log post II

[orangetoughguy]

third person narrative, action bracket spam, anything goes
log post I | log post II | log post III

Comments

[whitetwoguns]

[There's an opportunity to mention stopping on skates but it's not that good of a joke. Though in every other way, Larry knows that the kid is dead on. Fast at learning how to mimic a criminal, fast at becoming a pro at fucking... Not so kid like at all.]

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.]

[orangetoughguy]

[Hey stopping on ice is a different story okay? Just leave it at that, fff.]

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.]

[whitetwoguns]

[Well. Yes. It is a different sport entirely. That's why it is not mentioned too. Plus, why spoil the mood?]

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.

[orangetoughguy]

I'll take both.

[Freddy says, claiming his prize without hesitation, all while still casually tending to the metal gun with complete ease. You offered, Larry.]

[whitetwoguns]

One area per gun. I suppose that's fair.

[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.]

[orangetoughguy]

I'm feelin' generous so I'm leaving that up to you, my man.

[Turn of phrase, not meant to parallel boyfriend or anything, nope...]

[whitetwoguns]

Are ya? Huh.

[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.]

[orangetoughguy]

If you don't mind it being unmade okay.

[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.]

[whitetwoguns]

I can make due. I guess.

[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.]