ArchivedLogs:Talking Too Much

Talking Too Much
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jackson, Dusk
In Absentia	12 March 2014 WARNING: Adult content at what is likely a NSFW level. (Immediately follows dogpark encounters.)
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Lobby - East Village
Bright and sunny, the lobby of this apartment building is clean and unassuming. Requiring an electronic keycard for entry, the pair of elevators dings cheerfully when one arrives. A small sitting area has bright yellow couches and small coffee tables, though the nearby vending machine is perpetually running out of /something/. Tall windows let in plenty of light during the daytime, and the building maintenance keeps the common areas spotlessly clean. A bank of mailboxes near the sitting area collects mail for the building, a recycling bin right at hand for the unwanted spam. Beside the mailboxes, a large corkboard serves as informal meeting space for the announcements, perpetually flyered with notes and notices from the various apartment residents. It has been a pleasant-balmy day, reminding the residents of New York that spring is here, after all! And then reminding them that it is still /March/ after all, as the sun begins to set and the temperatures plummet right along with it. Storm clouds are just beginning to roll in, darkening the sky even faster, with a brisk wind picking up. Not that Micah is paying much attention to /any/ of those things. The redhead is dressed still in work clothes, his newsboy cap and olive canvas jacket worn over the typical TARDIS-blue polo shirt and khakis (today sporting a splash of plaster casting material across the front of his right thigh). He isn't travelling alone, rather a /chain/ of others coming along behind him. His fingers are curled in under Jax's collar, leading him by it thusly for lack of a leash. Though there is no lack of a leash for Obie, who is trailing along...somewhat less obediently at the end of the lead in /Jax's/ hand. He brings the other man up against the wall of the building, pressing him there quite-firmly with his own body while he fishes for his swipe card to get the door open. Jackson seems perfectly happy to be pressed, his own body pushing back against Micah's with a quietly /fierce/ hunger, the permanent warmth he carries with him all the more present at the moment. One hand rather occupied with a sketchpad and Obie's leash, his other curls around Micah's waist to grip the other man close; his lips press to Micah's neck, trailing heated kisses up its side. He's dressed for /warmer/ weather than the cold that's now rolling in, only a sweatshirt (red-and-black with silver flower-butterfly patterning down its sleeves) over his 'All my heroes have FBI files' t-shirt. Black jeans embroidered up their seams with intricate red flame detailing, though with his current /distraction/ his tall knee-high boots have faded from silver back to their standard black. The door is pulled /open/ from the inside, before Micah has a chance to finish fumbling for it. Inside, Dusk has perhaps not been home long; there's still a bit of crisp higher-altitude cold clinging to his jeans, black hoodie (worn open over a green t-shirt), Vans sneakers. He's stopped long enough to grab a handful of mail from the boxes, detouring back to the door only when noticing the new arrivals outside it. His lips curl up into a definitively /amused/ grin as he holds the doors open for the other two. "-- You look like you're pretty eager to get back upstairs." A soft-pleased rumbling comes from Micah's throat at the kisses. His hand abandons its search for the swipe card to bring fingers around Jax's jaw, turning his face back up to line his mouth up with his own. He presses another kiss to his husband's lips, deeper and fiercer than before. It is perhaps a fortunate thing that Dusk opens the door, as progress on /his/ accomplishing this has effectively halted. At first, his cheeks darken in a ruddy blush at the sound of the door, his shoulders tensing. Then his posture relaxes again at the sound of Dusk's voice. "This one wanted a remedy t'talkin' too much. Thought I might give 'em one," he informs, stepping back away from Jax and tugging sharply at his collar as he moves through the doorway. His free hand pets along the arm Dusk is using to hold the door open as he passes. Jackson returns the kiss just as fierce, a small moan catching in the space between their lips. His cheeks darken, too, fiercely crimson as the door is opened; the blush doesn't fade even after Dusk speaks, though he, too, relaxes. He stumble-hurries along inside at the sharper tug to his collar, letting Obie scamper in ahead of them as he wraps his arm around Micah's waist again. He leans in close to his husband, nuzzling against the older man's neck. "-- M'bad at shuttin' up. He's /helpin'/." His mouth presses to Micah's neck again, then jaw, then once more, hungry-intense, to the other man's lips. Dusk curls a wing outward, brushing gently back against Micah's arm. The same wing pushes the door closed again after the others have passed through it; he leans against the prop of one long bone, watching the other two with the same amusement lingering in his expression. "What are we, /one/ week into Lent?" A teasing note of exasperation creeps into his amusement: "Can't you hold off till after midnight? /My/ money's on you caving in the /second/ week." Micah grabs a firmer hold of Jax with the arm /not/ busy holding his collar. He presses into the kiss, deeper-heated, still propelling Jax /backward/ now to the wall by the elevator. His grip loosens then only to hit the call button. Another rumble comes from his throat, though this one is clearly a sound of frustration. He breaks the kiss, pulling away at Dusk's comment. "Ugh, I had completely /forgotten/ the Lent thing." His shoulders sag slightly, fingers releasing their grip on Jax's collar. "... ohgosh." Jackson's red is not fading any time soon. He lets out a strangled whimper, head tipping down to rest against Micah's collarbone. "Oh/gosh/." He buries his face against Micah's neck, and then wriggles away unhappily, straightening out his clothes with a guilty dip of head. "-- Since when did /you/ become my shoulder-angel?" he grumbles at Dusk, scrubbing hand against cheek as he casts a -- still very /hungry/ -- look to Micah and then looks away. Slips a hand into his pocket and fiddles with his keys, for lack of /husband/ to be feeling up anymore. "I can't believe y'all are seriously /bettin'/ on -- mmngh." He looks back to Micah but this time looks away even more quickly, the desire in his expression almost tangible. He peels away from the elevator (and, conveniently, farther away from Micah), tromping a little more /heavily/ off to the mailboxes to open theirs up. "I have /so/ made no claims to angel-hood. I just want you to wait a couple hours. I'd offer to join you," Dusk adds with a wicked grin, "except Hive and Flicker say the bet's invalidated if /I/ sleep with you so I wouldn't get to collect -- though there has been some uncertainty about exactly what counts as sex." He pushes away from the front door, sauntering back towards the elevator and reaching a long wing out to scritch with one lower talon at Obie's head. "Though /you're/ still totally not off-limits." His other wing slips around Micah's shoulders in a quick jostling squeeze. With Jax moved away, Micah leans rather /heavily/ against the cool wall in front of him. "Mmn. Good point. Exactly how much of what-all are y'swearin' off of here? Sex got a pretty wide an' variable definition dependin' on who y'ask." The wing brushing and then squeezing around him causes him to tremble palpably. "Oh.../gosh/, you are /kinda/ cruel, man. I can't...just...I mean..." Micah's head shakes hard enough to knock his hat slightly askew as he glances sidelong at Jax. "I -- ain't swearin' off /kissing/ but it's -- kinda cruel to work you up when I ain't gonna follow through," Jackson says with a blush, grimacing deeply as he pages through some of the mail and drops half of it straight into the recycling. He eyes a few hand-addressed envelopes with trepidation -- hate mail and fan mail, generally hard to distinguish from their outer coverings. There's a small puzzled look on his face, though, as he heads back nearer Micah, one un-addressed un-stamped envelope on the top of his stack. Just, 'M & J Holland-Zedner' written elegant-neat on the front. "... probably jus' simplest to boil it down to, um, swearin' off orgasms." His cheeks are still furious-red as he says this, though his tone is straightforward enough. Straightforward, too, as he looks back up to the others. "Oh -- no, you totally can. An' /should/. Ain't Lent for /you/, sir." "-- Even on your /own/? That's kind of. Shitty. You seriously can't even --" Dusk looks /mildly/ horrified here as the elevator door opens. "/All/ orgasms or only your own? Because I mean, if getting him to stay /quiet/ was the goal," he says seriously to Micah, "/he/ doesn't even need to disrobe for that. -- Interesting crazy-hate-mail today?" Where Jax eyes envelopes with trepidation, Dusk eyes them with bright interest. He steps back into the elevator, folding one wing tight against his back in the closer confines -- his other tugs Micah along with him. "I'm not cruel. I'm helpful." "Oh, if /that's/ all. There's...so many things that don't /need/ t'end in...that." The red darkens and creeps further across Micah's features. "An' it ain't...nobody should /ever/ think just 'cause y'consent t'one thing that you're expected t'consent t'another. Y'ain't doin' nothin' cruel, honey. I just thought it'd be cruel of /me/ t'get /you/ worked up an' then...run off with somebody else an' leave you readin' the mail. The...uh...what's that, anyhow?" He's pliant enough to Dusk's tugging, gesturing for Jax to follow and finding the presence of mind to hit the door hold button until husband and dog are aboard. "Even on my own. I didn't -- I mean, /other/ people ain't -- I s'pose I could still --" Jackson's brow creases in distraction as he steps into the elevator, tugging Obie in after him. He opens up the envelope with the same trepidation, eye widening in pleased surprised when he peeks inside it. Though now the red in his cheeks has spread out to tint the air around them. He tips a pair of theatre tickets out into his palm, offering them out to Micah -- two tickets to /Pippin/ for the upcoming Friday night show. "... this ain't like a /dream/ manifesty thing is it? There ain't no note or address or nothin'." His gaze skims back over the others, and he leans back against the wall, hitting the button for the third floor. "Oh, honey-honey, I didn't /never/ think you'd be /pressurin'/ me into nothin' or anything I just -- thought it'd be kinda. Mean to." His nose crinkles up, eye dropping to the floor and then lifting to the others again. "... 'f you come to our place," he says hopefully to Dusk, "'least I could watch." "See? Then you're not even running /off/." Dusk leans back against the back wall with a chuckle, wing rubbing slowly against Micah's arm. He pulls the other man in closer, dipping his head to touch first a light kiss and then a small nip to the older man's neck. "Shiiiit man, if your dreams are manifesting /tickets/ to shit now I should ask her to hook me up when Rob Thomas is in town. -- My dreams have just." His wing tightens again around Micah, though this time it's less desire and more just uncomfortable-unhappy /cling/. "-- just. Fucking. Strange." "Oh." Micah's blush creeps into his neck and ears when he sees the envelope. "No, I don't think that's a manifestation. I think that's...a gift from Lucien. Though I don't know if that's a...he's got a third ticket and means t'take us out or if these are just a gift. Somehow the latter seems a little more...madly extravagant, even though it's the same tickets." That blush is running out of places to go by this point. "I'll call 'im. T'thank 'im an' see if he's comin' with. 'Cause he should." His gaze slides over Jax again, the content of his thoughts certainly helped along by Dusk's kisses and that nip. He draws a quick gasp-breath, arms wrapping tight around Dusk. A few moments pass before he speaks again. "There was some thoughts I had that we might still be able t'employ...regardin' you bein' quiet. An' maybe also /still/. That could still happen with you just /watchin'/ the rest." He pets at Dusk's hair, making calming noises at that cling. "Ohhoney. We can talk 'bout the bad dreams later if y'want. I got you now, though. Y'ain't gotta think about 'em for awhile." Tilting his head to better fit against the other man, Micah places a series of kisses along the line of his jaw. "Oh -- /Lucien/." Jackson ducks his head sheepishly as the elevator climbs to their floor. "I shoulda -- guessed that -- /right/. Well, he's /sorta/ like a dream." His gaze is drinking the other two in hungrily, until the elevator doors open again. "... yessir." He sounds a little bit breathless, now, keys rattling in his hand as he steps back out. "-- Not thinkin' for a while sounds kinda good."