ArchivedLogs:Sticky Propositions

Sticky Propositions
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah
In Absentia	2014-02-26 '
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Dinnertime has come and gone -- noodles with zucchini and broccoli and chickpeas and shallots all tossed with peanut-miso sauce -- and there /was/ supposed to be cupcakes for dessert, stuffed with mocha-hazelnut mousse but, well. Jax got as far as making the mousse and /maybe/ then got distracted with eating it so instead of cupcakes there is just a whole lot of rich chocolatey mousse by way of dessert. Spencer has absconded to his bedroom (with a large cup of mousse in hand), /hopefully/ to work on homework. Jax is in the kitchen still, sleeves pushed up past his elbows as he works his way through the tail end of Dishes. There are two sunlamps focused towards him as he works though even with this he's a little sluggish, slower than usual in his motions. He's otherwise bright, rainbow hoodie over his Little Miss Sunshine tee, sky-blue UFOs, colourful mismatched socks, dark glasses on his face. There's music playing -- S.J. Tucker, at the moment, "Taglio" -- and he's humming quietly along to the music while on the countertops around him tiny hooved faun-like creatures dressed in leaf-green robes whirl and prance with more human figures around tiny bonfires. Also occasionally drag one of the humans off to eat them. But they do it in time with the music. Micah is late-in-the-day messy, with tousled hair and casual clothing consisting of a powder blue Totoro T-shirt over a soft grey henley and patched jeans. He has set himself up with a handy dish towel to fetch items out of the drying rack and dry them more thoroughly before tucking them away in their cabinet-homes. He /may/ still have a cup of mousse with a spoon in it sitting on the counter for between-dish snacking. At least he shares, intermittently bringing a spoon over to deliver to Jax's mouth. "You okay, hon? You got plenty of light'n sugar, but you're still lookin' a little down," he observes as he towels off a bowl. Jackson's humming breaks off into quiet, "-- hm?", brows lifting as he tips his head towards Micah. "Oh. Gosh. I'm aright, honey-honey. I'll just -- be right glad for spring. Days ain't gettin' long enough fast enough for me. Sometimes feel like I'm only half-awake all winter long. Don't blossom again till the /rest/'a the world does in springtime." Tiny buds sprout along his arms, opening up to unfurl petals in the direction of the sunlamps. "Sean's done his last paintin'." This is brighter, though there's a quiet note of reservation in it. "Said he thinks it might be pointin' at Vermont somewheres." When Jax tips his head up, Micah leans in to place a light kiss to the angle of his jaw. "Y'sure that's all? Anythin' I can do?" A small smile crosses his lips at the illusory flowers. "Oh! Oh, that's good. Promisin' that he's still gettin' somethin'." He slips the bowl into a cabinet before reaching for a mug, twisting the towel up to better dry the narrower container. "Did it still look like one of the labs? Vermont sounds...not like where I'd /expect/ a secret government torture lab t'be. What makes 'im think that?" The dancing fauns on the countertops shift and change as the song does, morphing into creatures composed largely of smoke and flame, shifting forms fluidly as they twirl across the surface of the counter. Jax tilts his head up into the kiss, his next quiet hum pleased. He finishes scrubbing out his last dish -- the wok everything was cooked in -- and swishes it beneath the water to rinse it clean. "I don't know. Jus' asked him when we could pick it up, ain't got much by way of details yet. Guess we'll see when we see. But if it is -- if it is the labs again --" His teeth sink down against his lip, head bowing slightly; his hair spills down over his eyes as he turns to shut the water off and set the wok on the drying rack. "Where /do/ you expect torture labs? They been all over. First one I was locked in was Pennsylvania. Then South Dakota. But the other ones we hit up was -- Montana, Ohio. New Mexico, Colorado. You been around for Virginia and New York." Micah is briefly distracted by the fiery forms on the counter, watching them spin for a moment. "Right. I can pick it up t'morrow, 'less you already arranged to? I think Sean might be disappointed if y'don't go for the last one. He either /really/ wants you t'look at his collection or he's got a bit of a crush." His expression slides in a more pensive direction. "Don't s'pose there's any reason it couldn't be /both/." A touch of a smirk pulls his lips upward, eyebrows raising as well before he's tempered by more serious topics. "Oh...I dunno. Any of those places sounds more plausible than Vermont. It's so...small. An' full of...organic cows. I mean, the state's got /no/ major military installations in it." He puts the mug away and fetches another from the rack. Jax's cheeks flush red at the mention of crushes. "Oh -- oh gosh. I mean. Not that I'd complain he's a /sweetheart/ an' crazy-talented an' pretty an' -- but why would --" His head shakes quickly. "I can come with tomorrow if y'go in the evenin'." His teeth wiggle at a lip ring for a moment. "Well -- there's like. Nobody /in/ Vermont, though. An' really creepy government labs don't need a /lotta/ space jus' -- a patch'a quiet somewhere. Oh! Maybe they're doin' nefarious cow experiments." For a moment his tone brightens hopefully: "-- Or maple syrup experiments. I ain't never been to Vermont. Maybe we could stop up for a spot'a terrorism /an'/ delicious maple candy." Micah's grin returns at Jax's blush, though a faint pink answers from his own cheeks. "He was just sad y'weren't there when I picked up the others," he replies in an exaggeratedly casual tone that somehow makes the insinuation /worse/. "Now...I'm picturin' a whole mess of folks with special abilities sittin' in a field with a pile of cows, all covered in maple syrup. /Prob'ly/ they got bigger plans than that. Not sure what you'd gain from people'n cows bein' in syrup other'n an impossible-to-clean level of stickiness." A sudden giggle overtakes him. "Weaponised sticky!" This requires wiggly-finger mime for some reason. "Pretty sure there's easier ways t'get you maple candy, though." Jax's blush deepens, head bowing again. "... I'll come with then. I mean. Be nice t'see him again nohow." The flowers blossoming along his arms flutter and dissolve into flames, wreathing his forearms for a bright flickering moment before they fade away to leave just his colourful ink behind. He slips closer to Micah, damp hands moving to rest at the other man's hips as he dips his head to close lips against Micah's neck in a brief light kiss. His tongue flicks gently against skin. "-- /I/ don't know 'bout impossible-to-clean I can /so/ think of ways I'd like t'get maple syrup off a person." Stowing the last mug, Micah returns to lean into Jax's pull, wrapping his arms around him loosely. "Yep. Y'all can talk art things an' I'll just smile an' nod," he suggests, grin not fading. His head tips back at the kiss, a soft purr more felt than heard with the brush of tongue. "Mmn...that also sounds like a sticky proposition, though it'd be entertainin' in the meantime." His arms tighten, drawing Jax a little closer. The images on the counter are dissolving as well, with Jax's shift in attention, melting away into just a formless mess of softly glowing colours. His lips press to Micah's neck again, sucking skin lightly in between them. "Sticky an' entertainin' seem to go hand-in-hand a fair bit." Micah has little attention to spare the illusions anyhow, eyes drifting closed as the purr rumbles a little louder. "I'm sure I couldn't /possibly/ know what you're implyin'," he teases, fingers curling in to run nails lightly along Jax's back. "Just innocently tryin' t'keep a clean kitchen here." "/So/ innocent, right." A shiver runs up Jax's spine with the trace of Micah's nails against his back. He presses kisses higher, dotted against the line of Micah's jaw. "I can help clarify," he offers lightly, hands slipping down from Micah's hips to brush slowly against the front of the other man's jeans. "If you're needin' some help on the matter." His mouth touches to Micah's on the next kiss, brushing a teasingly light kiss there. "Mmn," is all Micah has to say to that for a time, his chin lifting to the kisses like a cat's to scritching. "Seems like this thought's got you brightenin' up a bit. Can't say I'd mind a little...elucidation if that's gonna be the outcome." He smile warms as the colour in his cheeks deepens. "You're always so /very/ helpful." He returns the light-brush of a kiss, following it up with several more, each slightly firmer than the last. "Angel, you /always/ make me -- brighter." Jax returns the kisses, matching Micah for firmness and then deepening them further, a needy hunger creeping into his touch. One hand works slowly at the fastening to Micah's jeans, undoing it as his chest presses up against the older man's. "You know me, sir," he murmurs between kisses. "M'always here t'serve."