ArchivedLogs:The Nuclear Option
|The Nuclear Option|
"I came ready to fight."
<NYC> Tessier Residence - Upstairs - Greenwich Village
The upper floor of this apartment holds the bedrooms; one master bedroom and three smaller ones. One has been converted to a lounge, couches and /more/ books and a large desk by its window. The other two smaller bedrooms upstairs, in strange departure from the rest of the house's style, seem decorated more with younger occupants in mind. One of them, styled largely in purples and blues, has a pair of twin beds with matching butterfly-patterned bedspreads and a similar fabric for the window curtains; a wealth of stuffed toys is neatly arranged on both. The other is very green, its bedspread green-and-black striped; the walls are covered with a host of movie posters. Between the two bedrooms stands a bathroom, cheerfully decorated with colourful mosaic fish in its tiles.
The master bedroom, in contrast to the paler, earthy scheme outside, is warm and rich, decorated in deep reds. The exquisitely crafted furniture is dark, with reddish undertones to the mahogany wood. The king-sized bed is stocked with an overabundance of pillows, and more cushions rest in the windowseat. One wall holds a spacious walk-in closet. A table, low to the ground, sits on a thick rug between the bed and the entrance, the right height for kneeling rather than chairs; the checked pattern carved into its surface marks it as a chessboard, though the pieces are not in evidence. The master bathroom adjoins the bedroom; it is large, done in black marble, with an overly spacious glass-walled shower and a similarly large jacuzzi bathtub.
The room is only lit only by the bedside lamp by which Matt has presumably been reading. The book still lies in his lap, but he does not seem to be paying much attention to either it or the laptop open on a chair, playing Steven Universe reruns. He's dressed in a soft heather gray tank-top, propped up on a massive pile of pillows, dozing on and off.
There's been some quiet noise downstairs, soon followed by footsteps on the stairs. Soon after that, a soft knock on the door. It opens cautiously, Dusk's shaggy head peeking in. He slips in quietly when he sees Matt dozing, padding barefoot over to the bedside and shifting the laptop to the nightstand. He's dressed in black denim shorts, a dark brown halter-tied wrap shirt. As usual his wings lend him the most colour -- a deep, rich, emerald green in their membranes, and varying shades of color on the velvety fur that covers them show subtle interlocking spiral patterns all over. The overall effect is like moss growing on carved stone, accented by burnished gold talons. Dusk sets his messenger bag gently down beside the bed, turning the chair around to perch on it and let his wings drape down behind him as he watches the show.
Matt stirs when Dusk opens the door, but does not come fully awake until his visitor is seated. He's looking even more gaunt than he has been lately, weary shadows under sunken eyes, but his smile is broad and happy. "Dusk! My apologies for skipping out on Game Night." He stretches out his arms toward Dusk--even this looks like it comes only with considerable effort--fingers waggling imperiously. "I'd /meant/ to get up."
Dusk pulls himself out of the chair, relocating to settle on the mattress beside Matt instead at the demanding Outstretched Arms. His wing curls gently behind and around the other man, soft and fuzzy where it props up Matt's head and curls his friend in against him in a firm hug. "S'cool people need a break from the stomping every once in a while. Thoughtful of you to --" His brows knit. "Poison yourself too much to stand. There'll be games again next week."
Matt's body feels abnormally heavy in Dusk's embrace, too weak to hold himself up. He turns his head in against the soft fuzz of the wing. "I doubt I'd have done much stomping even if I'd made it, to be entirely honest." His chuckle is breathy and shallow and brief. "I'll be poisoning myself next week, too."
"Next week I'll wheel you over myself, if I gotta. You can watch Steven Universe in our ballpit. Cat will snuggle you." Dusk's breath catches at Matt's nuzzling, then resumes, slower than before. He tips his head down, lips brushing softly to the top of his friend's head. Leaning down carefully, he digs a thermos out of his bag, uncapping it to offer it to Matt. "Shane made this fresh it's pretty much the best." There's ginger lemonade inside, sweet and tart and very gingery. His wing brushes gentle and slow against the other man's arm. "You'll be poisoning yourself a long-ass time." His scruffy-bearded cheek rests lightly against the side of Matt's head. "I'm way too gorram impatient to wait /that/ long to have you around. You're just gonna have to deal if we make a comfy nest for you in the sitting room in the meantime."
"Maybe..." Matt sighs, subsiding against Dusk's wing. "It /would/ be ever so pleasant, seeing everyone, but exhausting, too. But /maybe/..." He accepts the thermos and takes a tentative sip. "Oh gods, this is /so/ delicious." He risks another sip, humming appreciatively and burrowing feebly against Dusk's side. "You realize that if you make me /too/ comfortable, I'm just going to fall asleep." Though, after a moment's consideration, he amends this with, "Will probably fall asleep even if I'm /un/comfortable, just with more whimpering and looking pathetic. In neither case will I make good company."
"You're allowed." Dusk's wing wraps just a little closer, warm and snug where it enfolds Matt. "You're not required to be good company. You're not required to -- anything." His eyes close, head slipping down further to nuzzle gently against Matt's neck. "I'm not really going to drag you anywhere if you're drained as fuck. I just. Don't want you to feel like you have to sit shit out because you're not good company. You /can/ just burrow into a pile of blankets and watch TV and drink tea and fall the hell asleep." He presses a small kiss to the other man's neck, head tipping back against the pillows after. "Hive says this time around is kind of murder on your immune system. I could help with that."
Matt's head rolls back, the motion familiar and enticing. "Poisonous as I am right now, I ought not to tempt you," he murmurs. "But yes, this treatment regimen is sort of...the kill-it-with-fire approach. Nuke the site from orbit. /Prepare the red matter,/ even." His grin goes a little manic here. "...and then grow a new immune system later. Hopefully." He tucks his own head against Dusk's neck now. "I could use the help," is abruptly flat with weariness, in stark contrast to his glib tone just a moment before, "If you can spare it." His lips brush the other man's skin gently as he speaks.
"Man, you tempt me how many different ways just by /being/." The breath Dusk draws in is slow and shaky, when Matt's head rolls back; his lips press firmer to the other man's exposed throat, though only briefly. "Trust me, I can deal." His eyes close after this, posture shifting slightly to tuck Matt's head more snugly beneath his own chin. "Wouldn't have offered if I couldn't. Any luck, regular doses'll take the edge off all the nukes they're bombarding you with, too." The hard swallow that rolls down his throat is easy to feel, pressed up against Matt's lips. "Just be careful not to break all your teacups when you go from sad feeble invalid to -- sad feeble invalid with unpredictable grip strength. Your brother would /tut/ at the mess."
"I know you can /deal/, but I doubt it's /comfortable./" Matt buries his face hard against Dusk's neck, nibbling gently at a bit of skin. "The /edge/ I can handle. I might be singing a different tune by the end of this round but--I came ready to fight." He uncurls himself a little, the strain of the movement sensible to Dusk, pressed close as they are, and takes another sip of ginger lemonade. The snort of laughter seems to catch him by surprise, though not enough to make him choke on his beverage. "I am capable of holding my teacup with entirely proper delicacy. Or, we /could/ break out the titanium camping cups..." His smile returns, crooked and happy. Collapsing back against Dusk, he adds, sheepish and even a touch shy, "I'm afraid you're going to have to do most of the work."
Now there's a soft growl that rumbles, low in Dusk's chest. His breath catches quicker at the nibbling, head tipping back and wing tightening briefly. "Oh --" Just a soft breath. "This I could deal with, too." His enormous wing cradles and shifts the other man as if his weight was nothing, curling Matt in to settle more comfortably -- partially against the cushions, partially against Dusk's chest. He takes the thermos, sets it aside as he nestles back against the pillows. "Delicacy. So is this like a pinky in the air kind of situation?" This, as he puts his own wrist to his mouth, teeth sinking brief and hard to well two dark streams of red up against his pale skin. He's quick to shift his arm down, one hand resting with a gentle care against his friend's head, cradling it with a slow and feather-light brush of thumb over smooth skin as his other wrist moves down to Matt's lips.
Matt's shrug is fractional, though perhaps less for lack of strength than plain mechanics, cradled securely between Dusk's wing and body. "Right now, /you're/ the delicacy." He seals his lips over the wounds on Dusk's wrist, tongue flicking out gently to lap up the first beads of blood as they'd begun to drip. One of his own hands up lifts up, bracing the tips of thumb, index, and middle fingers against the other man's, extending not /just/ his pinky, but ring finger as well.
The weight of his head settles into Dusk's palm, and for a while he hardly moves at all, just swallowing periodically and breathing slow. Then a little faster, the soft flutter of his pulse speeding, too. A noise like a whimper rises in his throat, quiet to begin with and muffled by Dusk's wrist, which he finally releases with another careful swipe of tongue. His hand drops down to the other man's chest, closing around a fistful of his shirt. "Gracias." He tilts his head back to look up at Dusk, lips red and eyes fever-bright. "May I tempt you some more?" His hand grips tighter.
"I think I'm falling down on presentation. Next time I'll be sure to wear something fancier for this. Bring along a tasting menu." Dusk's eyes flutter closed, a flush rising to his cheeks not so much in time with the touch of Matt's mouth but with the speeding of the other man's pulse. His growl does not subside but it settles, a steady purring thrum beneath Matt's hand. He opens his eyes when Matt speaks again, lips pulling back into just a small glint of smile. The small arch of his back presses his chest up against where Matt's hand grips. "Is that even a question?" There's a huskier warmth to his voice, now. "You always got my heart pounding."