ArchivedLogs:What's Okay

What's Okay
Dramatis Personae Micah, Lucien	20 December 2013 Checking up on Lucien after those texts. (Warning: A little kissy and cuddly.)
Location <NYC> 305 {Teahaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
Much changed from its days as a den of teenagers, this three-bedroom apartment is furnished sparse but elegantly. Done up in black and white, long leather couch, low coffeetable, large armchair, end tables with accent lamps. The small kitchen table only seats four, the cabinets currently holding minimal dinnerware and a sparse assortment of pots and pans but a decent collection of spices, teas, and liquor. Friday night is growing long in the tooth when there is a knock at Lucien's apartment door. On the other side is a Micah, dressed in a long-sleeved forest green T-shirt over green plaid pajama pants and fuzzy socks. His auburn hair is profoundly mussed this late in the day. He has a tray in his hands with a teapot and two cups on it, working to rebalance over both hands again after knocking. Tonight it is Gaetan who answers the door, the boy also already pajamad in blue plaid flannel with a matching flannel top. He opens the door with the security chain still in place, frowning out at Micah. "What." Micah adjusts the tray again slightly. “Evenin', Gaetan. Is Lucien in? I brought tea.” Gaetan looks kind of /huffy/ at the question, frowning like it is an imposition. "No, he's dead," his answer comes snippily, "go home." "Gae, what -- who's /dead/?" From behind her little brother, Desi sounds rather less alarmed by this proclamation than it might otherwise warrant. She appears a moment later, still dressed from school in a black-and-white knit dress with zigzagged stripes worn over black leggings, black eyelinder, black nailpolish. She peers out at Micah and then lets out an irritable huff, closing the door again. There's a brief burst of sharper French before she gets the chain opened and pulls the door open /properly/, her tone considerably warmer when she addresses Micah. "Oh, gosh, apologies, Micah, he's in a /mood/ toni -- okay well always. Hi, come in, what's up?" “Gaetan, honey, y'shouldn't say that when it's not true. We got entirely too many...times when it's true.” Micah frowns right /back/ at the boy, though his expression is entirely softer. “Evenin', Desi. Just stopped by with tea t'talk to Lucien. He was textin' an' since we're right next door, it seemed silly to... Well, there's tea.” He steps inside once invited. “Is everybody okay?” He delivers the tray to a table, fingers fussing through his hair once his hands are free. "Maybe it /should/ be true." Gaetan stomps his way back off to his bedroom, though bare feet and diminutive size make this less stompy than it /could/ be. Desi sighs, running her fingers into her hair, though in contrast to Micah this is to put her hair in /greater/ order, pulling out her ponytail holder and re-doing it more smoothly than before. "{I'm sorry}, he's just kind of -- being a brat. It's been one thing after another all evening you'd think it's the end of the /world/ not getting his way on every little thing." She smiles, though, warm and bright. "Aside from the tantrums though everything's great. Pretty excited it's break. How're you? -- Oh, um, Luci's in his room." She gestures towards the bedroom door down the hall, mirror-image but otherwise identically positioned to Micah and Jax's. "Hm...yeah, he's still that age where tantrums happen. Give 'im a little time t'enjoy his mope. Then somebody can have a little chat at 'im later on." Micah gestures to the tray. "It's a white...pear spice. Low caffeine, if you'd like. I didn't bring more'n two cups 'cause I didn't know who all would be here an' awake. I can grab one out of the kitchen if you'd like some. An'...I'm fine." His eyes dart toward the indicated door. "Is he still up?" "He's older than Spence by almost a year," Desi grumbles, "and Spencer's a /dear/. I'm fine," she adds, "I'm actually heading out for a bit. Thanks, though." She nods at Lucien's door. "Mmhmm. He doesn't sleep much when he's sober." She trots over to Lucien's door, knocking on it gentle. "{Luci? Micah's here.}" "... {why.}" is the flat answer that comes from behind the door. Lucien opens the door as Desi slips back to her own room. Pajama O'Clock hasn't yet come for him; black slacks, black dress shirt, black dress socks. His brows lift as he looks out. "Good evening." “Spence is an exceptionally sweet kiddo. An' very mature for his age,” Micah explains with a hint of a fond, lopsided grin. He stands by the table, waiting while Desi fetches Lucien. “Hope you're plannin' somethin' fun then, hon.” He moves his hand to the teapot as Lucien emerges. “Evenin', Lucien. I brought tea. Like a cup?” "A movie, and then waffles," Lucien explains, fingers uncurling towards Desi as she leaves. "She says at stupid hours of night with friends is the best time for them." He looks down to the teapot, back up to Micah's face. His eyebrows tick faintly upwards, the corners of his lips twitching up with mild amusement as well. "Micah, do you know what time it is?" Micah waves to Desi as she heads out. "G'night, hon. An', oh, it's not /that/ late. An' it's a white. Very low caffeine. Pear spice?" Micah lifts the pot, an eyebrow also lifted in question. "Jax went t'bed early an' I have this whole pot. An' Desi's out. Pretty sure I'm not like t'finish the lot m'self." "Jackson went to bed early. Is he /ill/?" Lucien's amused half-smile remains. He leans in his doorway, arms loosely folding over his chest. "Perhaps you should have planned better. It is possible," he leans just slightly forward like this is more confidential, "to steep tea by the cup rather than the pot." “No, s'just not much sunlight lately so he needs rest like normal folk right now.” Micah brings the cups nearer, pouring one and then the next. “Is it?” he asks with feigned amazement. “Well, I am still learnin' about these things. S'pose I could try that in the future. But for now, there /is/ this whole pot.” Lucien exhales a quiet laugh, his head tipping slightly downward. He gives it a small shake, tracking Micah's motions as the tea is poured. "You are an incredibly stubborn man." “S'the popular theory,” Micah answers, grin broadening as he collects a tea cup and walks it carefully to Lucien, so as to avoid spilling its rather-copious contents. “S'hot, still, but should be drinkable.” With this, he holds the cup out to the other man. "It will pass, at least." Lucien lifts his hands, not taking the cup but instead folding them lightly /around/ Micah's hands. A soft wash of pleasantly buzzy happiness spills out from his touch. "The darkness, I mean. For Jackson. And all of us. It is Yule-time. Things only get brighter from here." “Sure will. Solstice an' all. We'll be rechargin' 'is batteries just fine soon enough.” Micah chuckles, then watches Lucien's hands cup over his own. His eyes slip closed for just a moment at the imparted warmth. “Mmn. Y'must be feelin' a little better, yourself?” The question is gentle, more than half just statement. "The Solstice, yes." Lucien's voice is soft. The warm buzz from his touch grows. "Better?" Faintly, his brows draw together. "Better than what?" "Mmn," sighs out again with a slow, heavy breath at the increased buzz. "You been recoverin'. I meant, feelin' a bit more back t'your regular self. Mind clearin' up a bit an' all." Micah's head tilts slightly as he looks up to study Lucien's face. "Mmm." Lucien's quiet hum is more simply thoughtful. His eyes meet Micah's, almost lazy in their half-lidded state. His hands don't leave Micah's, mind reaching out in gently curious exploration of the other man's mood underneath the buzz he provides. "Time -- fixes most ills, non? My mind is largely returned to its former --" He dips his head, lifting Micah's hands in his to bring the teacup up and take a small sip of tea. "Did you come over here just to bring me tea?" "Bringin' tea an' checkin' in, yeah." Micah replies with a nod. The concern in his voice is light, though his thoughts are heavier-laden with it, his efforts to keep it from showing quite deliberate. He chuckles softly at Lucien's method of drinking, another light flush of warmth demonstrated by brighter colouration in his cheeks. "I picked this one out," he says of the tea. "So hopefully it's somewhat up to par." "Checking in." Lucien's fingers trace slowly against the backs of Micah's hands. He takes another sip of tea, longer, this time. "White tea steeps at a considerably lower temperature than black. It does have a decent flavour, though." His eyes lift back up to Micah's, studying the other man's expression even as he studies Micah's feelings. "You worry too much. You have a whole family next door just rife with reasons to worry about them, surely you can find outlet enough at home?" "Mmhmm," Micah confirms softly. "An' I know that, actually. S'more...delicate. I do read things, y'know." His grin pulls more amused, tugging up more at just one corner. "I got plenty of worry t'spread around, not t'...worry." He chuckles again, a little sheepish at the stumble of word choice. "An' got plenty of reasons enough. Not frettin' /hard/, though. Just checkin'. With tea. S'alright t'do sometimes, isn't it?" Lucien drops his hands, stepping back to lean against his doorway. "Reasons. I do not know what I have done to warrant --" His arms cross back over his chest with a soft rustle of fabric, hands tucking into the crooks of his arms. His fingers shift, slowly drumming against his arm, thumb absently spinning at a plain black ring on one finger. "Save your worry, Micah. There are far better places to expend it." “Warrant what? People carin' about you? Y'didn't have t'/do/ anythin'.” Micah holds the cup out again for Lucien to claim. “I can tone the worry down now's I've seen you're okay. But, truly, there's plenty t'spare.” His other hand reaches for Lucien's, fingertips brushing against the back of it lightly. “Love you, hon. S'just one of those things that y'gotta take along with it. Little bit of worry now'n then.” "Warrant worry." Lucien's head tips slightly to one side, resting against the doorframe as well. The brush of Micah's fingertips against his hand stirs up another wash of feeling, fiercer and deeper this time in the brief rush of euphoria. He spins at his ring again, and then clamps his fingers against his biceps. "How would you know, though? I touch you and I feel your concern. When you hurt, when you fret, when you are happy and when you are not. If I were not okay -- how would you know?" “Oh,” Micah says at the clarification, cheeks colouring again. The rush distracts him a moment, his eyes blinking repeatedly before he speaks again. “Same as anyone, really. I mean, anyone without some kinda ability t'know /better/.” He withdraws the cup when Lucien fails to take it, just holding it at his side. “By seein' you an' how you're actin' an'...askin', honestly. I gotta trust a certain amount t'what you're willin' t'/tell/ me.” Again, hazel eyes track to Lucien's. “So, it does take...some level of communication.” "By seeing how I'm acting." Lucien echoes this with a soft pensiveness, his eyes lowering to the ground. "Do you make a habit of trusting what I tell you?" He actually sounds like this concept puzzles him. Micah just nods, at first. “Well, I know y'have a habit of not...exactly bein' the /most/ frank an' open person that I know.” He smiles over at Lucien with this, not precisely a reproach...simply an observation. “But I trust you'll let me know what I need to...even if I gotta prod a little for it sometimes. Can't really operate without havin' that basis t'work off of.” "I let you know what I need you to, generally." Lucien's fingers tighten against his arm again. Then relax. Tighten again, and relax. His other hand curls fingers inward, thumb brushing across his knuckles. Spinning at his ring. "What /do/ you need to know?" Another nod comes at that, simple acknowledgement. Micah's attention is drawn down to the ring, the repeated motion finally catching. “I need t'know that you're...okay. An' if you ever actually need...anythin'. T'make sure that y'/stay/ okay.” He moves a step closer, leaning against the wall beside Lucien's door. “I'd /like/ t'know more. But that, at least...s'kinda most important.” Lucien's fingers curl inward again, when Micah's attention shifts down. He drops his hand to his side, closing his eyes briefly. "I manage just fine without assistance. Though --" He hesitates, opening his eyes again, his head turning slightly so that he can look over at Micah. "I think it has been many months since I was sure what 'okay' even was. How would you know -- if I never do?" "No one does, not really. I mean, y'can't just do everythin' alone." Micah looks up at Lucien, head tilting and eyes narrowing slightly as he watches. "I wish y'would let me know more. But...I kind of understand. A little." His head shakes at the question. "Don't s'pose y'can ever know for sure. That's the thing with other people bein' other people. Y'never really get t'know for absolute certain. S'why trust is so important." He holds an arm out at the assertion that 'okay' has been a stranger for some time. "It's been...a lotta hard lately. Hug...maybe? Y'can say no. I just know they help me when things aren't so okay." "Why can't you? People only complicate matters." Lucien's jaw tightens, faintly, at the offer of a hug. His eyes close once more, head thunking down against the doorframe again. He lifts his hand slowly, in lieu of hug, extending it towards Micah, palm-up in invitation. “'Cause we ain't...made t'work that way.” Micah studies the hand for a moment before just reaching his own out to place in it. “Life's usually too much t'deal with without help. From an emotional standpoint. An' practical. Different people have different skills'n strengths. Kinda set up t'work in packs.” His brows lift again, this time in tandem. “D'you really feel like people /only/ complicate things?” "I am." Lucien's fingers curl around Micah's, soft and warm. When he lowers his hand back to his side, the motion is a gentle nudge to pull the other man in closer. "I mean, certainly, I need people. I could not do my /job/ without people, could not purchase food or have my shelter or --" He shakes his head quickly. "But on a personal level, they do. Complicate things. Perhaps more from a practical standpoint than emotional. Emotionally --" There's another wash of feeling from Lucien, though this time it's far from euphoria. More of /anti/-feeling, really, a soft cool numbness that swiftly and neatly blots /out/ any traces of emotion, leaving Micah's emotional scape flat and even in its wake. "If you want to know how I am doing --" He shakes his head, squeezing Micah's hand a little closer. "If you felt me as I feel you, this is what you would feel. It is not -- /not/ okay. Not hard, not sad. It just is not. Just – not." When Lucien pulls him in, Micah steps easily toward the other man, pressing in close against him. The feelings coming from him are mostly related to love, friendship, the pleasant warmth that comes with physical closeness...a touch of concern and worry layered underneath. "So that's been the same, even after all the...things that happened?" he says after a long moment's silence with that wash of /nothing/ from Lucien. "We'd talked about...that friend. Maybe seein' if his ability could help you with that. Now that things have quieted down a little after the whole zombie virus mess... Would y'want me t'check with 'im again?" He doesn't quite pull Lucien into a true hug, one hand still in the other man's and the opposite one full of teacup. But his stance is rather hug-like in its proximity. Lucien's eyes open slightly wider, head tilting in a very faint wash of curiosity that echoes noticeably through the shared link he leaves open between them. "After all the things that happened, Micah --" His brow furrows, very faintly. "Matt and Nox. All the dead. Killing Jackson. After all that and everything you know of my life I --" His other hand turns upwards. "Why would I /want/ to feel all that?" "I know, honey. Those sorts of things are hard an' hurt, but..." A little sadness adds to the emotional mixture coming from Micah. "Those aren't /all/ there is. Anythin's gotta be better than just feelin' /nothin'/ always. Y'never get t'feel...happy or joyful or...love or...the depth of connection you usually get from relationships. The things that made you /want/ t'try this before." His head shakes. "Just to feel the happy things with /memories/ of Matt or Nox. It's...eventually the strength of the sad about them isn't as strong as the memories of the good things. It takes time, but...wouldn't all of that be worth it?" The non-feeling coming from Lucien fades away. At the soft note of sadness he draws in a slow breath, inhaling with oddly as much quiet appreciation as he usually gives to drawing in the fragrance of his tea. His fingers close a little more firmly around Micah's hand, as if this extra contact will lead to feeling Micah's emotions more strongly. "No." This answer comes only after a long stretch of silence. "My experience with the world leads me to be highly skeptical that the good ever will outweigh the bad." Micah rests his head on Lucien's shoulder at the breath, the tighter grip on his hand. "It's entirely your choice whether or not y'want t'...try t'change it or not. I'll advocate for it, but I won't push." Another wash of sadness and concern blends itself into the other feelings, tied up in the want for Lucien to be able to experience those things. "Maybe y'might change your mind after a little...distance from the recent events," he adds hopefully, a small smile pressed against the other man's shirt. Lucien's hand releases Micah's, though only to run slowly up the other man's arm, curl in against the back of his neck. His touch is gentle, rubbing slowly at the back of Micah's head. "I do not know that there is any distance great enough to get over --" His head gives a very small shake. "And I do. Feel things. /Other/ people feel things, and I feel through them." When Lucien drops his hand, Micah's arm wraps around the other man's shoulders almost immediately, as if on instinct. He presses into Lucien's touch, shivering slightly when fingertips brush against his neck. "Is that the same, though? Just gettin'...echoes from other people? How can y'ever know what /you're/ feelin' about somethin'? Y'can know how someone else is feelin' real strongly, sure, but...what about it bein' your /own/?" Despite the lacing of worry and concern through his words and feelings, he melts a little into the touch, the feeling of warmth stronger. "Knowing what other people feel is more than enough to navigate the world. Learning how to to give people what it is that they want --" Lucien's head tips downward, his cheek brushing softly against the side of Micah's neck. "Is a skill that has gotten me farther in life than any other. And if I want to feel something more --" His other hand slips downward, brushing underneath Micah's shirt; his fingers run up over the other man's skin, palm pressing down warm over Micah's heart. "There is no dearth of feelings to draw on." “Navigatin' an' givin's one thing...good an' useful things, but...what about what /you/ want?” Micah moves to look up at Lucien, but then the other man's head dips down. He shivers again at that touch, his breath catching as the hand slides under his shirt. His arm pulls the other man closer again, heart rate quickening slightly. “Oh...I. Don't mind sharin' feelin's, certainly. Usually get accused of doin' it /too/ much.” "Your whole family does seem to have been gifted with a surplus of /feelings/." Lucien's eyes close, his hand staying over Micah's heart. His fingers rub, slow and kneading against the back of the other man's neck. Gentle, at first, until his fingers slowly /tighten/ in Micah's hair, a steadily increasing grip that he uses to pull back Micah's head, turning it up to face him. His eyes fix downwards on Micah, fingers pressing in hard against chest. "I want --" His grip tightens, a faint tension twining through his muscles; his arm where it rests like a support at Micah's back, his other as it presses in firmer against Micah's chest, his own body where it pushes close to Micah's. He lets out a breath quickly, eyes closing. "Tea. It is likely growing cold." "Well, what can I say? Pile of bleedin' hearts. No help for us," Micah jokes lightly. A low hum comes from his throat at the kneading, catching instead in a gasp at the tug and the pull at his hair. His lips stay parted slightly as his heart rate quickens again, more noticeably, his face flushed when it turns up to Lucien's. His expression is caught somewhere between searching and confusion and...just surrendering to the other man's grip. The hand with the teacup lifts, if somewhat shaky in doing so, to hold it close to Lucien in offering. "Also don't," his voice comes out as a rough whisper, needing to clear his throat a little before he continues, "mind sharin' tea, certainly." Lucien's fingers remain in a fisted-up grip in Micah's hair. His other hand slides back downward, nails rasping slowly against Micah's chest on the way down. He drops his hand away from Micah's skin, lifting it again to take the teacup from the other man's hand. "Thank you." Only then does he let go, taking a small step back and sipping at the tea slowly, his eyes fixed again on Micah's face. "Possibly you should go." It sounds more like idle consideration than suggestion. "We both have early mornings, tomorrow." Micah whimpers softly at the grip, the nails against his skin. He leans harder against the other man. "'Welcome," comes whispery-soft again when he answers. When Lucien moves away, he takes a little stumble step before righting himself. "D'you want me t'go?" he asks quietly, looking back up at Lucien with that same slightly befuddled expression set against flushed skin and quick breath. Lucien takes a longer drink of the tea, easier now that it's mostly cooled to drain most of the cup at a drink. His other hand reaches back out, fingertips touching lightly to Micah's wrist, not giving any feeling but simply stretching out to drink in Micah's feelings. "There is very little I want. Do you want to go?" His eyes slip down over Micah's body, lifting back up to watch his flushed face. "You look like you might rather stay." Micah's arm trembles at the touch to his wrist. His thoughts and feelings are mostly wrapped together in trying /not/ to kiss Lucien. “Honey, I'd...stay in a heartbeat. But. If you /can't/ want anythin', I just... That's... I can go if you'd rather I go.” His flush darkens again, now fiercely crimson. Lucien lifts the cup again as Micah speaks, draining the rest of the tea. His eyes watch Micah steadily over his cup, still fixed thoughtfully once the tea is gone and he lowers his hand to his side. His fingers wrap their way around Micah's wrist, and as he takes a step back into his bedroom he pulls gently to bring Micah along. He releases Micah's wrist to lift his hand, fingers curling around the back of the other man's neck; as his head dips down closer to Micah's he is still drinking in the other man's feelings hungrily. "Whatever you are feeling." His lips are almost close enough to touch Micah's, the heat from his mouth easily felt even if he doesn't quite make contact. "-- is what I want. {So -- please.} Just feel it." Micah's eyes fly open wide at the grasp of his wrist, though he steps in after Lucien when he moves back. The hand on his neck draws another low sound from the back of his throat, his lips falling open slightly with the closeness of the other man's. "Love you," he breathes back, warm and barely-audible, but echoed loudly though the contact of Lucien's ability. His arms wrap tight around him, pulling him in that fraction necessary to touch their lips together. The kiss is gentle at first, but only for a brief moment before deepening, the press as hungry as Lucien's drinking in of emotions. Lucien only acknowledges this with a soft hum of noise in return. His mouth presses back to Micah's, soft at first as well, fingers running slow up into Micah's hair. He follows Micah's lead here, though, lips parting as the kiss deepens, slowly rising to match Micah's hungry press of lips. Finally here his mutation does tug again at Micah's mind, though not with any of his usual touches of warmth and pleasure. He introduces no /new/ feelings save for a quiet lowering of inhibitions, gentle encouragement for Micah to continue to do as he wishes. Micah grips Lucien tighter, one hand circling the other man's upper arm and the other tugging at the hem of his shirt to untuck it and eventually slide beneath to trace up along his spine. When he pulls away from the kiss it is only brief, for catching breath, changing tilt of head, repeating kisses. The addition of new feelings would likely be entirely gratuitous, the warmth and love and /want/ from him strong enough without enhancement. When he draws away again, it is with a glance through the doorway. He releases Lucien's arm just long enough to grip the door and push it closed, the push against inhibitions making the interruption that much more difficult to achieve. Immediately, his mouth is drawn back to the other man, kisses placed to his jaw and neck, nuzzling in against him. “Are you sure you're okay with this?” He doesn't so much stop to ask as fit the words between kisses, pulling Lucien closer even as he speaks. Lucien's hand curls against the back of Micah's head, holding the other man close through deeper kisses. His touches grow hungrier, feeding off of Micah's want. His own pulse begins to speed, felt where his body presses to Micah's. He draws in breath shakily as his head tips back to permit the kisses, the nuzzling. The question stops him, though, forehead resting against Micah's and a very small upward curl to his lips. "You want this," he murmurs in quiet reply, thumb tracing against the back of Micah's neck. "Right now, that is what I know. It has been, as I said -- quite some time since I was even capable of telling what 'okay' means." Micah's hands have pulled Lucien's shirt completely loose, moving from travelling along his back to his stomach and his chest, feeling the warmth of skin there, the tension of muscle, the rise and fall of breath. He unfastens the top two buttons to lower his kisses to the hollow at the base of Lucien's neck, to his collarbones, his tongue flicking in and licking against skin. “I want you,” he says more firmly, the slightest hint of a growl buried in the undertones of his voice. That much is abundantly clear before he even speaks, hands continuing their wandering and seeking touch unabated. “But that ain't...the important thing right now. I don't want...anythin' /you/ don't want.” The statement may be true, but Lucien likely gets the feeling that the /want/ itself isn't fading either way. “If all y'want is t'feel what I'm feelin' I can just...sit with you an' hold you an' that'll still be there without anythin' else.” His body stays pressed up close, but he manages to pull his lips away long enough to look up at Lucien's face. The rise and fall of Lucien's breath is just a little heavier than before, his muscles just a little more taut under Micah's hands, his skin just a little more flushed. "... just sit." Lucien takes a step back, and then another, gently guiding Micah along with him until he sits on the bed. He reaches over to set the empty teacup down on the nightstand, his hand slipping down Micah's back, tracing beneath the other man's shirt to rest his hand at Micah's side. "I think --" He hesitates, fingers pressing firmly against Micah's skin. "I think -- that I would like that." With the feeling of Lucien's breathing deepening under his hands and against his body, his own breath comes a little faster, a little harder. Micah is easily led to the bed, settling down next to the other man. He nods when Lucien voices his preference. "I can do that," he says with another nod, almost as much to /himself/ as to the other man. His hands work to extricate themselves from under Lucien's shirt, his breathing slowing with some conscious thought applied to deep and even breaths. He remains in contact, sitting hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder, his hand moving simply to stroke softly at Lucien's hair. "We can just sit or lay or...you let me know if y'want me t'go or if you even want me t'stay 'til you fall asleep or...whatever. An' y'can borrow only as much feelin' as y'want." He lets his head tip to rest against Lucien's shoulder, some mental processes still filled with slowing his breath. Lucien nods, scooting further up onto the bed and lying back. His arm curls around Micah, pulling the other man down alongside him. "Stay," he says, softly. "{Please.}" After this he is quiet. His hand traces up against Micah's spine, coming to rest between the other man's shoulder blades. He presses one soft kiss, then another, to the side of Micah's neck. But then he just lies, still and quiet, his breathing slowing as he lets the other man's feelings wash through him. Micah follows easily, lowering himself to Lucien's side and circling an arm around him. “Of course, honey.” He tilts his head, a contented almost-purr coaxed by the kisses to his neck. Pressing up close to the other man, he kisses the top of his head, nuzzling into his hair. “Love you,” he murmurs, the feelings from him mostly a warm wash of the same, mixed with encroaching sleepiness. Then he is still save for the steady and slowing rise and fall of his breath.