Re: In-person: Misha B/Damian W
[Damian listened to this explanation the way he did when he absorbed information. He did not react. He simply sat and allowed it to sink in. There were times when he was more critical, but that was when he already had a context and scaffolding to work from, such that he knew if something was false or incorrect. This, obviously he had nothing to go off of, save for obscure texts, and Misha was born of it, not of man and his pen. So, yes, Damian listened without rattling off further questions. It was only the last sentence about folks tipping the scales of Good vs. Evil, or however it was meant to be put, did a spark of critique appear back in light-dark eyes.] Pawns fight the battles, yes, but they are still brought to stand where they do by outside forces, no? [And then, curiously,] Was your mother malakhim?
[He believed Misha when the angel told him it felt good to talk to him about it, and he was proud of that, though he had no real hand in it. Still, he was glad to help, even if it was only passively. When he thought on his own upbringing however, he shrugged some.] The slaughter, I suppose. 'Indoctrination.' They think I am a sociopath or a poorly done science experiment. I do not tell many the details, so it is natural for them to attempt to assemble a picture from what they have. I had a professor who attempted to touch me as you were touched, sexually. At first, I did not tell anyone. The next time he tried it, I killed him. Mother asked me why and I told her, and she was very pleased with me. [He said this all unfeelingly.] Perhaps others are disgusted at what they see as cultish, inhuman, sociopathic behavior, along with the gross, indiscriminate slaughter. I was three weeks out of the womb when I first tortured a man. He spilled every secret he had and made up more. [Another impassive shrug.] He was pathetic.
[He did not mean to injure Misha's feelings. Or to irritate him. Or whatever it was that had the other boy peel his hand away from where it sat upon Damian's dick. And perhaps it was only that the man had killed the mood with his topics and questions, but he did not fully understand what it was he had said to receive the reaction he witnessed. He lifted his chin, a measure of defensiveness, as Misha said he did not think on his foster father. He gave up the defensiveness then.] Okay. I only wished to make certain. [Was he meant to apologize? Apologies were still foreign, and he did not know if he was meant to implement one now.] I have offended you. [That was close.
The smugness was better, yes, and Damian smiled with self-satisfaction as Misha's arms slung lowly about his back. He turned toward the kiss to his cheek. He had more to say on the topic, but Misha was looking at him in a way that he did not understand, then he was attempting to stand. Damian knew he would not fall. His grip was sure, though he felt a little foolish for his cling.] Are you tired? [He was not.] I am not. [Slowly, but with fine control over muscles, as if they were separate from bone, Damian lowered his feet and stood. It felt strange to have an erection and to be ignoring it, but this was what he did. He dithered a moment, uncertain, then he hugged Misha.]