ArchivedLogs:Deliciousness

From X-Men: rEvolution
Deliciousness
Dramatis Personae

Jax, Micah

8 May 2015


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Location

<NYC> {Lighthaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side


Bright and sunny-light, this house lives up to its name. With a plethora of enormous windows flooding the place with light and an open layout, the ground floor feels more spacious than it is.

The small entryway has a closet space for shoes and coats, and doors at either side leading to the neighboring apartments. Past this it opens straight into the living room, a wide expanse of space bordered on one side by a curved set of stairs leading up (with colourful glass tiling on the risers between each stair) and next to these, the half-wall into the kitchen. Cool pale tile underfoot and many dark cabinets with a small walk-in pantry, plentiful custom granite countertops, black and speckled faintly with rainbowy flecks, lots of hanging space overhead for cookware, a large double-oven. There's a strip of rather detailed mosaic-work in the kitchen backsplash, colourful glass tiling depicting strange fantastical herbs and small faeries and firelizards darting among them. In back of the kitchen, a door opens up to a small sunroom, wide and two-stories high with a balcony overlook from the second floor; two of the windows here have cushioned windowseats, and there's a wealth of herbs growing in hanging pots and small window-boxes.

The back wall of the living room is nearly entirely dominated by windows, huge and allowing a view of the river beyond with bench windowseats lining the sills. There are plentiful paintings on the wall, surreal and fantasy-inspired, mostly in shades of blacks greys with bright bursts of colour that are mirrored in the decor -- monochrome upholstery on the couch and armchair but colourful throw-pillows, black and white huge corduroy beanbags (and one large red doggie-bed,) soft throw rugs also in mostly black and white with splashes of rainbow woven in. The hand-built furniture -- tall chairs by the kitchen/living room counter, dining table and chairs in the kitchen, low coffeetable in the living room -- has been hand-painted as well, black with bursts of colourful abstract designs.

Along the living room's other wall, doors branch off to a full bathroom -- in white and deep blue with one wall of the shower done in colourful intricate mosaic too, an underwater scene full of strange mythical water-creatures; tiny water-sprites have been interspersed at random points in the rest of the wall tiles, as well. There's a small studio space beside the bathroom, large windows as well and a gratuitous amount of shelving and cabinets along the walls; this room has very /little/ colour in it, just white walls and black furnishing.

The sun hasn't yet set, though it's kind of thinking of heading that way. There's lingering warmth and light still in the sunroom here, though, huge windows letting it in quite efficiently in wide pools splashed over the windowseats and beanbags. One of those pools of light has just as efficiently trapped itself a Jax, curled up inside the enormous poof in black and red batik-dyed sarong, black crop top, Obie curled up against him, both person and dog sleeping in the sunlight. The room is full of quite a bit /more/ light than is simply being let in by the windows, a swirl of multicoloured motes drifting around the room in odd somewhat disorienting spin.

When Micah wanders into the sunroom, it is with a closed laptop in one hand and a tall glass of sweet tea merrily beading condensation in the other. He is dressed very typical-evening for him: Reading Rainbow-dash tee, rainbow patchy jeans, socks dotted in little cartoon hedgehogs, hair still post-shower spiky despite being mostly dry. His head gives a quick shake as if to clear the disorienting effects of the spiralling colours, lips curling upward as he watches sleepy husband and pup curled up on the beanbag. The laptop is abandoned to a table as opposed to being put to whatever purpose he may have intended, tea set on a coaster. Kindly, Micah wipes a hand on his jeans to clear it of cold and condensation before climbing as gently as possible onto the poof to wrap himself big-spoon style around Jax. The no longer cold-wet hand sneaks between Obie and Jax to rub at his husband's tummy.

The spinning of the lights around the room slow, at the touch. Trickling down to a lazier drift, as Jax reflexively half-uncurls, a small smile touching his lips though his eye stays closed. He hums a soft sleepy not-quite-word, shifting in the beanbag to nestle back in against Micah with a quiet purr. His head tucks in under Micah's, hand finding its way to rest lightly over his husband's with a very soft trace of fingers against the backs of Micah's knuckles.

Micah's smile only warms and broadens at the nestling and petting. His chin tips briefly to place a kiss against Jax's hair. The softer belly rubs firm, mixed with a bit of scritching. Micah also gives a hum at Jax's not-quite-word, though his implies a soft chuckle that didn't quite gain enough voice to be laughter, mostly breath warm against Jax's skin.

"Mmm." It's still not really a word, but this sound is at least more defined. A small shiver of glow flushes through Jax's skin as the purring deepens. His head tips back, a messily aimed kiss pressed to Micah's chin. "...s'a'time?"

Likewise, Micah's chuckle moves on from humming to actual chuckling. His arm wraps more snugly around the other man as he returns the kiss, though his is aimed to the corner of Jax's mouth. “Roundabout seven,” he reports to the time question, not wanting to free up a hand to fish for his phone to give a more accurate report. “Didn't mean t'interrupt your restin' but I couldn't help m'self. Too invitin'.” Another kiss finds the angle of Jax's jaw.

"S'what bellies are for." Jax tips back just slightly to stretch his a little further. Bare just that much more expanse of rubbing terrain. "Mine hadn't had no rubs for hours." His eye finally cracks open, sleepily. "What we got in the fridge? Should I whip us all up some dinner?" He doesn't seem in a /hurry/ to move, admittedly. "Pups'll be home."

It doesn't take much invitation, clearly, to get belly rubs out of Micah. His fingertips eagerly travel into new territory for pets and scritches. "Got some leftovers of that quinoa an' butternut squash casserole. If the pups're gonna be 'round I can order in somethin', too. Feel like this here might the best employment of your time 'fore y'go gettin' wailed on." Another kiss finds the nape of Jax's neck.

"If we're /ordering/ can it be Indian? I am so craving bhindi. But squash sounds good, too." Beside them, Obie is stirring, wriggling around to lick at Micah's fingers -- and incidentally Jax's belly; it makes him squirm and curl inward in halfhearted protest. He pushes gently at the dog, rolling the beagle onto his back to pay the belly-rubs forward. "For your information," he informs his husband, "I /plan/ t'be doin' the wailin'."

"Oh man, okra," Micah answers with just a hint of sigh-moan to the words. /Probably/ there is an order happening. "Can get a bhindi and a chana an' text the pups what they wanna add." His fingers wiggle away from the lapping dog tongue to continue their rubbing. "Much as I'd love for you t'come back without a scratch, usually that ain't the case." His grin can be felt against the back of Jax's neck more than seen. "Even if y'do win pretty much always."

"Not even hardly. Dai's like the reignin' Fight Club champ. An' Ion an' Flicker are up there near the top'a untouchable. I'm jus' --" Jax shakes his head, finally turning over to bury his face against Micah's chest. He exhales, quiet, kind of a laugh. "... angry."

“S'a lotta crazy-talented fighters t'contend with, true enough,” Micah admits along with another scritching. “No need t'sell yourself short, though. You're right there with 'em.” He leaves off the belly rubs as Jax turns, instead pulling him in close for a tight hug. “Got ev'ry right t'that an' then some.” The words are just a little tight and followed by a sigh. “Kinda things always goin' on. An' then... I been tryin' t'get in an talk t'Elliott again. 'Bout alla this. An' those ridiculous signs...”

"The angry helps with the fightin', s'all I mean." Jax nuzzles in against Micah's neck and then relaxes. His head tips back against the beanbag, eye slipping closed again. "... d'you think she'd. I don't know. Care? I mean about --" His hand flicks down towards himself. "Or the signs. Or any'a it I don't know. It's just -- I don't know. I don't know. They're croppin' up all over. Couple blocks around here. More'n a couple."

"An' prob'ly the fightin' helps with the angry, too. 'Least for a little while." Micah's chin tips readily to the nuzzling, a soft brief purr buzzing in his throat. "I certainly hope she would? She's a decent person. An' she /has/ helped. When you was in prison on the terrorism charges, she was 'bout the only stranger-person as helped me. Kept me out of a fight I was sure t'lose. Even took me home an' let me use her shower after I was all hit with snow an' ice an' rocks durin' the middle of a workday. An' she knew just who I was an' why they were doin' it. 'Fore y'were cleared. Went t'her the last time Dusk wasn't gettin' fed an' she was horrified an' worked t'help him, too. She keeps sayin' she wants advice on mutant issues. An' she always reminds me she'd /love/ t'talk t'you." His head tilts a little at that thought. "Honestly, might get that meetin' faster if /you/ asked for it, too. 'Stead of just me. While she likes me, I'm not nearly the political interest that you are." He chews at his lip at the reminder of the signs only growing nearer.

Jax chews at his lip, too, teeth scraping at a stray flake of chapped skin and then worrying at a lip ring. "I hope so," he answers the talk of Elliott. "Imagine she's mad busy. Gets hard to remember," he admits with a sheepish wrinkle of his nose, a deep blush, "when everything's explodin' in our life. That other people's lives are -- jus' as full. With -- like. Huge problems. That got absolutely nothin' t'do with ours." He slowly pulls himself up into a sitting position, pulling himself up cross-legged and rubbing sleep out of his eye with a fist. "She /do/ like you, though. I might be political-interest but I -- gotta feelin' on a personal level she an' I aint' quite -- well. I don't think we'd be friends quite the same."

“Most people's lives're pretty fulla things, true enough. Just...ours keep bein' full of violence an' imprisonment. Little bit of reason t'be not thinkin' /quite/ as hard on what's fillin' other people's.” Even after Jax pulls himself up, Micah wraps an arm around his shoulders, hand rubbing gently where it falls. “She does. Don't seem t'help me get in to see her too quickly, though. I wasn't expectin' y'all t'be /friends/, but could at least...see if y'can't work t'gether t'make things better? On a professional level. I can sure come along, too. Just figured maybe hearin' /your/ name might light a fire under the staff that reports messages to 'er.”

"Sure can't hurt t'try, nohow." Jax leans briefly into the rubbing. "Worst that can happen is we don't never get no meeting an' then we're right where we are anyway." He shrugs, and tips his head up to press a light kiss to Micah's cheek. "Meanwhile though I think we got a heap of Indian food t'get to orderin'. Should go see what Spence an' Dai'll be wantin'."

“Sure can't,” Micah repeats with a firm nod. “I'll text you her contact information. An' I'll keep tryin' m'self, too. Maybe with /two/ people bein' pests we'll get through.” He smiles at the kiss, corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “So much. I'll get that text t'the pups after I send the information t'you. S'gonna be delicious in here soon enough.” Though maybe he can't quite wait on the food, the mere mention of deliciousness tipping his head to deliver a play-nibble to Jax's shoulder.

Jax beams a little brighter at the play-nibble. His next kiss is to Micah's lips, firmer, fuller. "Delicious in here /already/," he proclaims after the kiss, "but some bhindi'll be nice, too." He reaches over to scritch at Obie's head and then hops to his feet, trotting out of the room to head upstairs in search of their son.