Re: [Treatment Facility: Dami & Misha]
"I reckon I can get you singing for me if I try hard 'nough," Misha countered, suddenly decided that this was so, and he was plenty willing to prove his words. He was thinking 'bout that, and he was distracted 'nough 'bout it that he forgot to push on 'bout the board games, though he'd recall later. The beach, it was a harder question. "A warm one. I ain't been to any, but it should be a warm one, for your health," he said, on account of that was the extent he knew. "The Carolinas or Georgia, if we're driving through Kentucky," he suggested, and then he smiled a smirky-thing of a smile. "I reckon I can try to remember to lock the divider window." Misha, he wasn't actually planning on coming in the back of that car and alone, but no need to tell Damian that. "Could be I'm real forgetful sometimes, though."
Then, yes, they sure were moving, and Misha was real fussed. He was trying to hold onto that anger when Damian plopped himself on down atop the pillow, and he sighed as the boy scooted back more, shoes toed off now. And, Misha, he knew it was dangerous coming so damn close, but he did it anyway. He knew any hope of not pouncing this boy meant staying way 'cross the room. He was trying to talk himself into it, but Damian was asking 'bout fucking, and Misha groaned. He started taking a step back, but then he was hooked and trapped, and the buttons of his shirt were being freed, and it was hard to recall how sick Damian was when the other boy was being how he was.
Misha, he sighed and obliged, shoving the shirt off his shoulders and handing it off, tossing the jacket aside. And, to answer Damian's considering from earlier, there was blond circling nipples and trailing down from navel, freckles dotting pale and warm skin that didn't have a hint of glow to it, and Misha tossed the shirt beside Damian on the bed. He moved closer then, 'stead of retreating like he ought have done, and he pushed the hoodie off the boy's head and tugged down on the zipper, wanting whatever Damian had on 'neath the faded black. "I ain't fucking you," he said, agitation heated and evident some as he attempted to shove the hoodie off Damian's shoulders, "but you could be real kind and let me taste you." In his own head, he was bargaining with himself, telling himself that wouldn't do no harm.