Logs:Consent

Consent
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Matt
In Absentia	2019-05-26 "I hurt you." (CW: Discussion of consent violation, reference to rape apologism.)
Location Apt 403 - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. A widescreen television stands against the wall opposite the couch, shelving beside it holding a host of video games from different consoles. More shelving beside the windows on the far wall carries stacks of board games, as well as sourcebooks from various RPGs. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here and one bathroom situated between them, split between the three people who live here. The day has grown mild and lovely, truly a perfect spring afternoon. Matt has been taking his time out in the sunshine, cutting through Tompkins Square Park on his circuitous way from a nearby bodega, stopping occasionally to chat or pet dogs or spectate on chess games. In defiance of expectations, he's smartly dressed despite having neither school nor church to attend--a pale lavender dress shirt, a deep purple vest with a subtle windowpane pattern, gray trousers, and a matching coat slung over his arm. He carries a heavily laden nylon tote--black with a prominent red Rebel Alliance symbol--over one shoulder. Exiting the park, he ascends to the fourth floor of the Lofts and knocks on the door to Geekhaus, all the while stretching his power to the limits of its sensory range to feel for familiar presences. Geekhaus is quiet today. Only one of its residents seems to be home, and to Matt's perception Dusk is quieter than many, present but not particularly busy in the mental signature his mutation gives off. He answers the door in short order -- barefoot, in dark jean shorts and no shirt, he wears a fuzzy black-masked stole draped upside-down around his neck. Alanna half lifts her head, paws stretching towards Matt curiously and with no concern for the fact that this makes her slide further down off her perch. Dusk is preemptively curling a wing forward to serve as a loose hammock for when the ferret inevitably tumbles. "Hey." For a moment he just stands, one hand on the handle of the door, before remembering to take a step back and wave Matt in with a wing. "Sorry. Come in. Uh, nobody's home. You want some --" He frowns in the direction of the kitchen. "Water?" "/You're/ home." Matt steps inside and wiggles somewhat gracelessly out of his dress shoes without unburdening himself. "How prescient am I?" He punctuates his question by pulling an Angry Orchard variety box out of the tote bag and holding it out for Dusk. "I'll have one of those, then--Knotty Pear." A pack of grapefruit Izze sodas follows it, and lastly a bag of spicy limon Cheetos. He folds up the tote and slips it back into his attache case before unslinging that and settling it beside the couch and sitting sideways on the arm. He studies Dusk thoughtfully, then looks down at the couch cushions he's /not/ sitting on. "How've you been?" he asks, a bit softer than he's been speaking before. "Oh shit, I /am/." Dusk's eyes widen, his hand pressing to his chest. He swipes the drinks from Matt, ambling off to the kitchen to stick them in the fridge, keeping a Pear and a Rose cider out to open both. He returns to the living room, one wing curled inward awkwardly -- Alanna has unsurprisingly toppled from his shoulder and is trying, now (unsuccessfully) to climb back up one fingerbone. He scoops her up, stretches his wing out to dump the wriggly pile of ferret into Matt's lap. Holds out the pink cider to Matt, one wing lifting in a shrug. "Busy." Matt receives the unceremoniously dumped ferret with all the grace his friends would have come to expect from him. "/Calisse!/ What a good fuzzy noodle you are!" he declares with blatant astonishment, gesticulating at Alanna. "Such a sweet pointy face and fine slinky...everything." The cider he accepts a bit more sedately, just with a nod and a "Merci." Takes a sip and subsides heavily against the couch cushions. "Yeah." Then, after a beat. "Me, too." He smooths one firm hand along Alanna's back, then looks back up at Dusk. "Can we talk? About the last time I donated." Alanna is an equal match to Matt for grace. The ferret writhes, toppling over onto her back under the petting with an equal open-mouthed astonishment as her front paws flail at Matt's hand. Dusk twitches his wings in closer against his back, his lips pressing tight together at the question. He doesn't immediately answer; instead takes a quick sip of his cider. Frowns at the bottle in his hand, grimaces, reaches out to exchange the one he's just drunk from with the rose he gave to Matt. His nostrils flare on a quick quiet huff, his wings shifting outward again as he settles into a perch on a nearby milk crate. "I feel like donate implies a kind of mutual consent about the transaction that I don't -- really know if --" His head shakes, teeth clicking against the lip of his bottle on his next quick swig. Matt's pettings are not easily deterred, despite Alanna's spirited effort, though they grow /craftier/, pulling back with much waggling of fingers and then darting in from one side. He surrenders one cider for another easily, takes a sip of /that/ one and gives a small, satisfied hum. "The pun adds flavor," he explains sincerely. He waits a beat for Dusk to finish the sentence, but not long enough to make the other man feel pressed to do so. "I am sorry." His /tactical/ petting transforms into more leisurely head-scritching. "It wasn't my decision to make." Dusk flicks a forefinger lightly against the side of his bottle. He lowers it to his knee, his eyes shifting away and down, watching Alanna's excited wiggles as she wrestles Matt's hand. The sharp thumbclaws atop his wings twitch, flicking sharply downward, too. He briefly lifts his eyes to Matt -- drops them back to the ferret. Opens his mouth after a long silence -- but ultimately just to take another long gulp of cider, his shoulders tightening inward. Again, Matt leaves Dusk space to speak, and doesn't appear upset by the silence, though his eyes flick up to the other man appraisingly. His hand curls beneath Alanna's head to scratch at the backs of her ears. At length he says, "I got so used to needing to /convince/ you I was well enough to give. And I was. And I /am/. But!" His hand peels away from the ferret briefly to make an indefinite gesture in the air, palm turning upward with a small flourish. "Your comfort in /taking/ is a lot more complicated than just your need and my ability--/or/ willingness--to fulfill it." He bows his head slightly, here. "I ought to have respected that, no matter what /I/ thought you needed in that moment." "Man, you've lived in that body your whole life. I trust /you/ to know your limits." Dusk still doesn't look up. His finger continues its rapid tapping. "But I --" When he stops this time it's with an uncomfortable shift of posture, a slow scrape of talons against the already much-scuffed floor. His overly prominent Adam's apple makes the hard swallow he pushes down his throat more starkly visible. "I hurt you." "As I should have trusted you to know yours," Matt replies softly, looking back up. "I know damned well there are times when your actions in hunger are not wholly under conscious control, and if you were /that/ reluctant to accept my offer you must have had good cause. You only hurt me because I pushed you past the limits of that control. But, Dusk--" He leans toward the other man ever so slightly. "--you stopped when I asked. I know you might not have. But you /did/." Dusk's wings flare out when Matt leans in. It knocks the center table slightly sideways with a scudding scrape. He scuffs his knuckles against his scruffy cheek, exhaling hard. "Yeah," there's a bitter cast to his voice, a very soft growl rumbling underneath his words, "I only hurt you because you pushed me. If you just hadn't been drinking that much or showing so much skin, then maybe --" There's a sudden crunch, a fizzing splatter -- the glass bottle in his hand has broken into several pieces, its contents running abruptly down Dusk's leg and pooling on the floor. He stands up with an irritable hiss, shaking the wet off one hand as he moves toward the kitchen. His other hand curls into a fist, circles over his chest. The minute lift of Matt's eyebrows at Dusk's reaction is hard to read, but when the glass breaks he flinches. Only for an instant, his expression frozen, and then his lips press tight together, brows wrinkling in sympathy. "It's hardly the same," he retorts gently. "Even if you do not accept that I pushed you into it, your hunger is...intense beyond reasonable comparison with mere lust." He considers the broken glass on the floor and curls a forestalling hand around Alanna in anticipation of her interest in the shiny shards. "It's an altered state--one in which you have little choice, but which you do exert tremendous effort to manage. And I stress, again--/you stopped/ when I asked." "Eventually." The growling subsides. Dusk's voice is quiet. He picks up a roll of paper towels and cleaning spray from the kitchen, skirting back around the living room's mess and crouching -- slow, deliberate as his wings mantle for balance -- to mop up the mess. "I'm just -- I am sorry." Still soft. He plucks up broken shards of glass carefully, dropping them lightly onto the damp paper towels. "And don't ever do that again." Matt takes a long draught of his cider and clasps Alanna closer--perhaps for comfort, but just as likely in an effort to keep the wriggly ferret from getting loose while there is yet broken glass for her to get into. "Alright. I promise." He looks like he's about to say more when his phone emits a trilling electronic noise. He sets down his drink, releases Alanna, and fishes the device from his pocket. There's a sharp intake of breath when he swipes the screen on. "Oh. Oh, dear." He stands up, looks to Dusk. "Daiki says Ryan's--stirring. I need to get to Sinai." A slight easing has begun to gentle the set of Dusk's wings -- but that snaps right back into tension at Matt's words. Dusk looks up, eyes wider and his hand pressing down hard against the paper towels he's mopping with. "Oh." For just a beat, his talons dig harder into the floorboards. They relent as he exhales, nods. "Is he -- do -- you want a lift?" Matt's nodding jerkily even as he swipes out a reply on his phone. "It's--apparently not catastrophic yet, but this is Daiki, so..." His shoulders tense up slightly, as if for a somewhat understated shrug, though they never really quite go back /down/. "Yes, please."