orangetoughguy | log post II

You dream--real big--

[That's the best he can come up with knowing grand theft auto is really nothing doing for a guy like Lawrence Dimick. Shit just looking into his brown eyes he knows this man is a fucking felon and that's alright with Freddy Newendyke because he's Larry too. Larry who held his hand in the car and held him on that fucking ramp. Larry who wanted to fuck him when he saw the kid swaggering in his jacket.]

--Larry.

[He groans, spilling over into those hands that cradled him when he was fucking dying. His expression looks pained but that wave is brief, just a physical reaction to losing it on those thick fingers. How close this kind of gesture is to actually dying is a bit morbid but the French got it right, because just as he did on the ramp, his expression changes to heady affection.]

Goddamn...

Ain't no other way to dream.

[Lawrence Dimick had always been a big dreamer. Someday he was gonna be a ball player, astronaut, explorer and then he was gonna get a big house with a wife and a lotta kids. Then he was going to strike rich, live big and happy with...someone. Then he was going to live outside of the law like an old time cowboy looking to settle down someplace when the mood struck him. And then he met Mr. Orange. And big dreams were living through the day and making sure they got out alive. Now it feels like there's no ceiling, no matter how ridiculous it's alright to dream big.

After all, he gets to fuck that kid who can swagger like a pro in a leather jacket. And he's not writhing on death's door. The similarity between the way Freddy emotes to that fucking day and now doesn't slip Larry's attention, the transition is absolutely different though.]

Gimme all you got now. Don't cheat me.

[As though that were possible. Larry is on that mouth again, full force. His fists move more slowly but keep a move on.]

[Those are dreams he'd love to make come true somehow, even if they're substituted fantasies. He's curling inward now as he writhes, fingers tightening as the one in his hair moves to anchor onto Larry's shoulder. His breathing is reedy and thin, just like that fucking day, until there's nothing left in him and even then Freddy's thrusting. Slower, but still thrusting.]

Christ...

[That's muffled into the old man's mouth. Finally the kid's stilling, but that only pertains to his hips. Between their lips he's still moving, tongue licking out the insides. He leans back only briefly.] I think you got it all.

[The warm, wet substance all over Larry's fingers isn't blood. May there never be another day like that fucking day. He never wants to feel Freddy's blood on his skin again. This on the other hand, well, within the next few days if not tomorrow would be good. The kid is addicting.]

Yeah.

[He does have it all. Though brown eyes look down anyway. Two hands, one mess and zero regrets. He lifts them up and out of the way. Side by side and skin to skin. More mouth to mouth too with this lovely foe.]

Thanks, partner.

[Took the edge right off of things.]

[All things work a certain way for a reason right? Take for example how Freddy finds that tequila towel within reach for Larry to wipe off his hands. They could clean those fingers with their mouths, certainly, but right now he wants to occupy the old man's with his own.]

Sure thing, cowboy.

[He breathes between kisses. Fuck if he ever has to give this up. That would be cruelty. Criminal.]

[Hands clean, somehow absolved. Even though there are moments when he blames himself for Freddy being shot at all. A man can't think of those kinds of things when you're speeding to the rendezvous. And now, it's all done. Nothing can be fixed.

His hands smell like tequila.]

Now I don't wanna move. Good going.

[Thank fucking God there's no one else to expect comin' on in here. Will anything be this good again?]

Lucky it's your house ain't it?

[Technically their house. Finally the kid rolls from his side to his back, green eyes looking up at the kitchen lights.]

Clean up can wait.

[Don't be going to far. Paws reach for him to get a grip on arm or fabric.]

Ours.

[Larry can't picture them living anyplace else. Wasn't it the kid's favorite choice anyway?]

Monkeys and diamonds aside [and after coming] how was your day?

[It sure was. Freddy's never lived in a place like this before, the city outside the apartment included. He can feel those paws on him, warm, tequila tinted, and comforting. Monkeys and diamonds aside...

Green eyes lower from those kitchen lights to nothing in particular.]

It sucked.

[He still hasn't told Larry why. Should he?]

But it's better now. [There's a little smile here as he snakes his arm to rest on the old man's broad chest.]

log post II

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