ArchivedLogs:Priorities

Priorities
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah
In Absentia	26 September 2013 Concerns, good news, and serious talks all mixed up with kisses and happy.
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. It's very early, on Thursday, and though a late night means Jax and Micah have only gotten /to/ bed a couple hours past, it's still before dawn when Jackson stirs. Not an unusual pattern, these days; on the few nights a week he /does/ sleep he goes late and gets up after only a brief restless spell asleep; tonight as most nights the room is filled with hazy half-images that seep out from Jax's dreams. The nightmare-ghosts fade, not immediately when he wakes but quite soon after; for a moment he burrows closer against Micah, hand curled around the older man's waist and his cheek nestled against Micah's chest. Only for a moment, though, and then he pulls away slowly, slipping quietly out of bed to tug on black terrycloth pajama pants and then head to the living room. The colder mornings, now, prickle gooseflesh against his skin as he opens up his laptop, letting it turn back on while he goes to put water on the stove to boil. He returns to the computer after, picking up his drawing tablet and settling down in a beanbag to open up a file. He rubs one hand against the sunken lid of his missing eye, stifling a yawn and staring at the half-finished painting he pulls up on his screen -- it's a pair of young men, half biological and half constructed of mechanical parts, nestled snugly in each other's arms in the curve of a crescent moon that overlooks a wide ocean beneath. His stylus taps slowly through a range of colours, dissatisfied with each as he adds detail to the waves below, moonlight glinting off the water. Despite the late night and early morning, it takes only reaching an arm over Jax's recently-vacated spot and finding empty sheets to rouse Micah. He rolls out of bed without the usual slow progress of blinks, yawns, stretches, and eye rubs needed to ease into the day. It always takes him awhile to get put together before leaving the bedroom, working liners and the suspension system for his prosthesis onto his residual limb before connecting the leg itself and moving on to donning clothing. When Micah emerges from the room, it is in his usual work attire: TARDIS blue polo shirt (buttoned all the way to the collar, which serves to hide most of the nearly-healed bite mark at his neck) and khakis. He pads in stocking feet, pale grey socks covered in little Miyazaki soot sprites, to lean against Jax's shoulder. His lips plant a light greeting kiss on Jax's somewhat prickly-fuzzy head. “Mornin', Sunshine. Did you get much sleep?” "I'm sorry, honey-honey, did I wake you?" Jax twirls his stylus restlessly between his fingers, his right arm lifting to curl up around Micah's waist. "Didn't mean to, I just." He waves the stylus at his laptop screen and tips his head back to brush a kiss in return against Micah's jaw. "M'makin' tea, if y'like. Prob'ly whip up some oatmeal, too, we got some time." Because Jax does not really classify anything but steel-cut as genuine oatmeal. His lips curl upwards into a small smile at the question. "Last night was better'n a little extra sleep. You're all -- worky already I feel like a slacker." Micah rubs his fingertips along Jax's head, scruffing at the new hair there. “No, I just didn't feel like I needed t'sleep any longer. Just sorta...bouncy already.” A smile creeps across his lips, along with a hint of pink to his cheeks. “That was...very nice, but not really a substitute for sleepin' /altogether/, y'know. An', yeah, you are /such/ a slacker. Up first thing in the barely-mornin' an' already workin' on--” He nods toward the screen, actually looking at what is on it now. “Oh, I really like that one.” He rests his chin on Jax's shoulder to inspect the image more closely. “Tea sounds nice.” He pauses, his expression turning thoughtful. “S'Dusk ever...shared his blood with you before?” “Nah, those," Jackson waves a hand at the myriad lamps scattered around his living room, "are a substitute for sleepin' altogether. /You're/ just a really -- /really/ pleasant bit'a extra-happy." His fuzzy head nuzzles up into the touch, smile bright and warm. "S'a commission, I always feel kinda -- uncertain doin' someone else's -- characters like. I know what's in /my/ head but I gotta hope it at least captures the spirit'a what's in theirs, y'know? I am pretty happy with how it's turnin' out, though." His head turns to the side, lips pressing up against Micah's neck; from this position his smile is felt more than seen as his lips shift against Micah's skin. "Dusk -- oh. Oh wow is /that/ why you were -- I just figured he done left you in a good mood." His head pushes downwards, nudging at Micah's collar to press his lips to the nearly-healed bite marks. "Few times, yeah. Mostly before, um. Before raids, he sometimes kinda -- banks blood the week before for us to dr -- wow OK it sounds kinda weird and gross when I just say it out loud but we tend to need all the boost we can get. Why, did -- are you still --" The press of lips turns into a small kiss, and he draws in Micah's skin lightly between his teeth. "... d'you like it?" Micah's lips purse at the implication that the lights substitute for sleep. "They don't, either. I gotta start threatenin' t'tie you into bed again? For sleepin', I mean." He can't help his grin returning with that clarification. "Well, it's certainly fulla /pretty/, either way. I'm sure they'll like it." His blush deepens as Jax realises what was going on. "I mean, yeah, would've prob'ly been in a good mood regardless, but /that/. Was like havin' a good night's sleep an' a pot of coffee without the jitteriness an'...maybe drugs? If all the side-effects were also /good/ an' just made you all happy an' thinkin' /faster/ 'stead of fuzzy." He shakes his head to allay Jax's concerns about 'weird and gross'. "No, I mean, if it's always like that? I can see why y'all would think t'do it. I still feel... I mean, my /balance/ is better, even. It's odd. Good-odd." His rambling is cut off by the press of lips and teeth, right over the remnants of Dusk's deeper bite. His breath catches a moment before he is able to answer Jax's question, his first words half-sighed. "Ohgosh, yes. How could...I think you'd have t'just hate everythin' about everythin' /not/ to." "I sure wouldn't never complain 'bout you tyin' me into bed more often, sir." Jax nuzzles against Micah's neck again -- right over the lingering bite-marks -- though he ends this with just a very soft kiss and a small flick of his tongue against skin. Quieter, though: "It's just -- it's been hard, lately, I can't. It ain't /just/ not havin' the time, sir, it's." His eye closes, fingers slipping beneath Micah's shirt to rest against his side. Rather than finish this thought, he presses more kisses in a soft line up the side of Micah's neck, trailing along his jaw to dot softly behind his ear. "It's always like that. I ain't really never tried no /other/ drugs in life but I get how addiction happens if they make y'feel /anything/ like -- but this is better, I mean. I know there's drugs that make you /think/ you're stronger but s'few enough that actually get you there. So when we gotta suit up it's --" His lips curl back into a quick smile. "Don't exactly hurt that I'd take kissing Dusk over a needle 'most any day." His fingers trail down lower, curling against one of Micah's hips. Micah climbs onto the beanbag beside Jax to facilitate drawing him close at the nuzzling. The ongoing administrations to his throat earn a faint rumble of a purr that is likely easier for Jax to feel through his lips than it is to hear, as quietly as it comes. “I know, hon. We could try some melatonin' an' some chamomile an' lavender tea or somethin', but. Is it more...maybe things y'might be able t'talk about? T'ease your mind a little?” He pulls Jax over into his lap, curling his arms around him snugly. “An'...ohgosh. Take Dusk over /needles/ all the days.” Micah frees up one hand to run his fingertips along Jax's arm, hand resting over the other man's where is curls at his hip. "S'more what's on my mind than -- I mean, I'm /exhausted/." Jax admits this soft and almost guiltily, as if the need for sleep is some personal failing. "I just, every time I close my eyes I -- being awake is better." He nestles closer to Micah in the beanbag, one leg hooking over the other man's and his fingers unbuttoning Micah's collar so that his next kisses can come more heatedly, small nips against his throat with each. He smiles after this, though, tongue ring clicking for a moment against his teeth and a faint luminescence trailing along behind the path of Micah's fingertips to leave the ink on his arms softly glowing. "Only /most/ days, for me," he says with cheerful amusement, "there are some /terrific/ things I've done with needlework. S'a couple'a piercings I got cuz my Master liked to --" He stops here, blushing, and bonks his head up against Micah's neck. His hand turns over, fingers curling warmly around Micah's hand. "I should show you some'a the photo shoots I've done work on, though. Gave one Mistress's sub corset piercings to thread her lips closed for an evenin'. Once laced a couple together on their anniversary. Needles deeefinitely got their place in my very-good-things books." “I know you are, hon. Y'try t'hide it, but I know.” Micah's hand cups behind Jax's head to help in bringing his lips to the other man's forehead. “You got entirely too much... How can I help? I just...don't feel like I know well enough what's wrong or how t'make it any better.” His fingers trace gently along the line of Jax's jaw, his eyes focused on the illusionist's face. The unbuttoned collar and series of kisses serve as a clever distraction, Micah's breath quickening and his fingers moving to grip at the back of Jax's neck. It takes him a moment to find the thread of conversation again. “Mmn. Hon. I'm just sayin'...y'can /talk/ t'me.” His head tilts as Jax cuts off his own sentence. “About that, too. I don't...mind. Any of it. I've...Shane's told me, just the barest little bit of things. Y'can talk about whatever y'want or need an' I /want/ t'listen, okay?” Tilting Jax's chin toward him, he kisses his lips softly, reassuring and warm. "I know I can." Jackson returns the kiss, soft and deep, fingers tightening to pull Micah's body in against his own much warmer one. "Just with everything going on all the time -- with all the stuff everyone's got to deal -- it just don't never seem real /important/ to -- I ain't goin' crazy or fallin' apart or nothin' and I do /mostly/ fine on plenty of sugar and light." The rest of the conversation draws a blush from him, deep, as the glow fades from his arm. "S'just, um, /some/ rings is pretty good for hanging weights off. What --" He's interrupted, here, by the soft but steadily climbing whistle of the kettle on the stove; his next kiss to Micah's neck is more perfunctory as he gets quickly to his feet, hurrying over to the kitchen to flip the cover on the kettle's nozzle open before the whistling can wake Spencer. He's slower about getting out mugs and preparing teaballs for them. "-- What'd Shane tell you?" he finishes the question, and then with a deeper blush: "I talked to the boys. About you. An' adopting them." “It's important, hon. S'important t'me and should be important t'you, /too/. Might not be fallin' apart /yet/, but that's what happens when y'just...neglect yourself all the time. You're troubled enough y'can't even get the /bare minimum/ sleep y'try for. That's not...good.” Micah's teeth meet with his lip as he watches Jax move into the kitchen. He pushes himself up on his elbows to see and communicate more clearly. “Not very much. About his other dad. That he was the one who took 'em in, but...somethin' happened. An' he left, an' they don't even talk anymore. An' he feels like it's his fault. I just didn't know. Anythin'.” He sits up straighter at Jax's last statements. “Oh? What did they...think? Did they say anythin'?” "It ain't his --" Jax's eye widens with this sudden protest, but then he exhales heavily, his shoulders sinking. "It wasn't his fault, we was -- amazing for a while but then was kinda headed for imploding anyway. He was like. Eleven years older an' in this whole other stage of life and from a whole other kinda world and we just stopped -- talking, I guess. Just a lotta arguin' instead. But then when -- Eli done laid hands on him and that pushed things over the edge. The boys've been through so much already they don't -- /never/ need to feel unsafe in their own." He turns the heat off beneath the stove, hand glowing brighter as he reaches to pick up the kettle and fill two mugs. "S'right, though, on my own I never woulda -- I was barely outta high school, y'know? But they needed a home and Eli was -- settled enough that. Made more sense than it ever would've for /me/ to be adopting kids." He sets the kettle back on the stove, hands resting down on the counter. "They --" His expression softens, here, and he peeks up over the counter towards Micah with a blush and a goofily happy lopsided smile. "They wasn't -- really sure why I thought I had to ask, they -- said you was family already far's they're concerned, paperwork or no paperwork." Micah nods at Jax's protest. “I know, hon. I tell 'im that...a lot. He blames himself for things so quickly. He's just such a sensitive kid, really. An' I think a lot of other people forget that 'cause he comes across so...spiky, at first.” He pushes to his feet, moving to stand at the opposite side of the counter where they can talk over it more easily. His expression falls when Jax confirms that Eli had actually hurt Shane /physically/. “Goodness, no...it's. Oh, the poor thing. It's never a /kid's/ fault when an adult... No, you were right. That shouldn't ever be in their home. You know none of that is /your/ fault, either, right? Nobody expects a teenager t'start adoptin' kids. An'...y'did what y'could with a really rough situation.” He pauses again when Jax relays the kids' answer, biting at his lip as his eyes go a bit shiny. “They did?” His lips manage to pull out of the tense-biting into an equally goofy grin as Micah circles the counter to pull Jax bodily into a rib-crushingly tight hug. "Yeah. He's had a lot t'be spiky over. An' the way some people --" For a brief moment Jax's hands curl into fists against the counter, his jaw tightening. It dissolves, though, at the hug; his breath rushes out of him in a startled whoosh, half gasp and half laughter. His arms curl tightly around Micah in return; he presses kisses to Micah's jaw and cheek and forehead before just nuzzling into the other man's neck. "Yeah. They did. Well, Spence actually just -- when I told him we needed to have a talk 'bout you becomin' their dad was just like. He's not already? An' that was kinda -- that. Shane and B seemed pretty pleased with the thought." His arms tighten, and his next laugh is a little bit breathless, too. "Ohgosh. Honey-honey I think I still need to breathe." Though he sounds amused, more than anything. "Dusk is -- that's -- pretty potent, ain't it?" Micah returns little excited and not particularly well-aimed kisses to Jax, as well. Forehead, cheeks, lips, even collarbones are covered in kisses until Jax's half-protest for /oxygen/. "Oh! Oh, sorry!" He loosens his grip but can't seem to bring himself to let go of the other man completely. "I don't really...guess I don't know my own strength right now." His cheeks colour crimson and his smile, incapable of being quelled completely, turns just a shade sheepish. He presses his cheek up against Jax's, murmuring, "I love you," over and over until he silences himself by locking his lips over the other man's in a deep (and certainly better-aimed!) kiss. Jax doesn't seem particularly inclined to let go, either, leaning happily into Micah's strong grip. His mouth meets Micah's with a soft happy hum. "I love you. So much." It's a soft whisper between one kiss and the next, the press of his mouth deepening. He leans back against the counter, hands skimming down along Micah's waist to slip fingers beneath the waistband of Micah's pants. The tea -- might probably oversteep. But sometimes, there are other priorities. "I still want t'talk...with you...later," Micah /somehow/ has the presence of mind to recall and impart that information, broken up and breathless though the words are. He lifts Jax by his hips to sit him /on/ the counter, pressing his own body in closer as his lips and then teeth seek out the other man's neck. Hungry little nibbles and teasing tongue flicks deepen into harder bites, leaving little claiming marks on skin. Because, right now...definitely other priorities.