whitetwoguns | But I ain't no madman.

[Even though he's nodding, Larry's dead certain that Eames didn't give a fuck as long as he could get on out. How did that guy grow to be Freddy's friend? Maybe this curse means to show that they're quite similar on the inside. The outside though, not so much.]

Same building. [Illegal. Larry sighs feels an itch for a smoke. Second hand wouldn't be bad right? ...Right?]

Amen to that. Maybe we can get you some real clothes.

[Real Freddy clothes.]

[Good question, not that it matters too much because this kid only looks like Eames...he's all Freddy on the inside. Don't be too upset about it, Lawrence Dimick. At the suggestion of real clothes Freddy pinches the slacks he managed to throw on. They're perfectly tailored to fall right over the opening of his lace up leather shoes.]

I gotta give you that one, this shit's weird wearin' it over ink.

[Nevermind the fact that Larry wears handsomely fitted clothing over his own tattoos. He's not as drawn up as Eames though. Huh, is he going to get mad when he sees those drawings inked into these muscles? Better gloss over that quick, Newendyke. Orange runs a hand through his own hair.]

Hair's a little thin too. [Read: not as thick (or as graying) as Larry's.]

[None of it says Freddy. Not a lick. Some familiarity would be nice. The old man is stuck with this as much as Freddy is. No lies, Mr. H. Eames is an impressive specimen in his own right. Tall, muscular, and not a bad dresser...none of this whatsoever comes across to be like a scrappy cop he met in a heist.]

We got time. I got money. And I'm sure we could find plenty more to do.

[In different clothes Freddy might feel more like himself. The chances of both of them wrecking some other man's duds is also factored in.]

Yeah? I always thought it was how he combed it.

[Looks like he's not going gray at all either.]

Just a t-shirt and jeans'll do. And a jacket. And shoes.

[Because Mr. White has money he wants to spend and this is for Larry as much as it is for Freddy. He hasn't forgotten how those two had themselves a little brawl in a gym. Hm. Fingers stuck in his own hair, he runs his hands back and forth until Eames' hair is thicker and going in different directions.]

There.

[He points at his new 'do. It's still not even close to the floppiness of Freddy's own hair but at least it's uh...got more spring to it?]

Briefs. Socks.

[Yeah. The whole package if you please, Freddy. They're stepping on their way to the more populated shopping center part of town.]

I got a comb you know.

[Looks like it isn't going to be flipping or flopping. At least his hands are. That's always familiar.]

What would you wanna do while we're out? Days off shouldn't be wasted.

You're not supposed to get that far.

[Freddy reminds Larry, something about a no-sex-while-in-my-body courtesy. He's only kidding really, harboring a curiosity for what it'd be like to get a tough grip on Larry, tough enough to put him on his dick then just drill the shit out of him. But it's just a curiosity! Freddy Newendyke don't need large trapezius muscles to bang his old man like a Salvation Army drum.]

I don't need one. [He refuses the comb with another flip and flop of a bigger hand. He won't allow Eames the privilege of having his head combed by Mr. White. Pff.] I don't know...

[Hands in his pockets now. Freddy's thinking. What do you do when you swap bodies? Wrestle an alligator?] ...Wanna show off at the gym?

[Because Freddy bets this body, no matter how built, probably sucks at baseball. Football on the other hand...]

Hey. I'm offering the fella a courtesy of a new pair when he gets it back. Kinda like...fillin' up a rental.

[Big ol' bear shoulder shrug. Oh this kid. Don't think that he's already put up a shit load of mental stop signs. Freddy's original form won't get sexed over by Mr. Argyle. Mr. Paisley will be untouched too. It'll only make the homecoming better.]

Sure. We could. Or...you could. [He smirks.]

See what the guy can really do.

Hey you can do shit too. I've seen you.

[Yeah Freddy's watched Larry work out for the pure pleasure of it. So what? He gives the old bear a light nudge to the side. Whoops, Newendyke, you're not as short as you used to be. The nudge to his side ends up overreaching to nudge Larry's shoulder.]

[Aaand the old man sways a bit. Sheesh that's more of a shove than a nudge. It's the placement that throws him off balance a little more than normal as well.]

Alright. I'm down for it. Think I could loan you some sweats.

[Work out clothing to save on buying some gear for the time being.]

Easy there, hotshot.

[Balance retained he grips on a thicker arm.]

Sorry sorry. Totally forgot.

[Hands up like a white flag, he lets Larry manhandle him easy-like. It's better than reaching out to help balance the old man, heh.]

[Bullshit. You get some squinty brown eyes.]

Save the show for the gym, huh?

[Pat, patty, pat pat.]

What do you think he presses?

[Heh heh heh. He loves those squinty brown eyes. You get another shrug.]

I don't know, what do you press?

Depends on the day of the week.

[How much he's done the day before. How he feels. Whether or not it's a bad and achy day or one after he's hammered away at some good looking man with caramel apple green eyes. Heh.

Damn. Okay. He can go a day without seeing em. It's the one behind it. That's what counts.]

Let's do this.

[Oof. Talk about a work out. Freddy's never been able to press so much in so little time. He's broken a sweat and he still feels pretty good. Well, that may or may not have anything to do with watching Larry keep time with him. The old man's older than him and the body he inhabits but god does he look like he's in his prime when he's pushing metal. Of course it shouldn't come as a surprise to Freddy, he's seen those muscles at work in games, he's seen those muscles at work moving furniture around, he's seen those muscles at work while fucking the daylights out of the kid. The gym's just a different kind of setting, all sweat and testosterone and mirrors. To say that Freddy is pleased is an understatement. He pats a towel around his thick neck.]

You do that everytime you come around here?

[Anyone without any sort of special instinct would see them as nothing more than casual acquaintances.]

[Oh so many mirrors. Oh so many angles. Freddy has the means and the will. It's like those good old fashioned ads that start with sand kicking. Not that the kid was ever a 98lb weakling in the old man's eyes. He licks his lips and works on catching his breath. Salt of sweat spikes on his tongue. Again he finds himself looking Eames on over.

Thick arms, tight ass. Mercy.]

Roughly.

[His own towel is dabbing off the sweat.]

You don't use it you lose it, you know?

[Tight is right. Of course, Freddy doesn't think it's any tighter than his own but Freddy might be biased. Pat pat pat. His lips probably have a little more color and fullness to them after all that exertion.]

Where am I when you're here pumpin' up?

[He asks oh so casually, thick arm propping on whatever corner's nearby to lean in closer to Larry.]

Sleepin' or workin'. Sometimes I pop in after work and get in an hour or so.

[Towel dabbing at his face now. When he looks up he's able to see the man closer now.]

Now I'm thinkin' I should let you come along now too.

[Eyes follow up that arm to that face. Different eyes, different nose, differing lips and yet... Larry licks his own lips again. He finds himself leaning.]

Like this or...

[A gesture over himself, posing almost. He can see Larry looking at him a certain way too, it's kind of obvious. So obvious the kid has to ask.]

What?

[He wants the old man to say it.]

Like how you really are, smart ass.

[Good company. And a familiar spotter. Larry shakes his head and shoves off of the equipment. He turns away to grab a bottle of water.]

Thirsty?

[Heh heh heh.] I can't press a lot the other way you know?

[He turns in the same direction, ready to follow Mr. White like a shadow.] Sure.

[Sharing water ain't no thing. Right?]

Oh. I know.

[Other ways. Many other ways. Fuck, don't go talking like that, Freddy. They got rules to follow.

He twists off the top and then passes it to the man beside him. Fingers touch, it's familiar and strange all at once. Fuck.]

They got elliptical machines too.

[They stuck around the heavy lifting pieces. Freddy may have seen em but his attention was fixed around them.]

I saw them. [He nods, giving Larry a look then lifting the bottle of water to his trout pout. Swallow. Ahhhh.] Wanna hit the showers?

[Can't be anything wrong with that. This ain't a private gym either although it does have its private corners.]

[For how large those two lips are they can fit around the bottle top well. Mmm.]

Sure. Lotta sweat.

[For himself. And the kid. He takes back that bottle for a gulp. Here, he'll even lead the way.

Private corners. Aw, fuck. This is gonna get complicated really soon, ain't it?]

[On their way to the showers Freddy can't help but lean in again to whisper very very close to Larry's ear.]

You keep lookin' at me, what's up?

[Like the kid doesn't know. Freddy's not sure if he should be amused, flattered, or mad. Maybe one of each in consecutive stages.]

[He resolves to keep his eyes to himself in the showers.]

Nothing.

[So much.

Come on, kid. Let him off the hook. It's fucked up. And chances are Freddy might be revving up in the same way with the same problem.

All the right kinds of thoughts and feelings are processing except this is not the time and not the body for which this should be happening with at all. They want to keep their word with Mr. Eames. Even if he was a bit of a dick about it.

At the lockers now, heading for those showers. Their clothes can wait at the benches. Eyes. To. Himself.]

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