Re: [Treatment Facility: Dami & Misha]
"Who is 'they'?" It did not truly matter. Damian was not entirely committed to the conversation, not as he should have been. He was paying mind, obviously. But, he was distracted and openly so. He was more distracted, always, when he was not using. One might think it would be otherwise, but his attention tended to fritter away at times when he was sober, just as he tended to fidget. It was not that he focused better with the morphine, but perhaps the stillness in body made it seem as if he did. On top of this, Misha was present and close and speaking of beaches. His dick was present as well, and this derailed Damian slowly, as his dormant sexual interest lit from embers to flame. "Okay, we will go to the Carolinas, to the beach. I will find us a house to stay in. It will give me something to do. Now you may come with me."
And, disregarding Misha's fussing, off they went. Damian was not considering his need for rest, as he had been resting for what felt like weeks. Even if he was weak and tired, it did not mean he did not grow weary of convalescence. And, again, Misha's dick was present. It had been before, obviously, but Damian had been nearly dead. Now that he was doing more than simply surviving... The man expressed his desire to fuck Misha as an option for what they might do, and he waited for a reaction. He could see that Misha was aroused and he moved a hand over soft belly and scratchy hair trailing navel, just to touch. He did not attempt to sneak the button of the jeans open or any such thing. For a moment, Damian was content to simply touch the boy, even as Misha placed his hands upon the bed, sinking the mattress slightly.
The kiss made the caress of fingertips turn to a scrabble of soft skin as he sought purchase upon the boy. He found it in hip, bared above low-hanging pants, and Damian huffed against Misha's mouth as the kiss was forced to a break. Close as they were, it was tempting to simply lie back and bring Misha with him. He would come, Damian was certain of it. But, he did not. "Fine. Then you will let me go first—with this tasting—or else, I will indeed be too fatigued to reciprocate." His glance shifted over the planes of the angel's face, then down. "You must remove the jeans. Yours." He smiled. "And before you argue, this is what I desire and you cannot deny me." It was a low blow, but Damian did not shy from it, though perhaps he ought have. "I could have died. So, you see, you cannot deny me."