Work Text:
Jersey Shore is a goddamn disappointment. It's a disappointment up there with the US losing out to fuckin' Germany in the third round of the World Cup, in George Luz's professional opinion as a soccer enthusiast.
Yeah, all right, fine, it's okay, with the lazy roll of waves as a backdrop and a few tanned, long-legged bikini babes lingering on the boardwalk. But Lip had promised him that they would definitely meet the cast of Jersey Shore, that reality show with the big hair and bigger tits. It's now day three and there's still no Sookie in sight.
Lip had promised.
"I didn't promise you anything, Luz," says Lip.
Luz tilts his head back, squinting through his sunglasses as he stares at Lip upside-down. "It was implied," Luz mumbles.
"Could you get your ass up here and help with prep?"
"Fine, but I'm gettin' some of that salt water taffy later."
It takes some effort to haul himself up from the sandy beach in front of their food truck. Carwood Lipton, his boss and fellow chef, is elbow-deep in the marinade for the cheese steaks, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and doesn't spare Luz a look as he staggers to his feet.
"Long as you stop bitching about The Situation, you can have as much taffy as you'd like."
Luz sighs as he ties his bandana around his head and climbs into the truck, calf muscles twinging in protest.
It's not like Luz doesn't enjoy what he does. Hell, if he didn't, he wouldn't have quit his cosy sous-chef job in South Philly to join up with Lip and his crazy mid-life-crisis food truck adventure. Still, days like today- with the sun high in the sky and heating their mobile workplace like a tin cup in a furnace- Luz kinda wishes he could just up and run into the ocean, a syrupy-sweet rum cocktail in hand and a smiling East Coast honey on his arm.
"You okay?" asks Lip. He stops shoving his arms into the marinade container for a moment and turns to look at Luz.
Luz shrugs, leaning down to open the gas line to the fryer. "Just- restless, I guess."
"Had enough of the beach?"
"Nah, nothing like that," says Luz. His apron is grimy with three weeks worth of oil spatter and unidentifiable juices, to say nothing of what's goin' on in the boxer briefs he's already turned inside out multiple times. "Just kinda want a bath, ya know? A proper jacuzzi, with fifteen kindsa fruity soaps and room service. And, like, a Queen-sized bed."
Even the thought is enough to make the smell of their cramped quarters- hot unwashed human, old sweat, old grease- almost unbearable.
"I know what you mean," says Lip. He bites his lip and looks down. "Luz, I-"
"Hey, Lip," Luz says quickly. He knows the look on Lip's face, the apology written over his expression. "We don't have to have this conversation again. I'm your guy. I might bitch and moan, but this shit?" He waves a hand over the counter of half-prepped ingredients. "It was fuckin' meant to be, Lip. It was written in the fuckin' stars, and Jesus Christ, I don't regret for a second joining up with ya. So stop getting all sentimental on me, and let's go rip off some fuckin' tourists!"
It's a relief to see Lip's worried expression smooth out, even as it crinkles again into annoyance. "We're not ripping them off, George, this is quality food that we're--"
Luz waves him off. "Nah, we're rippin' them off, no doubts about it."
"Seriously--"
"It's like takin' candy from a baby, Lip, we were made for this! Partners in crime!"
"I swear to God--"
"Hey, no swearing, now, 'cause I spy a spicy baby-mama tourist heading our way for some sweet Philly lovin'!"
"Jesus," Lip mutters as Luz puts on his biggest For Hot Customers Only smile of pure seduction.
Luz knows he just means it out of love. Sometimes he's just so obvious, it's embarrassing.
**
The first time Luz sees the guy, he's looking uncomfortable in a white tee shirt and board shorts, staring at the blackboard menu hung on the side of the truck for something like 20 minutes.
"You think he's a fucking weirdo here to kill us?" Luz asks Lip out the side of his mouth, as they both maneuver around enough to fill the orders shouted up at them.
"Don't be ridiculous," sighs Lip. There's a barely-healed burn on the side of his neck. Luz takes a moment to remember what exactly could have happened for Lip to get burned so high up on his body.
Oh, yeah. That times with the nacho cheese.
The memory is so engrossing that he forgets about the weirdo menu-creeper for a full five minutes. The next time Luz looks up, the guy is gone.
**
The crazy thing is, the next day, the same fucking thing happens. The guy is wearing the same board shorts and a black wife-beater that modestly shows off a totally ripped upper torso-- not that Luz is especially lookin' or anything, mind-- but this time only stares at the menu for six minutes and 47 seconds before walking up to the window.
"Afternoon, buddy," Luz calls out.
The man stiffens, shooting Luz a look that can only be described as disdainful. Which, what the hell. Luz is just minding his own business, doing his job. He doesn't deserve this shit.
"What can I do ya for?" Luz prompts, when it's obvious the guy isn't gonna do anything except stare creepily at him.
The guy-- Sparky, Luz names him in his head, just because he seems like the guy who would get pissed off to be designated a nickname like Sparky-- is just opening his mouth to say something when Lip turns back from the fryer and smiles out the window.
"Afternoon, sir," says Lip, leaning a casual elbow onto the pickup counter. "How you doing today?" Always the polite West Virginia born-and-raised gentleman.
Sparky's eyes flick from Luz to Lip. He stands stock still for a second-- Luz is pretty sure he doesn't even breathe-- before he nods once and then just fucking turns and walks away.
"Seriously, though," Luz tells Lip as soon as Sparky's out of earshot, "I'm pretty sure he's casing the joint. Either that or he's the next Ted Krasinsky."
Lip just rolls his eyes and goes back to charming the panties off the next customer, who Luz can clearly see is half in love with Lip already.
Whatever. If Sparky is actually thinking of robbing them, at least he is being so ridiculously unsubtle about it that he probably won't get the drop on them when he actually mans up and tries something.
That is, if Luz can help it. Lip is really honestly just terrible at reading people.
**
Luz is relaxing in a fold-up lawn chair in front of their truck the next day, enjoying his last pre-shift cigarette before they open up shop, when the idea strikes him.
"Jesus Christ, I'm a genius," Luz can't help but mutter out loud as - once again- he spots the skulking form of Sparky creeping around the boardwalk a couple shops away. Sparky, who is casually folded over the side of the boardwalk with a salt-water taffy bag (goddammit!) in one hand, would look inconspicuous to anyone not on the look out for crazy bomber pedophile bank-robber kidnappers.
Thankfully, Luz is on the lookout for all of those things, and Sparky massively pings his radar the moment he steps within viewing range. Keeping an eye solidly on Sparky's every move, Luz turns his new idea carefully over in his head.
That's it! He should've connected the dots sooner, sometime between the first time their stalker (or, you know, to be more specific: their admittedly GQ-magazine-cover handsome ass stalker not-that-Luz-is-looking-or-anything) approached their vehicle, and the moment he was apparently struck dumb when Lip started talking to him.
God! He should get a medal for this shit or something! It's exciting enough to make him scramble out of his chair (it crumples into the sand with a sad little crash, but Luz barely notices) and make a beeline for where Lip is rewriting the menu.
"I fucking figured it out, Lip!" Luz crows, slapping him on the ass. "I've got it!"
"Luz," Lip says in his disapproving-Father-figure voice, "what have I said about not bringing the homoerotic attitudes and unsolicited physical contact of the city kitchens with you into this job?"
Luz shrugs the words off like he has a hundred times. Bros will be bros. "You won't believe this," Luz informs Lip smugly.
Lip sighs. "What."
"You know Sparky over there?"
"No, I don't. What is this, Luz?"
It takes tremendous effort not to sing at the top of his lungs. Luz steadies himself. "That guy. You know, the movie star-looking bastard that comes here like every day to scope us out?"
To Luz's surprise and glee, Lip flicks a glance over Luz's shoulder and slowly starts to turn red.
"I-- maybe?" Lip says. His voice is strained, like he's super obviously trying not to sound interested. "We get so many customers, it's hard to keep track."
Luz rolls his eyes skyward. "You know, fuckin', the Ted Krasinsky guy!"
"He is not here to plant a bomb, Luz," Lip mutters.
"Aha!" Luz jumps half a foot and punches the air in triumph. "So you do know who--"
"Just, please. George. Get to the point."
Luz clears his throat. "I am like 98 percent certain..." he says, and pauses for dramatic effect. Lip makes an impatient noise. "...that Mister Creepy Stare over there is only hanging around because he wants to take your ass out!"
The blush on Lip's face fades for a moment, and he looks annoyed. "I told you, Luz, you have to stop assuming our customers want to kill us!"
"No, no, dammit!" Luz yelps. Should have phrased that better. "He wants to take your ass out on a date!"
A pause.
Lip sighs.
"Hey now, hear me out," Luz protests. "He's always hanging around, sneaking looks at you, and when you talk to him he runs away! Like a little pussy, only, you know, a pussy whose ass has been hammered by Cupid! He just can't help himself."
The blush is back in full force, and Lip chokes a little. "Please," he says, a note of desperation in his voice. "Please just get the fryer going."
Luz grins to himself and, as he's climbing into the truck, peeks over to the boardwalk. Sure as a wild bear craps in the woods, Sparky is gnawing on his salt-water taffy and staring fixedly in Lip's direction.
Fucking genius, Luz thinks again, and mentally pats himself on the shoulder.
**
"Ahoy there, sailor!" Luz yells out the window at Sparky, who seems to have grown a pair and has been slinking closer to them over the course of the hour. He's finally a couple meters away, his nose still in the air like he's better than everyone. Still staring unblinkingly at Lip.
Sparky frowns, turning his eyes to Luz in irritation. It makes him look even less like a normal human and more like an ethereal demigod notthatLuzspendsalottatimethinkingabout-- you know, fuck it. He's goddamn beautiful. There's a smudge of dirt on his cheek that just so happens to highlight his totally unfairly perfect cheekbones. His skin glints in the afternoon sunlight, just tanned enough to define the hard muscle of his arms and shoulders.
Beside him, Lip has frozen in his tracks.
"You looking for anything in particular, sir?" Luz asks, and shoves at Lip with his right foot. Lip makes another of his choked sounds and kicks him back. "Philly cheese steak? Nachos, fully loaded? Tickets to Bon Jovi and a sexy night on the town? Cause, ya know, if that's the case, I know a guy!"
"C'mon, Luz, knock it off," Lip mutters. His face is so red he could easily blend in with the tomatoes he's chopping up.
"You know you want to," Luz mutters back, keeping one eye on Sparky's progress. Amazingly, he's inching closer, probably drawn in by the adorable flush on Lip's nose and cheeks. "Look at him! Imagine what his abs will look like!"
"This is unbelievable," groans Lip, and then-- hand to God, Luz is not making this up-- he fucking turns tail and flees out the back door.
"What?!" Luz cries out, and grips the counter in agonized defeat as Sparky follows Lip's lead and disappears behind a cluster of shops.
Lip doesn't come back for three hours. When he does, Luz refuses to speak to him.
**
They've been parked by the boardwalk for almost two weeks, and they have a nice handful of regulars- mainly surfers, nearby shop owners, and a gaggle of tourists from a nearby resort hotel-- which means they're doing pretty dang great, money-wise. Great enough that one day Lip turns magnanimously to Luz and declares: "We should board up for the afternoon. Maybe try catching a wave. What do you think?"
It takes a moment to hold back his emotions before he can speak. "Fuck yes, you beautiful man!" Luz says.
He can't help but notice that it's the first time in ten days straight that Sparky hasn't shown up to gaze longingly at Lip's ass or whatever it is he does, but he doesn't mention it. Instead, he drags Lip over to Joe Toye's little bungalow bar on the edge of the boardwalk for a super sugary rum cocktail with a Krazy straw and a little pink umbrella (Joe gives him shit for it, but Luz is pretty sure that's just Joe's way of flirting, so. Give it time), and then hauls their boards down to the water.
"Jesus Christ, this is goddamn magnificent!" Luz yells at the sky, and the seagulls, and the few frightened tourists wading nearby. He feels completely clean for the first time in too long, and even though the water stings his eyes and his surfboard keeps dragging him under when the waves break, he's on top of the world. He whoops as Lip shoots by him, shakily riding a small but powerful wave.
Then Lip disappears.
"Yo, Lip?" he yells, but there's nothing but the water foaming angrily in the aftermath of the wave. "Hey, bossman, you good?"
Luz's heart leaps into his throat when Lip's surfboard bobs to the surface sans owner, floating a few meters away.
"Fuck!" he yells, as loud as he can. "Fuck, someone, help! Help!"
Luz swims as fast as he can over to the surfboard, but he's caught in an undertow that came outta nowhere, and Luz isn't even that great a swimmer to begin with, plus the cocktails and Joe flirting and--
A figure cuts through the water from behind him, strong arms stroking through the water and nearly whacking him in the face.
"What the--" Luz sputters, trying to spit out salt water and stay afloat and see what's going on all at once.
It's fucking Sparky, and before Luz even has time to blink Sparky reaches the spot where Lip's surfboard is lazily drifting and dives underwater.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
Luz manages to kick out of the undertow just as Sparky reemerges in a burst of ocean spray, his arm around a limp-bodied Lip. It's almost in slow motion: drops of water fly from Sparky's hair in a picturesque arch, silhouetted by the setting sun.
Luz is transfixed for a millisecond before he remembers he's supposed to be concerned for his boss and friend and coworker, who almost died. Fucking Sparky.
**
Lip coughs up water and gains consciousness as soon as they hit the shore, and sadly before Sparky has the chance to give him mouth-to-mouth.
"Wh-wha-" Lip gurgles unattractively, snot dripping from his nose, and Luz mentally facepalms. He should've taken Lip aside before his first face-to-face with his rescuer, given him a couple hard-won George Luz Tips™ for Waking Up Sexily. Oh well.
By a miracle of God Sparky seems to find this cute, because he almost smiles down at Lip.
"Almost lost you there," says Sparky softly. His voice reminds Luz of a million late-night radio spice channels. It's kinda uncomfortably erotic for the current situation-- what with Weezer booming from a nearby shop, the curious tourists gathering around them. The lone child eating sand not far away.
Lip doesn't seem to notice all these things, but just stares up at Sparky like an ant stares up at a magnifying glass: squintily, a little scared, but mainly awed. Aware that he should move or something before he gets burned alive.
"G-guess I owe you a free cheese-steak now, huh," Lip gasps weakly. "I'm Carwood."
"Ronald Speirs," says not-Sparky-after-all in a sexy growl. "But you can call me Ron."
"Wow," says Luz, "you really did not strike me as a Ron."
Ron Speirs shoots his head up and fucking crucifies Luz with a thousand-mile stare. "Not you," he snaps.
"Huh?"
"Don't call him Ron," Lip wheezes, trying to sit up.
"Yes," don't-call-me-Ron says, still glaring daggers. "Exactly."
Luz rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. "You know what, Sparky?" he drawls, already thinking of what to eat for dinner. Maybe some shrimp. Definitely another cocktail at Joe's pimp bungalow bar. "That's fine. That's just fine with me. See ya lovebirds later."
He starts to walk away, and Lip is starting to choke again when Luz remembers something and jogs the few steps back. Speirs is still glaring, unblinking.
"Oh, by the way- hang a tie on the doorknob if you need some privacy tonight! You know, just for a head's up. Have fun, kids!"
Lip's muttered "Smartass," drifts after him on the afternoon breeze. Luz grins to himself and shoves his hands into his pockets as he strides away. He whistles along with the last lines of the Wheezer song and kicks sand at a seagull as he passes it.
Maybe he'll really get crazy tonight and forgo the rum cocktail-- maybe he'll ask Joe to do tequila shots with him.
Yeah. Yeah, maybe he'll do that. Hell-- matchmaking is damn hard work, and Luz deserves a little reward.
That decided, Luz walks determinately down the boardwalk. He makes a stop for some saltwater taffy and, after a moment's pause, buys a bag for Joe, too.