ArchivedLogs:Summons

Summons
Dramatis Personae Micah, Dusk	1 December 2013 Trying to find some return to normalcy. (Adult themes warning.) (Part of Infected TP.)
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. Outside the window, the evening sun is setting in a spill of deep reds against purple and indigo, leaving the chill winds behind that it had warmed somewhat during the day. Micah is in the kitchen, finishing up the last of what seems like a prodigious quantity of dishes, to judge from the laden drying rack beside the sink. A large soup pot seems to be his last task to tackle, and he is scrubbing away at it with a long-handled dish brush as he sings along with the Simon and Garfunkel playing from his laptop on a far counter. His auburn hair is its usual late-in-the-day mess, and he is dressed unsurprisingly in his Batsignal hoodie, Totoro face T-shirt, and rainbow-patched jeans. Knock knock knock! Dusk goes ahead and unlocks the door straightaway after knocking, though. He is in jeans, barefoot, no shirt though his wings are currently folded around himself like a cloak. He glances first towards Micah and Jax's bedroom door and then to the kitchen, moving in to the doorway to unfurl a wing and brush it up against Micah's arm. "You know that shirt," his wing shifts against the arm of the hoodie, "pretty much just summons me." He reaches over to grab a dish towel, starting to clear off the clean dishes from the drying rack. Micah perks up and twists, just his head and shoulders, to regard the door at the knocking. The pot has /just/ reached a settling place in the sink for him to move toward said door and open it when Dusk appears. He grabs a towel and dries his hands off while the other man makes his way to the kitchen. “Hey, Dusk!” the greeting comes with tight-squeezing hug. Dusk's observation earns a giggle. “Oh, is /that/ why I keep wearin' it so much? Gotta love conditionin'.” Dusk's wing wraps around Micah, returning the tight hug with an also-tight squeeze, pulling the other man closer. Extra limbs are convenient for helping; he keeps drying dishes through the squeeze, though he just stacks them by the drying rack for now without putting them away. "Unfair, though, I have nothing to summon either of you in return. I could do with something, you know. Sometimes there's emergencies only you can solve." “I /hand out/ me-summoning devices,” Micah teases, digging into his jeans pocket to pull out a business card by way of illustration. “I know for a /fact/ that y'all have some in your apartment.” Nonetheless, the card finds its way into Dusk's back pocket instead. “Pretty sure Jax gets summoned by unused bakin' supplies. An' maple syrup.” Unequipped with additional limbs, Micah has to wait for his hands to be free before he starts scrubbing at the pot again, then is limited to scrubbing once he starts. “You had emergencies comin' up that needed our attention recently?” He quirks a brow in time with a sidewise glance over at Dusk. "Oh shit what like a /phone/ that sounds kind of complicated." Dusk shakes his head at this, his hands turning up helplessly. He turns aside to put a few plates back in a cabinet, back pocket conveniently more accessible with this. The delivery of the business card draws a fangy grin from him, pressing back slightly to goose himself on Micah's fingers. "I'll lay out a trap. Maple syrup and Doctor Who." He turns back to the dishes, continuing in the clearing. "Uh wow yes, always. It's been weeks since I played even a single board game. And it's getting cold as hell, man. You have," after tucking a pan away he moves to wrap his arms around Micah from behind, nuzzling against the other man's neck, "your own personal space heater and you are hoarding him." “Complicated, pssh, I've seen you. You pretty much /talk/ t'computers. Textin' ain't the least bit complicated in comparison.” Micah finishes scrubbing the pot and moves on to rinsing the soap out of it. “Oh, yeah, the zombies kinda ate game night, didn't they? We'll have t'start that back up soon. Would y'all be up for it this week, or maybe next?” He presses back against Dusk at the nuzzling, not giving all that much attention to just how the water sloshes into the pot anymore. “Don't think it's /possible/ t'hoard Jax, really. Can't keep 'im in one place long enough for it t'count. Don't stock up too well on my /own/ heat, either.” "Could do it this week. I think we could all use some -- something. Probably small. I don't know who-all will be up for it." Dusk's hands slip beneath Micah's shirt, fingers resting flat against his stomach. He presses a kiss to the side of Micah's neck, teeth scraping lightly against skin. "It's kind of a /little/ bit hoarding, without permission he prefers not to --" He stops for another kiss, his hand sliding up higher on Micah's chest. "-- though you're plenty warm too actually I'm totally serious though," he adds with a small grimace, "not that I don't /also/ pretty much always want to fuck you but also our heat's out can Flicker and I crash on your --" He glances to the living room. "Couch. Floor. Beanbag. Somewhere with heat." “Small's fine. Even if it's just you'n Flicker, me'n Jax, Tag if he's home. That's a good start, at least.” Satisfied with the state of the pot, Micah shuts off the water and sets the pot on the counter. Dusk proves entirely too distracting for /drying/. He shivers slightly under the touch of cool fingers to his comparatively-warm stomach. “S'kinda got standin' permission with you. Just think he likes me t'say it again sometimes.” He purrs softly at the kisses, chin tilting permissively at the touch of teeth against skin. “You guys don't have heat? That's like...criminal when you're payin' rent an' it's December. Of course y'can stay here, both of you. They even acknowledged the maintenance request yet?” His hands rub over his thighs, drying his fingers against the denim before reaching a hand to rub up along the back of Dusk's neck and lace fingers into his hair. "Think he does, yeah. He gets all glowy when you boss him around." Dusk skims fingers up higher, fingertips brushing over a nipple as his teeth nip down, a little more sharply though not quite enough to draw blood. His tongue traces gently over the bite afterwards. "Naw, haven't heard anything. I'm actually not sure the superintendent is alive? Have you heard anything from him, I have no clue." “S'kinda one of his Things,” Micah confirms through a little curl of a smile. “Oh/gosh/, I don't know about the super. Could try callin' the emergency maintenance line an' see if anybody answers. No heat when it gets below freezin' at night counts as a legit emergency.” Again, Dusk proves very distracting, and no more on the topic of maintenance or maintenance workers manages to be said. There is, instead, a gasping intake of breath with the simultaneous hard bite and wandering fingers, Micah's own fingers tightening slightly into Dusk's hair. His other hand reaches between their bodies to sketch fingertips along Dusk's stomach. “How've y'been doin' on food?” he thinks to ask as the other man's tongue presses warm and wet against his neck. “We kinda...lost the schedule with all the chaos but I know y'ain't fed from me since before Halloween, at least.” "S'pretty emergent," Dusk agrees, "I don't think Flicker actually even makes heat. At least not for himself, he's always shivering but kind of feels like a furnace so I think he just inefficiently /vents/ his heat in an effort to freeze himself." He closes his lips against Micah's neck again, this time just sucking (with admittedly greater hunger) at the skin. His stomach tenses up, muscles hard against the touch. "I've been --" He stops at this, flushing red and resting his forehead against Micah's neck. "... had more than enough through all the worst of it," he admits in a lower voice. His hands drop to just press to Micah's stomach, holding the other man close. "Slowed down some now, though. Eating almost every other day." Micah's head tips back to rest against Dusk's shoulder, shivering slightly again, though this time not with cold. It lifts up again when he senses that slight discomfort from him. “That's good, at least. I worry when somebody ain't keepin' y'to a schedule, the number of times you've been...” He trails off, head shaking slightly at memories of half-or-worse starved Dusk. He finally turns within Dusk's grip to face him, arms moving to circle the other man's waist. “Like always, then. Y'just let me know what or when y'need once I'm back in safe territory.” Dusk wraps his wings around Micah when the other man turns. They press in at Micah's back, holding him close. "You worry about a lot," he says with a quick smile. "You know, when we go long enough between raids that starts to feel like normal. I used to forget sometimes that I /could/ be anything but starving." He sounds darkly amused by the following: "Live like that so long, I barely noticed when the sickness was getting bad. My default state often already is fighting the urge to sink my teeth into everyone I meet." He punctuates this with another small nip, his hands between them now slowly rising up Micah's stomach. "Before Halloween? Probably alright soon enough. I've been more reluctant to leave any of my friends /weaker/ even just briefly but I guess the chances now of random encounters of a zombie kind aren't quite so high. You going back to work soon though?" Micah presses himself close against Dusk, nuzzling at the wings that fold around him. “I do. Admittedly, folks give me a lotta reason to.” He gives a playful little bite right back, at Dusk's shoulder. “I...” He frowns, the timing of his play-bite and the state caused by the sickness serving as too much of a reminder. “Don't never think I'm gonna feel done apologisin' for what happened at the Clinic.” His forehead falls against the shoulder, right about where he had bitten moments before. Holding the other man tight, Micah's hands trace slowly up his back, near matching the motion of the ones on his own stomach. “Sort of. It's gonna take awhile for the medical community t'recover. They're bein' tasked hard with just handlin' regular pressin' needs, plus emergency needs, plus needs related t'the illness. I'm not sure when my clinics'll start up again. An' I can't really /start/ contractin' for Mendel 'til they actually open. I'll be able t’make a few housecalls for what folks've actually survived an' stayed or returned here. Mostly repairin’ broken things an’ replacin’ lost ones. Not enough t'be real work. Gonna pick up over at the auto shop some more instead. /Plenty/ of broke cars as need fixin', at least.” "Pfft. Micah you were infected with zombie virus, that excuses a whole lot of bad." Dusk lifts a hand, fingers curling in against the back of Micah's neck, rubbing slowly at the muscles. "... it's going to be rough for a while yet, I guess. Jax's club is closed, Flicker's boss is dead, Hive --" He trails off with a slow exhale. "In all the preparation for zombie apocalypse they always assume civilization is collapsing. They never remind you to keep a good cushion in savings because fuck if you know how you're going to pay /rent/ after." His hands slide up again, pressing lightly over Micah's chest. His breath shivers in slowly at the feel of Micah's heart beating beneath a palm. "... then again if building management is dead it might take a bit for that shit to catch /up/ to us." “Mmn.” Micah just presses his forehead against Dusk's shoulder a little harder. “Don't help the feelin' that I /hurt/ you when y'were just tryin' t'/help/ me, you bein' every bit as sick as I was,” he murmurs quietly. He sighs at the reminder of all the things and people that are still waiting to recover in the city. “Ain't like we would've had anythin' t'save for cushionin' whether we were told about it or not. Rainy day fund tends t'run a little lean as it is.” His heartrate seems to quicken, slightly, just from the press of hand to feel it. “I'm kinda hopin' they'll be light on the deadlines this month /without/ folks needin' t'be dead. I mean...it's been kind of a wild catastrophe for the entire region /all month/.” His fingertips continue their idle sketching along Dusk's back, nails turned in to scratch gently against skin. "It's okay," Dusk assures Micah with a quick crooked grin. "I have that kind of irresistible effect on people a lot. Sometimes you just want to take a bite." His fingers keep rubbing at Micah's neck, sliding further around to press fingertips down against the bite marks he's recently left. His other hand just keeps pressing lightly down against Micah's chest, but this comes with a small growl when Micah's heartrate speeds. He presses his body more up against the other man's, fingers reaching to push up at Micah's chin, turning his face upwards. Dusk leans in to kiss the other man, soft but lingering. His eyes shift away after, glancing around the apartment. "The kids home?" he asks first, cautious, and less cautious, more just hungry, "Jax home?" “Oh, you're horrible,” Micah half-giggles into Dusk's shoulder, though his words serve the purpose of lightening the mood adequately. There is another quick intake of breath as Dusk's fingers find the tender spots on his neck, the palpable beating of his heart speeding yet again. He complies with the guidance of Dusk's hand to look up, eagerly returning the kiss as his eyes drift closed and his arms pull Dusk closer. He shakes his head in response to the question of other people's presence. “Jax is takin' the kids back t'the school again. They left pretty much right after dinner.” One hand frees itself up to gesture at the dishes. Dusk's next growl has a hungry moaning edge to it, his fingers pressing in briefly harder. He doesn't respond to Micah's answer with any more words. Just another kiss, this one harder, fiercely claiming. His hand roams up Micah's chest, pushing his shirt up with it, and his body presses the other man's up against the counter. Micah whimpers at the harder press of Dusk's fingers, though the sound seems to have no actual /complaint/ about it. He bends to the kiss, pliant where the other man is fierce, though his own kiss is no less hungry or earnest. When Dusk pulls up at his shirt, Micah finally disentangles his arms from the other man to allow it to be removed more easily. He may actually have intended to /help/ with the process, but being pushed against the counter, pressed by Dusk's body against him... A sound between a moan and a purr catches in his throat and his hands reach for Dusk again, curling in against his sides and sliding down to his hips. One hand slips forward slightly to tug at the waistband of Dusk's jeans. Dusk tugs off Micah's hoodie and then t-shirt, both unceremoniously finding a new home on the kitchen floor. His wing curls around the other man's back, rubbing against it softly. His own hands dip downwards now, skimming over Micah's chest and stomach, sliding around his waist. When his hands curl back behind the other man it is so that he can lift Micah, kind of effortless when he holds Micah against himself to move out to the living room. He deposits the other man in the giant beanbag chair near the window, mouth pressing back to Micah's. He moves largely over top of Micah, large wings draped down to give them both a fuzzy warm blanket. "Love you," he whispers, somewhat huskily between kisses. Micah doesn't seem to mind his clothing being tossed aside or even really /notice/ it all that much. That is, until there are soft wings brushing up against bare skin that quivers faintly under the touch. He presses himself into the gentle rub, his hands moving to find the button of Dusk's pants. He is interrupted in this process by being picked up bodily, surprise opening his eyes wide once more. While not /large/ for an adult male he certainly isn't used to be carried about. His arms wrap around Dusk's shoulders and his legs around Dusk's waist (though much more carefully with the prosthetic side, to avoid hurting the other man in the process) until he is placed on the chair. Supported now, Micah's grip on the other man loosens. His body presses back up against Dusk's, a pleased hum in his throat at the feel of the other man's weight pushing him down. He returns the kiss, deepening it as his hands trace down Dusk's back again, under his wings. They make their way to the button they had left earlier and find more success in its unfastening on the second attempt. “Love you,” he sneaks the words in one of the brief moments that his mouth is freed for speaking, though he is forced to pause before adding, “too.” Then there are more important things for lips to be doing than talking.