The dream drifted away from him so quickly that even the cloying sense of sadness went with it. He turned and stretched a hand across the bed, only to be met with crisp, cold emptiness. With gargantuan effort, he lifted an eyelid and glanced at his clock: 4:46 am. Larry would be back in five hours, maybe six. His stomach rumbled and he valiantly ignored it for almost ten minutes until the discomfort killed all hope of him reclaiming sleep. With an easy string of expletives, he pushed himself from the bed and meandered into the kitchen, rubbing at his sandpaper eyes.

He'd spent nearly an hour in the grocery store that afternoon, killing time and wondering why he'd started to measure his life in increments of another person's presence. The fridge was full, but the choice was no less difficult. In the end, he just settled on a hot dog, microwaved to the point of bursting. It was dark and quiet as he ate, and the sound of his own chewing and swallowing seemed deafening to his ears. Muted traffic murmured, forlorn and distant, on the street below. He put his plate in the sink and walked back to bed.

The covers irritated him, displaced and in disarray. He kicked at them in a futile attempt to recreate his previous position. Ignited, heart pumping, he finally admitted defeat and slumped across the mattress. His eyes flitted to the open closet door, and the primly-wrapped package poorly concealed within. The boutique's delivery boy, young and nervous, had buzzed him that morning. After placing a few stray bills in his hand, Freddy had immediately stashed it where he wouldn't be reminded of its existence.

Long minutes of indecision and agony passed until he finally crept over and pulled it from its hiding place. The suit was just as exquisite as he remembered; he traced his finger along a hemline, silently appreciating its quality and simplicity. An unexpected urge snuck up on him and he obeyed, standing to pull his t-shirt over his head and kick off his boxers.

It felt elicit as he pulled the cotton dress shirt over his bare skin, the smooth fabric catching on the fine hairs dusting his forearms. Trembling, he worked at the small, pearlescent buttons, right up to the collar. The cufflinks were a little difficult, but he managed. He didn't bother with the socks or the garters; he wanted to feel the fine wool against his legs. When he was finished, Freddy sought out the closest mirror and took a moment to really study his reflection. His hair was matted and rebellious from sleep, but he didn't even notice. Reverently, he brushed his palms along the breast of the jacket. It tapered in beautifully. He turned and looked at his profile; every curve and angle was appropriately accentuated. A thrill shot through him and he blushed at the thought of how Larry would react.

He relished both the feel of it and how it made him feel. It was easy to stretch out on the bed and just languish, eyes closed, lulled by the imagined events of their reunion. He made up his mind to indulge for just a few minutes, then put the suit back in its box. Those few minutes slipped away as he slowly fell back asleep, cradled by the memory of deep, whiskey kisses and strong arms tightening around him.

Waking up was like struggling to the surface of churning waters. The bed moved and he lurched awake, heart pounding.

"Shhh," Larry whispered against him, sneaking kisses along his neck, "I got in early and didn't want to wake you."

Freddy's stomach flip-flopped when he remembered what he was wearing.

"You know how beautiful you look?" Larry rumbled, running a hand down the length of his thigh.

"Fuck, is it wrinkled?" Freddy mumbled and tried to sit up so he could assess the damage.

"Nah, you were out like a light."

He finally allowed himself to relax and turned his body into Larry's, just savoring the warm solidity of the other man. A small sigh escaped and he was hushed by a slow, smoky kiss. The truth of how much he'd missed it descended on him like a crushing weight, sucking the air from his lungs.

Larry smiled into his mouth and eased his hand downward, fingers deftly working at the suit's fly.

"What're you doing?" Freddy gasped, "we can't. I gotta wear this to that party in a few hours."

"Don't worry, I won't spill a drop."

The look Larry gave him was pure mischief and all he could do was collapse against his pillows, dazed, as quick fingers pulled him free. He loved the tightness of Larry's grip; his smooth, flat palms.

"God, I was jerking off in my hotel room last night, dreaming about doing this to you."

In one swift motion, Larry gulped him deep, throat loose. Freddy saw stars and reached out, blind, taking a handful of soft salt and pepper hair.

"Oh... God. Oh," he stuttered and squeezed his eyes shut.

Larry's mouth was hot and sloppy and obscene on him, wrapped tight, making filthy, satisfied noises. He could die like this; it wouldn't surprise him.

"Fuck, I'm close."

The only response he got was a tightened grip on the base of his cock, a few hard pumps, and a long, shallow suck right on his exposed head. He almost sobbed with the quick and violent relief of his orgasm. Larry clamped down, sealed his lips, and swallowed.

When his wits returned to him, Freddy snuck a quick glance at his suit. It was pristine. In contrast, Larry looked wrecked; lips swollen and raw, hair falling into his eyes.

"Come 'ere."

Larry crawled up to meet his outstretched arms and sank down against his chest, face flush against his neck. For a few moments, they simply breathed together.

"Did you come?" Freddy whispered against his hair.

"No rush. We still got a few hours to kill."

.•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•.

The driver pulled up to the dock and Larry reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. Freddy stopped him with a gentle touch on his forearm.

"Can I pay?"

The kid's eyes were earnest, voice eager, and Larry had no choice but to surrender to him.

"Knock yourself out."

Freddy handed over a fistful of limp bills and turned to give him a quick once-over before they got out.

"You look good, but..."

"What?" Larry asked, looking down to inspect his suit. Nothing was out of place.

"You mind?"

The kid didn't wait for an answer before he leaned forward, pulling a few strands from Larry's carefully slicked back hair. They fell into his eyes and he couldn't help but flinch, thrown off-kilter.

"There," Freddy declared, "you look real handsome like that."

Impulse screamed at him to reach into his pocket and comb everything back into place, but the soft appreciation in the kid's eyes was enough to deter him.

The party was already underway as they approached the yacht, white and glowing with garlands of tiny lights. Larry gave his name at the ramp and they were immediately ushered in.

He scanned the interior for familiar faces and saw only a few, sequestered in corners with champagne and hors d'oeuvres, engrossed in conversation. He could feel Freddy a few paces behind him, silent and unsure, and hated that he couldn't extend a comforting hand. A waiter approached them with a tray and he gratefully took two flutes. Freddy took his with a private smile and sipped slowly.

"Larry Dimick?"

Larry turned towards the strong, feminine voice and schooled himself into a generous smile. She looked as elegant as always, dressed to the nines in Hepburn blacks, cascading raven hair pulled high into a single, severe ponytail. A slender cigarette burned between her perfectly manicured nails.

"Sophie. It's been a while."

When she leaned in to place a peck on his cheek Freddy's posture stiffened. She did an admirable job of pretending not to notice.

"Frederick, this is Sophie. She's an attorney with the Federal Reserve."

It was a marvel to watch him; like a switch had been flipped inside. Gone was the wide-eyed student, instantly replaced by a clean-cut legal prodigy. Freddy extended a hand, smile cool and confident but not condescending.

"It's a pleasure. I'm doing some consulting work for Mr. Dimick's firm."

"Larry! Only you would bring a colleague instead of a date as your plus one," Sophie laughed, fire-engine red lips curling over her perfect teeth.

"Gimme a break," he grunted, "you know I don't have time for any of that."

"I know no such thing," she shot back, taking a sip of her drink. He watched as her lips left a waxy smudge on the rim of her glass and felt the back of his neck prickle. Freddy stood beside him; silent, observing. Then he spoke.

"As Woody Allen said, 'some people think about sex all of the time, some people think about sex some of the time, and some people never think about sex: they become lawyers'."

Sophie erupted into peels of laughter and molded herself against Freddy's arm. All Larry could do was stare, taken aback by the young man's glib remark.

"Oh, what a charming creature," Sophie trilled, kneeding his bicep, "Frederick, what do you specialize in?"

"Criminal law."

There was a drawn-out silence as Sophie studied him, lips pursed into a straight line. She clicked a fingernail against her drained flute.

"Now, what would Cabot Equity possibly want with your brand of expertise?"

It was like the air had been sucked out of the room around him; Larry could only watch as Freddy smirked and took a long sip of his champagne, eyes calm.

"That's rich coming from someone with the Reserve," Freddy retorted, smooth and playful, "remember, Ponzi schemes fall within the scope of RICO law. You just have to prove willing participation of multiple parties to meet the requirements of organized crime."

Sophie turned to him, laughing.

"Larry, I hope you're paying this boy handsomely. It sounds like he's singlehandedly keeping you and Joe out of jail."

Rationally, Larry knew it was a simple joke that had accidentally glanced too close to the truth, but a cold stone settled in the pit of his gut. He watched, head buzzing and disconnected as Sophie and Freddy kept talking, oblivious to his escalating distress. There was a high-pitched laugh and his mind whirred, like a wheel spinning off its axle. Freddy's transformation was unsettling; impressive not only for his skill of observation and imitation, but also an instinctual knack for conversation. It was inevitable - Larry couldn't help it - he began to wonder how much of what he'd seen from the kid was simply an act for his ego's benefit.

.•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•.

It was past midnight, and they were on the upper deck, watching tipsy couples swinging against each other to the DJ's mediocre playlist. Any attempt at intelligent conversation had long ago evaporated as the wet bar kept flowing. Freddy glanced over at Larry; he'd never seen the other man legitimately drunk, though he was skirting close to it. After Sophie had pardoned herself, Larry had quickly ordered a straight scotch, followed by two more. He was gruff and mono-syllabic in his responses and Freddy was instilled with a fear that he'd somehow provoked the other man's ire. He replayed the night's events over and over in his mind, but couldn't pinpoint any careless word or gesture. He'd been friendly with Sophie, but had kept her at arms' length when she'd started in on him with her light flirting. Maybe Larry was just a morose drunk.

"We don't have to stick around," he offered softly, just loud enough to be heard above the music.

"Whatever you want," Larry muttered and brought his tumbler to his lips.

Irritation surged through Freddy, but he quickly clamped it down.

"Have you met all your professional requirements? Said 'hi' to the right people?"

The response he got was thick and unintelligible.

"I think we'd better go," Freddy sighed.

Larry just stared, eyes dull and red-rimmed, like he was looking through him.

"You stay here, I'll get us a ride."

"Sure thing, hot shot."

Freddy was up and out of his seat before he could snap back with line petty and cruel enough that he would regret it in the morning. It took him almost ten minutes to find Sophie, sitting in hushed conversation with a beautiful Asian woman draped in creamy whites and fecund reds. He kept his voice firm as he spoke, but she must have seen the uncertainty in his eyes. When she placed a steadying hand on his forearm and assured him that he could use her phone, he had to suck in a shuddering breath to keep himself from hugging her.

To be continued...

Ahhh! Thank you so much! Characterization is so important to me, and I'm relieved you like what I've done so far. :)))

(Next part is up! Thanks for your patience: https://resdog-kink.dreamwidth.org/1225.html?thread=308681#cmt308681)

Bo-ho-ho... your predictive powers are strong, my dear (next part is up, and you called it: https://resdog-kink.dreamwidth.org/1225.html?thread=308681#cmt308681)

And I just love Sophie and O-Ren so much, I had to include them in a cameo. *grin*

Muahahah. I remember hearing that Woody Allen quote years ago and laughing because I have family members who are lawyers. I couldn't not use it. ;)

And yes, that surface tension has come to a head, I'm afraid: https://resdog-kink.dreamwidth.org/1225.html?thread=308681#cmt308681

I love how you write these two together and the way you gradually develop their relationship. Also, another nice chapter; very well done as usual.

On a side note, did you mean to write Anthony Burgess the name of the author who wrote A Clockwork Orange not Burgess Meredith (the actor)? I'm pretty certain that is his name. Sorry in case I'm mistaken though.

The role reversal here (Freddy as care-taker, Larry as helpless/childlike) is fascinating. I'm really rooting for a happy ending for these two, but I can't help but feel like the emotional baggage of Freddy's father issues and the revelation of what Larry does for a living will culminate in the worst possible way.

(Like the commenter above, I also noticed the Burgess Meredith slip-up but it made me laugh because just the other day I referred to Danica Patrick as Danica McKellar and couldn't understand why people were confused that the girl from Wonder Years was also a kick-ass race car driver...)

Warning on this chapter: illegal drug use.

She agreed to meet him at the fountain in front of the USC library. Just one glance at her profile had him breathing easier, and he was hit with a wave of nostalgia so strong that it almost stopped him in his tracks. For all the luxury that had fallen into his lap, the intensity with which he missed their rundown two-story was more than disconcerting. Or maybe he was just still mad at Larry.

"Freddy, what the hell is going on?"

Direct and no-nonsense as usual; he knew he owed her the same consideration.

"Fuck, I don't even know where to begin."

The fountain's concrete was cool beneath him. He pulled his legs up into a lotus position and ran a fingertip across the finely pocked surface. Hilde's gaze didn't waver.

"Girl troubles or boy troubles?"

"Boy."

Silence drifted between them and Freddy focused on the comforting murmur of students bustling around the courtyard. The library was a hub of campus life on the weekends.

"It's that man you were eating lunch with, isn't it? Larry."

The moment his eyes met hers, he knew it was too late to deny anything, so he simply nodded.

"I knew it! Christ, the way you two were looking at each other, I felt it in my gut. And that story about him knowing your dad reeked to high heaven."

He rubbed his hands over his face and kept them there, slumping forward, elbows perched on his knees.

"What'd he do?"

Her voice was bordering on dangerous.

"It's more fucked up than that. He's got no obligation towards me... to treat me like a boyfriend or nothing. It's an arrangement between us. He's fucking loaded, but he's busy. And lonely. I needed the money for school..."

His words drifted off and he looked up. Hilde's eyes were as round as saucers.

"He's your sugar daddy?"

"Don't judge. At the beginning, it was perfect. No attachment, just company and sex when he was in town. I'd worked out how long it would take me to be debt-free. It was nothing; less time than most real relationships.

"You were doing a pretty good job of convincing yourself there for a second."

Leave it to Hilde to cut through all the bullshit and get to the truth. It was like being pulled down by an undertow; Freddy gulped for air and focused his attention on small copse of palm trees. The sun suddenly felt scorching against his back, and he fidgeted.

"I thought he'd developed feelings for me. The moment I realized it, I wasn't scared or upset... just fucking relieved that I wasn't the only idiot between the two of us. So, I brought it up to him. He'd been really drunk the night before, and I guess I'd misread his signals. Fuck, I was so embarrassed."

Her hand grasped his and he had to hold on for dear life just to keep the tears at bay. It was strange that a simple gesture could threaten the defenses he'd maintained so vigilantly in front of Larry.

"Oh, you silly boy. You've fallen in love with him, haven't you?"

He tilted his head down and gave silent thanks that his bangs were long enough to cover his eyes.

"I'm not sure. It's just... when he buys things for me, I wish he was doing it because I'm special to him, you know? And I want to be able to do little things for him without it making him question my motives."

"He thinks you're a gold digger?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm pretty sure he thinks I play some shit up just to get more outta him."

"Fuck that, fuck him," Hilde growled, squeezing his hand hard, "you deserve someone who really loves you. Continuing this arrangement will only cause you pain, Freddy. Break it off. Take the money you've saved and run."

Her words sliced right to the heart of him, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. Just the idea of not seeing Larry again, of Larry finding a replacement for him, filled Freddy with a mix of terror and jealousy that flayed him bare. He pushed it down as deep as it could go.

"Believe me," he finally said aloud, blinking the sun and tears out of his eyes, "I've been toying with it."

.•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•.

Joe and Eddie had known that something was wrong the moment he'd arrived at the gentleman's club. They were both used to the fact that he didn't wear air travel well, but his irritation and brusqueness went beyond that. It had been so obvious that Joe had pulled him aside and told him to man up and get over the little pissing contest he had going with Vega. Larry had almost laughed; he'd completely forgotten that the party was being thrown by Vega and his firm in celebration of their newly formed alliance with Cabot Equity.

The lights strobed overhead and he closed his eyes, sipping his rye on the rocks and wondering if the apartment really would be empty when he returned to LA. To be honest, he wouldn't blame the kid; all he'd wanted was a no-fuss way to pay his bills, and instead, he'd been saddled with pathetic old fuck who'd fallen for him and was too craven to even admit it. Larry sucked in a lungful of air, trying to dislodge the tightness in his chest. He felt old, worn, and paranoid. A quick glance at the lithe young women twisting themselves on stage filled him with an irrational rage; they looked so bored, so listless. For a moment, he let himself imagine what their lives were like, wondered if they did this to get themselves through school, or to support a young child. He doubted any of them would be impressed by unwanted overtures from a customer. They probably couldn't wait to just clock out and go home, like any other poor bastard working hard to make ends meet. A tight grip on his arm pulled him from his musings.

"Hey, look who it is. How you doin' you old dog?"

"Fine," he grunted, keeping his eyes trained forward. Vega reeked of booze and his nose was rubbed raw.

"You want a private room? I got a gram with your name on it. These bitches love it when you share."

The weight of the moment, the dark thoughts plaguing him; everything seemed to hit him at once. Weak and drained, Larry glanced up and met the eyes of the girl dancing slowly in the corner. Her irises were like storm clouds; grey, blue, and green all at once. The hair curling at her shoulders was soft and bottle-blonde, just like Jean Harlow. She was about Freddy's age, and had that same look of ill-concealed sadness behind the perfect mask of youth she wore.

"How much?" he found himself asking, defeated.

"For the coke or the girl?"

"Both."

He almost called the entire thing off before she entered the room, quiet and smiling, obviously nervous under all the high-tech gloss. She was undoubtedly new at it, still trying to figure out how to please mouth-breathing the strangers she met without putting herself at risk. Larry felt like an utter bastard.

"Hi sugar."

Her voice was sweet and childlike, lilting with just a touch of the south. The red paint on her mouth was smeared at the corner and for some reason the sight of it broke his heart.

"You don't have to do anything," he found himself saying, "when I agreed to this my head was somewhere else."

She sat down on the faux-velvet love seat next to him and grinned, sweet and lop-sided.

"Whatever you want. But I can dance for you if you'd like. Just like out there... I won't take my clothes off or nothing if you don't want me to."

It was hard to keep his eyes from her cleavage; there was glitter and sweat smeared between her smallish breasts and for a moment he just wanted to lay his head against on her shoulder. Nothing more. When he didn't reply she cocked her head and looked at him long and hard, considering.

"You wanna touch me?" she whispered, leaning closer.

"Not like that," he swallowed, "there're so many reasons why, number one being that you're on the job and it would be wrong of me. But most of all, it's because if I did, I'd just be thinking of someone else, and how it'd feel like I was cheating on them."

She pursed her lips, like she'd decided something.

"You wanna do that coke now?"

He laughed, deep and throaty and with such relief he felt like he was floating.

"Knock yourself out."

The baggie that Vega had shoved in his palm was sticky with his sweat. He undid the twist tie and set it down on the glass-top table beside the love seat. There was no doubt in his mind what purpose it served.

The girl pulled a coin purse from the pocket of her ripped daisy dukes and delicately removed a razor. She sectioned the powder like a pro and offered him the first line. Larry just shook his head and watched as she bent over and helped herself.

"Damn," she giggled, eyes watering, "that's good shit. You sure you don't want any?"

For a second, he tried to imagine how Freddy would react if he could see him now, in a private room with a high-end stripper and a bag of the best cocaine in New York. He was like a parody of the criminal he knew himself to be, above the law and above human decency. The fraud they perpetrated was so massive, so esoteric, that the only men ever brought down were done in by their own ego and stupidity, or because the world needed a temporary scapegoat. All the rest - far and away the majority of men like him - got away with it. For years, that knowledge had made him feel invincible. He'd fucked whomever he wanted, sampled whatever dark pleasures the elite had to offer. But now, just a handful of years past fifty, he'd met a straight-laced kid who still loved comics and honestly believed he could do some good by becoming part of the criminal justice system. It was so cruelly poetic, so fitting, that it made him skirt the edge of hysteria. He couldn't help it; he laughed, brittle and sad.

"What is it?" she asked, reaching out to grab his wrist, "who broke your heart?"

He had to breathe deep and even for a few seconds before answering her.

"A man."

She was wrapped around him before he could flinch away, just holding him tight, rubbing soft circles into his back.

"It's okay," she whispered, "ain't nothing wrong with that. Does he love you, too?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly before thinking better of it, "I don't see how he could."

Her fingers dug into his upper arms as she pulled away, eyes blazing.

"Why would you say something like that?"

"He's a good person. He's young like you; got his whole life ahead of him. I've got nothing to offer outside of what I'm already giving. That's just the way it is."

For a terrifying moment, Larry thought she'd start crying. Instead, she just nodded and accepted his answer. The room was quiet except for the muted bass drifting in from outside.

"I believe in true love, you know," she finally spoke, so quiet he barely heard her, "I haven't found it yet but someday I will and that'll be the happiest day of my life. If you've found it, and you don't go after it..."

She just trailed off, like she couldn't find any words deserving of her conviction.

"I'm not like you," he muttered, "I ain't the romantic type."

"Oh sweetie, of course you are."

Larry couldn't find the words to persuade either her or himself.

"Is there any coke left?"

She laughed, high and tinkling like glass, then moved over so he could access the table. He snorted a line and closed his eyes, relishing the familiar burn and subsequent burst. His limbs tingled.

"You're a real gentleman, you know that? Back where I come from, in Alabama, you'd be quite a catch for anyone."

He reached for her hand and brought it gently to his lips. Their time was almost up, but at least he'd gotten one kiss in, even if it was chaste. At that moment, it was just what he needed.

.•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•.


He and Hilde had studied together for a few hours, making use of their time on campus, then gone for a late dinner at a restaurant they'd often frequented during the first few months of their acquaintance. It had been just as dingy as he remembered it, with sinful, sloppy hamburgers that had been a staple of his school diet for far too long.

The indulgence had come back to bite him in the ass; he lay awake on his couch, hours past midnight, and suffering from near-intolerable heartburn. The over-the-counter crap had done nothing to alleviate his pain, so he'd switched to alcohol, and used the burn it left on the way down as an excuse to drink even more. The world was asleep around him, and he was angry and in agony and missing Larry more than he'd thought himself capable of.

"Son of a bitch, I hate him," he slurred, too loud and to no one. His eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where Larry had been seated the last time he'd seen him, reading documents and doing an admirable job of ignoring him.

"Fucking ass. Stuck-up rich fuck. Thinks he's too good for me."

He spat the insults into the air, where they dissolved, invisible. Somehow, the petty indulgence made him feel better. In a moment of pure serendipity, he turned his head and noticed a sheet of paper, stuck in the corner behind his dining table. It must have fallen out of Larry's briefcase when he left. Spitefully, Freddy hoped that it was something important. His legs swayed as he pushed himself up from the cushions, and drunkenly lumbered over to where it lay abandoned, hoping that it would be a signature page on a multi-million dollar contract.

It took a few tries, but he finally managed to pick up the document and place it flat on the table. He bent over it and blinked, attempting to banish his double vision. A quick read through the first paragraph had his mind in a tailspin and he had to pull out a chair to sit down. Freddy read it five more times, slowly, forging through the fog in his brain. When he was done, the air was gone from his lungs and his hands were shaking. It was a memo, no doubt private, communicating Cabot Equity's intent to form a low-level partnership with HSBC, one of the world's largest banks. In exchange, they would provide myriad investment and financing opportunities; real estate promisory notes, securities and wire fraud. All schemes that would enable HSBC to provide money laundering services to some of the world's most powerful criminal organizations, including Mexico's Sinaloa cartel, and the Russian mafia. It was the kind of knowledge that would get him killed. The kind of knowledge that would get Larry killed if anyone knew that he was missing it.

Freddy lurched to the kitchen sink and emptied his stomach inside it, eyes watering, head pounding. After a few minutes, when he was confident of his ability to move again, he took the document into the bedroom and folded it neatly into the breast pocket of the suit that Larry had given him.

.•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•.

He hated layovers. Layovers in O'Hare were the work of the devil. Larry cursed under his breath and gripped his carry-on tighter as he made his way to the correct terminal. He checked his watch; there was about an hour to go until they called final boarding, plenty of time to do what he needed. After finally eyeballing his gate number, he quickly scanned his surroundings and found what he needed. The pay phone kiosks were lined up against the wall; it was early enough that most weren't in use. He made a bee-line for one of them, clutching his bag under his arm as he flipped through the Yellow Pages. The machine took four quarters; he punched the number and waited as it dialed out.

"Hello. I'm calling from here in Chicago, but could you give me the number of your store off Exposition in Los Angeles?"

The clerk politely put him on hold and came back a few minutes later with the information he'd requested. Scribbling the number in the top corner of the phone book, he thanked her and then hung up. He popped in some more coins and dialed again, heart pounding.

"Yes, hello. I'm wondering if you could help me pick out some flowers..."

To be continued...

Yay! Thanks for the comment. (I LOVE Alabama. She's a feminine heroine, who's also incredibly powerful. Quentin writes them so well.)

Oh, and next part is up! https://resdog-kink.dreamwidth.org/1225.html?thread=320201#cmt320201

They really are a pair of meat-heads, aren't they? I adore them, though. (Of course.)

Thanks so much for commenting!

(Oh, and next part is up: https://resdog-kink.dreamwidth.org/1225.html?thread=320201#cmt320201)

EEP! So sweet and sour! Fantastic :) This fic always gives me the wibblies

First of all, I want to apologize for the delay in this update. My real life has been insane, and I was briefly waylaid by other fandoms. No excuses!


After Sophie left, Freddy stood in the foyer, and allowed the panic to simply pass through him. Fueled with adrenaline, he quickly considered his options. He could show the document to Larry and him explain himself. Or, he could call Hilde and ask her to pick him up. Sever all ties, immediately and completely. The sheer weight of the decision suddenly dawned on him and he had to lean against the back of a chair to compose himself, just counting his breaths. In and out. Minutes passed and he made the conscious effort to push himself away and enter the lion's den.
Larry was splayed on his back, arm folded over his head. He rarely snored, but often slept with his mouth slightly agape, a habit that had consistently melted Freddy heart. No longer. He felt little more than numbness, head buzzing with a strange sense of disconnection.

"Sophie was just here," he announced without preamble.

It had the desired effect. Blinking, disoriented, Larry pushed himself onto his elbows, confusion evident on his face.

"Huh?"

"She's not the type to panic, is she Larry?"

Larry's features settled like stone.

"What did she say?"

"That they know about the HSBC deal, and the hammer's about to drop. She doesn't know when, just that it'll be soon."

Breathless, almost giddy, Freddy waited for Larry's reaction. All he needed was an excuse to leave, but the agony that flickered across Larry's face threw him for a loop, as did the whispered entreaty:

"Oh god."

The bed creaked as Larry moved over to make room for him, patting the mattress. A small tendril of hope bloomed in Freddy's chest. Still on guard, he lowered himself next to the warm, familiar body and struggled to remain immune to the lingering scent of their earlier love-making. Larry curled an arm around him and spoke, voice strong and measured. He told Freddy everything: the esoteric financing, the investment and securities fraud. The fictitious promisory notes. And finally, impossibly, how a major bank like HSBC would soon be the key to expanding their operations.

Hearing it all from Larry's mouth was sobering in a way he hadn't anticipated. Freddy burrowed into the curve of his arm, face pressed against the bare expanse of his chest, and just allowed himself a moment to make sense of the situation. He didn't even realize he was shivering until Larry pulled the covers over them.

"What're you thinking?"

"Thanks for telling me," Freddy managed, voice muffled.

A few moments of uneasy silence passed, Larry's hand running soft circles over his back.

"You hinted that you never passed the bar. Have you ever posed as a lawyer, or signed anything under the pretense that you are a lawyer? Did Cabot ever willingly misrepresent you as a lawyer with your knowledge?"

The questions tumbled out, leaving him breathless. Larry leaned back and studied him, expression inscrutable.

"What are you saying, babe?"

"You might not be fully complicit if you were being misled by your boss regarding the legal ramifications of--"

"Wait a second there, I was fully aware of what we were doing. I need you to know that. Look at me. This is who I am."

Freddy gripped Larry's arm, fascinated as the firm muscle depressed slightly beneath his fingers. It felt like he was watching a movie of someone else's life.

"I know," he whispered, "but if you want any chance of getting out of this, you'll have to plead ignorance and give them Joe."

"What if we take off? Greece? France? Just the two of us."

His heart crumbled along with Larry's resolve.

"I can't. Larry, I love you, but I have to draw the line somewhere. Take a plea bargain. Let me help you."

The mattress compressed as Larry fell back and stared at the ceiling, eyes unseeing. For a brief, hopeless moment, Freddy was certain that they'd reached a permanent impasse.

"I've known Joe for twenty years," Larry croaked, dragging a hand across his face.

"They're looking for a scapegoat, the bigger the better. He's got to know that he's a sweeter target than you. Would he hesitate in any way to fuck you over if it meant a lighter sentence?"

"I don't know."

The tension in Larry's voice said otherwise.

"If they get him, they get HSBC execs as well. Turn before he can. Sweeten the deal for them. Make yourself indispensable. You know I'm right."

"How many years would I be looking at?"

"I don't know," Freddy answered truthfully, not daring to make eye-contact. Instead, he placed a few soothing caresses against Larry's chest, "the more you give them, the better. I'm talking names, documents. Concrete evidence they can use in court. I don't want to give you false hope, but corporate crime is more likely to invite leniency. You could be looking at a nothing more than a fine."

The indecision was evident in Larry's eyes. Freddy watched him as he agonized silently, weighing his options, calculating the likelihood of every probable outcome. He knew the exact moment Larry made up his mind.

"My kingdom for a kiss," Larry sighed, leaning forward to breathe against his lips.

They tasted each other, deeply, laden with the reality about to descend upon them.

.•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•..•:*¨¨*:•.

His finger tightened around the phone cord. It rang once, twice.

"Hello?"

"Hilde, I need a favor."

Silence. When she answered, it was apparent that she knew his request wasn't a frivolous one.

"Freddy? What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just need the name of the best corporate defense lawyer you can get. I'd ask my professors, but I need to step back from this. I've got an emotional stake in it."

"What did he do?"

"I won't talk about this, Hilde. Not on the phone. Don't ask me to."

"I can't believe that fucker got you caught up in his shit. I'll kill him--"

"Don't. You know how I feel about him. Just... do this for me. Please?"

A deep, pained sigh. Freddy pressed his forehead against the doorframe and mouthed a silent prayer.

"I'll get back to you. I can't promise anything."

The dizzying relief was so intense it felt like someone had cut him off at the knees.

To be continued