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[notrosecolored]

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[fightcoded]

His eyebrows rise up his forehead, but likely not for reasons Scott is used to—Or maybe he is. Scott is friends with Logan. The man certainly isn't going to blush at a little mass murder and terrorism. Neither is Midnighter.

Instead, he is more... surprised. Not necessarily for the better, but he didn't think the guy had it in him. Useful information indeed for his neural-inductive combat simulator.

"Mostly." Adding that the end there makes him smirk. "Didn't realize you were so dark."

[notrosecolored]

Not mass. Terrorism and killing That One Guy.

...not that he hasn't killed other people before.

Scott opens his mouth to begin to explain, actually gives every indication he's about to launch into some long, complicated, story--

then closes his mouth and visibly deflates.

Too much work, and he does not even know where he would have to begin.

"It's been a long thirty years."

[fightcoded]

The collar is tossed back onto the bed, and Midnighter moves in front of him. His hands then settle on Scott's shoulders.

"Sounds like it," he tell him, letting his hands rub up and down once, twice. And then they squeeze Scott warmly. "Thanks for the present. I'm sure it'll be put to some obscene use."

[notrosecolored]

He's pretty tired overall and really appreciative he doesn't need to get into All That right now. He is also confused at being touched.

Not alarmed, just... confused.

Or maybe it's the kind of touch. It's nice. He physically relaxes at the pressure, but also... confused.

He stops and tilts his head a bit to the side, angled slightly up to be able to look at Midnighter. Scott's only a couple of inches shorter, but he's half sitting on the dresser, increasing that.

"I'm all right."

[fightcoded]

That gets a loud bark of a laugh out of Midnighter.

"Yeah, me too," he tell him sarcastically, following it up with a wink. Neither of them are all right. But he leans down just a little to give Scott a quick peck on the lips, then a light smack on the arm.

[notrosecolored]

Sarcasm,a wink, a slap and a kiss.

This is like the physical expression of that speech pattern with serious and relevant conversation sandwiched between total bullshit, isn't it?

Yes. Yes it is.

Scott grabs mid by the front of the shirt, hauls him in and kisses him. Hard. With teeth. Almost violently. Then pushes him back, slightly.

"I'm. Fine. Midnighter. Trust me, when I am not it's about as subtle as anything you do. NOw, let's go back to talking about sadistic submission."

[fightcoded]

He is all for it. His body gives in willingly to the rough grab, ignoring signals from his brain to defend himself. When all's said and done, Midnighter licks his lips like a cat finishing a bowl of cream.

"Hmm, I dunno. I think you'd like that too much." See what you've done, Scott? See the chaos you've unleashed? He's happy to be a sadist in the worst way.

[notrosecolored]

He pushes up onto the dresser and hooks his heels behind Midnighter's knees. "Yeah, here's the thing. I'm bossy but I'm not dominant. I'm definitely not sadistic. I am a masochist, but I don't think I'd enjoy thinking i made you do something. Unless you wanted to do it."

It's complicated, but also: "I turned into a masochist at least in part based on a couple of decades worth of terrible headache, though."

Is he telling the truth ? Yes.

Is he also being a deliberate kind of manipulative smart ass? Also yes.

[fightcoded]

Midnighter stumbles forward into the dresser happily, hands settling on the lacquered top by Scott's thighs.

"Because of your eyes?" he asks. He'll circle back around to get logistics on this masochism, because hot fucking damn. A guy sure lucks out sometimes with the men he likes. Right now, though, Scott's opened himself up to another story, and Midnighter isn't going to let him clam up with some more details first.

[notrosecolored]

Scott will provide a lot of information about things - not feelings so much but events and realities - if prompted. He usually decides it isn't relevant on his own.

Mid prompts, Scott answers. "I metabolize sunlight into concussive force. Either the fall out of a plane, the experimentation, or some combination of those and psychological trauma means that they don't turn off. That's why I use the glasses. Either the pressure buildup or the actual brain damage means my head hurts. All the time."

[fightcoded]

"Do you ever take them off?" He's been curious about them since day one. Call it an itch, but there's something about untouchable glasses that make him want to touch. It's a button with a big fat sign above it: DO NOT PRESS.

"Does it contain the force back? Do you... Wait, can you see through your eyes? " Midnighter hadn't realized there was much more to this than a cool concussive beam that shoots out.

[notrosecolored]

This is not the usual set of questions he gets. Still no resistance to answering, just a pause while he processes what Mid is asking.

"I take them off to shower or while exchanging them for a visor." That's about it, do not push the do not push button he will be angry "My visual acuity is shit. That's largely the result of looking through dark red glass. I have a heightened sense of spatial awareness that is mostly compensatory and improves my aim in general."

[fightcoded]

"But they don't help the headaches. They're still there," he asks, to be sure he heard right. But then a new, more alarming question arises.

"Does this mean no shower sex? What about baths?"

[notrosecolored]

"The headache is there unless I'm depowered." Which is fine. He's used to it. Also he likes distraction. "And no you absolute idiot, that means no fucking while I'm actively washing my face. I can leave them on in the shower or bath."

[fightcoded]

Absolute idiot. That insult just makes him smile like the smarmy bastard he is.

"Good. We'd have to break up otherwise," he teases while his arms leave the drawer and circle around Scott's waist. "So. You like pain. Or have learned to like it because you had no other choice." Said like a guy who also had no other choice.

"What gets you going then, huh? Better be good, Scotty. I don't do light."

[notrosecolored]

"Don't you?" That might be (is) a challenge. "Are you sure?" That might be (is) also a kind of a challenge.

He is glad he used the insult. The reaction's... interesting and an odd kind of relief. Because it's the sort of exchange that's... relatively more easy for him than some of the emotional stuff.

He shakes his head, slightly, though, because that psychoanalysis and the more personal question are harder. He's not refusing, so much as he's hitting a wall. PRobably at least a little of that translates to physical tension and his pulse kicking up some.

[fightcoded]

"If I gotta help someone," he reiterates patiently. There's not a lot he gets out of it physically. Only the emotional connection it builds, the pride in being that person's support and not their abuser. He's got plenty of enemies already to help with the latter.

Now that Scott is suddenly less forthcoming, though, Midnighter lets his natural gift of gab take over for him. He sizes him up, head cocking to the left momentarily to listen to the man's pulse jump a little faster. He'll try a little red light, green light with him and hope he hits on some nasty things.

"Now personally, if I didn't know you well—Maybe you pissed me off, stole something from me— I'd choke you out first, take you to a private safehouse where we can get to know each other. You'd wake up naked on your knees, hands behind you pulled high enough that if you weren't careful you'd pop a shoulder out of its socket."

As he talks, he listens hard for signs of stress, arousal, fear, anything he can use for and against Scott.

[notrosecolored]

I have to help.

That's the thought that keeps circling in his mind, even while he processes and responds to that. Breathplay, definite yes. All arousal. There's some fear with the arousal at the 'restraint' portion of things, but not any kind of real anxiety.

It's a turn on.

Yes, by all means take away his capacity to do anything else. Better yet, shut him down for a few hours with it all. He's actually got an erection, but mentally?

Still on' I've got to help'.

"You going to sleep with me after?"

[fightcoded]

"Depends. Are you still theoretically pissing me off? 'Cause if you are, I may leave you there cold on your knees until you're ready to talk. And if that isn't your bag, I've got a cane with your name on it."

He pauses there, one hand slipping under Scott's shirt and fanning out over his broad back.

"You ever been caned on the bottom of your feet? That'll make anyone squeal like a pain pig. Forget their own name for sure."

[notrosecolored]

He mirrors that move, hand spreading wide across Midnight's... chest, actually. Not pushing back or away just a point of contact.

"You win." He's interested, but more importantly he's got past the wall. "Rule one: No humiliation coming at me. From me is possible, but better be for a purpose and rare. Okay?"

[fightcoded]

"I've got plenty of evildoers to humiliate," he tells him in complete agreement. "Don't need to do it to the people I like."

[notrosecolored]

He studies Mid for a moment in silence. He doesn't give much away but he's a little more relaxed and... trusts the guy just a little bit more. "Are you sure there are plenty of evil doers here?" That part is a joke.

Kind of.

What is Mid going to do if he runs out of 'bad guys'?

[fightcoded]

"Just take a stroll around the Down after midnighter. There's plenty of fodder," Midnighter assures. "Besides, I don't turn on my friends—well, unless you start killing kids or something. Just don't do that, and we're golden."

[notrosecolored]

"Well, I was in jail for killing an old guy," he says, tone super dry. But, okay, point taken on the fodder.

Maybe surprisingly, Scott has no concerns about... anyone decent's safety with Mid. Or his own safety with him, even though he doesn't consider himself decent.

[fightcoded]

"What a bad boy," Midnighter snickers. "I like bad boys. And good boys. I like all boys I guess," is his finally conclusion.

"Anything else?"