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bad to the bone, sick as a dog

Summary:

a 'pass me the salt daddy' fic for [creamsicle trash]

Notes:

Title comes from Lana Del Rey's 'You can be the boss, daddy'. Do yourself a favor and imagine Larry driving his car, one hand on Freddy's thigh while this song blasts from the radio.

Work Text:

Goodness, could Mr. Brown yammer on for hours and hours about fucking space porno(‘you see, I’ve always wondered what it was like to fuck like in zero gravity. I’d fund a NASA mission just to find that out’) or what each Madonna song means(‘that’s one about a guy with a little dick but with a heart of gold as opposed to the fuck machine in ‘Like a virgin’).

“Do you ever shut the fuck? A man can’t have his fucking coffee in peace without having-“ Mr. Pink interjects, bless him but is shot down by Joe who slams a firm hand on the table, thankfully shutting everyone up.

“The job is two weeks away and I won’t have you bickering like fucking schoolboys. Or having conversations fit for fifth fucking graders. That means you, Brown.” Joe snaps at them, making Larry drop the arm he has on Orange’s back. No one could fucking know, that the kid knew his Christian name, where he was from, that Larry liked his coffee black with two sugars and a bit of milk, that Larry loves it when in the morning the kid comes out in just a T-shirt with some comic book hero on it and boxers to sleepily hug Larry from behind and persuade him to come back in bed for a little while.

(‘You’re going to get me killed one day, kid.’

‘Don’t say that!’

‘I meant as in you’re going to get me in trouble with the boss. Why are you so strung up about it?’

‘Just take me back to bed, daddy. Please, let’s just go.’

‘Well, someone is needy today.’)

The table dies down, only Mr. Pink sipping on his coffee loudly while shooting murderous glances at Mr. Brown. That’s when the kid takes a sip of his milkshake (which everyone on team made fun of) which he got along with some fries to keep him full until Larry cooks him something for dinner because Daddy can never say no to him, especially when his little boy gave him the wettest, sloppiest, most enthusiastic blowjob in the bathroom because the team apparently unanimously decided to be late.

Daddy, can you pass me the salt?” Orange says softly, but loud enough for anyone at the table to hear him. Mr. Pink looks like he just drank , Mr. Blue looks like he’s too old for this shit, Mr. Blonde looks smugly at Eddie and says ‘cough up’ and Eddie hands him a tenner, Mr. Brown looks struck down in his chair, Joe just shrugs and carries on drinking his coffee which makes Larry let out a relieved sigh. They continue eating and drinking their coffee without saying a word which strikes Larry as very odd.

“Told you they were into some kinky shit.” Mr. Blonde says to Eddie and snickers as Orange goes really red, biting down on his lip and looking at Larry apologetically. Larry should really teach him a lesson about privacy but when he remembers the time he’d have the boy in the car, supposedly on a stake-out, he mellows.

“You knew?” Orange asks, an adorably confused expression on his handsome face.

“Well, you do always have your arm around him and you did make quite a commotion in the bathroom earlier when I went in.” Mr. Pink says, shaking his cup at the waitress for another re-fill. Come to think of it, Larry did hear someone get into the stall next to them but when Orange was on his knees, moaning like he needs more and more of Larry inside his mouth, he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Just don’t let it mess with the job. Later on you can buy a house together with a white picket fence, I don’t give a rat’s ass.” Joe says quietly, like he’s holding the tiniest grudge against Larry for letting the new kid with the baby face(but with admittedly great recommendations) get to his head.

 “Can I be a flower girl at your fabulous gay wedding?” Mr. Brown interjects and that breaks whatever tension there might have been and if Larry sees Cabbot’s boy slip his hand under the table to grab Mr. Blonde’s, well, it’s not his secret to tell.