whitetwoguns | But I ain't no madman.

You're good--at it.

[Huff huff. Is the joint still burning? Is there any left to smoke? He's only vaguely thinking about it because he can smell it lacing through the heady scent of sweat and sex. Actually that last one smells far better, good enough to get high on. Hey wait a second.]

Loose?

[Did Lawrence Dimick dare call the ass he's pried open on many an occasion loose? Because really, Larry has no one to blame but himself. Oh fuck. Moving like this pulls a groan from him. It teases Freddy's prostate, it probably teases the old man's cock even more which happens to be big enough to not slip out. How about that. With both legs shut to one side and being made fit for fucking the kid can't help but mouth off.]

Think you can manage, cowboy? I'm pretty low to the ground. [A challenge is a challenge is a challenge.]

[Challenge accepted. Don't be so sore so soon, kid. He does it to make you burn hotter, angrier. It makes this moment more important if there is something to prove.

Hot damn he is only just held there by his own thickness. Even though he doesn't want to admit it, they are so much lower than he thought they would be. Those wicked and taunting eyes won't let him change it up.]

I can take it if you can. [And there he goes. Brutal and rough like he is contesting with a bull not a scruffy dog. As long as they got John Connor he will keep it up.]

Fuck. Fuck.

Jesus.

[Fuck. He huffs then grits his teeth to stifle a moan. Nope. No use. The kid's being loud now, louder than their dirty movie, loud and not giving a fuck because boy is he getting fucked. Freddy brings both knees closer to his chest, not curled exactly, not even halfway up, just bending to give Larry the best angle for the deepest penetration he can manage. He wants him so far up his ass any cum the old man shoots ought to come spitting out Freddy's mouth. If only.]

God, Larry.

[As if taking the Lord's name in vain wasn't enough. Being on his side is great but seeing the way Larry dutifully works for it just makes Freddy want to throw him a bone. Without giving his own warning the younger man is rolling over to get on his knees. Shakey, sure, but he's managing. White can either keep his dick in or slip out, it's no skin off Orange's stately nose because after getting his chest, shoulders, and cheek on the floor, putting it back into his reddened asshole will be too much to resist. And those paws are free to adjust just how high off the ground he stays. Freddy licks his lips.]

[Volume means he's enjoying it. At least that is what he believes until the movement. It throws him for a loop. He means to ask what's going on but can only make a throaty moan. Look at this kid move on his cock.

Oh. Oh]

Holy shit.

[He's one in a million. There is no man on this fucking weird, little world like Freddy Newendyke. Larry did slip on out. Seeing him settle he immediately working on reentry. Brown eyes are transfixed watching himself disappear into his well presented ass. Red like some goddamn badge of courage or something. A prized winner.

Precum won't stop rolling on down his shaft, still he takes another grip at the base of his cock. Not yet.]

No more movin'.

[Except for fucking he means. Larry keeps his hips lifted. ....yeah it is harder down low. Not that it matters. His knees are going to hurt like a son of a bitch but who the fuck cares. Their skin is slapping together.]

No more--movin'.

[He tacks on a tight moan to his confirmation of grunted words as Larry's already positioning himself right back into Freddy. Goddamn does that feel sharp, the angle, the depth, his girth, his tightness. Everything. If he were willing to think a little more on it Freddy might consider this has less to do with position and prowess and more to do with circumstance. Everything is better because he's high on adrenaline, booze, and drugs. No, Newendyke, everything is better because you're with Lawrence Dimick. Maybe it's all of the above. It takes only a handful more of thrusting in and out of the kid to make his balls tighten then unload.]

Aw fuck.

[There's that gasping reedy tone like Orange is fucking dying all over again, lower body writhing as much as it can on his dick while the rest of him stays prone. He's shaking, he's shuddering, and he's making a mess of cum on his fingers, on the floor.]

[His head is swimming. It's like they've made their own tide with their pace. Everything's moving.

They should try this on something stronger. Sometime. Not now. Honestly the only person he needs his fix of constantly is right there. Freddy's somehow become his drug.]

Keep comin'. [Growling, straining. All that constriction around his cock pulverizes his resolve. Hands clutch at Freddy enough to bruise as he comes. His dick is held so snugly that none of his load will slip on out.]

I'm c-comin' all over you, fuck.

[He may as well be bleeding from his belly and suffering from bloodloss with the way Freddy is groaning, semi-slurring his words, a little stutter here and there. And also the harsh breathing. It doesn't stop when he comes either, even though his balls have spilled out everything he has to offer (for now) the kid is still constricting, still doing what he can to make the old man blow his load. It's what being a good partner is all about. He takes those bruises and hard knocks like a fucking champ.]

That's it, Larry.

[Freddy breathes, capable of just knowing when Larry's coming. It's how in tune his body is with the other and goddamn does he love the feeling of being bred by him.]

Oh God. Mmm.

[Hardly any words out of him too. Sometimes it's a curse word or reverently calling out for God. Now and then sprinkled on in is a severely butchered version of Freddy.]

There we go, baby.

[Huff. Puff. Euphoria of orgasm with weed is really a trip in of itself. Simmering down the TV is looping the video again. Oh yeah. That.

Larry slowly lowers Freddy back onto his knees but he doesn't separate just holds onto him right now. There are specific times when it is and is not okay to hold this man. Right now is a perfectly acceptable time.]

[He's panting and sweating and not protesting being held at all. Shit this is the kid who asked that old motherfucker to hold him. Right now is a perfect time as anyway. Huff. Puff.]

Fuckin'...fuckin' crazy.

[Swallow. Freddy reaches back to rub his palm along Larry's thigh, wishing they could stay stuck like this longer. What a faggot you are, Newendyke, and you love it.]

[Heavy and slow kisses are smeared on his shoulder, his neck. They taste like sweat. Even when he's sweaty and shaking Mr. White is proud and honored to hold Mr. Orange.]

The good kind?

[He laughs but it's a tight airless sort of noise. Big arms rub on him. Larry's not done. At least not with the personal mission to get Freddy completely relaxed. He wants a two-fer. Freddy may not want one at this moment. He will.]

Got enough in there?

[Grind. Grind. Stop. Grind.]

[How about that, Lawrence Dimick, you made the kid laugh. He can't help but smile.]

Yeah....the good kind.

[Freddy manages to breathe out. He's not even thinking about two-fers or second rounds and is only vaguely thinking of licking Larry's dick clean right now because his mouth is already kind of dirty. Likewise, this leaner freckled body grinds back.]

I don't know, I think so. You wanna check?

Yeah. Yeah I do actually. [One big long sigh before he works up the fortitude to pull out. Easy now. Nice and easy.]

Oh yeah, baby.

[Seeing his still cum and lube slicked cock and how red Freddy is on this end he feels accomplished.]

Somebody gave you a good fucking.

[Even after sex he's working to pull the kid to lay one side so he's not gonna lay on his own stains.]

[Make that two big long sighs and a softer moan for being left without that fat cock inside him. But he's got Larry's load and that's all his. Nobody else's. Not even third parties in hotel rooms get that as a bonus.]

Uh huh...a good fuckin' only one guy I know knows how.

[He nods with a look over his shoulder to the one guy before they're both moving, leaving Freddy on a drier part of the floor. Sniff sniff...hm.] Smells like spunk.

[No other semen contributors are allowed. In a fantasy world free of disease and complications he knows that Freddy would look like a world class porn star coated with all kinds of cum. Dollars to donuts the kid has at least four films like that of his own.]

Mary Jane too.

[He scoots and then pulls up on Freddy.]

Let's go to bed.

[So that if the kid does fall asleep after they're truly done it won't be on their living room floor. Pulling, tugging and urging because the last resort is carrying which...he is not above doing at all.]

[Lawrence Dimick would be right on the money with that call.]

This early?

[Freddy asks yet with a hint of his own exhaustion. It's been a rough time from meeting unwanted faces to wanting a certain face all over his own. It smells like sex, weed, and booze, all theirs. At least he's far past the puking his guts out stage. Up he goes, arms on Larry for his own support.]

Lead the way. [No carrying today, Dimmy, but he will lean against the old man.]

I'm lazy.

[He says. Little lies.]

And we can order something later.

[When the munchies hit. And of course provided if anyone sleeps they wake. Arms are on him gladly. Ain't it nice to walk through the house in the nude.]

Besides after that I don't want nobody hurting because of the floor.

[Freddy or the old man. Leading and pawing a bit here, a bit there. Moving makes him realize he's still high. Heh.]

Know why I like sleeping in your bed?

Fine, fine.

[Freddy concedes without a fight. He's too worn out and comfortable under this thick naked arm to argue. Besides, it's a good idea that Larry has. The kid snakes his own freckled wiry arm around his broad waist.]

Why?

Because it smells like you for one. [No brainer there.]

And I kinda feel like the bookshelves make it warmer in here or something.

[Bookshelves. Well, all those comics. Larry doesn't have much shelving at all. Could it be that in his own round about way he's grown accustom to the museum of plastic?

Man oh man does it feel great to be touched on. Nothing doing.

To the bed with you, Newendyke. No he isn't gonna pull back the covers or anything. The movie can stay rolling in the living room. There's more important things to focus on. Freddy is sufficiently distracted. The old man's gotta go with it.]

It smells like you too, you know.

[In his bed. It's why he doesn't wash the sheets as often as a meticulous person would. He likes being able to lay down and smell a bit of Chesterfield on the fabric, Larry's favorite aftershave, even the smell of the shampoo he uses or the occasional hairdye if he's still keeping up that routine. When the old man ain't around it reminds him the old man sure don't mind coming into his den of comic books and toys. Mr. White met Mr. Orange but he came to know Freddy Newendyke too. Those shelves are exactly that, the man he was before he put on a leather jacket and took a codename.]

I think that's the way the sun hits the windows.

[He teases, knowing Larry likes the enchantment of such words but Freddy has to do his part by being Freddy too. Demystifying romance while perpetuating the myth of the superhero. Oof, down they go on his bed.]

I can't smell nothing.

[Ain't that always the way? What's so great about all of those smells when it could be soap and Marlboros.]

You smell pretty nice. Now and then. [Right now it's a potent cologne. Onto the bed and laying on him half way. Lazy bear wrestling move of effectiveness.]

Right now though it's kinda like some kinda one night motel.

[Paws are getting handsy again. Recovery time is over.]

With a nose like that?

[Freddy quips, one hundred percent aware of the irony of him making a nose joke. Fff. That bear snout knows how to move though, finding sweetness and meat in all the right places. Oof, he doesn't mind being partially crushed by Lawrence Dimick. As a matter of fact the old man makes a very good living blanket.]

You callin' my place a dump?

[He asks, wanting to hear what old Dimmy has to say now. Oh hey, paws. They're kind of rubbing all over him and he's liking it. Freddy shifts to give him access to all the places where he might find some honey. He's not yet fully aware those hands may be aiming to milk him a second time.]

Gotta be good for something, right? I mean. It's big enough.

[More irony that he calls his own nose big. Right about now it's buried into Freddy's neck. Flopped onto his bed and covers he's making sure he's not pancaking the kid while he's snuffling around.]

Nah. Too much organization.

[Even though he's not hard any more and still lube slick he rubs on up against Freddy. The sheets will need to be washed after this one. It's the nature of the beast.

Since he's fixed there at his pulse Larry decides to give him a hickey. Or at least try to. Why? Because it does give the kid swagger, he's seen it.]

Very funny.

[They sure do need to be washed after this but he'll still put it off until maybe Larry gets too tired of seeing them there then washing them himself. Hah. Oh but that rubbing and snuffling sure feels good. Freddy's reaching back to Larry's thigh again, insisting they stay flush up against each other even when there's no cock squeezing into his ass. He'll gladly accept being marked too, no matter how much getting a hickey makes him think of being a stupid teenager again. It does induce a little swagger.]

[Playing right on into those big mitts.]

Ain't that one of the things you love about me?

[Greedy and distracting comments...are things he's not above. Larry rolls onto his side to give Freddy more room. Also to creep his hand on down his belly. It is still going.

Blonde is at large. They can't take any chances. It's dirty and downright sneaky to try and make sure he's completely fucked out of his mind but... it did wonder to his nerves the last time. He has to do something. Sitting around and making small preemptive plans sure don't make things less of a worry. At least when they're like this there is progress.

All for Freddy he thinks. That's a lie too. The old man is recovering in his own way. What if Blonde put a bullet in his brain right there. How would he have found out? Would there have been a way? There's a slim to none chance that it wouldn't kill him. And if it did, what would they do then? He'd be walkin' around deceased. According to the senior members of this weirdo Club Med you don't get to return from wherever you had been if you die.

His man, Freddy Newendyke, dead? No. Anything but.]

Ain't you gonna kiss me?

I put up with it.

[Freddy teases, body conforming to fit perfectly with Larry's even if that might make him the little spoon or whatever people call it. He's arching his hips into his touch, shoulder against his chin. Kiss him, he says. The kid turns his head slightly, enough to give the old man a narrowed green look. Then he's tilting his own head to kiss him. Freddy's feeling pretty mellowed out, tired, exhausted, but his mind is still alert. They have to be with mad men out there.]

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