ArchivedLogs:Rough

Rough
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jax	14 November 2014 Warning: gets a little kissy.
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. It is laaaate, but that is not an uncommon thing to find in Lighthaus, people often awake at all manner of unlikely hour. For all the frigid temperatures outside, it is warm and cozy in here. The heat is chugging along merrily whenever chills threaten. The bed is piled high with assorted snuggly blankets and quilts. The lights are bright and clear. For all that, Micah looks rather saggy by the time he reaches the bedroom, down to T-shirt, jeans, and socks covered in soot sprites carrying a rainbow assortment of what look to be cupcake sprinkles. Though he hasn't been to sleep yet, you wouldn't know if from the state of his hair. He might have been taking a fair amount of his worry-frustration out on it. Jax is just emerging from the bathroom. Still a little stumbly -- shirtless, now, in just soft purple yoga pants and bare feet it's that much easier to see the bruises and burns spotted and laced across his skin. His fingertips brush to the small of Micah's back before he crawls into the bed, tucking himself snugly beneath the blankets. "You look kinda rough." "/I/ look rough?" Micah counters with a raised eyebrow and look pointed in Jax's direction. "I don't know which ointment I need t'rub on what part of you first. You're a burn where y'aren't a bruise." Bed looks nice, though. It occurs to Micah that he isn't dressed for bed. He wanders to the dresser to collect pajamas, mechanically undressing and dressing one item at a time, trading his tee for a lavender henley, his jeans for fuzzy pants with the Mane 6's cutie marks dotted over them, and a pair of even fuzzier Wish Bear slipper socks. The old clothes find themselves dumped in the hamper. Finally, Micah makes his way to the bedside, fingertips finding an unbruised spot on the back of Jax's hand to trace along. "What d'you want? Aloe?" "You look rough," Jax affirms, wriggling upright to kneel in the bed. He watches Micah get undressed with a good deal of interest, watches him get re-dressed with just about as much. "/I'm/ fine. Joshua'll help more t'morrow. Kinda keepin' everyone alive was mostly the priority t'night." He snuggles back under the covers when Micah comes over, shaking his head and turning his hand up to curl fingers around his husband's. "Want you t'get in bed with me. I got t'blow so much of my stress off t'night. You're still carryin' yours around." “Things're rough,” Micah allows simply. His lips twist a little, expression odd. “Kinda the priority. Sometimes.” His hand leaves Jax's to find the covers, instead, slipping in shortly following his husband's request. “I should've gone. Sounds like they could've used the extra hands.” "Wasn't a good scene. Half as dangerous t'night spectatin' as t'was fightin'. Think I took a good chunk'a the wall with me," Jax admits with a sharp flush, "an' some burns that /weren't/ on Ion. An' he --" He exhales softly, turning in towards his husband to nestle up at Micah's side. "Things're rough." His lips press to Micah's shoulder. "Can I do nothin'?" “I know. Didn't want...no spectatin' no-how.” Micah's head shakes slightly, forehead dropping to rest against Jax for a moment. “S'okay. Safer out here, right?” He's a little hesitant in finding a place to curl an arm around Jax that seems least likely to aggravate damage or cause pain. "Safer." Jax's brow furrows. He nuzzles in against Micah's shoulder, slowly relaxing as /he/ slips an arm much less hesitantly around Micah's undamaged waist. "Body's safer. Ain't sure that always means --" His fingertips trail slowly against Micah's side. "... what does help? I mean, goin' out an' /whalin'/ on folks, that ain't hardly your style, but everyone's got their – things." Micah presses his lips to Jax's hair at the nuzzling. "Bein' with folks, I guess. It's. I dunno. Sometimes it's better an' sometimes..." His hand pets idly (gently!) at Jax's belly. "Just get this feelin' sometimes like...I'm gonna be the only one left. An' there ain't nothin' I can do about it." A very quiet purr hums in Jax's throat. The rubbing at his belly makes him a little bit melty, his nuzzling getting a little closer to Micah's neck. He pulls back slightly, tipping his head up to look at Micah. "Y'got me," he says in answer to this first, though after this Micah's words make his brows knit together. "-- an' you're /goin'/ to have me. An' alla -- we ain't goin' nowhere. Even Dusk ain't, this thing, he's gonna fight it, they can't make -- it ain't gonna stand." He settles back in, cheek pressing to Micah's shoulder again. "But you do. Do things, anyway. Help patch everyone up, it -- ain't hardly doin' nothin'." Micah's arm wraps around Jax a little tighter, holding him close. "S'just. Always somethin' else. Someone else. Injured. Dyin'. Arrested. Kidnapped. Tortured. Not wantin' t'try anymore. Not wantin' t'be themselves. Not wantin' t'be in the world. Not wantin' t'/be/." He chews at his bottom lip. "Even those dreams. Sera. Spencer." This time he buries his face in Jax's hair. Even if it is a little singed-smelling. "I'm doin'. Just ain't...stoppin' anythin' from happenin'. Seems like I should be in a place t'...fix /somethin'/. Sometime." Jax's back tenses, face turning in against Micah's skin and his eye squeezing shut. For a moment his breathing slows, careful and deliberate. "Stoppin' some things," he says, very, very low. "How many more of us d'you think'd be dead if y'hadn't --" He doesn't finish this sentence, just tightens his fingers against Micah's side. "I'd've been, he'd'a killed me several times over. But that -- ain't. The only way t'help. Not by far. An' you -- you're givin' Flicker hope. You're there for our kids so much more'n --" The next breath he lets out is sharp. "We ain't gonna let that happen. Those dreams. Ain't happened yet. Ain't /gonna/." Speaking of tensing...even without that name being spoken, Micah's muscles coil up tight. His shoulders give an involuntary shudder. “Seems like every time we work t'ward somethin'...somethin' else pops up. Or we make it worse. An' it's... Matt tryin' t'help Spence an' Sera. Turns into Rasheed givin' Themis the treatment.” Some of the tension slides out of his muscles, but in the form of another shudder down his spine. “Tell mutants they can't exist in public as mutants without gettin' arrested. Then sentence 'em t'be brainwashed an' mutilated once y'arrest 'em. An' this is a thing. A legal system thing. A publicly sanctioned thing. Like the X-gene is a /disease/.” His head shakes again. “Or somethin' worse. Can't /mandate/ treatment for most diseases. I don't even know if I can /count/ the number of ways that's illegal. How is this a thing? How d'you even...fight somethin' like that?” Both arms wrap in against Jax now, as if afraid of him slipping away. “Been betrayed by the government an' the legal system an’ the medical system an'...even /friends/ by this point. Just feels like the /world's/ tryin' t'take you all away from me.” His eyelids blink a little more rapidly. “Apologies, I... Sittin' 'round Fridays. Brings out all the fret. This’n worse’n most.  I just...love you.” "This won't hold up. This /can't/ hold up. This is jus' some judge who --" Jax presses a kiss to the top of Micah's head, his fingers kneading against his husband's back now. He tenses slightly again as Micah's arms wrap closer around him, but just presses closer, burying his face briefly against Micah's hair. "The world can try. An' I ain't saying it ain't terrifyin' an' a risk an' -- I just." Another kiss. "... I don't always know how to fight. /Together/, that's how. -- I don't have to go," he adds, pulling back to look Micah in the eyes. "Fridays. Can stay with you. Have a date night. Do somethin' t'ease the fret." "Would that it /were/ just some judge. An' some jury. An' some cops. An' some /supposed/ healthcare workers. But it ain't. It's...people. Not /all/ people. But enough." Micah eases off his grip at Jax's tensing, but doesn't let go. "Of course. Of course we'll fight it. An' at least on a legal standpoint, should be able t'force this not t'stand. Got the legal grounds. An' the ethical grounds. S'just. It'll be forcin' it." His head tilts slightly to match Jax's gaze. "Y'don't have t'do that. Y'need...the trainin' an' the...people an' the...energy release...an' y'were just sayin' how it was somethin' that finally let y'relieve the stress. Some of it. It's okay. It's usually not /this/ bad." "It'll be forcin' it, but we'll --" Jax shakes his head, leaning in to kiss Micah softly. "'course I don't /have/ to do it, honey-honey. But 'tween Jane an' the team I /get/ so much trainin', it ain't gonna hurt me none on that front. An' I got other ways t'relieve stress. An' /plenty/ other times t'socialize. We've /alla/ us got plenty enough in life chippin' away at our peace'a mind. If I can be helpin' you hold on t'even jus' a little bit more'a that --" He nuzzles in against Micah's neck. "Don't /have/ to. Love you. Want to. Anyhow in what world am I gonna be put out about /more/ time t'spend with you, with our schedules ain't like I'm ever gonna get sick of that." Micah relaxes a little against Jax, returning the gentle kiss. "Never complain 'bout more time t'spend with you," he agrees, though he continues on, "just would feel guilty the whole time for pullin' you away from somethin' important t'you. An'...s'prob'ly good. One of us bein' there for the kids'n. Maybe bein' able t'temper some of the wilder elements an' less'n stellar judgement as tends t'show up sometimes." Leaning in, he places a kiss to the angle of Jax's jaw. "'Sides. Ain't like there's much in the world's /really/ gonna stop me from worryin'. S'practically a law of the universe." "It's fun, honey-honey, but on a scale of what's important t'me, held up against you it don't even /register/." Jax's eye flutters closed at the small kiss, and his hand lifts to trace slowly along Micah's jaw. "I ain't gonna push or nothin', I just. Sometimes I worry you downplay things you actually need? Or even just /want/? An' I jus' really, really want y'to know that it ain't -- you /don't/ have to feel guilty. Or hedge or rationalize away why t'ain't as important. Okay? You're my family. I don't even got no way to say how much I love you. An' if it really ain't a big deal that's one thing but if it /would/ help -- jus' believe I can prioritize what's most important in my life, 'kay?" "It really isn't usually this bad," Micah assures again. "Just kinda stacked t'day. With all the worryin', feelin' like m'family's bein' threatened more'n usual. Then thinkin' 'bout y'all practically killin' /each other/. More'n usual. Mostly I'm just a little fretty 'bout people gettin' hurt. Hate t'see any of you hurtin' ever. But. Ain't like y'aren't doin' it voluntarily. If it's somethin' y'all want an' need. Then maybe it's good for you. Just 'cause I don't /really/ get it m'self. I can understand people don't all feel the same way I do 'bout things." His fingertips wander along Jax's face and neck, down to his collarbones, their trails more maundering than typical as they avoid the more damaged looking skin. "How 'bout. I'll let y'know if it's one of those times where it's bad? Rather'n pullin' you away entire." "Okay. Good. That'd be good. I don't never want y'to feel guilty about --" A small smile curls Jax's lips up. His back arches to press skin up against fingertips in time with a small shiver. "... anyhow I gotta say that by way of workin' off energy an' relievin' stress I ain't /never/ had complaints 'bout spendin' time with you there, either." Micah manages a hint of a smile in return. “Goodness, but you're already a walkin' bruise.” One of his hands grows a little bolder, following the curves of Jax's spine even though the path is blind--no scouting ahead for potential sore spots. “Don't like t'see y'hurtin', but. I know by now sometimes s'good for you, too.” The words haven't changed much, but the tone has shifted significantly. The next shiver is more pronounced; Jax breathes out a tiny whimper against Micah's neck when his husband's fingers encounter a particularly deep bruise. "Jus' come already warmed up for you is all. Takes that much less work t'make me --" He trails off, here, punctuating the words instead with a soft kiss pressed to his husband's collarbone, tongue flicking lightly to skin. "/You're/ good for me." Micah pulls Jax closer, tighter, not lightening his hold with the tensing and whimpers this time. Instead he shifts over the other man, knees pressing against his hips, lips moving to his neck. “Kinda likin' the idea of you just bein' /mine/ for a little bit.” He takes hold of Jax's chin, tipping it upward to bring his husband's mouth in line with his own for a hungry-claiming kiss. “Love you.”