number22 | (no subject)

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freddie

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Without the money from Todd Chad, the work is certainly different.

It's more violent, for one, with Philip taking whatever he can get. It's usually something as simple as delivering a warning, roughing someone up, making sure to leave behind a few good bruises before he walks off into the night, and it's not as if he isn't used to it, he's done far worse things for money, but he'd had things so easy for a time.

Still, he has plenty of money at the moment and so he's not particularly concerned about his financial state. The work is harder and he'd quite enjoyed coasting, but there's a fair bit of enjoyment to be had in all this as well. To be had in wrapping his arm around someone's throat from behind and pulling them into the shadows where he can deliver a few well placed blows in near silence.

That isn't what he's doing tonight, though he supposes the job is just as illegal. There are four different men who owe money to a certain loan shark in the city and in this case, Philip's job hasn't been to rough them up or break their fingers or anything violent at all, although he's delivering a message all the same. Over the course of the night, he's broken into three different homes and left a framed family portrait in the middle of the kitchen or dining room table. On each photograph, a red line had been drawn across the throat of the man's wife and any children he has.

It's a little dramatic and silly, but Philip is being paid to deliver the portraits and so he does.

He's just finished the last and is easing his way out of the house when he realizes he's not entirely alone. There's someone on the street and although he can't be entirely certain, he thinks he may have been seen.

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Freddie's on his usual route home after finishing up an evening at Styx. The night's are warm enough these days that he doesn't even need a jacket at one in the morning, just the shirt he'd shown up in. Today's is one of few he'd brought in with him when he'd arrived and he's got his bag and phone too, of course, ear buds stuck in and music turned up load as he makes his way back to his flat.

A flicker of movement out the corner of his eye catches his attention and, curious, he slows his pace a bit, watching as a bush set between two buildings on his right rustles a bit. A figure emerges a moment later, pauses to look into the front window before nonchalantly heading toward the sidewalk.

And it's only the man passes under a beam of streetlight that Freddie recognizes him.

He slows to a stop then, music still blaring loud in his ears as he watches Philip slowly cross the street. There's a car parked just off the kerb, maybe twenty meters from Freddie and, though he hasn't been spotted just yet, he knows it's only a matter of time.

It would have been better had it been a stranger.

He can see him as soon as he comes to a stop and Philip doesn't bother trying to hide, though, not when he knows he's been seen, not when he knows it's Freddie. Instead he reaches into his pocket and takes out his cigarettes, lighting one as he crosses the street, the flame flaring bright for a brief moment before he closes the lighter and slips it back into his pocket.

A stranger he'd just ignore. Act as if nothing at all is happening. Someone he knows, however, might have questions. Ones he knows best not to answer.

"Late night walk, then?" he asks as he draws nearer to Freddie, then takes a drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing bright in the dark. Now that he's close, he can see that Freddie has those strange buds shoved into his ears and he hasn't the slightest idea if he's been heard or not. He's been seen, though, and that's enough.

There it is. Spotted.

Philip lights a fag as he crosses the street, his gate sauntering and casual. He doesn't look like a man who's been caught possibly breaking into someone's house. Or at least snooping about. Freddie's well aware that Philip's dangerous -- that's half his appeal after all. But this, he's not seen.

This makes him want to ask questions he's not certain he wants the answers to.

He doesn't hear whatever it is Philip says, only sees the movement of his lips before he tugs out his earbuds, gaze dropping to the cigarette. "Bit late, isn't it?" he says, heart pounding in his chest.

"That's what I just said to you," he answers, amused, then shrugs slowly. "I was working."

Freddie has never asked specific questions about what Philip does and he assumes that's for the best. There are some people who can accept his specific set of skills, some who even seem to enjoy it, but he's had the feeling that Freddie prefers not knowing any of the details, and that's always worked just fine for Philip. The fewer people who know what he does, the better, as far as he's concerned. Then there are fewer people who are able to turn him in if it ever comes to that.

"Headed home, then?" he asks. It's where Philip should be headed himself, especially after everything he's just done, but he likes being around Freddie. Even if Freddie does seem a little on the nervous side at the moment.

Freddie knows very little about Philip's line of work beyond that he's some sort of bodyguard for Todd Chad. Though, he has the feeling henchman might be a better term even if Philip might object to it.

Whatever it is he does, it's dangerous. Freddie's aware of that much.

He glances back across the street again, eyebrow arched in curiosity and feeling, not for the first time with Philip, a slight sense of unease. Philip's never hurt him, not in any way Freddie hasn't wanted, but he isn't certain he wants to push his luck.

"Yeah," he says, pausing the music player on his phone and wrapping the wire of his earbuds around one hand. He wonders if Philip's got a gun on him. "Just got off work. Are you out stalking again?" He's careful to keep his tone light, more teasing than prying.

"I was working," he repeats. "And I've a feeling you don't really want to know the details of what that entails."

He's a little nervous, Philip can see it in the way Freddie looks at him, in his body language. He can even hear it in his tone of voice, even if he does his best to keep it sounding light. That doesn't matter, really, Philip is used to making people nervous and in another situation he might play with it a little, use it to his advantage, but Freddie's someone he'd rather keep on his side. He's a bit of fun to be had, one of the few in Darrow Philip hasn't grown tired of in some way, and it won't do to make him so uncomfortable he decides he'd rather end everything they do together.

"No one's been hurt," he says finally, flashing a faint smirk. "It's just a message being delivered is all."

He will hurt the men if they don't pay up, but he doesn't need to inform anyone of that bit. Any violence laid down upon them won't be done in their homes and it won't be delivered to their wives or children, no matter what the message implies. Philip has some morals, after all, and so does his temporary employer. It's what makes for a good career criminal.

It's true, really. Freddie doesn't want the details. He doesn't want to know if Philip's just broken into someone's house, if he's just killed someone or was planning to. Maybe he should, maybe not knowing is a bit illegal in itself, but there's enough of an allure to Philip just as he is that keeps Freddie quiet.

Or maybe it's just fear.

Philip's response is a bit cryptic and, if he's honest, Freddie's not certain whether or not to believe him.

"You've got more messages to deliver tonight?" he says instead, not certain himself whether he wants to have a bit of fun with Philip tonight or carry on home.

"No," he answers, his smirk widening bit by bit, and he looks at Freddie with an arched eyebrow. "I'm finished for the evening. Are you looking for someone to escort you home?"

He almost makes some joke about it being a dangerous neighbourhood, how Freddie can't possibly know who might be out and about on a night like tonight, but he keeps it to himself. There's already a skittish sort of sense about Freddie right now and the last thing Philip wants is to chase him off. There's nothing fun in that, after all.

Besides, it isn't as if there's anything Freddie might do to have Philip turned on him by anyone in the city. Even if he were to be offered that sort of job, he'd most likely turn it down.

Truth or not, Freddie's strangely relieved by the response. Some of the tension eases from his shoulders and he lets out a breath, lips twitching into a small, hopeful (and perhaps slightly uncertain) grin.

"D'pends," he says, cocking his head as he hikes the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder, his gaze dropping to the cigarette Philip's still toying with. "Share your fag?"

Freddie's not really much of a smoker, honestly. Not outside of a bit of weed, that is. But he's found he indulges a bit more often in things he wouldn't ordinarily when he's around Philip. For better or for worse. It's likely someone else might judge him for such a thing, but it's not a though he's told anyone about Philip. Not really. What would he even say?

The smirk grows wider still as he takes another drag from his cigarette and then holds it out to Freddie, pinched between two of his fingers. He'll never make apologies for what he does, he sees no point in it, because either people are going to be comfortable with it or they won't be and nothing he says or does will alter their view. What he keeps under wraps, he does so as not to get caught, not because he cares what someone else thinks, but it's good to know he's not going to lose contact with everyone in Darrow over his work.

It's not as if he can just leave town and start over, after all.

"Alright then," he says, nodding down the street in the way Freddie had been walking. "Where is it you're working?"

It's not likely Freddie has told him, Philip tends to remember even the smallest details, because they usually come in handy at some point or another. And work is one of the places he's never followed Freddie, having relaxed somewhat on that activity in recent months.

There's something about Philip, something about his face and the way he carries himself, that has him always coming off as somewhat predatory. Strange as it may be, Freddie considers it one of his more alluring attributes, the twisted grin on Philip's face sending a warmth all through his spine.

He reaches for the cigarette, plucking it from Philip's fingers and taking a deep drag, his gaze intent all the while.

"Styx," he answers on the exhale, his head tipped back to breathe a plume of smoke into the air, nodding vaguely in the direction he's come. "Gay bar about a mile back. Ever heard of it?"

It's possible Philip's stopped in once or twice on a night Freddie's not been working, but he's certainly not a regular. Freddie would know in that case. There's no way for him not to notice when Philip's about.

"I've been there once or twice," he answers with a nod, although not for some time. The experiences he's had there have been perfectly serviceable, but he finds he doesn't enjoy the pounding music or the bright, flashing lights. Perhaps it's that, no matter how much he tries to integrate, he's still simply a product of his time, but he's not too bothered by that reality.

"What is it you do there?" he asks.

When it comes to Freddie, the truth is that they really don't know much about each other. Philip has followed him a few times, that much is true, but it had been more about finding who else he was spending time with than truly getting to know him. He can imagine Freddie doing just about anything.

It's not a question Philip's bothered to ask before and, if he's honest, Freddie's a bit surprised it's come up now. Maybe he shouldn't be. With nearly anyone else, the question would have come up months ago, likely before they'd fallen into bed with one another.

Part of him wonders why Philip wants to know now.

"It's a bar," he points out, tipping his head to the side and giving Philip a coy little grin. "What d'you think I do there?"

Philip pauses, glancing over at Freddie, his gaze lingering over his narrow frame before he says, "Must be a bouncer, right?"

His voice is teasing, but he knows there are plenty of jobs that can be done at any bar, let alone one that seems to have as much going on in it as Styx does. He could be in the background, running alcohol, washing glasses or serving drinks himself. For all Philip knows, he's the bloody janitor.

"Or does that place have those cages were a man can dance?" he asks, still teasing. "I could see you doing something like that in the right costume."

Freddie huffs a laugh at that gentle dig; they both know how unlikely it is for Freddie to ever be a bouncer. And, given his entire lack of rhythm, he'll not be dancing in any cages either. Even if Styx were the kind of bar to have them.

"I tend the bar," he says finally with a teasing roll of his eyes. "That's not so hard to believe, is it?"

It might have been at the start. Freddie'd had to learn most of what he knew on the job and there'd been a few months were Ricky seemed to be regretting his decision. But now, well... he could make a living on his tips alone, if he's honest.

"No, it's not so hard to believe," Philip answers. "Suppose that means you know how to make my favourite drink."

He's still mostly giving Freddie a hard time, it isn't as though his favourite drink -- whiskey, straight -- is particularly difficult to make. Mostly he wants to see if Freddie pays attention to what he drinks when they're together.

And then his gaze wanders, moving over Freddie slowly as he pretends to consider how he looks before saying, "And I bet you make a killing when it comes to your tips, don't you?"

"Dunno," he replies, relaxing slowly into the familiar flirtation as he takes half a step closer to Philip. He's not forgotten that he's just seen Philip skulking about someone else's house, but it's easy enough to ignore for the moment. Particularly when Philip is looking at him like that. "Pouring whiskey's a bit tricky now and then. Might spill."

He lingers over the words, speaking them with more innuendo than remotely necessary as his gaze drops to Philip's front and he reaches a hand out to tug at his shirt.

"I do make a killing," he affirms, dragging his finger up the front buttons as he tips his head to the side coyly. "Turns out old gay men like looking at young, half-naked boys while they drink. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Depends on how distracted you are, I suppose," Philip answers, looking amused as Freddie tugs at his shirt. Not all that long ago, he'd looked a little nervous, as if he might be entirely rethinking the decision to be involved with Philip at all, but whatever that was, it seems to be gone.

At least for now. Perhaps he'll consider what he's just seen down the line and change his mind again, but Philip is happy enough to live in the now.

"I wouldn't, given that I'm neither old or gay," he says with a smirk. It's not a denial of who he is, but he simply isn't gay, the sort to enjoy women just as enthusiastically as he does men. "I do know I enjoy looking at you and fuck what anyone else likes, to be quite honest."

Edited 2017-07-08 15:19 (UTC)

Freddie responds with a roll of his eyes, sliding his fingers higher still to the top button, snapping it free before working lower to the next one.

"Yes, yes, don't want to give you the wrong label, do I?" he says with a grin. After all, Freddie's not gay either, but he's never bothered much with labeling him one thing over another. He likes fucking. He likes people. Doesn't much matter to him what's in their pants.

"But you are old," he insists, still with a smirk. "Don't worry, it doesn't make me want to fuck you any less, but you might as well accept it."

He almost points out that Freddie isn't that much younger than he is, but the reality is that he looks as if he is, as if he's younger than his years, and Philip doesn't truly care all that much at the end of it. The opinions of others have never much mattered to him one way or the other.

"Terribly shocking I can even participate in such activities, isn't he?" he asks, still smirking, watching as Freddie unbuttons his shirt. They're in the middle of the sidewalk, but it's late and it's dark, and he doubts anyone will see them.

But that, too, is one more thing he doesn't care about.

"It is," Freddie agrees with a smirk, playing right along. "Admirable, really. I can only hope I'm still keeping up as well as you in ten years time."

He's undone three buttons now, leaving Philip's shirt billowing a bit. Warm as it is, he doubts Philip's in any chilly, but they're still rather out in the open. It's not as though there are many people out wandering the streets this time of night and it i's rather dark, but it's quite public.

That doesn't stop Freddie from dropping his hand then, curling it carefully around the bulge in Philip's trousers and giving a light fondle. "Don't even have to take pills, do you?" he asks, voice still low and teasing. "Very impressive."

"Not the sorts of pills you're thinking," Philip answers with a slow grin, letting Freddie touch him without doing the slightest thing in return. It's deeply arousing, he finds, just to stand there and let himself be touched in the middle of this street, the sort where someone going for a late night walk with their dog isn't beyond the realm of possibility.

The same street where he's just committed a crime not very long ago.

Well on his way to fully hard, Philip presses his hips forward just a little, but still doesn't touch Freddie. Instead he leans in slightly, close enough that his lips just barely brush the skin of Freddie's ear when he speaks.

"Course, I doubt anyone would need any sort of help in this moment," he says, his voice low. "You like this, touching me. Halfway to having my trousers off in the middle of the street. Some lonely housewife could part her curtains at any moment and get quite the show."

Philip lightly rocks forward, pressing himself into the cup of Freddie's palm and Freddie curls his fingers a little tighter, feeling out the heft of him, the thickening of his shift as he hardens.

"That what you're hoping for?" Freddie asks, watching Philip through lowered lashes as he drags his fingertips up to the fastening of Philip's trousers. He doesn't snap it open right away, only toying with it as he plays with the fall of Philip's shirt with his other hand, sneaking beneath to get to warm skin. "Want to put on a show for a lonely housewife?"

He glances beyond Philip's shoulder then, down the road where Philip had come from. He wonders if it's a lonely housewife Philip's just visited, wonders if his reasons for being out here are more personal than professional. More merely unethical rather than illegal.

"Fuck the lonely housewife," Philip answers before he finally lifts a hand, sliding it along the smooth edge of Freddie's jaw and leaning in to capture his mouth in a kiss at the same time. There's nothing gentle in it, no slow build from something appropriate for the middle of the street, he simply jumps in as far as they've already come, the kiss hot and wet, a groan slipping into Freddie's mouth.

It'd be a risk and he doesn't need to get arrested now, especially given what he's just gone, but he thinks he'd happily fuck Freddie right here. Back him up against a nearby fence or find some patio furniture in one of these ridiculous suburban back yards and bend him over.

Anything, really. Freddie does have a tendency to unravel his self-control.

Freddie laughs, the sound cut off by the press of Philip's lips and muffled by the push of his tongue. It's a demanding kiss, nothing soft about it, and Freddie curves under the force of it, pressing his hips in close, his hand still trapped between them, fingers curved around Philip's length through his trousers.

"Rather not," he manages once he can catch a bit of air, sliding the fingers of his other hand higher up Philip's side, grabbing at the meat of him. "Not much interested in her, really."

He's still close enough to bite at Philip's lip and so he does, his body thrilling at the idea of copping off in the middle of the road, right out in the open where anyone could wander by. It's dangerous, doubly so given that he's fairly certain Philip's likely just done something illegal, but that only makes it more exciting.

Christ, is he fucked.

Hooking his thumb over the button of Philip's trousers, he tugs it free then, enough to tug at the zip and sneak his hand inside, grinning wider. "Or maybe you already fucked her, yeah? Took care of her while her husband's out for the night. She not satisfy you, is that it?"