ArchivedLogs:Stay
| Stay | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 28 September 2013 Micah returns home from the Clinic. (Warning: Shane hires Lucien and that goes /about/ as could be predicted. Eventually.) |
| 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. The past two days have been largely spent, for the twins, in moving their belongings back into this apartment from the one next door -- partially because the end of the month is coming up and partially because the work is useful for taking minds off of fretting. This afternoon, moving has largely finished. A few boxes of Daiki's things stand against a living room wall awaiting transport back to the school; at the moment, the teenagers are in the kitchen preparing actual /food/ under Daiki's supervision. There is a pot of grits cooking on the stove, another of collards simmering quietly, and a dish of yams bakes in the oven. Sebastian is at the moment squeezing lemons for a fresh pitcher of lemonade while Daiki stirs at the grits; Shane is washing up the knives and cutting board recently used. Daiki is humming to himself, a quiet Chopin melody that Shane has been practicing a lot lately; his good mood is mildly infectious, though as usual it comes with a small affectionate /pull/. After a solid day of observation, with Micah mostly sleeping on and off Friday, the docs gave the go-ahead for him to be sent home. Seeing as he was being kept on a couch without a true complement of hospital facility monitoring devices to begin with, there was not much reason to keep him at the Mendel Clinic for a prolonged stay. He is looking fairly well, all things considered, face still pale and bruised but smiling. His little neon green ultralight wheelchair is, unfortunately, designed more for speed and fitting into small spaces than it is for having someone else /push/ him in it. While there are no push handles, there is a solid bar across the back, which only comes up below his shoulder blades, that can serve as a handhold if one doesn't mind stooping a bit to reach it. Micah has graduated from hospital gowns to real clothes: his black Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt coupled with a pair of pajama pants dotted in little TARDISes tumbling through space, the left leg tucked and tied off at his thigh. His right foot rests on the chair's fixed front end footboard, little rainbow-coloured Space Invaders marching their way across his black sock. Jax is entering behind Micah, though he stops with a quick surprised smile when he notices the cooking underway. "Oh, wow, guys. Did you --" He's toeing off his shoes, locking the door behind them before pushing Micah further into the living room. "Couch? Bed? -- Smells like they made you a welcome home /feast/." He's actually dressed today in mostly black, baggy wide UFO pants (with a touch of purple accenting), black t-shirt (reading 'believe in faeries' on the front amidst a dotting of purple and blue stars, blue butterfly wings on its back). "Yep," Shane answers cheerfully, "and all it took was you getting shot. Dai is a good cook but probably not worth nearly-dying for." Despite the cheerful tone he is poking his head out of the kitchen to /peer/ at Micah with a distinctly concerned appraisal. Sebastian doesn't say anything; he puts his lemons down to rush out of the kitchen though he pulls himself up short in front of Micah, biting his lip and fidgeting. "Am I allowed to -- I don't want to break you again -- wow your wheelchair is really colourful you should steal some of Pa's clothes to match." "/Careful/ hugs," Shane cautions Sebastian, taking over the lemon-squeezing. "B said you were just trying to get out of adopting us, that's a /little/ drastic, don't you think?" "I did not!" Sebastian protests, but amends this to, "... I wasn't /serious/." He sounds a little uncertain, though. “Hi, guys! You didn't have t'go through all this trouble, I know y'had bunches of movin' an' unpackin' t'do,” Micah calls into the kitchen once he has reached the living room. He crinkles his nose at Jax. “Couch. Bed's for sleepin'. I wanna be out here.” His smile returns, along with a headshake at Shane's antics. “Y'all /just/ made that big waffle breakfast for us not that long ago, don't act like y'never cook. An' I wasn't gonna /die/.” The smile broadens at 'Bastian's barrelling into the living room. “I ain't /broke/, kiddo. Just got shot...right here.” He hovers a hand over his abdomen to indicate the spot that should be /avoided/ during hugs. “An' I want /all/ the hugs. Just...high up an' not too squeezy.” His arms lift, hands beckoning 'Bastian forward. “Y'all aren't gettin' rid of me that easy. An' no take-backs, either, you're stuck,” he teases, loud enough to aim the comment mostly at Shane. "You're a /little/ broken," Jackson says with a small wrinkle of his nose, "but it'll pass." He holds off on actual further wheelchair-movement for now, with impending hugs looming on the horizon. "Oh, sweetie." He reaches out to scruff his hand briefly against Sebastian's spiky hair. "Ain't nobody going anywhere, honey-honey. -- ohmygosh is there grits?" His attention has turned towards the kitchen. "Hey, Dai. Thank you, honey-honey, s'real thoughtful." Sebastian leans in, arms curling gently around Micah's chest; he presses a small kiss to Micah's cheek. "Ok." Despite his profession that he was not serious, he relaxes at the two men's assurances. "I'm just glad you're --" "Dusk said you were /kind of/ almost dead." Shane squeezes the last of the lemons, leaving the lemon juice in the pitcher and circling around to the living room, too. His arms cross over his chest, and the look he gives Micah is highly critical. "Why is everyone we know fucking heroes?" "Um --" Sebastian flushes dark, his gills fluttering. "Shane, I think he and -- /oh/. Oh, right, um." His blush deepens. "That was an adjective," Daiki supplies helpfully. "Welcome home, Mr. Zedner. There are grits, yes. And collard greens, and candied yams." Micah sticks his tongue out at Jax's reassertion of brokenness. He is immediately distracted by 'Bastian-hugs, however, wrapping on arm around the teen's shoulders to pat at his back lightly. “I was mostly just kinda unconscious, I think? But from what I hear, it's Dusk I gotta thank for gettin' me an' half of everybody out of there. Just...haven't seen 'im yet.” He manages a bit of a blush of his own in answer to 'Bastian's. “Hm. Yeah, still kinda... I think I'm gonna reward Dusk the most hero points on this one. Pretty sure he was flyin' folks outta windows, on /top/ of all the rest.” He can't help but crinkle his nose a little at the honorific, though he smiles at Daiki directly after. “Thanks, Dai. An'...all of you.” “Way he tells it, /you/ got half’a everyone out there. Says it woulda been nothin’ but panic an’ chaos without you organizin’ folks an’ gettin’ ‘em out.” Jax leans over to squeeze Sebastian lightly on the shoulder, and /he/ crinkles his nose at the mention of heroes. “Think people just get in situations where -- I mean. What else are y’gonna do ‘cept what’s gotta be done? -- oh oh oh did you say yams? Micah,” he bends down now to kiss Micah on the top of the head, “don’t listen to them, you should get shot more often.” “Think he got back in last night,” Shane says with a small frown, “he’s /definitely/ out of Fight Club for a while, though.” “Joshua said he’d stop by if you like, though,” Sebastian tells Micah once he finally straightens. He commandeers the wheelchair instead, short enough that its low bar is actually a comfortable height; he steers Micah towards the couch, crouching to brake the chair once it is in front of the sofa. “He took the night off from Fight Club anyway in case you wanted --” He shrugs a shoulder as he stands. “Isra helped with the flying.” This draws a smile from Shane, at least. “She’s turning into a total badass. I think Dusk’s been giving her badass-/lessons/.” “She’ll have to carry the badassery for both of them for a bit.” Sebastian slips an arm beneath Micah’s shoulders, but then wrinkles his nose apologetically. “... what hurts least?” There is a knock, now, at the door. Quiet, three small taps. It might be a courtesy; it’s a moment later that Spencer appears just inside the door, a bright smile on his face. “OHMYGOSHYOU’REHOME --” He’s already barrelling in towards Micah, but stops abruptly, turns back for the door. “-- Oh sorry I’m supposed to open this.” He unlocks the door with one hand, hopping on one foot as he does so so that he can start pulling off his shoes. “HI he’s back,” he is telling the person entering. “Yes, I had been told that was the case.” Lucien looks casual, for him, though even his dark jeans have been carefully tailored to his fit; they’re paired today with a deep green v-neck t-shirt, a black leather jacket slung over his arm that he hangs in the entry hall once he’s inside. “I have something of yours,” he informs Jax and Micah, gesturing to Spencer with a tip of one hand. “I apologize in advance for any broken ribs. He has been storing up /quite/ the hug, I imagine.” Jax's joke earns a snort of a laugh in reply. “Hon, I think I'll just /make/ you yams instead, if it's all the same t'you. Lot faster'n easier that way.” Micah's playful expression falls immediately into deep concern at the comment about Dusk being out of things. “Dusk's...is he /hurt/? Is it bad? Is somebody feedin' 'im so he can heal? Nobody told me...” A fair dose of guilt colours the worry in his tone. “I wouldn't...say /no/ t'Joshua helpin'. Has he...would he help Dusk, too?” Apparently he's not letting this Dusk-being-injured thing go anytime soon. He pats at 'Bastian's arm when it wraps around him. “Y'don't have t'lift me, I only gotta move, like...six inches an' I got workin' /arms/. Um... It'd help if y'could hold my leg up so I don't have to, though. Stupid abs keep protestin' like they've got a hole in 'em or somethin'. So whiny.” The knocking and exuberant Spencer-entrance do manage to distract Micah, finally, his own bright smile appearing in answer to the boy's. “Oh, right, I guess someone did have t'bring you, didn't they?” He chuckles as Spence remembers to open the door. “Hi, Lucien!” he chirps in greeting when the man enters. “Thanks for takin' care of Spence an' bringin' 'im here. Daiki'n the boys cooked a whole lot of delicious, sounds like, if y'wanted t'stay for lunch.” “I guess I’ll take the yams straight-up, no near-death required.” Jax heads off towards the kitchen, though he pauses with a brighter smile at Spencer’s enthusiastic arrival. “Oh, hey, honey-honey! Yeah, he’s home try not to /crush/ him aright?” He sounds more amused than concerned, slipping the rest of the way into the kitchen to give Daiki a quick one-armed hug and then retrieve a plate to start portioning out a small dose of each dish for Micah. He doesn’t bring it out quite yet, stopping to fill the pitcher of lemonjuice with water and add sugar. “Luci, thank y’so much, honey, that was -- really a help.” His teeth drag against his lip at Micah’s query, and he nods. “Dusk got hurt. They patched him up down at the clinic, too, he gone home ‘fore you did. I’m more’n sure Joshua’ll be happy to tend anyone as needs tendin’, in due course.” “Got shot right through his freaking shoulder,” Shane is more clearly explicative, “Tore the fuck out of -- well. Whatever the hell is in shoulders. Not going to be flying any time soon, there’s --” “-- a lot of muscles there that his wings need.” Sebastian brushes his hand down against Micah’s arm when he drops it, sort of fussing at Micah’s sleeve although there is little there to /straighten/. Smoothe out wrinkle. Pick at invisible lint. He reaches to Micah’s leg, lifting it slightly in support. “Can’t imagine why your abs might think that. -- Hey, Spence!” He smiles bright, too, at his brother’s arrival. “Lucien’s staying,” Shane adds with a smaller sharper grin. “At least for the next little bit, he’s kind of here as a pr--” “-- to help,” Sebastian explains with a small blush. “I mean getting shot seems -- pretty. Hurty.” “Did they? I rarely say no to food, around here.” Lucien slips his shoes off, moving further into the house to lean against the back of the couch. “The boys are right, though. I could have just dropped Spencer off, but they requested I stay. How are you feeling?” It is more than just a pleasantry; Lucien extends a hand towards Micah questioningly, perhaps trusting his mutation more than Micah to give him a complete answer to this question. “Yeah, I do /kinda/ got a pair of holes in my side as weren't there before, so gentle-hugs, hon,” Micah explains to Spencer before he gets the chance to pounce. “Dusk got /shot/? In his shoulder. An' was still haulin' me around?” He winces at that news, biting at his lip before he manages to look back up. “Shoulder's is complicated when there ain't wings involved. Might wanna...send Joshua his way /first/ t'make sure things heal up right for 'im. Wouldn't want 'im endin' up grounded.” His brows furrow, but he takes this moment to distract himself by transferring over to the couch, pushing through his arms to swing his hips over to the cushion and letting 'Bastian bring his leg along to spare the use of his lower abdominals. By the time he is settled with his back to the arm of the couch, his face has paled and his jaw clenched tight, though he says nothing. He looks up to blink at Lucien's hand. “They asked you to--?” It takes him a moment to do the mental math, a blush colouring his cheeks once he has figured it out. “Oh, ohgosh, hon. That's. I got...meds. Seriously. Io broke out the good stuff.” Spencer waits, kind of /fidgeting/ through the wheelchair-couch transfer; once Micah has been set down he climbs right up onto the edge of the couch, kneeling on the edge of the cushion to place his arms Very Very Carefully around Micah’s neck. He’s scrutinizing Micah’s clothing very carefully afterwards, though. “Where are your holes?” He sounds -- pretty excited about them, really. “Wait. You guys --” Jax stirs at the lemonade with a chopstick, dropping some ice into a glass afterwards to pour a glassful of it. He sets a spoon and fork on the plate, bringing plate and glass both out to the living room to set on the table beside the couch. “-- Luci are they payin’ you to --” His eyes dart between Micah and Lucien, knuckles scrubbing against his jaw. “... painkillers do have a lot more’a side effects,” he points out. “Yeah, he got shot,” Shane agrees, slipping back into the kitchen to make up a second plate for Lucien. “His wing’s like -- tied to his shoulder now it’s. Probably /pretty awkward/ for dressing.” “But he’s fine otherwise,” Sebastian assures Micah. “I mean he was up and walking around yesterday, he recovers pretty quick usually anyhow.” “And /yes/ of course we’re paying him to be here -- uh not that he wouldn’t have wanted to see how you’re doing but like. Asking him to help numb a bullet hole is a little bit above and beyond a courtesy call.” Shane shrugs a shoulder, returning to set the second plate of food down by the first. “Would you like something to drink?” Daiki is ignoring the rest of conversation in favour of hospitality. “Or -- tea, anyone?” “Besides,” Shane answers, “that fucking expression on your face is like. You look like a freaking ghost, dude, just from moving six fucking inches. If it’s not bad then --” “-- take his hand,” Sebastian suggests lightly. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the work part of things only taking two minutes instead of hours.” Lucien’s brows raise, bright green eyes fixing on Micah’s face. “They asked me to come,” he agrees mildly. “What you elect to do with that time is --” His lips twitch upwards at the corners. “Generally unspecified.” He studies Micah’s face a moment longer, and then curls his fingers upward slightly, beckoning for Micah’s hand. Micah reaches a hand up to ruffle Spencer's hair with his little-hug, turning his head just enough to place a kiss on the boy's forehead. Spencer's excitement about the injuries prompts a wan smile, the hand on the boy's head falling to his side to lift the hem of his shirt so he can inspect the twin swaths of bandaging on his back and abdomen. He nods at the twins' further explanation of Dusk's condition. “Somebody should make sure he's eatin', though. He prob'ly lost a lot of blood,” he insists. Despite his own blood loss-pallor, Micah doesn't seem to be having any trouble keeping up his blushing today! The twins' explanation of Lucien's presence and Lucien's own input slowly bringing colour to his face. His free hand lifts obediently at the beckoning, if somewhat tentative as it settles into Lucien's. “Oh, /cool/,” is Spencer’s initial reaction to the bandaging, “it’s like you really got shot and everything!” Jax scrubs a palm against his eye, hand shifting down for a moment to cover his mouth. “It’s, uh, it’s /exactly/ like that, Spence. -- Oh! Tea I can do tea you already done cooked alla this food, Dai.” He has just been starting to kneel down beside the couch but he springs back upwards to flit over to the kitchen, filling a kettle with water to put on the stove. “Eric done stopped by after, he -- tends to eat his /fill/ with Eric around.” There’s a faint blush for this admission, too. “He did get shot, dude.” Shane drops a hand to clamp on Spencer’s shoulder. His grin is still sharp as he looks between Lucien and his dads. “Heyyy, Spence, you want to go eat /your/ lunch on the roof?” It might be past sukkot, but the sukkah upstairs still stands, Spencer’s delight with daily outdoor picnics having not yet waned. Daiki’s lips just curl into a very small smile. “I’ll make plates.” “But we --” Sebastian protests, and then blushes. “Oh! Oh okay yeah the roof it’s -- actually really nice outside today too.” He leans in to kiss Micah on the cheek again. “There’s a fruit salad in the fridge for dessert, too.” Shane hangs back a moment even after Spencer has darted away for his shoes, leaning in to wrap his arms around Micah’s shoulders, his hug not tight but lingering a long moment before he draws away. “{Love you,}” he says in quiet Vietnamese, “{Even if all you motherfuckers need to stop trying to get yourselves fucking killed.}” Daiki wrinkles his nose, sliding a pair of laden plates over to the living-room side of the counter and loading up a second pair. “Nobody’s getting killed,” Sebastian says a little /sharply/. He blushes after this, looking apologetically at the others. “Sorry. Um. We’ll be back uh in,” he glances to Lucien. “Two hours. Try not to /die/.” Shane takes the plates and heads for the door. Lucien, at least, makes no protest to the children’s exodus. He leans a little bit further against the couch, his hand curling around Micah’s gently. His thumb drifts in a slow brush against Micah’s knuckles, his eyes closing for a moment as his senses expand silently, taking careful and thorough cataloguing of Micah’s current state both physical and emotional. “Really got shot. Bullet went in the back an' came out the front. Also really fell down the stairs, passed out, an' turned into the Human Bruise,” Micah explains to Spencer with wry amusement. “It's not as romantic as the movies make it out to be. I really don't recommend it.” He musses Spencer's hair again with that. Micah perks up with the news that Eric had been to visit Dusk. “Oh, good! Perfect. Eric can...just kinda donate bunches at a time, can't he?” he muses with a little grin, glad that Dusk is being taken care of, at least so far as his feeding and self-healing are concerned. “Just...need t'send Joshua over. Then he should be good.” He looks a little confused when the boys start their roof-exodus, but doesn't even manage to ask before he's being showered with hugs and kisses from the boys and...what sounds like fond words from Shane, at least. He returns little pats and squeezes, blinking a few times in attempt to hide a mistiness in his eyes. “No one's gonna...we ain't doin' anythin' dangerous, honey, there's no...dyin'. It shouldn't take two hours just to...be a human analgesic, should it?” Micah arches a brow, looking to Lucien for that answer. The catalogue would find that he is a large part exhausted on every level: physical, mental, emotional. Under that is significant pain, though dulled by medications that are also making him a little fuzzy-headed, worst at the sites of the bandages and deepest bruises, but also aching at the numerous smaller injuries from his fall down the stairs. Even if he did manage to hide his near-tearfulness at the boys' affection from everyone else, it is readily apparent to Lucien's senses. There is also a swirl of worry in his mind, mostly for Dusk, but also for missing Ion and the evacuees and the Morlocks and...the list might go on for a very long time. Appreciation for all that has been done for him since his injury blends with mild embarrassment for getting himself into the situation and requiring so much help to begin with. This last, on both counts, extends to Lucien's current presence. “With Eric he can take s’much as he wants an’ it won’t hurt him none, yeah,” Jax agrees. “S’too bad we can’t have him ‘round every day.” He prepares three teaballs with tea -- a Vietnamese oolong -- and sets them into three mugs while he waits for the water to boil. “Um, y’guys don’t hafta -- I mean it’s sure not gonna take two hours to --” He looks at Lucien, and his cheeks flush darker. “Thanks,” he says to the boys, “for the lunch, this was -- real sweet.” “Nope,” Shane is SO CHEERFUL in this answer, right before he ushers the others out the door, “He definitely won’t need two hours just to deal with the pain.” And then he is gone, closing the door behind them. Lucien’s hand stays curled into Micah’s, and it’s only after a long few moments of assessment that anythings else kicks in. The fuzzy-headedness clears up first, eased away into a new clarity of thinking; it’s after this that the rest of the pain fades away into nothing. Emotions, though, he leaves untouched, though past the quiet numbing of pain there’s a soft warm flush of pleasure to replace it. His fingers squeeze Micah’s a little harder, head dipping to brush a very light kiss to Micah’s knuckles. “Micah, how much of your time and energy do you devote to caring for others? Everyone from time to time needs a little help. There is no shame in that.” “Bet you never thought you'd be sayin' /those/ words,” Micah jokes at Jax's wishing for daily Eric-presence. “An'...thanks!” The kids are already out the door before he finishes that sentence. His eyes fall closed at Lucien's ministrations, tense knots of muscles relaxing at the sudden absence-of-pain. They pop back open at that comment, a brilliant flush appearing instantly on his cheeks, ears, and neck. “How...psychic are you when you're doin' that, anyhow?” he half-mumbles, tone that of a child caught at something he oughtn’t to be doing. “It's...it's not. That. Exactly. It's just. Playin'...action hero when I should know better. I mean, I prob'ly put people in danger tryin' t'rescue me an' then all of this just. I...sorry.” He sighs, head falling forward into the open palm of his free hand. When the water boils, Jackson fills the three mugs, bringing two on saucers to the table and then returning with a third, as well as a plate of food for himself. He kneels at the foot of the couch, resting his head up against Micah’s thigh. “Way I heard it told, you was playin’ action hero an’ saved half’a everyone’s lives doin’ it.” His nose wrinkles up after this, though. “-- An’ yeah I didn’t /never/ think I’d be wishin’ for /more/’a Eric around here. But. S’gonna take proper feedin’ to get healed good, when he ain’t feeding he don’t just go to /normal/-people levels, he’s -- much weaker. Heals slow. Catches every freakin’ cold that comes through.” He reaches for Micah’s other hand, pressing a light kiss to /those/ knuckles, too. “Luci’s right, though, y’know. You done a /good/ thing. An’ pretty much everyone ‘round here ends up here once in a while. S’kinda the cost’a what we do. Enjoy bein’ spoiled rotten while it lasts, you’ll be workin’ yourself to death again in no time.” Lucien exhales a soft huff of breath, forehead tipping down to rest against the back of Micah’s hand. “You apologize far too often.” The soft flush of pleasure swells, twining through Micah with a quiet thrill that is not entirely chaste. “Has it occurred to you that perhaps other people /like/ to do nice things for you? I suspect your partner would wither away if he lacked for people to care for. There is something to be said for not being a burden on people, it is true, but there is also something to be said for accepting compassion gracefully.” Though his head is still bowed, with the continued contact it’s not really necessary to look at Micah’s /expression/ to continue monitoring his feelings; his own smile, though, is half hidden with his face downturned. “Only as psychic as I need to be.” Micah looks up again when Jax settles close, watching the other man's head settle against him and lips brush his hand. “I know. I'm...all kinds of grateful for alla you. An' I didn't mean t'complain...I...” his lips purse for a moment, “actually didn't, he pulled that outta my head, which is /entirely/ unfair.” His hand reaches out to stroke at Jax's hair-fuzz. “I love that you do for me, hon. Honest.” His blush deepens again at the reprimands from Lucien, eyes widening at the rush of sensations continuing rather unexpectedly once the pain had already been numbed away. And perhaps blushes further, or at least feels like he might be, though the visual change is minimal. Jax’s eye squeezes closed, an almost feline expression of contentment on his face at the head-rubbing. “Totally unfair,” he agrees easily, “s’like havin’ a giant cheat code t’your brain. But I’m,” he tips his head back, kissing softly at Micah’s palm and then just nuzzling up into the touch, “gonna spoil you twice as hard for it anyhow. -- Luci, stop makin’ him blush.” As if that is even possible. Lucien’s eyes widen in an expression of innocence as he lifts his head to look over the back of the couch at Jax. “I won’t say anything more,” he promises in a quiet murmur, even as the rush of pleasure flooding the other man deepens, strongly. Jax's nuzzling prompts a warm smile in his direction, the head-pettings continuing after Micah's hand is freed from the little kiss. “I don't even know if that's physically possible without...figurin' out time dilation or somethin',” he responds with a giggle to the declared intent of /additional/ spoiling. “Y'don't have t'not talk, Lucien, don't be sil--” his breath catches, swallowing the end of his sentence, teeth dragging across his bottom lip. Though his mouth opens again to say...something, nothing emerges for the moment. “That,” Jax announces lightly, “sounds like some kinda a /challenge/. You know, I /do/ know a person or two who can do all sortsa wonky things with time.” This is said rather cheerfully to Micah; it’s hard to tell from Jax’s bright smile whether or not this is serious. “-- Oh, yeah, honey-honey, I don’t think y’gotta --” He quiets at Micah’s catch of breath, glancing up from Micah’s face to Lucien’s. Then back. “Oh-oh,” he gives, more quietly, “oh, he ain’t talkin’ is he?” Lucien doesn’t answer. His hand moves from Micah’s, fingers trailing in a slow drift up along Micah’s arm instead. The pleasure rises higher, a dizzying swell of euphoria that spikes sharply in a somewhat carnal flood. His eyes shift to meet Jax’s, a small curl of smile on his lips. Micah's tongue slides over his lips quickly to moisten them, swallowing hard before making a second attempt at speaking. “Lucien, hon, I think...prob'ly might've overshot...just a little. It definitely don't hurt anymore. Y'don't have to...mmn.” And talking is over again, Micah's mouth left open and wordless once more, his eyelids drifting closed. His arm quivers under Lucien's touch as if the muscles had been overtaxed and found themselves unable to hold firm any longer. A flush spreads deeply through Jax’s cheeks, as he watches first Lucien and then Micah. He shifts up a little bit higher on his knees, head resting on the couch cushion beside Micah’s arm. His brows pull into a small frown, hand lifting to trace fingertips lightly along Micah’s jaw, his thumb brushing against the other man’s parted lips. “Honey-honey, if y’ain’t comfortable with --” His gaze shifts, faint frown directed at Lucien instead. “-- Sorry. Ain’t nobody gonna push you towards -- nothin’ y’ain’t liking.” The swell of pleasure turns off as abruptly as though someone had flicked a switch, though the pain stays gone. “Mmm. I hit exactly where I aim for, generally.” His fingers still trace against Micah’s arm, though this time with no more sensation than the warmth of his skin. “I do not /have/ to do anything. I would /enjoy/ making your afternoon more pleasant.” His hand moves away; he circles around the couch to remove the three teaballs from the three mugs, placing them on their respective saucers. “In whatever manner /you/ would enjoy. Forgive me. I am sometimes presumptuous.” The flip of the switch gives Micah a chance to close his mouth, breath steadying, eyes opening again as he pushes himself up to sit a bit straighter. “It ain't... It's not /not likin'/, I don't think that's...even an /option/. An' not even...not /wantin'/,” he adds with a glance over to Lucien. “It's just. That...particular thing. S'kinda a thing I'm only okay with if the other person wants it, too, y'know?” He reclaims his arm to scruff his fingers through his hair, a little frustrated with his word-finding skills at the moment. “I don't want y'doin' things because y'feel obligated or bought or whatever, hon. You're my friend an' I value that.” His lips purse thoughtfully again, concerned that he's somehow sounding judgemental. “I mean, I understand it's what y'do an' I'm fine with that. Just...not. With me. Okay? You're not on the clock.” Jackson is quiet, through this. Quiet even afterwards, taking one of the mugs of tea and offering it up to Micah. He doesn’t volunteer any input on this particular topic, just claiming a second mug for himself and sipping at it very slowly, his attention shifting curiously to Lucien. Lucien seats himself near Micah’s legs, perched on the very edge of the couch cushions beside where the other man lies. His expression is reserved as he listens to this; he takes the last cup of tea, fingers curling around it tightly though he doesn’t drink. “Why make the assumption I do /not/ want it?” His brows raise, slightly. “The people you care for, in your work. Does taking payment for your services somehow mean that your consent in dealing with them has been compromised? I have,” he admits, much more softly as his eyes drop to his teacup, “seen quite a range of situations, when it comes to my type of work. There are certainly those who are here for lack of other choices.” His lips curl upwards at their corners, just slightly, though his eyes do not yet lift. “I can assure you, though, that the Hellfire Club compensates me more than adequately for the work I do for them. If tomorrow I gave up every client that I have my life would still be /quite/ comfortable. When I am with someone, Micah, it is because I /want/ to be. I do not /take/ appointments unless I think I will enjoy them. I appreciate your --” He lifts his cup, a small pause accompanying his inhalation of the tea’s fragrant steam, “-- concern. And if the nature of this visit discomforts you, I will most certainly respect your boundaries there. But please trust that I know my /own/ boundaries well enough to tell you truly that there is nothing I do here,” one hand leaves his teacup again, turning upwards to extend in invitation to Micah, “that I do not want to be doing.” Micah accepts the tea from Jax with a whispered thanks, cradling it in his hands to pull its warmth into his fingertips. “I'm not assumin' y'don't, Lucien. I just wasn't...willin' t'assume you /did/, either. Y'didn't give me the chance t'ask.” He tilts his head slightly to better regard the other man's expression. “I love you, hon. An' that's way more important t'me. So it was more than worth it t'me t'stop you an' make sure, okay? Especially when there are...complicated factors, I just like t'make sure everythin' is clear an' understood. I didn't mean t'imply you aren't in control of your situation or anythin'.” He takes Lucien's hand when it is offered, pushing himself up a little further into sitting again in order to bring his hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against the knuckles. “Does that make sense? I'm sorry if I...wasn't bein' entirely clear. This is kinda a new one for me.” Micah looks up from Lucien's hand with a lopsided, almost shy half-smile, eyebrows slightly raised in question. Jax is watching Lucien’s expression, too, from over the edge of his cup as he takes slow sips of tea. “Don’t think nobody was assumin’ nothin’, Luci, so much as --” He quiets again, just nodding in affirmation of Micah’s explanation. “S’pretty important that /everyone’s/ happy with what’s goin’ on.” There’s a faint blush lingering in his cheeks as he watches Micah’s hand join Lucien’s once more; he half-hides it in another sip of tea but then just turns, slightly, to better face the couch, tea lowering to rest on the floor next to him and his hands settling onto his knees where he kneels. Lucien’s expression at this explanation shifts, eyebrows lifting and eyes faintly wider for a moment. He leans forward to set his tea back down untouched, posture shifting to watch Micah’s lips touch to his knuckles. His eyes slide half-closed at that, the small kiss accompanied by a small flutter of warmth, lacking in its former sensuality to this time just be a soft wash of happiness. “Thank you,” he says, very quietly, “for that clarification. If we are clear, now, does this mean --” He opens his eyes properly to look at Micah, “that if I kissed you, now, you would be happy with it?” His eyes drift downwards over Micah’s torso, his smile a touch more amused. “Gently,” he adds. Jax's further explanation receives a nod in agreement as well. Lucien's thanks sparks a broader smile to Micah's lips, and he passes his tea cup back down to Jax. “More than happy. I'd like that,” he responds, a flush of red slowly claiming his features again. His hand moves to lay gently against his side, following Lucien's gaze. He crinkles his nose a little, though his smile doesn't dull for it. “But, yeah. I'm still kinda...mobility-limited for now, so this is prob'ly gonna go a bit different than it otherwise might.” Jackson’s flush deepens, at Lucien’s question to Micah; for a brief moment (in time with that kiss and that small flush of warmth) the room around them seems to brighten. He reaches to accept Micah’s cup with a small deferential nod, lowering the cup to his lap without his gaze ever leaving the other men. “S’ok, sir,” he assures Micah, “there’s so many ways t’make you feel good without you ever havin’ to move at all.” “Your boy did say you were to be spoiled.” There’s a soft curl of amusement in Lucien’s quiet voice. “That tends to mean very little expenditure of /effort/ on your part.” He slides up a little bit further along the couch cushions so that he can lean in and press his lips softly to Micah’s. This time there is a definite sensual flavour to the rush of warmth that floods through Micah, Lucien’s fingers sliding up along the other man’s arm to cup the side of his face. “Oh, I'm not worried about that,” Micah assures Jax, red deepening in his cheeks and seeming unlikely to go anywhere anytime soon. “S'just. Almost more of an effort for me t'stay /still/. Not movin' usually goes about as well as not talkin' or not laughin' or not smilin' does.” This last comes with a broad grin and a sidelong glance at Lucien. He does manage to stay where he is, letting the other man come to him, though a hand reaches up to rest lightly on the back of Lucien's neck as he leans into and returns the kiss. Jackson lapses back into silence -- at least, he doesn't /speak/. His breath quickens, lips slightly parted and his eye a little bit wider. The blush in his cheeks burns deep crimson, his fingers tightening and loosening against Micah's cup. He stays kneeling, sitting up /just/ a little bit straighter with a very small almost-whimper catching in his throat. Lucien's hand tightens at the back of Micah's neck, lips curling against the other man's into a small smile. "Don't worry," he murmurs, "if staying still proves difficult I am more than capable of restraining you, too." Jax's small whimper draws a quiet breath of laughter from him. His next kiss is deeper, the heated swell of pleasure growing; for a while it seems he's just ignoring the boy on his knees until he reaches his other hand out to put it on Jax's shoulder, steering him rather firmly down the couch closer to Micah's hips. For all his best efforts, Micah demonstrates the truth of his statement with that grip to his neck, at first staying mostly in place and only writhing slightly, but soon enough moving to sit up and pull himself closer to Lucien, fingers curling against the other man's back and shoulders. His return of the kiss comes a bit fiercer, spurred on by that added rush Lucien provides. The whimper from Jax is answered by a low, soft sound from Micah, as well, muffled where he has yet to give up the press of his lips to the other man's. Staying quiet and still.../really/ not his strong suit. | |
