Work Text:
Pink realises he's been swindled when the domesticity hits him all at once, a wave of gestures a mile high crashing into his chest like a fist. Or, more realistically, his jagged exterior has been worn down to a smooth placated version of itself by a constant litany of little waves. Each of which are innocuous on their own but add up over time. How much time? If Sal were to guess this started the first time Whi- Larry, offered him a cigarette.
See? innocuous and unassuming. One cigarette, no harm done. Then it was rides and invitations to lunches with him and the kid and invitations to… other things involving Larry and the kid. Now he lays sandwiched between the two fucks as he stares up at the nothingness of the ceiling in front of him. Larry’s hand rests on his stomach and Freddy’s leg wraps around his ankle like a vine. If he were Pink, the man from a few months prior, he would untangle himself and slide out the bottom of the bed, steal a cigarette and go sleep on the couch – if he were feeling courteous enough to stay until the morning. Instead he shuts his eyes again and tries to ignore the heat radiating from both of them.
What’s that phrase again? He asks inside his head as he feels himself drift off. Before he can answer, about the boiled…, he’s being shaken by a strong hand on his bare shoulder. “–told you!” Freddy calls from the kitchen, laughing wildly. Larry’s hand shakes and Sal knows he’s laughing too. God knows what about, probably him, with the way Larry looks down at him when he turns and lays on his back. Larry smiles, the skin around his eyes wrinkling, and Sal, without thinking, smiles back.
How gross is that? That he’s become so soft, let his guard down so far he’s melting over what… a couple teeth and some wrinkles flashed his way? Jesus fucking christ. The truly disgusting part is that Sal doesn’t care. He’s content as he lets himself be pulled up and out of bed by Larry. He grabs his jeans from the floor before following him. Standing by the door he folds his arms as he watches Larry behind Freddy, a forearm wrapped over his chest while the other hand tries to steal tongs from him. Freddy leans back into Larry, letting his head land on his shoulder.
Before Sal realises it he's made his way across the small room, he leans his side into the counter beside the stove and reaches out to tuck a stray few strands of hair behind Freddy's ear. A kiss to his cheek follows as he slots into the side of the Freddy-Larry amalgam. He looks to the stove, the bacon Freddy and Larry are fighting over and the pot of water with eggs boiling inside.
It hits him then, that he's a frog being boiled alive. The temperature of the water was raised slowly, “Hey, Pink, you want one?” turned to “You wanna join, Sal? C'mon you know you want to…” , and he hadn't noticed it happen.
The thought would've led to panic and anger a few months ago. Defenses would have been spat out like venom, an attempt at distancing himself from them, or to break whatever this is off permanently. He is a professional goddamn it. A pretty good one too in his opinion. He's not going to get tied down, especially not by two people. Then while his brain runs a mile a minute, Freddy's hand snakes down to his waist and back up under the hem his wife beater, a comforting weight between the shoulder blades. Maybe the frog in its last moments enjoyed being in the pot. Maybe the frog's muscles relaxed the same way Sal's do. Sal returns the gesture, hums when Freddy kisses him back.