Re: [Treatment Facility: Dami & Misha]
Damian had simply been listing the games he knew, not making suggestions. "Oh, yes. Obviously." He made a face. "You can try, but I will not assist. And they are board games." He could explain them later. "Which beach will we attend?" Damian did not take to the notion that sun and warmth would do anything for him, but he did enjoy swimming, and it was enjoyable to imagine—and not solely because he would be free of this place. He did not understand Misha's reluctance to take the proffered card, but he did not think to ask, as he was distracted by this idea of having a dirty boytoy. "He can reckon what he desires, only you must lock the divider window when it is up, as I do not think I would take to my boytoy giving another man a show, yes?"
Then, they were moving. Misha's hand came to his to steady him, and Damian used this to his advantage, taking hold of the boy and reeling him behind him. He did not slow down, nor did he pay any heed to what Misha was saying behind him. Instead, he wound them through the house, which was large and well-built and well-kept, into the bedroom that was part of his, Damian's, suite. There was a bathroom off the bedroom and doors led outside, but Damian had forgotten them. Oh, well. He watched Misha place the knitting bag upon the empty-headed dresser, and then he offered the pillow. He was gleeful when he denied the other boy and he sat with a 'ploomf' of feather pillow beneath his ass on the bed. He toed off his shoes as Misha crossed his arms, and he scooted back onto the bed more fully once the shoes had been discarded.
Misha came closer. He called Damian a menace and admonished him, but Damian smiled serenely, like a cat with bird feathers still on his lips. He watched Misha come ever closer, and when the boy bumped him, he looked up, only pleased by the sight of desire he espied in bright eyes turning dark. "Or what? You will fuck me?" He leaned back onto his palms, legs crossed. "You are welcome." About the pillow. He peered at Misha, as if waiting for the delivery of the threat. Oh, but then he was reminded and sat up once more, this time with his fingers going to the buttons of that plaid shirt. Even after his being sick, he was no less dexterous, and he made quick work of the shirt, if he was not stopped. "Give me this, and you may have mine." Close as Misha was, Damian uncrossed his legs and hooked them behind the boy's knees, keeping him from putting space between them. Obviously, he was feeling better than he had been when Misha arrived.