The Honeymoon Suite


sonny_icon.gif teo_icon.gif

Scene Title The Honeymoon Suite
Synopsis Apart from the covert bugging, Triads mustering down the street, and enough secrets to induce a psychotic episode, everything is going perfectly.
Date January 19, 2009

Chinatown Somewhere: Connor and Teo's Apartment (Soon)

The beginnings of an A+ shag pad.

Afterward, Teo is staring at the ceiling. Which probably doesn't warrant that much rapt attention, plain white plaster lit by the daylight windows, but it's okay. The varnish over the wood floor is making the back of his head stick and pinch because his hair still hasn't grown out long enough to form an adequate barrier. The empty apartment room seems to have expanded back into its original proportions, cool and sharp-cornered, fully recovered from the humid tunnel-vision that happens when he's concentrating a lot on something. Like sex.

Granted, sometimes a good novel will do it too, but there's nothing here yet except for a trash can in the corner, full of crumpled-up brochures, Kleenexes, and one condom carefully concealed between the layered sheafs of shaken litter like some larval insect in a misappropriated forest setting. And two men spent from what might be construed as either spectacularly rude indecency, considering this isn't what the landlady consented to be locked out for and they don't own it yet, or some sort of inaugural ceremony.

"I think I like it here," Teo decides.

At some point before the festivities truly began, Sonny reverted from the identity of Dr. Kinney to his real face. That is, once the door was locked and the sheets that serve as temporary curtains were closed. His nose and lip has healed enough to make things less tenative. Although it took the doc a little while to stop staring at the door.

But, Teo has a way of making him loosen up and take chances he wouldn't have before. Like, say, punching a cop, or making plans to blow up his own clinic. It remains to be seen whether this influence is positive or not. But he sure as hell is enjoying himself.

"Well good. Because I feel like we opened the package. So we have to buy what's inside." He chuckles and rolls over to pillow himself atop Teo. He kicks the pants off that didn't get down further than his ankles, despite the fact that it's not exactly warm in here. "Think maybe we miiight want a bed. Or…two. God, I feel like I'm in an episode of Three's Company. Except…you know, with naked man-sex." The fact that he was even able to make that joke shows how much these last few weeks have loosened him up. He grins fondly at Teo and presses a lingering kiss to the curve of his neck.

Not that Teo has any idea what that television show is all about. Although the title seems like a mean-spirited allusion to their, uh, problems of the past month, he kind of puts that a little below Sonny's character by now. He picked a good guy. Insofar as punching cops, blowing up surgical clinics, and having sex in inappropriate places permits Sonny the definition of a good guy.

In Teo's understanding, it does. God knows one needs patience to put up with an arrogant Sicilian kid who adamantly insists — if not in so many words — that you Look at me. Look at me. No, now look at me more. Though, to be fair, he's a lot more attractive than the door to this place. "A bed?

"Why, your back giving out now?" A long finger sets down between Sonny's shoulderblades. The rim of one pragmatically short fingernail starts to slide down the grain of the skin, rolling over the round bones of subtle vertebrates, squeedgeeing sweat up before it evaporates. There's unmistakable cheek in Teo's voice, the distinct impression he's smiling: he is, though the good Doctor can't see.

His heart is a thundering cadence in Sonny's ear. Coincidentally, he has no pants either. They're tangled up somewhere with his guns, and jacket full of knives and other metal objects flung somewhere out of harm's reach. "I don't know how you're going to survive with a television that measure shorter than a toddler."

And Sonny has a likewise high opinion of Teo for putting up with a spoiled, vain, out-of-touch doc with a god complex. One who has to keep obsessive secrets, else his whole world will implode.

"I would enjoy something other than faded lacquered floor, yes. Though…" He shifts his bare, likely uncomfortable weight more atop the young Italian. "…this isn't so bad." His smile can be felt as his cheek rests against Teo's chest. "Hey, we can justify a nice flatscreen. They've come down in price a lot." If he has to watch an old, tiny tube TV, he is going to be sad.

His back arches at the touch and the other is rewarded with a kiss to the underside of his chin that is anything but chaste.

Being hurled into a mailbox at seventy miles per hour had hurt more, though at least Teo had the fortifications of his back braced and half a dozen layers of clothing for protection then. Now the wood is poking his back into odd contours and the pinching's getting worse, squashed under the elbows and knees of Batman-in-scrubs, and it's cold

Boo-fucking hoo.

He's suffered worse than the uncomfortable puckering and sting that besets his shoulder when he raises his arm, swings it around to pillow his head. It's balanced out, in the end. The insult of winter is diminished under the warm weight of Sonny's denuded body. Though Dr. Bianco's metabolism is neither like that of a speedster nor particularly French, it serves too well to let Teo think of either of the others for an eye-blink, and the kiss does the rest.

This isn't so bad. "Okay." Flatscreen. Right? They were talking about a flatscreen. "Whatever you want."

"So you're going to start spoiling me, is that it? Indulging me?" Sonny's chuckle vibrates through his press of lips. "You sure you want to do that?" And then the kiss resumes. A hand raises to hold one side of Teo's jaw and to tilt his head in ways that allow him access to all the curves and nooks of the Italian boy's neck. "Once you start giving me what I want…well, I'm not going to let you stop."

His toes curl and they hook between Teo's legs, to steal warmth from his calves.

The recovery rate of Teo's higher brain functions is beginning to slow down and threaten to inverse, which is alarming for a number of reasons. First, because it's a little soon to be doing that again, and second because if it's a little soon to be doing that again, it shouldn't be hard to think, unless the brain thing can't be principally attributed to purely physical distractions annnnd nnnow he's probably overthinking things, as he is very occasionally wont to do. More these days than before.

"Fffwhuh." That's not a real word and isn't a real reply, acquiescence and query mangled into each other even as he starts to sit up, and most probably carrying his lover with him, given his lover is currently attached to his neck like a lamprey. There's a moment's vertigo as Teo's blood pressure seesaws through his head, until he remembers to open his eyes, close his arms around Sonny's waist.

"I think—" he rests his nose briefly against the doctor's cheek, offers a peck of apology to his jaw. "If she catches us, that might make her a little less willing to hand over the lease."

Sonny slaps out a hand against the cold floor to support his own weight once Teo's movement's made him sit up. He grins and runs his fingers over the stubble of hair. "Mmmm. Likely." He glances around the apartment. "We're going to need some furniture. But you're going to have to come with me. Else I'm going to spend too much money and we won't be able to justify it if anyone comes over. I'm supposed to be a disgraced doctor." Not a stupidly rich one. "M'thinking of getting a car too. Just a used sedan. Something nondescript."

He kisses Teo gently, then starts to feel around and gather their clothes nearby. It'll take a little bit to sort out who was wearing what.

A thoughtful knit darkens Teo's brow, considering that. Furniture purchases. He can find time for that, between… recovering Abigail on Staten Island, finding the Phoenix operatives captured by Homeland Security, and keeping an amnesiac serial killer's fat from the fryer at considerable emotional expense. "Non problema," he says, after a long moment. "We can probably get a few pieces secondhand off the Internet or whatever.

"If that doesn't make you crazy, signor." Kissed and patted on the head, he curls the corner of his mouth upward. He sniffs once, like a dog whuffing through a bouquet of odors. Sweat, recent plaster. One thumb and forefinger stretch at the small of Sonny's back, prodding the two dimples in the muscle there, before he leans back on his hands and waits for his clothes to be distributed ot him. "Car, you have to pay for parking. Why do you want one of those?"

Sonny's life is considerably less complicated, even though it feels twisted to him at the moment. "We're getting a new bed, though." He can't help but grin. Something tickles him about the idea of them breaking in a bed together and sharing it from the start. Something… cheesy and sentimental, which is why he doesn't voice it.

His back arches against the touch and for a moment, his hand delays on the shirt crumpled in his fist. With some reluctance, he reaches out and loops the neck over Teo's head. The icy floor in a frigid apartment is doing the job of a cold shower at this point.

"I need a car…" says Sonny as he pulls his own shirt over his head. "…because I am a doctor. And people will be calling me in emergencies. I can't exactly go racing out in my Mercedes."

Ever adverse to the cold, Teo shows less hesitation than he otherwise might have in accepting his shirt. Bows his head, lifts it afterward, fiddles his arms into triangles to get them back into his sleeves, stretching lines into his fabric. Quick after, he raises his head, acknowledging the sedan's straightforward logic with a nod, and glibely attributing that reasoning behind the new bed to Sonny Bianco's squeamish OCD. "We'll call it the Batmobile. I'll break a bottle of Diet Coke over its nose."

His eyes thin slightly, a smile that starts there but reaches his mouth. He watches as Sonny's shirt winds up stretched out around the contours of his face — and startles when the diminutive moth comes staggering out across the weave, tumbling out from between thin folds on paper-thin wings. Both hands shoot out, catching the insect in his palms; he yanks his arms back, behind him, as the other man's face hiccups out of the shirt and into view.

Little oops.

"I can get you the number of somebody to help with the car," he says, leaning back, again, onto his palms. He turns up one corner of his mouth.

Sonny barks a bit of laughter at the suggestion of christening the sedan. "Batmobile. You keep calling me Batman and I'm going to feel compelled to fight crime. Or at least wear spandex."
He struggles with his own long sleeved black tee (or was it Teo's to begin with? He can't remember) and pushes his head up through the hole. Curls are disturbed by this procedure and he tries to wrangle them back out of his face.

"You know a mechanic?" he asks, brows arching upwards. He starts to move forward, and for a moment there seems to be a very real possibility that he's about to tackle Teo to the ground again. Instead, he reaches past him and snags up a pair of underwear which he pulls over and tugs on. "We really should find the landlady. I hope to god she just fell asleep watching General Hospital."

The moth has escaped his notice, it seems. Like how you never see red cars until someone points them out to you.

The murmur Teo cedes to the lack of tackling easily passes for disappointment, though it was in actuality mumble of something like relief. Moth in palm, insect telepath, non-consensual spywork, conversations best left for a later time. Maybe after HomeSec shoots him in the head. "Mechanic, salesmen, si. Landlady, I figure—

"We can get her by cellphone, if nothing else. I'll talk some more Mandarin to her. She'll love it." He shifts his legs when the other man moves to get his underwear back on, leans off to the side, dragging over a pair of pants he roughly recognizes as his own. Sonny's coat is a slithery pile of quilted fabric on top of it; he tucks his tiny passenger into the fold of the collar, before snagging his own garment. "Long as I don't have to deal with little red briefs, I don't mind how you choose to interpret your rightful title.

"'S probably good you're embarrassed, though," he decides, lying back to get his legs clothed in a swift series of expedient movements. "Keeps you humble."


February 19th: No News Is Bad News
February 19th: Trust or Punishment
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