ArchivedLogs:Shine Brighter

Shine Brighter
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jackson
In Absentia	20 January 2014 Jax is back! :D (Warning: Some adult themes/cuddliness.) (Part of the Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> Candyland - Village Lofts - East Village
This bedroom is bright, bright, bright, a cheerful riot of colour in contrast to the more minimalist scheme outside. It, too, has a plethora of lamps to lend it even more light than what comes in from the large windows opposite the entry; many of them bear stained-glass coverings in cheerful mosaic patterns to add still more colour to the room. The walls have been painted in pale blue with darker blue trim, though one is instead a mural of surreal fantastical artwork, odd unearthly plant and animal life spread across it in vivid colours. There is scattering of furniture here -- a bed on the wall adjacent to the window (usually dressed in vividly patterned mismatched sheets), a dresser opposite the bed, standing beside the large closet, both in wood that has been painted black and then covered in a swarm of brightly coloured images, too. The wall near the door bears an enormous handmade shelving unit, similarly painted; it is filled largely with meticulously organized art supplies. By the window, a desk stands in as-yet-unpainted wood; besides laptops and drawing tablet it often bears an eclectic mix of items, too. Comic books, knitting supplies, a hiking pack of climbing gear. Jax has finally returned home! To an apartment where at least the /present/ existing bugs have been ferreted out and removed, though it seems likely that they may be replaced in the future. After all of the excited hugs and reunions with friends and family that reduced to excited cuddles with the boys in the living room, things have finally quieted down. The bedroom looks a little different than usual once they finally retire to it: Hive's computer equipment spread over the desk and the bed linens a bit more of a mess than usual. Micah, too, is quiet in the wake of the feverish emotional charge of the day up to now. Unlike his customary flop onto the bed, he settles into the chair at the desk, hands fidgeting at the hem of his royal blue sweater where it rests on his denim-clad lap as he sits. His demeanour has also shifted...almost shy in its awkwardness, a little nervous in energy. Jax is dressed, again, in the same clothes he was in the last time Micah saw him -- sky-blue UFOs, bell-sleeved long-sleeved black shirt, lavender Lorax t-shirt, brightly coloured mismatched socks. Purple and pink hair grown out quite a bit of black at its root. His nails flicker through a riot of glittery shades, restlessly shifting through swirls of colours without settling on any. He leans against the door without sitting, fingers twirling a pen in a blur backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards. His knee bobs rapidly up and down. Around him tiny whorls of colour dance in pale pastel swirls. The dragonfly in his eyepatch changes colours, too, metallic purple to shiny blue to rainbow. His eye focuses steadily on Micah despite all these myriad unsteady /motions/, locked there like he's afraid if he looks away the other man will vanish. Unlike Jax's staring, Micah's look back to the other man is sidewise, a little uncertain in the face of the flurry of colour and motion. His teeth meet and hold his bottom lip for a few moments before he speaks. "I'm sorry about the...room," seems like an easier place to start than most, a few hundred different apologies all vying for position on his lips. "Once Dusk got taken in an' Flicker ran off...it was. Kinda eerie up in their apartment so I had Hive come stay here instead. I wasn't using it anyhow. S'why...there's stuff." His head tips toward the desk indicatively. Jax's gaze just stays steady, though the rest of the constant shift of colour and motion remains restless and unsteady. "No, that's -- that's. Good, that's -- he shouldn't be. Shouldn't have been alo -- wait, no, why'd -- /Flicker/ run off?" He tips his head back towards the ceiling, puzzled. "S'he alright? Where's he gone off to?" Worry creeps back into his voice, but then again worry has been in danger of taking up permanent residence there lately. "Honey-honey, y'should be careful with that -- word. Why -- ain't /you/ been in – here?" "They started lookin' for Flicker right after Dusk got took in. He knew it was comin', though, an' ran off 'fore they could. They just took in /everybody/ as was in the room when y'all broke Vector out 'cause of that crazy video of Malthus's, so it was a predictable move. Imagine we'll hear from 'im soon now that news of y'all gettin' released is out...but I don't know anythin' since he ran off. He's stayed out of touch on purpose. But now he should be safe t'come home." Micah cringes when he's called out on the slip of vocabulary. "Apologies...I was...so good about it. For months. But I just /needed/ that word a whole lot lately. So it started slippin' out sometimes." His fingers tug harder at the fabric of his sweater, hesitant to broach that topic. "I just...I stayed here at all 'cause the kids an' Hive needed me to. I wasn't...I didn't know if it was my place t'be stayin' in anymore. After..." "I hope he's okay." Jax worries at a lip ring, his brow creasing in deep. Deeper, at the mention of the video. "Crazy video -- what crazy video of Malthus's?" He turns a puzzled look on Micah. "I'm sure if they ain't got him he's okay, I just --" He catches his spinning pen against his palm. As its motion halts, so does all the rest, the colours around the room arresting and fading their jitteriness as he pushes away from the door to take a step closer to Micah. "After -- Micah -- what -- this is your -- /home/, why wouldn't -- this is your place. /Your/ home. Your family, why wouldn't it be. Your – place?" Micah looks up in surprise at that question. "They really didn't tell you anythin' while you were in there? I knew they were sayin' the /evidence/ was classified, but that /video/ was all over the internet. Malthus made a video right after y'ran into 'im in that alley. Claimed that if he died, it was your fault. If not you directly, then your 'terrorist cell' actin' on your behalf. Said that you'n your group'd broken Vector out specifically t'use his abilities t'make a biological weapon that'd selectively kill off everyone /without/ an X-gene. It was so ridiculous, but /that/ was enough for them t'take you in, an' Dusk, an' Flicker if they could've /caught/ 'im. An' the public b'lieved it, too. The things they've been sayin' an' the way folks've been treatin' the kids. It was just... We been tellin' the real story ever since. I made a statement t'the press. An' then so many of the folks from the labs all made videos tellin' their stories. An' it helped some, but not enough. Hive an' Lucien worked t'find some of the employees who had access to /real/ proof t'convince 'em t'come forward. That's what finally got y'all released." The sweater gets twisted up tight between Micah's worrying hands. "Because this was all my fault? If I hadn't...killed 'im. None of this would've happened. You'n Dusk'n Flicker never would've been considered terrorists. The boys wouldn't've been so harassed an'... Hive would've had more time t'recover an' not been so...without all 'is people. An' I've just been hurtin' /everyone/. Everythin' I been tryin' t'do s'just been...hurtin' everyone I love. An' I lied t'you. An' I know I disappointed you. I been lettin' /everybody/ down. An' I'm not the person y'chose t'marry anymore. I...get that. It was the last thing y'told me before they took you away. So I thought... I wasn't sure if you wanted me anymore." His gaze is drawn down to his hands as his eyes are covered in a film of excess moisture, the lids blinking down a little too rapidly. "What." Jax's eye widens. There's a brief incredulous moment where he actually laughs, a little gasping-dumbfounded, short and breathless. "But that's -- nonsense, that's like. That's -- actually ridiculous, Micah, how could -- I mean, they said. One'a the guards said that I -- tried t'kill -- but I didn't understand what --" The laughter cuts off as the past weeks actually settle /in/, and he moves in closer to sink to his knees in front of Micah's chair, head shaking. His hands fall to his knees. He lets his breath out slowly, shakily. "One'a the guards, he told me -- about the. Videos. I -- was kinda. Touched that -- everyone --" He lifts his eye, watching Micah's hands twist at the sweater. His teeth sink in against his lip, twisting at a lip ring as Micah twists at the sweater. Tentatively, he lifts a hand, reaching with slightly trembling fingers towards Micah's hand, to curl his own fiercely warm fingers around Micah's and stop their worrying-twisting and squeeze tight. "Please -- no. I didn't -- no. I never meant it like that. I never -- never meant it like that. The whole time I was in there I wanted so badly to -- anything. Hold you. /Tell/ you how much I --" He scrunches up his eye, shaking his head. "How much I wish that hadn't been the last thing I said to you. How much I /love/ you and I didn't want to leave things like that. How much I /want/ you an' I'd still choose t'marry you today. The person you are right now." “I know it's ridiculous, but. There are folks who're never gonna stop b'lievin' that story, Jax. They're gonna treat y'like it actually happened. Spence got into a /fight/ at school. The twins were back at /their/ school all of a day before /they/ got into fights an'...I just let 'em stay home after. I been havin' patients drop me an' folks throwin' /rocks/, if y'can b'lieve that. It's...gonna be harder for /all/ of you, an' I'm sor-- I...apologise. It /is/ my fault.” Micah's hand squeezes back at Jax's, eyes closing into a fringe of dampness. “I love you. I still...I love y'more than anythin' else in the world an' I'm just so sor-- I been ruinin' everythin'. I just...couldn't let 'im hurt you all any more. But he still did. /I/ still did. I just...love you.” He frees one hand to clench into a fist and circle over his heart before sliding down to the floor next to Jax, pulling him into a fiercely-tight hug. "But it ain't. It's /not/. It don't -- sound like. This is -- this ain't none of it /your/ fault, this is -- /him/. That man -- this is his doin'. He did this to us. Not you. /Not you/. You just done what you could to -- to stop. Oh, gosh, Micah, you -- you was jus' tryin' to protect --" Jackson pulls in a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around Micah to return the hug, just as tight. He buries his face against Micah's neck, squeezing his eye shut, tears dripping out hot against the older man's skin. "{I'm so sorry,}" he whispers in badly Southern-accented Vietnamese, pressing a kiss to Micah's neck afterwards. "I didn't mean it. Not how it sounded. I love you. I /love/ you. I needed /space/. I get emotional. I /need/ you. I need you now and I needed you /then/. I couldn't be around you because I needed to /breathe/, I needed space to calm /down/ so I didn't light something on /fire/. Not because I -- couldn't stand the sight of you. Because I couldn't risk /hurting/ you. Hurting /anyone/. I needed /time/. To process. /Everything/. I'm so bad -- with words. With /thinking/ straight. I never wanted to hurt you, sir. Oh -- oh. Oh -- dear." This last is very -- small. Jax's skin where it touches to Micah's is starting to get /very/ uncomfortably -- dangerously, really -- hot. “I know. I know. I’ve told m’self all the same things so many times. That there weren’t no other choice, but...it still /feels/ wrong. An’ I didn’t.../blame/ you. If y’didn’t want t’be ‘round me. /I/ didn’t want t’be ‘round me for a good while. I was a mess for a real long time. Still am, a little.” Micah’s arms stay wrapped tight around Jax. “I love you, too, hon. An’...I didn’t /want/ t’mislead you about all this, but I couldn’t think of a way ‘round it. {I’m sorry. I’m sorry},” he repeats back in equally shaky Vietnamese. “I’m sure it weren’t even...you. I was prob’ly projectin’. An’ it’s...I just keep makin’ more of a mess of things with everybody.” He presses a series of kisses to Jax’s forehead, wincing by the last. “Oh, honey, you’re… {I’m sorry}.” Disentangling himself, he moves to the closet to retrieve the closest fire blanket and extinguisher. He wraps the blanket around Jax in another hug, leaving the extinguisher within reach. “I keep doin’ this t’you.” Jackson shakes his head at the fire extinguisher, just curling himself into a ball beneath the blanket. He wraps it tight around his shoulders, skin glowing bright as he squeezes his eyes shut. He draws slow breaths, fingers crumpling tightly into the blanket as he balls himself up tightly, forcing himself to calm. Eventually his temperature starts to lower. He’s still rather uncomfortable, but nowhere near dangerous anymore, when he unrolls himself to nestle against Micah again. “You don’t do this to me, Sir. You -- you’re.” He tucks his head against Micah’s chest. “I think we been lookin’ at the world all wrong for a while. Like totally, completely backwards.” Micah holds Jax through the blanket, one hand rubbing slow circles on his covered back. “I just didn’t want you t’have t’deal with any more awful. Y’had a terrible amount of awful lately. Y’need a chance t’just...relax a little bit without so much awful. Love you, hon.” When Jax uncurls, Micah slips his fingers into his hair, petting through it gently. “How backwards this time?” Jax settles in against Micah on the floor, relaxing comfortably against the older man. His temperature continues to fall as he relaxes, finally stabilizing into a fierce heat that no longer threatens to burn. He tips his head up into the petting, exhaling soft and happy. “The world has been -- /hell/. Like, really -- just. Unmitigated hell for a while, y’know. But I been through hell before. We been through hell before. Prometheus locked me in a cage an’ lopped off my eye an’ I put a /team/ together an’ saved hundreds of folks and made a /family/. Do you know how I got my first tattoo, Micah? Some kids back home, when I was growin’ up they --” His lips quirk upwards, a little thin, a little lopsided. “Walkin’ home from school one day, they knocked me down. Pinned me down, took a knife. Carved ‘QUEER’ into my chest. Soon as I was old enough that my folks was okay signing the consent forms, I put the dove an’ the prayer where that hateful thing was.” His voice is soft when he says this, his thin smile softening here, too. “I just -- what I mean to say is, this ain’t /new/, you know? The world gets rough some times. But the world always gets rough some times an’ if anyone ever’s known how to take that and brighten it up a bit it’s been the lot of us. But the past months -- it’s knocked us down again an’ again an’ again an’ we’ve started letting it. I’ve had days -- weeks. Months. Where I just ain’t wanted to get up. But that ain’t me -- or it never /used/ to be. I used to be the person who took all that ugly and /made/ somethin’ positive outta whatever we got handed. And somewhere along the way I -- lost that. Just -- stopped shinin’. But seriously, you know, I’m a /photokinetic/, if /I/ ain’t lookin’ at the bright side’a things somethin’s serious-wrong with the world.” He wrinkles his nose a little bit sheepishly after all this, peeking up from beneath his floppy fringe of hair at Micah. “What I mean is, everything’s been hell but look at it. Huge zombie outbreak -- and /we stopped it/, Micah. Horrible labs torture us an’ kill us an’ now they’re startin’ to go down for it. Even this eviction -- we ain’t even just not gettin’ evicted, ‘fore I left we was talkin’ about makin’ our own /community/, we should get back to that. We’re lookin’ at this all wrong, Micah. It ain’t all a mess. It’s all a opportunity to shine brighter.” “Oh, honey…” Micah just snuggles closer through Jax’s storytelling. ‘We’re tryin’, sugar. We might be makin’ headway on the labs.” He leans in to place kisses to the top of Jax’s head, moving down to his forehead. “An’ we’re still workin’ on the eviction. The Sublime folks that helped us get lawyers for you also got lawyers t’help with that. But Hive’s been researchin’ houses for us. There’s been a lot of things sent out to the mailin’ group. Could get y’updated on that later, too. Things are still happenin’.” He tugs the other man a little closer against him. “An’ we got alla you guys back...once Flicker heads back to us. I’m sure he’ll be in soon. It’s...things’re gettin’ better. They are.” Another kiss meets with Jax’s temple. “An’ prob’ly the boys can even go back t’school soon. Things’re gonna be okay.” “That’s what I mean. Things are gonna be okay. But you’re apologizin’ an’ apologizin’ for -- makin’ mess like everything is all /wrong/ still. Like we’re all still /looking/ at things like it’s all /wrong/ still.” Jackson’s lips curl into a smile at the kiss, and he disentangles an arm from the blanket so that he can curl it around Micah, a warm glow blossoming softly around the both of them. “But I don’t think it’s so. Not -- not when y’look at it right. I just -- think we need to. Look at it right. Things /are/ right, now. Or /can/ be right. Or /will/ be right. ‘Cuz we’ll make ‘em. ‘Cuz we always do.” “I know...it's just. I didn't /want/ t'hurt you an' I did an' so I feel like I need t'say it.” Micah's head bends down to rest against Jax's shoulder. “Things were...a mess for so long it's takin' some gettin' used t'things bein' right again, I think.” He runs fingertips down along Jax's side. “But you're home. An' I love you an'... We're okay? I think maybe we're okay.” He lifts his head enough to turn it and kiss the angle of Jax's jaw. “What d'you need, honey? Y'been away for so long an' then we got y'all wrapped up in us just...needin' /you/. But you're the one's been...through the worst of it. What d'/you/ need right now?” “M’home,” Jackson repeats this softly, his smile impossibly warm as he says it. “M’/home/. M’home an’ ohgoshMicah I think the pups maybe done cracked a rib earlier with so much huggin’ but I didn’t never want to let go.” He shivers happily at the fingertips down his side, tipping his head back at the kiss and then immediately tipping it back to nuzzle in against Micah’s neck. “I need -- I need /this/. I need this. I need this.” The shaky breath he says this with is hard to really pinpoint as either laughter or sob, Jax’s body briefly trembling against Micah’s. “Three /weeks/ in /solitary/, Micah, you /know/ how good I do if you go all /day/ without huggin’ me. An’ that’s if /you/ go all day without. This was -- was nobody. Nobody, I -- I need. This. Please.” His eye closes, cheek pressing firmer against Micah’s neck and his voice dropping smaller. “I love you. Sir. Please.” “Oh/gosh/, honey, are you really /hurt/ or is that a figure of speech?” Micah tips his head back to regard Jax's face, though he doesn't pull away from their embrace at all. His arms just move higher up than the lower hugs that tend to be delivered by shorter sharkboys. He whimpers softly at the nuzzling against his neck. “Shh, shh. It's okay. I have you. I love you,” he assures softly as he holds Jax closer through the trembling. “I can only...imagine how... I was bein' so. Stupid. Just flounderin' without /you/ here an' you. Were all alone in there an'...” Again, he kisses Jax's hair where it presents right below his lips. He pulls back slightly from the other man's nuzzling, but only so that he can dip his head down to press a series of kisses up one side of his neck. “I love you. I've got you, honey.” His fingers trace along Jax's jaw to tip his chin up to him, to bring their mouths in line for a long kiss. “I /was/ really hurt,” Jackson admits with a tiny giggle. “Dusk helpfully gave up some of his blood earlier and now I’m not hurt at all.” He presses a small kiss to Micah’s neck where he nuzzles, the light fading from around them but the warmth still fierce within him as Micah holds him closer. His breathing slows, soft and calmer at the kisses the other man touches to his neck, and when their mouths meet he lifts a hand to curl his fingers into Micah’s hair, wrapping around the back of the other man’s head and returning the kiss eagerly, exhaling a tiny moan into the long kiss. His body presses up into Micah’s, mouth pressing hard against the older man’s and his mouth parting immediately. "Hmm...thanks to Dusk, then. Definitely need t'get 'im back on schedule. Even if he kinda looked better comin' out than goin' in. Doc must've really gotten that place in line when he finally got t'y'all. Almost kissed 'im /and/ the disability lawyer when they finally managed it." Micah actually smiles at Jax's giggle. He presses tight to the other man's hold, a soft purr rumbling in his throat when the hand moves into his hair. He deepens the kiss, releasing only to allow for breathing. He whispers a breathless, "Love you. Missed you /so/ much," between kisses. “Think he was gettin’ three pints a day through most’a that. He’s fit as a fiddle.” And then Jax doesn’t say anything at all, mouth rather occupied with increasingly hungered kisses. His hand slides down, slipping beneath Micah’s sweater and shirt to press his hand flat against skin. For a moment his breathing just stops, catching in a quiet hitch of a sob, and then he pulls back, resting his forehead against Micah’s to catch himself. His hand circles around the other man to rest at the small of Micah’s back, his other still curled into the older man’s hair. “All my -- stuff they. Took is. Out in the livin’ room. I mean I got /dressed/ but I didn’t feel. Right puttin’ on my own --” He moves his hand from Micah’s neck to his own, almost shyly. “-- Though the one I /was/ wearin’s sure t’have lost it’s charge, s’a good thing B made spares. I feel kinda -- lost without it. An’ not -- cuz’a the light, Sir. I missed you.” “Good. Good. I hated thinkin' 'bout what it...mighta been like in there for you two. Got way too active an imagination t'handle lack of real input. Started makin' up all kindsa terrible in my head.” Micah's arms wrap tightly around Jax through the deepening kisses. He moves a hand up to brush along the side of the other man's face at that sob. “You okay, honey?” He shakes his head at the voiced concern, a small, reassuring smile crossing his lips. “We got more, hon. Don't worry.” Micah shifts and twists, not quite letting go, to open a desk drawer and fish out the spare cuffs and collar inside. “Been...keepin' 'em charged sometimes,” he admits with a faint blush, smile going slightly sheepish. Micah circles one of Jax's wrists with his fingers, pulling it closer to brush his lips lightly against the inside of the wrist before buckling the cuff around it. Another kiss finds the skin of Jax's palm before he returns the hand. He then claims the other wrist, repeating the process of kiss to the wrist, buckled cuff, kiss in the palm before returning it, as well. His fingers unfasten the buckle of the collar, lifting it along with a questioning eyebrow and a slight head tilt directed at Jax. “Don’t guess solitary did anything happier for Dusk than it done for me,” Jax says with a pained wince, “but he was /fed/ better’n he’s ever been. Funny, some ways prison an’ the labs both s’better for us than --” But he can’t actually /finish/ this sentence, shuddering with a briefly sickened look crossing his expression. It vanishes immediately upon seeing the collar and cuffs, his breathing calming, a happier smile drifting across his face. He shifts back slightly, settling more properly onto his knees, his posture straightening. One hand falls to rest on his knee while the other wrist lifts to let Micah buckle the cuff on; he repeats this when the opposite cuff is fastened into place; his fingers curl in against Micah’s cheek with the second small palm-kiss. He doesn’t quite move, though, at the lifting of the collar and the questioning eyebrows. He looks at it -- longingly, there’s an achingly clear /want/ in his expression. His hand is trembling; he doesn’t actually drop it back to his knees but plucks at the collar of his shirt like it’s abruptly -- too hot, too /much/ clothing. His fingers curl inwards, thumb pressing hard against the fiery bright ring on his finger. He leans in, touching his lips very gently to Micah’s, an uncomfortably intense heat to his skin. “I love you, Sir. I’m yours. Always.” And, much softer: “An’ you don’t -- never gotta apologise. For protecting what’s yours.” Only then does he turn, still kneeling, hands resting on his knees and his head very slightly bowed to bare his neck to Micah. “We'll have t'welcome 'im home properly later, too,” Micah concludes with a hint of upward tug at the corner of his mouth. “I'm sure he could work out gettin' some supplemental blood from the Clinic if he went regularly, like a person who gets transfusions. Should get treated /better/ out here than--tchk.” His head shakes at that, cutting the thought off with a displeased sound. Micah's cheek nuzzles into the touch there, lips eagerly seeking Jax's when he leans in for the light kiss. “I love you,” he answers back, close enough for the breath behind the words to be felt almost as strongly as they are heard. His teeth close down on his own lip at the further comment, a nod accompanying another series of too-quick blinks of dampened eyelashes. Once Jax turns, he pushes up to his knees behind the other man, as well. He slips the collar around slowly, pulling the strap through a little at a time and tightening it just a touch past the point of comfortable wear briefly before letting it back out to the appropriate hole and fastening it snugly. Then he leans in close, his lips near enough to the other man's ear that he needs only whisper to be heard. “Got you all fitted out, Pet...but now I think y'might be a touch overdressed.” His arms curl around the other man's ribs to reach his hands down, brushing up from his waist, along his stomach and chest, slowly pulling both shirts up with the movement.