orangetoughguy | log post II

How long have you had this place?

[Again he's just looking around, noting the souvenirs. There's something temporary about it--it doesn't look quite like home--yet with all the stuff in it he gets the impression White likes to carry memories and mementos. If White could have a place called home, he would. But it's all in the kid's imagination, he doesn't know for sure.]

This place here? Less than a year.

[Big paws twist open the cap of the brandy he found. In it goes into one glass and then a second.]

The city though? I can hardly remember.

I know the feeling.

[About not remembering when you got here. Orange doesn't, it feels like years even though he can't think as far back. The kid rests an elbow on a counter, a couch, whichever piece of furnishing is more convenient if there is any. He also puts his cigarette out in the nearest tray. From there, he watches White.]

[White comes closer and hands over a glass to the kid.]

Just to see someplace else seems like a good enough reason to pack your bags for good.

[The old man's own glass is lifted up in something like a silent toast.]

Would you ever leave if you had all the money you needed? I could help.

[There is a couch for Orange to use. White leans on the wall the light sending his shadow across the rest of it..]

[He'd take a seat on that couch if White didn't look so damn good leaning against the way the light falls. Fuck stop thinking that way. It's probably what he wants, it's even worse if it's not what he wants. People get killed for sending the wrong message (don't kid yourself, you know what he's thinking). Orange raises his glass in kind then takes a sip.]

I could but I'd come back. You don't abandon a place just cause it can kill you. Who wants to live on the run from everything on the fuckin' planet? [Another sip. Green eyes trace a line along White's silhouette. This place has him, whatever he entails. He intrigues Orange.]

[White takes a long drink and even has his tongue dart out to catch any lingering taste. He's listening, no mistake about it.]

Fight and flight keep a man alive.

[Even though he shrugs he finds himself a little disappointed that the kid, however jaded, won't take up the offer. At least not at once.]

You are right though. You gotta pick your battles.

[White sets his drink down and shrugs off one suspender strap and then the other.]

[Those straps falling down his shoulders to hang at his sides...Freddy sets his drink down to unhook the ends for him. He says no words regarding his action, to say anything might make him think logically instead of instinctively. His body says to get a move on, don't think, just do. The kid folds the suspenders then drapes them over the back of the couch.]

And take your hits when you gotta, nobody comes out spotless, squeaky fuckin' clean.

[Least of all Orange himself. In doing that to White he may or may not have also casually checked the guy for concealed weaponry.]

[Hook, line...sinker is pending. Though being this close really gets to the old man. It is more intimate than leaning in for shared words at the bar. In the comfort of his own home away from home.]

True. Who needs stainless.

[White reaches up to undo the shirt buttons now. Brown eyes are on Orange looking right on into him.]

Not you. Not me.

[Fuck, he's really doing it. He really is. There's no way to mistake any of these signals, these messages. Every meeting they've had, every drink, the words that invite without coercing. Shit he's always wanted this and White's got him on a tight cable line. These green eyes have to look up slightly to meet him eye to eye. He can fucking see right through you, Newendyke. Can he see everything?]

Keep going.

[Orange whispers before slowly dropping down to his knees.]

You and me, we're the same. [Same enough to see that. White attempts to keep his voice steady. There are still buttons to undo.]

We took our hits and saw what we needed to do.

[Now White shrugs out of his shirt letting it drop behind him.]

You're not a runner.

[Looking down at the man, on his knees. Oh damn.]

I'm no runner.

[He shakes his head, though this doesn't mean Freddy's not fast too. He's practically at eye level with the front of the man's trousers. Green eyes draw a gaze upward from there, traveling over his hard muscled body, noting the tattoo, the scars. That one's definitely a bulletwound. Orange would know.]

Let me do it.

[The kid insists now as his fingers reach up to work open that button, that fly. It's not the brandy that's for sure.]

A fighter then. A blue blooded fighter.

[His voice is rough and smooth all at once. The request, how could he say no.]

Do what you want, tough guy.

[Baby.]

I'm not fragile.

[Paws reach up to touch Orange's head.]

I'm no blue blood like you.

[He tugs that waistband down until his trousers are pooled around his ankles. Then Orange is drawing White out like he's done this before. He has. He works him slowly, using his palm not so much to get him hard as he is wanting to feel White's whole form. God those hands on his head feel like a fucking blessing.]

There's somethin' you oughta know about me...

[He breathes these words over White's cock before giving a single teasing lick.]

You sure?

[Boy oh boy. Orange is trouble deep down a trouble magnet. White doesn't care. He didn't care inviting him this far and this close. And he sure as hell doesn't care exposed, caught up.]

Tell me.

[Hands clutch at his hair but don't pull. He moans starting at a higher pitch and rapidly rolling down low.]

Yeah. [He gives a slight nod before giving a harder lick.] I'm a cop.

[Orange hoods his mouth over the tip. He can't decide if he's being brutally honest despite everything or unbearably cruel. In both cases he's pretty sure he qualifies as insane.]

[White makes a noise that now sounds more like a pained animal. His head tilts back against the wall that he now has to lean on. Eyes screw shut as he tries to processes this with the pleasure.]

You'll be the fucking death of me.

[A cop is down there working his stiff one. Shove him off or shove into him deeper that's the question. How can this possibly work now? White always knew that Orange was the straight and narrow type of a man. But this? Oh fuck. This wasn't something he anticipated.]

Oh God.

[And now of all times the very last thing he wants to do is pull away.]

You're a cop. [He parrots it gasping.]

[He slips a palm under his balls to knead them while going down farther along the shaft. Yeah, this is a cop working his unit, soon he's going to be working a beat too. How insanely fucked up is that? At least White can brag to his cronies a pig sucked his dick instead of the other way around.]

Uh huh...

[Orange sounds, muffled. His lips pull upward, wet and slick, to circle around the head. White hasn't shoved him off yet. That's a good sign right? These green eyes look up at him, hardly menacing but determined to fight on. He said he wasn't a runner after all.] M'sorry.

[Again, more licking up over and around the tip.]

[It's not fair. It's just not fucking fair. And Orange was the one worried about being trapped. White is pinned by the suction of that mouth on his cock combined with the desire for more. He wants to get fucked over by a pig for once. Fucking dangerous.]

What the fuck does this mean?

[His hands grip at his hair tightly, tugging at his scalp in physical revenge as he isn't sure if he wants to yank the man away or fuck the mouth that dealt that heavy blow.]

Gonna cuff me? Take me down town now?

[That pull breaks the suction a little, allowing saliva to roll down to his balls. Orange shakes his head as much as one can when mouthing a cock. No, say something Newendyke. He brings his lips off White only to press his faintly freckled cheek against him.]

No, no'm not. [Swallow.] No back up, nobody knows I'm here.

[That's reassurance for White, and at the same time it's possibly a terrible mistake on Orange's part. Now he knows the kid can't call for help, the kid who just wants to suck on him and whatever else that's far away from actual police business.]

[Heart pounding and chest heaving he's fumbling for words. Every pore is aware of Orange, his breath, his saliva. He should leave. He should stay.]

Oh fuck.

[Swallow. His own saliva is thick in his mouth.]

What did you come here for? Fuck over a guy.

[A pull so that he can look into those lying eyes.]

[Oh shit is he forcing Orange's face off his dick now? Caramel greens roll back up to look at White's face. What is he going to do to him? He could do anything really and no one would ever know, he's got that much confidence in the old man's skill. But Orange said he could keep a secret, does that mean anything to him?]

I came over cause--[Why? Why did you come over Newendyke? He doesn't know how to answer the question.] I ain't gonna fuck you over...I just wanna fuck you.

[Caramel green apple to dark forest brown. His mouth is still agape as he tries to catch his breath. Just another thing the man stole, isn't it?

White told him about the ponies, about his secret riches. He took him to his private hideaway. Tit for tat? The old man shuts his eyes and rolls his head down from the wall to look to the floor, to their shadows mingling together to create some abstract monstrous body.]

Fuck me.

[He breaths it. It'll take another swallow.]

Fuck me, officer. Just like you want it.

[Because chances are, after this would be the time to run.]

[Oh shit he does want it, not that Orange had a doubt but to hear him say it makes his jeans feel way too fucking tight. Again he purses his lips over White, down and up the shaft twice before he speaks again.]

Come here.

[Come where? Over to the fur rug of course. Orange is already pulling his undershirt off. That's what older guys like White call them right?]

[Sure is an undershirt. Is it wrong that it gets him hot that he walks around with that as a shirt?]

Okay, boss.

[White pushes off of the wall and steps out of his trousers. On the rug now, on all fours. It's best for getting down and dirty like a dog.]

[Half the time he walks around with that as a shirt because he's a lazy fuck, there are better things to do with his time that pick the right shirt to wear. It works well with other men though, take White for example. And Orange would be lying if he said he doesn't consider what White might think when he sees him dressed this way. It's an internal tug-o-war with this kid.]

You got anything on you? Some cock grease?

[Yeah, he's asking, asking as he takes his own weapon out...his gun that is. Orange wouldn't doubt that White has one hidden within his own reach too. Nevertheless, he sets his own down on the table at the end of the couch there, within White's sight.] ...Fuck you're beautiful like that.

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