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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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"Your pretty mouth," Philip agrees with a low groan, one hand sliding back up to Freddie's jaw, his thumb brushing along his lower lip before he moves back in for another kiss. With certain people in Darrow, he mostly doesn't use sex as a way to manipulate them, as a way to gain power, and Freddie is one of the few. With him, Philip wants whatever he can get, he wants to fuck Freddie, to feel his mouth, to be fucked if that's what it comes to.

Here in someone's private little garden, a blowjob is probably best and easiest, but he slides his other hand between them, his palm pressing against Freddie's cock through his jeans, and he knows he isn't going to just leave him wanting either. They're both going to enjoy themselves tonight.

Even now, he wants to tip his head back and moan, but he knows if they don't want to be caught, they ought to keep their voices down as best they can. Philip is dangerous, is willing to do things others aren't, but he isn't stupid and he knows nothing good will come of having the police called on them.

Never one to simply take, Philip sneaks a hand between them, curling thick fingers around Freddie through his trousers. Instinctively, Freddie presses forward, rocking into the heat of his palm while biting back a groan, his eyes locked on Philip's.

As good as it feels, Freddie doesn't let himself indulge for long. Philip's made it clear what he wants and Freddie's eager to give him just that, tilting his hips away with a grin before carefully sinking to his knees. The grass is soft beneath his knees and Freddie's spares only a moment to the fact that they're likely to get stained by the end of this before setting his focus entirely on dragging Philip's underpants lower, hooking them below the swell of his balls as he leans in to drag his tongue up along the underside of him.

He keeps his gaze trained upward, barely making out the whites of Philip's eyes in the darkness as he purses his lips around the flared tip of him, sucking and lapping at the ridge as he gently pulls the loose skin back, humming at the bittersweet taste already beading there.

Though he might miss the feeling of Freddie's cock pressing into his palm, Philip lets him slip away, because this is what he'd asked for, after all. It's for the best that they don't get completely undressed, just in case they have to run off at any point, but he wishes anyway that they'd met a little closer to home or that the chance of getting a cab in this neighbourhood at this time of night wasn't so utterly slim. Instead of being able to get Freddie undressed in the comfort of his home, he instead buries his fingers on Freddie's hair, his other hand falling to his shoulder as a low groan slips out of him.

He's so good at this and although Philip isn't above comparing, especially for the sake of manipulation, there are a few here and there who are exempt from it. In the moment like this, when he's with Freddie, he doesn't think of anyone else, doesn't consider who else might be just as good as he is because it doesn't matter. It's rare for him to admit to it, but it just doesn't matter. Not now.

"Christ, Freddie," he breathes in the dark and he wishes just a little that the owners of this private place had thought to put a bit of soft lighting perhaps, but he supposes that might do away with a bit of a secret. And so he simply waits, letting his eyes adjust until he can see Freddie before him on his knees, until he can see the head of his dick sliding past his lips and the mere sight of it pulls a sharp pang of pleasure through him.

Philip's fingers curl in Freddie's hair, tugging lightly as Freddie sinks further down. Though it's been awhile since they're last encounter, there's still a familiar taste to Philip. It should worry him, Freddie thinks. He's not very used to sticking with any one person for very long, though it's become something of a habit here, he's found. Not just with Philip but with Marius as well and, back before he'd changed his mind, with Noah.

Though he's not seen Marius in awhile and Noah's made what he wants rather clear so now it's... well, it's only Philip, really.

But Philip and Freddie are of a similar cloth, he thinks. They both know what they want and what they don't want, and right now, they both want Freddie's mouth full of Philip's cock.

Freddie groans as he sinks further, suckling at the thick of Philip's cock on his tongue as he slides his hand up Philip's thighs, squeezing the bulge of muscle as he begins to move. He keeps his gaze locked upward the entire time, keeps his eyes locked on Philip's, reveling in the hunger he sees reflected back at him, Philip's lips curved upward in that thrillingly dangerous grin. In moments just like this, Freddie's fairly certain he'd let Philip do anything he ever wanted to him. Anything at all.

It's not only Freddie's mouth, though he is undeniably good with it, but also the thrill of the possibility of getting caught that has Philip already tumbling toward the edge of his pleasure. He'll be able to hold off a little while longer, but at the end of it, it might be best if he doesn't, not if they want to get out of here without having to worry about what anyone has seen.

He's only barely thinking of that, though. It's just the knowledge that they're in someone else's yard that sits at the edge of his awareness and adds to the sensation, adds to the thrill of it all, and beyond that he isn't bothering to dwell on it. That in itself is a little dangerous, but then, Freddie has always been rather good at unraveling him. Better than he would like to admit.

"Freddie," he groans again, just barely taking care to keeps his voice low. "Ah, fuck, you're..." His eyes finally shut, breaking the steady gaze they'd been holding, and his head tips back in pleasure, heat coiling in his belly, in his groin, and he thrusts forward gently, his dick sliding deeper into Freddie's mouth. Philip is usually happy to relinquish control -- only during sex and only with a select few -- but he likes being able to do this, too, to hold onto Freddie's hair and slowly fuck his mouth.

Part of Freddie wants Philip to finish his sentence, to tell Freddie in just that particular, strained tone of voice what exactly Freddie is.

But he doesn't need it, really. He can feel it in the hard coil of Philip's muscles under his palm, the stutter of his hips as he arches forward, sliding further into the heat of Freddie's mouth, the wide of his eyes where he keeps his gaze locked on Freddie the entire time.

Freddie hums in response, lips wrapped tight around the thick of him, eyes fluttering at the tight clench of Philip's fingers in his hair. He makes a show of sliding back, slurping noisily though not loudly enough to actually be heard. Not unless someone's wandering the garden, that is. Still, the idea that someone might is thrilling all on its own and Freddie presses in harder, sucks deeper, hollowing his cheeks in an effort to draw more noise from Philip, to feel him thrusting deeper, to make him come down Freddie's throat.

Never one to care about how someone got this terribly good at something, Philip nonetheless occasionally finds himself wondering just how much practice Freddie gets. If it rivals his own. They're cut from similar cloth -- not the same, not really, but that can't be said of many people in regards to Philip -- and he doesn't particularly care, but he is curious all the same. There are times when he's alone that he considers it, contemplates what it might be like just to show up at Freddie's some night and find him fucking someone else.

How much he'd like to just watch.

"Christ," he groans again and he knows he should keep his voice down, but he's caught up in the feeling of Freddie's lips wrapped around his cock, the way he sounds, the noises he's making and the feel of the hot, wet of his tongue. "Soon, I-"

He warns him only because they're somewhere they could be caught. They don't need Freddie coughing or sputtering loudly, not here, but Philip is close and he wants Freddie to be ready as his muscle tighten, as that heat in his pelvis suddenly seems to expand. Then he's groaning again, his orgasm breaking, rolling over him, his fingers clenching tightly in Freddie's hair at the same time.

It's not a shout by any means, Philip's groan. It's a low rumble that Freddie swears he can nearly feel against his palms where they're still pressed to Philip's thighs. Though maybe that's an actual tremble as Philip works to keep himself upright, twitching into the heat of Freddie's mouth as Freddie opens for him, taking him deeper, sucking harder and messier. Maybe Philip should be working harder at being quiet, maybe they both should be, but Freddie's not much interested in that himself.

The grass under his knees is soft and suitable cushion as he works Philip deeper, sliding one hand down low to drag his thumb along the seam of Philip's balls, pressing at the soft skin just behind. He'd grin if he could, eager and satisfied by the sound of Philip's voice, the hitch when he declares that he's close.

In response, Freddie shifts his angle slightly, hollowing his cheeks as he sinks down low. Waits.

At the first pulse, he pulls back just enough to catch Philip's come at the back of his throat, groaning as it trickles and Philip rocks forward. He lets his mouth go a bit slack, lets the wetness fill him, some of it seeping past his lips before he finally pulls off, gasping in a breath with his hand still curled around Philip's thighs.

The lower half of his face is a mess, he knows, and he swipes a finger along his chin, grinning at the slick as he glances up at Philip, gaze dark.

"Fuck, fuck," he breathes as he comes, his fingers clenching tight in Freddie's hair and he can feel his dick pulsing, the way Freddie's mouth changes, letting Philip come into his mouth. He can feel, too, the wetness on Freddie's lips, the bit dripping down his chin, and he groans again, because although he can't quite see it, he doesn't need to.

It would be easy to walk away from this. To wipe himself clean and zip up his trousers and go without a look back and with someone else, he would do exactly that. But Freddie isn't someone else, he's not some nameless fuck Philip will never call again, and when his fingers untangle from Freddie's hair, it's only to drop to the back of his neck, to tug him up slightly.

"Move back," he says, his voice low. There's a low chaise behind them and he doesn't think they've attracted any attention yet.

Philip's still breathing heavy; Freddie can make out the rise and fall of his chest in the dark and, still grinning, he slides Philip's pants and trousers up, tucking him back in, still slick and sticky. He'll feel it all the way back to his place, Freddie knows. It's a nice thought.

There's something almost tender in the way Philip's fingers uncurl from his hair and slide to the back of his neck, encouraging him to stand. With a hum, Freddie obeys, licking some of the slick from his bottom lip as he pushes up to his feet. He's hard inside his own trousers and part of him wonders if Philip will give him a kiss and then leave him wanting. Freddie can't say he'd even mind exactly. With anyone else, yes. Not with Philip.

It's a bit fucked maybe, but Freddie hardly cares.

He steps back as Philip instructs, glancing behind him before taking a seat on the chaise. His gaze flicks to the garden beyond Philip's shoulder, the thrill of possibly getting caught still biting at his skin.

"Returning the favour then?" he asks, his voice teasing as he lays back a bit, putting himself on offer.

"What kind of asshole do you take me for?" he asks with a grin and they both know the answer to that question. He is an asshole and there's every chance in the world he would have just left Freddie as he was, crouched there in the grass on his knees and he's fairly certain Freddie wouldn't even entirely mind. It'd all be part of this game they tend to play, one that's mired in power and the possession of such and although most people might expect that it's Philip who has most of the power, he knows that isn't true.

If it was, he wouldn't have been so desperate to fuck Freddie without a condom.

With Freddie seated, it's easy to sink to his knees just in front of him, pushing his knees apart, sliding his hands up his thighs. One palm presses hard against Freddie's cock through his trousers, the other reaching up for the button and fly.

It's a rhetorical question, one they both know the answer to. The odds of Philip leaving Freddie hard and kneeling in the grass are just as high as this outcome, but Freddie can't deny that he likes this turn much more. And, with him at least, it seems Philip is eager to give as much as he is to receive. Sometimes Freddie does wonder if he's a bit special in that regard.

Grinning, he rests back on his elbows. The chaise isn't particularly comfortable, but that hardly matters as Freddie keeps his eyes on where Philip's knelt between his spread thighs. Even in the dark, Freddie can make out the hunger in his expression and he bites his lip as he rocks his hips upward, rolling into the heat Philip's palm.

He glances up then, past the bend of Philip's head, looking to make sure they still haven't been found out. The night's as dark as ever, no light in any of the windows so far as he can see and, emboldened, Freddie lets out a low groan. He reaches down, helping Philip out a bit with the button of his trousers and lifts his hips enough for Philip to drag them down just enough to free his cock. "Yeah, c'mon," he murmurs, already achingly hard. "Let me fuck your mouth, yeah?"

At the end of it, Freddie's barely undressed at all, but for Philip that's part of the appeal, the rushed, hurried nature of all this. He tucks his hand into Freddie's trousers and helps him tug them down, the fit tight and nearly impossible to work with while Freddie is sitting like this, but he likes that, too. It takes him longer than he wants and he groans out of impatience before he finally has Freddie's cock free, before he can lean in and part his lips and take him into his mouth.

There's no urge to tease him or drag this out. Philip wants to taste him, is terribly impatient for it, and he groans again as he relaxes the muscles of his jaw, his throat, and takes Freddie deeper, as deep as he can, his nose practically buried in the coarse hair at the base of Freddie's dick.

One of his hands is still on Freddie's thigh, the other at his hip, but he's not holding him down or preventing him from moving. If what Freddie wants is to fuck his mouth, he's welcome to it and the sound Philip makes is encouraging, his gaze flicking up to find Freddie's face in the dark.

As Philip yanks at the tight fabric of Freddie's jeans and Freddie helps by lifting his hips just enough to free his cock, he wonders if this will ever be anything more than this. If he and Philip can ever have an encounter that isn't laced with a desperate, sexual tension, that doesn't devolve into heated, wet kisses and grappling hands and a mess of come between the both of them.

He doubts it, somehow. Philip ignites an overwhelming fire of want within Freddie, makes him willing to drop to his knees the moment Philip shows the slightest bit of interest.

He wonders if it's as intense for Philip, but he's not about to ask.

For now, he just keeps himself propped on one elbow and reaches down with his other hand, carding fingers through Philip's thick hair and holding on tight as his cock is enveloped in wet, warm heat. "Fuck," he breathes, holding his hips still for a moment, reveling in the vibration that courses through him when Philip makes a low, encouraging sort of sound. His gaze flicks upward, briefly making sure they haven't been found out before he rocks his hips upward, rolling a bit into the wide of Philip's mouth.

There are very few people he would do this for, very few he'd go down onto his knees for unless he was trying to get something he otherwise wanted and he chooses not to examine what it means that he's here at the moment, so utterly willing. It's true he doesn't deny himself pleasure when the opportunity is presented, but it's just as true that he's far more prone to letting other people do the work when it comes to that. He can be giving when it benefits him and he supposes this does, that it keeps Freddie interested and wanting him, but it's not typical behaviour.

It doesn't matter. He chooses not to let it matter.

He sucks a little harder, his cheeks hollowing, the flat of his tongue teasing along the underside of Freddie's cock as he reaches down with his free hand, fingertips just grazing along Freddie's balls. There certainly aren't many people he'd do this for at all, but even fewer he'd give over any sort of control to, fewer he'd let have the power like this.

Philip's not wasting any time, not bothering to tease or draw it out. He sucks wetly, greedily, and Freddie bits his lip harder as he grips Philip's hair tight and rolls his hips again, sliding in further, welcoming the press of Philip's wandering fingertip. Confined as he is in his own pants and trousers, he can't spread his legs as wide as he'd like, but that's half the appeal, too. He's stuck here just as Philip is, stuck in the middle of some family's back garden with Philip's mouth on his cock and his own knees still damp from sucking on Philip's.

It's heady, really. All of it. The idea that they may still get caught and, more so, that Philip is doing this at all, that he hadn't zipped up and gone on his way just as soon as Freddie'd swallowed.

He lets out another grunt, a choked off little groan as his cock bumps the back of Philip's throat and that finger nearly, nearly touches where he wants it most. Riled as he is, it's enough to send him over and he tugs sharply at Philip's hair, half in pure instinct and half in warning as his cock pulses and he comes, head falling back to blink blindly up at the night sky with a silent cry.

There's a warning in that pull of his hair, but Philip doesn't pull back, instead surging forward, taking Freddie as deep as he can and he feels the urge to gag, but forces it away, instead focusing on the way he can feel Freddie's cock twitching between his lips and against his tongue. And he can't catch it all, Freddie comes into his mouth and he has to finally pull back a little, semen dribbling from between the lips even as his throat works and he groans again, half in pleasure and half in some sort of discomfort that he loves almost as much.

It isn't until he can feel that Freddie's hips have stopped moving that he pulls back finally, carefully letting Freddie slip from his mouth before he wipes the back of his hand against his chin. While he doesn't care much what people think of him, he doesn't exactly want to get into a conversation with someone about the state he's currently in while he tries to head home.

This isn't enough, he wants so much more than this, but even he knows better than to shove Freddie's trousers down and bend him over in a public place like this. No matter how badly he might want to, it's a bad idea.

Freddie comes back to himself slowly, finally letting out a low grunt of satisfaction before sucking in a deep breath. He glances downward, catching the white of Philip's eyes in the darkness. His eyes have adjusted enough to make out the barest glimmer of come that drips from his mouth, glinting in the bare moonlight. The sight of it makes him groan all over again and, supporting his weight on one arm, slides his other hand down his belly to curl around himself. He's still half-hard, still sensitive, and he hisses quietly as he taps his spent cock twice against Philip's chin and then tucks himself back into his pants.

"Guess I can mark that one off my list," he says, grinning as he reaches out to brush his fingers along Philip's stubbled cheek.

He's still breathing a little hard, his muscles loose and he still feels like there could be more here. He wonders how far Philip would be willing to go as he leans in closer, eyes dark. "Tell me -- how many people have you fucked in a stranger's back garden?"

"Recently?" Philip asks in return, though he's smirking and he's sure Freddie knows he hasn't. Dark corners of clubs, certainly, and a back alley here and there, especially in the thirties, but never in someone else's yard, in their garden. It's not that he has lines, it's just that the opportunity has never presented itself until now.

His cock twitches at the mere thought and he can feel heat beginning to build again.

"Is that what you want?" he asks, grinning at Freddie in the dark. "Do you want me to turn you over on this little bit of lawn furniture and fuck you until you're loud enough that the lights finally turn on?"

It feels like a dangerous question somehow, as though Freddie'd not considered any such thing until Philip voiced the question. That's not the case, of course, but now that it's out there, it tugs at Freddie's insides and he slides a hand up the front of Philip's chest, tugging at the fabric of his shirt to draw him closer. The chaise is hardly comfortable in the least and Philip's hovering rather precariously, but Freddie hardly seems to care as he arches upward.

"The point is to not get caught," he insists, his voice low against Philip's lips. "I can stay quite as a mouse while you're fucking me." He arches an eyebrow then as he loosens his hold on Philip's shirt, sliding it downward to tug the tail end free of Philip's trousers, spreading his hand wide over warm skin. "Unless it's the challenge you want. See if you can make me break and start begging for you?"

He would really rather not be caught, simply because spending any sort of time in jail doesn't sound the least bit appealing, but he grins anyway and in response he captures Freddie's mouth in a long, slow kiss. It's deep and messy and by the time he's pulling back, he's breathing hard again, his cock halfway to ready. As far as unexpected plans go, this has to be one of the better ones and although his position is awkward and uncomfortable, he slides his hands down to Freddie's hips and tugs him closer.

"I'll fuck you until you can't breathe," he promises in a low voice. "Words won't be a concern."

And then he kisses Freddie again, heedless of his answer. He has a feeling he knows what it will be, regardless of where they've found themselves. The danger truly is part of the thrill, after all.

It's far more of a promise than a threat, though the edge of danger in Philip's voice coupled with the very real likelihood that Philip could easily make it a treat send a shiver down Freddie's spine. His gaze drops immediately to Philip's mouth, lips visibly red and spit-slick even in the darkness before those lips are on his once again, stealing a low groan as Freddie worms his hand between them, scrambling at the front of Philip's trousers and delighting in finding him hard yet again.

"Better make it quick," he says between one gasp of breath and the next as he clumsily tugs at Philip's underpants and shifts closer, right up to the edge of the chaise. He pulls away soon enough, his lips bruised and breath fast in his lungs, lifting up enough to tug his own underwear and trousers down his thighs. "Wouldn't want to get caught balls deep in a bloke, would you?"

In truth, a bit of Freddie finds the prospect incredibly alluring. But he's not keen on getting arrested for indecent exposure either.

It's a funny statement, but not one without truth, and even as Philip grinds out a laugh, he has to realize the reality of it. Darrow is different, of course, and while they would still get arrested if anyone were to catch them, it wouldn't be because they're both men. In the thirties, that in itself was illegal and Philip had been exceptionally careful never to get caught. He does the same in Darrow. It's true he doesn't worry quite as much, but he also doesn't take any men out on dates like he does with women.

Even now, he's careful about what he does.

"Wouldn't want to get caught either way," he says instead, because he's not about to let anything ruin this. He tugs at Freddie's trousers, getting them down further and he knows it's going to be a tight fit, rough and quick, but that makes it somehow more appealing. "Ought to get me ready, shouldn't you?"

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