orangetoughguy | log post II

Take it all up your ass.

[Hot damn, he's huffing and puffing. The way Freddy's back contours and curls like a wildcat of his own. What he felt when that Santana song hit the airwaves was like a mountain, to now it's nothing but a speed bump. Mr. Orange loves him.

They're roommates. They're partners. Why can't they have a new life?]

I am, baby. Jesus.

[He groans low and long, hands holding onto the sofa arm for leverage.

A new life--besides this one--requires sitting down and finally reconciling their biggest difference. Even in thought Freddy can't really handle it. All their talk about Vegas, New York, all of it to him is the very ideal thing they could have. Maybe that's saying a lot because none of it includes a picket fence and a dog. Maybe they're just not that kind of guy.]

Fuck. [That's a huff.] Fuck me. [That's a plea.]

Fuck you until you come again.

[Who needs a picket fence? And a dog wouldn't work when you're on the run. All Larry wants is to have a future with this man. Wherever. However. They won't be able to hold hands taking a walk, they won't be able to lock lips at the doorstep to start the day. Who needs that though? Growing up, Larry accepted that to be impossible anyway. This right here, it's exceeding any expectations.

He rocks his hips against Freddy in a steady motion, working it's way harder striving to strike directly against his prostate. The old man is sure he won't be able to last long. He's trying to prove himself wrong.]

Just what I want. S'what I deserve.

[He says with a tone of question only because Larry here can be the judge of what Freddy does and doesn't deserve. Fuck that feels so fucking good. He's already groaning again, hair flopping into his eyes that narrow with each impact.]

You sweet son of a bitch.

[Christ the kid presses his face to the couch, making a steeper angle that feels so much sharper and probably feels a little tighter on the old man's end. He's got it right about this exceeding all expectations too, which ain't to say Freddy's were low to begin with. Just, who would've fucking thought? He said it once and he'd say it again, he doesn't regret it.]

You deserve [his words cut away to a low moan, fuck that's tight] to be sore. [Not tied up today, but that doesn't mean Larry can't make Freddy feel it for days.]

Shit, baby. [Now would be a good time to get a paw down to the kid's cock. He doesn't quite work it, just keep it in reach. Their skin strikes together, louder than the TV. Harder, faster, right for the prostate.]

Get your name all over my ass.

[With regards to soreness he means because no one else has that right. Only Lawrence Dimick. Any third party has to get his approval. That's the way this works. Not that he's thinking about third parties right this very second, although he does like the idea of keeping his mouth occupied.]

Fuck. Oh fuck Larry. [These words are more rushed, made in the breaths he takes inward like a hiss. He's hitting the kid's prostate each time in addition to palming his cock. What a superman.] Ahh.

[He makes a face, four fifths ecstatic and one fifth pain.]

Uh huh. What's it gonna say?

[Say his name kid, say it all reedy and rasping. It's what he wants. Lawrence Dimick gets his body, his name, his past. And still he's greedy for more. A third party would have to understand that it'll be fun and nothing else. No sharing.]

Freddy. [Listen to this bear growl.] Baby, you're so good. [The pace of his hips are getting frantic, a little sloppy. Now he's stroking the kid's cock.] I'm gonna come. [Very soon.] All cuz of you.

Larry. [It's gonna say:] Larry.

[Because he stopped seeing solely Mr. White the day he was shot, when Larry told him his name because he asked. He didn't have to give it, but he did. That's when he really became Larry to Mr. Orange, to Freddy.]

Oh God. [He shudders, writhes, reedy and rasping just the way he--they--like it.] Do it. Do it, tough guy.

[The kid's legs seem to buckle when he tries fucking that big old fist and it's because his load, significantly lighter than the first, is already coming down between thick fingers. But he's no less tight for it.]

Yes.

[Grip tight enough to bruise, so that they'll be a matched set, Larry knows he's wet with pre-cum.]

I'm gonna. Damn, I'm gonna. [How can he not at this point? Three slams, and he's coming right into the kid's ass like he promised he would. The old man can't go off twice that fast, but when he does he wants it to count. Sweat is making his hair go all over, especially how Freddy man handled it.]

[He chases each slam with a hard grunt, one hand reaching back to anchor onto a paw, a wildcat, anything. Whatever noise Freddy makes right after it's fucking pleased and satisfied as fuck. He groans when he feels Larry grinding into him, leaving the sudden burst of heat to pool inside.]

That's it baby, gimme everything you got. [His words are rushed, aching and arching just like his body.]

[As his orgasm makes the grown man shake apart Larry grinds harder. Freddy catches his hand planted at his hip, holding on for dear life. Maybe he is, he'll catch his death with a man like Mr. Orange.]

Jesus, Freddy. [Can't talk much more than that. The rest is a groan as he makes sure he's emptied completely on his end.]

You [strangled, tight] love it?

Oh yeah... [He shudders.] I love it.

[Back to that again? But it's okay because Larry knows it's more than that now, right? His breaths are sharp and hitched, one after the other in a curious succession. The wave of his own orgasm is longer and stretched out, more subtle than the fast rise and fall of the first. It feels just as good even though it's made less of a mess. That's what Larry's for. The kid grinds back against him.]

You're fuckin' beautiful... [He strokes that wildcat.]

Fuck. [The counter grind and the way his ass has got him all but pinched as he comes has Larry breathless. Still he moves back best he can, unable to shake out the lead. The paw positioned to keep any mess off of the couch, strokes him, milking anything that'll come on out.]

Baby, I love you. [Larry leans over, trying to be careful of his weight to make like he's trying to mark every freckle he sees on the man's back with his mouth.]

I fuckin' love you too, old man.

[It comes out easier this time, maybe because he's--they're--riding out the comedown of a hard release. Maybe it's because after saying it once and understanding it's mutual it's no longer something to fear. Freddy lets go of the wildcat only to bend that arm to stroke through Larry's thick hair. If he could keep the big guy on top of him, inside him, like this for as long as possible he would.]

[The jabber jaw of a Newendyke can say so many things, and this is something he's sure never going to tire of hearing. Second time in and it makes his chest feel tight, though it all could very well be because Larry's fucked him like a jack hammer.]

No fucking asshole compares. [To Freddy and his own, hell okay it's heartfelt. Slowly he's gotta sit up, sad to leave the grip of that hand in his hair. It can't be comfortable with his bulk belt over like that.]

Hah hah real funny.

[The jabber jaw jabs onward. The hand to Larry's hair turns into an affectionately firm 'pat' to the head but he relinquishes that mess eventually.]

Jesus Christ. [Bulk or not Freddy's still feeling far more between his thighs than any weight on his back. Larry's no beast of burden.]

[One paw is rubbing up and down Freddy's back, then to his rear end close to where Larry's disappeared.]

Y'all right? I'll move.

[Fuck how they fit together, physically work together it's a feat and a marvel. Not that the kid is any green horn or fucking small. And the bear of a Dimick isn't all that huge... they're a mismatched pair he wouldn't want any other way.]

I'm good I'm good. [Freddy flaps his own paw, oh but that rubbing feels so damn nice...] Get off me.

[So he can turn over and look up at you instead of looking over his shoulder at you, Lawrence Dimick.]

[A chuckle before a hitched breath as he pulls out, nice and easy. The rubbing continues even when he's free of the kid's form.]

I don't need to check? [To see if he's okay. All kidding. Fucking hell he feels like he's light headed or something.]

[Aaaaand flop. He's sprawled on the sofa now, on his back and looking up at Larry thoroughly well fucked.]

Yeah you're a real gentleman.

[It's an honest sentiment couched in a joke. The kid reaches up to pull the old man against him tiredly. Wouldn't anyone after going for two rounds?]

[Timber! Larry makes like he's going to fall directly on top but braces himself on the back of the couch and settles on Freddy.]

Were it counts. Otherwise you know I'm a real dog.

[And he wants another smoke. Not a cigar though. That'll be saved for a special occasion. Thick fingers reach for the top of the other man's head.

Larry realizes that Golden Girls are on now.]

[That fake out gets a brief look of preparing-for-the-shock out of the kid but whew the old man doesn't do as planned. That's best for the both of them, honestly. Fff. Dirty blonde hair flops this way then that.]

Don't kid yourself.

[He knows Larry can be a mean junkyard dog but more often than not, he's a pretty good guy. Freddy snakes an arm around him, craving a smoke too but that craving pales in comparison to the need to just lounge lazily with this cowboy.]

log post II

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