ArchivedLogs:Okaeri Nasai
| Okaeri Nasai | |
|---|---|
contains smooches!!! | |
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2013-10-15 Toru comes home officially for the first time. Takes place a few hours after Moving Moments |
| Location
<NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments | |
The text Toru got at work was simple. Straight and to the point.
"If I'd told you, we'd still be arguin' about it!" Trib barks back before the door opens to reveal him standing /helplessly/ among the new decor. Shirtless and in a pair of loose grey sweat shorts, the boxer looks /flummoxed/ by the new couch and recliner that occupy the tiny living room along with Toru's couch, the cowboy armchair, and a new ottoman and floor lamp. None of which look like they've landed in their final places. Trib regards Toru's couch, shoved halfway against the wall under the growing collage; a process which has bunched up the new rug(!). Toru's question gets a deep scowl from the big man. "/I/ didn't do fuckin' /nothin'/," he says, rubbing at his face and moving to shift the couch a few more inches. "'sfuckin' Cage. Motherfucker surprised me with this shit when he came to help." He frowns at the final placement of the couch, and exhales heavily through his nose. "Fuckin' soft-hearted bastard." "Jesus, we wouldn't still be /arguin'/ about it, I'd just have had some goddamn /warning/. I mean, okay, we probably would, but fuggin'--" Toru runs a hand over his hair, letting out a sigh. Once he gets the bike into the apartment, he leans around the corner of the doorway, picking up a plastic bag, and pulling that in with him, before shutting and locking the door. "Did anyone see you bring it in? In this fuckin' building, people see you bringin' in all this fancy shit we're gonna be on the top of the goddamn list of places to rob. Jesus." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he pulls his messenger bag around his front - incidentally, he's otherwise dressed in jeans, a brown t-shirt, and a blue hoodie pulled over his gloves - but drops it to the floor rather than digging through it. Shoes get slipped off, and he lazily flops onto the brown couch, settling in with a little contented sound, despite his protests. "'s still not too late to kick me out and have Cage take my place, I'm startin' to think he's gotta crush on you." Trib snorts a laugh at the question, and shakes his head. "The place was quiet, when we brought it in," he assures Toru, watching as the plastic bag is revealed. His eyes light up, but he remains otherwise expressionless as he watches Toru settle himself. "An' anyone who'd fuckin' rob /this/ place is dumber'n shit." He snaps his jaws together, and curls his lips into a wicked sort of smile. Then he's moving to the couch, climbing on it to settle his weight over Toru's and running his hands up the teenager's sides. "I think Cage feels fuckin' responsible for me," he admits, chuffing a noise that might be a laugh. A bitter one. "On account he sprung me from the cages. Like some fuckin' rescue dog or somethin'." Letting the plastic bag fall to the floor, Toru rolls into his back to look up at Trib, grinning just slightly. "That's kinda adorable, Fish. Anyway, the place could get robbed while you're out, you don't know that." He shakes his head, pushing himself down towards the boxer, though he stops before he's too far down, letting out a little grunt. "Oh right, you said you were hungry. I brought cold teriyaki." The bag is gestured to, and Toru starts to pull his hoodie off with some difficulty, having to squirm around a bit to do so without actually pushing himself up. Eventually he does succeed, and tosses the garment off to one side. "And don't complain, that shit is /great/ cold, I don't even eat it hot half the time anymore once I figured that out." Trib lifts a shoulder. "If we get robbed, Cage will just buy us new shit," he says with a hard, wry twist to his mouth. "An' act all innocent about it." The hard line of his mouth relaxes as Toru shifts around, and the stroke of his hand along the smaller man's back is rough, but warm. "Maybe we can get him to buy us a fuckin' security system. He'd probably do it." He watches the removal of the hoodie as he nods. "I like teriyaki," he says. "Cold or hot. At least tell me it's chicken, though. I can't do that tofu shit." He shudders theatrically (for Trib, which means he shimmies for a millisecond), and holds his fingers up in a cross. "It ain't got no /texture/." "Yeah, it's chicken. Unless there's some kinda chef mistake, you ain't ever gonna see me eatin' tofu," Toru replies, all reassuringly. "And so far as I can tell we ain't even had this couch for a day and I get the feelin' you're already tryin' to make a mess on it." There's a sly little grin there as the teen nonetheless relaxes in Trib's grip, letting out a content little sigh as the smile warms into something more genuine. "-- Probably shouldn't eat on the new couch. I mean. And if we're gonna be gettin' all affectionate, I'm takin' my pants off. Ain't nothin' worse than tryin' to get comfy in jeans." He lifts his hands in a little 'shoo' gesture, then drops them to unfasten and unzip his pants, though he makes no move to remove them just yet. "Y'know, with all this stuff in here it's actually warmer'n it was before." Trib grins a bit at Toru's accusation, and shrugs unashamedly. "Hey, until we make the first mess on it, we're just goin' to fuckin' /worry/ about makin' a mess on it." He rubs hands down to the hem of the younger man's shirt, sliding them up under the fabric to skate along his ribs. "An' we got to /christen/ the shit, don't we?" He trails fingers down to those open pants, dipping them to brush along the top of the teenager's boxers before they skim back up. His eyes crinkle when Toru notes the change in atmosphere, and he jerks his chin to his chest in a sharp, brief gesture. "It does seem warmer," he agrees. "Hell, it's practically fuckin' /homey/ in here, now. Fuckers will think I've gone soft as fuckin'...I don't know. Fuckin' Mister Parley or someone." Grinning widely, Toru nonetheless gives a light shake of his head and mumbles, "We ain't fuckin' on the new shit when we got a perfectly good bed and a perfectly good /other/ couch." He tilts his head up to steal a quick kiss, shooing Trib away once more then pulling his legs out from under the larger man, facilitating removal of jeans - but leaving the boxers on. Jeans get dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and he stretches his legs out with a grunt, sliding them back under Trib once he's gotten himself re-settled. "And I think yer thinkin' of Mr. Rogers." As he leans back, arms get folded up under his head, and he wriggles a little to get comfortable, closing his eyes with a content little sigh. "It is cozy." "I figure we'll fuck where we fuck, an' you'll like it," Trib says, rolling back to allow Toru to slide out and remove his jeans. Which makes running his hand along half-clad thighs so much easier. The correction gets a furrow of his brow. "Nah," he says, realization dawning on his face. "I mean Mister Parley. He works for Cage, as fuckin' PR. Works out with me, every now an' then." He smirks. "Guy's soft as fuckin' butter, generally speakin'. But he's gettin' better." Which is almost a glowing recommendation, from Trib. "I'll introduce you, sometime." He falls silent, letting his frame go loose and sort of /ooze/ around Toru, fingers digging into that bony hip lightly. He seems /content/, until he opens his eyes with a sudden scowl. "Shit. That fuckin' reminds me. Cage wanted me to ask you somethin'." Eyes closing, Toru tilts his head back and mumbles, "I'm not in the mood to argue over this, I just really don't like the thought-a gettin'-- /stuff/ all over somethin' Cage got us. Plus I'd prob'ly be thinkin' of him the whole time and /that/ ain't a thought I need." One of his hands sneaks out from under his head, sliding up to cup around the back of Trib's, wriggling a little but otherwise apparently completely comfortable with being squished between boxer and couch. "...Must be a pretty fuggin' personal question if it's somethin' /you/ couldn't answer for me. What's the boss wanna know?" Trib snorts. "You wouldn't think about him for very fuckin' long," he decrees, narrowing his eyes. "Otherwise, I'd be doing somethin' wrong." He shifts again, working his bulk gently over Toru's -- more or less. He slides into the pocket between the teen and the back of the couch, and brings one big leg up over Toru's waist. Which is a much more comfortable position for them both. At least for Trib, who exhales contentedly, the sound morphing into another snort at the question. "If /I'd/ been talkin' for you, I'd told him to go fuck himself," he rumbles, frowning deeply. "But I figure you probably could handle your own shit well enough." He considers in silence for a long moment, stroking his fingers along Toru's belly. "You know that kid that died in Harlem? The one that got beat up at school, an' then the hospital wouldn't fuckin' touch him 'cause he was a mutant?" His mouth flattens into a line. "Cage wants you to go pokin' around the school an' the kid's neighborhood; see what you can find out about what happened to him." A pause. "You can tell him to fuck off, if you don't want to do it." "...Oh. Here I figured he wanted to know my favorite flavor of fruitcake or somethin'." Toru's hand drops to brush along Trib's leg idly, the teen silent for a moment as he thinks the matter over. "Well. I ain't gonna say no without talkin' to him about it but I probably won't do it. I dunno what he expects me to find out doin' that, sounds like he needs to learn how to use Twitter. Hashtag... I beat the crap outta some mutant kid and now I'm braggin' about it on the internet. Dot com." He frowns, closing his eyes and letting out a little sigh. "I'm gonna stop by the other apartment tomorrow and make sure nothin' got left behind and the place is all clean, square things up with the landlord so I don't gotta worry about doin' that at the end of the month, I'll drop by yer office when I'm done with all that shit." Trib makes a noise that sounds like it might be a mix of pleasure at the touch and approval for Toru's decision. "I don't know what the fuck he's expectin'," he admits. "He just ain't got time to look into shit, what bein' all Mister fuckin' Smith an' all, all political-like. So I fuckin' got bumped up to actual fuckin' busybody rather than just the fuckin' muscle. Which means I get to go to fuckin' Sinai an' nose around there." He doesn't sound particulaly pleased about this promotion or its new responsibilities, and he curls his arms around the teenager, and pulls him into the curve of his torso, closing his eyes. "Talkin' to him's a good idea," he agrees. "Though I ain't sure you're goin' to get any better answers." "Well, I figure he might know more deets. If nothin' else like I said, I can tell him how to use the internet." He smirks a bit there, then gives a little shake of his head, shifting to re-settle himself again. Fingertips play idly along Trib's thigh, and the teen rolls onto his side, stretching his free arm up above his head, which rests on his upper arm. That hand is brought up to poke at Trib's head, tugging on his hair teasingly as Toru just lays there and grins like it's a joke. "That ain't so bad, you can work on your people skills. I mean, look at me, you think I'd have a cushy seven-to-eleven job if I didn't know how to smooth talk?" Eyebrows waggle. "Oh, yeah," Trib growls, tilting his head as his hair is tugged. "I'm a real fuckin' /people/ person. People just fuckin' open right up to me." His eyes crinkle, although his face remains a bit on the grumpy side. Just a bit. There's a small lift at the corner of his mouth that ruins the effect, really. "Yeah, you got a silver tongue," he agrees, leaning in to brush a kiss against Toru's lips. "Lucky for me." When kissing happens, Toru is content enough to just relax in Trib's grasp, eyes closing once more as he presses his lips a bit more insistently against the boxer's. The arm toying with Trib's hair falls back to the couch, stretched above Toru's head, while the other hand makes its way into the leg of Trib's shorts, sneaking up along the flesh there, though stopping short of any particularly sensitive areas. Eventually he does pull away from the kiss, bumping his forehead against Trib's and murmuring, "That's why ya /practice/." | |
