ArchivedLogs:Food

Food
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Micah	25 September 2013 Warning, blood and other Adult Content. >_>
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here, split between the four people; the fold-out couch in the living room (often folded out!) suggests that at least one of them does not actually claim a room as their own. For once, Dusk's house is quiet. Not really deserted; there are occasionally faint mutterings coming from Hive's bedroom that imply strongly he is busy /crankyfacing/ at his computer. But quiet, the television off, no irritable /cursing/ being yelled at video games, no music blaring from speakers. Just Dusk, in the kitchen with his laptop open on the kitchen table and a pot of water on the stove to boil. He is perched in a chair that is turned backwards towards the table, wings folded against his back and a clear plastic bag thick and red with blood held up to his mouth with one hand. He's bitten a hole in the top and is sucking it -- slowly, kind of distastefully. There is a knock at the door timed almost precisely with it opening to admit one Micah, in patchy jeans and a T-shirt depicting a T-rex with an adaptive reaching aid in each hand, under the heading 'UNSTOPPABLE!' His head turns side to side to take in the locations of any occupants in the apartment, freezing as he notes Dusk in the kitchen. Micah sort of leans back into the door to close it, just /staring/ in exaggerated amazement at the sight before him. "Dusk. Dusk, are you okay? You appear t'be...preparin' things. In the kitchen. That might eventually become.../food/." His eyebrows lift on the last word, as if this is some sort of shocking conspiracy. "Mngh," Dusk says in response, "don't remind me. Rent's due soon though I am fresh out of takeout budget." His mouth closes against the top of his blood-packet again, his head swivelling to look at Micah. "Had dinner yet?" He lifts the blood, waggling it invitingly. But, at least, follows this up with. "I have. /Ramen/. Totally my treat." “Well, I am glad that you've chosen t'boil water over goin' hungry, in that case,” Micah continues to tease, ambling over to stand behind Dusk's chair. This puts him in a prime position for hair-mussing. Mussmuss. He eyes the blood-packet curiously at the invitation. “Y'found a new blood source? Does it...taste different that way?” His hands leave off the mussing to drop idly to a wing. “Nope, hadn't eaten yet. But I'm always up for extravagant meals when others are treatin'.” He offers Dusk a lopsided grin, petting at the soft wing under his fingers. Dusk tips his head back, resting it against Micah's stomach when the other man comes over. His eyes close happily at the hair-mussing, squeezing tighter in catlike bliss when Micah's hand drops to his wing. "Not a regular one. Joshua nips what he can for me if I've had too long a dry spell. It tastes --" He grimaces. "Colder. Staler. But it does the job." He turns on his chair, just enough to wrap his other wing back and around Micah. "I even," he informs Micah, "got some frozen /peas/ to put in this shit, it's gonna be gourmet." Micah steps a little closer into Dusk at the return touch, fingers persisting in their tracing along the wing. “S'that mean you were in too long a dry spell just now? What happened t'the whole /schedule/ thing? Does it help t'let it warm up at all?” He snuggles into the welcome wing-hug. “You're cookin' with /vegetables/? I think I may faint on the spot!” Micah goes so far as to swoon against Dusk dramatically. "Mmm." Dusk is, for a moment, distracted from answering by just luxuriating in the petting; his wing presses back into it, his other tightening more snugly against Micah to pull the other man in against his side. "Stick it in the microwave. But then it's just like -- /reheated/ stale. And the schedule -- I mean, I only have so many available friends," he says with a small crooked grin. "S'kinda a choice between spacing them out enough to be regularly low-grade hungry or bunching them together so that most of the month I'm not starving and then by the end of it --" Another shrug. He's lowered the blood back to his lap, his face just /nuzzling/ up against Micah's stomach. "Think there might be some chicken breast, too, but that sounds like, uh. More cooking." “Hm,” Micah answers, about as distracted by /providing/ petting. “It's good Joshua's able t'take care of you in the interim, then. Which way is better, d'you think? I'm up on a month this week, by the way. Just let me know when y'want me.” His fingertips find their way from one wing, slowly across shoulder, back of neck, and shoulder, to the other. “Could help with that cookin' thing, if y'want. But I'd have t'go /way over there/.” He tilts his head in the direction of the stove. So many...several steps that direction. "Well. The first way I'm never really operating at full strength for long. I actually get more work done being alive three quarters of the time and starving the last than I do being at half-capacity /all/ the time." Dusk reaches out to set his packet of blood upright in a bowl on the table, eying it for a moment to make sure it is not toppling over before he resumes his nuzzling. "Want you? When do I /not/ want you. Over /there/ seems -- really fucking far right now." He's stretching up higher, out of his crouch on the chair, lips pressing for a moment to Micah's neck. "Is Tag staying for good with you guys? Might add him to my regular roster, he seemed -- /pretty/ into it when he was watching me with Jax the other day." There's a faint blush at this mention. “Yeah, I can see how that'd be preferable, actually.” Micah's cheeks shade faintly red at Dusk's reply. “Well, y'were already eatin' when I got here, so I dunno if you'd rather space out your meals or what.” He shivers at the touch of lips to neck, his own lips parting just slightly for breath to sigh out between them. “Mmhmm. He's movin' into the loft. I put up a curtain an'...gonna do some shelves. Make it a nice little room.” His teeth press into his bottom lip at Dusk's recounting. “Definitely worth askin'. Watchin's nice, but he might say yes t'that, too. Couldn't hurt.” "Seemed like he thought watching was more than nice. Though that might've been more Jax than me. Your boyfriend is /pretty/ when he's --" Dusk finishes this sentence with a small nip instead of words, light against the side of Micah's neck (juuust about where he left Jax with a bandage a week prior.) "Anyone told Mel he's moved out for good? Be nice to have him here regularly. Stop everyone worrying about where he is, at least." His lips close against Micah's throat, now, just for a moment. "-- You taste so much better than what I was eating." "S'pretty much pretty all the--" Dusk's nip ends Micah's sentence as handily as it did his own, words lost in a sound between a purr and a whimper. His falling limply against Dusk now is less drama and more necessity, fingers clawed slightly to the other man's back to help hold him up. "Ain't. Mmn. Ain't told her anythin' 'cause never am sure what's okay t'tell. She went through all the trouble of gettin' her memory wiped /not/ t'know where he is. Think it might be a little transparent if Jax or I were t'suddenly relay the message. Maybe oughtta get Tag t'write a vague letter t'the effect that he's found other lodgin's or somethin', though. Just t'give her that notice." His chin tilts to expose his throat further when he feels Dusk's breath warm against his skin again. "Good t'know I measure up better'n a plastic bag," he teases with a grin. "... It was a very /juicy/ plastic bag." The water on the stove is boiling, now, bubbling audible from where it heats on the stove. Dusk ignores it, pulling Micah down into his lap when Micah starts falling in against him more. "You measure up better than most things I could think of right now, though." The next nip is a little bit harder, and comes with a soft rumbling growl that purrs out against Micah's neck. Dusk's hands curl around Micah's back, fingers skimming beneath the t-shirt to run up the other man's spine. “Well, in that case...” Micah's nose crinkles in time with a little spill of laughter. He is easy enough to pull down, softly compliant at the direction of Dusk's hands. His legs slide to straddle the other man's lap, letting him turn his torso closer to press against him, the increase in his heart rate palpable at his chest and the quickened pulse in his neck. “Don't need t'think about other things now if y'don't want.” Micah's gasp at the sudden bite is only in the smallest part from surprise. The muscles beneath Dusk's fingers tremble. His own hands run up the length of Dusk's back to slip along the back of his neck and tangle into his hair. "Other things?" Dusk's mouth presses to Micah's throat again. "What other things? I don't notice a whole lot right now but --" His hands skim up higher, head shifting away for long enough to work Micah's shirt over his head, one hand nudging at Micah's arm to encourage it out of the sleeves. He doesn't move away for /long/, though, teeth scraping against the side of Micah's neck lightly and a soft shiver of breath ghosting warm against the other man's skin at the feel of that pulse against his lips. One hand curls behind Micah's back, pressing in a supportive brace between his shoulderblades. "Breathe deep, okay?" Micah doesn't so much as manage an answer this time, leaning back enough to comply with his shirt being removed, but letting Dusk be the one to do so without interference. Once freed, his arms reach immediately to wrap around the other man, goosebumps forming along the warm skin exposed to cool air. That little purr-whimper vibrates from his throat once more at the rasp of teeth against flesh, his hands eager where they run over the other man's back and shoulders. He nods, at first, at the instruction before managing to find his voice, a little "Yessir," uttered before a deliberate and obedient intake of breath. "Good boy," Dusk whispers, softly, just before his mouth opens again. And closes, fangs piercing swiftly down into Micah's vein with a soft hungry whine coming from Dusk's throat. His lips press against Micah's neck, tongue swiping against the skin where blood pulses to the surface. His hand drops down to the small of Micah's back, wing curling in tight to hold the other man's body flush against his own. His own pulse has quickened, too, breath catching for a moment largely in time with the mild buzzing flush of /happy/ threading through Micah that tends to accompany Dusk's bites. Micah's breath continues, obediently deep yet, steady in its rhythm if quavering when it is drawn. He smiles at the whispered praise, baring his throat again as Dusk's mouth draws near. Despite all attempts to maintain that rhythmic breathing, it is interrupted by a soft cry, cut off by Micah's teeth being brought down against his lip, when the bite finally comes. He schools his breath again, instead letting the tension crawl through his fingers where they twist into Dusk's hair and his knees where they press into the other man's legs. Dusk's breath draws in in a shivering gasp, his next growl a deeper rumble in his throat. His fingers press hard at the small of Micah's back, wing curled tight, both supporting and restraining. He sucks hungrily at the hot spill of blood, his small purring growls almost drowning out the bubble of the water in the background. He drinks deep, tongue lapping at the twin puncture wounds; he's practiced enough at this to know fairly well when he needs to stop, though this comes, tonight, with a reluctant soft whine. His free hand reaches behind him -- for nothing, tonight, not so conscientious about getting his first aid kit out /beforehand/ as he tends to be. "Fff --" His tongue swipes across the wounds again for a moment; when he pulls back it lets the sticky stream of blood drip down Micah's thankfully shirtless shoulder. At least he was conscientious on /one/ axis. "-- Is that going to make trouble for you at work?" No amount of exerted willpower manages to keep Micah's breath from quickening in its rate (though, impressively, still regulated in its rhythm) with Dusk's growls close to his ear and the wings closing in against him. He flexes his shoulders in the smallest movement against them, a shiver finding its way down his spine at the wings pressing back. His eyes, which had at some point squeezed themselves closed, finally open when Dusk's mouth releases him. He blinks dumbly at the question for a moment, as if having difficulty processing /words/. "Hm? I...mmn. Oh, who cares?" His head nods forward to nuzzle against Dusk's neck, either not noticing or again not caring about the trickle of blood from his own neck. "Mmn... I knew there had t'be a reason they put those top buttons on polo shirts, an' it wasn't for wearin' ties. Another of life's mysteries solved. If it's too much there's a Jax with a make-up thing." That last is a bit muffled into Dusk's skin as Micah nibbles idly at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Mmm." Dusk's soft purring growls haven't really let /up/, with Micah's continued nuzzling. His tongue draws against Micah's skin again, licking up the thin stream of blood stained red against it, but then he lifts his own wrist to his mouth. "Here. It'll close up by tomorrow if you --" His teeth nick down against his own wrist, twin points of blood welling to the surface. "I promise despite what Buffy says you won't turn into a vampire," though he follows this up with another kiss to Micah's neck that comes away with his lips bloodstained. "-- For long." His wrist lifts towards Micah's mouth, offering but not pressing as his knuckles brush against Micah's jaw. Micah's nibbling is interrupted when Dusk's tongue licks at him again, lost in a sharp intake of breath. Biddable, he pulls himself up into a less slumped-over-Dusk posture at the word 'here'. He looks at Dusk's wrist and the little scarlet gems that seem to rest on it for a moment before his hand reaches for the arm, fingers curling around the forearm tightly. He moves the wrist close enough to his mouth for his breath to gently disturb the surface tension of the blood droplets, then pauses. His head ducked over the arm, he turns his eyes upward to Dusk's in a clear, if wordless, request for permission. "Drink." It's soft, but it's firm, with that look from Micah, less permissive and more authoritative, Dusk's wrist moving now to Micah's lips. "It'll feel weird. At first. But good, I think." Which it does; the bright red drops from Dusk's wrist bring with them a much /fiercer/ rush of the euphoria his bite carries, an exhilarating flush of heady warmth that accompanies a surge of vitality -- body stronger, faster, more energized, its healing not immediate by any stretch but a good deal boosted from the norm. His own mouth moves back to Micah's neck, briefly once more sucking to clean up the blood that has seeped out there. "... I promised /you/ dinner." Though his water might have boiled nearly off, by now. "Yessir," Micah replies to the new order, a ruddier flush to his cheeks despite blood lost. He brings Dusk's wrist to his mouth, his tongue lapping tentatively at first, just cleaning the blood that had trickled out against skin. At that first rush, his lips close, mouth drawing more strongly from the source, tongue tip serving only to coax the blood to flow more freely to trickle down his throat. He takes the sucking at his neck as a signal that he has drawn enough, licking one last time at Dusk's wrist before releasing his hold on it. "You. Mmn...that was.../more than/. Is it always...like that?" "Always," Dusk murmurs, against Micah's neck, nuzzling in against it as the flow of blood starts to taper. His wing rubs slowly against Micah's back, and for a moment his wrist stays lifted, encouraging that sucking until Micah stops. His hand drops to Micah's hip to curl fingers tightly against it. "It's like coming to life. It's like -- Well. You can feel what it's like." His fingers press harder to the small of the other man's back, holding him tighter a moment before his hands trace around the waistband of Micah's jeans, curling around to their fly to toy with its fastening. "More than? That mean you're too full for more?" Micah nods at that answer, just silently surprised and impressed for a few breaths. "It's...not quite like anythin' I've ever felt before, t'be honest." His teeth pull at his slightly-bloodstained lower lip when Dusk's fingers begin to play with the button of his jeans. His eyes widen. "More than /dinner/. Better," he assures, before shaking his head quite firmly at the follow-up question. His hands slide down from their resting places on Dusk's shoulders, along his chest and stomach, to take up a similar position at the other man's pants. His fingers slip under the waistband, brushing gently as he looks up to Dusk again. "May I?" Dusk's answer is a soft growl, hungry and pleased before his mouth presses hard against Micah's. His wing presses downward, soft fuzzy skin belying a firm strength in it as it curls against Micah's shoulders, presses down further to urge the other man away from Dusk's lap and to his knees. There's still a flecking of blood, red against the glinting white of his quick fanged smile. "-- Good boy."