Re: Roof: Damian/Misha
Damian had much more argument in him. He was quite prepared. But, he spoke, thoughtlessly, thinking it a part of the conversation—an answer to the question asked about his type. And Misha stood. Damian looked up at him, his own frown forming on still-gold lips. "Where are you going?" He asked. But it was belated, and the angel began descending toward the open window of Damian's bedroom. He peeped over the edge of the roof, between his knees and feet. "You are napping?"