Work Text:
“That leaves you and Lassen,” Gus says, looking at Freddy apologetically.
“Lucky you, Freddy, we get to play lovers,” Anders calls to him from across the table, his eyes wild behind his glasses as he takes a longer than necessary drag of his cigarette. He holds the smoke, not that he needs to, before blowing it out in a manner that obviously reads as seductive. It’s obvious enough that the rest of the crew picks up on it, Geoffrey even lets out a laugh that he unsuccessfully hides with a cough.
“Apologies in advance, Freddy,” Gus sighs, adjourning the meeting by standing, leaving the room in a sullen silence. Nearly everyone follows, sulking off to do their own thing. Henry mans the wheel, Geoffrey solidifies the plan by mumbling to himself continuously, and Gus bosses everyone around. They file out one by one until Freddy’s left with a very interesting Anders Lassen.
And Freddy can’t bring himself to leave the front row seat he’s found himself on. A show of ‘Anders knowing exactly what he’s doing to Freddy as he smokes that stupid cigarette and grins at him’ displayed before him.
“Want to talk strategy?” Anders asks, forcing Freddy to look from his lips to his eyes to his hands as he stubs out the cigarette.
Talk? No, Freddy doesn’t want to talk. He’d much rather walk the plank into the piranha infested seas below before having to hold a conversation with Anders Lassen. No, no, no. There will absolutely be no talking to a man that only speaks in suggestions and innuendos, Freddy wouldn’t last five minutes, alone, in a conversation with Anders Lassen.
No, he should say no, he should duck out of the hold and find Gus, ask him what the informant looks like, ask him how heavily he and Anders have to play into this whole lovers thing to fit in. That’s what he’ll do, he’ll say no, and get on with this horrid plan that’s been devised just to get it over with.
“Sure,” Freddy says, staying firmly planted in his seat, “It has to be believable enough to get the job done and avoid wandering eyes,” He adds, as if he actually knows what he’s saying. Because, what exactly has to be believable enough? The act itself or the plan going along with it? Either way, the obvious school boy crush Freddy has on Anders doesn’t help the situation. Or, maybe it does?
“Oh, I think we can get the job done nicely,” Anders smiles at him, something so genuine that Freddy nearly gets whiplash from it, “Nicknames? What’re your thoughts on ‘Freddy bear’?” His smile widens into a mischievous grin, Freddy can’t help but take the bait for this playful banter he’s invited into the conversation.
Freddy averts his gaze as he mumbles, “Classic, Lassen. And, for you, let’s go with ‘sugar tits’, yeah?” He fumbles with a small twig between his fingers before sliding it between his teeth, chewing slightly. He looks up then, knowing he’s truly fucked when he catches Anders brows raised high, his head tilted, the all-knowing smirk settled perfectly on his lips. The man is so expressive.
Anders lets out a short laugh, leaning back in his chair, “Think about my tits often, do you, Freddy?” It doesn’t help that he spreads his legs wide, the shorts he’s wearing leaving very little to Freddy’s very active imagination. He’s fighting the desperate urge to glance down, and Anders definitely knows it.
Freddy’s stunned into silence, his grin falters causing the twig he’d been chewing on to lay limp across his lip, “Don’t flatter yourself, you know that’s not that I meant.”
“Humor me, then. What did you mean?” Anders asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Freddy knows he does it deliberately based solely on the way Anders’ crosses his arms snuggly underneath his pecs. If he’s being honest, the whole show makes it even more difficult for Freddy’s eyes not to glance down.
So, he glances down. It’s only for a second, but, when his eyes meet Anders’ face again, the man is struggling not to laugh, “He’s a tits man,” He says, the words nearly hidden behind the laughter, talking about Freddy as if he weren’t seated a few feet away from him, “I’d have taken you for an ass man, Freddy. This is truly news to me.”
“What made you think that?” Freddy regrets it the moment the words leave his lips.
“You’re not very subtle when you stare,” Anders winks at him as he excuses himself, leaving Freddy alone with his thoughts. A dangerous thing, being alone with one’s thoughts. The act nearly leads Freddy to believe that Anders is actually flirting with him, that he isn’t playing. Freddy shakes his head.
The underground club they are meant to meet their operative at is so much more underground than Freddy had anticipated. The elevator creeks in distaste, causing an unnerving feeling to pool in the pit of Freddy’s stomach. He leans, using the wall of the elevator as a sort of crutch, forcing himself not to look at an amused Anders. Of course, he’s loving this, it’s one of those missions that calls for Anders to go off the deep end, to really sell it.
Freddy, on the other hand, isn’t an actor. His thing is blowing shit up, not getting handsy with Anders Lassen for an undercover mission. Although, now that he thinks of it that way, it seems both the best and the worst possible scenario for Freddy. It almost feels like a prank, directly from Geoffrey, who hadn’t let Freddy get a single word in when he’d thrown Freddy under the bus as the best candidate to handle Anders.
He looks over at the man as the elevator makes its descent.
No, he can’t handle Anders Lassen. No one can handle Anders Lassen, it’s only that Freddy has the most patience when it comes to his spontaneous tendencies. He can’t look away, even as the dangerous smile graces Anders’ lips. Still, he doesn’t look at Freddy, not yet. His eyes stay glued to the door even as he opens his mouth to taunt Freddy.
“Like I said, not very subtle,” Anders mumbles. Freddy hums because, what else is there to say? He has no clue on how to even begin flirting with Anders Lassen. He looks at Freddy for the first time since they’d entered the sad excuse of an elevator, “I’m going to kiss you tonight, Freddy,” He admits.
Freddy can’t help but scoff, a stupid attempt at hiding a groan, “Like hell you are,” Anders looks away from him again as Freddy finishes the words. One final grin before the elevator doors crash open and the band's loud music is drowning out any snarky reply Anders had queued up. Freddy would’ve preferred a comment of some kind because the look Anders gives him is quite literally terrifying.
It doesn’t take long before their informant makes himself known and immediately takes a liking to Anders. And, Anders, who loves attention, welcomes it with open arms and a hand clasped in the other man's hand as he’s dragged to the dance floor. The act throws their original plan off, which confirms to Freddy why he was really chosen for this mission. Only he can adapt and maneuver around Anders going off the plan so quickly.
That is if fuming while sending deadly glares at Anders’ back can be called adapting as he maneuvers himself to the bar.
He shouldn’t drink, he knows this, but he can’t help but blindly grab the shots the bartender keeps putting in front of him as he stares at the display on the dance floor. Freddy’s almost glad they’re facing each other, he’d have probably skipped the elevator and stomped up the many flights of stairs if it had been anything else.
Still, it’s a horrid sight.
A flat palm on Anders’ chest, traveling lower and lower until Freddy can’t bare to look anymore. He turns, gesturing to the bar keep for another drink, even though he knows his last should’ve been just that, his last. They’re supposed to be on their best game, but, if Anders can take up space on the dance floor and get groped by some informant, then Freddy can have another drink.
Anders comes crashing against the bar next to him just moments later, practically giggling, his new friend nowhere to be seen. Freddy doesn’t want to hear the sound, even as he looks over to him, taking in the glistening of sweat on his face, creeping down his neck and pooling on his collarbones. Freddy’s suddenly thirsty as he looks away, downing the rest of his shot.
“Got what we came for?” Freddy asks over the band's music, more pointed than he’d intended. He makes it apparent not to make it obvious that he misses the presence of Anders next to him, like their easy banter in the elevator, as if they were made to be together. Anders is his missing piece, thinking of it in such a way makes Freddy’s cheeks burn.
“I did, actually,” Anders says, gesturing to a folded up piece of paper that had been slid between his waistband, the same place Freddy had seen the man's hand traveling towards before he’d forced himself to look away, “Don’t pout, jealously’s not a good look on you,” Freddy stares at him, the dim lights of the club making Anders look like he wants to devour him.
“No reason to be jealous, Lassen,” Freddy mumbles, “You don’t belong to me.” He watches as the bartender sets down a row of shots before Anders, he fights the urge to roll his eyes at the strangers buying Anders shots. He should stop him, really, but the spite in him overpowers the urge as he watches Anders down shot after shot.
Anders turns to him suddenly, bringing a hand up. Freddy nearly gives into the urge of flinching away, fighting it, “And yet, I only have eyes for you, Freddy,” Anders purrs, stroking the man's cheek in such a way that makes Freddy’s knees weak as he leans into the touch. He comes back to himself, forcing it, even as he knows where they are.
Freddy shrugs out of his touch, “Don’t do that.”
Anders almost seems hurt by the gesture, “Don’t do what?”
The question is enough for Freddy to roll his eyes. Anders knows what, of course he knows. It’s why it’s so easy for him to push Freddy into doing whatever he asks. He uses it, taunts Freddy with it, knowing damn well Freddy would (could) never take that final step. Acknowledging it would be Freddy’s downfall. So, instead, he suffers in it while being surrounded by it.
“Play with me like that, don't do it,” Freddy grits out, feeling a tightness in his throat.
“Freddy, you’d know if I were playing with you,” Anders says to him.
Freddy’s not in the mood for this, to play or be played with. He’d much prefer it in the comfort of the boat. A lingering touch here, a longing look there. Presently, there’s too many lingering eyes. Not only on Anders but also on the man who has captured his interest, and that man is Freddy. A man as alluring and beautiful as Anders Lassen must only attract what he expels, and Freddy isn’t exactly fitting the bill in his pouting state.
“Mission’s over, Lassen. Time to head back to the boat,” Freddy says.
“You’re never any fun,” Anders pouts.
“Yeah, well, missions aren’t meant to be fun,” Freddy sputters over his words, trying his best not to cross his arms over his chest like a child. He fails almost immediately, crossing his arms over his chest, quite literally, like a child.
“I’m going for another dance,” Anders starts, a hint of challenge in his tone, “You should go back to the boat and tell the men the mission was a success. Then, go sulk in your bunk because you didn’t join me,” He holds a finger up as Freddy opens his mouth, effectively silencing him, “And, I’ll go find that rather handsy fellow from before, or,” He lowers his finger, tilting his head towards the dance floor as he waits.
Freddy turns his gaze to the body of people, men, and women alike, grinding on each other no matter the gender. They don’t care, men dancing on men standing next to women kissing women and no one’s batting an eye, “Alright,” The word slips from his lips before he can really think about what he’s getting himself into. His brain tries its best to warn Freddy, to get him out of this dangerous hole he’s dug himself into.
And, yet, whatever warning his brain had tried to give him falls completely on deaf ears and senses when Anders’ hand finds his wrist, and he’s being pulled along. He doesn’t consider the bodies surrounding them, he doesn’t seem to care, not when Anders is maneuvering them so that their thighs are intertwined. The sensation of Anders’ thick thigh between Freddy’s, and Freddy’s thigh between his is one of those new sensations for Freddy.
A sensation he’s quickly becoming infatuated with.
It’s only when Anders’ hips shift, grinding into Freddy, staring at him as if his next move is to eat him whole, does he come crashing back down to earth. Anders’ arm slides across his shoulders, leaving Freddy with the task of holding his hips. Which he does, gladly. The song doesn’t call for slow and sensual dancing like this, the upbeat music asking for something entirely different. But, Anders doesn’t let him go, he leads the way, and Freddy follows.
He barely registers Anders’ lips pressing against his temple near his ear because he’s so focused on how well Anders moves his hips.
“Remember what I told you in the elevator?” Anders asks, stirring Freddy awake from this dream. Of course, Freddy remembers, it’s all he’s been thinking about since they’ve stepped out of it. All he’s been thinking about since that stranger slipped the intel past Anders’ belt. He hums his best over the music, nodding where his face is pressed against Anders’ when he realizes Anders hadn’t heard him.
Anders takes the nodding as confirmation, consent even, and Freddy subconsciously knows that’s what he meant by it too because he fully welcomes Anders pulling away for the sole purpose of his hand cupping Freddy’s neck. He drags Freddy in, giving him no time to stress about how open everything is before he’s kissing Anders.
Or, even better, Anders is kissing him. And even better than that, Freddy is sliding a hand underneath Anders’ shirt, gliding over the warm skin of his hip until it settles at the small of Anders’ back. He presses, bringing them impossibly close, as if he wants to mold them into one. It’s quite romantic for a first kiss in the middle of a dance floor of people off their rockers.
His tongue tastes of the fruity shots he’d been drinking, those shots strangers had bought for him. But, Freddy’s the one kissing him, tasting his tongue, holding him close, grinding against him. He’s won, Anders is his, he feels it in the way the man’s pressing against him, refusing to give either of them any room to breathe. Anders works his hips against Freddy’s thigh, his mouth sending Freddy to heaven, a tingling sensation running up his body.
“Are you drunk enough to forget this in the morning?” Freddy asks, close enough to Anders that he doesn’t have to scream over the music. It’s like they’re having their own private conversation in the middle of the floor, sweaty bodies bumping into them every which way and yet, the only thing he feels is Anders.
“Not a chance,” Anders mumbles, though he gives Freddy a drunk grin when he pulls away, “I’ll have you in my bunk to remind me of tonight's endeavors in the morning.” It’s a promise, Freddy’s sure of it. Furthermore, He's sure that Anders won’t even let him leave the bed in the morning after such endeavors, they’ll both be MIA to the rest of the crew until Anders is tired. And Anders rarely gets tired.
“Alright,” Freddy says, accepting his fate.
Anders grins at him, “Alright.”
When Anders slides the note into Gus' palm, it seems to come with a story of its own. Gus looks between them, eyes hovering on the way Anders’ shoulder continuously brushes against Freddy’s, a slow smile creeping onto his lips. It’s small enough that the average joe wouldn’t catch it, but, Freddy is not an average joe. As a matter of fact, Freddy is a man that will be sleeping in Anders Lassen’s bed tonight. And, so, he definitely catches the slight grin gracing the knowing man’s lips.
“Alright?” Gus asks, though Freddy doesn’t know who he’d directed the word at.
What he does know is he doesn’t trust Anders to speak. He cuts in just as Anders opens his mouth, “Alright,” He nods, also trying to get rid of the images of the night’s contents that flood his head, causing him to start shoving Anders out of the room. Freddy only spares Gus one more glance before he’s putting all his weight into pushing Anders before he can open his mouth again.