Mr. Orange (Freddy Newendyke) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
orangetoughguy) wrote2010-08-05 05:20 am
orangetoughguy) wrote2010-08-05 05:20 am
Entry tags:
log post II
third person narrative, action bracket spam, anything goes
log post I | log post II | log post III
third person narrative, action bracket spam, anything goes
log post I | log post II | log post III
no subject
I've had practice you know?
[That hand moves slower now, not yet languid and lazy but certainly slower from the comedown.]
no subject
License or no license. You know what you're doing.
[Fuck if he could go hard again sooner... ]
You still got one more gun to go.
[Larry's shirt can do the cleaning. Their apartment is always warm enough to be comfortable in various states of undress.]
no subject
[Oh yeah and fuck his own hand desperately he did to the very thought of Mr. White...among others, but mostly Mr. White and nowadays only Lawrence Dimick. They've come pretty far to land in this nice home with nice ladies hanging on the wall like their dicks are hanging out while there are handguns on the table. Next to a bucket of chicken. It's almost criminal.]
Right back to business huh? Alright alright.
[That's right the least Larry can do is loan him that shirt. Wiping up doesn't take much but Freddy grabs a couple tissues just to make sure the job gets done. He tosses the wad into the nearest can from his seat. Slamdunk. That he starts working on the second gun with his pants still undone is just for Larry's benefit, he's the only one who gets them.]
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Hey, no lip. I might have something nice for you for doin' that for me.
[Criminal life style? Maybe. Mr. White wouldn't want to live any other way if he had the choice. Cleaning gives him more opportunity to touch over his dick hanging out. Makes the whole gun cleaning process even more enjoyable than before.]
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Like what a bucket of chicken?
[That's a quip for you, Lawrence Dimick. Click click, shtick. That gun is coming apart at the seams much like its owner did under their fists.]
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No. That's for you anyway. [He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. That's a given.]
I was thinking more of a foot rub. Maybe a back rub in there. Depends on how I feel.
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[Freddy says, claiming his prize without hesitation, all while still casually tending to the metal gun with complete ease. You offered, Larry.]
no subject
[He says as though reluctant to lay hands on Freddy again. Fat chance.]
You want it in your room?
[Not at all in any rush to move anywhere or get more or less clothed.]
no subject
[Turn of phrase, not meant to parallel boyfriend or anything, nope...]
no subject
[The old man mulls it over as he finds himself a cigarette on the coffee table. All of his needs are within reach food, drink, smoke, weaponry and this man, his man.]
How bout your bed. More room to work with.
[Exhale of smoke, watching it curl up into the air. The record is coming to an end.]
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[As if making the bed is any kind of concern here. How long has it been since Freddy got to have a real bed anyway? Long time. Pipe cleaner out, he's working a little faster with this one than the first, something to do with lack of tension, maybe.]
no subject
[Puffing on his cigarette, the old man is leaning back again, watching. He moves the ash tray to have it sit on his chest. Not much longer.
The kid did use to sleep on the couch. Of course a bed is where he wants to be. Larry likes to go there, somehow it always ends up smelling more like Freddy than his own bed, even though they have taken to swapping. There are a few nights now and then that Larry sleeps alone. It doesn't feel that right to do anymore.]