orangetoughguy | log post II

[Whenever they head back to work, Larry wants them to be wearing evidence that some hard loving son of a gun had their way with him. Subtle or not so subtle evidence, so long as it isn't couch burn to the face.]

I got [huff, huff] what you need.

[He nuzzles back at him while he takes a grip on the kid's cock again.]

Come on, tough guy. Blow it again, like you said you would.

[And if the words aren't enough, he grinds right there.]

Uh huh. [Freddy sounds breathlessly against Larry...until he takes hold of his cock.] Oh fuck.

[Then he just has to nail him like that doesn't he? Fingers curl to dig into Larry's thigh while his other arm stretches out like he's struggling for fucking life. Writhing. Coming. Dying. Coming. What's the difference? Oh yeah instead of leaking blood everywhere it's semen.]

Fuck, Larry. Fuck! [He may as well be crying in his desperate attempt to both ride his cock and fuck his fist.]

[If the old man thought he was constricted before, now well, now is a different story entirely. He moves right along with Freddy trying to allow him to get the best of both worlds. That grip on his thigh is super human, aching and tight like Freddy all over.]

Keep at it. [Screaming, moving. Oh shit. Larry is shaking too.]

I'm right there. Oh, God, kid. [He kisses and pants at Freddy's neck groaning there as he finally comes. And boy does it feel like damn waters unleashed from Larry's end.]

[The heat pooling inside him draws out his second orgasm from an intensely peaking frenzy and comedown to a long steady shuddering. Even his groans and gasps become thin stretching moans like his reaching and clawing. It turns the kid into a weight...under an even bigger weight. His load's not as heavy as the first but it's got that big old fist coated.]

Oh man... [Breathe, Newendyke, breathe. He tilts his head against Larry.] ...More.

[Kisses, he means. More fucking would be nice too but Freddy doesn't think he can go for a third without risking falling asleep without warning. While possibly an achievement for Larry, fucking the kid until he passed out, it just doesn't sound like much fun. See the tender in the movie? Well fucked but obviously down for the count and counting sheep? He'll never be able to shakedown those other guys for tips.]

[The old man is still unloading, and he grinds all the way through, too caught up in the strength of his orgasm to fuck more. Far stronger than usual, through it all he keeps on moaning and kissing at Freddy's neck and shoulders. There'll be a hickey or two out of this. Hot semen around his cock and in his hand, Larry feels proud of them.]

Gimme [pant pant] ten minutes. [A joke...mostly. Larry stops moving entirely and sighs.]

There ain't no fucker out there like you.

Real funny...wise guy.

[He's trying to be a smartass but his voice comes out in a half groan because of the way Larry's grinding against--into--him. As if the size of his cock and the constriction of his ass weren't enough to keep all that semen inside him. Fucking dirty, that. You're a dirty young man, Newendyke.]

You too...I think my--[Breath hitching.]--ass knows it.

[Both of them are filthy dogs. Or a bear and a dog, animals regardless of the different breed.]

It should fucking know by now.

[He's smoothing over Freddy's ass, squeezing gently. Another series of wet, kisses before he shifts his own weight knowing the kid can't prop them both up for very long.]

I'm gonna move.

[Nice and easy.]

I'm pretty sure it does. [Freddy nods.] Okay.

[The kid nods sweat matted floppy hair back against the old man. He rests all his limbs on the couch now, aiming to relax to make separation easier on them both even if he'll probably regret the loss of feeling there.]

Lemme know if there is any doubt. I'll fix it.

[He sucks in a breath and he's pulling away. Sure he didn't bind the kid's thighs but that was a tight fit. His exhaling breath hisses out. Damn. Larry fumbles for the discarded Superman shirt, or whatever shirt he can grab a hold of to clean off his hand and maybe some of the couch...]

Smoke?

[Already focusing on the next step.]

Maybe tomorrow.

[Not that it's a full promise or anything...the kid thinks he might actually be sore tomorrow. Go figure. For the way he pulls out Larry earns a low hiss followed by what could have been the sound of pleasure. Even pulling out has its own rewards. He's a mess on the inside, he can feel it.]

Sure. [Freddy answers, turning over onto his back now to sprawl out on the couch like one real lazy real well fucked motherfucker.] Light me up.

Tomorrow it is.

[...If the old man is up to it himself. Hands clean he looks over at this well fucked motherfucker. Oh yeah. They had a movie going didn't they? Oh well. Larry drops the shirt--his or Freddy's?--onto the kid's stomach he'll clean there once they have cigarettes.

Marlboros first. Larry leans to tuck it between the kid's lips not before a lick.]

Happy now?

You think I was unhappy before?

[Oh yeah he's gonna ask after a lick and a purse of his lips around that cigarette. Green eyes haven't not noticed the shirt dumped on his stomach...but he don't mind. Freddy takes a shallow pull from the Marlboro.]

Not yesterday.

[Not the day before that or before that...

Click, click of his cigarette to light the kid up. Then another few clicks for himself. Larry rubs the shirt over the kid's belly to get anything that's there before tossing it someplace. An inhale then an exhale. He tells himself he's turning off the TV and movie because it's wasting power...not one more thing to do to keep busy.]

Yesterday I had tits.

[He says like this is an accurate reason for his unhappiness. What man wants to have tits? Honestly. Having tits doesn't let a man make a mess of himself like Larry here is cleaning up.]

Uh huh.

[Leaning, positioning, this old bear is gonna lay up against the kid.]

That really got to you.

[Freddy was crying. That's not something that happens just because he doesn't have a dick but... at the time hey, he didn't know how they were going to be the next day. Still, Larry ventures on.]

All I wanna know is that you're better now.

Yeah. [Puff.] It did.

[For various reasons Freddy can't quite figure out right now. Too many, some not even related to tits except having them gave him a good excuse. The kid blows his smoke away from the old man's face.]

I'm better now, baby. [While he can't say how or why necessarily, it's the truth.]

[Not anymore though. Larry looks into Freddy's face. Questions are drifting in his head but they're not about to come on out now. Not when they've caused so much damn trouble before. If it's not broke, don't see what's keepin' it together.]

Good.

[He holds his cigarette away as he leans to kiss the gunshot wound to his shoulder.]

Edited 2011-03-23 23:24 (UTC)

You?

[He asks because it's worth knowing. The kiss to his scar is so hot, almost searing him like a brand even though he's already cooling off from their fucking. Freddy also feels a little tired but that's par for the course after two rounds.]

Better.

[For a return from the dog house. It's soothing and quiet now without the TV or the speakers threatening to die any moment. The kid really should make a point to turn it down. Don't want to blow them out or anything.

The quiet is better than arguing. They know each other enough to be okay with saying jack shit at all. Larry sucks down more of his cigarette before keeping at the kid. Why waste another fucking moment with apologies...but just in case.]

You know I'm sorry, right?

[Another kiss. That second bullet of Joe's could have hit bone. He could have never played ball again.]

Yeah, I know.

[Does he have to say sorry too? Surely Larry knows that. Hell he said it yesterday at some point in the middle of bitching and moaning over his tits. Freddy brings his hand up to brush through Larry's slightly peppering hair.]

Just chill out for a little bit, then maybe we can go get tacos.

[As men, the way they're meant to be. Fff.]

[What? This isn't chilling? He decides to rest his head where it is.]

Okay, tough guy.

[Leaving the apartment is something worth saving his strength for.]

You don't get sick of tacos do you?

[They're just talking about tacos. Not anything else.]

Naw. [Freddy says with a look that adds why would I? They're just talking about tacos after all.]

You don't get sick of cereal do you?

[Either eating it or having to see boxes upon boxes of it in the kitchen cabinets, in Freddy's room, on Freddy's fingertips...]

Nope. I don't. There are a lot of different ways to enjoy em.

[Who wants to go without it though. Cereal is good for you. And as for tacos that's what, two or three food groups. Brown eyes look into green and he shrugs.]

I know I like tacos all of the time.

[Does Freddy like tacos because the old man is crazy about em? Or did he just develop a taste of his very own?]

Cool. Me too.

[The kid nods. He's always liked tacos but not as much since enjoying them with the old man. A lot of things he's used to doing feel more enjoyable whenever Lawrence Dimick is around. But Freddy doesn't have to say that for Larry to know, does he? That's sentimental and affectionate, the equivalent to those three strong words.]

[Cereal automatically makes him think of Freddy. Obviously, tacos have to do the same. One is best enjoyed at home, the other out and about. Larry smiles around his cigarette thinking of when they went out together, arm in arm for tacos.

Shit. When did he get so fucking soft?]

log post II

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