orangetoughguy | log post II

[When Blanc leaves his side Orange moves to sit up and watch him, bare as the day they were born. The jar is a curiosity.]

You're well-versed in this.

[Orange remarks, it's both a teasing observation and veiled assurance that Blanc knows what he's doing. Blanc will saddle him well without harm. Right? When he talks of putting the younger man into position he can practically feel his loins jump at the prospect. On his hands and knees, the way of beasts and harlots.] Yes sir.

[Alfred takes to being put into the position easily. It helps those hands feel damnably warm on him while still making his skin jump from anticipation. What he must look like, Orange wonders with his thighs spread. What others would think of him if they saw him this way. But Blanc sees beauty, does he not? Blanc sees something no one else seems to ever notice in Alfred Newendyke, if anyone ever notices him at all.]

That I cannot deny though not without a leave of absence from the sport.

[Orange looks exquisite. The lines and shapes of his body should be preserved in marble or oil paints. Though greedily, Blanc would not care for so many eyes see what he does, as he does. He opens the small jar and makes sure his hands are moist.]

I will make ready your body, in the meantime I bid you relax and breathe. All will be well.

[For now his fingers will ready where he will bury his sword, one at a time.]

You may as well have a line waiting all the way out to port.

[Orange quips even though he's yet to fully experience the way Blanc wields his weapon that would give credibility to his own remark. It's the way he disguises his shyness, his newness to this activity, with bravado.]

My body is ready.

[He counters only to suck in a breath when he feels Blanc inside him. It's surprisingly less painful that he imagined...except lo, that isn't even his prick yet.]

My services, if we shall call it that, are not for the rabble.

[All senses are alert for any cues to aid the navigation of this voyage.]

Is it now? Well, best take extra precautions.

[One finger in motion. Blanc's cock rests close to Orange's hip. His mouth dipping now and then to the man's back. Are those freckles? Another finger is eased with the first.]

[That weight on his thigh he is certain is the old man's prick. This is going to be an eye-opening voyage. And yes those are in fact freckles. Alfred bows his back upon feeling the second finger. It's less frightening than he thought, he wonders why he was so wary of this in his youth. If maybe his youth was misspent.]

You're most kind to consider it. [Orange breathes softly, giving a nod for truly appreciating how careful Blanc is without being delicate.] And I will not be rabble to you.

[It's no easy feat to keep controlled and calm in his actions. Monsieur Orange is so willing. To be certain he readies a third finger to go with the rest, they thrust and curl, spread then come together.]

Without trying you are no commoner at all.

[Freckles are a wonderful surprise. Youthful even. He cannot be more than nine and twenty.]

[For some men that's considered too old, too old to be beautiful and too old to be bent. Not for Blanc it seems, and if pushed to answer Orange couldn't say he'd want the attentions of a boy either. Maybe one just graduated from seminary though, that might be acceptable. He groans over the way those fingers seem to work magic in him. That's quite literal too as he can feel the slip and smoothness of cream.]

It pleases me to please you, good sir...but I'll have to be brusque with you when I say...my pleasure will wane if you don't saddle and put me to gallop soon. [.....Was that a growl Orange just made? He is feeling fully lustful by now.]

You are truly ready then.

[Blanc uses his free hand to spread a portion of lotion to his cock. He draws a breath and slowly removes his other hand. The pace may be glacial but he will not harm him at all.]

So I shall allow you to truly please me.

[Orange may feel his breath at his neck. He is falling into position.]

Be a still and obedient beast.

[He wets his lips over a stifled moan for the loss of those fingers. Orange even shuffles back a few hands wanting this other man against him, inside him, anything to be touching.]

Was all pleasure beforehand merely a farce to get me on my hands and knees then?

[It's not a serious question even if Blanc's answer might be a 'yes' because Orange does not mind. His body wants this, a piece of him that was not allowed to be true to itself wants this. Alfred stills himself as ordered, tilting his head only to partake in the warm breath at his neck. He would be lying though if he said he wasn't a little nervous.]

No, no. [Lover lingers on his tongue but makes no sound. It is too soon for such sentiments. There is no promise of what tomorrow holds.] All pleasure before hand was the beginning. There is more.

[Moist hands trace down his sides, down his back to rest at his thighs. Blanc slowly enters the other man.]

Ah!

[Forgive him for crying out, he cannot help it.]

Don't race away now.

Oh God.

[He ought to shut his mouth for taking the Lord's name in vain, and in this sort of situation at that, but Orange doesn't care. He can't put his mind to right or wrong when he can feel himself spreading only to become full. Blanc has impaled him and he hungers for it.] I cannot...

[It's a small utterance that he won't race away as his body adjusts. He feels tight enough to be wrenched in two, but Blanc will do no such thing will he? Only make him feel like he could, to put his fate in his strong working hands.]

Good, beautiful fellow.

[A man could hear such things spoken to an unruly horse except Blanc means this with his whole heart. Impaling the man in this way is remarkable. This is not the body of a boy. What is a boy in comparison to a man? There are muscles and flesh and a whole body that can tangle blow for blow.]

I am still fitting. Snug as any scabbard should be.

[To occupy Orange and distract from any possibly pain he handles his blade.]

It is...very snug.

[Orange voices in agreement only so he can say something and not succumb to being silenced by the cock that has taken up residence in his backside. A hand going around himself is unexpected and brings the younger man down to his--well, his elbows since he is already on his knees. The sound he makes is no word, more like a stretched gasp that morphs into a moan.]

Ride, sir.

[He bids, the closest he can get to begging.]

[Was this how Europa felt when the milk white bull nudged her hand? How can he not? Lawrence straightens and falls into motion.]

Damn.

[Watch it man, you are not riding some roustabout. This man is of title, of wealth. He may have a hot forbidden taste of flesh but that does not mean all manners should be cast off. Dirty words hang thickly on his tongue all the same. Fully buried within the man's heat he feels like a true sword formed in flames. Flesh clashes against flesh.]

Speak freely, Blanc.

[He may be the more inexperienced of the two but Orange won't have Blanc holding his own tongue. He wishes to hear how his body makes him feel, how it is being enjoyed because he can't quite see his face from here. Above all, Orange does not wish to be the only one groaning and huffing and gasping with each thrust. If there is pleasure being indulged it will be both of theirs. No restraint. His fists curl into the sheets.]

Speak and do as you will.

I'm bloody well burning from the inside out.

[His voice is strained but enthusiastic. Lawrence means to say more except moaning seems to suit him more. Smack, smack they have a kind of tempo. Though it is not followed by thundering hooves. Perhaps that can be the sound of both heartbeats. Though barbaric it covers the right points worth discussing. It is upon request after all.

Blanc keeps his touch firm and generous at Orange's cock, it's difficult to keep it as tight as much as he is held but it is worth the attempt.]

Feels as though you mean to try and [gulp] overcome me.

I don't think that...possible.

[Orange grunts before gasping in deep and hard. He's actually able to push back against Blanc, timing it right so that each impact is made to its fullest potential. It borders on painful but hovers steadily in the right niche that keeps it pleasurable. Such beasts they are. His cock is dampening at the tip already.]

I might sully your linens...

[Not that they're really linens to begin with, or are they?]

You are...not the typical beast.

[Not at all. There's a fantastical nature to him. After all, out of a room full of people he found him and knew him as an ally. Was it that moment that Blanc was seduced? Though it would be wrong to say that he did not do his own part. This voyage they are on was only a passing fantasy, one he felt would be revisited when finding another harlot that would serve as the right vessel.]

I care not. Climax, sir. I-I am not far from that point.

[In fact he recognizes the same dampening against the most sensitive point within Orange.]

By your--permission...

[For Orange it began with first the way Blanc looked, quite different from most of the other people in the room, followed by the way he carried himself. He laughed at his story about the four cavalrymen and an alsatian. One was charmer and charmed alike. He wants for this to continue again and again, if only his true identity was not such a burden at this moment.

Nevermind it. He is on the verge of his little death and Blanc cares not if he stains his bed. With a loud cry the younger man begins to writhe on his sword, spilling out over his fingers and his sheets.]

Breathtaking.

[The story telling seemed years ago. Their canvasing last month. The way his body react makes him feel as though they are old loves.

Though Lawrence is the senior thief it would seem as though his heart has been stolen. And breath. That still is not enough, and Blanc wants to give more. His seed is most certainly now property of Orange. To hell with bedsheets. To hell with everything. He too is bellowing and falling to a small death at the first warm touch of the other man's warm semen.

Keep together now, sir. Show the man a one for. His fist pounds his cock furiously milking out every bit. It's only what Orange's body is doing.]

[Very curious how that seems to work for Orange also feels the strangeness of one met yesterday who feels like a soul known from long ago. Perhaps it speaks great lengths of Alfred's desperation for companionship, perhaps it is something else. The warmth spilling into him feels like some kind of christening, a baptism. He cannot know, only God does.]

Blanc.

[If only he could have leave to call him Lawrence. Alfred sucks in another sharp hiss of breath. He reaches behind himself in an effort to touch the braided man anywhere he can, by hair, by neck, by arm. Anything. Orange wishes to be perfumed in his scent.]

Orange.

[Pant, pant. Every drop leaves his loins. He moves so that they may press together. The seed spilled is christening this ship. Far better than champagne. Could anything taste better than Orange's skin? Even coming down from the hottest heat of passion Lawrence finds it to have an intoxicating taste.

The man's fingers in his hair is allowed. His braids must be redone before the next day. What does it matter now.]

You ride well.

[While he is still hardened he presses and grinds as a pestle to mortar.]

I--[Another moan bitten back. He wants to get his words out.]--I had a good...

[The grinding is like the sweetest touch of a single raspberry to a flute of champagne, filled with spirit for consuming at the end. He tilts his head back to press against Blanc's.] A good master.

[A huff of panting breath spills from his mouth again. Orange feels beyond full, figuratively and literally. At least he'll never be with child.]

[That voice! Even in its need for oxygen it has a dulcet tone. It can easily become Blanc's favorite song.]

There is something to be said for instinct.

[A dark chuckle and he presses his lips to Orange's neck.]

I must draw my sword or else I may never leave.

[A chuckle. Damn, does he want to have another go. Not this night. Would it be overly optimistic to hope that the next will be spent in this fashion? Lawrence waits for a reply to then move.]

[Lawrence's life is contagious, it evokes genuine laughter from Alfred as well. Nothing even close to sarcasm or caustic wit, it's a laugh of amusement, shared pleasure. He is charmed even in his rutted state.]

If you must, good sir.

[Orange huffs, tired and lazy. He thinks to ask if possibly he might stay the night but knows not how to put his desire to the proper words. What does a man do after he has been plundered?]

log post II

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