log post II

[orangetoughguy]

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

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[monsieurorange.livejournal.com]

[Humor again? He quirks a brow while preparing his own retort.]

I court women but they are not my passion.

[These words are but words to describe the sentiment that courting women is purely business. As a son he must carry on the family name, courting women is a duty owed to his clan. Is it weak to admit he carries out gestures in which he has no heart while veiling that which passions him in secrecy? No, it isn't weak, it is smart. But there are weaknesses in this dangerous liaison too.]

Hush. [Before they speak more and threaten the peace by way of his own guilt.]

[monsieurblanc.livejournal.com]

[Blanc takes this to mean that he has in his way dishonored Orange.]

Pardon my trespass.

[A sigh and a moment of quiet he still revels in the way the sheets are askew and warm. This is a man he knows he can trust with his life, and the other way around. Even if nothing may come of this passion the memory is worth cherishing.]

Tomorrow the rest of our kin should arrive.

[And the play shall come into motion.]

[monsieurorange.livejournal.com]

Pardon granted. [It should not be so easy to speak such words with a man he barely knows but it is. No trespass truly made, no pardon truly required, but granted all the same. Orange shifts to curl closer against Blanc, keeping warm.]

And everything will go according to plan.

[This he speaks to fill Monsieur Blanc with confidence but underneath it is the realization that he has yet to reveal the truth while not quite telling a lie. It is the other plan his side has orchestrated that will fall into place too. You are a wretched human being, Newendyke. Share silence with me.

[He asks, begs, as quietly as a man who may only simply wish to sleep.]

[monsieurblanc.livejournal.com]

Yes. We'll be away to Spain in no more within two weeks time, gold in hand.

[Together or apart. Whatever it may be. The idea of seeing this man bare chested to the sun as the natives do, hiding away from king's men. For now though it is enough to be touching every space of skin against his own.

Perhaps they have been acquainted in times past.]

Good night, Monsieur Orange.

[Love as a more fond and carefree man would say.]