ArchivedLogs:Progress Report

Progress Report
Dramatis Personae Toru, Trib	2013-12-10 Toru comes home after hanging with Kay. Warning: Snuggles and adult situations.
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments
For a room in the Sunrise building, this apartment is pretty well-furnished. There isn't much in the way of art - though on one wall, there are the beginnings of what appears to be a collage of articles; most boxing, although there are a few news stories and glossy physique images from muscle magazines. Against one wall is a plush brown couch is wedged between matching end tables, with a matching ottoman seated in front of it, and a blue throw blanket draped over the back. Set diagonally from that, next to a brass floor lamp, is a matching brown recliner - clearly, the three are part of a set. Decidedly /not/ matching that furniture is another couch on an opposing wall with stripes in varying widths in shades of blue, green, teal and brown; this one is a bit cheaper looking, with canvas upholstery and bare wood arms. Under it all, a mottled brown-and-ivory rug covers the hardwood floor. The only other wall with only space has a set of hooks screwed into it, which usually has a blue street bicycle hanging from it, and a skateboard leaning against the wall on the floor beneath it. The whole living room feels a bit cramped, though the relative lack of clutter keeps it from feeling too over-crowded. Through the small, dingy kitchen is the entrance to the bedroom, where a new-looking platform holds an oversized bed; the only piece of furniture in there. The door to the bathroom is closed, but it's likely stocked with bathroom-appropriate accoutrements. After /adventures/ and /food/ with Kay, Toru ended up spending the remainder of the day and the night /who knows where/, not giving Trib much detail beyond a cursory text to the effect of, 'don't wait up, i'll be home after work tomorrow.' And /true to his word/, the teen didn't return home that night! But early afternoon the next day has him showing up in the previous day's clothes, bearing his usual take-home haul of lo mein and beefy deliciousness. And, as per his usual demeanor, he's downright /chipper/ when he enters, sliding off his shoes at the door and calling, "Koifish, you home?" Trib is most definitely home, as evidenced by...boxes? Several battered boxed are scattered around the tiny living room; some resting on the couch, others set on the floor. Amidst them, sitting on the floor in a pair of loose grey shorts, is the man himself. He currently has one box open, a stack of Western novels inside along with what appear to be mementos of the Jones' former life. A couple of photo albums, a scarred-up baseball -- nothing in the box seems to go with anything else. But still Trib is going through it, carefully turning the pages of a photo album perched on one knee. When the door opens and Toru enters, the boxer doesn't look up, immediately. He's focused on a picture of a younger Frank Jones and a woman with a hawkish look that marks her as Trib's mother. When Toru calls out, he grunts in response, and puts his finger on the picture before he looks up. "Yeah, I'm home," he rumbles, holding out his hand and twitching his fingers in a beckon. "You have a good time?" "Oh, there you are. Just a sec." Food bags are set down, hoodie removed and tossed aside before the teen heads over in Trib's direction, /with/ the bags, setting them both next to the boxer. It is, as usual, a pretty huge amount of food - and probably about enough for a meal between the two of them. "I had /part/ of a good time. Was planning on having the rest of it right around now." "--that's your dad's stuff, isn't it." His tone falls a bit flat once he makes the realization, and Toru's overall mood takes an almost tangible dip downward. "Are you, uh.. are you okay doin' this so soon?" Trib grunts a laugh at Toru's statement, and waggles his eyebrows. "Sounds like a plan to me," he says, and when Toru's within reach, he snakes out his hand to loop it around the teenager and hauls him in for a healthy kiss. Which is probably less morose than Toru was expecting, especially when it picks up some heat before he breaks it off. He nods at the question, and wrinkles his nose. "Yeah," he confirms. "This is the shit I couldn't just let sit around his empty house. Important stuff." He taps his finger against the picture. "You ain't never seen my mom," he says, pulling Toru down on to the couch (bags be damned) and into his side. "That's her. An' my dad an' his folks." He lifts a shoulder at the question, and exhales. "Figure it's got to be done. Will's been read; time to get livin' again." Toru had, indeed, been expecting a more somber Trib, so the enthusiastic kiss is /definitely/ appreciated; mood sails right back up, the teen dropping the food on the floor - it's in bags, it'll be fine - when Trib pulls him down. He's all too eager to curl up against the boxer's side, getting cozy as he looks at that photo, with a slow nod. "That does explain a lot," he notes, appraisingly, at the resemblance between Trib and his mother. "Goin' on my own experience I kinda figured you'd be a wreck for a while. Though I guess you are older'n I was." He shakes his head, then lifts it up to plant a kiss on Trib's cheek, taking a moment to quietly look the man over. "...You know I love you, right? You don't gotta say it too, just. You know I do. Yeah?" "Nah," Trib rumbles. "It was worse a couple of years ago, when my granddad passed. That man was fuckin' /awesome/, an' it about killed me to lose him. But Pa..." Trib wrinkles his nose. "I guess I should be more upset about it, but..." he sighs heavily, his brow falling a bit. "We didn't have no real kind of relationship, so it don't hurt as much. It was more of a fuckin' shock than anything else." He falls silent as he turns the page, revealing a picture of a boy about four, dressed like the Lone Ranger. "Oh fuck," Trib breathes, and flips the page quickly. Only then does he seems to notice Toru's silence, and he turns his head to look at the younger man. His declaration gets a warm crinkle of the boxer's eyes, and he pulls Toru in tighter. "Yeah," he grunts. "I know. An' you know I do, too. 'Swhy we don't kill each other." "Well, that and you couldn't take me. Not in a fight, at least." Toru grins, nestling in more cozily, one hand moving to-- not close the photo album, but cover it with one hand for a moment, giving Trib a little nudge to get his attention. "C'mon, Toru time. Just for a minute. You trust me, right? It's just... I guess I'm just tryin' to make sure you aren't secretly resentin' me spendin' time with other people or anything. I just kinda, I guess I realized I mighta been gettin' kinda stir crazy and that's why I snapped at you the other day. I just wanna make sure we're still cool. Like... a progress report kinda thing." Trib puts his hand over Toru's when it lands on the album, and he squeezes as much as two fingers and a thumb can. "What's got into you?" he asks, his brow furrowing as he looks at Toru. "Talkin' about fuckin' trust an' stuff...if I didn't fuckin' trust you, we wouldn't be sittin' here." He wraps his hand over Toru's, and lifts it to rub it against his chin. "There's exactly two people in the fuckin' world I trust," he clarifies. "One of 'em is sittin' on my couch." He shifts, then, to close the album and slide it from his lap to put in the box. "An' you needed to say that shit, if it was buggin' you. Only really hurt when you said you wasn't my pup." He wrinkles his nose, and pulls Toru further into his side. "But if you want a fuckin' /progress/ report, Mister Bones, I'd say things are as fine as they can be, as far as you an' me is concerned." Toru winces when Trib gets to the really hurtful part, looking fairly guilt-stricken about the matter, and ultimately gives a slow nod. "I'm.. sorry. Again. About that. I shouldn'ta said that." He smiles sheepishly, giving Trib's chin a little squeeze, then rather abruptly swings a leg over, straddling the boxer's lap and sliding arms in to loop them around his neck. "I guess you won't believe me if I say it's nothin', but it /is/ nothin', really. Somethin' just came up got me thinkin' about that whole... /situation/ again and wonderin' if it all got settled right." His head is lowered to Trib's shoulder, fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of the larger man's neck. "If you're good, I'm good." Trib is more than happy to gather Toru into his lap, pressing his lips against the teenager's neck and sliding his hand up his back to twine his own fingers in spiky hair. "I keep tellin' you that you fuckin' think too much," he rumbles, catching a bit of skin in his teeth lightly and releasing it. "An' you let too many people get into your fuckin' head." He raises his head again, shifting its position to lay it on top of Toru's, pressing his cheek against the other's. "It's been a fuckin' crazy month," he says after a long moment. "How about we just fuckin' just leave it behind us? It ain't done us no good, except to get us talkin', which we should have been doin' anyway." "Sounds like a plan," Toru nods, grinning against Trib's cheek, and giving him a firm /squeeze/. "But I gotta /think/ if I'm gonna talk. Fair warnin'." Turning his head roughly, Trib's cheek gets another kiss, hair grabbed firmly and given a slow /yank/ as the teen pulls himself up, to sit mostly upright, arms brought forward to rest against Trib's chest. "I'm thinking of getting a leather jacket," he muses, running hands along pecs thoughtfully. "I lost my good jacket sometime between last winter and this one and I don't really have much of a personal style goin' for me right now." "You can /think/," Trib snorts, his lip curling into a smile. "Just don't fuckin' /overthink/ it. An' don't let no one get in your head and fuck it up." Which is sage advice, since Trib nods firmly. When Toru sits more upright, Trib loops his arms around the teenager's waist, holding him in place. "Leather'd be fuckin' hot," he rumbles, his gaze smoky as it rolls over the younger man. "You ain't gonna get one of them stupid Tokyo Drift kind of jackets that make you look like fuckin' Speed Racer, are you?" He wrinkles his nose. "'Cause you need a regular leather jacket. Like men wear. With fuckin' chains." Trib Jones, stylist. Toru snorts, shaking his head. "Hell no." He pushes himself up a bit more, hands sliding along Trib's side, gripping firmly with the pretense of keeping himself held up. "Full on fuckin' black leather. Like I know what I'm fuckin' /doin'/." His grin there takes on a more feral tone, hands sliding around Trib's back again, making their way lower as the teen moves in for a rough kiss. Trib laughs at Toru's assertion, a warm chuckle that rumbles from deep in his chest. "That oughta fool 'em," he says, just before Toru's mouth lands on his. There's an approving noise as the kiss deepens, and his hands twist up in the fabric of Toru's shirt, pulling him close against his massive chest. When it breaks, he inhales sharply, and his gaze is smoky amber when he looks up at the teenager. "You," he grunts. "Have way too many fuckin' clothes on." Toru rests his forehead against Trib's when that kiss breaks off, breathing a little heavily through that grin of his. "At the end of the day, that's always my biggest problem," he murmurs, good-naturedly enough, going in for another, swifter kiss. At the same time, hands slide down to unfasten the button and zipper of his jeans, but seeing as how he's held in place, he pauses there, looking down at Trib and murmuring, "I'm gonna need some help with the rest of this dance. You remember the steps?" "Are you kidding?" Trib says, wrapping his arms around Toru and standing, carrying him along as he moves towards the bedroom. "I'm fuckin' Fred Astaire."