whitetwoguns | But I ain't no madman.

[Whut. The kid looks even more confused and kind of offended that paws would push him off when he's more or less offering his ass. Oof. Okay, he'll sit beside Larry now.]

What's your problem? Damn.

[Heavy sigh of relief. Phew! Now both paws rub on his own face.]

Sorry. [One of his hands now flop to touch on him, except not in the way that the kid had in mind.] Later, baby. Okay?

[Great way to start the night. Double whammy.]

My back's giving me a little trouble.

[He admits that much because how else can he fucking explain laying on his own back in their home and turning down a chance to be under this man.]

[Whap. He knocks his paw away not because he doesn't want to be touched but because those paws were totally trying to push him off but now they want to handle him? Fff.]

What?

[Oh. Well, maybe Freddy can be a little nicer.] What happened? What'd you do?

[Fine. No touchie. They'll flop down at his sides.]

Well. [Larry licks his lips. He can't think of anything he did wrong. No falls, no carrying anything too heavy.]

I'm not sure. Maybe I slept wrong?

[On their bed? Not likely. Expensive ass mattress and bed set in not one but two rooms makes it hard to have a bad night's sleep.]

Maybe I over did it the other day with my triple play.

You've been playin' games for a little while now.

[No Freddy doesn't want to consider that's exactly the problem. These freckled hands sort of nudge at Larry.] Roll over, let me see.

[Like the kid's a doctor, uh huh.]

[So as Freddy. Freddy doesn't have any problem. Well, Freddy's not fifty fucking years old. Huff. He didn't want to have to put it like that but the old man is out of reasons as to why it hurts like a son of a bitch in his lower back.]

I'm okay. Just a little longer right here.

[He waves on it.]

Then maybe get some aspirin or something.

[Oh fuck the aspirin. Hands fist into his shirt.] You better not be having a fuckin' heart attack.

[This is a serious statement, Lawrence Dimick.]

[Paws on those hands.]

My back's hurting not my heart. Cool it would you?

[He'll grip though after he pries those hands off.]

I'm okay for the most part.

So what's wrong.

[Look at this face, Larry Dimick, he's worried about you. Hands pried off don't stay off for long, they're just not clutching this time.]

[With a strained growl he sits up. Larry regrets the move but won't back down. He has his back flat against the back of the couch now.]

I told you. It's my back. It hurts.

[Louder now. He's no doctor himself but he at least knows what does and doesn't feel right in his own skin.]

Like It's twisted or got a kink in it or something. It was fine the other day.

[Whoa. Raising volume are we? Why? Seriously?]

Then roll over and let me take a fuckin' crack at it.

[Might be a challenge...]

It didn't feel good when you sat on me.

[Like that explains everything. Huff.]

Just... lemme be for a little while okay? Think it's kinda improving just laying there.

[Except he's not heading back down that way yet.]

[Huff....huff. Snort.]

Maybe you should go to a doctor, Larry.

Doctor? Why would I go see a doctor? I'm not bleeding.

[He tilts his head and furrows his brow at the notion of. And now he'll be heading back on down to the floor. Nice and slow. No rush. Inch by inch.]

[Watch how quickly he reaches over and around the couch for a pillow to slide under the old man's head.]

You don't gotta be bleedin' to be hurt, asshole.

It's not a doctor trip.

[What's with this pillow business. He looks at Freddy and is finally mostly eased on the floor.]

You're overreacting. It's nothing okay.

[Said the man laying on the floor feeling like an idiot enough as it is. Huff.]

If it stays the same for a week or two then I'll see what a doctor says.

If you don't go now you're goin' tomorrow.

[Freddy insists like that is fucking that. He'll even point at Larry to make his point.]

Jesus fucking Christ. It's my back, not yours.

[Head rubbing right now, like it's a sympathetic pain.]

Just stop, it okay. Its hard to do shit sometimes. It happens. Fuck, not like I never told you I had problems.

[Except it hadn't been bad like this in a long while.]

[Pointing again. At least he's still sitting on the floor next to him.]

You've never gone to the doctor for your damn back. Maybe it's time you did, Larry.

[Oh. Great. Now the guy is all worked up about it. Larry has good sense not to roll his eyes but he cannot mask his frustration in his tone.]

It's going to go away, okay. always does. Just one bad day. Fuck.

Bad enough I gotta come home to you lyin' on the floor. Bad enough you don't even want to fuck.

[Yes. Not wanting to fuck is one of the clearest indicators of something being not right for Freddy Newendyke.]

You just came home. I haven't even been here five minutes.

[Lie. A Mr. White lie. He doesn't want to be here laying on the floor, he doesn't want to turn down a chance to fuck around.]

Don't fucking put words in my mouth, okay? I do wanna fuck just--not right now. What's the rush? Gotta flight to catch?

You don't look like you've been there for only five minutes. [Freddy counters, arms folding across his chest now.] No, I thought we'd play another game. Maybe just me and you.

[Not trying to guilt trip or anything.]

[What is he like not fresh or something. Pft. Brown eyes look at him.]

We can. Just not now. Stop busting my balls. Fuck, it hurts. I just wanna be here awhile.

[It hurts. It makes him cranky. It makes him talk crankily.]

But you don't think it hurts enough to go to a doctor. I don't fuckin' get you. You won't even let me touch it.

[Make that two cranky men.]

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