[oh, the dragon does in fact push against the weight that is pinning him down. and with the way that his free hand flexes and claws against the sheets beside him, it's a struggle to only do that much. the fact that he's only possessively grabbing and pressing into the thing that he wants is still downright polite compared to the rest of what Robin knows of dragon behavior.
and Irahl does want this. the next time that Robin has any self-conscious doubt about his own desirability, all he has to do is think back to the way that he was breathlessly grabbed and guided and bullied for more.
the purr--the growl--is a constant, heated sound in the dragon's chest now, and he doesn't even hear it. Robin is free to revel in the noise while he steadily drags Irahl up a peak and toward the edge.
because it's all too perfect right now. the thing that Irahl fears most about allowing himself to experience things like this is the terrible closeness of it. he's afraid of settling down face-to-face with someone and opening up in the dark, sharing vulnerabilities and learning what's under each other's skin... but this isn't that. instead of something too real to endure, this is somehow the opposite.
he'd been under the belief that he's always longing to be somewhere else, but it turns out that what he really likes most is being nowhere. between the deluge of alcohol and the faceless, pointless path that led them both here, reality has been detached and sent floating down the river. he's free and angry and his mind is empty.
he's not thinking about reason or consequence, and he's certainly not thinking about the comfort of his partner.
he can't help how rough he's being when he has nothing else to bite and claw at, fueled by nearly a century's worth of expressing every urge through violence. when he's suddenly caught by his breath hitching up short, spine arching against the mattress from a swell and hot-white shock of sensation, he doesn't think to warn his partner. and he doesn't let go.]
no subject
and Irahl does want this. the next time that Robin has any self-conscious doubt about his own desirability, all he has to do is think back to the way that he was breathlessly grabbed and guided and bullied for more.
the purr--the growl--is a constant, heated sound in the dragon's chest now, and he doesn't even hear it. Robin is free to revel in the noise while he steadily drags Irahl up a peak and toward the edge.
because it's all too perfect right now. the thing that Irahl fears most about allowing himself to experience things like this is the terrible closeness of it. he's afraid of settling down face-to-face with someone and opening up in the dark, sharing vulnerabilities and learning what's under each other's skin... but this isn't that. instead of something too real to endure, this is somehow the opposite.
he'd been under the belief that he's always longing to be somewhere else, but it turns out that what he really likes most is being nowhere. between the deluge of alcohol and the faceless, pointless path that led them both here, reality has been detached and sent floating down the river. he's free and angry and his mind is empty.
he's not thinking about reason or consequence, and he's certainly not thinking about the comfort of his partner.
he can't help how rough he's being when he has nothing else to bite and claw at, fueled by nearly a century's worth of expressing every urge through violence. when he's suddenly caught by his breath hitching up short, spine arching against the mattress from a swell and hot-white shock of sensation, he doesn't think to warn his partner. and he doesn't let go.]