orangetoughguy | phone post

Well I feel sorry for your world.

[Sort of. Kind of. No actually Freddy can't imagine living in a place and time where the latter is the ultimate commodity. It already kind of is where he's from but at least no one as fallible as a human being can control it.]

I guess we're not that alike.

[Their worlds or as men, but he doesn't specify.]

Seems like everyone here does.

[He could laugh about that, but he won't. Most of the time he's never completely sure whether they really mean to say that they feel sorry for him, and that's something he'd rather not find out.]

Anyway... Fifty years on the beat can give anyone a little perspective on things.

Long time. That makes you one of the Old Guys, when they start telling stories about you to make boots shit their pants.

[Cop talk. It's obvious he's a cop. Does Orange even have to come out and say it? Damn he hasn't even negotiated some sort of trade off with Raymond either. It's too easy to fall into a rapport like he's a guy from another agency but in the end you're all still a bunch of fucking pigs to the rest of the world. As long as he's not federal though, Orange draws the line at feds, like that Olivia chick.]

[He'd already been coming to that conclusion himself; this just confirms it. Raymond nods, as if confirming it to himself.]

Not that it means much to the people at the top... Not in these times, anyway. No one respects experience like they used to.

Cops ain't immune. [He shrugs and takes the last pull of his cigarette.]

I don't have fifty years on me period, old man. [Weird to say it but he's able to divorce conversing with Raymond from conversing with Mr. White. It holds a different meaning with the latter.] But I got experience. Maybe nobody respects it, what matters is how I use it.

[He snorts again, shaking his head.]

Fifty years is a long time to spend being pushed around, and maybe you'll get to find that out for yourself...

But just try to imagine it with no end in sight, except for one that gets you killed. That's what it's like on the beat back home.

Damn.

[Making it to fifty as a cop, working his way up to Detective III or maybe even Metro, that's a dream come true. But even wide-eyed Freddy knows the possibility is a longshot. There are boots who get killed less than a year out of academy, like Marvin fucking Nash. He shakes off a shudder.]

You got a lady back home?

[He thinks he knows the answer to this one but it's always appropriate to be sure.]

[Now there's a question he wasn't expecting.]

No. There's not enough time to keep up anything serious. [A beat.] In either sense of the word.

[Then he looks back at Orange. He could ask him why, but he has a feeling he already knows.]

[Haha, he said time, but Freddy's not laughing over it or anything. To him it's just conversation. Maybe if he were from Raymond's world he'd see more irony.]

I gotcha.

[Not enough time, not enough patience, and too many issues to maintain what he thought was a serious relationship. Maybe it was too serious. Freddy doesn't have to tell Raymond the failure rate for relationships with LEO types is pretty damn high in his world. Hell, he doesn't really take Raymond for the emotionally attached type anyway. That's exactly what Freddy thinks he needs right now.]

I can take you back unless you're just up the street or something. [Is his ulterior motive coming through? It's hard enough being an undercover cop, being a gay one is like asking for career suicide. But this isn't their world and that's why it shouldn't matter. Right?]

[Just as he suspected. Not that Raymond has any particular reason to suspect him of anything else, of course, not whatever issues or relationship troubles he might have or anything else; despite whatever camaraderie they might have, it doesn't interest him, and he doesn't care.]

Your place would be better.

[But he needs this, too.]

Fine.

[Guess what his place is, Raymond, it's going to be a goddamn motel. But they're going to take his bike to get to it so none of these people have to see them walk in and walk out. Anonymity doesn't really matter because they're acquaintances however some sense of privacy is preferable.]

[Nice. Anonymity doesn't matter much to Raymond at all, at least not in a place like this, but the privacy is appreciated, even if the motel itself causes him to raise an eyebrow.]

Nice digs.

[Are you going to complain, Raymond? Because you can, then Orange might just elect to use a wall instead of a bed. But really, part of using a room here is to keep him from being detected at where he's currently calling 'home' which is the City Solutions building. He's already sure JARVIS is on to him and for whatever reason is keeping its mouth shut. Who knows.]

Haven't you seen worse?

[Keys tucked into his pocket, he's already moving off to the little lobby desk to pay for the place. It gives him the power to throw the other man out if for whatever reason he has to.]

Much worse.

[Which means that no, he is not complaining. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't mind the wall. Maybe.

He watches Orange, waiting for him.]

[He is thinking about using the floor of their room to be quite honest. Other key in hand Orange motions for Raymond to follow him. It's exactly like a two story revolving-vacancy little lot. You can find them all over Los Angeles, more than likely all over Dayton too. A handful of people would call it home. Up they go to the second floor, he's working the key into the door and when it opens up he's pulling the darker haired man in by the collar. Freddy doesn't feel proud of himself at all but pride's hardly coming into play when he makes an attempt on Raymond's mouth. Well, not that kind of pride anyway.]

[Raymond follows close behind, and when Orange pulls him in, it's almost expected. This isn't the first time he's been tugged into a seedy motel room, after all.

He meets him in a rough kiss, hands going to his hips as he presses against him. There's no curse affecting his judgment this time; this want is all his own.]

[Sorry, Raymond, that's not supposed to be a kiss. He's purposefully evading a full liplock to instead pinch his teeth around Raymond's bottom lip. It's a bite that doesn't draw blood but it might leave an imprint. Hands on his hips are okay, he doesn't carry his sidearms there. One's tucked high under his arm in a shoulder rig, the other's strapped to his ankle. Freddy's hands are moving up his sides to simultaneously feel his body under his fingertips and perform a quick informal pat down. It's an unspoken courtesy; take the guns off.

And it is still surprising that there's no curse swaying Raymond Leon now. Guess the guy really does swing both ways or he's desperate. Not that it matters to Orange whose mouth is grazing the edges of his teeth down Raymond's chin now.]

[That's fine by him, though that bite means he's only going to try to reciprocate, and Orange isn't likely to feel much through the vest under his timekeeper's coat. The material is thick, after all, and the only firearm on him is strapped to his thigh. He tilts his head back, trying to tempt those teeth down to his throat, and starts to shoulder out of his coat as best he can without losing his grip on him. He'll let Orange take care of things for now.]

[What the fuck is that thing? Yeah he'd like to take care of it and by taking care of it Orange really means taking it off.

The shirt he can keep on if he really wants it, but the padded thing, that's going to come off right after the leather jacket. Just having the pieces nearby though is good enough, Orange likes the smell. As for the throat, hell yes the way Raymond tilts back calls to him. He locks his mouth on him, lips pursing up and down, up, down, down to his collar then back up again. He'll rub the heel of his palm against Raymond's chest too, right over a nipple while his knee presses between the man's thighs. The nearest wall will have to take the brunt of this attack because Orange needs to hold Raymond in place while he removes his holster. It seems safer than actually touching another man's gun. Won't get his fingerprints on it if something happens.]

[Taking it off is the same thing as far as Raymond's concerned. He just can't be bothered to deal with it himself at the moment.

Either way, that's more like it. Raymond groans at the lips on his neck, keeping the noise low and throaty just for him, and uses the wall at his back as leverage to rut against Orange's knee. It's been too damn long since we was with someone who actually knew what the hell he was doing, even if the man is decades younger than him, and some part of him, whatever part of him that's still capable of caring, hopes he won't mind if he takes some initiative and starts hastily undoing his shirt.]

[Do it, Raymond, do it as long as it doesn't interrupt what Orange is doing too. One gun down, two more to go. He has to let go of the guy for a second to shrug off his holster, both firearms get dumped on a nearby table with the safety still on--at least in Orange's case. It's a table with no chairs, go figure, not like they're in a diamond resort or anything. Immediately his hands are back on Raymond, roaming over him then down to slip his fingers below his waistband. He's a lean one, lean but taut, the body of a 30-something (not a step from 50 like Mr. White, fuck don't think about him, Newendyke). Does he have scars? Orange here, he's sporting one on his stomach and another on his shoulder, both clearly from gunshots.

It's strange to him how there are no words between them, not because he expects the timekeeper to talk but because Freddy's become so used to it now he's not sure if he should keep the silence as is. Keep it quiet, Newendyke. He doesn't even ask what the other man's into, what his limits are, he's already working to open Raymond's pants.]

[Sure he's got scars, one on either shoulder and plenty more, scars from nearly a lifetime's worth of being in the line of fire and managing to get out alive every time. Raymond's tugging the shirt off now, edging his back off the wall just long and just far enough for him to get it off his shoulders, and not a second later he's tilting his hips against him again.

Of course, he doesn't have a single thought to spare for the other man's silence.]

You got condoms? [The words are nearly forced out, sounding less of habit and more of habit's disuse. Damn, but it's been a long time.]

[Orange breathes against Raymond's bare skin.] I got one.

[That means no switching and yes he came out with the intention of getting laid though not necessarily by Raymond. If the old man in a young body refused he would have just found another. Both appear to be bare from the waist up and Orange will make use of that by mouthing his way across Raymond's chest while he works to stroke the man within his pants. The scars alone add age to him where markers like crow's feet can't.]

And I'm clean.

[That is, as long as White hasn't picked something up without telling him. He trusts the man not to be the sort, even when they're fighting. Orange doesn't even wait for Raymond to voice a response before his hands are urging the man to get down on the floor.]

[Raymond doesn't even have time to tell him good before he's moaning, hips pushing into Orange's hand and trying to keep the contact as close as possible. It's been so long since it was anything but his own hand down there, he can hardly stand it — which is probably why he doesn't offer anything in the way of resistance when the other man pushes him down, only a glance back up at him while his breath comes hard and deep.]

[Good man, Raymond, you can stay face up on your back for now. Orange's hand is going to have to vacate the confines of the other man's pants for a second to straddle the guy. Once Orange is on him though he's grinding his rear against Raymond's lap. So does he have a taste for men and women? Can he appreciate the way the younger man arches back just a little to remove the gun at his own ankle? It's a classic carry-and-conceal Beretta, characteristic of an undercover. While Freddy's back here he'll fish for the condom in his pocket too.]

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