whitetwoguns | But I ain't no madman.

I ain't no girl.

[If anyone could give an accurate and full testimonial it would be Mr. Orange. He takes a sip of his coke. This assumption is like water on a duck's back.]

Why? Do you wanna know what to get when you decide to go?

No. I'm not going to a spa.

[Fffffff. Snort. Damn right he knows utterly and completely Mr. White is all man, a man who happens to go to spas from time to time. Heh heh heh.]

Maybe I don't believe you really went. [Who's going to outsmart who now.]

Well excuse me then. I know you're missing out.

[Now something about the whole give and take really does make him smirk.]

What's there not to believe?

[Really now, kid. Huff.]

Coconut sugar scrub if you gotta know.

I'm not missing a thing.

[Yes he is, just not a thing to do with spas. The kid leans forward, elbows on the table, green eyes narrowing to scrutinize the old man.]

What's it do for you?

[Surely a simple coconut sugar scrub can't be the secret to Lawrence Dimick's body looking the way it does at nearly fifty years old.]

Whatever you say pal.

[Leaning closer. The old man pretends not to notice or care, no big deal with proximity. He crushes the smoldering butt of his Chesterfield onto his plate.]

Makes your skin feel great for about a week. Really relaxes you like you smoked a hell of a joint and then napped for a day. Sure helps that it smells good.

No face mask?

[Teehee. He can't help himself. Knowing the old man's gone up to the roof of their building for some alone sunning time the very image is too much to pass up.]

Nah. No face mask. Just a cream of some kind. I dunno. It's been awhile.

[Laughter at his expense or not is laughter. A busboy is coming around to take the unwanted plates. That doesn't disrupt the moment but it sure does bring about that the meal is over.]

These days if I want a massage I keep budget.

[Right now not at all. No flappy hands to rub him down.]

I guess you ain't got a reason to go in again so soon.

[Yes Lawrence Dimick that's a compliment for you. He notices the busboy clearing away the area but Freddy makes little to no reaction to it. They'll leave when they want to leave. Besides, he might partake in some dessert if this conversation stays happily afloat.]

A massage is no sugar scrub. A massage isn't tanning either.

[How's that for a gentle good-hearted metaphorical ribbing? The kind they could do so naturally before Freddy found...drove...imagined a wedge between them.]

[He's got a few reasons. And not all of em are because of the activity in his wallet. It's about feeling up to it. Larry could certainly blow quite a bit of his money trying to rehabilitate his spirits. So far though the most dramatic effects for the positive or negative have come from the man across the table. Should it be like that at all though?

His coke is getting slowly drained.]

Nah. It's all under the whole umbrella of personal care.

[He shrugs. Dessert does sound good about now. They've let their food digest and allowed for pleasant talk. And...not so pleasant in patches.

Hard to say what is exactly between them. Care couldn't properly wrap around it, love burns too much to the touch. Larry would want to curl up and die if the label of friendship alone was put on this. It feels too great in Larry, like all reactions Freddy evokes.]

Well you're the expert.

[Freddy concludes with a mock professional tone that's still all in good fun because Larry kind of is the expert when it comes to that stuff. He taught the kid the classic art of shaving even though Freddy still resorts to a basic razor most of the time. There are a lot of things, whether or not he put them to use, he still retains just from knowing Lawrence Dimick, from learning from him. Fuck.]

...You thinking about dessert?

[Not a trick question at all except there is an underlying motive that wants more time with the old man without having to express he's going to have dessert just to have more time instead of wanting dessert and conveniently receiving more time in return. How cowardly.]

Trial and error.

[Along with so, so much time to see what works and what doesn't. At least for himself. In his lifetime he hasn't been in the practice of using sunblock all that much, he's still smoking and still drinking even with a rather smooth shaven jaw. They have shared quite a bit. Freddy's treated him to so much mind candy movies and interesting culinary trials. No one else here can do that, he's sure of it.

When you've set your teeth to a flavor, nothing else will work. That's been his place for these long days apart.]

Yeah. I think I could go for something. Hopefully no one is putting gold in it.

[Don't fucking wag, Newendyke, don't fucking wag.]

I saw pie and ice cream. You wanna go first?

Nah. You go first. I can wait.

[So he can calm a bit. At first it was uncomfortable now it is feeling too comfortable. Too comfortable doesn't mean they're gonna trip on home together like nothing has happened. Boy, does he wish it would though. Larry sits tight in the booth.

They can't talk about personal hygiene forever.]

Okay.

[Thank christ he doesn't have a tail to betray the calm and casual demeanor Freddy's trying to manage. The away time gives him a moment to collect his own thoughts too, how can they spend this last part without fucking it up? Why the hell did Freddy even suggest they spend time apart again fuck. When he comes back it's with a slice of pie under two scoops of ice cream under a sprinkling of peanuts and cookie crumbs and syrups.]

You better hurry. It's hot stuff.

[No pun or veiled commentary there...not really.]

Mmm.

[Okay. Now he's standing. Larry takes the liberty of swiping his thumb near some of the syrup on his plate.]

You better have saved at least some for me.

[It isn't until he's walking on his way that he puts it on into his mouth. Other times he would have started eating off of Freddy's plate. That's not quite right at this moment. He loads his own plate with a brownie and ice cream. While some are crazy over nuts, he opts for some of the cherry syrup and a little whipped cream. For texture and because it needs something else, he puts walnuts.]

[Oh shit oh shit oh fuck don't watch him, Newendyke, don't do it--oh. Well Larry saves them both the trouble by turning his back. ...Why would he deny Freddy that? Shit you need to stop, man. He starts pecking at pie crumbs and nuts in an attempt to keep busy until Larry returns. When he does Freddy's had a moment and time to retain a cooler demeanor.]

Chocolate, huh? Typical. [It's a joke, honest.]

I like what I like.

[Sweet, chocolaty and warm. Though he does like his caramel. Best keep that buttoned on up.

Was he waiting to dig in until the old man got back? It touches him and also puzzles him. What are they really doing here?

Seated once again he takes a spoon to his dessert.]

All the things you could get and you get pie.

What's wrong with pie? It's a classic, it's comfortable, you can't go wrong with it.

[It doesn't occur to Freddy how that alone can have its own connotations. Fuck.]

That why you like it so much?

[The pie. Ears are open as he chews thoughtfully. He is debating on whether or not this conversation needs breathing room. Coffee would counterbalance the sweet.]

An old standby.

[It's the old standby part that makes Freddy think maybe this wasn't the right direction for the conversation. Shit. He takes another biteful of cinnamon apple.]

It ain't no standby if everyone wants a piece.

[Just a casual remark, no implications here, although it's true he thinks Lawrence Dimick is one hot commodity.]

[Hot tempered, hot blooded. They're talking about what's on a plate. He can reign himself in to that mentality. Right? Dimmy, right? The cream gets a little sloppy and he flicks his tongue out to eat it rather than wear it. Just eating as he would.]

Pie's not always my first pick.

[To emphasize the subject matter for his own good he holds up a piece with his fork.]

Good shit.

I don't have a first pick either. I like what I like. If I didn't have a taste of everything on the table I wouldn't know that.

[Talking about what's on the plate. Just talking about what's on the plate. Oh shit don't look at him doing that thing with his tongue don't fucking look. Freddy points his own fork at the old man.]

Brownies? I love that shit, I wouldn't say no to a piece. [Watch him reach over and knock off a little corner of Larry's for himself.] But I picked the pie cause it's how I felt tonight.

[You are still talking about what's on the plate, right Newendyke??] ...It went really good with the ice cream.

I'm surprised tasting everything don't upset your stomach.

[Talking about food more. Yeah. Man is it hard to shake the notion otherwise. Why is the kid being so damn---shy isn't what you would call a guy that steals from anothrt guys plate. Ballsy. Possibly baiting.

Don't make the first move and fuck it, old bear. It may not even be that way.]

About anything goes good with ice cream.

[Blowjobs do. ...Fuck.]

I got a cast iron one remember?

[Whoops talking like they have a past together, which they do, but is it right to bring it up? Shit. Freddy rubs a hand over his belly anyway, ballsy as he is, it just seemed like a natural thing to do. It's hard trying not to be comfortable in Larry's presence. Sometimes it's just that, a natural unspoken way between them, the kind Freddy absolutely adores. Other times he questions, doubts, second guesses. Striking a balance between the two wasn't on the menu.]

Even bacon.

[Freddy says in agreement without thinking much. He can't help how he feels...about ice cream and bacon.]

Oh I remember. That's not shit a guy forgets. [Chuckle, chuckle. Oh. That's too fond. He clears his throat.] I mean, after watching you shovel away so much canned pasta.

[Ravioli, Spaghetti-Os... That still is bringing on up the history they have. Pretending it never existed is about as hard as retaining this balance of friendliness.]

Not bacon in ice cream. It's just not right. You can't have it all.

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