ArchivedLogs:Distracting

Distracting
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah	10 July 2013 Fairly adult-themed cuddles warning. >_>
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. There has been dinner; there has been after-dinner playtime (which, in Spencer's case, consists today largely of attempts to recreate Hive's clinic design plan in K'nex); there has been after-playtime story (they are currently working their way through /The Neverending Story/). And then bed, with only a minimal of wrangling. Jax slips quietly back out of Spencer's bedroom, a faint smile on his face as he closes the door behind himself. He is lazily dressed; purple yoga pants and a white t-shirt with Candyland characters in glittering colours on it. At the moment, even his eyepatch is a drab blue, unadorned with his usual touches of colour and glitter. The smile fades as he moves to drop down into a beanbag, a lazy boneless sprawl that comes with a quiet /sigh/. And a wistful eye turned towards the nearby fan, which is clearly not fanning /enough/ for his tastes. After an indulgently long moment of wilting, though, he sits up to reach over to the coffeetable for his laptop and tablet, grimacing faintly as he opens up the former. Micah apparently decided that it became pajama o'clock when Jax put Spence to bed. He wanders out of the bedroom in a robin's egg blue T-shirt and loose pajama pants with confused-looking little kodamas sprinkled across them. “Mmh, he fell asleep relatively easily tonight, looks like?” His first stop is to fetch a glass of ice water, which he carries back into the living room to stand beside Jax's bean bag. Condensation cold-wet fingers reach over to rub at Jax's head in a way that has become habitual since the latest heat wave hit. “Y'got work?” “Yeah, he had a long day,” Jackson answers, tipping his head up gratefully into the cold-fingered touch. “Camp’s been running him -- uh. Well, I don’t really know if /science/ camp /runs/ people ragged --” This takes a moment of consideration. “But makes him come home kinda zonked all the same.” He has his tablet on his lap, stylus held in his left hand; his other arm wraps lazy-loose around Micah’s legs. “Ehhh,” is his answer, “Kinda-sorta? Got some commissions I should /probably/ work on but.” ‘But’ apparently comes with a small nuzzle sideways against the other man. “Could be a decent amount of movin'. If they decided to have the kids be molecules demonstrating Brownian motion or somethin' like that. Good teachers know how to add movement to what they're teachin', 'specially with the little ones. Helps 'em learn an' works out the /wiggles/ constructively.” Micah's hand stops back at his glass to let him sip from it, the grip serving a dual purpose of collecting more cool-damp to distribute to Jax's scalp. “Is that an I should go make myself busy so y'can work 'but' or a please be a distraction 'but'?” he asks with a broadening grin. “Brownian motion?” Jax asks curiously, and then, “-- man, /I/ should go to science camp.” This statement comes with a brief kind of self-conscious laugh, “-- it’s bad enough I can’t never help Bastian out with nothin’ but I’m pretty much at the point where /Spence/ knows way more’n me about /some/ sortsa science-things. Mostly cuz he idolizes the twins.” His bright-quick smile is a reflexive mirror of Micah’s grin. “Ohmy/gosh/ it is one hundred percent a ‘distract-me’ /but/.” He /is/ tapping absently at his tablet with his stylus although, admittedly, not to bring up any work. Just to browse the news. As if he needed any more help distracting himself. “Random movements of particles in a fluid. Happens on account of sorta bouncin' off the molecules of the fluid, so it's kinda a fun thing to pretend to do. Random'n bouncy,” Micah explains, bouncing up on his toes once as if this is a helpful visual aid. “Y'know you're more'n welcome to join in any of the kid-friendly science experiments Spence'n I have been messin' your kitchen up with lately. I just need to schedule 'em when you're /here/ instead of when I'm watchin' Spence 'cause you're /not/ here.” He sets his glass on the floor in a relatively low-chance-of-spilling zone that is still within reach before clambering onto the bean bag beside Jax. Second invitations to distract are entirely unnecessary! Cold fingers sneak their way under the hem of Jax's shirt this time, tickly spider-walking along his stomach. “Random’n’bouncy,” Jackson echoes, light and amused, “sounds like exactly what kids’re like all day /anyway/. I bet Spence’d get a kick outta that.” He shifts a little to the side to accommodate Micah in the beanbag, too, his smile quirking brighter still. “I’d be so down for science experimenting,” he agrees, and then a little less bright and more /guilty/: “... I just gotta. Try to /be here/ more often.” He rests his hand down in his lap, turning to nestle a little closer to the other man. His stomach tenses beneath the fingers, and he laughs, quiet, as an involuntary shiver runs through him. “Cuddles,” he says, soft and pleased, “/definitely/ distractin’.” But then -- as though cuddles have /reminded/ him of something -- his smile fades slightly, glance shifting back to the computer. “Did you hear --” he starts, but then stops. Nuzzles up closer to Micah again. “-- Y’seen Dusk lately?” he asks, instead. Micah chuckles at that description. “It does, pretty much.” He nuzzles against Jax's shoulder, his fingers tracing idle swirly patterns across his stomach. “Don't feel guilty. You have a lotta things on your plate. Perpetually. Can't be in more'n one place at a time unless you got powers I don't know about yet?” He lifts his brows playfully. “An' I'm good at distractin'. It's pretty much my primary skill.” He answers the completed question before the unfinished one. “Checked in with Dusk on Monday. He seemed pretty okay, if...pensive. But he's kinda been like that for awhile.” The faintest hint of rose dusts across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. “Did I hear what now?” “Oh, gosh, if I could clone myself I’d --” Jax crinkles up his nose. “-- prob’ly still get as little sleep as I do. But at least I’d spend more time with the kids.” He relaxes underneath the idle trace of fingers, a soft happy sigh exhaled as he leans slightly into the touch. His head tilts, brushing a soft-light kiss against Micah’s cheek at the sight of that faint blush. “He’s been like that a while,” he agrees, softer, a worried frown wrinkling his brow. “Um, just -- the officer. Who shot Ian. Just got killed um -- last week or so, I -- wasn’t sure if he’d heard.” He exhales a heavier sigh, admitting, “Or what he’d even think if he /had/.” “Hm, yes. I don't feel like I'd have any easier a time chasin' /two/ of you down an' convincin' 'em to sleep /occasionally/,” Micah teases, his free hand tweaking Jax's earlobe while the other continues its lazy circuits. The kiss draws a broader smile across his features. “Oh, /I/ had heard. I didn't...bring it up with him. He didn't say anythin', either. Couldn't say if he knew at the time or not.” The smile shrinks somewhat. “It's...I dunno. All the death is unfortunate at best. But it feels somewhat...karmic.” “Does kinda, don’t it? I felt -- sorta guilty for /thinkin’/ that,” Jax admits, a slight flush entering /his/ cheeks, now. “I -- don’t guess it’ll make him feel -- actually I got no /idea/ how it’d make him feel but it feels like he should -- know.” He sets his tablet and stylus aside, turning slightly to drape an arm across Micah instead; his fingers slip beneath the other man’s shirt to draw lazy lines against his side. “I /totally/ have slept,” he adds with an exaggeratedly defensive huff, “I slept on --” He stops, considers: “Friday.” “Shouldn't feel guilty for /thoughts/. Or feelin's. That way lies the horrors of thoughtcrime. Can't really judge a body on more than words'n actions. Okay. Unless you're a telepath. But then you should take things with great big grains of salt.” Micah wriggles himself against Jax's side at the arm-draping, heat be damned. “I feel like. It would be very difficult for him /not/ t'know. Somebody would've told him. I mean. Hive'd know if he knew, for sure.” He tweaks Jax's earlobe /again/ at the revelation of how long it has been since the other man slept! “Jax! I am gonna have t’work you up a strict schedule. Of sleepin' at least every other day. Because apparently me orderin' it /sometimes/ only helps but so much. An' you are /so/ sleepin' tonight, by the way. Non-negotiable.” “I’m pretty sure Hive judges alla us so hard for what we think,” though Jax says this with a /giggle/ rather than with further guilt. He unfortunately, as usual, comes with /more/ than an average personload of body heat, though at least today it is only at the level of mildly-feverish. His fingers continue to skim up over Micah’s side, cheek nestling against the other man’s shoulder. “/What/, I can totally take it! I mean, it’s /summer/ I’m gettin’ sunlight to spare.” His lips curl upwards, though, as he adds, “-- but if you’re /orderin’/ it, sir...” Micah snickers at that. “You're prob'ly right about that.” His fingers have lost their ice water chill by now, so he turns his rather short-trimmed nails to sketch along where pads of fingertips had tracked previously instead. “Don't care if you've moved to Alaska an' are gettin' sun all /day/. Your brain still needs sleep. Way more frequently than every /five/ days, for the love of little green apples...” He moves his other hand away from Jax's ear so that he can nip at it instead, the proximity convenient for whispering. “Darn /right/ orderin'.” The scrape of nails against his stomach just makes Jackson melt further, a sort of boneless /puddle/ against Micah’s side in time with a happy-soft sigh. “Brain does start t’come a little unglued ‘round about the third day,” he admits, “but it ain’t never quite glued right t’/begin/ with so --” His eye closes as he tilts his head slightly, the nip drawing a warmer smile. “-- sleep t’night, then. Yessir,” he agrees happily. His fingers curl in firmer against Micah’s side, gently tugging the other man half over top of him; his face nuzzles upwards, here, brushing a kiss to Micah’s neck. “See?” Micah claims /victory/ in his argument. “Three days, brain ungluin'. That means mandatory sleep every /two/ days. For the sake of brains.” He somehow manages to avoid any obvious zombie references, instead going along with the tug, slipping his form easily over Jax-puddle, one knee pressed to either side of the other man's hips. “Never much favoured glue, though. Much better ways of keepin' things where you want them.” He tilts his chin up to allow easy access to his neck, a soft purr interrupting his chatter. “How would y’even tell, though? My brain’s /kinda/ a mess on its best’a days,” Jax says this a little bit wryly. Wry fades easily enough, though, with a Micah atop him now; his hands both skim up against Micah’s sides, fingers tracing up against the other man’s ribs. His next kiss is softer, tongue flicking lightly against Micah’s neck. “Yeah? You gonna,” he wonders with a soft laugh, another warm kiss, “/tie/ me into bed?” “You,” Micah pauses to place kisses on Jax's brow, the tip of his nose, and his lips—light, teasing little kisses, “never give yourself enough credit. Ever.” The touches and kisses earn a little shiver. He presses his hands down into the other man's shoulders, not enough to force him to drop his hands from their current placement, but blocking any easy movement of Jax's torso. When lips find lips again, it is a great deal more forceful, demanding. His voice is husky and a shade breathless when he speaks again. “The thought /had/ crossed my mind.” The small kisses draw a warm smile from Jax; there is a tiny hint of glow beginning to blossom beneath his skin, and it deepens at the press of Micah’s hands to his shoulders. His hands curl further back, fingers slowly running up along Micah’s back. He returns the kiss, deep, hungry, yielding where the other man is demanding. When Micah speaks, his face is slightly flushed; his fingers press harder, kneading gently against Micah’s back as he tips his head to brush more kisses to Micah’s jaw. “-- Yes. Please,” is his only answer to this, soft and somewhat breathless, too. That ready compliance brings Micah's hands down along the length of Jax's arms in mirrored movements, grip not fully loosened as they move, fingers pressing firm paths until they force both wrists low enough to be encircled and trapped downward. In time with this shifting are a series of small nibbles at Jax's neck. They work up to a plying of teeth that is sure to leave claiming marks, the strike quick but the bite itself remaining, slow and lingering. The weight of Micah's body presses down heavily until...teeth release, weight shifts and suddenly moves away as he comes to stand. He uses the momentum of coming to his own feet to pull Jax upward, braced to catch the other man's weight if that tug proved too sudden and without warning. “Oh --” It’s a soft /oh/, a happy /oh/, a little bit breathless as Micah’s hands bear Jax’s downwards. His head turns with a quiet pleased hum, baring his neck further to the nips; the last hardest one comes with a soft-sharp gasp, Jax’s body pressing upwards as Micah’s weight bears down. “Mmph --” He /does/ lose his balance, just a little, when he’s suddenly pulled up, although it’s possible that his lean against Micah is not quite as much /necessary/ as it is just pleasant. This time /he/ claims the other man’s mouth, fiercer and deeper than before. Micah pulls Jax to him at that stumble, pushing both of the other man's wrists into one hand to free up an arm to wrap around him tightly. He holds him for the duration of the kiss, his teeth finding his own lower lip once it ends. Still wordless, he pulls again at the gathered wrists, tugging Jax along to a more appropriate space. With a door. And other things.