ArchivedLogs:Unstuck

Unstuck
Dramatis Personae Jax, Micah
In Absentia	26 July 2014 Slowly recovering from the latest raid. (Warning: Cuddly stuff.)
Location <NYC> Candyland - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The stairs lead up into a landing hall, bright as well with a set of bay windows and a wide cushion-strewn ledge beneath them at its far end. To the right of the landing the first doorway opens into the bathroom, warmly coloured in yellows and reds and sandy tiles; its large bathtub-shower also holds a mosaic on one wall, strange fire-creatures and manticores echoed in the small fiery faeries sprinkled at sporadic intervals around the rest of the room. Past the bathroom on the right-hand side is a smaller door into a linen closet before the actual door into Spencer's bedroom. Spencer's sturdy furniture set has been designed with rambunctious children in mind, most of its structure climbable with a loft-bed connected by a short tunnel to an also-lofted reading nook with a sliding door to turn it into its own private cave; the desk and dresser sit beneath the bed and there is a shelving unit beneath the platform that serves also as steps up into it. A slide down off the bed falls down into large squishy beanbag and the whole of the structure has been designed and painted reminiscent of a spaceship, a theme echoed in the way the closet doors have been painted to look like the TARDIS. On the left-hand side the first door leads into the master bedroom, bright-lit not just from its huge windows and skylight but from a rather exorbitant overabundance of lamps. It's colourful in here, the hand-crafted wood furniture (king bed against the left-hand wall, pair of small nightstands to either side of it, a pair of dressers flanking the closet on the right, a large desk with a multitude of drawers and shelves along the back) cheerfully painted, the walls home to plentiful artwork, brightly coloured glass figurines scattered around the shelves and stained-glass suncatchers hanging in the windows. One set of windows leads out onto a balcony, stretching out to share with the guest bedroom adjacent; it's set up for /lounging/, a large hammock at one side, a pair of hanging net chairs flanking the table on the other. Next to the master bedroom is the smaller guest bedroom, sunny-yellow and furnished with queen bed, dresser, a small desk of its own; doors here lead out into the balcony as well. At the end of the hallway shortly before the window nook, a hatch in the ceiling drops down a rope-ladder that leads up into the tiny attic-space; not so much a proper /floor/ as it is a sloped-ceiling nook of space beneath the roof, it nevertheless has its own circular window and skylights and rather than left unfinished it's been furnished with beanbag and folded futon-mattress and a tiny low table with drawers tucked beneath it. The past few days have been quieter around Lighthaus, not many visits by the teenagers and a remarkable lack of energy from Jax -- though perhaps Spencer has been twice as exuberant to make up. Jax, though, has been -- remarkably unhelpful given his usual conscientiousness about household chores. Largely curled up in bed save for when he moves to a beanbag. At the moment, though, he is tucked into bed, still in the jeans and Little Miss Sunshine t-shirt he's been wearing all day. He has his Nook in hand though the vacancy of his stare suggests he's not truly reading. Micah has been rather quiet himself, in this room more often than he is out of it, though venturing away now and then for an hour, maybe two. Spencer still requires attention, meals preparation, dishes washing, laundry folding, all of the things that go on in a house's day to day life. But between each of these things he returns, slipping into the room with a gentle opening and closing of the door just as he does now. He is dressed for the weekend, auburn hair tousled, bluejeans faded with a patch over the left knee, T-shirt navy blue with a small comic about a penguin growing up from an egg and finally figuring out flight via /jetpack/ on it. There is a swath of clean white bandaging over his left wrist and forearm, though this is quickly hidden away under a blue-and-green long-sleeved flannel that Micah collects from the back of a chair and slips on, leaving it open as if he had caught just a bit of a chill. He moves over to the bed, sitting on its edge before swinging his legs up, rolling to his side to tuck in against Jax's back. His head tips down, lips brushing softly against the back of his husband's neck by way of greeting even as an arm wraps around him. Jax doesn't speak, at first, just nestling in instinctively against his husband. His head tips forward, breath sighing out in quiet contentment at the soft kiss. He flips the pink-and-purple cover closed on his anyway-forgotten Nook, abandoning it altogether on the nightstand and instead shifting his hand to brush slowly down Micah's arm and curl fingers through his husband's. The intense heat he's been carrying hasn't faded, still raging fierce within him from a notable lack of properly /expending/ it lately. His eye closes, hand gripping tight at Micah's as though afraid it will vanish if he is not careful. Micah pulls Jax in just a little tighter at the nestling, a small smile silently answering the content-sigh. He barely acknowledges the excess heat, only a longer blink of his eyelids at the tight wrapping of the over-hot hand around his own. His fingers squeeze back, reassuring that they have no plan to let go. Much of the rest of him is rather better protected against what harsher bites that heat can offer, long sleeves added to Micah's clothing roster after that last length of bandage was placed over his arm. Though offered no such protection for itself, his cheek nuzzles against his husband's jaw and neck. “What've y'been readin'?” is nearly whispered once he speaks, the quiet of the room hanging heavy like that in a library. Jax /stays/ quiet, at first, lifting Micah's hand toward his lips to press a soft kiss to the other man's knuckles. He mooshes his face up against Micah's palm, cheek pressing into his husband's hand. "Wodehouse," he finally answers, "first'a the Blandings books. I -- think." “Think? Could always look the title up online. They're usually pretty good 'bout listin' the order of things. He might even have his own site that'd do.” Micah's chin rubs along Jax's shoulder, simply watching as Jax moves his hand about. “Or did y'mean you didn't really read any of it yet?” Jax's blush is visible more in the red tinge to the air around him than in his face, with his back turned to Micah. "Oh -- I just mean I -- wasn't really. I can't hardly even remember what I been --" He lifts one shoulder in a very small shrug. "My brain ain't. So. Great." He nuzzles again into Micah's palm, the red fading as he relaxes into his husband's hold. "Have you been -- are you --" He falters, a little uncertain, and when he speaks again it is with a heavy dose of concern in his tone. Maybe a little guilt, his head bowing further. "I been leaving you with. All the. Everything. I should -- help. More." Micah leans in a bit more to place a kiss to that ruddier cheek. “You've had a lot on your mind. Makes sense it's hard t'keep your novel straight.” His fingers curl in, cupping gently into the nuzzles. “Have I been what?” There is a slight tilt to his head, posture more inquisitive. “Hey, no, no. I've been able t'handle things fine. S'been /less/ hectic than after the average raid. Ain't nobody even needin' first aid. Made more'n enough food for the common kitchens. S'just been the daily kinda stuff. An’ I was off work most of the week besides. If y'feel like y'/wanna/ get out an' do more, that's excellent. But don't force yourself outta worryin' 'bout me.” Micah's other hand finds its way to the back of Jax's neck and the top of his head, petting idly as it goes. “Y'want I should see if your psychologist can make another visit 'fore Friday? Might be...more helpful now you're talkin' again.” Jax’s lips press to Micah’s palm again, a lingering-soft kiss as he listens to his husband speak. “I -- I know you can handle things you jus’. Jus’ shouldn’t /have/ to, I --” His head shakes and he moves Micah’s hand back down, resting over his chest as his fingers curl in tight again. The petting relaxes him further, and he turns his head for a moment to nuzzle back against the /petting/ hand now before just settling in to enjoy it. “I -- feel like.” His brows crease, teeth clicking against a lip ring. Then more quiet. The next shift of his hand brings Micah’s fingers up against his throat. “I like worryin’ about you. An’ I don’t -- I can’t -- y’know I been gettin’ emails from work an’ from so many media folk askin’ for interviews an’ from so many people about Themis an’ I can’t -- can’t. But /here/ -- here I maybe. Can be. Less useless.” “I just wanted t'make sure y'know it's okay. /I'm/ okay. An' I wanna do whatever y'need t'get /you/ back to okay. Right? Love you.” Micah's petting hand has to move aside for a moment, making way for another kiss to the back of Jax's neck. “Y'let me know what y'wanna take on here an' I'll leave it t'you. Meanwhile if y'need help answerin' emails or /anythin'/ that's too much for you, let me know if there's somethin' I can do /for/ you, okay? This is all less...I wasn't there. So I'm better able t'handle it. Just let me know what y'need.” With the placement of his hand over Jax's throat, his fingertips first trace a line alongside his trachea. Then they spread, covering the bared skin there loosely before curling in. “/Is/ some emails y’could probably help with answerin’ s’long as I give you jus’ kinda. General idea of --” Jax’s shoulder lifts in a small shrug again. The purring-soft hum in his throat is very low, more easily /felt/ than heard as Micah’s fingers curl inward. His head tilts slightly back, throat baring a little further to the touch. “Can you let /me/ know?” His voice is a little bit quieter with this request. “I think I -- it helps. If you jus’ /tell/ me what -- where I could help. Here at home. I -- it’s hard to. Remember to. Even get outta /bed/ right now, but I --” His hand is dropping, now, leaving Micah’s against his neck as he just trails fingers slow and light against his husband’s arm. “Like doin’ for you, sir.” “Mmhm. Y'give me a general script an' I can ask if there's any specific questions that ain't in it. Be your press secretary.” Micah's lips curl into a smile at that. “Of course. Just be real up front with me if you aren't ready for somethin' or if y'need a break?” His fingers curl in and settle in more heavily in slowly increasing shades of pressure. “At the risk of repeatin' m'self /too/ many times... Whatever y'need, okay?” “Been havin’ a hard time not jus’ -- I mean I read the emails an’ half of all I can think is how I done killed --” Jax stops, drawing in a slow calmer breath at the increased squeeze of pressure from Micah. “An’ I /know/ that ain’t true, right, I jus’. It’s hard to /think/ clear about any of it it all just.” He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “Ain’t ready for much with -- other people. Or -- the. World. But here, you, the kids, I /want/ to -- to help. ‘sides, all I done with /free/ time is /dwell/, y’know?” He presses a little bit more solidly back against Micah, tipping his head back to rest on the other man’s shoulder. Around him the murky lights that have been intermittently clinging to his skin start to lighten, shifting into a warmer glow. “Kind of need to -- not think, sir. M’whole head’s only been -- stuck in.” He gives his head another small shake, tipping it just a little more to press up into Micah’s grip. “You get me pretty unstuck, though.” “I'll get it. Y'give me that script an' it's as good as done.” Micah presses another kiss to the top of Jax's head. “Of course, honey. I get that. Y'wanna cook somethin' t'night? Spence was mockin' like he was gonna pass out if he had t'eat any more pasta or chili, so I been tryin' t'make sure there's somethin' new at least one meal a day.” With the other man's push up, Micah places another kiss to his jaw, fingers clenching in without digging. Just constricting gently, holding a few moments before slowly opening and releasing. “I’ll cook. We got lentils? Could make up some dal an’ okra…” This trails off as Micah’s fingers constrict, Jax’s breath catching in a small squeezed hitch. The glow around him warms sunnier, a cheerier yellow shade. His fingers spread out, palm flat against his chest; his hand circles there as he tips his head to the side, pressing a kiss to Micah’s neck before he draws in another breath. “We always got lentils. Easy t'keep dried beans about an' we /use/ 'em so often. Don't think I've ever said no t'okra, neither.” Micah's smile broadens at the sunnier glow, his arms moving to wrap Jax /tight/ against him. His fingers trace little curlicue patterns over the skin of his neck for a moment before curling in again, also tight, lingering longer on this pass. “Got a good while 'til dinner, though.” Jax shivers against his husband, eye closing and a tiny whimper humming against Micah’s hand where it presses to his throat. “-- Oh.” It’s small, a bare whisper that shivers out when Micah’s grip releases. His head tips up this time to press his mouth to Micah’s, deep and hungry, even as his hand circles against his heart again a little more /emphatically/ this time.