ArchivedLogs:Negotiations

Negotiations
Ladies, your viewing figures just went up! (Sorry, I couldn't stop /thinking/ it. So you get to think it, too.)
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Hive	24 March 2013 Hive shows up to ask a favour, but ends up with an Intervention. (Warning: Reading through to the end might result in the Diabeetus. Just sayin'. Insulin.)
Location <NYC> 303 {Holland} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late bright coloured sealife has made its way into being painted on the wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Sunday! And Jax has been churching. This is evident from his attire, /actually/ in a suit and tie for basically the only time all week, pale grey and looking, at least, crisp and tailored. Being an illusionist is pretty good for sparing his clothing budget. The dozens of piercings and magenta/electric blue hair kind of put a crimp in the whole Respectable look, though. That he is still /in/ his suit probably means he has not been home for long. He is leaning against the counter between kitchen and living room, paging through mail with a slight frown on his face. Who knows what Micah had actually been up to so far this morning? It looks like…perhaps he had started to help with some cleaning in the living room. He had definitely been awake, and is dressed in a powder blue Totoro face T-shirt and patched jeans. However, he is now splayed on the couch and quite decidedly asleep. Jackson puts half of his mail straight in the trash. Bills (mooostly marked with bright red stickers because LATE) go into a mesh basket on the counter. Possibly to be forgotten until his next late notice! Or until his power gets shut off just like his internet already has been. He brushes his fingers through his hair, slipping quietly back towards his bedroom. He returns with a blanket, which he lays out carefully over Micah, and then disappears back to the kitchen to get food out of the fridge. Mushrooms, kale, a block of tofu, onions, garlic. It is /scramble/ time. He has -- a lot of chopping to do. Micah probably cannot feel it yet. Because, asleep! But someone is poking. Thoughtfully. SPYING on his DREAMS. Do cyborgs dream? Micah stirs a little at blanket-placing, but doesn’t wake. It’s hard to tell if it’s the brain-poking or the kitchen bustling that manages to pull him from sleep. Alas, Hive may never find out about the cybernetic sheep. Micah paws thoughtfully at the blanket. Huh, that wasn’t there. Where? Oh! And there’s a Jax. “Ohgosh I fell asleep, didn’t I?” He rakes his fingers through hair that is even messier than usual. "Sorry, honey-honey," Jackson says from the kitchen, "I didn't mean t'wake you. Or well I /did/ but not till there was breakfast. Shhh go back to sleep and then you can /pretend/ like you're surprised when you wake up and there's breakfast!" He flashes a grin, bright-wide, over towards the living room. "You want some coffee?" “Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t mean to /be/ sleepin’.” Micah sits up, smiling sheepishly. “I woke up to a Jax. That’s a pleasant enough surprise, isn’t it?” He pauses to rub at his eyes with the back of a hand. “Ohgosh, coffee, I am /so/ keepin’ you.” Another pause while he considers that. “Actually, you’re kinda keepin’ me. I’m gonna have to start payin’ rent if I keep fallin’ asleep here.” Jackson blushes, first at pleasant-surprise and deeper at the keeping-him and by the time Micah mentions having to pay rent it has tinted him a deep crimson. He turns aside from his chopping-things and skillet-tending to grind some coffee beans and fill the coffeemaker with water. "I can't say I hardly mind comin' home to a Micah in my -- um, on my couch," he amends with a slight dip of his head. "Plus if you're /here/ I can make sure you're eating /vegetables/ -- oh, gosh! Are you free um -- soon. Now. There's /so much/ gardening to do." Micah blushes faintly in response to Jax blushing because it is /contagious/. “Hm…you keep feedin’ me /and/ lettin’ me stay at your place. Am I gonna have to hide cash in the couch cushions and laundry?” He untangles himself from the blanket and wanders into the kitchen. “Just let me know where ‘n’ when, I’m always up for gardenin’…” Micah squeezes Jax’s shoulders gently with both hands while Jax is coffeeing. “Anythin’ I can help with now?” << Yes. >> This comes not from Jackson but from outside, a quiet chorus of voices slipping in concert into Micah's mind. << You can help us. Help him. >> /Him/ comes with imagery flitting through Micah's head; Jax (at his easel lost in his work/out in the country somewhere, on horseback/in the kitchen mixing up waffle batter/on a rooftop as illusioned fireworks explode overhead/pinned beneath Micah, glowing.) "Oh, gosh, no. I mean if you /feel/ like you /gotta/ chip in for things --" Jackson hesitates, but then frowns at this. "I mean okay I'd probably be kinda -- I mean you /don't/ gotta, I -- /like/ having you around but -- if that'd make you --" He shrugs, and leans back slightly into the touch, once he has filled and started the coffeemaker. "I mean, there's like a pile of mushrooms need chopping but mostly I'm okay. /Later/, though, y'can go up to the roof and get dirty with me." Which prompts another blush, but he's smiling, at least. “Mmhmm, gotta. Otherwise I’ll just sit around feelin’ guilty and that’s no fun.” Micah sneaks a light kiss on Jax’s cheek, giving his shoulders another squeeze before heading off to play chopping assistant. He gets hit by mental images from Hive and innuendo from Jax at the same time. Brilliant blushing ensues. “That sounds like a good time,” he answers aloud. In his head, he’s questioning uncertainly, <<Hive, that you? Who you even ridin’ right now to be talkin’?>> << Us, >> Hive agrees, and now there's an image of Dusk, upstairs, shirtless as usual, wings folded in behind him as his fingers fly over his laptop, churning out lines of code for work, unnoticing or uncaring of his Hive-passenger. And again, << Help him. >> This time there's another image. Jax and Micah in tuxedos. Norman Osborn looking smarmy. "Don't feel guilty," Jackson says with a wrinkle of his nose. "If it'd make you feel better t'chip in for things around here --" He shrugs, awkwardly. "I mean y'can. If you like. But I -- you /being/ here is -- I don't expect nothin'. Seeing you's plenty." His cheeks are still flushed. He is rinsing out kale to chop it into shreds, taking out a second cutting board and knife so Micah can use the first for mushrooms. "I got this friend, um, she was here the day I met you -- the snowball fight and all -- she was interested in terrorist-gardening, too. Think she and some'a her folks might could want to come with us. Spruce up empty lots. Grow guerilla-foods." <<Man, you are like Agent Smith /everywhere/. Are you okay?>> The query comes with a sort of pressing. Micah is trying for a hug with no /arms/. << I’m gonna go with him…for whatever good that’s worth.>> This statement is swirling with self-doubt. Micah is making steady work of the mushrooms. Chopchopchop. Jax’s description causes Micah’s eyes to go wide with recognition. His mind is full of buzzy-purring-laugh. “Y’mean Nox? I might’ve already offered t’help with that. She’s been havin’ kinda a rough run of it lately, though. With the news.” << Yeah, you never know who just might turn into Hive any moment. >> Now an image of Hive. Except in a suit, with sunglasses and earpiece. And he reverts into Dusk a moment later. The mental /pressing/ encounters, first, a mental withdrawing; it's tentative when it touches Micah's mind again, guarded; it doesn't tell much by way of /feelings/ but it does /reach/ towards Micah's pressing, slipping into it with a sort of contented relief. Yay, hugs. << You're going with him. >> There is no echo of Micah's self-doubt, here, it comes with a /pleased/ sort of feel. << We want to come. >> "Nox!" Jackson smiles quick and bright at this recognition, nodding. "Mmhmm. She's real --" He hesitates a moment. "-- real sweet. And I think prooobably her folks'd be plenty happy to have access to fresh foods here an' there. I know -- I work on -- a bunch'a reclaimed lots /already/ but if we could find new ones they can plant things at, I bet it'd be awesome. I ain't arranged with her a time proper, yet, t'meet up, but we gotta get on it soon, s'time already to start cleaning up the land and workin' the soil to prep it." He is not making steady work of anything, flitting between kale-chopping and stirring the onions and garlic in the pan and grabbing herbs and spices to sprinkle into the pan, too. His measurements seem to be largely based on sniffing at the skillet and then adding more things. Micah has finished chopping mushrooms and moves to steal Jax's station with the remaining kale, so that Jax can just worry about the things going into the pan. "We should set that up...it's just so hard to get into contact with her. So I can see why it hasn't happened yet." Hive's suggestion is received ambivalently. First, there is an extreme amount of temptation to provide Jax with better assistance than Micah could offer alone. /Superpowers/. But anxious hesitation is present in near equal measure. <<Hive...I think we oughtta ask Jax about this. He gets crazy-nervous whenever you start mindin' things with me.>> << Have you met Jax? He gets crazy-nervous about most things that he doesn't need to be nervous about, >> Hive says with a quiet murmur of amusement, and there are images here /too/. Images of a lot of /fretting/. Fretting over cooking and fretting over cleaning house and fretting over clothes to wear and fretting over kissing Micah. But there's quietly grudging respect as he adds, quieter, << In an /actual/ crisis, though? >> And this time it's Jax in urban-camo, expression determined and not actually fretting at all as he faces down a Very Large dragon and an oncoming cloud of green acid. There is silence for a moment. And then: << Hey. You. Knock-knock. >> This time, it goes to Jax and Micah both. "S'hard but I think I can -- just been so /busy/," Jackson admits, with a rather /guilty/ duck of his head. "But I'm gonna make time. An' I know you said you'd like to come. So I -- soon?" The smile he quirks to Micah is actually pretty apologetic. "I mean," he says softly, "also might be nice to do something, um, nice with you for once. Like. Something you enjoy." He reaches around behind Micah to take the cutting board with mushrooms, starting to tip them off into the skillet. "Cuz you keep coming over when -- ohmygosh/Hive/," he squeaks, dropping the cutting board with a startled jump. Many of the mushrooms go into the pan, though a good deal of them also fall to the floor along with the cutting board. "Frithrah, Hive, don't you /knock/ fir -- oh I guess you just did," he says (aloud, though he doesn't /need/ to) with a blush as he stoops to gather mushrooms back up. << I think we’ve /met/.>> Micah replies wryly, with an associated image of pulling Jax close somewhat roughly for a kiss. << I just don’t like to add to his worries. He has enough.>> He pauses with the images from the lab raid. <<More than enough to worry about.>> “I’d say we do plenty of things I enjoy,” Micah interrupts Jax with a lascivious wink…causing /himself/ to blush. He winces when Jax drops his cooking materials, stooping to help collect cutting board and mushrooms from the floor. “I prob’ly should’ve warned you about Hive before he…Hive. Sorry.” Micah's mental image earns a soft flicker of amusement from Hive, poking at the memory thoughtfully. << Rougher, >> sounds like a /suggestion/, followed by: << Yeah. Okay. You /have/ met. >> Both of these things -- including the thoughtful examination of the memory -- are broadcast to Jax, as well. << You're both going to Osborn's thing. He's a motherfucking creepster. We want in. >> Jax's blush deepens furiously at Micah's words. "I know I -- I mean gosh I /hope/ you enjoy -- I mean but I -- things've been chaos an' I don't want you to think I just -- just /only/ like having you around because you're --" He is cut off by Hive, and his blush tints the air around him at this shared mental image, his eyes fixing downward on the mushrooms as he gathers them back onto the board. He frowns at the floor, afterwards -- like most of his apartment it is kind of Ridiculously Clean -- and then with a press of teeth into his lip, stands to take the sliced mushrooms to the sink and wash them again. "Um -- I mean, yeah, he's -- he's a creepster," Jax is definitely focusing on /this/ part of the transmission and not the 'rougher'. "And I didn't really want to even have anything to do with this, first. But I think it can -- I think it /could/ be good. What do you -- why do you -- I mean I /was/ gonna take you but --" But deportation. Jax trails off into a frown. Micah lets Jax take over the mushroom collection, knowing very well how nice it can be to have something to /do/ while one handles extremes of blushing. He just grins at Jax’s stammering. <<You’re one to talk about creepsters, there, Peanut Gallery.>> “It could be useful to have him along, Jax. I’d be, like, the stealthiest telepath. They could even test me…no enhanced genetics to find. It’d be real handy to know what these guys’re plannin’.” << You have no idea how much we see, >> Hive says, although this sounds more like it comes with a /grimace/ than a grin, less salacious and more like oh god. << Osborn's creepy as fuck. Don't want him fucking with you. Either of you. Any of you. We could watch. We could listen. >> His mind presses soft and entreating to -- both of them, really. Though underlying the genuine worry there is something else in this request. Lonely-aching-longing. Someone is /homesick/. Jackson finishes re-washing the mushrooms and lets them drip for a moment before adding them to the skillet, too. "Sneaky superheros. I think they /do/ want to know. They was just /assuming/ that anyone I'd bring is a mutant. Probably cuz, /duh/ why would any /normal/ people be friends with us?" He looks amused at that thought. "S'kinda like the gay, you know, you pick it up jus' by association." Underneath the light tone there is a deeper worry, mostly focused around /Hive/ and that chorus of voices. Too many voices. Too many voices for too long. << miss you >> is a quiet-whispered response to the /feeling/ that comes with Hive's touch, and he frowns down at his skillet. "It'd be useful," he agrees, slowly, "I just. This ain't. I'm just --" He looks up at Micah, brows creased slightly. "This is the longest he's ever -- m'just kinda scared we won't actually get him back. If he keeps. Every person he takes he loses himself a little bit more." The feeling of missing is stronger, this time. <<Just sayin’. Guy recently had a run-in with a dragon what tried to melt him. Gotta play nice for awhile,>> Micah continues teasing, because…well, Hive does have a tendency to stick his nose into things. “Yeah, I love how my sexual orientation is defined by the person I’m with at any given time,” he muses to Jax. The mention of Hive being attached to too many people gives him an idea. “Is there a reason he’s hangin’ on to all these folks? We could negotiate a deal here.” << melt him >> comes inadvertent and tired, with a flickering /feeling/ more than an image, of Flicker (in pain, half melted) and the stabbing ache he felt not from the acid but from looking down at the acid-ruined corpse of their former teammate. << play nice. >> There is a pause after this. Maybe Hive is collecting himself. Gathering his /manners/. << We want to help, >> he says quietly. << This is dangerous. More eyes is better. >> For a telepathic value of eyes. The question earns a (kind of /sulky/): << need them. >> "Well, yeah. You're like, one hundred percent gay s'long as you're in my bed. But you find a woman to hook up with, no worries, you'll be straight again." This makes Jax's lips curl up into a smile, but it's a short-lived one, shoulders sinking tiredly beneath the weight of Hive's echoed memory-feeling. "Yeah. Okay. I ain't saying it wouldn't be useful. I'm sayin' I /love/ you and I care about not /losing/ you more'n I care about Norman Osborn creepering at me." He is stirring his skillet, mixing the spices in well with the onions-garlic-mushrooms, and eventually he picks up the block of tofu to crumble it into the pan. "He's -- um. I mean, he needs some of 'em. There's -- some that we -- he holds onto people, after the raids, cuz they put -- chips in our heads. Make us do what they want. His control's stronger than the chips, he can stop anyone what might turn all murdery on us. But until we get the chips out he's kinda stuck with his Borg collective." His brow creases deeply. "But he's picked up a whole lot /more/ since then and he don't need all /those/." Micah rubs his hands together. Okay, negotiator mode! “All right. So. We have two problems. One: Hive would like to come to this party, which would be very helpful, but needs /my/ brain to do it. Two: Hive has too many brains and /needs/ to let the unnecessary ones go because we don’t want him to lose control completely.” << ... need them. >> That is all from Hive. He... might be sulking at this line of thought. "Y'don't need /all/ of them," Jackson says, quiet, his brow creased still as he stirs the tofu. "Micah's right. This'd be good. You could come along and clear out some'a the clutter. You let the folks go you /don't/ gotta keep an eye on, and come with us, then?" He sounds quite hopeful. Micah nods emphatically. “I think this is fair. My brain, my rules. You have to let go of anyone you aren’t protecting from the…brainchips... Or isn’t a /volunteer/ doin’ important things to help keep you connected out here while you’re stuck with Immigration. Otherwise I /will/ fight any attempts you make at my head.” He’s set his jaw stubbornly…as if Hive needs body language to know what’s going on. << -- need -- >> Hive is still sulky. There are flickering images, here, too, not of the brainchippees and not of any of the (myriad) strangers he has Borged, but -- friends. Mel. Tag. Flicker. Dusk. Shelby. Perhaps not performing any vital services but definitely helping to quiet the homesick-lonely-/ache/. << ... let go of /all/ of them? >> Jackson exhales, slowly, at these feelings. "Hive --" He frowns down at the tofu, and stirs it a little more furiously. "... do they help?" "Hive. You can keep anyone who volunteered to help but the rest have /got/ to go." Micah sighs heavily. "This is gettin' really out of hand. Especially when you keep doin' this without askin' folks." There is silence, from Hive. A long stretch of silence. << ... if we let them all go can we stay with both of you? >> It's -- almost plaintive. Jackson winces, tensing slightly at the stove. He covers the pan, turning down the heat to just let it cook. Inside his thoughts are a chaotic mix, hummingbird-flitting from worry about Hive to worry about his /privacy/ to acknowledgement that Hive would be /useful/ at the gala to stress about -- /actually/ letting someone see what he is thinking in a not-superficial way. But worry about Hive is winning, strong and fierce and rather angry-protective at that homesick note. "Yeah," is what he says, eventually. "Until we get you home. You can stay." That plaintive note to Hive’s question just /melts/ Micah. Micah-puddle. He is nodding in agreement before he even consciously realises that he is agreeing. “You let them go, you can stay.” He does pause, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. “Just…can you promise to /try/ to be on your best behaviour?” << We behave, >> Hive says, but this miiiight have a tinge of amusement to it. There is a pressure, pushing in at Micah and Jax's minds, firm and carrying with it a clamouring chorus of voices. Slowly, slowly, that chorus starts to winnow out, one voice and then another and then another released from the mass. The thinner the crowd grows, the more uncomfortable-hard that mental pressure gets. Jackson says nothing, through this. He is still tense, gripping the edge of the counter hard. He draws in a slow breath, lets it out again. As the pressure grows, his hand sneaks out, slipping into Micah's to squeeze it gently. Micah leans back against the counter once this process begins, because support is good. He takes hold of Jax’s hand when it is offered. This…is more painful than the last time… It is more painful than last time, and grows more painful still the more minds Hive sheds. Sharp mental claws latch on to Jax and Micah, dig in hard and deep. The chorus of voices grows both louder and quieter -- more /prominent/ but less crowded. There is a sudden disorienting rush of shifted perception (Are they in a kitchen, right now? Maybe they are in a crowded holding cell. Maybe they are in a diner getting pancakes, maybe they are in bed asleep, maybe they are upstairs coding) and then it stops. Quiets. The voices fade to the background. << thankyou >> whispers quietly. Jackson holds Micah's hand tighter, through this; he shifts position to stand in front of the other man, arm creeping around Micah's waist to hold him close. Less seeking and more offering support, though the unsteady flicker of light in the room is evidence this is nooot exactly the most pleasant of processes for him either. When it is through he exhales in a rush. For a while he just stands, sorting through the quiet background murmur of voices. "Well." Another deep breath. "Thursday's gonna be interesting." Micah returns the hand squeeze and lets Jax pull him in. He wraps an arm around the other man’s shoulders, leaning, for mutual support. <<You’re welcome, hon,>> is offered to Hive with a mental hug…this one easier since Hive is more /there/. “Hm. I have a feelin’ /everythin’s/ gonna be interestin’ for a /minute/. Just…especially that.” The mental hug comes with a return of quiet pressure, not uncomfortable, this time. A warm squeeze that settles in and -- then just lingers. Hive is quiet. The background murmur persists. There's a faint feeling of /contentedness/, as he nestles in comfortably, but then silence. Jackson relaxes, as this feeling creeps in. The tension eases out of his body, and his head tips forward to rest his forehead against Micah's. "I get excited too easy for anything t'ever be /boring/," he admits with a laugh. "Hope you ain't too attached to quiet." Micah snuggles into Jax as his muscles relax, as well. “Not really. Too much quiet kinda creeps me out.” He smiles a little. “’Sides, I’ve been here before. It’s less…strange when it’s consensual, at least.” Jax's lips twitch upwards, but there's a kind of thin note to the smile. "Consent /does/ tend t'make things smoother," he says, just a little dry. His hand slides up, fingers slowly tracing up along Micah's spine. "Still kinda weird, though," he says, more thoughtful, less dry. "We do this sometimes in training but not -- so much just casually. Not that this is real casual. But s'like, if I focus I can hear --" He closes his eye. Maybe focusing. "Can you tell who's who?" Micah shivers a little with Jax’s fingers tickling along his spine. He shoots Jax a playful look. “Bein’ attached to all these people could be, um…” he just lets the thought trail off. Micah scrunches up his eyes and nose at the who’s who question. Because that helps with the whole telepathy thing. “A little bit sounds familiar. Some…is definitely people I haven’t even met before. Yet, there they are. Chattin’ in my head.” He opens his eyes again, his expression somewhat amused. "S'weird, y'know. I hear people I know. Dusk's in there. Tag." Jax is still absently trailing fingertips against Micah's back, running down the other man's spine absently. Slowly. Maybe he is counting vertebrae. "But s'like the more I try to focus on any /one/ the harder it -- um. Like I start to forget maybe. Feels less like /them/ and more like -- /us/." Micah's hand is still in his, and he lifts it, pressing his lips to the other man's knuckles. Then steps aside, pulling back with a faint blush to go check on the scramble. He stirs it, adds the kale, covers it again. “Yeah, it’s a bit slippery. I mostly tried to ignore it the last time. Well...I also didn’t know what ‘it’ /was/ the last time. I can only imagine what any random folks Hive snatched up must’ve been thinkin’.” Micah shakes his head at this, but also chuckles softly. “At least they’ve been excised at this point.” "Yeah. That was -- I'm glad you --" Jackson's palms brace against the counter by the stove, pressing down harder as he leans his weight on his forearms. "Still kinda worried we ain't gonna get /Hive/ back," he admits, but then shakes his head abruptly. "But we'll work on that when we -- s'a lot to straighten out afore we can work on that." He straightens, plucking absently at the sleeve of his jacket. "I should change I still look all churchy. Oh! Your coffee!" It has long since finished brewing. He was /maybe/ about to go leave the kitchen to change out of Suit but now he's getting a mug. "D'you take -- sugar? Milk? Well I don't actually have milk sorry, I mean, not cow-milk, only coconut-almond or hazelnut." “It’ll be easier, I think, with only people who /intended/ to be there bein’ there. If we have to, we can always gather as many folks as possible and stage a Massive Intervention once things calm down.” Micah leans against the counter casually. “This is where I’m s’posed to make jokes about how I take my coffee, right?” That lopsided grin is back, laughter glittering in hazel eyes. “Just sugar. Strong and sweet.” "Think we might need one. Like a reminding him who he is intervention." Jackson sets the mug down on the counter, pouring it full of fresh coffee. "Well. Sweet I can do." His cheeks burn deep red as he stirs in a spoonful of sugar, but the glance he flicks to Micah has its own sparkle of laughter in it. He turns, towards Micah to offer him the mug. "Still kinda workin' up to strong." “It’ll be fun. Like ‘This Is Your Life’, but with more dice and cursing.” Micah giggles a little. He takes the offered mug in one hand, then catches Jax’s hand with the other. “That’s a lie…whether you know it or not.” Micah’s blush is not nearly as deep as Jax’s, but seems to be working on catching up. This only serves to deepen Jackson's blush. He takes a step closer to Micah, fingers twining through the other man's. "Naw. I mean. Superpowers're cheating, y'know? Anyone can /act/ strong if they can --" Around them, a shield shimmers to life, prismatic-translucent to encase them in a globe of slowly shifting light. "Got a world'a respect for folks who step up t'help people without no crazy powers protecting 'em." “You think I b’lieve for a second you’d stop helpin’ people if you suddenly couldn’t…that,” Micah waves at the shinyshiny shield, “anymore? That you wouldn’t be volunteerin’ and gardenin’ for the homeless and helpin’ your friends?” Jackson's blush actually starts to fade, here. His gaze shifts to watch the shield, absently tracking the play of light around them. The smile that pulls at his lips is a little lopsided. "Y'know," he says, slowly, "I don't actually know? I mean, if I couldn't -- if I /wasn't/ -- " He waves his hand at the shield, too. "S'been kinda a huge part of who I am, y'know? I don't actually know what I'd be doing with my life if I was human. I mean, what would you be doing with yourself if you weren't you no more?" Micah just smiles in response. “I mean to say, you don’t give yourself enough credit. About pretty much anythin’ ever.” He pauses to sip coffee, because it has been just /sitting/ there, smelling like /coffee/. “So I’m just gonna have to keep fillin’ you up with flattery ‘til you either get it or can’t stand the sound of me talkin’ anymore.” His free hand musses at Jax’s hair in an almost kittenish motion. Okay, the kittenish mussing puts Jax's blush /right back/. His head tilts up, a quick-warm smile brightening his face, to /rub/ against that hand. His nose crinkles up as his smile stretches wider, and he leans in (careful of the coffee) to kiss Micah's forehead lightly. "Honey-honey, it'd take a /real/ long time 'fore I got tired-a hearing you talk." His arm snakes around Micah's waist again, hand resting at the small of the older man's back. "Y'hungry? Oh! Oh, if you close your eyes it can be /like/ you're asleep and I managed to surprise you with breakfast after all!" Breakfast that... Micah helped make. Kind of a fail!surprise. Micah streeetches the arm with the coffee out to deposit the cup on the nearest countertop without having to move himself. He snuggles into Jax, burying his face in the other man’s shoulder. “Hold on, if we do this from here I get to wake up next to you /and/ have surprise breakfast /at the same time/. Reality be damned.” Micah’s voice is a little muffled in Jax-shoulder, then he is still and quiet for a moment. For a moment, Jackson just lets Micah be still and quiet. The smile lingers on his face, his cheek rests against the top of Micah's head, and he curls his other arm around Micah, too, his fingers playing absently against the back of the other man's neck. There is a long stretch of silence, and then he tips his head down, kissing Micah lightly on the top of the head. His hand moves, cupping the older man's cheek, and his fingers tap lightly against the small of Micah's back. "Hey," he says, quiet and warm. "S'time to get up, honey-honey." Another light kiss to the forehead. "I made breakfast. With real veggies in." The shield is fading from around them because, well, it is blocking the route to the scramble. Micah takes a few moments to respond, making a show of turning his head up slowly and blinking up at Jax. "Mmm...good morning. You," he pauses to plant a kiss softly on Jax's neck, "are just too good. I'd start disbelievin' you if it weren't for the fact that I like you bein' true too much." "I am an illusionist, you know." Jackson tilts his head back at the kiss, a shiver running up him and a sound very like a purr humming in his throat. "I mean, who knows what's real? But the scramble ain't no lie." The head tilt serves as too much of an invitation. “Well, it’s a good thing that it isn’t, otherwise I’d have to find something else to eat.” Micah sets his teeth to Jax’s neck, the same spot where the kiss had landed before. It’s a skilful little bite, intended not to leave marks. When he finally pulls away, he clears his throat gently. “I…should get plates…” Jackson's breath catches, at the nip, and he tightens his arm around Micah's waist through it. His grip slackens when Micah starts to pull away, but on the stove, the skillet promptly vanishes. "-- scramble, what scramble." "Oh no, it /was/ a lie!" Micah swoons against Jax in mock-dismay. He may be turning up the /Southern/ dial on his accent deliberately. "What to do? I may fade away to nothin' without sustenance." Probably this is the appropriate time for innuendo, teasing, but Jackson just crinkles his nose, hugging Micah close as a grin brightens his expression. The skillet reappears on the stove. "-- oh gosh, no, okay, for real there's scramble I promise, it's tasty too an' you can eat it /all up/ and be full of kale and mushrooms and no fadin' away, okay, you can't." His cheeks tint pink, fingers pressing against Micah's back. "But, um, I mean, if you was in a /mood/ for somethin' else the scramble can wait." Micah /giggles/ outright. "My goodness, hon, I'm just joshin' you. I'll be fine." He snakes an arm around Jax's waist to help hold himself up. "I'm about always in a mood around you. You realise we have a fairly extensive audience right now, though?" Fingertips from Micah's free hand tap at his temple indicatively. Jackson's face scrunches up a little further, head dipping sheepishly. "Y'never know," he says, glancing to Micah and then to the stove, "m'boys shed a half-dozen pounds a /day/ if they ain't eatin' right and /I'd/ probably be dead in three on no food." Mutant metabolisms: sometimes a little haywire. "So um no fading, 'kay, but --" He glances up at the tap to Micah's temple, and blushes a little deeper. "Oh -- oh. Oh wow. I guess we do." He -- admittedly hasn't let Micah go. His teeth drag against his lip, clicking on his lip rings. "S'that -- s'that bother you, I mean, we might have 'em for a while yet." More giggling is apparently the answer to this. “Well, much as I claim hummingbird metabolism, it is just human high-normal. Promise I’m not gonna wilt on ya.” Micah’s colour finds a redder hue as Jax works out his meaning on the audience. “I…just wanted to make sure that you were aware. Before the MPAA ratings shifted anywhere.” Jax lifts a hand, fingers rubbing absently against his temple. "S'easy to forget," he admits, teeth dragging against his lip again. He leans slightly to the side, stretching an arm out to turn a knob on the stove, turning off the flame beneath the skillet. His own colour is still deep red as he returns his hand to Micah's hip. "-- I ain't sure the MPAA actually really gives ratings t'the kinda movie s'on my mind, do they?" Uh oh now he seems actually curious. Need to know. He reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket for his phone because GOOGLE will know right away how high MPAA ratings go! -- except then he blushes again and returns the phone with a sheepish, "-- uh sorry that, um, probably wasn't the /point/." Micah…has hold of Jax by the tie currently. Silly ties. Just so /right there/ the way they are. He watches this whole Google process with silent amusement. “Okay, let’s…deal here. I don’t want anyone to die of not enough food, and you went through all this effort to cook and so... How about there is eating of food, and then we can decide how much help we need on our ratings system after?” Possibly Jax is /actually/ pretty hungry (he is not really joking about his hummingbird metabolism) or -- /possibly/ Micah just has him by the /tie/ because his response to this suggestion is a rather /prompt/ "Yessir." He starts to step back, to reach up towards a cabinet. The hold on his tie stops him, with a bow of his head, a sudden blush, a crooked smile. "-- may I go I mean y'need plates cuz -- of eating. First. First eating of food." Oh, goodness. That response earns a lip-biting sort of smile and a gentle tug on the tie before it is released. “Yes, you may.” Jax’s movements are definitely being /tracked/. At least by Micah. Nevermind the viewers at home. “Right. First eating of food.” Jackson's eye closes, at the tug, a shiver rippling through him and a decided warming to his smile. He is also prompt, once released, in his retrieval of plates and glasses and silverware. Even if once they're set out he pauses before actually dishing /out/ scramble and juice to peck Micah on the cheek. But /then/ eating of food. At least to start with.