Re: [Treatment Facility: Dami & Misha]
"We will go, though not because any elderly wives have advised it. I would like to go with you as well." Daian heard the emotion sodden in Misha's voice, and his own words were soft in return. He touched under blue eyes once with the pad of his thumb, before he then dragged Misha into the bedroom.
Once inside,—and Damian was feeling better now, if not physically, then emotionally,—the man did play dirty. He felt his own desperation seeping through skin, rising to the surface, but it didn't come with tremors in the hand. His good feeling, all of it newborn and fragile, shook back to reality when Misha's fingers shook upon Damian's fly. "What is wrong?" The boy was peering up at him, almost as if startled, and Damian felt he needed to stop this. He put his hand over Misha's, taking hold of fingers before they could do anything more than pull down his fly. "It is okay, Misha."
He refused to lay back and he did not allow his jeans to be removed. Instead, he pulled Misha atop him in a reversal, into his lap—though it was smaller, as he had less leg—and he attempted to pet the boy's hair, if he was able. "It is okay," he repeated to Misha, trying to be soothing, though he was shaken himself by the sudden swerve of the situation he had not seen coming. He worked hard to keep himself calm, though emotions immediately began to rise in his throat. He blinked rapidly, to stave off anything resembling reactionary tears and he pet the hair at Misha's nape. "Let us lie down, yes? Does—This is a good idea?" At present, Damian was not exceptionally equipped for this. Drug rehabilitation tended to necessitate—even on a physical level—a self-focus, a gaze at navel, and Damian had to fight himself and his frazzled nerves to be on an even keel, but he did try. Luckily, all of this helped stifle his sexual interest until it was dampened and bearable, and soon, it did not even seem important.