orangetoughguy | log post II

Say it again.

[The words come out before he can even think twice. Something about riding this old man to orgasm drives him fucking wild. When he's down in Larry's place it's exactly how he wants the man to take care of him. It's only right Freddy return the favor. Milking the rest out of him isn't going to take much effort now that Larry's started writhing. It gives the kid the greenlight to start thrusting again. Harder and faster than before with another firm strike to that ass.]

Keep screamin'.

[He wants to hear more, the sounds he knows is gonna drive him to his own release.]

[Well he does call him, cowboy. Larry wants him to keep on riding like that, and hard. Being milked from the inside out he appreciates how for the Kid has come. No pun intended. It hasn't even been a year yet and he fucks him like a rodeo star.]

Keep on fuckin' me. [He calls it over his shoulder, straining to stay coherent.] I want your come in my ass. [Like that dirty talk kid?]

I will--I fuckin' will.

[He likes that dirty talk so much it almost makes him blush, except his face is already flush from all the exertion so who can tell the difference anyway? One, two, three. That third slam's the last he can give before Freddy's just grinding up against Larry, making sure he gets every fucking drop he's got to give. His other fingers come away wet and webbed along the old man's stomach as he curls over his back to kiss his shoulder. Well bite it first while he's writhing. Then kissing.]

Fuck. Fuck you're fantastic.

Gimme what you got, tough guy. [Grunt. Grunt. In effort, in his load. Whatever. Larry wants it all. It's part of the package of owning the kid, being owned. That's what he feels like right now, and there's nothing like it. He's full and warm on the inside, and his stomach is hot and sticky.]

Shit. [Those teeth. Oh man.]

[Larry's a bigger guy, so Freddy's weight on his back should be no thing, right? Cause that's how he feels right now even after unloading, like a lump of warmth just laying there on top of the tough guy. Still inside him too.]

Jesus Christ...

[Arms go snaking up and under Larry's firm biceps to bring his sticky fingers near his mouth. Don't worry, old man, misery loves company. Freddy cranes his neck to kiss him, the flavor of his orgasm between them.]

[Oof. Smaller, sure, but Freddy's a decent weight. One the old man treasures even though his shoulder will be sore tomorrow. If he moved he might pull out. That's the last thing he wants right now.]

So damn good.

[He licks what's offered up to him, filled up on both ends.]

Mmmmmmm.

[Once those fingers are clean he runs them through Larry's still thick brown hair. The color may be going at the temples but it ain't thinning.]

Real good, Larry.

[So...what were they arguing about again? Freddy steals another kiss. And another.]

[Is he even flexible enough to kiss back properly? He'll try.]

I'm not gonna argue.

[Larry grinds back only a little because he feels like tenderized meat.]

I know just what you are.

[In Larry's position Freddy would be, that's just the give and take of being built like a tank compared to being built like a rail gun. Okay not even that cause he's a shorter sort. Anyway.]

What's that? [He asks lazily.] I'm pulling outta you.

[The kid adds as a sort of warning before he slowly and carefully separates them. A flop's got him resting on his side now, still right up close next to the old man.]

[This young gun is generally more flexible anyway.]

Okay.

[Simple, ready agreement. He feels so damn free floating in his own skin. A rough exhale that ends in a slight hiss is the only sound he makes when they part. The arm that had been twisted back and gripped now flops over Freddy.]

Good game.

Yeah.

[That heavy arm on him feels so fucking good. Freddy can't help but shift forward for another kiss. And a smile.]

You ain't such a poor sport yourself.

[Freddy's skin feels hot, wet with sweat. It feels better than silk or leather and there's so much of it. He really holds up his end of the kiss.]

For a Brewers fan?

[There's a lick to Larry's lips for emphasis.]

For a Brewers fan.

[It's a lazy weekend afternoon that's got the kid sprawled out on his bed, trying to put another toy together. Looks a bit like an Iron man diorama sort of thing. Who knows. It's just another addition to Freddy's room that really makes it look like His Place. Kind of like the small modest looking decoration above the doorway to his room. It's plain, two wooden twists bound together at the center by what appears to be leather. Nothing special, right?]

I was thinkin' of ribs.

[For dinner. Something. The old man isn't one to put together dioramas of any sort but he's got a paper underneath his arm as he lingers in the doorway. He steps in some to look over what's being worked on. Don't want to interrupt nothin' he turns to leave....when that nothing special appears.]

You put that up?

In or out?

[As in eating in or eating out, not ribs inside or outside the body, or something similar to that. The kid doesn't even look up from his work, until Larry asks that question.]

Put what up?

To go. [Which could be eating in the apartment but out from someone else's cooking. Frozen ribs don't have any comparison. Kind of like a can of ravioli cold.]

Up there.

[Even though the kid isn't looking the old man is angling his head to direct it to the mounted cross. No, he's not going to touch it or pull it on down to show him. Larry's got a clue that Freddy already knows what it is and what it's doing there. ...Still, he's askin' because it wasn't here the last time he ventured in here. Or maybe it was and he didn't notice. How long then if it was? Does it mean the same thing if they do what they do in his room, in Freddy's with that in there?]

[Ain't nothing wrong with ravioli out of the can. Freddy's living proof of it, the keyword being living. Toy pieces down now he looks up at Larry.]

Up where?

[But he's looking too. Oh. Up there. Well, he can't lie, the kid has no reason to...right? Freddy shrugs.] Yeah, I did.

[Nothing wrong to Freddy. The old man can't stomach it. Though sometimes he's got a problem with cold food. He waits with the appearance of patience but to see that he's going about is merry way with the toys make his boiling point try and creep.]

That mean something to you?

[Symbolically? Personally? They had an apartment before and there weren't no cross hanging. That some kind of a new development? Larry can't ask if someone died because--well, as far as he knows everyone is alive and anyone dead right now ain't worth honoring. And it's not a holiday, there are plenty of holiday Christians or Catholics or...whatever.]

A little, it does a little.

[That's an understatement but it's the best the kid can muster. Time to put the toys away, though in Freddy terms it just means he leaves Iron Man alone while this conversation happens. Larry doesn't sound too pleased.]

[A little. Though it's still up there. And he put it there because he wanted to.

Swallow. Nod. It's just a cross. So fucking what. Cool it, old timer...at least that what he is trying to tell himself.]

When did you put it up? [An attempt at casual.]

[It doesn't take a genius to tell one of the two isn't so super cool with the new addition to this household.]

Yesterday. You don't gotta think too hard about, Larry. [Freddy shrugs, trying to pass it off as no thing.]

[He doesn't gotta. It happens all on its on.]

That mean it isn't worth talking about at all?

What do you wanna talk about?

[Freddy asks, green eyes narrowing just a little because...well, because, do they really?]

I'd like to think we can talk about all kinds of shit.

[Larry steps back into the room again and eases to sit down.]

log post II

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