Well, apparently the rape van does indeed travel. (scandalmonger) wrote,
Well, apparently the rape van does indeed travel.

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Title: So We're Driving Around...
Author: scandalmonger
Rating: NC-17 for that thing adults do behind closed doors.
Pairing: Mr. Blonde/Mr. Orange. Or more accurately, Mr. Blonde/Freddy Newandyke. It depends on your perspective.
Summary: When Joe Cabot still isn’t too sure about the newest guy on the job, he sends Orange on a little side job with Mr. Blonde to see where the kid’s head is at. Freddy then finds that he’s getting more than he bargained for.
Word Count: 21, 436
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I earn nothing.
Warnings: Explicit profanity and graphic sexual content.
A/N: Blatant Blonde/Orange smut written as requested for acidic_flower and beta read by fitz_carraldo. So sorry for the incredible lateness on my part, it took me forever to get started and then it took even longer to get it finished. Hope that you enjoy it!

Posted to orange_white, rareslash, tarantinoverse and resdog_fic.

ETA: Somehow I set the comments to being screened and hadn't even noticed. Sorry for that, and I just fixed it.

ETA 2: Apparently I also had it set to only allow friends to comment. I...have no idea. Apologies for that as well.

The motel was a cheap one. Not that Freddy had really been expecting much, sure as hell nothing four star. Hell, not even anything two star. But it was definitely cheap. The neon on the sign flickered and buzzed, moths the size of pigeons hovered over the muddy yellow light and the parking lot had more pot holes than he could count. There was a bum asleep on the bus stop bench, an old ratty baseball cap pulled down over his eyes and nose as he dozed in the cooling but still muggy night. There was a girl across the street at a frozen custard stand, probably not a day over nineteen with her tank top tight over her taut little belly and a pair of denim shorts that rode up her thighs a quarter of an inch when she shifted her weight from foot to foot. It was hard to tell from the motel parking lot, but it looked like she was wearing heavy eyeshadow and had something sparkly in her hair.

The room itself matched the over all feel of the place. A bit musty, smelling like stale and fresh smoke alike, with an undertone of cheap air freshener having been sprayed recently. There were two beds, naturally, with a night table between them. Both were full mattresses. The wall paper was floral and ugly. The television was surprisingly recent, likely having been replaced only a few years ago, and the bathroom was debatable. Good enough to take a piss, definitely. Enough to be ambitious and try a shower? Highly unlikely.

Not that there would be any point in grabbing a shower. Neither of them had a change of clothes. Not even any deodorant or a toothbrush. It was uncomfortable, and on the odd side, but Freddy figured that he wouldn’t mind much if he was a little riper than usual the next morning. It was kind of unavoidable without a change of clothes, and the fact that the motel air conditioner appeared to be about as reliable as the one in Blonde’s car.

Getting comfortable was nearly impossible. The mattress of the bed he’d claimed for himself wasn’t as firm as he’d have liked, and the lumpy springiness of it did nothing to help him settle. He’d kicked off his shoes and was on his back, hands folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling as he contemplated the wild day he’d had. Wild didn’t even begin to cover it. He didn’t have a word for it, nothing he could think of in his albeit limited vocabulary was enough to express what had happened and what he was feeling as a result of it. He’d cost some miserable little junkie his leg. Possibly. Who knows, maybe he’d pull through, but he likely didn’t even have health insurance. How could he get something like that taken care of without any health insurance? And sure, it could have been a lot worse, it could have been both legs as opposed to one, but even with that reasoning to console himself it did very little to lighten the feeling that he could have possibly done more. He could have wised up and talked around the issue, drawn Blonde into a discussion and whittled down the punishment until it was something less grisly and with less of a long standing effect.

But he hadn’t, and there was no way to change any of that.

Maybe for his job, his particular job as dictated to him by Holdaway, he had done the right thing. He’d kept his cool, he’d stayed in character and he hadn’t killed anyone while doing so. But some little dipshit was left writhing and screaming on the floor of his living room as blood soaked through his jeans after Freddy stiffly allowed himself to be herded out of the apartment by a disconcertingly casual Mr. Blonde.

What kind of a name was Mr. Blonde anyway? Was blonde even technically a color? Maybe it was one of those things only a guy as old as Joe could understand.

Speaking of the former, there was a jostle of the door handle and a key being turned, and the tall brunette walked in, easy and smooth. He had a six pack tucked under one elbow and a greasy bag of take-out fisted in the other as he fumbled to slip the room key back into his pocket while he nudged the door closed with his foot. He seemed to abandon the effort with the key, and chucked it halfway across the room to land with a clatter on the night table, the metal gliding across fake wood before being forced to a halt by the lamp.

“When the hell did burgers and fries get so expensive.” He said lightly, setting the six pack down on his bed before rooting through the bag. “Six cheeseburgers and two large fries. How much would you expect that to cost?”

“Four or five bucks?” Freddy guessed as he sat up. “Depends on the place, right?”

Blonde was nodding, though it seemed more to himself than to what Freddy had said. “S’about right. But this place? Wanted over seven dollars. More than seven dollars for some meat and cheese on stale buns.” He started tossing the paper wrapped burgers to Freddy, who caught them with relative ease. “And you know what else? Bastards wanted twenty cents just for some extra ketchup.”


“That’s what I said.”

After that, they ate in silence. Each cracked open a beer and once he had stopped stuffing his face with grease and fried grease, Freddy returned to lounging back on the bed as he slowly nursed his beer. Blonde fiddled with the television from his place on the edge of his bed, flipping through the channels at a leisurely pace, every so often pausing to watch something, only then to continue surfing. The satiated fullness in his belly and the noise of the tv was enough that Freddy let himself relax a bit more, possibly even drifting into a light doze that he’d slip in and out of for the next hour or so.

Around midnight he snapped back awake. He hadn’t so much been sleeping, and he could tell because he didn’t feel rested and it didn’t take much for him to get his bearings. He wasn’t sure what had woken him at first, but Blonde had at some point stepped out of his own shoes and was watching something from the center of his bed, legs crossed Indian style. After a moment of watching the screen himself, Freddy figured that it was some kind of war documentary.

Taking a deep breath he got up, wrestled his shoes on and mentioned he was going to have a smoke outside. Blonde didn’t acknowledge him, just sucked on his own cigarette as his eyes squinted through the smoke and locked on the television. It had just shown a rain of gunfire pelting through a Nazi jeep.

It was hard to tell, but he was pretty sure it was cooler outside than inside, air conditioning or not. The frozen custard stand had closed for the night and the girl was long gone, though the bum was still asleep on the bus stop bench. The buzzing of the neon coupled with the sounds of traffic and the whine of mosquitoes on the night air both calmed him and made the short hairs on his arm stiffen. An old pick-up truck rattled on down the road, and even in the dark he could see from the street lights that the muffler was going bad, a thick cloud of dark exhaust blooming behind the piece of junk even as it stalled at the light down on the corner.

Breathing deeply, Freddy leaned against the wall and crossed his ankles, bracing himself as he smoked. Despite having calmed down, the sheer normalcy of how the night had turned out, he couldn’t shake the tense anxiousness he had. So far nothing had turned out like he’d been expecting, yet at the same time it was everything he should have been expecting. It was probably a sign of selfishness that he’d been so sure he was found out and about to be taken care of. Probably nerves too. Some days when he slipped in amongst those crooks he felt as sure of himself as had he been going home for Thanksgiving. Other days he was so close to tossing his cookies and wetting himself if one of the guys so much as looked at him. It felt like they’d see through him if they looked at him for too long. Hell, even with Mr. White. Scratch that, especially with Mr. White. He was playing a dangerous game, and he was getting too invested into the wrong aspects of it. He was playing by the rules but not really. It was nearly like cheating. One of these days he’d not hide something well enough, or he’d not have a good answer to something quickly enough. He’d mess up, not have a good enough lie, not hide his real feelings properly, or accidentally let something slip.

But despite the nerve wracking insanity of everything, he had to admit that aside from being bad motherfuckers, most of these guys were cool. Aside from the whole professional law breaker aspect, they even seemed normal. Hell, even Blonde, who made his skin crawl at moments for no apparent reason, was a charming son of a bitch. He was funny, down to Earth, but was willing to shoot out knees without even blinking. It was scary, but at the same time it was cool. The guy probably was popular in high school, might have even been a jock who had banged the prettiest girl. He didn’t look like a crook, but at the same time he fit the into the profile like it’d been molded for him. Molded around him, even. Even a cop had to admit that that was impressive.

Vaguely terrifying, but still impressive.

Freddy breathed out, a small steady formation of small smoke rings escaping and dissolving on the air as they floated away, growing distorted and changing shape as they melted and disappeared altogether. The cigarette was almost at the end and losing heat, starting to give out, and Freddy did it a favor by stepping it out and putting it out of it’s misery. He breathed in deep, the air warm sitting in his lungs and he spat on the concrete before going back inside.

Blonde had gotten up and though Freddy couldn’t see him, he could see the light in the bathroom was on. Not paying it any mind, he toed back out of his shoes, and stepped on his heels to get them off easier. The television was still on, but the war documentary had been replaced by the local news channel. Just another depressing story of how a drunk driver had run over a little girl and kept going before the police caught up and forced him off the road.

“People these days.” Blonde said from the doorway, and Freddy nearly jumped as he looked back over his shoulder and saw Blonde watching him. Or was he watching the television? It was hard to tell from the angle he was at. He was leaning, thick smooth arms crossed over his chest and his expression plain.

“The world’s going to shit.” Freddy replied with a shrug, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress. “Kids can’t even cross the street without some jackass plowing them down.”

“Yeah. But maybe they need to look both ways before crossing the street. Kinda hard to miss some drunken asshole going eighty.” Blonde smiled, but it seemed like less of a smile and more like something that couldn’t be named. Freddy wasn’t sure what to call it, but it didn’t look right. He got the feeling that not everything was what it seemed when it came to Blonde, and it was enough to make him nervous and anxious without any effort.

Not liking the returning tension in his shoulders, Freddy got another beer and cracked it open. Blonde seemed to get the same idea and got himself one before perching on the end of his bed and proceeding to stare at the TV again. Freddy didn’t pay him much attention after that, more focused on nursing down the alcohol and calming himself down. He didn’t even notice that the television had been clicked off until he’d glanced that direction and saw the blank dark screen, and Blonde watching him from under his dark even brows.

Unsure of what to say at first, Freddy refrained from saying anything. Just took another swig and stared back.


Blonde smiled, slow and lazy like. It reminded him of the same smile the man had offered when he’d appeared outside of his apartment door that morning. It didn’t even feel like it had only been that morning anymore. It felt like days had passed by and he hadn’t noticed the changes from day to night. The rising and setting sun had been neglected and missed, and time had kept going on. It was disturbing, how charming that smile was. It probably made women weak at the knees to have a good looking guy smile at them like that. All old school charm and chiseled smoothed features. But despite it’s charm, it was also probably among the most disturbing things that Freddy had ever seen.

“I think,” the other man started, arms crossing thoughtfully and canting his head to the side. “That we’re going to have to have sex.”

There was no formulated response. Before he could squash it down, a small bubble of disbelieving laughter had escaped Freddy’s throat, even as his eyebrows climbed up his forehead with shock and confusion. After the initial laugh, all he could do was stare, hand clasped tightly around the neck of his beer and mouth parted slightly, trying to think of what to say. What was there to say? He didn’t know how to react to that kind of bullshit. Had it not been for the fact that he had a rather unpleasant feeling that there was some honest to God seriousness to what Blonde had just announced, then Freddy would have been convinced that it was some kind of joke. Might have even been a funny joke, had Blonde not been looking at him like that. Had they not been in a motel room about one hundred and fifty miles from where they should be. Had they not been alone, and that Blonde wasn’t laughing. He was smiling, but it wasn’t an ‘I got you’ smile. It was a queer odd little smile that said nothing and everything at the same time, and Freddy had no way of having a reaction to it. This had never been covered by Holdaway. There was never a briefing on what to do if one of the crooks propositioned you for sex. There was nothing to fall back on in his training to tell him how to react to this, and even in his own experiences he didn’t know what to say to it. There was nothing to do but keep staring and wait.

“Cat got your tongue?” Blonde rumbled amicably, eyebrows rising expectantly. Prompting a response.

“You’re shitting me.” Freddy said, mouth still parted but his lips twisting into a hopeful and likely ridiculous looking smile. “You’re shitting me, man.”

Blonde chuckled and shook his head. As he stood up, Freddy felt something drop. It wasn’t his heart plummeting down into his stomach like it had done so many times that day, but something, just an overall feeling of ‘Oh, shit’ as he watched wide eyed and disbelieving as Blonde walked over to him and stood looming down over him. He couldn’t breathe, the air had escaped from his lungs and he hadn’t noticed it until he watched, breath gone, as Blonde nimbly pulled the beer out of his hands and set it carefully on the night table. He was still smiling, looking more amused than he had all day, and his hands landed on Freddy’s shoulders, the fingers squeezing gently and nearly massaging for a moment as he leaned down, leaned in close enough that Freddy could feel the small puffs of warm breath on his face.

“C’mon, kid.” He murmured persuasively, a slight flash of teeth all the cop could see from his lower position. He leaned in closer, the hands on Freddy’s shoulders growing firmer and forcing him to recline backwards so they could be face to face. “What else are we going to spend all night doing?”

“Uh,” he articulated dumbly, eyes wide and stuck like a deer in headlights.

Blonde just chuckled, a low warm rumbling in his throat, and then he was pulling off his shirt.


Freddy wasn’t even sure when his clothes had gotten removed from his body and discarded to the floor. There was a resistance at first, pointless small actions without enough strength to enforce them. When Blonde had started to press against him, he’d tried pushing his palms against the larger man’s chest in an effort to keep him from getting closer. But this small effort, seemingly insignificant, was easily remedied. All Blonde needed to do was wrap his long fingers around Freddy’s wrists and move his hands in a defining calm movement that managed to end their resistance and move them aside. Freddy was breathing through his nose, his thoughts were jumbled, his heart seemed like it was torn between beating too quickly and stopping altogether. When Blonde got in close, his skin warm and pressing against his own, it seemed like his heart stopped, unable to go on, but then it was hammering away in his chest, very nearly beating against his ribcage like a startled trapped bird. Trying to get away in blind panic, but only to crash and careen into walls with no escape to be found in the oppressive closed darkness.

The lamp was still on. Freddy was too aware of the light, and of the self consciousness that was making him nervous and giddy. The room was lit, enough that he could see the stubble on Blonde’s face, see the freckles on his broad shoulders, see the smooth sculpted frame he possessed as he leaned in and crawled over him, scary smooth and graceful as a cat as he pinned Freddy down with his weight. He hadn’t been this aware of his body in front of another man since high school, since the post gym class showers where all the guys did nothing but compare their builds and poke fun at the smallest and weakest. Freddy had never had a particularly impressive physique. He’d been scrawny as a kid, but filled out into wiry with age. Since becoming a cop he’d put on some more muscle, toned up a bit and shaped a smooth but still thin body, but compared to the man on top of him he probably had the figure of a skinny teenager. He was hyper aware of the height difference, he was put off by the sudden heavy weight on top of him, and he squirmed at first, not sure if he was trying to get comfortable or make Blonde less comfortable.

The end effect did nothing but leave him uncomfortable. He felt small and insignificant.

“I shouldn’t -- I can’t,” He blustered, eyes squeezing shut and then opening wide as he felt the other man’s dick pressing hotly against his thigh.

“Shouldn’t why?” Blonde asked coolly, lowering himself down more and letting his mouth ghost across the shell of Freddy’s ear with a small puff of warm air.

“Married.” He said, voice rising an octave as Blonde began to shift and move against him, his face coloring and his eyes shutting once more as he tried to block out and ignore the warm pressure pressing down against his own piece.

There was a low chuckle. Dark. Perverted and warm, something you‘d expect to hear coming from a porn star. “Just pretend my name’s Cee-Cee.” Freddy groaned and there was a second chuckle and a shift as Blonde began to sit up. Being straddled by a guy who probably weighed a good fifty pounds more than him, at the very least, did nothing for his existing discomfort. Freddy started to prop himself on his elbows. Blonde seemed to have other ideas though, and using nothing more than the flat palm of his hand he pressed down on the center of Freddy chest, forcing him to remain flat on the bed as Blonde sat up straight and looked down on him. It was a rather disconcerting perspective, to be looking up at the looming tower of unabashed tanned flesh and crown of dark hair.

The self consciousness didn’t dissipate, on the contrary. With Blonde looking down him like that, just looking, staring down and studying him he felt more embarrassed than he thought he could possibly feel. It wasn’t the same as going to bed with a woman and her wanting to get a look before the deed was done. This was slow, judging and appraising, a long heavy inventory being taken and Freddy couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t meeting the quota in every aspect.

“Natural blonde?” The other smiled as his roaming eyes stilled over the nest of hair between Freddy’s legs.

“Go to hell.” He forced out in response, cheeks coloring a darker shade of pink. He swung his head to the side, trying to will the situation away, and instead all he could focus on was the window. The cheap curtains were drawn, but there was a gap where they should have met. A small, insignificant gap, maybe less than an inch wide but Freddy found himself staring at the small open expanse of window that escaped into the darkness of the night and realized that he hated that little gap. It was doubtful anyone would look in and see them, but the idea that someone could made his stomach roll. And not only the fact that it could be looked in on, but the fact that it seemed like that little gap was mocking him. His situation was not contained. There was a breach opening up into the rest of the world, and he despised it. It was his own surreal moment, between him and Blonde. It was private and frightening and exciting and unwanted, but there was a breach and the real world was being leaked into his surreal little bubble of sub reality.

Blonde started shifting his weight again, and Freddy’s gaze was torn from the window and back up to the man on top of him. Blonde didn’t say anything, just had that thoughtful look he got every so often, and seemed to be trying to decide what he wanted to do. He leaned back over Freddy a bit and his breath slowed, like prey trying to not attract too much attention to itself, and laid still as Blonde’s broad hand placed itself on his hip, gently working the skin and thumb massaging the hard bone under the surface. Freddy swallowed slowly, his breathing seeming louder in the quiet room than he supposed it actually was. Blonde settled back over him, the hand on his hip squeezing and testing, then traveling lightly over his belly and it was all Freddy could do to stay still and not squirm, his ticklishness threatening to reveal itself. Large blunt fingers skimmed gently across his ribs and up the center of his chest, Blonde’s other hand hanging limp at his side for a minute before slipping deftly between them. He didn’t touch as boldly as Freddy had been anticipating, at least not initially. His touch was teasing, exploratory, progressing from nearly not touching at all to small smooth brushes of skin over skin. While his right hand trailed further upwards, thumb brushing over the knob of Freddy’s Adam’s apple and thereby making him squirm in discomfort, his other trailed downwards to the thatch of dark metallic gold curls nested at Freddy’s crotch. Blonde still avoided direct touch, just skimmed finger tips over the wiry hairs and traced the triangular juncture of the reclining man’s pelvis. Unable to stop himself, Freddy squirmed, hips shifting in the subtle but shameless manner of frustration with the indirect teasing. He turned his head away when Blonde expelled a small breath of amusement, his embarrassment and awkwardness with the situation still pressing down on him more heavily than he thought possible. Blonde’s thumb had left his Adam’s apple and traveled downward to smooth over the hollow of his throat, gently probing the dip in the flesh and making the cop strain his neck as if to jostle him away. Thankfully, he got the hint and his hand, pressing more firmly now, brushed its way back down his chest. The entire expedition couldn’t have taken more than a couple of minutes, not even a handful of moments in time, but it had been enough to leave Freddy struggling to not fidget. Unfortunately, that also meant he was tense, and his legs were actually beginning to cramp from being held still so carefully and being pinned by the bulk of the other.

Without warning, Blonde switched tactics. While previously it had all been uncomfortable and intrusive, it hadn’t been anything more than Freddy could handle. He’d been able to sit still, and aside from the slight discomfort, it hadn’t been anything blatantly sexual. More sensual, like teenagers for the first time and just checking each other out. But that dissipated, gone like a flame being snuffed out by a stray breath, and Freddy’s hips jerked and raised off of the bed, his breath catching in his chest as Blonde’s hand wrapped itself around his dick, his grip firm, and began to pump him with expert precision. Freddy began to raise himself up again, hard to do when he still had the other man’s weight holding him down by the legs, his own length long since swollen and erect only inches away and as Freddy looked, while trying not to look, Blonde’s free hand went to his own piece and he fisted himself eagerly without modesty. It didn’t take much, the touch alone had him hard and straining his hips upwards, blood rushing and making him swell hotly within Blonde's hand as he muttered senseless sounds of encouragement under his breath. It was perverse and the startling rush of arousal left Freddy feeling nothing more than guilty. Guilty for his own ability to be worked so well, to be turned on and pleasured by it when in his mind he knew not all of it was right. None of it was right. He wasn’t against guys who wanted to be gay, he may have even gone there for experimental purposes before dropping out of college and joining the academy, but this, what was going on right now, it wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right, despite the fact that it felt good. There was a sick feeling in his head and gut, instinct telling him that it was wrong in some sense and he couldn’t deny it as much as he’d like to ignore the misgivings for the sake of trying to enjoy what seemed to be happening regardless of what he had to say about it. It was just sex, that was the best he could tell himself. It was just sex, and if he focused on that aspect of it, he’d get through it without bursting a lung from nerves. If nerves could burst lungs. At this point, he was willing to bet that in his current feelings and state, anything like that could be possible. He certainly wasn’t going to be doubting it.

Blonde lurched forward, removing his hand from himself and bracing it on the bed next to Freddy’s arm as he slid his weight forward, pushing his pelvis until it was leveled with that of the body beneath him. Curious despite his concern, Freddy strained to see what he was planning, and watched cautious and wall eyed as Blonde changed his handling and pressed their dicks together, trying to wrap his hand around both shafts enough to keep them in contact as he rolled his hips forward. The thrusts were small, unhurried, more probing for stimulation than gratification. The actual feel of it was strange despite pleasurable and Freddy tried to push his hips upward but with Blonde’s change in position, he was trapped under the other man’s weight and unable to move. The most he was able to do was lay still, propped up on his elbows just enough to have a view of what was taking place at crotch level, and listen as Blonde made small half formed sounds of approval in his throat every few moments. As the momentum was built, Freddy couldn’t deny his own approval, and small breaths became heavier, hitching when a particularly sensitive spot was touched, chest rising quicker, and despite his inability to actually move, the rather half assed effort to somehow rock his own hips. He was just glad that Blonde seemed more focused on the sight of their cocks pressed together than meeting his eyes, as if he had Freddy wasn’t sure he’d have been able to look. The perverse indecency of it, the feeling of his privacy having been violated was there. It was sexual, but it was intrusive. It wasn’t welcomed, but accepted reluctantly with little else to do other than be pliant and cooperative. Aside from his apparent inability to fight, he wasn’t sure that he should. What would his resistance really achieve? He didn’t know how badly Blonde was set on it, and even if he did, this was the man who was testing him. He’d probably be reporting to Joe how the little excursion had gone, and fighting with him, trying to throw him off, kicking him in the gonads, it would do nothing but make things go badly for him. He was stuck in a corner, backed into it. Instead sink or swim it was turning into sink or fuck. And fuck, Freddy figured he could pull that off. He may have been tense and limp at the moment, nothing more than a piece of driftwood with a hard on, but it wasn’t painful.


He may have experimented once or twice while stoned and too horny to know what to do with himself, but he’d never taken it up the ass. The realization that actual penetration, real fucking, was even Blonde’s objective was enough to instill another leap of panic, leaving that heart of his fluttering desperately in his chest at mock speeds, searching desperately for a way out. But there was no way out. Cliché as it was, he was stuck, and he was just going to have to take it. Get into if he could, try not to cringe if something was too personal, and how could it not be? A raw fuck was a raw fuck, it was easy to let slide. But Blonde, something wasn’t adding up. It was raw, but it was personal. Freddy didn’t like the level intimacy that was present, it got under his skin and made him itch, it didn’t belong within the situation. And the idea of actually getting fucked by a man who could be so invasive just with a small touch or a look was too much. He might have to take it if it came to that, but he could put it off. He didn’t want that kind of intrusion, it would be more than just a fuck and he knew that it would. It would be breaking his walls, breaching his security, it would be more than he could handle. It’d be too much of himself. Blonde wouldn’t be fucking Mr. Orange, uprising star in crime. He’d be fucking Freddy, Freddy the cop, the rat, and he didn’t want that. He couldn’t handle that. They could rub against each other all he liked, they could neck like teenagers if that was what he was into, but then, then Freddy could pretend that it wasn’t him, that it was Orange doing all of that with Blonde. But if they fucked, actually fucked, it wouldn’t be an even match. Blonde would still be Blonde, not whoever he actually was, whoever Toothpick really was, but Freddy would be Freddy and that was something he wouldn’t be able see past. He didn’t think Blonde truly was a person. He was exactly what he came off as, which was a veil with something unpleasant hidden behind the curtain. He was attractive, seemingly indulgent and harmless, but with the right lighting you could see the silhouette of something dark and repulsive lurking behind that cover patiently.

Freddy’s veil was only so thick. The right lighting, the right tone of voice, the right look in his eyes could give him away. He could only be Orange on the surface, but whatever Blonde was, it ran deep. Deeper than blood and flesh, deeper than that smile or the way his eyes crinkled at the edges with mirth. Whatever the space cadet was, whoever he was, he was something Freddy doubted he’d ever see. All he had to go on was the shape, the barest teasing hint of what was hidden so effortlessly. He couldn’t hide anything that well. Even just one fuck between them, while he could physically bare it, he didn’t think his mind could. Perhaps it was irrational, but he knew that as soon as he had his face pressed down into those sheets, when his toes were curling, and when he had no real name to call out if he did manage to come and did get into the moment at the height of climax, that it wouldn’t be his cover. It would actually be him, and he didn’t want himself in that situation. It was between Mr. Blonde and Mr. Orange, and Freddy Newandyke refused to take any part in it.

This was why, he’d later tell himself, that he inelegantly allowed himself to fall back off of his elbows and allow himself the ability to use his arms in a productive manner. It was hesitant, and more than awkward, but he told himself that just lying still like a corpse would do nothing of benefit. Cautiously, more for his own conscience than anything more, he edged his hands forward and placed them palm down on Blonde’s thick, muscle lined thighs. He grunted in acknowledgment, but continued his small, short thrusts, fumbling to brace himself upwards as he moved and struggling to keep their erections together with each move forward. Freddy avoided interference, just breathed with small, heavy huffs of weak encouragement, his palms brushing over the short hairs on Blonde’s body as he studied and felt the shape of him. He was smooth as well as not grossly muscular, but the hard muscle was under the skin, firm and solid to the touch despite the initially soft flesh that covered it. Wetting his dried lips with the tip of his tongue as he considered his position, Freddy eased his hands up and down; nothing sexual in the gesture, purely enough to stimulate feeling. It was blatant reciprocation despite its subtlety. He repeated the action, up and down, trying to keep it relaxed while Blonde kept him pressed down into the mattress and he bumped and grinded. While pleasurable, it was an uncomfortable position, likely for the both of them, and it wasn’t long before the initial enthusiasm that Blonde had demonstrated had bled away into the loss of momentum and the fact that pleasure had reached a frustrating plateau.

“Fuck,” Blonde muttered, giving a few more shallow thrusts before slowing. Giving up and sitting back, arm leaving its braced position and giving him a chance to stretch it as he looked down between their two bodies, he made a low murmur of thought before sitting still. Freddy thought that he had preferred it when Blonde had been moving against him, as then it had been easier to forget his weight pushing down on him. With him quiet and still, his weight had turned into sheer painful heaviness, and he was sure he would later be bruised.

Seeing an opening, Freddy realized that if he was going to prevent a less desired outcome on his behalf that he’d need to act quickly.

Clearing his throat and gulping down a breath, he let his hands wander back up Blonde’s thighs and rest on his hips. He received a small grunt in response to the contact, and taking that as encouragement, he brushed his thumbs softly over the sensitive skin of the man’s waist. “C’mon,” he said quietly, shifting impatiently under the thief’s bulk, “You’re crushing me, man.” He fell quiet again, risking a small look from where he’d been staring rather evadingly at Blonde’s chest and up to his face. The expression was unreadable. Small teasing hints; eyebrows quirked down thoughtfully, mouth a straight line but slightly parted, eyes heavy. Considering? Maybe. He gave the impression of possibly mulling something over, and after an instant had slipped by, he seemed to also draw a conclusion.

Freddy watched with bated breath as Blonde’s weight shifted over him once more, and he moved his legs thoughtlessly as his ability to move was momentarily restored to him. But he didn’t have a chance to get comfortable, as rather than getting up off of him, Blonde was changing his position, leaving the straddling pose he’d been maintaining and changing entirely, now stretching out over Freddy’s body and lying down atop of him. Wiggling with momentary discomfort, Freddy tried to change the arrangement of his legs but his progress was interrupted when Blonde settled his hips down between them, getting in snug as he sprawled out, face leveled with Freddy’s own. While he’d thought it unnerving to have the man bearing down on him before, having him right in his own face was even worse, and Freddy couldn’t resist his desire to turn his face away, at least for the time being. The change, while still uncomfortable in the general sense, was less painful, and he was able to squirm and settle as he pleased, without direct interference from Blonde. His arms were unfortunately misplaced though, and he struggled to decide what to do with them. It’d be nothing less than his previous reluctance and unresponsive attitude to just let them lie flat on the bed, and they’d be awkwardly placed to avoid Blonde’s elbows. The only other option was to rest his hands on Blonde’s back, and with some initial hesitance, he finally did so. It wasn’t long before Blonde began to move again. The bumping and thrusting movement now ended in more pressure on both of their dicks, raw flesh pressing in on all sides, rubbing every sensitive part and eliciting small heavy breaths from each of them. Blonde’s head ducked in, his mouth pressing down on Freddy’s own, and the kiss caught him off guard. He tried to pull back, mostly out of shock, and turned his head away, forcing the seeking mouth away. Blonde wasn’t daunted though, nor did he force the issue, simply continued the lazy, searching roll of his hips. As the momentum built, Freddy slowly forgot about the kiss, and allowed his head to loll back to it’s previous position. It wasn’t long before the mouth was pressing down on his own again, a probing tongue gently sliding across his lower lip, pressing firm but gentle as it pried open Freddy’s mouth with it’s sheer persuasiveness and sought entry. It wasn’t long, it was just a kiss, and Freddy didn’t even think as his mouth opened, just a hair’s breath wide and the foreign tongue slipped stealthily in, gently exploring his teeth and palette before meeting his own, rolling together wetly and warm as the kiss itself gained strength on both ends. The lips were soon crushing together, hard enough to raise blood and leave both pairs red and swollen, Freddy’s eyes long since fallen shut but Blonde’s still open, crinkled at the edges as he studied the soft blonde lashes that lined the other man’s eyes.

There had been a part of him that had wondered, possibly even hoped, that once his eyes were shut he’d be able to block out who was actually on top of him. While it wasn’t outwardly terrible, not in the sense that he was forced or that the other guy’s mouth tasted bad. But there was a defining surreal-ness. It was difficult to get past, and even with his eyes shut and his dick hard and his tongue twisted and writhing against another, he couldn’t pretend that there was someone else. There was no way in hell he could fool himself into thinking that maybe he was rutting on top of the sheets with a woman, no way that he could think of that girl who’d been across the street only a few hours back and pretend that the weighty bulk on top of him had been her fit little form. He couldn’t pretend it was any woman he’d ever been with. He couldn’t pretend it was that red haired guy with the green eyes he’d gotten stoned with and made out with once upon a time. He couldn’t pretend and tell himself anything. It was Blonde. The presence, the sureness, the unrelenting reality of it in itself was surreal. It was unreal. Blonde was a force of himself, his skin against his own was electric, his smell invaded his nostrils and forced him to acknowledge the masculine odor of him. He had to face the stubble scraping against his cheeks and chin, he was to relent and admit to himself that, yes, his hands were sliding over a decidedly male body and that his nails were digging into the tender yet firm skin of a man. Not just any man. Blonde. Everything about him was a reminder of who he was. It was endless. There was no sweet ignorance to fall back upon, there was nothing to delude himself, to sweeten the moment, to change it to something that didn’t leave him dizzy and conflicted. There couldn’t be any relief from it, it was all encompassing, and even with his eyes shut, tightening by the desire to will the person whose lips he grappled with his own into to someone else, anyone, even a flash in his mind making his thoughts fall to Mr. White for one split second, he was then left with the disappointing understanding that there could be no fooling himself. He had to take everything as it was, as there was no other way to take it. To try to will it into anything more would just lead to disappointment.

“Fucking hell,” Blonde grunted as he and Freddy took a breather, each feeling the effects of beard burn as they both twisted and wiggled against each other, the momentum building but reaching a point that while intense, would not bring satisfactory climax. “Fucking hell, kid.” He was panting, his breath hot and heavy. “I’m going to fuck you. Fuck you into the mattress.” He tried to press another painfully hard kiss onto Freddy’s mouth, but anticipating it, he turned his face away leaving the harsh lips to press roughly against his jaw.

“No,” he managed out, fingernails digging down into the skin of Blonde’s sides. “I don’t do that, man. Not happening.” He hefted his legs apart a bit, forcefully trying to shift his position, and it was met by Blonde refusing to move, four legs all trying to find a place but neither pair willing to give any slack and allow free movement.

“Fuck that.” Blonde breathed, teeth scraping against Freddy’s jaw and down his neck.

Thinking for a split second, Freddy gave a small moan, wanton and teasing, more than purposeful, and rolled his own hips upward, meeting Blonde’s less than rhythmic thrusts with his own eagerness. The reaction was small, but noticeable, a small “Mmmph.” uttered from the larger man’s throat, almost thoughtful again. Everything about him, even rutting like a couple of drunken dogs, and he was still considering. Quiet, reasonably collected, slow and leisured even in the middle of building passions.

“Fine,” he said, voice getting throaty as he began to sit up. Freddy suppressed the urge to sigh in relief. “But then you’re going to suck me off.” Freddy’s heart jumped back up into his throat, and Blonde raised himself up, not sitting properly upright but bracing himself up on his hands, like half way into position to start doing pushups. He was poised over Freddy, looking down into his face with that same quirked brow and the quietly inquiring eyes, suspended over his face and somehow invading his space more than when his tongue had been halfway down his throat. “I want to see you on your knees.”

He hadn’t known he’d even spoken a response until he heard himself saying “Okay,” and his own voice sounded foreign to his ears.

He couldn’t decide if this was progress or not. While he’d have been happy to just keep his position until they both came and Blonde could relocate to his own bed, he figured that sucking a guy off had to be better than getting fucked in the ass. Either way it was a pretty clear message.

The message being that he was the bitch, apparently.

Blonde getting up off of him and himself getting up off of the bed likely only took a few measly seconds, but in his mind it had been something that stretched on for an eternity. His heart was thudding in his ears, his pulse was loud and heavy, he was more aware of the squeaking springs of the bed than he thought was healthy. The loss of the other body left his warmed skin feeling cold, even in the warm room, and he was twice as aware of his nakedness when he was standing up. He was embarrassed. He couldn’t help but glance at the window, that small gap in the ugly curtains still managing to mock him, even after it felt like so much time had passed, even while it had actually only been ten or fifteen minutes at the most. Blonde was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his neck, first staring off into space was easy self assuredness before looking back and seeing that Freddy’s eyes were on him. His lips quirked into a smile and shamelessly, he winked. For a brief moment, Freddy couldn’t decide if he should laugh and the ridiculous innocence of the gesture or slap him. In the end, all he could accomplish was a half hearted quirk of his own lips before he had no choice but to stop wasting time and lower himself down into a kneel between Blonde’s spread knees.

He may have never sucked someone off before, but he’d been on the receiving end frequently and had watched enough porn to know the technique. But to say that he was prepared to put a dick in his mouth was a stretch. Perhaps it was immature, but there was a part of him that quite simply was a bit grossed out. A dick was a guy’s best friend, but it was also probably one of the most disgusting body parts he had. The fact that women were such troopers and willing to suck one down was something that Freddy had always respected them for. Even faggots, real ones, while they got ragged on as much as they did, you had to respect them. If they were willing to choke a cock down, then that took some serious balls and possibly a lack of a gag reflex. Not to avoid choking on the organ itself, but to avoid getting nauseated by the act itself and having an impromptu hurling session.

It was probably one of the least erotic things Freddy had ever been faced with doing, and he’d done some pretty brave shit. Nothing dangerous and particularly nasty, but if the right girl asked, he’d go down on her. And if he was in the mood and so was she, he’d try some of the more experimental positions.

But sucking dick? Once again he found himself outside of his typical comfort zone. In all honesty, it was an oddly fitting end to the insanity that his day had so far proven to be.

In the back of his mind, he vaguely wondered how that would look on his official write-up to Holdaway: Suspect and I checked into motel for the night. Night progresses as expected, with take out and minimal speaking. Suspect initiated sexual relations late into evening and I sucked his dick to maintain good relations.

Yeah right.

And Holdaway was probably one of the most inappropriately un-erotic thoughts he could have possibly been having at that particular moment. It did absolutely nothing to help him get motivated, particularly so considering he was face to crotch with Blonde, and the other man was just sitting there waiting. Taking his goddamn time, unrushed and patient for the show to start when it was ready. A part of Freddy considered for the shortest second just punching him the dick, getting his clothes and walking the fuck out. It wouldn’t even necessarily be breaking cover, it’d be simply what it was. A guy who was too overwhelmed with the situation getting fed up and getting the fuck out. Nothing cop-like about it. Hell, Freddy or Orange, either way, it was a reaction that could be totally reasonable on both ends.

But that still didn’t stop him from wrapping his hand around Blonde’s shaft.

The act itself only drew out a small murmur of approval, but it was a start. From what Freddy could recall of about every blowjob he’d ever gotten and from very nearly every porno he’d ever seen, the person sucking didn’t just go straight for it. They worked their way up to it, like building the suspense for the guy on the receiving end. They used their hands, coy looks, then maybe graduated to a teasing lick to the head. While he sure as hell wouldn’t be offering any coy looks for anybody, present or not, he could get the idea from that. He found a good grip, firm but loose for maximum ability, and started with slow steady pumps of his fist, easy with a slow pace. You could probably have been able to count the pace, count to one you’re at the base, two you’re at the middle of the shaft, three you’re brushing a taunting thumb over the head. Repeat. It was easy enough to just practice as though he’d been jacking himself off, the action was second nature, well known to any male human being age eleven and up. It was a natural measure, an easy one to fall into, and it was easy to let his mind wander as he worked the rod. He could think about other things, try to ignore that it wasn’t his own dick his hand was on, try to will himself to let the situation dissolve away as he daydreamed about nothing in particular. But even this small innocent attempt at escape was easily foiled. In a matter of maybe a minute, perhaps two if he was generous, Freddy was pulled from his thoughts by a warm hands cupping the back of his skull, the fingers working into his hair and massaging the scalp, very nearly tender. But then the hand was pushing, firmly guiding his head forward, and even as he placed some slight resistance, the hand just added a small boost of strength that forced his resolve away and his head was dipping down to replace his hand.

It wasn’t quite as gross as perhaps he’d been imagining. It took a moment, to get himself prepared in the mental sense, but as he ran his tongue over the head, the beginnings of a cringe threatening to twist his features, and it struck him that it didn’t taste bad. It was like what it smelled like. Skin. Just skin, sensitive and thin, and it draw a rumbling murmur from Blonde somewhere above him as he tried to do what he recalled any bed partner of his doing. He was working from memorization. But regardless of his lack of experience, his dedication to what he assumed the appropriate steps were was rather impressive. Blonde seemed to agree with it, his breath hitched every few seconds, and then he’d breath out one long breath of contentment. His hand was still in Freddy’s hair, hugged against his scalp, the hand holding him loosely in place, giving him just enough slack to be able to turn his head as need be but not to be able to pull back. His fingers were warm, burrowed down and stroking the scalp with broad flat fingertips, the act probably without thought but out of simple reflex. Freddy didn’t know where Blonde’s other hand was, and he really didn’t care, he was more focused on trying to do what had been asked of him, and while he had gotten over his initial hesitance, he was still reluctant to actually take the leap and trying to swallow the prick down. He’d seen so many women gag, even when not even deep-throating. Just as simple as their reflex kicking in and rejecting the obtrusion invading their space. But as he wrapped his lips around the tip, adding a little experimental suction, he felt that guiding hand on the back of his head adding pressure and forcing him to ease down, taking in some of the length. Thankfully Blonde didn’t push too much, gave him time to adjust, to be wary of what he did with his teeth and trying to regulate his breathing through his nose. But there was another nudging push, careful and balanced, and Freddy relented, taking in another inch, slowly, and then another, eyes watering as he fought the urge to gag and his throat and chest tightened with the effort of keeping from doing so. It was difficult, and his own dick was hard and forgotten as he tried, the hand guiding him down just a bit further before stopping altogether, and while he was not actually throating the length, he had very nearly all of it within the warm cavern of his mouth. He was forced to breath the musty scent at the base, his nose tickled by coarse hair nestled at Blonde‘s crotch. The sheer masculine smell of him was forced on Freddy. It was nearly nauseating with its intensity, but he kept his head cleared and shifted his knees, head bobbing as he tried to return his focus.

He‘d thought that it had been difficult going down, but coming back up was just as difficult, if not worse. It re-stimulated his gag reflex, but even as he recovered, he also understood that he’d be fighting it again as he went back down. The moment, while challenging, was not as erotic as it could have been. His enjoyment was lacking while Blonde’s was quite plentiful, and his own arousal was decreasing. But getting it over and done with, getting the man off was what he need to focus on, and he was working on it, his eyes watering again and the tears threatening to escape as he bobbed his head back down, trying to find a rhythm as he avoided gagging around the other man’s cock. As he picked up speed, and as he willed himself to relax, he found that it became easier. He still had to be careful for his sake and to watch his teeth, but as he became more comfortable, and he didn’t need to fight with his own internal reflexes, it grew a reasonable pace. Blonde’s murmurs had turned to short grunts, the fingers in his hair flexed and tightened, occasionally a small painless tug which Freddy tolerated. He took it, he leaned into it, he closed his eyes and worked for it. How many times had he been called a cocksucker since his teenage years? Plenty. As any man had. But here he was, on his knees in a cheap motel, sucking down some thief whose real name he didn’t even know. It was incredible. It was laughable. And as he worked, secretly pleased with the progress he’d made in only a handful of minutes, he also realized that he was getting hard again. He didn’t know where the arousal came from, or even really wanted to know where it came from, but it was there. His cock throbbed between his legs, but he couldn’t focus on sucking off Blonde and servicing himself at the same time. Perhaps the arousal came from the sounds Blonde was uttering, grunts and gusty huffs of raw breath, or maybe it was the blunt head of the cock in his mouth as he forced it down as his head lifting and falling with a steady but quickened rhythm, or maybe it was sheer insanity. Insanity that seemed to have driven every moment of his day, insanity that was leaving him giddy and dizzy, his pulse fast and hot, his skin prickling with sweat as it beaded on his skin as the air conditioner struggled to blow cool air in the background, the whine of the occasional car from the road managing to slip under the crack of the door and through the walls and window and into the room, leaving the sheer perverse impression of the acts being committed nearly engraved onto the walls and tattooed into the hides and minds of the participants.

Blonde’s other hand has relocated from where ever the hell it had been and onto Freddy’s shoulder. The palm was hot, nearly searing the skin of Freddy’s body as the thumb smoothed across the flesh, gently rubbing and encouraging as the breathy huffs from above became more frequent and more erratic, losing any semblance of predictability. The man’s knees were quivering, opening a bit further, hips pushing forward and catching Freddy off guard, very nearly choking him though it was impossible to tell how purposeful it had been or if it had simply been an action lost within the rising pleasure the man seemed to be experiencing. Freddy was trying to focus on what was expected of him, forcing himself to pick up the pace and try to go a bit faster, but doing so did nothing but disturb that damn reflex again, and then he was gagging. Gagging around Blonde’s dick and still trying to force him down his throat at the same time. He didn’t even care about the embarrassment of the situation any more, he didn’t care if someone looked through that fucking gap in the curtains and saw his ass and back as he kneeled, or saw his head bobbing up and down between Blonde’s spread legs. He didn’t care, because by tomorrow he’d be in his own apartment, in his own bed, working on a report of what he had done out of town while in company with the crook. And when it was done, he was going to put on his shoes, wait for the call from Holdaway, and then they were going to meet up. And he was going to tell him everything that happened, except for this. Hell, he might even add this in the oral discussion, but only as a joke so Holdaway could mutter something darkly, roll his eyes and tell him to grow the fuck up. That was what he was going to do tomorrow, and because of that, he didn’t give a flying fuck about what was going on right at that second.

All of a sudden he felt the hand in his hair pulling, pulling him upward quickly and off of the dick, his mouth watering and dripping with the saliva that had built up as he pulled back, Blonde’s hands leaving him, and sitting back just in time to narrowly avoid getting a jet of hot white ejaculate in the face. Narrow being the key word, as he’d tilted his upper body to the left, and still got some on his shoulder and Blonde groaned low and pornographic like, coming long and hard. It could have been disgusting, it could have been hilarious, it could have been a lot of things but at that moment, Freddy felt absolutely nothing but indifferent to it. A moment passed, heavy silence as they both breathed heavily, the air thick and rank with the stench of sex, and then Blonde’s hands were grabbing him by the forearms, forcing him to stand up with his knees still aching from his kneeled position, and he was pulled close. Close and snug up against Blonde even as he sat, standing between his still spread legs, his steadily softening prick pressed against his thigh, and then before he could even formulate a reaction, that warm large hand was around his own piece again. It was working him like it had earlier, but the slow unhurried rhythm had dissipated, and while still steady, was now quick, perhaps a little bit rough, and enough to make his hips jerk forward in response to each pump. He fucked Blonde’s fist, and when he came, he shuddered as his body sagged heavily, practically sitting down on Blonde’s lap.

He breathed slowly, his throat burning, and as they both climbed down from their mutual climaxes he stared off across the room, above the man’s head, at the wallpaper pattern.

He couldn’t help but think that it really was very ugly.


“So we’re driving around for hours. And when I say hours I don’t mean it was like that annoying drive you have to make up to see Grandma once in a fucking blue moon, I mean it took for fucking ever. It was hot, I was sticking to the seat, the guy had royally shitty taste in music and for straight hours it’s just sitting in the heat in this crappy old car, trying to not suffocate on how fucking bad it all was. I swear there were probably coyotes gnawing on dead crows on the edge of the highway that were having a way better time than I fucking was. So we’re in this car, driving down to where we need to go, it just seems to never end. Didn’t help I thought I was gonna die, y’know. Oh, you laugh now, but had you been there you would have been the same as me. It was fucking terrifying. Just this quiet son of a bitch in the seat next to me, driving me who knows where, and all I could think was, Jesus, Freddy, you might be on your way to dying. How the fuck did this happen? And then of course there’s that recap, your mental backtrack as you try to think back on every possible thing that could have led up to the moment. I mean everything. Not even things specifically related to the job, I mean shit spanning back over years, back to grade school and when your third grade teacher Mrs. Mulligan asked “What do you wanna be when you grow up, Freddy?” and all bright eyed and innocent like you piped up “I wanna be a police officer!” But really you didn’t want to be a police officer at all, you said you wanted to be a fucking astronaut, but you have to have money and brains and to have real dedication to pull that shit off and you have to be able to pass a fucking piss test. Sure, you gotta do that as a cop too, but let’s be honest, it’s just between us, how fucking easy is it to get around one of those in this day and age? It’s a piece of fucking cake.

“I’m getting off track here. The fact is, you’re thinking back, and it seems like every damn thing in your life led up to that moment, and you’re ready to piss your fucking pants. You’re scared. Dead fucking scared. Nervous, tense, you fucking name it. It gets up under your skin, settled down in your belly like a rock and you’re just sick with it. But you don’t want that mother fucker next to you to know any of that. You have to keep your cool. You have to keep yourself from sweating, keep your head on tight and just go with the fucking flow. But even then you don’t know what the hell is going to happen or if you’re about to say a prayer and meet your goddamned maker. But as it turns out, I was worrying for nothing. I was the last guy who should have been worried. It was the guy we dropped in on who needed to be scared, and you can bet your ass as sure as you’re sitting there that he was. You could have smelled it on him. Fuck, I could smell it on him. He was pathetic. He was just some average crack head, got in with the wrong bunch of guys, probably wished he’d stayed in school and stayed away from the drugs. He was so fucking pathetic. I felt so bad for him. Sure, he was a scumbag, but he was just some guy who got caught up in some bad shit. And you know what? I was the one who fucked him over. Sure, I had to, I was put up to it by the cheeky son of a bitch I was with, but it was still me. It was my gun. It was my finger on the trigger. Some poor piece of shit got the sharp end of the stick, and I got a good referral. Crazy how that works out, innit?

“After? What about after? Oh yeah, I know, we didn’t come right back. Apparently Blondie doesn’t like driving late at night, I dunno. I think more than likely he just wanted to hang out and chill after getting the job done. We stopped at this real cheap motel, got some food, got some beers, just sat up most of the night getting wasted and watching TV. Nah, we didn’t really talk. Nothing deep. Idle chit chat, nothing much more. He was a smooth guy. Classy but street savvy, y’know? I’ll be working with him but not him directly. It’s kind of weird how this whole deal is set up. Yeah, don’t you worry, I’ll be keeping an eye on him. I’m there, I’m watching him like a hawk, you can fucking count on that. If he let’s anything slip, you know I’ll catch it. Why? C’mon man, you know me. I’m the fucking man, you know that. I’m fucking Baretta and I’m on him so good I might as well be sucking his dick.”
Tags: begging for attention, fanfiction, reservoir dogs
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