orangetoughguy | log post II

[Oh yeah, it is. Real hot. He's already thinking about the many ways to do it along the highway or with a third person or along the highway and with a third person. That's fucking hot, as hot as the prick of teeth he feels on his cheek. Still doesn't compare to the prick in his palm though.]

We could go to one of those strip joints, the classy kind where the girls have those rhinestone tassels. I'd fuck you in the commode just for looking at'em.

[That prick in his palm is still hard, maybe even harder now. Larry groans and lets his head fall back. His hips are shaking.]

I'm gonna look at em all right. So you better bring lube. [Even though he'll have some of his own. Aw shit, picturing those glittering tits with the promise of the kid coming in his ass it's almost too much.]

We'd get a room to overlook the strip. I'll fuck you on the balcony lookin' at all those lights.

I'll make you spit on it for extra measures.

[He's still stroking but slow and steady to keep him good and ready without getting too close to he edge. Already Freddy's developing his own hard-on, for the second time tonight.]

Would you smoke a cigar while you screw my brains out? [The kid asks while sitting up. He's pretty fucking ready himself.]

Fuck me hard against the tiles or the door?

[The man can't keep staring at the ceiling. Back to Freddy, pulling and positioning to kiss his mouth. Larry reaches to place a hand close to Freddy's groin, trying to get a gauge of how far he's along by only the brush of his finger tips.]

After. Wouldn't want to burn you...would I?

[Ah, there we go, kid. A fucking wonder.]

On the tiles so don't wear somethin' too nice.

[Or wear something nice enough that getting it dirty only makes them harder. For that other question Freddy just shakes his head, too caught up in holding and being held to answer in words. No he wouldn't wanna get burned.]

Shit, I'm ready. I'm ready for you.

I'll try to remember, Sheriff.

[Been quite sometimes since he's said that. And he's got no problem with saying it. ]

Get up.

[For a moment he almost takes the shirt off.]

Want me to keep it on?

[That makes him smile a little, then up the kid goes, dick still so fucking hard and just like the rest of him's aching for the old man's body. Again.]

I want you to do what you want to do.

[It's not a cop out answer, not at all. He just wants to see, well, what Larry would do.]

[Anyone ever tell Freddy he looks good in nothing, standing there hard as a rock? Larry slowly pulls the shirt off. Once it's off, he drops it to the couch and is on Freddy in a flash.]

Fuck you.

[Paws, jaws and brute strength all used for the better. Larry pulls Freddy to the arm of the couch.]

Bend over. Don't move.

[The old man's only getting the lube in reach, but again, it's the rush of authority.]

[Oof. It's like getting rushed by a linebacker or bear or something cause Larry's no lightweight. God does Freddy love it or what? He squirms not out of protest but out of challenge, the better to make them both hot and hard. Well, hotter and harder.]

Fuck.

[And who gives one about the shirt at this point? The kid bends over the arm, more like flops over it actually. With his ass up he's got to lick his lips in anticipation. Legs spread a little. He fucking loves this man.]

[That shirt is actually in reach if Freddy still wants to keep it at hand. Larry lubes up his cock first, getting an eyeful of the kid bent over. He stays standing close enough so Freddy can see too.]

How do you want it, baby?

[Now behind, the better to spread lube to his ass.]

How else can I get it?

[That's a rhetorical question actually. There are just only so many ways Larry can put his dick in Freddy at this juncture. As for depth and pace, well, he knows how the kid likes it. Loves it. They don't always need tape or public places or certain words for that matter. Freddy can see the S from here but he kind of likes the crumpled look on the floor. Not only has he uncovered Larry's secret identity, he now knows the man under the suit under the supersuit. Not that he didn't already know before.

Ooh. The feeling of that man poised for entry and the coolness of fast warming lube makes him shiver.]

Put it in me. Now. [Aw hell, the kid's begging.]

Now?

[Doubt is just in words. Larry can't wait any longer. They've fucked enough times to be countless and it's still a rush, making his heart race and insides shaking. It takes a few touches, a talk, words that he had hoped one day to hear...

Both hands at Freddy's hips, the old man eases on in.]

Aw, fuck.

[Easing, remember, old man. He's easing.]

Ohhhh shit...

[That's a low hiss for you, Lawrence Dimick, as Freddy curls his back to better ease onto his dick in kind. He's loved this since Black Magic Woman but when he came to understand the rest of it, well, maybe it's a work in progress still, slow in some respects or too fast in others. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't. Oh who gives a fuck though, he's crazy on Mr. White.]

That's it, Larry, the whole thing baby.

Take it all up your ass.

[Hot damn, he's huffing and puffing. The way Freddy's back contours and curls like a wildcat of his own. What he felt when that Santana song hit the airwaves was like a mountain, to now it's nothing but a speed bump. Mr. Orange loves him.

They're roommates. They're partners. Why can't they have a new life?]

I am, baby. Jesus.

[He groans low and long, hands holding onto the sofa arm for leverage.

A new life--besides this one--requires sitting down and finally reconciling their biggest difference. Even in thought Freddy can't really handle it. All their talk about Vegas, New York, all of it to him is the very ideal thing they could have. Maybe that's saying a lot because none of it includes a picket fence and a dog. Maybe they're just not that kind of guy.]

Fuck. [That's a huff.] Fuck me. [That's a plea.]

Fuck you until you come again.

[Who needs a picket fence? And a dog wouldn't work when you're on the run. All Larry wants is to have a future with this man. Wherever. However. They won't be able to hold hands taking a walk, they won't be able to lock lips at the doorstep to start the day. Who needs that though? Growing up, Larry accepted that to be impossible anyway. This right here, it's exceeding any expectations.

He rocks his hips against Freddy in a steady motion, working it's way harder striving to strike directly against his prostate. The old man is sure he won't be able to last long. He's trying to prove himself wrong.]

Just what I want. S'what I deserve.

[He says with a tone of question only because Larry here can be the judge of what Freddy does and doesn't deserve. Fuck that feels so fucking good. He's already groaning again, hair flopping into his eyes that narrow with each impact.]

You sweet son of a bitch.

[Christ the kid presses his face to the couch, making a steeper angle that feels so much sharper and probably feels a little tighter on the old man's end. He's got it right about this exceeding all expectations too, which ain't to say Freddy's were low to begin with. Just, who would've fucking thought? He said it once and he'd say it again, he doesn't regret it.]

You deserve [his words cut away to a low moan, fuck that's tight] to be sore. [Not tied up today, but that doesn't mean Larry can't make Freddy feel it for days.]

Shit, baby. [Now would be a good time to get a paw down to the kid's cock. He doesn't quite work it, just keep it in reach. Their skin strikes together, louder than the TV. Harder, faster, right for the prostate.]

Get your name all over my ass.

[With regards to soreness he means because no one else has that right. Only Lawrence Dimick. Any third party has to get his approval. That's the way this works. Not that he's thinking about third parties right this very second, although he does like the idea of keeping his mouth occupied.]

Fuck. Oh fuck Larry. [These words are more rushed, made in the breaths he takes inward like a hiss. He's hitting the kid's prostate each time in addition to palming his cock. What a superman.] Ahh.

[He makes a face, four fifths ecstatic and one fifth pain.]

Uh huh. What's it gonna say?

[Say his name kid, say it all reedy and rasping. It's what he wants. Lawrence Dimick gets his body, his name, his past. And still he's greedy for more. A third party would have to understand that it'll be fun and nothing else. No sharing.]

Freddy. [Listen to this bear growl.] Baby, you're so good. [The pace of his hips are getting frantic, a little sloppy. Now he's stroking the kid's cock.] I'm gonna come. [Very soon.] All cuz of you.

Larry. [It's gonna say:] Larry.

[Because he stopped seeing solely Mr. White the day he was shot, when Larry told him his name because he asked. He didn't have to give it, but he did. That's when he really became Larry to Mr. Orange, to Freddy.]

Oh God. [He shudders, writhes, reedy and rasping just the way he--they--like it.] Do it. Do it, tough guy.

[The kid's legs seem to buckle when he tries fucking that big old fist and it's because his load, significantly lighter than the first, is already coming down between thick fingers. But he's no less tight for it.]

Yes.

[Grip tight enough to bruise, so that they'll be a matched set, Larry knows he's wet with pre-cum.]

I'm gonna. Damn, I'm gonna. [How can he not at this point? Three slams, and he's coming right into the kid's ass like he promised he would. The old man can't go off twice that fast, but when he does he wants it to count. Sweat is making his hair go all over, especially how Freddy man handled it.]

[He chases each slam with a hard grunt, one hand reaching back to anchor onto a paw, a wildcat, anything. Whatever noise Freddy makes right after it's fucking pleased and satisfied as fuck. He groans when he feels Larry grinding into him, leaving the sudden burst of heat to pool inside.]

That's it baby, gimme everything you got. [His words are rushed, aching and arching just like his body.]

[As his orgasm makes the grown man shake apart Larry grinds harder. Freddy catches his hand planted at his hip, holding on for dear life. Maybe he is, he'll catch his death with a man like Mr. Orange.]

Jesus, Freddy. [Can't talk much more than that. The rest is a groan as he makes sure he's emptied completely on his end.]

You [strangled, tight] love it?

Oh yeah... [He shudders.] I love it.

[Back to that again? But it's okay because Larry knows it's more than that now, right? His breaths are sharp and hitched, one after the other in a curious succession. The wave of his own orgasm is longer and stretched out, more subtle than the fast rise and fall of the first. It feels just as good even though it's made less of a mess. That's what Larry's for. The kid grinds back against him.]

You're fuckin' beautiful... [He strokes that wildcat.]

log post II

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