Re: Capital: Misha/Damian
"The till will have change." It was a dismissive answer, but one that was founded in fact. Plastic might have been the preferred vessel for liquid transaction, but most brick-and-mortar businesses still employed cash registers, and registers had change. Dismissive or not, Damian had thought it through in the split atom of a second. Though, yes, he could just as easily cut through the belt, if he wished, but, and he felt this strongly, that would be cheating. And just now, he did not wish to cheat. He did not play by the so-called rules often, finding himself above them, but simply slicing the belt from the angel's narrow waist seemed unfair.—Though, like Misha, the man was not dwelling on the topic with any real depth. Instead, he was looking at the boy unwaveringly at the promise—and it was a promise—couched in his words. Damian smiled as serenely as Damian Wainright as able. "Three times, then."
The conversation about topping and bottoming involved more footwork and serious thought, and he was far less cavalier about it, though he kept the tone for his own sake. He did not know his answer about versatility (if it was called such) was surprising. He did not care either, preoccupied as he was with Misha coming in close to nose his cheek again. The angel's voice, fluted and fine, was in his ear, and it raised gooseflesh along arms bared to the night. Damian did his best not to sigh. He was moderately successful. "What do you wish, for the first time?" He asked, turning his cheek to Misha's just so.
That they should kiss next followed, predictably. But, the expectation did nothing to kill the excitement or yearning where both bloomed in hothouse belly. Damian would have continued, as I am sure you could have guessed, but they came apart as an old seam, and the applause broke out. Damian gave his head a slight shake at the comment about cursing, as he pulled for Misha's hand. He felt the brush of coolness, close as the boy's voice had been, and he came to the tug of Misha's fingers with none of the angel's resistance. He looked up to meet his gaze, and it was odd how a very public thoroughfare could feel as intimate as a black-bound bedroom.
"I do," was the weak counterargument, but it had no bones to it. Damian was near another smile, cheek turned once more toward Misha's. The man's free hand hooked one finger into belt loop on a whim, and tugged, just to feel the sudden, surging pressure of hips to his, cock to his, once more. He did smile now, his gaze wide white. "I should not be so easy for you." The specifics of the comment went unuttered. Whether Damian meant it physically, emotionally, or otherwise, did not particularly matter. He smirked, but there was truth to the sentiment. His gaze dropped to chapped lips with conspicuousness, but he did not dip in for another kiss. All of him was far too warm, given the night, given that hush of cool air. He found he liked it.