15 October 2014
The eve of Dusk's trial...trying to ease some worries.
<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.
Dinner has finished; it's quiet in the house, now, music (Ego Likeness's "Breedless" album) playing in Jax and Micah's bedroom, more quietly than it was meant to be played. The door is open; down the hall, the door to Spencer's room standing ajar but not much noise coming from behind it because now it is /homework/ time and whether or not Spence is /actually/ working on homework, he's certainly not trying to attract any attention of the Parental variety. Rain drums against the large windows, intermittently punctuated by rumbles of thunder, bright flashes of lightning.
Jax is at his desk, dressed in sleepy-casual attire that suggests he is through with working for the day. Soft peacock-blue yoga pants, a ribbed green tank top that displays the fresh outline of his giant shoulder-wings, linework done yesterday though there is still long sessions of colouring left to do. Jax sits with one leg tucked up beneath himself, his computer in front of him and tablet held against one arm. There's a sketch in progress on his screen, a clockwork owl with large jewel-bright scarab beetles where its eyes should be. Its clean lines and bold colouring as well as the several other iterations of the owl that sit on his sketchpad beside him suggest that this is a tattoo piece rather than something to stand on its own.
It is a laptop sort of evening, it would seem. Micah is propped up against the pillows in bed instead of at a more appropriate desk sort of environment. His outfit goes well enough with his location, however, a navy blue long-sleeved T-shirt thrown on over pajama pants on which tiny TARDISes tumble through space. Fuzzy blue Cookie Monster socks cover his feet, the right one bounce-wiggling idly. His hair is end-of-the-day mussed, but at least long since dried from his evening shower. The laptop keyboard click-clacks away steadily under his fingertips.
Predictably, Dusk is dressed in considerably less than the others. Black corduroys, no shoes, no shirt. He's rather eye-catching despite the bland (lack of) attire. His wings have grown a good deal more /shimmer/ than they used to have, iridescent black all along the long spars and his claws gleaming in a silvery-black shade reminiscent of hematite. Along the large stretches of membrane the black fuzz has been lightened to a pearlescent silver, highlights of the same echoed in his shaggy black hair. He slips into the room quietly, stopping behind Jax's chair to curl his arms down around the other man's shoulders, burying his face against the side of Jax's neck. His wing stretches out across the room, brushing lightly down against the outside of Micah's arm.
Jax leans back, exhaling slowly as Dusk's arms wrap around him. He sets his stylus down, lifting his hand to scrunch fingers into Dusk's hair. "Oh, wow." He breathes the words out with a touch of wonder when he looks up from his work to the other man's wings. "Like those wasn't impressive enough as-is."
At first, Micah responds like a person who has spent a great deal of time living in households with cats: he reaches over with one hand to pet at the thing rubbing his arm. The fuzziness meeting his hand causes him to look up in confusion after a moment, since they /don't/ have a cat just now. The confusion melts swiftly into a broad smile, fingers continuing their pet in more of a trace up the wing. "Dusk. Hey, honey. You're shiny."
Dusk's face stays buried for a moment against Jax's neck, his arms tightening in an uncomfortably fierce squeeze. He relinquishes his hold slowly, nuzzling his head up into Jax's scrunching hand. "Well. Gotta make a good impression tomorrow, right? Asked Tag to -- polish me up a little." His wing presses back into the petting, a low growl purring up from his throat. "Even made myself an actual goddamn suit. All the good it'll do me."
Jax's brows just furrow in worry at this, no good answer immediately forthcoming. Instead his fingers work deeper into Dusk's hair, rubbing slow against his skull. "He polishes good." His head tilts to one side, quietly permissive of the nuzzling against his neck. "You'll have folks there with you. A lotta folks, y'ain't gonna go through none'a this alone."
Micah closes his laptop and shoves it aside onto the mattress. His cheek leans in to join fingertips in nuzzling against Dusk's wing. "Mmn. Prob'ly can't /hurt/ if most of the jury thinks you're hot." The nuzzling pauses just long enough for him to look up at Dusk. "Might could be they'll actually /listen/ t'you in that case."
"Better hope for some Twilight fans, then." There's a dry note to Dusk's voice, his eyes closing as his lips close, too, around Jax's neck. Briefly. "Or maybe Dracula, hey, there's a whole new -- movie. In theatres. I've been seeing ads around. Hot dude with huge batwings -- though I can't," he laments, "transform into a whole /flock/ of bats."
"Maybe you're not trying hard enough," Jax suggests, as the tips of Dusk's wings appear to dissolve into tinytiny poofballs of bats that don't so much fly away as tumble down into roly-poly puffs on the floor. "I hear Dracula practices, like, four hours every day. -- I don't know, though. Odds are the average juror would find you more attractive like you is than if you was a flock'a bats."
“Bah. Don't think y'need no Twilight fans if you're gonna be all /extra/ pretty. Do well enough when you're /not/ tryin'.” It's a /little/ cognitive-dissonance inducing when Dusk's wings 'dissolve' but one still feels decidedly fuzzy and present under Micah's fingertips. “Also, y'should get on that. Bats're awesome. Hee...fluffbats.” He nuzzles against the wing again. “'Sides, if y'were goin' for Twilight, we'd have t'dip you in glitter.”
"Bats are pretty rad." No argument from Dusk. His wing stretches out further, curling back up along the side of Micah's arm. "And I'm already pretty shiny right now. But I'm sure glitter could happen. I seem to just /sprout/ it around this one anyway." This time his teeth scrape against Jax's neck, though only lightly. He straightens, moving aside to slide face-down onto the bed by Micah. His wings fold against his back, cheek resting against the other man's thigh.
Jax swivels his chair around, biting down on his lip as Dusk pulls away from him. His bright blue eye tracks the other man across the room, flitting up over Dusk and his husband both when Dusk settles onto the bed. "I've always got a surplus of glitter. For emergencies." The silver shimmer to Dusk's wings sparkles more noticeably as the fluffbats disappear and his wings appear whole once more. Jax curls his other leg up beneath himself, too, kneeling on the chair and dropping his hands to rest on his knees.
"Glitter /is/ kinda a side effect of Jax," Micah agrees with a giggle. "'Cause of all those glitter emergencies y'come across?" Oh, then there is a Dusk in his lap. That means a pile of dark (silver-streaked!) hair that needs fingers in it. Micah is more than willing to oblige, tangling his fingers into Dusk's hair and scritching gently whenever they are over scalp. "S'there anythin' y'need, honey?"
Dusk's eyes slide back towards Jax at that last question, head turning slightly back. His wings ripple against his back, his dark eyes closing. "-- Yes," is breathed out quietly, without actual follow-up. Just a low purring growl in his throat, a rub of head up into scritching fingers. "State prison isn't federal prison. I don't think they're going to -- feed me. Again." This is said less like an answer to the question and more just a sudden musing.
Jax's fingers tighten down against his knees, brows knitting together. A small flush rises in his cheeks at that first look, that first quiet word, breath pulled in slowly. At the rest, though, he just shakes his head fiercely. "You don't even know yet that you'll be /goin'/."
Micah's hands only work more fervently at the headrubs. “Don't... We can't go into this /assumin'/ that's what's gonna happen. We'll find whatever way we can t'fight it. And if.../if/ that does happen, we'd fight t'make sure you're treated right, too.” He leans down, attempting to see Dusk's face better, given their current positions. “An' if you're wantin' t'go into this fully fed, it's been...just about a month for me. Not sure last time for you, sugar?” he checks with Jax.
"What else am I supposed to assume? I mean, look at me, I'm not..." Dusk trails off, wings pressing flatter against his back. There are deep lines creased into his face -- brows pulled inward, mouth pressing down. "I just want it done with. Whichever way it goes it's gotta be better than all this waiting for months." Some of the lines in his face ease at the talk of feeding. "Been hella long for him. Long--er. I think we all got busy."
"Been too long." The flush spreads further up Jax's cheeks. He slides down off his chair, padding quietly over to the bed to climb back up onto it and kneel again beside the others. "Maybe don't assume anything, yet," he replies quietly. "Maybe just tonight don't think about it."
“You go into it lookin' an' soundin' like someone who don't deserve t'be there. 'Cause y'don't. Y'get yourself resigned that y'belong in jail an' folks is gonna pick up on that.” Micah nods agreement with Jax. “An' 'til then? It might be best t'try an' get your mind off it as best y'can. Then rest up well t'night.” The fingertips of one hand move to sketch across Dusk's brow as if to wipe away the lines of worry there.
"Right. Don't think about it. That's --" Dusk's tone has started /out/ a little dryly sarcastic but it shifts as he tips his head back to brush a kiss to Micah's palm. His eyes skate over to Jax, watching the spread of blush up the photokinetic's cheeks. "... right," he breathes out more quietly the second time. "Think about better things. I can do that." He wriggles slowly a little bit upward, propping himself on one wing and stretching the other out to wrap around Jax and pull the other man closer to himself and Micah.
Jax's breath catches, though he willingly moves in closer, taking Dusk's half-vacated spot in his husband's lap. "Pretty sure we can help there, honey-honey."
“--somethin' I think we can help with,” Micah finishes Dusk's sentence, a grin tugging his lips lopsided as Jax says much the same. A little pleased sound comes from his throat at the kiss. He's only too happy to help fold Jax into his lap, as well. “Mmn. There. I knew there were better uses for m'lap than the computer.” One arm curls around Jax's shoulders while the other keeps a hand playing through Dusk's hair.
Dusk pushes himself up further, a smile curling across his lips. His wing curls around both the others, now, thumbclaw tracing slowly down the side of Micah's neck. His hand slides down along Jax's chest, hooking fingers into the waistband of the yoga pants. "I can /definitely/ think of better uses for your lap." But at the moment, his head is bowing, lips brushing softly to the outside of Jax's neck.