ArchivedLogs:Dumb-Ass

Dumb-Ass
Dramatis Personae Toru, Trib
In Absentia	2013-10-14 Trib and Toru make a decision. WARNING: Explicit language and not-so-subtle innuendo.
Location <NYC> Toru's Apartment
While it isn't generally all that furnished to begin with, Toru's apartment today feels even emptier than usual. The couch is still there, of course, with stuffed purple panda resting in one corner, but the stacks of Japanese magazines are gone, along with most other clutter. Aside from his bicycle hanging from one wall, and the skateboard on the floor under it, the place is downright /clean/. At some point during the afternoon, Toru will have sent Trib a text message suggesting the boxer end up at the teen's apartment, for once, and with his work done for the day, he's spent his free time laying in a sunbeam on the floor, wearing pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt, using a folded-up hoodie for a pillow, alternating between napping and playing games on his cell phone while waiting for Trib to show up. Trib's arrival is an abrupt sort of thing. Suddenly, there is just KNOCKING happening at Toru's door. Thump. Thump. Thump. In a sort of slow, weary knock. Then the knob is turning, and Trib is THERE. Dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt of his own (or maybe it's Toru's, the way it strains across his chest), the boxer looks worn out, although his smile is wide when he spies Toru stretched out on the floor. The clean apartment gets his attention next, and he frowns as he closes the door behind him. "Where's all your shit? You movin' or somethin'?" Lifting a hand to shield his eyes, Toru grins lazily up at Trib, through squinted eyelids. "Hey." He rolls partially onto one side, but makes no other move to get up - though one hand does stretch towards the boxer's feet, grasping at the air vaguely. "Dunno. Doin' some spring cleanin', anyway. Place was kinda gettin' to be a mess with me not spendin' as much time over here, y'know?" The phone gets unceremoniously chucked off to one side, sliding across the floor until it hits a wall, and he rubs his hair a bit before yawning and flopping onto his back again. "Did you mix my clothes in with your laundry or did they run outta your size in shirts?" "You don't know if you're movin'?" Trib seems amused by this, and he comes into the living room to lower himself to the floor, watching the phone as it slides to its final place. He steals a kiss before he stretches out, resting his head on Toru's stomach, and turning his chin so that he can peer at the teenager. "You /do/ spend a lot of fuckin' time over at my place," he notes. "You got your own clothes pile an' everything." He settles himself, groaning. "That's why your shit gets mixed in with mine." He doesn't sound like he's complaining -- kind of the reverse. The corner of his mouth lifts, and he lifts an arm to pat a hand along the teenager's rib cage. "So, I guess this place is just like high-dollar storage or somethin'." Toru lowers one of his hands to stroke Trib's hair idly, giving his own amused smile to the question of his moving status. "Well, my lease runs out at the end of the month, I ain't decided if I'm gonna renew or what." He tilts his head back, shifting himself a bit, then adds, in a sudden thoughtful tone, "This is just a thought but y'know, I spend enough time at your place..." Looking back down to Trib, he raises his eyebrows a bit, head tilted to one side. "It don't make much sense to spend apartment prices for somethin's pretty much a storage unit, yeah?" Trib closes his eyes under that gentle stroking, weariness slipping from his features for a moment. At the voiced thought, he looks up, eyes finding Toru's and crinkling at the corners. "My apartment /could/ use a fuckin' couch." Grinning widely, Toru grips Trib's hair firmly for just a moment, though not enough to be painful; more of a possessive gesture. "Y'know, the couch is the one thing I wasn't sure how to take care of." He's quiet for a moment, there, shifting around so that he can push himself to sit upright, cradling Trib's head in his lap and stroking hair gently. "Your place does need a couch, though. The lawn chair's okay but it ain't great for longterm sittin'." Trib's lop-sided smile broadens a bit at the tightening of fingers in his hair, and he pokes his tongue into his lower lip as he shifts around to let Toru sit up. "I can move that couch," he says. "An' Cage'll probably /buy/ me a fuckin' truck, if I say I need one." He sounds a bit annoyed about that, but not overly so. "Fuckin' soft-hearted bastard." He looks up at Toru with a wicked sort of gleam in his eyes. "Couch is good for more'n just sittin'," he says, waggling his eyebrows. "We might have to get some of them plastic things my Aunt Sonia puts on all of her furniture." /That/ gets Trib a little swat from the teen, who actually has a slightly disgusted look on his face. "Dude, you ever actually /sit/ on those things? I ain't gettin' naked on no plastic sheet. Bad as goddamn vinyl car seats in summer." He lowers his head then, though, to kiss Trib's forehead, brushing hair back and just lingering there for a moment. "Do you gotta driver's license? I been thinkin' of gettin' one one of these days but I ain't really gotten around to it yet. Nothin' else we can /rent/ a truck and you or Cage or whoever could drive it." "I remember," Trib rumbles, not bothering to duck the swat. Instead, he reaches up to grab Toru when he kisses his forehead, moving him for a more proper sort of kissing. He watches the younger man's face for a long moment, and jerks his chin to his chest. "I got a license," he confirms. "It's a Jersey license, but it's still valid. We could probably rent a truck." He chuckles, and shifts his weight, rolling his shoulder blades against the floor. "Hell, if we told Cage we needed help, he'd be here in twenty minutes, probably. With everything we could probably fuckin' need to pack you up." He frowns. "We'd probably have to feed him, though. That's what you're supposed to fuckin' do when friends help you move, right?" He seems genuinely confused as to this little bit of etiquette. "Buy 'em pizza an' beer?" "Yeah, somethin' like that. Ain't no big deal." Rubbing the back of his neck, Toru smiles sheepishly, pushing himself back upright again. "I, uh, mighta kinda already moved a lot of my stuff to one of those tiny little storage things. We'd pretty much just need him for the couch, so it wouldn't even be a big thing. I do like that couch," he adds, a bit wistfully. "Here, stay there." Carefully, he pulls himself out from under Trib, moving to straddle the boxer's chest, legs folded on the floor along either side. "Can you breathe like that or you need me to move down?" "Livin' out of a storage locker sounds like a fuckin' terrorist," Trib declares with a frown, furrowing his brow at Toru. "Like one of them off-the-grid Unabomber types. We got to get your shit moved A.S. as fuckin' P." He lifts his head to allow Toru to slide out, and when the teenager straddles his chest, he smiles, clamping his hands on narrow thighs. "You ain't fuckin' botherin' me," he rumbles, chuffing a laugh. "I mean, you remember where you was sittin' last night, yeah? An' that was /way/ fuckin' more likely to interfere with my breathin'." Face turning bright red there, Toru grips Trib's shoulders tightly, avoiding eye contact for a moment as he mumbles, "Well I wasn't crushin' yer /ribs/." Nonetheless, that awkward grin of his is quick enough to return, and he lifts one of those hands to wipe at his nose idly. "It's only some-a my stuff, jeez, don't get all fraeked out. I gotta month to move shit over." He pointedly sails past the other part of that objection. Moving on... "Anyway, I, uh, I kinda had a stupid question I wanted to ask ya. This ain't me like thinkin' there's anything wrong with us, I know we're good." His hand drops down to hold Trib's arm again, a little more gently this time. "But like. I just been kinda thinkin' lately, uh..." He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, and lets out a little sigh. "There ain't no way for this to not sound fucking stupid but sometimes I'm kinda not sure I'm gay enough, I been readin' like internet forums and shit and guys sayin' as how dudes who ain't always been into dudes ain't the kinda dudes you oughtta date and-- I know you ain't gonna leave me or nothin' but sometimes I kinda wonder if there's stuff I oughtta be doin' that I ain't." Trib's grin for Toru's blush is wicked and unapologetic, and his fingers tighten on the younger man's thighs. "Well, it ain't goin' to take a month," he decrees at the dismissal. "You ain't goin' to be here another two weeks. If we're goin' to do it, we just ought to fuckin' /do/ it." He shifts his shoulders, watching Toru as he works through his speech. His fingers loosen their grip to slide up and down along the teenager's pajama pants. "What do you mean, 'ain't gay enough'?" he asks, wrinkling his nose. "I ain't sure what that's supposed to mean. What kinds of things ain't you doin'?" "I dunno what I ain't doin', I don't mean like fuggin'. I don't mean like stereotype shit," Toru hastens to clarify. "I mean like... I guess 'cause I ain't into other guys. I mean that obviously ain't a bad thing I just..." There's another sigh, there, and hands come up to comb through Trib's hair, cupping the back of his head as they make their way through. "I guess some of it is I wanna make sure like y'don't think I'm gonna go ditching you for a girl." He frowns, wrinkling his own nose as well, and shakes his head quietly. "And maybe now that I'm sayin' this shit out loud maybe I shouldn't pay attention to nerds on internet forums." Trib's mouth quirks as Toru talks himself down, and he lifts a shoulder. Or slides in an upward-like manner, if he were upright. "I figure listenin' to nerds on the internet don't do no one no good," he confirms, shifting his hands to pull Toru close to his body and looking directly into his eyes for a long, studious moment. "If I thought you was goin' to leave me for some hoochie, we wouldn't be talkin' about movin' in together," he points out, his voice firm. "You wouldn't wear my collar, an' I sure as fuck wouldn't have said what I said to you. I don't fuck around with hopeless shit." He rolls his body, pushing Toru higher on his torso to crinkle his eyes at the younger man. "You can freak out one more time before you move in," he cautions. "After that, you're just goin' to have to accept that I'm in this until you tell me to fuck off." Toru actually slides further /down/ Trib's torso once the boxer gives that warning, moving until he's lying atop the larger man and resting his head on one big shoulder. "Yeah, well, you gotta accept that I got neuroses all over the place about that kinda thing." One hand slides along Trib's chest, seeking out a hand to hold and entwine fingers with, but otherwise he just lays there comfortably, eyes closed. "Like I said I know ya don't got any plans to drop me, but -- the gay thing is still pretty new for me and I'd feel like an idiot if I came at you with every single little question when the internet's right there, and-- I just wanna make sure you're happy and I ain't an idiot. That's it." "Oh, I know you're all wound up about this," Trib says, rumbling a laugh as he entwines his fingers with Toru's. "But you're doin' that overthinkin' thing again." Thick fingers curl around Toru's, pulling that hand against his chest, and against the hard lump there that is vaguely ring-shaped. His gaze is warm honey as he looks down at the younger man. "I'm happy." Toru does manage a little smile at that assurance, settling in a little more comfortably and nodding against Trib's chest. "I think I just kinda... got a little paranoid on accounta what whatsisMel said at the barbecue, 'bout me not bein' your type." His grip tightens there, for just a brief moment, before loosening again with a quiet sigh. "I know, I know, 's stupid to get wound up about that kinda thing. And I know you wouldn'ta said... whatcha said. But y'know, issues." The mention of Mel as the source of all this evokes a frustrated noise from Trib, and he reaches up with his free hand to rub at his face. "Sharpe's an ass," he mutters darkly. "He was just sayin' that shit to get under /my/ skin, not yours. He likes to give me shit on account we went on one date, an' then I kicked his ass in the ring. After that, I wouldn't go out with him no more, 'cause he /ain't/ my type. Smug, mouthy bastard." He lifts a shoulder. "He's a good guy, for the most part. Just got too much mouth for his pea-brain." He sits up, then, hauling Toru up along with him and manuevering him into his lap and lowering his jaw to press kisses against Toru's neck. "On you, that kind of shit is okay. On /him/, it's just bein' a big douchebag." With a little smirk at that reassurance, Toru leans in and mumbles, "I was gonna /say/." But for a moment, there, he's suddenly less concerned with words, tilting his chin up to make his neck more accessible while hands are lowered to stroke along the boxer's chest. Long legs wrap loosely around that broad waist, fingertips skirting along the bottom edge of Trib's shirt, but then he abruptly stops, frowning slightly. "Hold up a sec, did you just call me a pea-brain?" There's more amusement to his tone than irritation, though it does definitely hint at the latter. Trib smirks against the skin of Toru's neck, exhaling through his nose in laugh-like staccato. "Since when is /that/ a fuckin' surprise?" Apparently that was the wrong answer, since Toru is now untangling himself and pushing away from Trib, awkwardly landing on the floor with a quiet thud. "Sayin' I'm a dumbass as a joke is one thing but pea-brain kinda makes it sound like you /mean/ it." If Trib moves to approach him he'll push himself further away, but otherwise he just sits there shakily, fussing with his hair in that nervous gesture of his. "Do you actually think I'm stupid?" Trib seems a little confused by the sudden pushing back, and thunder gathers in his features as he stares at Toru. His brow furrows, and he grinds his palms on the knees of his jeans. "I don't think you're fuckin' stupid," he growls. "If anything, you're too fuckin' smart for your own good. You show /that/ with all this overthinkin' bullshit." He pushes to his knees, then stands up, making a show of dusting his legs off viciously. "Mother /fucker/. Do I think you're stupid. What a fuckin' /question/." He folds his arms across his chest, his jaw grinding audibly. "We've been together a while, now," he notes with a grunt. "I'd think you'd know by know how fuckin' /little/ patience I have with fuckin' stupid people. You honestly think I'd still be around, if I thought /you/ was?" He makes another frustrated noise, flapping his half-hand helplessly. "Fuckin' /Christ/, Toru." Looking away from Trib, Toru just sort of covers his head with one arm, closing his eyes and just forcing himself to breathe calmly. "Look, I just--" Deep breath, and he turns to face the boxer once more. "--like I said I mean. We joke about it sometimes and-- when I told /you/ that-- the thing, you said you were into dumb and-- okay /now/ I know it was just a joke, but--" He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply through his mouth. "Look, 'dumbass' is a term of fuckin' endearment, 'pea-brain' is a goddamn /insult/ so I took it as a goddamn /insult/." With one last sigh, he flops onto his back, arms outspread, and just lays there silently for a moment, eyes closed. "I know you ain't got patience for stupid people but most stupid people ain't suckin' your dick so for all I knew for a minute there there was some kinda trade-off." Trib goes stone-still, at Toru's explanation, and his ears go brick-red. Then his hands drop, fingers flexing before he folds them across his chest again, JAMMING them into his armpits as he draws up. It looks like for a minute like he might lay into Toru with a lot of very loud yelling. Instead, what comes out is soft and dangrous-sounding. "What kind of guy do you think I am?" Toru cracks an eye open, hazarding a very, very small hint of a smile. "I /don't/ think you're that kinda guy." He folds one hand up under his head, closing that eye again, and shaking his head slowly. "That was just-- for that second that I thought you thought I was stupid--" and here his free hand is lifted up, pointing to one side, eyes cracking open again. "--it was the only thing I could think of for why you'd have me around. It was just-- panicky bullshit thinkin'. I /know/ you ain't that kinda guy 'cause if you /were/ I'm smart enough I wouldn't stick around, /yeah/?" The smile warms, eyebrows raising hopefully. The Trib statue stands silent for a long moment, his expression a tiny bit doubtful as he regards the teenager. "I let you see my dad's house," he says, finally, his eyebrows knitting briefly. "If I thought you was just some stupid fuck, I wouldn't have done that." He does move, then, to squat next to Toru. "So listen up," he says, poking a finger into the younger man's side. "'Cause I am fuckin' /done/ sayin' this. I, Retribution Jones, am in this thing with you, Toru However-the-hell-you-say-your-last-name, until /you/ tell /me/ to fuck off. Not because you're stupid, an' not because I get some kind of fuckin' thrill havin' a straight guy for a boyfriend." He lifts his eyebrows. "I like /you/, an' even though you /are/ dumb as a fuckin' post about some shit. You're wicked fuckin' smart about other stuff, funny as shit, an' just about the best fuckin' pup I've run against." Another poke. "So get over yourself, dumb-ass. You're fuckin' stuck with /logic/ an' /emotion/ as my motives." After that last poke, Toru snakes a hand over to grab Trib's wrist, gripping it almost alarmingly tightly, and pulling it over his torso to the side opposite where Trib is kneeling. "I just kinda gotta raw nerve when it comes to people thinkin' I'm dumb. I mean, it's one thing if it's like-- I dunno, like if Mel thought it then whatever, but you thinkin' it just kinda-- made me get stupid for a minute." He shakes his head, pulling his hand out from under his head and just letting it rest next to it, lazily. "So we're fuckin' good. Now get up here so I can suck your dick." Eyebrows raising, he lifts his hands, spreading his fingers. "No gloves." Trib is easily caught, and he jerks his chin once at the explanation. "Well, you'll know if I think you're stupid," he promises. "It'll be real fuckin' obvious." He seems amused as his hand is tugged, and he narrows his eyes. "So that's your plan. Get me all riled up, an' then hit me where I can't fuckin' resist." He uses his other hand to deliver another poke. "Joke's on you. All our fun stuff is at home." Toru raises his eyebrows with mild surprise, before cocking one up above the other. "Seriously, you come into my house and you don't bring rubbers? I mean I don't care about that other shit, I don't need goddamn /props/. Tch." He releases his grip on that hand, bringing it up under his head to cushion it, and lets out a little sigh. "I wasn't /plannin'/ on that little disagreement, I was pretty much gonna skip to this part." A smirk there. "I dunno what you wanna do, then, I might have like a fuggin' Parcheesi board somewhere around here." Trib smirks. "Ain't you supposed to /have/ rubbers around, bein' a big player?" he teases, sliding his hands along Toru's ribcage. "An' I ain't heard you complain about any toys, so you can stow /that/ shit." He grins, and leans down, placing his lips /almost/ against Toru's. "/We/ are goin' for a run," he decrees, breath warm against skin as he speaks. "I'm pretty sure I left a pair of shorts here. An' then we're stoppin' by the Rite-Aid, and then..." He smiles widely. "Well, you know what happens after a good run." "Ugh. For you, maybe. Runnin' just wears me out." Toru closes his eyes, tilting his head up just enough to brush his lips against Trib's a bit more firmly, but doesn't go in for the kiss just yet. "So you might gotta backpack me on the way back. Not that you've ever had a problem with /that/ before." Cracking those eyelids open, he lets out a little, almost frustrated sound. "But like I told ya before I'm really more like a cat than a dog a lotta the time. I'd say you picked the wrong nickname, but I'm kinda attached to it now." "Ugh," Trib grunts, mimicking Toru's groan. "You're such a fuckin' /wimp/." He grins, though, and slides his hands up under Toru's back, lifting him from the floor easily. "You can ride the whole fuckin' way, if it'll make you happy," he says. "But you ain't doin' it in pajamas." He tosses Toru over his shoulder lightly, and heads for the closest pile of laundry. "C'mon. Quicker we go runnin', the quicker we get to the shower after." "I wasn't gonna go out in goddamn pajamas, I'm not an /animal/!" Which, given what he was just saying, well. "I'll run part of it, at least, but I don't see why you're complainin', it just means you get a better workout." Toru is already yawning, though, and mussing up his hair as he's draped over Trib's shoulder. "When I was goin' through my stuff I folded your shit and put it over there." He looks over his shoulder, awkwardly pointing with one foot in a vague direction, though even with the vague pointing it's obvious where he means. "Anyway, you're the one who needs to keep in shape, 'long as I can ride a bike I'm fine." Trib veers in the direction of the pointed foot, stopping in front of the pile of folded things and bending down to retrieve his shorts and a shirt that is clearly a surprise to him, given his pleased little noise. The clothes get tossed on top of Toru, and then the boxer is moving to find a pair of shorts for the teenager. "Stayin' in shape won't kill you," he rumbles amusedly. "Although, I ain't complainin' about what ridin' a bike does for ya. But there's more to you than your fuckin' legs. 'Specially the way /you/ zoom the fuck around. How the fuck do you even move that fast without pedalin' any more'n you do?" Once clothes are found, Toru drapes a bit limply, though he does put forth an effort into balancing in such a way that the clothes don't slide off his back. "When you been lazy as long as I have, it gets to be kinda an art," is his sole reply, and while Trib can't see the smirk, he can certainly hear it. "You're pretty much just enablin' me with the carryin' me around like some kinda prop thing, y'know." Hands slide down, though, to rub the boxer's back firmly, kneading with his knuckles. "Not that I'm complainin'." "Yeah, well you must be fuckin' Picasso or some shit," Trib says, reaching up to swat lightly at Toru's rump. "I'm just contributin' to your process," he says about being an enabler. "But I do like the weight of you." He straightens as knuckles work into his back, and hums a deep note of pleasure. Trib lets the massage go for a couple of minutes, shifting now and then to direct Toru to spots that need tending. Then, suddenly, he's swinging Toru down to place him on his feet. "C'mon. One quick one around the block, an' then you can have treats." He waggles his eyebrows. "I got a nice bone you can work on."