, no blood, no nothing.

Larry smiled back, still looking a bit nervous when he sat up to tear open the condom wrapper. He rolled it on, then reached for the lubricant. He looked up at Freddy, his mouth opening—

“— if you even fuckin TRY to ask me if I’m sure about this, man, I’m gonna KILL you.” As extra punctuation, he spread his legs wide, practically rolling out the welcome mat.

He was starting to think he’d need a LITERAL one when he finally felt a slick, wet finger pushing at his hole. “Ah shit…” he sighed, tossing his head back. Finally. When he felt like Larry was taking too long, he reached down and added one of his own fingers, “C’mon, man, I can take it…Don’t care if it hurts…” He really didn’t.

“I care, buddy boy,” Larry scolded, slowly adding more lube (and more digits) to the mix.

Freddy rolled his eyes, pulling out his own finger and leaving the rest up to is partner. “That’s why… I’m letting you, …stupid,” he grunted.

If Freddy’d known that was how to drive Larry crazy, he would’ve said it faster. In a flash, the fingers were replaced by the head of Larry’s cock, slowly pushing its way in. “Fuck, yeah…. Unnn…” He dug his fingers into the sheets, trying to get used to the feeling of being so FULL.

Their eyes met as Larry pushed forward, and they both just looked at each other, dumbfounded, as if they’d discovered the secret to life and were embarrassed at how simple it was.

Oh, fuck. Freddy was in love. He was about to hyperventilate when Larry pulled back out and IN again, and his prostate made all the bad thoughts go away in a shower of sparks. “Ahhhh!”

“You OK, kid?” Larry reached up, cupping Freddy’s cheek. His hips paused mid-stroke.

“I am so, SO much better than OK right now,” he managed to choke out. “Fuck, you feel huge…” he tossed his head back and forth. “All day tomorrow I’m gonna FEEL you.”

Then next day, when he woke up, he was gonna feel Larry inside him.
At the meeting with Holdaway, he was gonna feel Larry inside him.
In his apartment, pretending to search for Larry’s mugshot, he was gonna feel Larry inside him.

All day long, as he lied to everyone and everything around him, he was gonna feel Larry inside him, and that justified all of it.