ArchivedLogs:Not So Far-fetched Dreams

Not So Far-fetched Dreams
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jackson	11 March 2014 About that time in that dream... (Part of the Future Past TP.)
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. Having cut his time close during the day to visit Lucien and still make it to Game Night on time, Micah's typical after-work shower has been shifted to a before-bed shower. He wanders into the bedroom in his fading blue terrycloth bathrobe, smelling a little stronger than usual of his orange-and-clove shampoo for proximity to its use. His auburn hair is still damp, a mixture of spiked-up in some places and smooshed-down in others. Pushing the door closed behind him with a foot, he deposits his dirty clothes in the hamper and goes digging for a fresh set of pajamas. One hand moves to his mouth to cover a yawn. "Ohman, I think I am havin' a sugar coma from eatin' too many cupcakes." "Ain't no such thing. /Blasphemer/." Jackson is at his laptop at the desk when Micah returns, already pajama'd in black terrycloth pants and no shirt, stitches marring the black and red wings on his back. He has clearly not been at his desk very /long/ at all, though -- the mug of lavender-mint tea on his desk is still fresh and hot, and he picks it up as Micah enters to slip over towards the other man with it. He curls an arm around Micah's waist from behind, resting his chin on the older man's shoulder and snaking his other arm around to hold the tea up in front of his husband. "Blasphemer, maybe. I'm gonna call witchcraft on you for those cupcakes, though. They're gonna come for us both." Micah chuckles as he pulls out a pair of pajama pants covered in Mane 6 cutie marks and a long-sleeved T-shirt in navy blue. "See? Magic," he affirms when the tea appears in front of him, leaning back against Jax before tipping his head forward to sip from the mug. "Thanks, love." He rights his head and turns instead to peck Jax on the cheek with rather minty lips. Shifting the pajamas all into one arm, he reaches to take the mug. Jackson closes his eye, nuzzling happily in against Micah's neck after the small peck. "Ain't no witchcraft. Baking is the only science I'm good at. S'all jus' so much chemistry." His hand slips into the fold of Micah's robe, fingers seeking out ribs to run slowly up the older man's side. He presses a small kiss to Micah's neck, briefly hugging the other man closer before extricating himself to go shut down his laptop. "An' the only thing cupcakes come for is your waistline. I don't feel like that's an enormous worry 'round this house." "Y'know I was decently good at chemistry," Micah observes, leaving off the rest of the comment on his baking /not/ matching up well. He shivers at the hand traveling along his skin, leaning against Jax a little longer before moving to set his tea on the bedside table. He does finally get around to changing from robe to pajamas once he's by the bed. "Mmn...yeah, we do got a host of crazy metabolisms 'round here. /I/ might be in trouble when I get older without the powers needin' juice that the rest of y'all have, though." He pats his bare stomach before pulling into his shirt. "Oh, hey, I wanted t'ask y'somethin'." Climbing up on the bed, he pushes himself back against the pillows and collects his tea for another sip. "Did you have a dream 'bout Luci bein' in a show last night?" "I was pretty terrible at it," Jackson answers with a giggle. He slides in against Micah's side when the other man climbs up onto the bed, nestling head against chest and slipping his fingers beneath Micah's shirt to splay them against stomach. "If y'really start to fret about it one day I'll figure out how t'bake some low-fat cupcakes. Till then you should jus' eat yourself into sugar-coma whenever. S'what /I/ do, anyway." He nuzzles in against Micah at the question with a small happy purr. "Mmm. I did. Guess it made a nice change from the usual horror I'm projectin' around here? 'pologies if it -- kept you up or nothin'." “/Still/ don't know why I'm so terrible at bakin'.” Not that Micah seems overly troubled by it, cuddling up against his husband with a drowsy mug of tea in hand. He wriggles slightly under Jax's touch, wrapping his non-tea-holding arm around the other man's shoulders. “Not frettin'. Hopefully 'old' for me's still a good way out.” His hand pets idly along Jax's arm. “Weren't that y'were projectin' nothin'. Was that Luci an' I had the same dream. But there weren't no /things/ that showed up for this one.” Jackson exhales a quiet-happy breath, his soft purring returning louder than before. "You cook good enough t'make up. Maybe you're just compensatin' there. If you was good at /everything/ on earth I'd hafta be jealous." His cheek presses against Micah's chest, shoulders relaxing beneath the older man's arm. "Wait, you /did/?" His eye widens, head tipping up to peek up at Micah from beneath a fringe of floppy black-and-blue hair. "Both'a you? Really? I mean, it /did/ feel crazy-vivid like those others. But it didn't feel -- /like/ those others." Micah snorts softly at that theory. "Oh, gracious, there's plenty I ain't good at." His fingers reach to tickle a little at Jax's ribs. "I didn't think nothin' of it, but Luci was singin' one of the songs from Pippin when I went t'see 'im t'day, so it came up. An' we both had the same exact dream. Which, no, didn't really seem all that /dreamlike/ on reflection." He clucks his tongue thoughtfully, looking into his tea. "S'your friend Aly happen t'be in business or restaurantin' of some sort?" "Pretty excellent at cuddlin', though. An' right /now/ that's /basically/ the only thing on earth that matters. So /effectively/," Jackson informs Micah, tipping his head further to press a kiss to his husband's jaw, "you're good at everything." He shivers pleasantly, nestling in closer against Micah and then reaching up to /pull/ Micah's hand over him farther and place it in totally shameless begging on his stomach. "-- Oh. Oh, Pippin. Yeah, that was my dream, too. All -- Broadway star. Suited him well." His smile brightens at the mention of Alyssa. "Aly? Yeah, she owns her own place. Little bakery-an'-ice-cream-shop out West. You get her an' I t'gether an' there's /really/ crazy sugar comas." "Mmn," is all Micah has to say in answer to that, though he does reach over to deposit his tea back on the bedside table, freeing up his hands. He pulls Jax in to snuggle up closer against him, hands not requiring much encouragement to begin petting at his husband's belly. "Pretty sure we did have the same whole dream." He nods at this. "Was just a detail from the dream. Y'mentioned Shane an' Aly needin' t'think of the shop. I don't really know /any/ Alies, an' Luci said he doesn't know any as know much about business. So I figured maybe she got put there by /your/ head." Leaning in, he nibbles at Jax's neck softly. "Ice cream /and/ baked goods? That sounds deadly." Jackson's response is preempted, for a time, by purring, soft and pleased as his body melts beneath the petting. A warm flush of glow spreads beneath his skin, eye closing happily. A flutter of soft-warm colours blossom in the air around them, briefly, and then fades. "Oh -- oh." Eventually he remembers to speak again, quiet and lazy-contented. "Aly's -- maybe from my head I guess yeah she's /such/ a darlin'. An' deadly with the sugars, for sure. Mmm. But she'd be a good person for him t'talk to only, except for, she lives in California. So not much help there." One of Micah's hands curls fingers in to add scritches to the belly rub, the nibbles melting into a series of kisses along the other man's neck before he speaks again. "Don't s'pose she'd wanna...move t'the other side of the country t'start a likely t'fail or at least be attacked food business caterin' t'mutants an' partnered with a sixteen-year-old, then?" he asks in an almost-teasing tone, realising just how unlikely a suggestion that is. "Too bad. Would be so good for 'im t'have somebody like that around so's he could actually /try/ somethin' he wants t'do for once." Jackson giggles at this suggestion. His head tips back, and he hums quiet-happy at the kisses, the glow within him brightening. "Dreams have been comin' true left an' right lately," he points out with a sleepy smile. "Maybe we'll wake up one day an' an Aly'll jus' have /manifested/. Till then I s'pose we can encourage him t'find work that'll get him experience in this." His eye closes, and he tilts his head down to give Micah a kiss, long and soft before just nestling head against shoulder again. "-- was a strange dream." He's quiet, here, sleepy still in this musing; he has to stifle a yawn against Micah's shirt before continuing. "But maybe not in a bad way. Considerin' how /most/'a my dreams end I'm pretty partial t'any dreams where I /got/ a future at your side." "I like...bein' with you an' happy. An' seein' Luci doin' what he loves an' happy. An' Matt bein' alive an' home. An' the boys all doin' well an' findin' things they love. I'd say it was a pretty good strange dream, on the whole." Micah leans in to return the kiss, eager though gentle, one hand reaching up from its rubbing spot to pet instead at Jax's hair. "Don't need no dreams t'give y'that. 'Cause I'm not seein' a future for me that ain't by /yours/." "Seein' Luci happy was a /treat/. S'clear enough he's /got/ insane-talent, maybe -- maybe t'ain't such a farfetched dream. If we could jus' encourage him to -- to /have/ a life again. S'got all this money an' I don't think I could call him proper /successful/ s'long as he don't never do nothin' with his life /he/ enjoys." Jackson's words finish in a quiet sigh, and he rubs his head up into the petting happily before wriggling aside to worm his way /under/ the covers instead of on top of them. "-- mmmn. The /pups/ at least we got a bit more sway with," he adds with a small smile. "Could see /them/ through to some bright-happy futures, at the least." His arm curls back around Micah once he has gotten himself situated. "I love you so much, honey-honey," he mumbles against Micah's shirt. "Feel like s'long as we got that, we might could handle whatever the future's gonna throw our way."