orangetoughguy | log post II

I could get your back then you know.

[It's presented like it's nothing. After all, it is a mustache not a limb. He is an adaptable man after four decades. Though he also cares about how the kid perceives him. After all, the shirts have become more slim fitting. Larry leans closer to the mirror and draws his top lip downward to watch it flex.]

And if I'm not though?

[Spit. Swish swish swish. Spit. There's a clean Newendyke mouth.] Don't you watch TV? P.I.s and I ain't friends.

[Freddy's rinsing his brush now. What? Is Larry serious about wearing one? He's watching the old man studying himself in the looking glass. Up above Sam is doing his headtilting shtick, curious toucan, or maybe he's just waiting for his turn to get blowdried, spoiled toucan.]

You really wanna wear one? Why? [This genuinely perplexes the kid.]

I'd get to rub elbows more freely.

[Like he's rubbing right now. P.I. would be a more acceptable friend.]

I haven't in a long time. Besides, it wouldn't make a bad memento.

[Already it looks like the kid isn't wild about it. Larry's eyes stray to that toucan. Big ol' beak hanging over, watching and waiting. Yeah, well, wait your turn buddy.]

[Ahah...hahaha. He's laughing but not raucously or anything. Just standard Freddy-finds-something-funny humor.]

You had one? When? [Er, but about the momento.] I'm not putting that fuckin' wig on.

Every guy had a mustache in the 70s at one point.

[Wait. No. Freddy probably didn't. Larry huffs out a breath and touches the offending area.]

Don't get it clipped or anything either. Looks okay right now. Though you sure did look good anyway.

[Can he say that? It was like they were in a movie.]

I didn't.

[Freddy counters knowing full well Larry knows why he didn't, of course age is just a number and all that. Drawing attention to it just makes the kid feel like a rebel, sneaking around with an older man, a man in general.]

What?

[He asks with his own razor in hand now. Sorry Larry, it's a safety razor, but at least it's an old fashioned sliding cartridge sort. He learned it from you, old man. Freddy's swirling his own brush and soap mug.] I looked like a drag reject.

You musta had someone draw one or you or had it for a costume.

[Kidding of course. Though it makes him feel like something of a lecherous old fuck.]

No you didn't.

[Keep your voice down, geezer. Shit. The kid can feel about however he wants to feel. But seriously, he would know what a drag reject looks like.]

I totally did and I talked funny too. At least you dressed like a dude.

[Lather lather lather. Hey Freddy why don't you draw a line between A and B; Larry looked like a dude, Larry had a mustache. Yep.]

I didn't see you in a skirt.

[Why would he even say that he looked like a woman. Okay, ruffles and frills yeah he got that. Larry rinses his own blade. Again he's thinking over the mustache. It was a nice time.]

I think it came down to how you wore it. Sure wasn't like a lady.

[Fuck it. He's going for scissors. It's going to go. After all, sure ain't the 70s anymore. Or seventeen eighteen odd hundred years or whatever.]

Hose and heels, man.

[Another point-counter point. It escapes him that Larry here may have genuinely liked something about that curse because Freddy can't fathom liking any part of it at all. Well, besides still somehow meeting together in secrecy, and Larry's braids, and the way they fucked...but the words, the clothes? The big dramatic words? He can do without.

Maybe the kid rejects the idea cause he can't imagine ever being that smart and polished in this life. Look at him now, Freddy Newendyke's shaving in his t-shirt and boxers, the absolute opposite of class. Green eyes catch the scissors and the man holding them. Okay, White doesn't find it as laughable as he does, sure, but he doesn't even look annoyed--the endearing charming sort of annoyed when he's got Toby the Jap and Madonna's big dick fucking his ears.]

You look younger without it. [Freddy adds, maybe trying to make peace.]

Could have been trouser socks. Knee highs.

[Snip. Snip. Snip. Bits of hair are falling into the sink.

Talking like he was a fucking poet that was a mind trip, and maybe in his way it was expressing words and feelings that would normally be pretty damn creampuff got to the old man. Whatever it was, he finds himself thinking more and more that he actually liked it. It was a over the top, refined time. Everyone seemed to be like that. Wasn't he thinking of giving the man a lock of hair?

...that too, the old man sure had a fucking mop of hair. That was a curse though.]

I don't need nothin' making me look any older.

[Now he'll get to shaving that himself.]

[Shaving shaving rinse shaving. They've got brown and dirty blonde hairs around the sink. Ain't that the absolute top in domestic bliss? But the kid still thinks something's not quite right now. He's still watching Larry much like a toucan is, except it's a lot easier to read Freddy's caramel green eyes.]

Nothing's wrong with lookin' older.

[Talk about mixed messages, but really Freddy's just trying to make up for whatever he might've said that didn't settle right.]

[The old bear's eyes are set on his reflection as he makes the 'stache disappear.]

I don't need it though. Got enough years of my own.

[Down the middle nice and easy. He makes quick work of it. After all he's practiced with his straight razor.

Don't be sore, Dimmy. Just a curse. No big deal. Not one worth fighting over.]

Lookin' better now?

[Most of it is gone already. The day is working its way and the curse will be a memory.

(They rode horses together.)]

Okay.

[Freddy shrugs, conceding to not argue about it as he rinses his own blade then his face. Looking up again to analyze the old man's face he can't help but think when it comes down to it he'd like Larry just about any way. Except female. He draws a line there.]

You're lookin' supercool, man.

[The kid says with dramatic flare, a far cry from verbose and poetic but kind of the same thing in his own way. Right?] I'm still not gonna put on a wig.

[Doesn't matter where or when, they got one another. So they don't have fancy ass ways of saying it or showing it. It's there. No body can doubt that, well, nobody who knows.

Swipe and rinse. Larry puts down the razor and wets his hands to completely rid his face of any lingering hair. Turning off the faucet he flicks his hands a few time.]

You don't need a wig.

[Watch it now, kid. The old man puts those damp hands into his hair.]

So you didn't like nothin' at all about that weekend, right?

[Comb, comb. First gripping and making it stand up between his fingers then combing it back.]

[Hdksdk;lvdasod;ksdsdfl. He may as well have a huge toucan bill trying to groom him. Freddy makes a face and sort of waves his hands but he doesn't exactly do anything to stop Larry from messing with his hair. He just deals with it.]

The classy booze came cheap?

[That's one of the things the kid can think of that was a nice touch. Sure they didn't have any good old canned beers and Freddy's not quite one for being a wine connoisseur but he can't deny it was good stuff.]

[Hey it gets less like big ol' paws when there's order to the chaos. Smoothed and now being parted the way that he likes it...or at least the way Larry knows that he does it.]

It was pretty fucking cheap.

[Okay. The kid didn't care about the curse. He can. It's his choice. Whatever. Right old man?]

There you go, slick.

[Hair lay just so.]

I coulda done without all the frou frou classy bullshit and sonnet talk.

[Orange adds before making use of their proximity to ball a fist into White's shirt, holding him close.] I like things just the way they are. No fuss. You wanna fuck you just ask.

[Ain't that more natural? More at home?]

[Since they're facing one another Freddy can likely catch the old man's face fall a little. Yeah, he liked that more than he thought that he would. The old man's never been all that articulate and he spent a long time trying to figure out the words to express something. Sure he's a grown man now but boy if he would have had even a little of that talent, where would he be now?]

Sure isn't a fuss. You're right.

[Though it sure was a private thing back then. Maybe even more than now. Larry's got nothing to back that up because history is not a strong suit of his. That fist balling into his shirt makes them hip to hip.]

...so you wouldn't even use please?

[Teasing, teasing, green eyes. It's helping him rebound.]

A little refinement don't hurt.

[Oh come on, really? Really, Larry? He can see the subtle split second shift in the old man's face and wonders why he would even feel that way. Does he want a softer side to this thing they have? A little more courtship before the cocksucking? Then again, this is the man who got him flowers. What's wrong with you, Newendyke, got the emotional depth of a dumb teenage boy. Or maybe you're the one overthinking it and Larry's just fine. Shit.]

Maybe, sometimes. How about please get on your knees and blow me like it's goin' out of style.

[See? Isn't that just as eloquent and elegant? Freddy's getting it all wrong but he's trying. Who better to serve as a distraction than the toucan who comes hopping in to flutter and do his bathing thing in some water puddles left on the countertop.]

[That pulls a smile on his mouth. Whether he's got long braided hair, a mustache or clean shaven the kid wants him. Words are only words, after all that was backwards then. All the not knowing all over again. It's not important. What they got, right here and right now is because they use the words they use.]

Thank you for your generosity, pal.

[Lip to lip, he's pulling up the kid's shirt. As for clothes, well, if you wanna fuck right you'll do it mostly naked. With full intent to work his way down to his cock, the ol' bear is thrown off track by the flurry of feathers. Crouching he is almost eye level with the bird at the counter top. Beady. Dark. Eyes.]

[That's more like it. The kid's happy his turnabout worked, whatever gets the old man smiling again. And that smile deserves the kiss it gets. Whoa hey, right now? Freddy was just talking in general, not that he's going to complain though. Right after Larry's just shaved means being able to hold onto a smooth jaw. Perks. He's about getting into it too when the toucan bounces right into the sink, flicking what's left of foam and stuff all over the place which admittedly isn't very far. It just happens to be right where Freddy and Larry are, and apparently at Larry's eye level.]

Aw! C'mon--Sam stop!

[Getting down and dirty, it's modern. It's not all about fucking. Though that brought them to that next level. After the bullets.

Fuck! Larry manages to blink and not get foam in his eyes but he grips the sink and straightens up.]

Damn it!

[Bird, why you gotta make him try and speak badly about you. They didn't have toucans back in the day. Not that he knew. Is there any winning at all. He keeps the foam sporting eye shut before taking a towel to it.]

Fuck.

[Rub rub. Huff, huff. When he's able to look he glares at the bird and then looks to the kid. Hands up in the air a moment he's exiting the bathroom.]

Forget it.

[Frou frou classic shit, no frou frou classic shit. Larry shakes his head.]

That's dirty bathwater! [Flappy hands manage to chase the toucan out of the sink but the damage is already done. Not that Larry's honestly mad though, is he? It's part of living with a big old bird and who can blame a toucan, a wet sink is tempting.] Shit man now I gotta wash you down.

[Oh, there goes a lumbering bear.] Maybe later!

[Freddy calls after Larry because it's just one small interruption out of how many times they've managed to fuck around? A whole fucking lot. What's one put on hold? No thing. In the meantime the kid's got a toucan to spray.]

[They can go a day. Hell, they done longer. Whatever. Nothing. Though the whole day it's bothering this old bear. The toucan and the statement about Freddy feeling like a girl. That was not what that was about. Did none of it touch him at all? None of that shit? Okay. That can be accepted can it? Why the fuck not. He's a young man.

Lawrence Dimick isn't a pussy. He likes softer, sweeter elements. Who the fuck knows why. Maybe because he's bent.

This is stewing in his brain as he sits back in his chair much later in the evening evening.

So far the score marks as Mr. White: 0 The Bird: 2.5 interceptions. The first in the bathroom something of a second attempt in the kitchen lead to some serious noise because it was expecting fruit. As for the half....well....Larry can't specifically remember but it feels like it is far more than it should be.

The only arms he slept with are the chairs.]

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