ArchivedLogs:Butch

Butch
Dramatis Personae Billy, Trib
In Absentia	2015-02-10 '
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton
For a room in the Sunrise building, this apartment is pretty well-furnished. There isn't much in the way of art - though on one wall, there are the beginnings of what appears to be a collage of articles; most boxing, although there are a few news stories and glossy physique images from muscle magazines. Against one wall is a plush brown couch is wedged between matching end tables, with a matching ottoman seated in front of it, and a blue throw blanket draped over the back. Set diagonally from that, next to a brass floor lamp, is a matching brown recliner - clearly, the three are part of a set. Decidedly /not/ matching that furniture is another couch on an opposing wall with stripes in varying widths in shades of blue, green, teal and brown; this one is a bit cheaper looking, with canvas upholstery and bare wood arms. Under it all, a mottled brown-and-ivory rug covers the hardwood floor. The only other wall with only space has a set of hooks screwed into it, which usually has a blue street bicycle hanging from it, and a skateboard leaning against the wall on the floor beneath it. The whole living room feels a bit cramped, though the relative lack of clutter keeps it from feeling too over-crowded. Through the small, dingy kitchen is the entrance to the bedroom, where a new-looking platform holds an oversized bed; the only piece of furniture in there. The door to the bathroom is closed, but it's likely stocked with bathroom-appropriate accoutrements. It's pretty quiet, for a Tuesday night. At least, around Trib's place. With the cold weather and scuddy snow, there's not a better place to be than on a warm couch watching some action-adventure film on the television. One with lots of guns and explosions. Which is exactly what Trib is doing. The boxer is stretched out on the larger of the two couches in his living room, clad in a pair of loose gray sweat-shorts and nothing else, one arm curled lazily behind his head as he watches the loud and boomy action on the t.v. Nearby, a bowl of popcorn sits waiting to be munched next to a giant glass half-full of some dark-colored soda. He's totally /not/ dozing. You can tell by the way his eyes track the movement on the screen. Nope. Not dozing. "Go get 'im, Tay!" Billy whisper-ruffs. Before the blonde even gets the door halfway open, the tiny bichon frise mix comes confidently bounding into the room and over to Trib. Both dime-sized white paws smack at the couch as the poor excuse for a canine whines to be lifted up. The puppy's owner sheds his coat and boots, "Good boy!" Billy coos, coming around behind the couch and leaning over it to peer down at Trib, "Are you asleep? I was gone five minutes!" He grins. Trib makes a chuffing noise when the door opens and his half-hand is stepped on in the tiny dog's attempts to gain altitude on the couch. "I ain't asleep," he confirms for Billy, rolling his eyes to crinkle them up at the smaller man. With his half-hand, he scoops the puppy up in a smooth motion, and plunks him on his stomach. "C'mere, Butch," he rumbles, ruffling tiny ears with one finger and encouraging a bit of rough-housing. "You shoulda just let him shit on the fire escape," is the boxer's assessement as he swing his legs around to make room for Billy to crawl in and reclaim /his/ warm spot on the massive frame. "He's too small to be fightin' rats in the snow." "He'll fall through the grating!" Billy slides over the back of the couch onto the cushions, leaning an arm over Trib's legs, "And if you keep calling him Butch, he's gonna get like, confused." He tries to contain his smirk, knowing full well how painful the puppy's real name is for him to say. "He can fight rats. He made my neighbor's pit bull cry today." Taylor Swift's mouth opens no wider than a thumb nail, but he tries to chew Trib's fingers off nonetheless, wagging his little white tail and yipping. The rough house, at least, doesn't faze the creature even if it makes Billy nervous. "Well, I ain't never callin' him by his real name," Trib rumbles without heat. "You're lucky I leave that damned bow tie on him when I take him out for walks." He tugs at said bow-tie, earning a squeaky growl for his efforts, and renewed attacking. Which he seems to approve of, judging by the half-smile on his face. Billy's revelation of the puppy's intimidation skills gets a hike of his eyebrows, and earns Taylor a hearty scrubbing of a finger on the top of his head. "That true, Butch? You bullyin' the big dogs?" That rubbing finger gets wagged at the puppy, /just/ avoiding snapping teeth. "You're learnin'. He grapples with the pup for a minute longer, then wrinkles his nose. "I could get some screen, like for screen doors, an' put that out there," he rumbles. "He wouldn't fall through that." Billy arches his brow. Hard. "It still scares me," he nudges at Trib's knee-cap, "What if he jumps up over the railing?" ...which is unlikely. "Or a /hawk/ gets him." ...which is incredibly likely. He leans in, watching the tiny struggle. He still doesn't dare touch the puppy with his bare skin for fear of hurting him, so watching Trib interact with him is about as close as he can get. "What if his abilities manifest at puberty and he has the ability to like-" He shifts his eyes. "I ain't sayin' to just chuck him out there an' leave him," Trib rumbles, frowing slightly. "He's way too small an' young for that. Hell, I wouldn't even do it with a grown version of him." He waggles his fingers at Taylor, getting more squeaky bark and growls as the attacks recommence. "But it beats gettin' all dressed up an' hikin' down a bunch of steps an' freezin' to death so he can squeeze one out." He rolls a shoulder, and bends his knee suddenly in an effort to pull Billy higher. "I could figure out a way to make it safe, if I thought about it hard enough." Billy is easily lifted, widening his eyes innocently, "Well, I don't want you thinking *too* hard." He presses his lips thinly, trying but not entirely succeeding in hiding how all-too happy he is to let Trib do something for him, "But okay." He leans his chin on the knee, wrapping both arms around Trib's leg and squeezing. "I don't mind," Trib says, the tease going right past him -- probably because he's watching Taylor lose the last of his cold-borrowed energy to sprawl sleepily in the shallow valley in the center of his chest. "It'll give me somethin' to think about when I'm joggin' tomorrow." Once he's certain the pup is asleep, Trib reaches down to hook a hand under Billy's arm and haul him up his body. "I promise I ain't gonna let nothin' happen to your dog." "I know you won't," Billy diverts his gaze shyly before looking back to Trib, smiling softly. A doll-like paleness creeps up his neck and over his cheeks in lieu of a blush as the blonde sinks down onto Trib as well, careful not to disturb the sleeping dog. He curls his arms under Trib's, still chilly from being outside. Trib is all heat, so any chilliness will be leeched away quickly. Especially when Trib tightens his arm around Billy, bumping their foreheads together, "You missed the part with the aliens," he rumbles softly. "Want me to run it back? They were pretty gross-looking. It was great." Holding in a laugh, Billy shivers more in an attempt to get him to tighten his grip further. "Nnn, I'll pass," Billy touches the tip of his nose cutely to Trib's. "I may or may not have walked the dog on purpose. Right, then. I mean I'd never do that but-" He widens his eyes again, peering into the warm boxer's innocently. "When we watched that documentary about abductions, I couldn't sleep for like, a week." Trib frowns at Billy, rubbing his nose against the smaller man's distractedly. "Wait. You live in Brooklyn. An' you're worried about fuckin' /aliens/ grabbin' you?" His chest shakes a bit with silent laughter, and he shakes his head, breaking their held gaze to look a bit incredulously at the ceiling. "You're somethin' else, Billy-boy." Billy blink-blinks, aghast, "Why? Is there something else in Brooklyn?" His own, much hallower chest vibrates with a silent laugh of his own. Closing his eyes, he leans in and presses a shy, porcelain-lipped kiss on the corner of Trib's mouth. Trib chuffs. "Nothin' worth mentionin'," he rumbles. He closes his eyes at the small kiss, and there's another rumbly chuff as he opens his eyes to fix his golden gaze on the blonde's. "Next time, you're seein' the aliens," he decides. "You can sleep over, if it scares you too bad." That decided, he turns his attention back to the movie, tightening his arm around Billy and sinking into the warm comfort of the couch.