Little Deaths And Bad Days


logan_icon.gif satoru_icon.gif

Scene Title Little Deaths And Bad Days
Synopsis Complicated conversation turns very simple very quickly. It's how they roll, when Logan shows up at Toru's place after a "fun weekend".
Date October 5, 2009

Toru's Apartment

An evening or two without Logan isn't all that unusual, really, and Toru's lack of concern for his absence will most likely be absolutely heartbreaking once it is realized. Maybe. In either case, the afternoon finds Toru in his apartment, generally relaxing in baggy around-the-house clothes. There is iced tea somewhere, probably, and dishes on the counter. He is slovenly! This is mildly unusual, but not terribly surprising.

The new apartment is nicer than the last, a bit bigger, slightly nicer kitchen, etc etc. Still just one bedroom, master bath and half bathroom off to one side somewhere. All in all it's a step up, really. No regrets! Except that now with the increased size, he's finding himself lazier and slightly less inclined to clean up after himself. He's probably lounging on a couch. Terrible Japanese pop music playing out of a cheap stereo against the wall, and there's a chair or two strewn about. Pre-furnished apartments are a wonderful thing.

When he'd arrived on the floor of the emergency room, underslept and morphine sodden, hand gripped to his chest and leaking red, suit rumpled to hell and piss-stained, he'd managed the excuse of I had a very fun weekend before submitting, once more, to the ritual of medical incarceration. X-rays, stitches, needles, two bouts of unconsciousness. It's almost that part Logan hated the most.

Except he could have ended it quickly by dialing a number in his phone. So perhaps it's not so bad after all.

So that's how he spent his morning~. Regardless, it's a much more together John Logan that is pacing outside Toru's doorstep like a restless overgrown feline of some description. Clean, sober (…kind of), clothed properly, though with a significant lack of flare. For many men, designer jeans, a black button down shirt and leather shoes is reasonably upscale. Most men don't want to be Logan, however.

His hand aches. He's not sure he wants to be Logan right now either. The hand that is not bound tight in bandages, with splints on three fingers curls into a fist and wraps sharply, decisively, on Toru's door, before he's using the key he'd conned off the younger man some time ago to poke and jab hopefully into the lock, the guilty scrraaape of it opening following what would have been a polite announcement of his presence.

Ah, a knock at the door~ Just the opportunity Toru needs to … pull a throw off the back of the couch and cover his eyes. Catnap time.

— Except that that knock is followed by an uncharacteristic unlocking sound, which can only mean one thing. The throw is— thrown off, as the boy throws himself off the couch, and into a rather hurried tidying frenzy. "Shit, shit," he mutters and then adds, loudly and before Logan can actually enter the apartment, "Just a second!"

— Of course, he doesn't actually expect that to stop the other man, but he nevertheless insists upon Going Through the Motions. Low table in front of the couch is cleaned off (by way of shoving everything onto the floor and underneath said table), and he trots into the kitchen to pour a glass of iced tea. Oh, hello.

Once Logan actually enters, though, the tea is forgotten almost immediately. Toru stares at his boss-slash-boyfriend?, and slowly walks into the living room. "What the hell happened to you?" No movement is made to breach too much distance between the two; he keeps a safe distance away.

Somehow the excuse of a fun weekend, ~s and all, probably isn't suitable for right now, although Logan's nose wrinkles at the prospect of going into any kind of detail. He drops his pale gaze towards his hand, angling it for inspection before letting it fall loose to his side.

"Some Chinese fag and a ninja happened to me."

Though Toru keeps his distance, Logan reduces it with a lazy saunter forward, hand partially hidden as he tucks his thumbs into his pack pockets. "Since— I believe— Saturday." His eyes widen briefly in an affectation of 'oh my!', though his expression remains reasonably neutral, his gaze darting up and down Toru before adding; "I could use a place to stay a while."

"Oh. I— Oh." Toru looks down at his hands, fidgety all a-sudden, then drops his hands at his sides. "I didn't know," he adds, lamely. Well, that much is obvious. "I guess— I mean, if I wasn't okay with you staying I wouldn'ta given you a key, huh?" A shrug there, and brief lapse into his gruff, pseudo-thug persona. A bit uncomfortable for a moment, not entiiirely certain just what he should be doing right now. He does have a history of doing a poor job at being comforting, after all.

Biting the inside of his lip a moment, he eventually gestures with one hand. "Well, come on." To the couch he goes! Sitting down, and gesturing for Logan to do same. Stereo is shut off via remote, and he sits back, kicking his feet up atop the coffee table. "If I knew— I mean, y'know. I woulda cleaned up. I've been a little sloppy lately." Pause. "So, uh. … Sorry about the mess."

With a quiet sigh, he runs a hand through his hair, looks up at the ceiling, and closes his eyes for a long moment. "I knew we shouldn't have gone messing with Chinks, man." Somewhat ironic given that he still lives in Chinatown. "Nothing good ever happens."

Logan only then thinks to glance around, tracking his attention towards spots of mess and clutter, although if it annoys him, it doesn't show. Instead, he reaches back to lock the door properly, and moves the rest of the way inside. "Yes, well. Let's not talk about— " That was the beginnings of something snide and sarcastic, but the sentence is sheared off midway with a click of teeth and a flash of irritation in his expression, Logan still standing for an awkward pause before he rests a knee against the seat of the couch. "Let's just not."

Settling properly, tension bleeds out naturally once in a more relaxed position, ar, resting along the back of the couch. "And you only gave me a key because I made you," he adds, tone a little lighter, toying with the aforementioned metal sliver between unbandaged fingers.

"True." And the matter of Chinees is dropped easily enough, relief almost palpable. Let's just— not try to be comforting. That statement, of course, in regards to the key, Toru reaches over towards Logan and — snatches it out of the Brit's hands. Oho. "So maybe I should go back to holding onto it, hm?" Eyebrows raised, lips pulled back in a half-smirk. "Since I'm the one making the decisions and all, now."

His expression sobers quickly enough, though; while he remains in relaxed pose, playing with the key himself now, he muses, "It seems kinda funny that you always end up comin' back to me, y'know." A light shrug. "I mean, I know I'm rad as hell and all, but.." Here he turns to look to Logan, expression — almost sad. "It ain't like we really.. we're not really from the same kinda 'world', y'know? Every so often I kinda wonder what we're doin' with our arrangement here. I ain't tryin' to end it or nothin', it just feels weird sometimes." Somehow, he always tends to manage to bring down the mood.

There goes the key, smirky posturing of control. If it's meant to be a jest, Logan doesn't laugh, posture and expression going rigid once more. Sober even before Toru can drag down the mood like curtains off a railing, leaving the erstwhile pimp quieter than he was, mutely looking across at the younger man. "Right." His eyes narrow, as if trying to comb through the other man's words for a clue, before stating, tone dry if otherwise bereft of good humour; "I'm glad it amuses you, then. Bloody hell. Do you do this on purpose?"

Or maybe it's always like this. Conversation. Reacting to it. And he only ever notices when the world's pushed it once more through the meat grinder, exposing nerve endings and slicing as close to a soul as he'll ever get. His good hand comes up to rub wearily at his face, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry." It's a little forceful, but nonetheless sincere. Toru hands the key back over, holding Logan's hand for just a moment as he relinquishes it. "I just— you come in with your hand hurt, it kinda makes me feel like a jerk for not being around to help or something. I think— I think I'm acting too much like— " A frown, there. Delicate wording ahead. He turns to face Logan fully, pulling his legs up onto the couch, and explains, slowly to keep himself from mixing things up, "— I think I take our — arrangement, too seriously sometimes. I do like you, I just… sometimes I feel possessive like it's something more than what it is."

With that awkwardly explained, he glances down at the couch again, shakes his head. "Then I go and think I'm a burden on you because I don't contribute enough or some shit like that, and I get to feeling like — I mean it ain't like we're bein' all faggy and domestic or any of that shit. But my brain gets to thinkin' that I should be like— ironin' your fuckin' laundry or makin' you sandwiches or somethin'. I don't know. I don't know how to shut up and— and I'm already doin' it again, I always fuck these things up on accounta thinkin' like I gotta make things more complicated than they are."

There's hesitation before key-acceptance, but key-acceptance is inevitable. Logan curls long fingers back around the piece of metal, hiding it against his palm and knuckles working as he turns it around and around within his hand as Toru struggles words out. His other arm braces an elbow against the back of the couch, resting his head against his palm with splinted fingers relaxed away, and his expression remains mostly confused and neutral until ironing is mentioned, which at least inspires a small, amused smirk, diluted though it might be from weariness.

"I'm not a princess." The key spins through the air as Logan tosses it up, catches it again. "I don't expect you to have been there to rescue me, and I don't need you to make it right. I've been through worse than getting fingers systematically broken and you weren't there before either."

Not that getting fingers broken is particularly fun, either, jaw tensing a fraction at the memory conjured up. He edges a little closer. "How might I make things simpler for you? Because I'll admit - I'm a rather simple bloke, myself."

Toru leans against the back of the couch, one arm hooked over the top edge, the other resting in his lap. "It's nothing on your end, just.. I feel responsible 'cause I'm stupid like that. I'm new to this whole relationship shit. And, uh." He frowns a moment, lifts lap-hand to rub the back of his neck. "'s far as actin' around guys goes, the only thing I got to go on is how girls are. It's … embarassing, honestly." And with that, he lets out a sigh.

"I gone and made it all about me again, didn't I?" He allows himself a small smile with that admission, then shakes his head. "Last thing you need is me being a whiny bitch all over the place. You didn't come here for that." He pauses with mild surprise, blinks, and nods. "Right. You came here 'cause you wanted to. So… what do you want me to do for you?"

Logan's nose wrinkles again, before switching his focus from Toru to— his shoes. The key is swiftly pocketed before he's reaching to undo the zipper at his ankles, breathing in a breath let out as a sigh. "I find boys and girls, when you want them to, have loads in common." Thud, thud. Both shoes fall to the floor, allowing Logan to curl long legs back up onto the sofa.

"I don't know what I want. I can't drink due to the painkillers I'm taking for this. I don't want to be home. I'm taking the week off work. I'd just like to forget Linderman and Burlesque and Staten Island and bloody Refrain for a while."

"You want to forget about strippers? Now I know something's really wrong." It's said in jest, though there is a vague hint of concern in Toru's voice again. He scootches closer a bit, and slides an arm behind Logan's back; regardless of any protest there may or may ~not~ be, he proceeds to sit mostly behind the other man, arms wrapped around abdomen. "And despite that, I suppose I still have to put in an appearance, huh?" Again, a joke.

He rests his head against Logan's back, just breathing there quietly for a moment, all comfortable and cozy. He'd almost seem ready to just fall asleep there, but ultimately he does go back to talking again. "I don't mean to make it sound like I'm not taking you seriously, I just… being too serious makes me uncomfortable. I know it's irritatin'."

"You don't get the week off, no," is agreed upon, as Toru settles into place. Logan doesn't resist, in that he doesn't make it any easier, at first. Limbs work a little like that of a stiff mannequin and his posture stays, but ultimately he adapts, settles into the hold. A hand, cool palmed and scratchy bandages, settles high on Toru's wrist and Logan's eyes shut into narrow slits as if he, too, could well fall asleep there.

Of course, he can only pretend to, or look like it. Tension still lines his spine, and Toru can feel more than he hears the soft chuckle from the erstwhile pimp. "It doesn't have to be any more serious than it already is."

Kind of like it doesn't have to be as complicated. Logan is silent a little more, before; "Do you ever wonder about it? Liking me." He can't glance over his shoulder, but does lift his head briefly in token effort. "Besides redemption."

"Figured it was worth a try," Toru mumbles in reply to work concerns. More hedged amusement. The last question, though, is weighed heavily in his mind for a moment. "I guess I can't really use the excuse about tryin' ta work out what's goin' on with me anymore, huh? The, uh. The gay thing, I mean." Awkward pause. "Leastwise I figure we've been goin' on way too long for it to be that. I mean, that's kinda how I tend to explain it if people ask, but.." Shrug. "I dunno.

"I mean I do like you as a friend. And the benefits thing isn't bad, right? I mean, we're both into it.. right?" He does sound a bit uncertain about that last part, but nevertheless forges on. "I just.. I ain't the kinda guy to jump into a serious kinda thing. The way I act with you sometimes.. I been actin' a lot different from how I usually do, lately. I'm not blamin' you or anythin' but— I guess bein' all starry eyed kinda makes me a pussy."

Another hint of amusement, in the form of a simmery laughter, even if it comes from somewhere distant. Not the least because Logan is tired, but there is complication, there. The inexplicable missing part that would probably simplify things greatly for Toru. The fact that perhaps he should be blaming the Brit after all. It occurs to Logan then that he could do something good. He could tell the younger man the truth.

Instead, he squirms out of the hold enough for his good hand to come around and cup Toru's chin. "Like I said. It doesn't have to be anymore serious than it already is." Those last two words are accompanied with a fingertip tapping them out gentle against Toru's cheek. "But it doesn't have to be a joke either. After all - I am into it."

A kiss, then, provided it's not steered away from. There's no chemical manipulation than what Toru would do to his own self. "And if you do care to iron shirts and make sandwiches, goodness knows I won't stop you. I mean that literally."

At this point, any truth to the matter would be a fairly dangerous thing to confess to. Toru is perfectly content in the lie as things stand, after all, so why disrupt the flow of things? After all, they're both into it.

The younger lad has never really been one to avoid kisses, and this time is, of course, no different. No reason for it to be, after all! And the lack of chemical manipulation goes unnoticed; it isn't really necessary by now, probably; conditioning's set in. Once it's broken off, he replies, with a smirk, "I'm pretty sure that's what Chinese laundromats are for."

There is an awkward motion, then; Toru twists around a bit, sliding one hand along Logan's uninjured arm, coming to grip the wrist. Firmly, but not uncomfortably. He also takes the opportunity to get positions somewhat de-twisted, and moves to straddle Logan's lap, facing the older man with an amused expression. "I think — if this did get more serious, we'd end up killing each other." Of course … sometimes this isn't an unpleasant idea. On bad days.

They are in Chinatown, aren't they. Considering the dull ache from his hand, as medicated as he might be, that might be something of a problem. Nothing to think of right now, however, as Toru settles in Logan's lap and Logan's injured hand rests tentatively on one of his thighs. The other hand curls a little where it's gripped, twitching as if instinct to grab.

Instead, the other arm comes up to hook comfortable around Toru's shoulders, injured hand slack but arm steering them closer. "I take it you've never heard of la petite mort." Which isn't a bad idea on good days.

"Dunno," Toru answers, though he sounds fairly disinterested at the moment. He nuzzles at Logan's neck, leaving wee kisses along the line between jaw and shoulder, almost in a burrowing sort of movement. A tad forceful as he proceeds, but eventually he regains enough civility to add, "Sounds French." Very perceptive.

With that hand still gripped, Toru pulls his own hand downward a bit, only partially intentionally treating Logan a bit like a puppet. He's showing a bit of a backbone, today~. Moving in such a position as to be kneeling above Logan, he releases that wrist finally, looks down at his boss, and muses, "Hum a few bars, maybe I'll figure it out."

There is some token resistance, again, to physical force. Perhaps less than token. But there are sharp differences between then and now. For one thing, he's lucid. For another, Toru's letting go, and all fingers are as they should be. Those last words, also, write a smile across Logan's face, going from amused to coy in the time it takes for a brief chuckle to wear away.

"I'll do you one better," Logan says, gaze going down, back up, hand diverting briefly to snake fingers up the edge of Toru's shirt, fingernails scratching light along softer skin. The arm with its useless hand finds a place to wrap sinuous around one of the younger man's thighs. "I'll show you it."

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