orangetoughguy | log post II

[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.

[Lazy or illicit, the old man is never quite sure.]

I do.

[For a moment he remains there so the kid can take a good look before he moves to reach into a drawer and toss him something that'll work. And he pays attention to that gun.]

You know how to use it I assume. Don't disappoint me, tough guy.

[The build up, the tension.... Their own risks on either side.]

[Lazy for the entire world, illicit for Mr. White. It's just to Orange's good luck that what works for him on a day to day basis really works for White regardless of the time of day. Whoops there we go, he catches the stuff under only a slight fumble.]

I guess you're gonna find out.

[He quips. Of course he knows how to use it, he wouldn't try if he didn't, and for all the tension and the smell of testosterone Orange still wouldn't want to hurt White. At least not beyond a sting of pleasure. The kid's down on his own knees again to set the grease on White's back while he undoes his own jeans.] I should've known you were baitin' me all along.

[You devil dame, would work here if White weren't a dude.]

[A sigh of exasperation maybe a little more dramatic than needed. He's not going anywhere. In fact since it's already set on what they're about to do he splays his legs a little more.]

How else was I gonna get you right where I want you? All this time, two steps forward three steps back. Never knowing if you could trust me? I had to give.

[To receive.]

Don't you know I'm on your side no matter what?

[Damn to be saying this to a cop.] You're a helluva guy.

Maybe I didn't know if you could trust me too.

[Because he's a cop, always will be (as far as he knows, if this got out someone could have his badge for it). Orange places a firm kiss to White's back, down along the right side of his rear, then the back of his firm thigh. He is everything masculine, broad shoulders, big palms, and bristling hairs. The kid strikes his hand on his rear again only to creep his fingers up to clutch a hip. He's greasing up his cock with the other.]

And you're gonna be one helluva fuck. Won't regret a fuckin' thing.

[He won't and White won't...right? He's pressing up against him now.]

I'm told I'm full of surprises.

[Damn does this man know how to handle heavy, greased up machinery. That's what White feels like. Modified, customized to fit exact specifications.]

That's what I brought you for.

[Nothing but the hard, strong shit. Those strong hands working his flesh is nothing on the hot rod he feels close to him. White bows his back and leans into that body.]

You are. You really fuckin' are.

[Fuckin' somethin', he's thinking to himself. Orange can feel White leaning back, the man wants it as much as he does. Is it a blessing or a curse? Who the hell fucking cares right now. With a grunt the kid pushes forward. His gut instinct says White doesn't need to be prepared with his fingers, his gut instinct seems to be right. When he's almost fully buried he runs lightly freckled hands along that broad back, down to his sides, then again on his hips.]

Someone's gonna have my ass for this. [He whispers, choking back the need to just gun it right away. Look he might be making a pun too. Then without another moment to waste he starts giving the old man short thrusts. He'll speed up, eventually.]

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