ArchivedLogs:A Little Night Music

A Little Night Music
Dramatis Personae Jax, Micah, Shane	21 September 2014 Surprise Shanes in the night!
Location <NYC> Candyland - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The stairs lead up into a landing hall, bright as well with a set of bay windows and a wide cushion-strewn ledge beneath them at its far end. To the right of the landing the first doorway opens into the bathroom, warmly coloured in yellows and reds and sandy tiles; its large bathtub-shower also holds a mosaic on one wall, strange fire-creatures and manticores echoed in the small fiery faeries sprinkled at sporadic intervals around the rest of the room. Past the bathroom on the right-hand side is a smaller door into a linen closet before the actual door into Spencer's bedroom. Spencer's sturdy furniture set has been designed with rambunctious children in mind, most of its structure climbable with a loft-bed connected by a short tunnel to an also-lofted reading nook with a sliding door to turn it into its own private cave; the desk and dresser sit beneath the bed and there is a shelving unit beneath the platform that serves also as steps up into it. A slide down off the bed falls down into large squishy beanbag and the whole of the structure has been designed and painted reminiscent of a spaceship, a theme echoed in the way the closet doors have been painted to look like the TARDIS. On the left-hand side the first door leads into the master bedroom, bright-lit not just from its huge windows and skylight but from a rather exorbitant overabundance of lamps. It's colourful in here, the hand-crafted wood furniture (king bed against the left-hand wall, pair of small nightstands to either side of it, a pair of dressers flanking the closet on the right, a large desk with a multitude of drawers and shelves along the back) cheerfully painted, the walls home to plentiful artwork, brightly coloured glass figurines scattered around the shelves and stained-glass suncatchers hanging in the windows. One set of windows leads out onto a balcony, stretching out to share with the guest bedroom adjacent; it's set up for /lounging/, a large hammock at one side, a pair of hanging net chairs flanking the table on the other. Next to the master bedroom is the smaller guest bedroom, sunny-yellow and furnished with queen bed, dresser, a small desk of its own; doors here lead out into the balcony as well. At the end of the hallway shortly before the window nook, a hatch in the ceiling drops down a rope-ladder that leads up into the tiny attic-space; not so much a proper /floor/ as it is a sloped-ceiling nook of space beneath the roof, it nevertheless has its own circular window and skylights and rather than left unfinished it's been furnished with beanbag and folded futon-mattress and a tiny low table with drawers tucked beneath it. It's late -- very late, late enough that even Lighthaus is largely quiet and dark, the first floor deserted and Spence tucked into bed fast asleep and Obie curled up quietly in his crate in a corner of the bedroom. Zzz. It's not /entirely/ dark, admittedly -- it rarely ever is /that/, given Jax's predilections -- even well after bedtime there are small nightlights on in the corners of the room, their glow muted and diffused through richly coloured stained-glass covers. Bedtime for most of the house, anyway. In addition to the glows from the nightlights there's a glow from a computer screen, illuminating Jax's face where he sits tucked into bed beside his husband -- albeit still awake where his partner is asleep. His tablet is in his lap, crumpled bedsheets loosely half-draped around his waist, a cup of strawberry-mint tea long since cold on the nightstand though its sweet-strong herbal smell still mingles freely with the more carnal-sweaty scents of earlier activity in the room. Jax is not /very/ hard at work, kind of idly touching up a commission drawing he's been working on; somebody's Pern roleplaying character, a toothy-grinning dragon with speckled coppery-metallic markings and a lean-lithe vulpine crouch curled possessively around the much smaller figure of a ropy calloused-hard rider in flying leathers. He is often and easily distracted from his work, tapping away from the screen to go answer IMs or browse tumblr or work (in an equally desultory fashion) on a half-finished blog post. At this late hour, Micah is rather un-excitingly asleep. His auburn hair has better excuse than usual for being a complete mess. His body is covered in a robin's egg blue T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants on which tiny TARDISes tumble through space, the left leg of which is tied off. The light fall blanket on the bed might once have covered him more thoroughly. He has largely abandoned his pillow, as well, curled in with his cheek pressed against Jax's hip instead. There's not a lot of sound to mark Shane's sneak-creeping into the house. A very soft pad of bare feet on the wood floors, a faint sniff-sniff-sniff outside the bedroom; the familiar scent may not even disturb Obie from his sleep. There's a very hesitant-soft rap of knuckles on the bedroom door, more a /suggestion/ of a knock than a proper sound, and the door cracks open so that two enormous black eyes can peer inside. In the dark and the quiet Jax largely doesn't notice the shape moving outside his door. It's only when the door cracks open that he freezes, the nightlights dimming faintly as his eye shifts towards the door. His arm moves instinctively to curl around his husband's shoulders, muscles tensed for the half-second it takes him to register and identify the presence outside. Sort of identify, at least; between the hesitance and the fact that Shane is /supposed/ to be in Long Island there's a perhaps forgiveable lapse into twin-misidentification. "-- Mmm? B? Y'aright, sugar?" His voice is soft, and though his tension has faded his arm doesn't leave Micah, fingers trailing against the other man's arm in an absent slow caress. Shane's entrance is quiet enough not to register or warrant a response. Micah stirs at Jax's tension and a bit more at the arm on his shoulders. His husband's voice is what finally cracks his eyelids, blinking even in the dim light. The forgetfulness that comes with his somnolent state actually assists him in identifying the creeping twin, since Long Island couldn't be further from his thoughts. "S'a Shane?" Sleepiness is eloquent, too. Shane's eyes shift between his fathers, claws clicking very quietly against the door as he pushes it open more and slips further into the room, shutting the door again behind himself. He isn't remotely dressed for bed, still in deep red vest and dark mandarin-collared button-down and slacks, though his clothes are considerably more rumpled than is his habit. He still has a duffel bag over one shoulder, his violin case in his hand; he sets the former down by the door though he doesn't put down the latter till he's reached the bed. In answer to questioning he only shakes his head, climbing up into bed to weasel his way in between the other men, tucking himself under Micah's arm and nudging aside the tablet to rest his cheek in Jax's lap. "Oh -- Shane, aren't you supposed to --" Jax's initial re-identification upon noting Shane's wardrobe and violin is just confusion, but this fades quickly into concern as the boy enters further. He lapses into silence, brow furrowing and his hand moving away from Micah to brush fingers against Shane's spiky hair. "Sweetie, why are -- what happ --" He glances down to his son and then to the abandoned violin case, bowing his head to press a kiss to Shane's temple. "Are you okay?" Micah's brow furrows at Shane's headshake. “Not alright,” he verbalises the gesture, pushing himself up a little on one elbow to regard the boy more closely. His accoutrements finally remind Micah that Shane was supposed to be somewhere else. “You come all the way home? What d'you need, hon?” He squeezes his arm around Shane's shoulders, since it has conveniently been placed there already. There's no direct answer from Shane immediately; he burrows his face in against Jax's leg, gills fluttering quickly against his collar and beneath his shirt. He nestles a little bit more snugly into Micah's squeezing arm, eyes scrunching tightly shut. "I practiced," he finally says, muffled against Jax's skin. "I practiced so fucking --" His words cut off in a breathless hitch. Jax's hand slides down off of Shane's hair, pressing gently against the boy's gills in a slow firm downward stroke. "I heard you plenty. You sound amazin'. Judges thought so too or they wouldn't'a let you in t'begin with." It's such a habitual motion by now. While Jax presses the gills at Shane's neck down, Micah's hand pets along the boy's side, doing much the same through his shirt. “You do practice tons. An' y'keep gettin' better'n better. D'you wanna talk 'bout what happened or just sit for awhile?” "There was a talent show --" Shane's voice is still unevenly hitchy; he falls back into quiet, letting his fathers press down on his gills until they close enough for him to speak again. "I mean, things were bad before then. Since the moment I showed up things were. People were. But there was a talent show and it's. Supposed to just be fun like -- the whole /weekend's/ supposed to just be fun. Getting to know each other. But all weekend everyone was just -- just." He's quiet again, then, though this time breathing steadily enough. Just quiet. Curling up tighter and smaller between the others. It's small, too, when he ventures: "... do /you/ want to hear the piece I was going to play?" The tension is starting to creep back into Jax's posture, muscles tauter where he sits tucked up against Micah's side. "Didn't nobody -- do nothin' to you or --" His eye is flicking down, skipping over Shane's form in the dim light as though he could see some injury through the boy's clothing. "How'd you even get /back/, it's the middle of..." He exhales slowly at the question, though, trailing fingers more lightly down Shane's gills. "...'course we do, sweetie." "Was goin' to? Did it not happen yet or--?" Micah also cuts off his questioning, leaning down to place a light kiss on Shane's cheek instead. "Spence won't wake up 'less we set off a fire alarm an' like as not Dusk'n Hive'n all are /awake/ this time of night." A hint of amused grin tugs at one corner of his lips. "Please? That was t'say, now even, if y'want." Shane relaxes slightly at the kiss, uncurling to make himself slightly less of a tiny-shark-ball on the mattress. For a moment his head rolls back, spiky-haired nuzzling back against Micah's chest, but then he wriggles down off the mattress to unlatch his violin case and remove his instrument. "So I kind of love /all/ of Sarasate's Spanish dances but. I think this one might be my favourite." He straightens, standing and tucking his violin under his chin. There's a pause here, though; he frowns down at his clothing, smoothing his hand down over his vest. "Just pretend like I don't look like a horrible mess, okay?" There's still a bit of uncomfortable tension in him when he sets bow to strings, eyes closing as he starts to play. The relaxed-slow opening seems to start creeping into him, after a few measures, easing the discomfort in his posture. Jax spares a brief glance back to his forgotten laptop and flashing IMs, shaking his head. "Flicker's on shift an' Dusk an' Hive's both up an' workin'. You'll be aright." He closes the laptop to set it aside entirely, resting it on the nightstand and his tablet and stylus atop it. With Shane off the mattress he settles in more snugly against Micah, curling his arm around his husband instead and rearranging the sheets more properly over himself. His nose crinkles up at Shane's fussing, teeth biting down on his lip to stifle a giggle. "Honey, Micah's in his PJs an' I ain't even /got/ clothes /and/ the lights is off, I think ain't none of us gonna judge your /wardrobe/ this performance." His eye closes, words dropping into quiet as Shane starts playing. Micah gives Shane's hair a fond scruff at the nuzzling. One eyebrow lofts in a skeptical look at Shane's worry over his clothing, simply gesturing with one hand at...all of him, really. Not just ready for bed, but already having slept perhaps an hour or two. He nods agreement with Jax, chuckling softly as well. "Gonna be too busy listenin' t'you play anyhow." He scoots in against Jax a little, resting his head against the other man's torso. Shane relaxes further into the piece, his unhappy-anxious energy vanishing as its tempo picks up from the soft beginning into a far more lively exuberance. This, at least, is enough to rouse Obie from his sleep, the beagle's ears pricking up in time with a small whine -- he maybe does not have much appreciation for challenging violin solos. The tinywhine pulls a tinysmirk out of Shane, though he does not stop until the end of the brief fandango. He lowers his violin afterwards, dark eyes shifting down to fix on the floor. "... maybe a little. Too much energy for. Three in the morning." Jax's fingers trail against Micah's shoulders, rubbing gently at his husband's back as Shane plays. The faint dim light in the room shifts and moves, tiny ghostly wisps of colour dancing along at the edges of the room with the melody. His tongue clicks against his teeth at Shane's finishing comment. "I think you given it the perfect energy. 'least /I/ feel lucky I done got t'hear it, three in the mornin' or no." Micah's eyes slide closed--for listening, really, it's not that he's falling asleep again. They reopen as the song ends. He raises and shakes his hands instead of clapping (somehow that seems verboten at this hour despite the music-playing). "The fact that it was lovely /in spite of/ three in the mornin's sayin' somethin', sugar." His lips pull into a lopsided smirk as he eyes the dog crate. "Obie's the dissentin' opinion, an' I think the rest of us can agree he don't really got refined taste." Shane actually grins at this, small and crooked as he crouches to put his violin back away. "He eats his own puke, I'm not sure he's really got any standards worth following, yeah." He scrubs his claws through his hair once he's locked the case again, fidgeting and curling one arm across his chest. "I should let you get -- back to sleep, I just." His fingers curl tight against his opposite bicep. "... can I stay here? Till the morning?" Jax's brow rumples briefly, teeth scraping against his lower lip. He presses a kiss to the top of Micah's head, wriggling out from under the sheets so that he can slide out of bed and grab boxers and an undershirt out of his dresser, tugging them on. "I'll cook y'somethin' nice in the mornin'. -- You know you can talk to us, yeah? Whenever you're ready?" "Of course y'can stay, hon. You an' Jax kinda gotta average out your clothin', though. You're too much an' he's too little. Grab some boxers or pajama stuff if y'want? S'bottom drawer over there has PJ pants, at least." Micah nods at Jax's offer. "Mmn, breakfast. Mad-early before Jax goes t'church breakfast. Back t'bed is definitely in order." He burrows easily into the sheets and blankets, just waving the other two in that general direction before he relocates his pillow. "I know." Shane's eyes track Jax's movement across the room, gills fluttering quickly before he tears his gaze away and back to the bed. "Maybe over breakfast. I just. Want hugs. Right now." He wrinkles his nose at the offer of pajamas, smile tugging crookedly back into place as he starts to peel out of his formal clothes, folding shirt and vest and slacks very neatly to drape them over the back of the desk-chair. "Oh man I'd be /swimming/ in either of your pajama pants. S'not so bad as Dai, though, I tried a pair of his yoga pants on once and they practically came up to my armpits." He just leaves his boxer shorts on, stopping by Obie's crate to scritch at the dog's head before climbing into bed. "... apple cider donuts?" He sounds hopeful. "It's nearly fall now." "/Nearly/ fall. Don't rush it we've still got a few more days. I'll make you apple cider donuts /next/ week." Jax tugs his /own/ black terrycloth PJ pants on as well before heading back over to burrow in with the others. "But hugs I got plenty of in store already." “Very-nearly almost fall in a couple days, yeah,” Micah agrees with a sleepy smile. “S'always somethin' good that he makes. No worries there.” He wraps an arm around the teen when he climbs onto the mattress. “Can talk in the morning. All kindsa hugs an' snuggles meanwhile. Mostly the sleepy kind followed by the asleep kind.” "Mmm." This is all the answer Shane has anymore. He nestles gratefully in between his dads, eyes closing and his cheek pressing in against Micah's shirt, the flutter of his gills slowing into quiet contentment as he relaxes into snuggles. The asleepy kind.