ArchivedLogs:Windows

Windows
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jax, Horus
In Absentia	22 January 2015 (Warning, kissy stuff.)
Location <NYC> {Lighthaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Bright and sunny-light, this house lives up to its name. With a plethora of enormous windows flooding the place with light and an open layout, the ground floor feels more spacious than it is. The small entryway has a closet space for shoes and coats, and doors at either side leading to the neighboring apartments. Past this it opens straight into the living room, a wide expanse of space bordered on one side by a curved set of stairs leading up (with colourful glass tiling on the risers between each stair) and next to these, the half-wall into the kitchen. Cool pale tile underfoot and many dark cabinets with a small walk-in pantry, plentiful custom granite countertops, black and speckled faintly with rainbowy flecks, lots of hanging space overhead for cookware, a large double-oven. There's a strip of rather detailed mosaic-work in the kitchen backsplash, colourful glass tiling depicting strange fantastical herbs and small faeries and firelizards darting among them. In back of the kitchen, a door opens up to a small sunroom, wide and two-stories high with a balcony overlook from the second floor; two of the windows here have cushioned windowseats, and there's a wealth of herbs growing in hanging pots and small window-boxes. The back wall of the living room is nearly entirely dominated by windows, huge and allowing a view of the river beyond with bench windowseats lining the sills. There are plentiful paintings on the wall, surreal and fantasy-inspired, mostly in shades of blacks greys with bright bursts of colour that are mirrored in the decor -- monochrome upholstery on the couch and armchair but colourful throw-pillows, black and white huge corduroy beanbags (and one large red doggie-bed,) soft throw rugs also in mostly black and white with splashes of rainbow woven in. The hand-built furniture -- tall chairs by the kitchen/living room counter, dining table and chairs in the kitchen, low coffeetable in the living room -- has been hand-painted as well, black with bursts of colourful abstract designs. Along the living room's other wall, doors branch off to a full bathroom -- in white and deep blue with one wall of the shower done in colourful intricate mosaic too, an underwater scene full of strange mythical water-creatures; tiny water-sprites have been interspersed at random points in the rest of the wall tiles, as well. There's a small studio space beside the bathroom, large windows as well and a gratuitous amount of shelving and cabinets along the walls; this room has very /little/ colour in it, just white walls and black furnishing. It's very /dinner/ smelling in most of Lighthaus at that appropriate hour of the evening, particularly in the kitchen. That is where a Micah can be found, transferring food into serving containers to move to the table in preparation for mealtime. Garlicky stir fried spinach, orange-ginger baked tofu, and sesame noodles with extra julienned veggies find their way to the table. Micah is decidedly post-work and post-shower: hair clean and a little spiky, clothes his usual evening-time Batsignal hoodie, T-shirt (this one with Darwin-inspired sketches of finches with adaptive technology upgrades), olive henley, and patchy jeans. He hums softly to himself as he fusses with the food and place settings. Jax just looks tired as he wanders in from outside, stopping in the doorway to shed slightly ice-crusted boots and a lot of layers of winter gear. Eventually he's peeled himself down to just black cargo pants and a soft grey sweatshirt overlaid with torn strips of rainbow fabric, mismatched brightcoloured socks on his feet. He's a little stiff, slightly limpy, as he makes his way towards the kitchen, curling an arm around Micah's waist and /draping/ himself against the other man's back. Slipping an icy-chill hand beneath Micah's shirt to warm himself on his husband's belly, pressing cold lips with even colder liprings to the back of Micah's neck. Nuzzzzzzzzle. Micah looks up to the opening door with a quickly-blooming smile that is also quickly-wilting into a more deeply concerned expression at Jax's movements. "It's not Friday... Are you okay, honey? What happened?" The nuzzling calms him, somewhat, though his own muscles go rigid under the onslaught of /cold/. "Oh. Oh. I think maybe y'fell in a frozen-up /lake/ an' somehow got dry but didn't warm up none." Shivering, he turns to face Jax, gathering his husband up (gently!) in his arms and sliding his hot-dish-warmed hands under /his/ shirt, in turn...though for much the opposite effect. He kisses the angle of Jax's jaw before pulling back /slightly/ to get a better look at him. "Got food all ready. Y'want a juice? Or somethin' hot? Tea?" "Somethin' hot," Jax agrees in a husky-soft murmur that doesn't sound like he has tea on his mind, dipping his head to nuzzle in at Micah's neck. Press slow kisses there. "Sounds like pretty much perfect." His hands slide up further, tracing against Micah's chest slowly. He curls his arms around in a snugger squeeze, resting his cheek against the other man's shoulder. "Fridays ain't for trainin', Fridays is for fun. The /rest/'a the time we still gotta train. I was sloppy." His brows pull together. "-- Flicker's on his /game/, though. Think he's been hesitatin' on bringin' up nothin' about his arm on account'a life's been so /crazy/ over here for us but in my totally completely not-expert opinion as someone whose butt he just saved, whatever next-steps there is he's ready for." A soft-low purr thrums against Jax's lips where they meet Micah's throat. "Pretty much," he agrees, hands travelling in warmer paths along the skin of Jax's back and belly. "So, gettin' beat up in a more /official/ capacity. Gotcha. No injuries as need tendin' still?" Could be he's seeking them out by touch alone. Maybe. "I told 'im kinda in passin' that I thought he was ready awhile back? S'gotta set up an appointment with his doc t'talk surgery, though. Not sure if he's been holdin' up 'cause he thinks he ain't doin' as well as he is...or...surgery's kinda a big deal, too." His shoulders bunch up in a small shrug. "I'll bring it up again. I just...don't wanna /push/ 'im, y'know?" Fingertips sketching up the back of Jax's neck, Micah doesn't seem like he's in a hurry to get moving. "Let me know if y'/do/ want that tea," he offers nonetheless. "Nah. Jus' a little bruisey an' a /lot/ wore out." Which isn't stopping him from pressing soft kisses up the side of Micah's neck, an increasing hunger in the touch. "... think surgery's kinda a big deal an'. Think his life's been pretty full'a crazy, too. They ain't exactly been talkin' 'bout it much but I gotta imagine things with Hive been -- not leavin' a lotta emotional space for major surgeries. But maybe now it's --" He exhales heavily, nuzzling against Micah's neck. "Whatever it is." “Maybe should sit y'down an' get some calories in you, then.” Again, not that Micah is /going/ anywhere. Instead, his chin tips to the kisses, arms pulling Jax in closer-tighter at the assurance that he is largely uninjured. “Yeah, there's been...a lot. But things seem t'be calmin' down for the moment. I'll wiggle it into conversation with 'im soon. Feel it out.” "... wiggle it into 'im." Jax can't help a giggle at this. Another kiss, to Micah's jaw, the next to the corner of his husband's mouth. "Feel it out?" His fingers walk their way up along the other man's spine. "Didn't know you an' Flicker had that kinda. Relationship." “Y'got a dirty mind, husband,” Micah replies in a faux-scandalised tone, cheeks going through a few rapidly deepening shades of red. “'Bout lost 'im once just /talkin'/ 'bout kissin'. Think if y'suggested any of that near 'im, he might /combust/.” His spine slip-shivers under the walking fingers as he carries the kisses further, meeting Jax's lips full and slow. "M'fair sure he's kissed a girl or three in his day you know 'fore the whole --" A faint glow illuminates one side of Jax's face, "he had like /swarms/ of folks swoonin' over him. Now he's got -- smaller. Swarms." His fingers knead up against Micah's back, lips pressing back. Less slow. More hungrily. A tiny-soft whimper accompanying the deeper kiss. "-- Ohplease." Also sort-of-whimpered, his hands sliding lower down Micah's back to slip beneath the waistband of his jeans. "I miss you -- I mean," he mumbles with a sudden deep blush, another fierce kiss, "you're /here/ ain't -- I jus' -- feel like the past month we barely -- mmnh." In lieu of words just another kiss, harder, needier, fingers curling in firm against skin. "Oh, I know. We shared a hotel room at the con, 'member? Was talkin' 'bout /me/ kissin' 'im that was dif'rent. I don't remember what brought it up, but somethin' makes me wanna blame Hive." Micah's hands curl in around Jax's hips, tugging the other man harder into him. "It's been...we been kinda a mess." More than pleased to return the kisses, Micah's arm stays tight-wrapped around Jax's hips as his other hand moves to tangle in his hair, locking him into the longer, fiercer kisses. "Blamin' Hive's usually a sound. Sound --" Jax loses track of whatever he was saying with this. Instead he just presses in against Micah with a small pleased gasp, a soft flush of glow blossoming pale around him with these deeper kisses. His hands slide around, fumbling at the front of Micah's jeans to undo their fastenings. "Oh, please, sir," comes out again in a soft whisper between kisses. "I need you." Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. Tat? The first taps are firm and rapid though they break off suddenly, the last kind of -- hesitant. Unsure. Not at the door but at one of the large windows; outside Horus is fidgeting, shifty-restless. Poofed up against the cold, sort of fluttery. Possibly he'd been peering inside because at the moment he's looking VERY FIRMLY down at the ground with the air of someone trying SO HARD not to be looking. Feathers don't show blushing, though. So he's not blushing. The /side/ of his beak attempts another smalltap at the window, eye squeezing shut so that he can manage this without actually looking inside again. Micah only interrupts Jax's hands long enough to tug his sweatshirt off, admittedly a /brief/ interruption given the quick-rough execution of the manoeuvre. He is /just/ dragging Jax against him and moving on from kisses to set lips and then teeth to his husband's bared neck when there's. Um. Tapping. Probably said tapping has been going on for some while before he notices enough to glance sidelong at the window. His mouth pulls free from Jax's neck with a low sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper. "We got really big windows," he observes huskily, clearing his throat a bit before he continues. "Also a Horus. Um. From the look of it, maybe important." Jax's head has tipped forward against Micah's neck, his hand sliding down the open front of his husband's jeans when the tapping draws that hand /very/ rapidly back up again. His cheeks burn furious red; he gives a small pained groan as his teeth sink down against his lower lip. "Oh. Ohgosh. Oh." He's -- only slightly less fumbly as he fastens Micah's fly back /up/ before pulling back, tugging his shirt down and plucking a liiittle uncomfortably at his pants before going over to open the window. He shivers at the draft that comes in, waving Horus inside quickly. "Hey. Horus. Sweetie. Y'hungry, we got. Dinner." Horus skitters inside quickly, tapping his talons against the windowsill to shed a small dusting of snow before he hops down to the floor. He's still looking firmly downwards even after getting inside, fluttering over to perch on the kitchen counter and start to carefully preen himself. Totally not watching the blushing and rearranging of clothes, nope. Look he's rearranging himself too. Somehow Micah manages to make it until Jax pulls away before the entirety of his face and neck are swallowed in /brilliant/ red. Both hands cover his face for a moment before raking back through his hair, neck rolling and shoulders shifting restlessly. It is only after all of this that he manages to look at Horus again. “Hi, hon. Food just got set out. Was talkin' 'bout maybe makin' some tea or bringin' out some juice if you're int'rested.” Collecting a paper towel, he moves to clean up the dusting of snow before it can melt into a larger mess. Jax's fingers scrub through his hair, scruffing it into a briefly tousled mess before he finger-combs it back into some semblance of order. "Could do cocoa, if y'like? S'so cold out -- oh /gosh/ tell me y'didn't fly all the way from school did you?" D'you want a blanket or somethin'?" Now he's looking at the birdboy with concern. Though his face is still deep red. Horus's preening stops, head turning to cast one eye waaarily over the two men; he only looks square at them when he has satisfied himself that they have returned to a state of decency. His wings twitch faintly, beak opening and closing again in silence. It takes him a few tries of plucking at his stencil before he picks it up firmly, and when he starts to write it is slow and riddled with errors: 'School it's-less-yes yes I die-for-fire-flew here did you knots-know it is cold.' His feathers ruffle again, talons clicking against the counter. "Oh/gosh/, honey, y'did fly all the way here? What's goin' on? Jax, could y'get somethin' heatin'? I'm gonna fetch a blanket." Which Micah does post-haste, tossing his damp paper towel in the trash on the way. He returns with a fuzzy exploding TARDIS throw, which he wraps around the feathery teen as best he can, rubbing just a little to encourage circulation. "Gosh-yes, I know, s'colder in the air." Jax shivers involuntarily, scooting around to the kitchen to start a saucepan of hazelnut milk heating. "Sugar's been takin' me from work some days an' it's /freezin'/ but I bundle you ain't -- bundled." Fret, fret, fret. He'll fret over his incipient cocoa, though, while Micah gets the blanket. "Somethin' wrong, sugar?" Horus coos, small and pleased with the introduction of fuzzyblanket. For a moment he scoots back, pulling his head in, all but disappearing beneath the throw. His eyes close and, beneath the blanket, he goes still. Silent. Whoops. No more Horus. Only blanket. Oh no wait there's the cooing again. Just quieter, softly to himself now. “Dunno how /nobody/ does no flyin' in the wintertime. Dusk always comes back an ice cube.” At the disappearing-cooing, Micah wraps his arms around the blanket, continuing the rubbing in kind of a rub-hug. He gives Jax a worried look, waiting for Horus to emerge. "Dusk's only just bare skin an' /so/ so much'a it too. Horus got feathers at least there's good thick down under there but /still/ honey it's /cold/ an' you're -- oh. Oh gosh." That last is just one breath short of a /squee/; Jax has pressed his fingertips to his lips as Horus vanishes under blanket, a warm smile tugging up at his mouth. "Oh good. S'good for thawin' anyway." He starts to whisk cocoa and sugar into the milk, adding a sprinkling of cinnamon and nutmeg once it is whisked. "This'll hopefully be good for thawin' out too." Horus doesn't seem to be emerging yet. Content underneath the blanket. Soft pleased cooing. A very tiny bopping of his turtled-down head where it's hidden under the fuzzy throw. Kind of gently leaning up into Micah's rubbing. Micah can't help but smile, either, at the cooing-leaning Horus-bundle. He continues his rub-petting, working at thawing out the ice-bird. “What was so important y'flew all the way back here, sugar? Weekend's comin' up soon, so it must've been important for all that on a Thursday night.” Jax turns around to set a mug and a wide shallow bowl out on the counter, whisking at the cocoa again before carefully pouring it out, filling the bowl first and then the mug before returning the small remainder of the cocoa to the (switched-off) stove. He sets the bowl down by Horus, mug still held in his hand. "M'jus' gonna run this up t'Spence I'll be right back." He pecks Micah on the cheek, disappearing quickly to dart away up the stairs with the mug of cocoa. The arrival of cocoa draws Horus back out from under the blanket, head poking out slowly. He wriggles a little farther, shaking the blanket down his back and dipping his head to scoop a beakful of cocoa, tip his head back, swallow it down. The cooing intensifies. Another mouthful of cocoa, another bop of head. The tip of his tongue pushes out to wipe cocoa from the end of his beak, though there's still a streak dribbling down along its underside as he picks his stylus back up. 'Thirty Thirsty Tuesday Thrust today thursday I don't know about thru thirsty three-day Thursday Is that today I don't like school. I just came. To talk something happened.' “Mmn, sure he'll like that. Thanks, sugar.” Micah's lips curl upward again at the peck. He finally leaves off his Horus-rubbing to fetch a cloth napkin from the counter, dabbing the leaky cocoa away to keep it from getting all over Horus's stylus and tablet. “Sad t'hear it's not goin' well, hon.” His brow furrows, hands moving to adjust the blanket more snugly around Horus's new position. “What's goin' on?” Jax is back down shortly, trotting back into the kitchen to tip the remainder of the cocoa into a mug of its own, only about half-full, so that he can wash the pan out. His brows furrow, head tipping quietly to listen to Horus while he cleans. Horus is slow to respond; he's put down his stylus again so that he can take another couple beakfuls of cocoa. Drinking is a kind of inefficient process; more dribbles are trickling down the bottom of his huge beak. His talons click-scritch against the counter. 'Well it was my birthday.' Another restless click-scritch. His feathers ruffle. 'What do.' "I know it was your birthday, sugar." Seriously, there were...texts and an e-card! It helps when your phone reminds you about these things that can be done digitally. It does less to remind about delivering /physical/ presents, though. Micah's head tips to one side as he remembers this. "Speakin' of which, I gotta pop off an' grab somethin'...oddly thematic for you from upstairs in a bit. But I wanna hear what's up first. Did it not go well this year?" He returns to the blanket-rubbing for now. "Oh." From Jax there were cookies, but that's probably predictable. The furrow of his brow and sudden tensing of his shoulders suggests that this is one of the rare occasions he is actually picking up on something quite quickly; his teeth catch at his lip and for a moment his glance just shifts over to the doorway leading off to Beachhaus next door. He tips the pan up onto the drying rack, wiping his hands on a towel and scooting back around. The mug of cocoa he presses into Micah's hands, as he takes a seat on a stool at the counter. He looks back to the twins' door for a moment, then up to Micah. "-- S'his eighteenth this year." One of his hands turns upward. "What do you /want/ to do?" Horus's cooing tapers off into a quieter nervous twitter. He shifts from foot to foot, dipping his head but not drinking, just tapping his beak against the edge of the bowl. Poking his tongue into it. He's still fidgety when he picks his stylus back up. 'Don't know don't know don't know. Do they shoot you you did not register people shoot you a lot.' “Oh, yes. I knew. Just...thought this was specifically school-related an' not...gen'ral awfulness related.” Micah's shoulders sag a little. “They're not /s'posed/ t'shoot y'for not registerin'. It just makes it difficult t'do any official things. An' can cause more trouble'n usual if y'run across the police for whatever reason.” His nose crinkles up. “Downside t'complyin' with the law s'the /complyin'/. An' that the government then knows that much more 'bout you. Though that last...prob'ly they already...know a lot.” Seeing as Horus was picked up by Prometheus, that is. “Mmn. I don't like the law none, but I registered since I knew Jax wasn't gonna. An' it's less of a big deal from a practical standpoint for me. So I can keep up all the official-business stuff as gets in the way if y'don't. It's one thing t'protest. S'another thing t'protest when y'got kids t'take care of. So's...an arrangement we came up with.” His hands scruff through his hair before resuming their petting, a small apologetic shrug added to the motion. “That's prob'ly as close t'helpful as I can get from a what-would-you-do standpoint. Considerin'.” Jax is slower to answer, cheeks puffing out and a quick short breath expelled as he considers. "I don't know," he finally says. "They fine you, first, an' those -- keep gettin' steeper an' steeper an' they can arrest you if y'don't pay 'em. An' t'gether with the whole -- bein' mutant in public thing, if y'ain't registered it makes tanglin' with the police /worse/ by a lot so. Yeah. They might shoot you if y'ain't registered." His hands spread, then fall down to the counter. "But they didn't never balk at shootin' us before registration, neither. I don't know as I can tell you what's best. You know we're all gonna support you either way, though." There's another rash of unhappy-twittering. Another restless shifting. Horus's feathers ruffle out again. 'I got many-many-many tickets. Many tickets. Maybe they will shoot.' A long pause. 'Maybe.' Another long pause. 'Shane and b are they. Will. Register?' Micah nods sadly at that. "Yeah. 'S'posed to' also don't mean all that much with the cops. So that colours the picture a fair amount." After a deep breath, he continues. "There's...good reasons for goin' either way. Unfortunately s'a thing y'gotta figure for yourself in the end." His teeth dig into his bottom lip, then chew at it thoughtfully. "We ain't had a serious discussion on it in awhile. I haven't, anyhow. 'Cause it was still long enough away that it was half-theory then. Should prob'ly have another one now it's...really, really close. Ohgosh. Time." Eyes drifting closed, Micah rubs at them for a moment. "I'll be right back." With that, he disappears into a thudding of feet up, then back down the stairs. "I don't know. I don't know." Jax's voice has gotten a little softer, a little less steady. His head shakes quickly. "S'their choice an' we'll back 'em whichever way they choose, too." He lifts his hand, rubbing slowly at the blanket on Horus's back. "World's gonna be crazy-dangerous either way. I wish I had a better answer but that's mostly it. M'sure 'tween Ryan an' alla us your /fines/ ain't gonna be no big deal but the rest of it /will/ be. An' the laws -- look t'be gettin' more bigoted, not less. So ain't no guarantee that fines is what they'll stick to -- not to mention how difficult anything like work or school or /anything/ gets if you ain't registered. But it ain't like all that'd be easy either way. People's gonna be bigots at you nohow. But you'll have a family. Whatever happens. Whatever way y'go." Horus's quiet twittering devolves into a quiet-creaky grate of sound. Kind of agitated. Kind of uneasy. He scoots a little closer to Jax, gently bonking the side of his head up against the side of Jax's and then carefully starting to preen Jax's shaggy mop of colorful hair. Grooming the strands down into place as Micah races off and returns. Micah has a roughly shoebox-sized white box in hand when he returns, tied loosely in a large, shiny-purple ribbon that can be easily undone by a beak with a single pull. This he slides onto the counter by Horus. "Happy birthday, sugar. We love you. An' y'got us n'matter what y'decide, okay? Just like the pups will." He manages a small smile at the grooming in progress. Jax relaxes, fingers curling in in lazy scritching at Horus's back through the grooming. "-- Ohgosh shiny." Maybe /he/ has to stop himself from reaching for the ribbon. It does put a quick-bright smile on his face. Horus continues carefully neatening Jax's hair, beak finally nuzzling against the man's cheek so he can pull back and examine the box. He taps at it with his beak, pressing his head against it. SNIFFING. Nudging it with a foot. Finally he yanks the ribbon off, head bopping excitedly as he waves it in the air. Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop, swish-swish. He waves the ribbon side to side -- then drops it accidentally because of the happy-excited twittering that results. It /probably/ is something like 'ohgosh shiny', too. Another quick stab of beak picks the ribbon back up off the counter; he stretches out to drape the shiny purple ribbon on Jax's head before nuzzling happily at the box. Yay, box. /Both/ of the others' reactions to the ribbon have Micah chuckling a bit, which turns into outright giggling at how Horus handles the box. "Y'get t'keep the box an' all, too, but the present's /inside/ the box. Gotta push the top off." It is a task that could /also/ be handled easily by a pushing beak. If and when Horus does get the box open, he will find three knitted scarves inside...thin-width and short to fit his stature, but very plush-soft. Each one is texture-patterned but single-coloured: red, purple, and blue. Attached to the end of each is a matching adapted stylus for Horus's tablet. Jax presses his knuckles to his lips, stifling a laugh. "Honey-honey, think you're s'posed t'open it. Get the present from inside." He slides the ribbon down off his head, draping it around his neck instead. "But thank y'kindly." The bright magenta streaks in his hair shift purple to match it. Horus is still nuzzling up against the box, but this reminder has him nudging its top off. The excited warbling increases as he pulls the scarfs out, twitching his head to throw one then two then all three of them and sling them over his neck. His head bop-bop-bops again. He picks one of the styluses, swiping quickly: 'Pretty Horus Horus pretty pretty scarf pretty hat best superhero lead all the armies.' Bop bop bop. 'Keep the box safe I need to show Hive.' He wriggles out from under the blanket, bopping his head lightly against Micah's shoulder as he flutters down off the counter and off towards Geekhaus. “Y'was always talkin' 'bout not havin' clothes y'can wear. Figured these'd go well with your hat collection. An' keep y'from losin' styluses quite so often.” Micah's smile broadens, along with another bout of laughter. “Yes, very pretty Horus. Your box will wait for you /quite/ safely.” The headbonk earns a little headscritch in return. Jax laughs, tucking the cover of the box neatly back onto it. "The prettiest of Horuses." He swivels around on his stool to watch Horus flit off, turning back towards Micah after the teen has left. /His/ head bops down, now, bonking lightly against Micah's shoulder. "... gosh. How is they all getting so --" He shivers, fingers curling into fists in his lap. "Dai jus' hit his one-month window this past week." Micah's arm stretches around Jax's shoulders, giving him a little squeeze. “I dunno. Time's crazy t'keep up with. All of 'em gettin' shoved into that much more of the world's terrible, one after another...” A shiver travels up his spine. “At least folks is...positively disposed t'ward Dai by default. Can't imagine cops decidin' t'shoot 'im once he's close enough t'be botherin' with.” He squeezes a little tighter, mind stuck on how /not/ true that is of the twins. “Y'still hungry, sugar?” "Yeah. For -- Dai things. Might not always be so dangerous." The very faint fretty-stress on Daiki's name implies that Jax is having the same worried thoughts about the twins running through his mind. He turns his face, burying it against Micah's shoulder and nuzzling there as if he can /push/ the thoughts back. He takes one deep breath and then another, tipping his head back up to brush his lips against Micah's neck with a very soft flick of tongue. "... you got no idea." Micah nods understanding of the words not said, hand moving into Jax's hair to scruff at it, undoing all the grooming Horus had done earlier. “Mmn.” His chin tilts, baring neck to lips and tongue as he pulls Jax close again. “Think I might. Prob'ly dinner's gonna be sore in need of re-heatin' later.” Jax exhales soft and shivery-pleased, hand slipping under Micah's shirt to trace up the other man's side. "Most likely. Spence was lost in a book when I gone up with cocoa. Don't expect he'll mind." He dots soft kisses up along Micah's neck, tongue tracing against the hollow at the base of his chin. He stops shy of further kisses, though, with a small whimper. "Mmph. We should. Maybe. ...S'less windows upstairs." Shivering into the touch up his flank, Micah slips both hands under Jax's shirt to the small of his back, pressing the other man up against him. His chin only tilts back further, soft-pleased sounds at each additional kiss and flick of tongue. The pulling away and the whimper lead his teeth to catch and tug at his bottom lip. "Fewer, smaller...got curtains." Catching Jax by the hand, he leads him toward the stairs.