ArchivedLogs:Consent

Consent
'Strange' is one word for it...
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Lucien, Eric	6 April 2013 Jax and Micah meet for caffeine (which doesn't happen). Lucien shows up and calls Jax out on his arting...and is apparently in danger of Creeper status (albeit hedgehogly Creeper status). Eric...is Eric. (Warning: Pretty much /all the things/. Just. All of them. >_>)
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Tucked down an alley, this out of the way coffeeshop is easy to miss if you don't know what you're looking for. Unassuming from the outside, its inside makes up for it -- spacious, with abundant seating and plenty of plush couches and cosy armchairs along the room's edges. The coffee is good, the prices are cheap, and there is a definitive alternative vibe to the room, from the music they play to the art that hangs on the walls. The real draw to this place, though, stems from its client base -- one of the very few businesses in the city that is welcoming to mutants, Evolve has become widely popular as a hangout with that crowd, and it is quite common to see them among clientele and employees both. At night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits over the coffeehouse. It is not clubtime yet. This means Jackson is not working yet! At least not his night job; he's been at the tattoo parlour through most of the day, and in fact is just recently getting off. And coming in search of caffeine to tide him over through the rest of his job! Also, perhaps, in search of a Micah, who has at some indeterminate Earlier Point received a text asking him to meet for the caffeination. He's /dressed/ already like it's clubtime; tight white jeans with a sprinkling of silver rhinestones near the top, a tight white tank with a pair of cherries embroidered into its chest, a dusting of shimmery silver over his eyes and on his lips. Silver nails. White platform sneakers. And here in /Evolve/ he's sprouted a pair of large fluffy white wings to go with this outfit, although unlike most wing-bearers his give him no problems as he finds a sofa to nestle into. He hasn't actually managed to obtain caffeine yet. Right now his head is drooping against one curled fist and he looks like he is planning on obtaining a /nap/. Micah actually had not made it to the rendezvous yet. He comes skittering in through the door with all the look of someone who might have been jogging a bit moments before. His olive green canvas jacket is hanging open over a white T-shirt bearing the image of a rather exuberant T-rex holding an adaptive reaching aid in each hand, under the caption ‘UNSTOPPABLE!’ His faded jeans are patched with a veritable rainbow of mismatched fabrics. Hazel eyes dart-dart around the room and settle on Jax. Damn…he /did/ get there first. Micah’s feet follow his gaze over to the other man, and Micah tosses himself onto the couch next to him. Plunk-bounce. “Sorrysorry, I was gonna be here faster but I got stopped by these people needin’ directions and they mostly didn’t speak English so I had to walk ‘em a bit and it was in the /opposite/ direction of here…” Lucien arrives shortly after Micah. Not skittering. No exuberance. Something in the tired droop of his expression suggests he would rather like to be joining Jackson in naptime. He's heading straight for the line, already reaching for his wallet, though Micah's apologizing turns his head. He replaces his wallet in its pocket, moving aside to head towards Jackson and Micah's couch. He stands in front of it with hands folded behind his back. "Micah. Jackson." He greets them both, but his green eyes are focused on Jax. Jackson's eye is droooping mostly-closed when Micah arrives. The other man plunking down beside him just makes him close it /all/ the way, even as a warm smile stretches across his face. His hand reaches out, looping around Micah's shoulder to kind of /topple/ pull him over, less a hug and more a lazy sort of guiding down to Jax's lap. Apparently the /whole/ couch is going to be claimed as theirs. "Don't need to sorries, honey-honey. 'Specially not for helpin' nobody -- Hi!" This is quick and startled, his eye snapping open again to find Lucien in front of him. "-- /Hi/. His smile is no less warm, at least. "How're -- how's you?" Micah gives in easily to the combined forces of Jax and Gravity, veritably falling into the other man’s lap. He rests his head and shoulders thereupon, the rest of him hook-lying supine on the couch. Shoes on upholstery, so very uncouth! Micah grabs hold of Jax’s arm during this collapsing process, bringing it to his lips to place a kiss on the inside of the wrist. His own eyes fall closed, but only for a second, as there suddenly is a Lucien! Eyelids flit open and Jax’s arm is moved just enough to unblock Micah’s mouth for speaking. “Oh, hello, Lucien!” Micah’s smile is warm in greeting. As are his cheeks, which now bear a faint rosy tinge. Lucien has the kind of /look/ that just seems to induce blushing. "Hello." Lucien doesn't have a smile for the others, not really. There's a faint twitch at the corners of his mouth that might pass for one. "You're red again." He points this out absently to Micah, still mostly just studying Jackson's face. "Delightful. I was just appreciating some of your art this afternoon." A touch of colour flushes Jackson's cheeks, as Micah's lips brush his wrist. His fingers uncurl, to drape lazily against Micah's arm, brushing over the skin lightly. His blush deepens, though, as Lucien talks. "S'red a lot," he mumbles, glancing quickly downwards. And then back up to Lucien. "I, um. Did you -- were you? I --" He's kind of stammering a little. "I mean did you -- like -- it?" It would be polite to sit up at this point, but Micah is just too comfortable sprawled over Jax-plus-couch. He does manage to look sheepish in his grinning, however. “That’s me. Blushin’ and smilin’. Can’t be helped for more than a minute or two, as you’re well aware.” The faint rose in his cheeks passes on to ruddiness, more accurately representing the accusations of red. “Oh, nice! Where were y’art watchin’?” "My own backyard," Lucien answers lightly. "Your boyfriend has quite an incredible gift, did you know?" He looks down at Micah, now, but his fingers flick towards Jax. And drop, as he leans in just slightly, to rest against Jax's other arm. "It unfortunately does not seem to come with a comparable respect for other people's property." Jackson's eye widens, and his fingers close to grip Micah's arm. His other arm tenses, beneath Lucien's fingers. "Oh -- oh, oh gosh, I --" More stammering, and he swallows hard. "I didn't, I didn't know that -- I mean when I started I -- look, I'm sorry, I didn't -- m'sorry." The door to the cafe opens and closes, and Eric steps into the room. He is dressed in club-gear, a tight black fishnet shirt and a sinfully undersized pair of black pants. The only real color on him is the small line of glittered purple eyeliner above his eyes. It is, perhaps, a bit of an unusual look for the police officer, but he does not seem to mind overmuch. He strides up to the cafe counter to order a croissant - and, of course, flirt with the barista. As he leans against the counter and pulls out money to pay, his eyes scan the room. His smile widens as his gaze falls on Jackson, and once he receives his food, he beelines for the clump of men. "Heya, Jax." he says, brightly, interrupting the conversation. "How're you'all doin'?" His eyes run up and down all of the other men unabashedly, giving Lucien an extra once over just for good measure. Micah arches a brow in reply to Lucien’s comment. “Several, actually, that I’m aware of…” His fingers stroke reassuringly over Jax’s forearm, but Micah can’t /help/ but tease at the same time. “You’ve been gettin’ all /painty/ with unconsentin’ walls, Jax? It’s a new scandal every day with you.” Micah is trying for a serious and almost shocked tone here, but the undertone of giggling sneaks through in his voice a bit…and in his eyes a great deal. Eric is greeted with a little wave before Micah’s hand is needed back on Jax’s arm. “Hiya.” "He is a criminal many times over. I have seen the news." Lucien sounds totally serious, too. It's hard to tell if he is joking, expression neutral-quiet as he studies the other men. There is a twist of pain, though, that spills out, sharp-hard in jagged fingers against Jax's back. "Several. Mmm. And you ever said that without blushing." His tone is still just absently level. "Tomorrow afternoon. The weather is supposed to be nice. It will be convenient for spending your day scrubbing bricks clean." His green eyes slant up and over to Eric, and the smile he gives the man is small and warm. "Hello. Are you two friends?" "The /walls/ were totally consentin'," Jackson insists, "just it turns out they been collared by someone an' their /Master/ objects to --" His words cut off in a sudden tensing, a widening of his eye, a hard clench of his fingers against Micah's arm. The large fluffy white wings behind him flicker, and vanish. It takes a moment before he looks up at Eric, his cheeks flushed deeper but a notable tension still claiming his expression. "-- friends, we're, um." He doesn't actually answer this. "Tomorrow? But I -- tomorrow I gotta -- I've got appointments to --" "I dunno about friends," Eric's eyes twinkle as he winks at Jackson playfully. "Both o' us are fellow southerners come to the cold Yankee north. Gotta stick together, us Georgians, lest this cold weather kill us dead," he drawls, intentionally thickening his accent until it sounds like he is straight off of the bus. His eyes flick back and forth between the two, and he sits down on the armrest of the couch, leaning down and murmuring into Micah's ear, "You must be the boyfriend. You're quite the looker, there. I don't know who to be more jealous of," he flirts. "I started out the right shade of red /already/, so y'just couldn't tell," Micah asserts with a chuckle. His head is turned almost entirely upside-down in attempt to follow the back-and-forth between Jax and Lucien. He circles his fingers around Jax's wrist in response to the other man's tensing, as if to remind that he is still physically present. Eric's sudden closeness and words spark more fervent colour changes...apparently the right shade of red in /this/ case is brilliant scarlet. If Micah was going to say anything else, the words are forever lost. That flare of pain sharpens, hot-hard-stinging to stripe Jackson's back again. Lucien's easy-warm smile doesn't fade. "Tomorrow," he says again, easily. "Feel free to bring friends if you could use the help." His lips twitch, slightly, at Eric's behavior. "Goodness, I think you might make the man blush himself to /death/. Surely you can be jealous of them both in equal parts?" "Tomorrow --" This comes out more as a /squeak/ than as a statement, a little strangled-strained in Jax's throat. His eye is open huge-wide and he twitches, faintly, beneath Micah, no /less/ tense when Eric leans in in front of him. His breath catches, his face deepening even more red. He doesn't answer anything else, his breath a little bit quicker, a little bit more uneven. Eric blinks, eyes studying Jax's expression. He leans in a little bit further, breath practically ghosting over Jax's ear. "Are you al'ight, there?" he says, glancing between Jax and Micah for a moment before he turns to Lucien with a widening smile. "Blush himself to death. I dunno if that's even /possible/, and I think I'd have to be doin' something a little more dramatic than just talkin' to him. Now, if I was to do some of the things I'd very much like to do to him, right here, or ri' in the middle of the dance floor upstairs - then, maybe, I coul' see him blush near to death." Jax’s squeak finally causes Micah to sit up, turning directly face-to-face with him. “Hey…hey, hon, are you okay?” He flutters a hand at Eric when he draws close again, in what is clearly a shooing gesture. Micah’s brow-furrowed concerned look transmutes into something more wide-eyed, any possible increase in blushing spurred on by Eric’s continuing to speak. And it seems to be just /worsening/ the more words the other man produces. "He's fine. How do you feel about cleaning up graffiti? You two could make a date of it." The pain does not /stop/, although as the blushing continues it does grow a quiet undercurrent of warmth, of pleasure. "Right here, really." Lucien's expression is hard to read as he looks Eric over. "I should think that illegal. On a few counts." "I -- fine --" Jackson's voice is quite small. His fingers curl into a fist as Micah sits up, clenched tight. Abruptly, his hand /jerks/ away from Lucien's fingers, arm held across his chest almost defensively. His face is still flushed, deep crimson that leaks out to tinge the air around him, and his breathing still a little too fast, a little too shaky. "I -- no, that's-" His gaze darts between Eric and Lucien, too /flustered/ to settle on either one. "I was not suggesting it," Eric says, eyeing Micah and giving him a bemused look. "The both of them, I think. It is an attractive thought, but like so many, it should remain merely imagination. The laws bind us, oh, my," he says, dramatically, turning to smile widely at Lucien. "Several counts, indeed. But there is no law against imagining it. And...it was only a thought experiment on how we could make them blush to death. In practice, I can think of places to bed them equally enjoyably that are more in compliance with the laws." Lucien’s assurance that Jax is ‘fine’ does not seem to suffice. Micah’s brows are making every attempt to meet one another, telegraphing unease. He has the sense he is not getting the full picture of what is transpiring. “If Jax needs or wants my help, he’s got it,” Micah says to Lucien, though this phrasing is, perhaps, more for Jax’s benefit. He finally twists himself around into a proper sitting position, pressed against Jax’s side with his feet planted on the floor. Everything about Jax’s speech and movements seems to worsen his concern. For lack of a better plan, Micah rests a reassuring hand on Jax’s knee. And Eric just…keeps…talking. When Micah can bring himself to look at him at all, his expression is purely incredulous. At least he can’t get any /redder/ at this point. "I'm sure you can," Lucien says, head tilting just slightly to one side as he looks over Eric, "but unless your partners /want/ it your legal problem will be less location and more, well, consent." He is straightening, his arms crossing loosely over his chest after Jackson pulls back. "Forgive the man," he says, with a very small, thin smile, "some people have little sense of propriety." Jackson can always turn redder. And he does, the red glow growing around him. And Micah, now, by extension. The look /he/ gives /Lucien/ is somewhat incredulous. "Y-yeah," he agrees, "some people --" His hand drops to rest over Micah's, squeezing gently. "I, um, I should probably -- get to -- I have work. I'll be -- by your place -- tomorrow I guess." This comes with a frown. He /did/ have appointments. "Of course, of course." Eric says, waving a hand and having the decency to at least look hurt. "It need not even be said. Consent is important," he says, nodding once. This does not stop him from raking Micah and Jackson over once more with his eyes as he slips off the arm of the couch and straightens up, stretching upwards with a ripple of muscles. "Never said I had any o' that," he drawls, winking at Lucien. "I recommend doin' it early in the mornin', just at sunrise. Be done quick if you use a'right tool for it. They rent power washers at Home Depot." he suggests. Jax’s being so shaken is stealing the majority of Micah’s attention. He flips his palm upward under Jax’s hand, fingers curling ‘round and lifting said hand up to his own cheek. “Y’want me to come sit with you for a bit?” he asks with a fleecy-soft voice, his face half-hidden now behind the pair of hands. "I think perhaps he might want more than that," Lucien murmurs, soft, his lips twitching upwards. His head inclines slightly, to all three other men. "I shall see you tomorrow, perhaps?" He doesn't wait to hear an answer. His hand drops, fingertips brushing against Jax and Micah's hands both. It comes with a flutter of sensation, predominantly soft-warm-happy though there is a dissonant twinge of pain mixed in. And then he is slipping away, towards the counter, because /he/ has not caffeine'd yet, either. Jackson swallows again, hard. His eyes close, fingers curling tighter around Micah's. "-- power washer." He blinks, looking upwards at Eric in some bemusement. "I -- I'll keep that in mind --" Though he doesn't much look like he is keeping anything concretely in mind, at the moment. A little disconcerted, a little /off/. He stands, uncomfortably smoothing his pants down a little, his shirt down a little more, and tugs at Micah's hand. "Yes, I mean, if s'okay, if you don't -- I mean, I want --" His cheeks flush. He watches Lucien head off, and then flicks a quick glance to Eric. Not much of glance. He tugs at Micah's hand. "Weshouldgo." Eric's smirk widens and he ruffles Jax's hair, once. "You'all have fun, now. Don't do anythin' I wouldn't do." A brief pause, as he begins to walk away towards the club entrance. "That leaves pretty much everythin' your heart desires." he calls, laughter in his voice as he heads for the steps. They really aren't going to let this blushing thing ease off at all, are they? Micah's flush deepens again at Lucien's words. But it is Lucien's loaded touch that elicits a sudden intake of breath, as if it had come with a discharge of static electricity. He gathers himself enough to answer Jax. "Yes. It's fine. We probably should..." Once both of the other men have left, Micah stands and helps Jax to his feet. His expression is muddled, predominantly bemused. "That was...extremely strange," he summarizes. "That -- yeah." Jackson's breathing is still kind of shaky. He -- also has not actually caffeinated, but he doesn't seem in any rush to follow Lucien to the line. He tugs Micah for the door, face still deeply flushed and a soft haze of red surrounding him. "Strange is one word for it. Did he -- did you feel that?" Micah gives the hand in his a squeeze, just another little pulse of reassurance. “Yes. Did… Did y’not know that he did that? I mean. He’s done…not quite that. But sort of. Before.” He moves toward the door when directed. Jackson shakes his head, rubbing a hand against his cheek. "No, I -- I didn't, um --" He glances towards Micah, a quick sideways peek, hesitating by the doorway. "He has? I mean to you?" "It was a /minute/ ago... Like, maybe a month? We ran into each other at the gym an' he decided we needed to figure out how long I could go without smilin'. 'Cause apparently I do that a bit much. But he cheats." The slightest hint of a smirk toys at Micah's lips as he brushes the fingers of his other hand against Jax's by way of illustration. "Y'hafta watch, when he gets touchy." "Cheats," Jackson echoes, and the brush of Micah's hand against his makes him shiver. And look back towards the line that Lucien has been standing in. "He -- he was -- I mean I think maybe he was mad about his wall I don't /know/ he was -- hurting me kind of bad --" Although Jackson doesn't say this entirely like it's a /bad/ thing, really. He swallows, waits a moment for the red glow around him to recede, and then finally opens the door to tug Micah into the cooler air outside. "-- How long /can/ you go without smilin'?" Micah’s eyebrows knit back together at Jax’s admission. “I…I couldn’t say. He implied that /that/ was somethin’ that he could do. But the context wasn’t...uh…/mad/ hurtin’. More…well, he’s not the best at askin’ consent before he does things, come to think of it.” He trots along after Jax, easily led. “In that instance? Two minutes and forty-seven seconds. There was a timer. Was shootin’ for three minutes, though. Didn’t make it.” "N-no, he -- consent isn't -- thaaat wasn't --" Jackson doesn't go far, once they're out. He doesn't even leave the alley that Evolve is nestled into, just pulling Micah over to the far wall and then leaning back against it, head tipped up towards the sky. "Wasn't -- really consentful. I don't think he's real /pleased/, I -- I mean I didn't /know/ it was his house --" His head shakes. He looks back at Micah. "I feel like I'd want to play the opposite game with you. I'm pretty happy when I can keep you smilin'." Micah leans against the wall next to Jax, shoulder to shoulder. “S’hard to tell with him. He’s all hedgehoggy. Prickly and chuffhuffy on the surface… Good at hidin’ what he’s thinkin’. Prob’ly he’s sort of squishy and adorable under it, though.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Think per-maybe-haps he was tryin’ to make a point about askin’ people before y’do things? Whether or not they seem like nice things to do. Not that I’m sayin’ what he did was in /any way/ okay. Just visitin’ intentions.” Micah lets his feet slide further from the wall to make himself functionally shorter, for the purpose of nuzzling his cheek into Jax’s shoulder. “That’s the game you’d wanna play ‘cause y’aren’t allergic to /cheerful/. Also, it’s /way/ easy.” Micah’s smile might not be /visible/ given the position of his head, but it’s /audible/ in his voice. "Squishy an' adorable?" Jackson echoes this blankly. Perhaps he has a hard time relating these concepts to Lucien. "I mean, he always kinda seems like he needs a hug, to me.” Jax's blush is finally starting to dim, his breathing returning to normal evenness. "I -- maybe," he allows, with a furrow of his brow and a tilt of his head. "I mean, that's a lot nicer a interpretation than just he likes hurtin' -- um." Now he looks back at the coffeeshop doorway, puzzled. "-- Does hurtin' someone seem like a nice thing to do?" One corner of his mouth hooks upwards. He turns his head, kissing Micah on the top of the head. "You're smilin' right now. Maybe m'just a poor sport an' I only like games I know I can win." Micah giggles at a mental image. “Prob’ly that would just get more spikiness in response, I think. I dunno. I’ve been told that I give people too much credit. But it seems to me that most people aren’t spendin’ all their time bein’ mean or cruel for the sake of bein’ mean or cruel. Usually’s more complicated than that. I…” He sighs softly. “What I was really talkin’ about was the paintin’. Which could be an extremely nice thing to do for somebody…provided they wanted you to.” He traps his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. “And, well…the right kind of hurtin’ in the right kind of circumstances? Can be sorta nice. Just…lots of /circumstances/.” Micah’s smile broadens at the little head-kiss. “See? Told ya it was easy. And I have trouble seein’ you as a sore loser.” Jackson blushes again, his head dipping. "Yeah," he acknowledges, nose wrinkling, "I know. About the paintin'. I just. Sometimes want to make the city a little /brighter/, you know, everything's so --" His blush deepens. "Sorry. No. I mean you're right." Though the other topic doesn't do anything to make him /less/ blushy. His next kiss lingers, in contact, face half nuzzling against Micah's hair. "It kinda felt like that," he admits quieter. "Like the -- right kinda hurtin'. Though the circumstances weren't hardly nothin' I wanted. Kinda left me feeling all muddly." Another quick kiss, a quick smile to go with it. "Well, okay, you've been to game night with me, I'm terrible at bein' competitive." Micah’s reply is a little chortle of laughter. “That’s just you all over. So much colourful, y’just can’t contain it. Y’might aim it t’ward less /private/ property, though, if y’don’t wanna get in as much trouble about it in the future.” He continues to giggle through his words. “Y’know, I bet Lucien actually /liked/ the paintin’ well enough? And he’s just makin’ you get rid of it to be ornery.” Micah turns himself around, like a door on its hinges, to face Jax directly. He presses into the other man ever-so-slightly. Just a hint of one body’s weight against another. “We may have to have a chat with the boy about appropriate behaviour and obtainin’ consent. Can’t go about painin’ people willy-nilly. Or…well, the other things so much, either. Riskin’ creeper status that way.” He leans in to press his lips to Jax’s…certainly a less-quick kiss. “I like that about you,” is his answer to Jax’s declaration of non-competitiveness. "Mkay. In future, vandalizin' public property only." Jackson's nose crinkles up as his grin stretches wider. Only for a moment, though, because then there is /Micah/ and there is /kiss/ and he lifts his hand to rest it against Micah's side, shivering as he leans back against the brick wall. "/Mngh/," he says, after the kiss (and just before another one, not very quick at all.) "You got no idea how much I wish I didn't hafta work now." Micah is apparently stuck in giggle-mode…with the silly mental images. “Just be careful /which/ public properties. Not like…cop cars or anythin’.” He leans more heavily against Jax, stealing several more little kisses. “Hm…I don’t want to make you late. Should we be movin’?” "-- C'/mon/ cop cars could use the cheer more'n most things." Jax's eye has /widened/ at this suggestion. It was totally a suggestion, right? "Some flowers, some dragonflies. Mebbe some dragons? Be so much nicer'n just blue and white." He is so taken by this idea he has even forgotten about kisses! At least for a moment. He remembers them again soon enough, his arm curling further to keep Micah even closer, and return the kisses longer and deeper. "-- Should be," he allows, "but you're /here/ and /warm/ and --" His cheeks flush, and he turns his head downward sheepishly. Maybe trying to avoid distracting himself with further kisses. It doesn't work; instead he just brushes his lips to the new closer target of Micah's neck. “Ohgosh, I’ve just started a very bad thing, haven’t I?” Who’s to know which bad thing Micah means at this instant? Jax’s attempt to pull him closer earns that and more. A stronger push, Micah proceeding to pin him against the wall, pressed far enough forward that he requires his own hands on the bricks to remain upright. Incongruously, he’s insisting, “If you need to go, we should definitely go.” Ohno, lips on necks aren’t fair! There is a little sound deep in Micah’s throat, equally insistent, though very much on other things. His muscles decide that his spine should slide, and shoulders should shiver, of their own accord. Jackson's breath catches, fingers pressing in harder against the small of Micah's back. "I need --" Maybe this was going to be a statement about work. Maybe. It comes out closer to a moan, and trails off before it goes anywhere much. Pinned back against the chill bricks, Jax shivers, too. His lips press to Micah's neck again, soft kiss followed by a small nip. "-- I could be a little late." Teeth are even /more/ unfair. Micah takes a turn at that game, lips pressing at Jax’s throat…alternating with teeth, with the tip of his tongue. He’s very careful not to leave marks, what with the all-white-innocent look that Jax seems to be going for in his attire. Wouldn’t want to throw that off when he’s probably going to be late already… He finally pulls back slightly. “Shouldn’t get you in trouble… Got enough trouble without me… Don’t wanna start no new trouble.” He nuzzles into Jax’s shoulder instead. That’s less troublemaking, surely? "Ohgosh," Jackson breathes out, head tipping back against the wall, neck bared to Micah's ministrations. By the time Micah pulls back he is adding to his angelic look with a faint halo, glowing around him. "Oh, gosh," he says again, "you're /exactly/ the kinda trouble I want." He's shivering again, cheeks flushed dark and then darker as a trio of people pass by on their way into Evolve. Micah is away from his better judgement for a moment, his hands leaving the wall to shove hard against Jax's shoulders instead. One is tugging at the collar of Jax's shirt, a prelude to teeth sinking harder into the flesh beneath the collarbone, less concerned with marking for having scouted a concealable location. It may be the door closing as the people pass into the coffee shop that tugs his sensibilities again. His breath catches as he pulls away once more, with a frustrated sort of grumbling. "Should go now. I can walk with you." His voice is low and breathless. He scrunches his eyes closed forcibly as he shifts his weight back onto his own feet, releasing his grip on the other man. Jackson swallows, the halo-glow around him brightening with that hard sink of teeth. It takes a moment after Micah has pulled away before he manages to straighten. He slips his arm through Micah's, leaning in for one more quick peck on the cheek and then starting towards the alley mouth. "I get off around four," he says, bumping his shoulder up against Micah's. "You gonna be home?" It takes a similar moment for Micah to get through another willpower check and force his eyes back open. He takes Jax’s arm as if a casual stroll were what had been going on from the beginning. “You want me waitin’ at your place when I’m no longer gettin’ you fired an’ I can be as much trouble as you’d like.” Perhaps the stroll will not be entirely casual, after all. There is an awful lot of suggestive smirking for casual.