A spiral of sturdy slatted wooden stairs winds up the trunk of an enormous oak, leading the way up to this treehouse positioned between a pair of trees at one side of the Commons yard, abutting the river. It's clear enough upon ascending that this is no ordinary treehouse, built sturdy-strong and with a polished finish that would rival most /regular/ residences. Spanning the distance between the pair of oaks, the treehouse is a long one-story building, equipped with both plumbing and electricity. The stairs lead up onto a wraparound balcony that projects out at one side to overlook the East River rushing by below.
The doorway inside leads to a furnished sitting room, long low futon-couches on the pale wood floors, walls painted in leafy shades of green, exposed-beam ceilings that seem to have worked some of the actual branches of the tree into the curvature of the roof. The front room is bright and airy, large windows looking out on the Commons grounds and the river outside. Recessed lanterns in the wall give the room a warm glow, come nighttimes, and in the center of the room amid a stone-tiled patch of flooring there is a squat glass-encased gas fireplace providing warmth in winter. Off to one side of the room there is an elevated loft up nearer the ceiling, accessible by ladder and furnished with pillows and plush futon mattress and lots of blankets.
The adjoining room is decorated in watery river-blues instead of leaf-greens; in here there's a small kitchenette to one side with sink and stove and toaster oven and counter space, cabinets on the walls. A long dining table in this room seats eight; by the windows, plenty of cushioning sits in the wide window-seats. Off in the very back, a tiny half-bathroom holds a sink and toilet. No stove in here; the wintertime tends to find this room much chillier, but there's generally plenty of warm blankets lying around the house.
There's a steady quiet patter of rain against the roof of the Treehaus. Damp cold outside, but in here it's toasty, the small fireplace actually lit and warming the room. Less toasty, the chiilled bottles of cider on the table, sitting alongside a game of Android: Netrunner. Dusk is sprawled on the floor alongside the table in camo cargo shorts, propped up on an elbow, huge dragonfly-veined wings draped down against his back. It's questionable how much attention he's paying to the game, at this point, instead just -- staring at his cider. Tapping his claws against the floor in time with the Offspring song currently playing. Maybe it is his turn. He seems in little rush, though.
Matt sits not-quite-across from Dusk, leaning the side of a chair with a big fluffy cushion at his back. He's wearing a dark green t-shirt featuring cartoon versions of the Hogwarts House mascots, and old, soft blue jeans, his feet clad in white socks with pink toe/heel caps on one side and blue on the other. He /is/ staring at the cards on the table, but kind of fixedly, his expression shifting subtly now and again though there's no visible impetus for it. Starting from the reverie, he blinks his eyes clear and draws in a deep breath. He looks calm enough as he stretches out his legs to prop them up on Dusk's him, but his pulse is fast and fluttery.
Dusk's eyes shift away from the game, fixing on Matt instead. He snags his cider from the table, taking a long swill from the bottle. One wing curls out, wrapping gently around Matt to rub slow at the other man's back.
Matt turns his head and nuzzles into the wing, his back tensing first, then relaxing again. He lifts one hand, fingers tracing the fine patterns on the velvety fuzz that covers Dusk's wing membranes. A soft noise of distress rises in his throat, not /quite/ a whine, but almost.
The quiet noise pulls Dusk's brows in together. His wing wraps a little more firmly around Matt, soft fuzz rubbing back against the nuzzling. He takes another long pull from his bottle but then sets it aside. He curls his wing inward, gently drawing the other man closer in to him.
Matt curls his legs under himself and allows Dusk to pull him in. He twists around to rest his head on the other man's chest, green eyes sliding shut. His heartbeat slows gradually and the faint whimper quiets.
The wing stays draped around Matt, folded in against his back now as he settles against Dusk. Dusk sets his cards aside, his head tipping in to press a small kiss to the top of Matt's head.
Matt tucks himself snugly beside Dusk and turns his face in against the other man's shoulder. One hand still pets lazily at the fuzzy wing wrapped around him, more and more slowly. The small noises half-muffled against Dusk's chest might easily indicate either contentment or discomfort, but they, too, taper off. Matt's body eases as he drifts off to sleep.