Re: log: antique store - louis, misha, and damian
The spill of liquid on table top was indicative of something. Surprise or clumsiness or some reaction from the pale man in the proper trousers, per his guests arguing at the bottom of his stairwell. Damian did not know which it was, and his gaze lingered long on the incriminating evidence. Gray-green eyes flicked to the Donovan man then, taking him in, from cardigan to the slight sink of cheeks. He was scrutinizing still as Misha dipped over to peck the other man on one sharpened cheek and a glass-gentle embrace. "I will tie both of you up before you can even begin to think of doing the same to me," he said after a drag on his cigarette.
He used the obfuscation of smoke exhaled through mouth to examine the orange bottle with another glance. It was only notable for its shock of color in an otherwise monotonous environment of flat dust. Like Misha, he assumed it was an analgesic left by Father. There was, perhaps, a spike to the ever-present current of addict-want. But, it was muted, unacknowledged further, as Damian was swept toward the sofa. He sat beside the perched angel. He leaned against one holy thigh, cheek to a knee if he could manage it. He was not at all self-conscious of this display. If anything, it was unthinking. He smoked with his free hand cradling cigarette between pin of fingers, and he did, in fact, require an ashtray. "I would be able to repair it as well, if it is what you require," offered the man, even as his critical gaze swept back over Louis Donovan, as Misha informed him he was looking better. It was true, but the bar was low.
Damian looked between the angel and the other pale man at the question of detecting their wants. This seemed, abruptly, like a bad idea. Obviously, he had known he would be found out by Louis. It was not as if he could not desire morphine. But, the discomfort of this knowledge had not set in until now. He moved his free hand in a dangle, playing with Misha's shoelaces. He did not attempt to organize his own desires. He did not think this was even possible. But, as a catalog, they currently stood as such: he wanted Misha, he wanted morphine, he wanted to feel nothing, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to be alone with the angel, preferably in bed where it would be warm and safe. He wanted to help this man, Louis. He wanted to take a drag of his cigarette. He did so.