Re: log: antique store - louis, misha, and damian
Suffice it so say, Damian did not feel especially zealous once he realized Misha did not, as Louis was pointedly staring away, and in fact, after a moment, was not even Louis. No, Damian felt the same strange sensation of filth Misha did, and it was not a good filth, and it gave his skin the sensation of crawling over cartilage, muscle, viscera, and bone. Perhaps he felt the need to blister his thumb to alleviate this sensation, as much as the strange notion that he was being beguiled once more, that he ought think this creature was beautiful or enticing and he did not wish to. He did not wish to think anything that he did not think on his own, and he ignored the thing as it told him it was unnecessary and something about its siblings.
He rolled his eyes.
The flame still licked at thumb. Skin bubbled up. Misha spoke, and the coolness, divine as it was, was soothing to the burning flesh of Damian's thumb. He blinked at the boy beside him, listening to him. His expression remained neutral, almost placid. In fact, the pain did not do much to mar the surface of any receptors or nerve endings. It was the warmth that kept his attention split and grounded. He did stop, briefly, because the flame guttered in the coolness, and he did not resist Misha as the boy lifted his hand to lips. He thought the soothing caress was nice and he wished to lean his head against his boyfriend, but he did not. He was cinched closer to narrow side.
At the table, the creature named Desire was lifting its feet to a chair and speaking in a voice Damian found distasteful, if only because he knew he was meant not to. He lifted his chin higher, insolent and stoic before the finger aimed at him, laying claim. As if he would worship at the feet of this. He tutted. "You might wish it so, but that does not make it so. You cannot enact your own desires, can you? Beguile and charm on your own behalf? No. I do not think so. You live to serve humanity."
Desire stood. After playacting at niceness, after dismissing Corinthian, which, again, was playacting, Damian was certain, it spoke of Misha and Damian and their relationship or their desire, more likely. He did not think its smile was exceptionally white, because he did not think smiles were often anything but some shade of white, save in severe cases. He only thought it was not particularly pretty when it smiled. Damian did not respond, save to roll his eyes again. This thing was reminding him too much of Grandfather. Grandiose, dangerous, certainly, but prone to exaggeration and self-inflation. And Damian had always struggled to respect authority he did not deem worthy.
He sighed impatiently as it continued speaking. He did not care about Louis Donovan's natural talent for being possessed, as if the man was made to be a shell. Grandfather, Mother, Father, they all would have told him he ought have cared, that his dismissiveness was born of arrogance, the idea that he knew everything. He would have told them he was just fucking bored, and he was. The experiment was no longer interesting and he had not especially wanted to come. Finally, he tipped his head against Misha's shoulder and looked away from the thing preening before them, looking very much like a bored housecat before an old toy it no longer cared for.
He only glanced back when he felt its eyes on him and it said his name. He shoved his lighter back into his pocket and ran the pus-filled blister that was his thumb numbly over his forefinger. "Are you finished? This was more interesting when you were tossing me morphine." And he wanted. Damian wanted. He wanted this thing to be gone. He wanted it to shut up and he wanted to punch its teeth out of its smile.