ArchivedLogs:Honeymoon

Honeymoon
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jackson	7 December 2013 Wedding night (Warning: What one expects from a wedding night.)
Location <NYC> Candyland - Village Lofts - East Village
This bedroom is bright, bright, bright, a cheerful riot of colour in contrast to the more minimalist scheme outside. It, too, has a plethora of lamps to lend it even more light than what comes in from the large windows opposite the entry; many of them bear stained-glass coverings in cheerful mosaic patterns to add still more colour to the room. The walls have been painted in pale blue with darker blue trim, though one is instead a mural of surreal fantastical artwork, odd unearthly plant and animal life spread across it in vivid colours. There is scattering of furniture here -- a bed on the wall adjacent to the window (usually dressed in vividly patterned mismatched sheets), a dresser opposite the bed, standing beside the large closet, both in wood that has been painted black and then covered in a swarm of brightly coloured images, too. The wall near the door bears an enormous handmade shelving unit, similarly painted; it is filled largely with meticulously organized art supplies. By the window, a desk stands in as-yet-unpainted wood; besides laptops and drawing tablet it often bears an eclectic mix of items, too. Comic books, knitting supplies, a hiking pack of climbing gear. It has been a long day. A joyful day and a stressful day, but mostly a long day. Something about hours spent steeping in government bureaucracy seems to make the hours longer, and /tiring/ despite the primary activity being sitting and waiting. Micah is sprawled out on the bed, still in his dressier clothes. His shined shoes have retired to a closet, but his charcoal slacks and TARDIS-blue long-sleeved button-down shirt remain in service, albeit in a state of mild rumple and untuck. With his hair having been quite /particularly/ neat this morning, the amount of muss it is in after flinging himself into bed is actually less than typical. Micah has snuggled himself up against a stack of pillows and is just toying with his silver-and-blue ring, spinning it on his finger and watching the light catch and twinkle on the glass. Jackson slips into the room with a mug in each hand, setting two steaming mugs of spiced chai down on the nightstand. /He's/ not really managing dressy all that well, black jeans striped with silvery pinstripes, though he does have a button-down shirt and a silvery vest paired with it. A smile warms his expression as he watches Micah play with his ring, and he climbs onto the bed to tuck himself in at the other man's side. He reaches up to muss further at Micah's hair. "S'hard t'recognize you when you find your way t'a comb," he tells Micah with amusement. Micah's face lights up in a bright smile when Jax enters. “Hey, husband.” He chuckles at this, nose crinkling slightly. “That's such a frumpy word, isn't it? Think I'll stick with 'pet'. Just had t'say it at least once first.” He inhales deeply once the mug is nearby, just filling his lungs with the pleasant-spiced scent. “Oh, that smells like perfection, thank you. Prob'ly still made of lava, though.” He doesn't reach for the cup yet, instead wrapping his arm around Jax's shoulders. “My comb an' I meet up at least once a day...I just can't stop fussin' at it in the meantime an' don't bother with fixin' it later, usually,” he protests, though he wears an amused grin at the mussing. His free hand rakes through his hair, after, as if in demonstration. "Husband," Jackson echoes with a soft laugh, but 'pet' earns a quiet happy purr from him, as he nuzzles closer in at Micah's side. "Definitely still lava, I boiled the tea /in/ the milk so puttin' in milk didn't even help cool it down." His head nestles at Micah's shoulder, one leg draping loosely over Micah's. His arm curves up and around Micah's head -- largely so that he can muss hair some more. "I like it comb-lite. Just kinda /invites/ me to touch it when it's already all over the place. Or -- maybe I pretty much jus' like any excuse to touch you." Micah finds another smile, warm and contented as Jax nuzzles in. He melts a little at the purring, snuggling close. “Mmn...knew there was a reason I didn't fuss over it much. Not just bein' lazy, nope,” he jokes as his head tips toward Jax, making it all the easier to muss. “Ohgosh, hon, not that y'need any excuses. I'm all yours.” He bumps his head against Jax's hand, catlike. “Do all the touchin' y'want.” Jackson's fingers curl in more firmly, now giving a slow head massage rather than just mussing hair. He gives a deeper chuckle at Micah's words, though, his other hand sliding up Micah's chest to work at the shirt buttons, opening the top few to slip his hand beneath and run fingers over chest. "Oh," he murmurs, with a soft kiss pressed to Micah's neck, "/that/ sounds pretty inviting, too. And it /is/ our wedding night." The massaging fingers earn a pleased sound from Micah's throat, his eyes drifting closed as he leans into the touch. The hand running over his chest also results in a pleasant shiver. “S'pretty much a standin' invitation, yeah.” His eyes drift back open, regarding Jax's face. “It is at that. Set up a terribly excitin' honeymoon for you...all kinds of exotic locations.” He grins at his own sarcastic commentary. “Pretty much just happy t'be with you, though. We can do up the fancy a bit better whenever the ceremony gets around t'happenin'.” "We could go to all /kinds/ of exotic locations." Jackson's eye widens, a little eagerness in his tone. "Holodeck, remember? We could honeymoon in the stars. Without, um, the sex part of honeymooning because -- I mean, people /have/ had sex in the Danger Room but it records everything by default so if you forget /that/, um, well, nobody ever lives that /down/." His mouth has curled up into a grin, felt against Micah's skin before he kisses the other man's neck again. "So sex now, stars later." He finishes unbuttoning Micah's shirt, his kisses moving down to press to his husband's chest. "Although if I start in on /everything/ I want to do with you right now the tea would get stone cold before I finished /listing/ it all." Not that this stops his lips pressing to Micah's chest again. Micah blushes, quick and brilliantly crimson at the holodeck sex commentary. “Ohgosh...oh/gosh/, there is no usin' your fancy /kids' school/ equipment for sex. An' recordin'. Oh...no, definitely not.” He tips his head down, hiding his face in Jax's hand with a giggle. “Think I'm happy enough right here.” He comes out of hiding fast enough, lifting a hand to run his fingers along the back of Jax's neck. A purr rumbles from his throat at the kisses. “Gotta find /somethin'/ t'do while it cools, at least. An' everybody needs a breather now'n then. Tea's good for a break.” Another purr comes at the continued kisses moving down his chest, his fingers pressing in firmer circles at Jax's neck. “S'a chai. Like /frozen/ chai...cold chai can't be so bad...” His other hand reaches up to tug at the collar of Jax's shirt before starting in on his buttons, as well. "/I/ just meant we could use it to go do something -- exciting. I was /reminding/ myself that excitin' can't include sex because um no. But," Jackson admits, words dropping to a softer murmur as he closes his teeth gently around a nipple, "I'm /pretty/ ridiculously happy right here, too." He shivers at the fingers rubbing against his neck. "Cold chai's pretty good. An' maybe by the time we're done we might could /use/ a cold drink." Nearly all of Jax's buttons have been undone when that little bite comes, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Micah. "Mmn, I'd say we're pretty good up on excitin' here, too." His fingers make quick work of the last few buttons, pulling Jax's shirt not just open but /off/ with a tug or two to free it from the other man's arms. "An' I'm definitely not above stealin' body heat." His slightly-cool hands curl in at Jax's sides, brushing slowly down along his ribs and back up against belly and chest. Micah tips Jax's chin up to reach his lips with his own, a couple of gentle kisses leading into a deeper one, lips parting against the other man's.