ArchivedLogs:Secondhand Stressors

Secondhand Stressors
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Jackson, Micah	2013-10-09 Warning, gets kissy towards the end.
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. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. 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. Wednesdays are early days for Jax, at Xavier's, though his /own/ classes afterwards means that unless he's stopping home from lunch he's still home later than usual. It's early evening when he gets home, long enough only to change out his bright clothes for exercise ones and meet Dusk on the roof. By the time they return down he's considerably sweatier, moving a little bit stiffly but overall un/hurt/. He pours out a large glass of water and a large glass of lemonade, once he's home, offering the former to Dusk and gulping down much of his lemonade in short order. "-- Wow. I need a shower." "Yeah you do." Dusk is matching Jackson for sweatiness, if not stiffness. Given this, he seems at least unbothered by Jax's state, curling a wing around the other man to tug him close. "We both do." He's dressed in comfortable cargo pants and no shirt, his sneakers abandoned by the door. "Not grabbing Flicker and Hive today? Man, Hive looked worn /out/ after yesterday." This seems to amuse him. "I don't think he's used to having to -- move." Jax huffs out a quiet laugh at this first statement. He is easily tugged, moving in closer to rest his head against Dusk's (sticky) bare chest, arm looping around the other man's waist. "S'ok, you could shower with --" He trails off, quieting for a moment. Then straightening, stepping away to lean against the counter instead. "No. But he needs to just in case --" His jaw tightens. "This tech of Osborn's -- just in case." "Just in case," Dusk echoes softly. His eyes flick up towards the ceiling with a small tightening of his jaw. His wing has curled tighter around Jackson, through that lean, but it falls back against his back when Jax pulls away. His brow creases. He takes a large gulp of his drink, teeth flashing afterwards in a brief smile. "Yeah, sorry, /I/ need a shower too. You want me to start the water heating?" He flicks a wing in the direction of the bathroom. Colour flushes into Jax's cheeks, flooding them with deep crimson. He looks down into his lemonade glass, drawing in a slow breath and then sipping at it. "No I um." His head shakes. "Sorry. It's probably a bad --" Another shake of his head. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, in workout clothes and Kind Of A Sweaty Mess to match Dusk's also-sweatiness. "I mean there's two bathrooms, you're welcome to --" He waves towards one. Dusk's head tilts to one side, eyes fixing on Jax a long while. "I mean, sure, but /my/ shower isn't really that far away," he points out lightly. "I just figured --" One of his wings shrugs. "A bad what? You alright, man? You seemed kind of rough yesterday and now --" Another shrug. He takes another gulp of his water, draining the glass and then refilling it. Sipping more slowly, this time, and then just holding the cool glass against his bare chest, sticky with post-workout Gross. "Idea," Jackson finishes with a small furrow of his brow. "And yeah, I'm alright, I just don't --" His eye scrunches shut, and he lifts his hand to press his palm against it. "We're gettin' back into training. That means another run soon." He drops his hand, frowning down at his feet. "That means I'm /taking/ you all on another run soon." "-- Y-- es?" Dusk just looks expectant at the end of this. Kind of expectant, kind of puzzled. Waiting, perhaps, for some more elucidation behind this thought. There is a rattling of keys in the door that prefaces its opening to admit a Micah, still in work clothes. He takes off his newsboy cap and green canvas jacket immediately upon entering to hang in their usual spot, his shoes to sit in theirs, leaving only the TARDIS blue polo shirt and khakis. "Hey, hon!" he calls with a wave, a few beats passing to let visual input process before adding, "Oh, hi, Dusk!" Micah's relatively quiet entrance is the polar opposite of the sudden SPENCER that whirlwinds through. The boy pauses long enough to be observed in order to kick his shoes off by the door. A wooden...box-thing is held in both hands as he darts off toward his room, stops outside the door to regard it for a moment, then disappears rather than putting the object down to use the doorknob. Micah shakes his head, giggling as he watches the boy take off. "He made a house for Jerusalem at the after-school program an' is /really excited/ t'show it to 'im. I'm surprised he didn't just poof his way into his room straight from the van. S'a nice day out though, so it was a good walk in," he guesses with a little shrug. His head tilts at the conversation. "Sorry...I'm interruptin'. Don't mind me." He moves into the living room to set his laptop bag down on the table there. Jackson gulps down the rest of his lemonade in a quick swallow, turning aside from Dusk to wash it in the sink. "I just can't --" His head shakes again. "I mean, that means that soon I've gotta --" He quiets, though, at the sound of keys in the door, flashing a bright smile at Micah, swiftly displacing the worry that was there previously. "Hi, Micah, Hi, Spe -- er bye Spence." This comes with a quick laugh. "Ohgosh. I bet Jerusalem will love that. How was your day, hon?" Dusk slips over closer to Jax, one hand lifting towards the small of Jackson's back but dropping again, short of actually touching him. "-- can't --?" He stops, too, though, at the new arrivals. He slips over to he kitchen's entryway, one wing brushing at Jax's arm in passing, lightly. "Oh, hey, guys." He doesn't match Jax for bright smile, though he does offer a small one. "I'm not letting that go, though, you know." He only says this once Spencer has disappeared into his bedroom, eyebrows raising. "Is that smile even real?" "Crazy. It's prob'ly gonna be crazy for a bit, after me bein' out over a week," Micah replies to Jax's question, though Dusk's words soon jar him from his casual demeanour. He turns back to the pair once quit of his bag, eyebrows already knitting in concern as he joins them in the kitchen. "Is everythin' okay? 'Cause it don't...sound okay." "Everything's fine," Jackson insists, a little bit testily -- but the smile vanishes from his face to leave just a somewhat tired expression. "No, everything's -- it's fine, I just. I can't." He dries his hands on a towel, exhaling heavily. "-- Oh. Oh gosh." This sounds abruptly kind of horrified. "Micah on our next -- next raid were you -- were you going to /come/?" "Ouch, yeah. Still maybe crazy's kind of fun. Like, better than sitting around for a week doing nothing." Dusk offers this hopefully? Maybe kind of fun? But his smile fades too, as Jax does. "He's good on first aid and we always need drivers," he points out, "It'd be good to -- oh." His eyes travel towards Spencer's room. "Oh. /Were/ you?" Now he's looking at Micah, too, brows slightly raised. "It's not fine. That's not a...fine voice, hon." Micah approaches Jax, his hand reaching out for the other man's back and rubbing there in small, gentle circles. "If y'need somebody t'drive an' t'sit out at base camp t'patch people up, yes. But...into the action? Not so much. Last time I tried that I got shot...right here." His free hand points to his flank. Yep, that was the spot. "An', yes. Crazy is preferable to convalescence /any/ day." "It's just if you come you're on my team and if you're on my team that means I'm giving you orders and if I'm giving you orders that means /I/ might have to decide if you --" Jackson shakes his head, knuckles pressing to his lips. "People die. I give orders, and sometimes people die for them and --" Now his attention turns from Micah to Dusk. "-- And I can't --" His fingers flick between Dusk and himself. "This. This thing. And then maybe get you killed. Or maybe /not/ give you orders I really /should/ because I don't want to --" He exhales a shuddery breath, leaning back into Micah's touch. "Oh gosh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to come home to this, honey-honey. We were just sparring and then came down here to clean up," which he clearly still hasn't /done/, "and then -- ohgosh I'm sorry. I'll -- I'll wash. And then dinner what -- would you like for -- you said you had a crazy day an' everything an' now I'm -- oh hey we /do/ got sweet potatoes, now." "... might have to order me to die." Dusk says it outright, at least, slumping back heavily against the doorframe between kitchen and living room. "Might have to order /him/ to die. Driving's less safe than you might think, we've had --" His lips press together. "So what. You stop having friends? At least with anyone of us? How's that going to go over for you?" "Honey, I can...I can /not/. Ain't like I'm the most crucial piece here. Just thought y'tend t'be a little short on volunteers, so... But if I'd be distractin' you, that's more detriment than help. So I can not. Wait 'til people get back. First aid then." Micah's hand continues its slow, steady rubbing until Jax goes about apologising for everything ever. "Shh." He turns Jax toward him by the shoulder, further silencing him with a kiss to his lips. "Don't. You're worried 'cause things is worrisome. It's okay. Maybe you should get your shower an' I should cook a thing? An' we can talk more before or after, dependin' what you need, okay?" "Stop havin' -- friends oh. No. I can't." Jackson turns easily, returning the kiss softly and then resting his head against Micah's shoulder. He falls silent, resting a hand against Micah's hip, fingers squeezing there and relaxing again in just mindless tactile /contact/. "M'sorry. We was gonna go -- take a shower together and then I just thought --" His head shakes. "We're always short on volunteers. But if we /both/ go --" Now he looks, too, towards Spencer's room. A small shudder passes through him. "I'll go shower. We'll --" His voice turns slightly hopeful here, as he looks towards Dusk, "go shower?" His lips press to Micah's neck, and he backs away to head towards the hallway bathroom. "Do tend to need all hands on deck," Dusk agrees, but also agrees, "Don't really want to orphan your kids before you've even properly adopted them." The small hopeful invitation is answered with an outward stretch of his wing, brushing softly against Jax's back before he disappears, too. The bathroom door closes, the shower runs. For a while, anyway. A longer while than perhaps people without enormous expanse of wings require, but eventually he returns. Damper than before, smelling fresher than before (though like Jax's sandalwood body wash rather than his usual Old Spice), a towel wrapped around his waist. "You know," he tells Micah, "you'd think the distraction would make showering with someone take longer but it's so much quicker for me than it usually is, /even/ when you throw in sex. I mean, trying to scrub these --" His wings flex, and then fold again, "-- on my own is like an hour-long nightmare." "Whichever gets decided is best, hon. I'm willin' t'be wherever I can be the most help, whether that means goin' or stayin'." Micah gives Jax one last little squeezy hug before letting him make his way off to bathe. By the time the others reappear, Micah has undergone a costume change into a T-shirt (depicting a Darwin-inspired sketch of finches with adaptive upgrades of a technological variety) and jeans patched in multicolour fabrics. The kitchen is warm from the oven pre-heating and he has a pan full of curried sweet potatoes, seitan, red peppers, and onions that he is in the process of spooning into tortillas. The wrapped products are slowly filling up a baking dish like plump enchiladas waiting to be baked. "Honey, y'know y'can just /ask/ whenever if y'need help with those. Got a fair enough number of folks ain't gonna /complain/ about pettin' at your wings for a while." He wraps the last tortilla up and places it in the dish, covering the whole thing with foil before sliding it into the oven. Jackson takes a little bit longer than Dusk, to reappear. He stops in his room after bathroom-ministrations to put on a soft pair of purple yoga pants, and pad barefoot to the kitchen. "Oh red peppers!" He perks up a little at this, waiting for Micah to finish sliding the dish into the oven and then curling his arms around Micah from behind. "I sure ain't gonna complain. They're pretty all glisteny-wet, too." His chin rests atop Micah's shoulder, eye closing. "Sorry." Even a shower has not washed all the /apology/ off him, it'd seem. "Didn't mean to just greet you with all that stress." He kisses Micah's neck, softly. "You could ask Hive. I bet he'd do it so cheerfully." "I'm certainly also not complaining about the petting I got." Dusk smiles here, quick and sharp. "Tccch, what are you apologizing for now? With as much shit as you have piled on your shoulders sometimes I'm surprised you're still standing." He quietly thiefs a pepper out of the pan before the tortillas are finished and put to bake, blowing on it and then popping it into his mouth. "-- Hah jesus he'd be the one biting /me/ then." Micah makes like he's going to swat Dusk's hand away from his pan with a mixing spoon, just for sheer entertainment value, but doesn't actually make contact. He grins instead at Jax's perking up. "Yep! Lotsa little diced up pepper-bits. Sounds like you two should be feelin' a little better now, at least." Micah turns his head to kiss Jax at the temple, since it's so accessible. "An' if that was entirely sarcastic about Hive, then yes. Completely correct." He scruffs a hand over Jax's fiery hair. "Y'know I /meant/ it when I told y'that I wanted you t'talk t'me about things, right? Y'don't gotta bottle alla these concerns up. Especially when they have t'do with us, anyhow. Can't nobody help y'figure things out if y'don't tell 'em nothin'." Jackson grins, at Dusk's thievery, relaxing against Micah's back. His hands slide downward, fingers lacing together against Micah's stomach. "I know." Softer, now. His cheek presses to Micah's neck agter the kiss. "Just feel ilke I've been a lot more stressy than usual lately an' it ain't hardly fair." Dusk unfurls a wing, wrapping it around Jax and Micah both, around Micah's side and behind Jax's back. "A lot better, really. Something about Jax and hot water and -- man I never get tired of those piercings." His wing squeezes, gently. "And Micah got shot. Could've died. That's got to be worrying and you're /allowed/ to worry." He licks spices off his fingertips, looking amused at Micah's mock-batting. "Talking's good, though. I'd hope you wouldn't feel like you need to hide from /us/." "Maybe y'been more stressy 'cause your life's been more stress/ful/ recently? I mean, up through a couple days ago y'were havin' t'take care of my wounded behind on top of everythin' else. Life ain't fair. You're just reactin' to it." Micah snakes an arm around Jax's waist, squeezing gently. "I signed up for sharin' your /life/ with you, hon. That means I deal with what you're dealin' with, whatever it is. That's as fair as it gets." Micah's eyebrows lift, a little grin answering Dusk's amused-look as he nuzzles back against Dusk's encircling wing. "Sounds like a pretty nice combination t'me." His cheeks colour faintly pink at that. "Oh! Oh I'm probably gonna be getting a couple new ones. But not till --" Jackson considers this for a moment. "March. Well, OK, I might have other new ones between now and March but." He flushes deep for a moment. "-- new ones you'll like to play with. Um." His brows wrinkle together, and he nestles back into Dusk's wing, still holding Micah close. "-- I guess things have been -- but it's all /other/ people's stress, I feel kind of like a douchebag for being a ball of fret when nothing's actually -- happened to me." The blush deepens at Dusk's last words. "I don't. Feel like I need to hide from you I just. Sometimes do it anyway if I'm not, um. Called out on it." His arms squeeze tighter around Micah when micah says he sight up for sharing Jax's life. He answers this only with a small kiss to Micah's neck. "See? Listen to your future-husband, dude. He wants to know what's going on with you." Dusk steps in closer, now wrapping his other wing around them so that Micah is somewhat sandwiched in the middle of a large fuzzy cocoon of people. "Then we'll keep calling you out on it. Yes, things are stressful. For everyone. All the more reason to make sure nobody's just hiding until things are so bad that --" He glances up towards the ceiling, to the apartment above. He shakes his head, wing rubbing gently at Micah's arm, at Jax's back. "It's an amazing combination. I bet it's not even that hard to get him hot again, though water out here would be messier." Micah wraps one hand over Jax's where they fold over his stomach, the other petting at the wing around him. "Jax-honey, if anyone knows just how stressful other people's problems can be? It's me. Watchin' other people go through strife is hard, 'specially if y'feel like y'need t'be helpin' 'em but y'don't know how, or they won't let you." He finally lays off belabouring the point, slipping into the other thread of conversation instead. "Somethin' special about March?" One eyebrow lifts, curious. Already pressed back against Jax with those arms around his stomach, Dusk's stepping into him and wrapping them both in his wings sort of melts him into the supporting people-wall. Dusk's comment brings on a redder blush, too. "Might get a little bit slippery on the kitchen floor at the very least." Jackson just considers these answers a long time, in quiet. "I love you." He might be saying this to both them. "We need to get Hive on vacation ASAP. I wonder what his plans are this weekend." He nuzzles down against Micah's neck. "March is Lent," he explains with a deeper blush. "It's a good time to --" His hand shifts, one staying under Micah's as the other rests over it. "... s'always the kitchen counter." "If he's not going to be fucking you for forty days anyway," Dusk translates with a sharp grin, "it's a good time to heal recent genital stabbings." His thumb-claw curls inward, tracing it slow and sharp against the side of Jax's neck. "The counter's -- well. Maybe good after Spence's bedtime. Probably awkward with dinner in the oven, though." "Love you, too, hon." Micah tilts his head back to rest against Jax where he stands behind him, pressing up close again. "Sorry, I still don't think in Catholic." His colour continues to darken, though this may have more to do with the discussion of counters and their uses. "Ah, that makes sense. An', yeah, food's gonna be done in about 15 minutes an' the little surprise-teleporter's still awake." Not that any of that stops him from tracing his fingertips in along Jax's wrist, or wrapping an arm up around Dusk's neck to pull him closer yet. "I wouldn't advise it," Jackson admits with a laugh. "Catholic-thinking's a lot about restriction and guilt. I try to think /less/ in Catholic. In some ways, anyway." He kisses softly at the back of Micah's neck, drawing in a shivery gasp with mouth still pressed to Micah's skin, at the trace of claw against his neck. "-- I got Io tonight. Guess that still leaves a /couple/ hours between his bedtime an' havin' to leave for Io's by midnight. We'll still have counters, then." "Yeah, but as much as you give of yourself to anyone?" Dusk's claw presses in more firmly, sharp and pokey, though his fingers are very gentle as he reaches out to slip a hand between the other two men, pressing his hand softly against Jax's chest, his thumb tracing against the words inked over Jax's heart. "I think in other ways you're doing pretty amazing at this religion thing. Not that you need religion to be a good person. But if it's important to you --" He shrugs a shoulder, his hand sliding down now, away from Jax to rest at Micah's hip. "Fifteen minutes is a /workable/ amount of time." His fangs flash bright as his head dips to kiss the side of Micah's neck, fangs pressing briefly, sharp but not breaking skin, against about the same point his claw is currently pressing at Jax's. "Okay, I might've used the wrong word. More...Catholic-/considerin'/. Definitely not Catholic-feelin'. I...got a religion of my own t'neglect, that's plenty enough for me." Micah giggles at that, clearly not having a lot of his own guilt on that front, more just amusement. The giggle ends in a sharp intake of breath, a chain reaction from Jax's against the back of his neck, goosebumps prickling his skin. "Pretty sure they're not goin' anywhere," he agrees about the counter, shoulders sliding slightly at Dusk's hand working itself between him and Jax, then down to his hip. The light pricking of fangs turns the breath into a little whimper, Micah's fingers curling tight against the back of Dusk's neck and around Jax's wrist. "Mmm. OK. Sometimes I'm a good Catholic." Jax's lips press, now, to the opposite side of Micah's neck from Dusk, his own whimper very quiet at that small sharp prick of claw. His hand slides down to run slow against the front of Micah's jeans. "Not right this minute, though." In contrast to Jax's gentle kiss, Dusk's next is fiercer, teeth pressing in a small sharp nip at the side of Micah's neck. "S'ok." His hips shift slightly to make room for Jax's hand between himself and Micah, and his teeth bare in a smile. Ever helpful, he unfastens the fly of Micah's jeans after feeling Jax's hand shift. "Lent's not till March." "I think maybe I messed up this whole no-sex-Lent thing last year. I'm not...sure if I knew it was a thing at the time, though." The handy thing about prosthetic legs is that they stay put fairly well when one is finding oneself exceedingly weak-in-the-knee over kisses coming from all sides, running the full gamut from gentle and mostly lips to sharp and mostly /fangs/. Micah does droop slightly--trembling, lips parted--though managing to stay standing through some combination of robotic leg and the other two men's bodies pressed tightly against his own. The hand on Dusk's neck slides upward, fingers twining into his dark hair. The one at Jax's wrist tightens, drawing the arm up to his mouth to place a kiss on the inside of that wrist. Followed by a brush of tongue. Followed by a pressing of his own teeth into the soft skin there. He doesn't seem to have much else to say on the topic of Lent.