orangetoughguy | log post II

Keep movin'.

[In the same direction except this time past the visible hotels. The neighborhood is no hoity toity neighborhood that's for sure. White moves to a building. Compared to the others it sure has seen better days. No doorman.]

In here.

[Stepping in he feels a wave of nostalgia. He should because this is a hideout. That alone is incentive to keep going. Some part of him is trusting this kid.]

[Puff puff. He's moving along, watching the shadows. What is White thinking? Does he feel Orange is too easy? Too questioning? He questions the old man's intentions but at the same time he has an idea exactly what they are if they're playing the same game. What Orange ought to question is his own sanity for going along with it. Has he wanted this so badly he'll do anything White says and White's only letting him feel in control? That would be a twist.]

What's the history here?

[Caramel greens look over the building, the door without a doorman. It doesn't look welcoming, just the sort of place where people make do, do what they will because they don't got much else. Just a place for people like Larry during the lower points. He follows the other man in feeling like stepping over the threshold just pulled him into deeper waters.]

One of the many places I go.

[When he needs to lay low. That's not out of the ordinary is it? An elevator would restrict the man if he changed his mind. White hopes and prays that he doesn't. He'd been waiting, watching. They're not quite strangers. It's a given there'll be a big, big pay off.

To the stairs then. White takes off his hat and holds it in one hand.]

Don't worry, big guy.

[This ain't a trap. And he can walk out though why do that when there's so much more to offer. The room isn't far at all. White has a key and opens it up. Something like an oyster, the real riches are inside. Could be White's furnishing because he's here. The man's put down a fur rug.]

I'll bet you've gone far and wide. [No judgment here though, as a matter of fact it intrigues Orange, the way this White conducts his affairs. He thinks he's got the old man's type all figured out but he keeps reeling the kid in using some kind of black magic.] Am I givin' you the idea I'm worried?

[He asks cool as a cucumber to mask his hand again. When they're at the door a dozen images run through his head. Spartan but tasteful? Cluttered but comfortable? Grimy and desperate? What kind of place does White have hidden away, what does his secret look like? Not that Orange thinks the man is ready to give all his secrets away, just the ones he feels secure in giving to a kid. Well holy shit...it's a dead animal.]

You hunt? [It's a joke, he doubts a man like White would skin a beast himself. Could be another one of those double meanings though.]

I'm a traveling man.

[Black magic? Hey now. Could be the kid doing that. He's got a look to his eyes that can't be ignored. Something worth coming back to again and again.]

No. Just hoping to put you at ease.

[The rest of it is littered with souvenirs. Simple, smaller things. Tidy yet lived in. White shuts the door after they've entered. Click of a lock.]

No. Not really. [Brown eyes are on Orange as he says it.] Now. You were saying something? [Hat down. Now he is taking off his coat.]

[He's actually making sure he doesn't get ash on the fur rug.]

I was? If you were listening I guess you can tell me what I was saying.

[Tit for tat, except Orange has already forgotten what that was. White magic, then.]

Me doing [white loosens his tie] anything [he removes his cuffs] for you.

[That was the core of it. They have had their walk. If Orange wants fine cognac or whatever else the old man is stashing, then so be it.]

Edited 2011-05-28 07:06 (UTC)

[That's really open ended but chances are White knows it. The kid watches him remove this first, that second. It's a slow almost unbearable process because fuck just look at that broad shouldered beast of a man. Well, two can play at that game. He tucks his cigarette back into his mouth to shrug off his jacket. Whoops looks like that's no t-shirt at all, it's a wifebeater. Puff.]

You've gotta have somethin' good to drink around here.

[Orange nods around the place, a diamond in the rough. Oh shit Newendyke what's going through that head of yours?]

[Sure ain't no shirt. Those arms, that chest...with his coat on if White didn't know any better he'd think that Orange is a rough trade hustler.]

Right you are.

[White finishes rolling up his sleeves as he pulls out a bottle and two glasses.]

It's cozy.

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.]

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