psychoshenanigans | Nor // AU

Entry tags:

irahl,
robin

Nor // AU

[everyone's pretty thrilled that the two odd-men-out have finally been sent up to the surface for an extended mission. the underground world gets a little peace and quiet, and the boys get to stretch their legs. the sniper is much easier to assuage when there's a sun in the sky and more than cell walls to keep him occupied.

they've found a little bar in which to bide their time; shoved between a smoke shop and a greasy restaurant, it's a prime spot for anyone who wants to kick back after their shitty day job. it's dark, it's noisy. smells kind of like sweat and the cigarettes everyone's smoking just out back. someone is almost always blocking the hallway to the restrooms with their oblivious mass. but the neon signs reflect back through the lines of glasses and bottles pretty nice, and the booze is cheap if you order the right things, and there are enough chatty pricks around to keep Robin from getting bored. Irahl, for the most part, has had the luxury of getting plastered in peace.]

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[he does. he looks up at him with this petulant look on his face, but it eases the longer he gets to see his eyes... he's hardly noticed the jostling. he's off in another world.]

I just want to do something nice...

'Nice.'

[and he moves his eyes just enough to break the direct contact. they're too close for that.]

Funny word for it.

It is nice, okay.

[his insistence is slurred and firm all at once... but he softens, of course, because he's too full of buzzing to stay sharp or mean for very long.]

It feels good. Being liked, like... that...

[he moves his hand, drunkenly tiptoeing his fingers at Irahls' scarf. fingertips grazing, mostly useless, to try and scoot it down, away from his face.]

[it gives him something else to look at, anyway. he rolls his gaze down to watch Robin drunkenly pick at his scarf. and then he closes one eye, because it's so close to his face, and focusing is extra difficult right now.

and he must be busy with something in his head, because it takes him a while before he finally says something else. when he does, it's just a low rumble--barely words, and barely related.]

...You're so weird.

[Robin is already entranced with the folds of his scarf, the shadows, the edges. he picks at it enough that he--completely by accident--brushes the tips of his fingers against Irahl's lips. they curl away when they do, sluggishly.

he stops what he's doing, coming up out of his daze.]

Huh?

I said, you're weird.

[they're at least formed as proper words now, though there isn't a whole lot of weight behind them. he's been laying down long enough to forget about most of his body. not sleepy, but settled. almost comfortable.

there's something calming about watching else's mind drift and wander like that, he has to admit.]

[he brushes his fingers along his face again. by the side of his mouth. he still feels bad, but it's getting lost--and finally registering what Irahl says makes him giggle, sluggishly.

he can feel himself getting drunker, laying down. maybe his blood's finally given up.]

You're pretty weird too...

[and it's probably that comment that alerts him to the fact that Robin is touching his face, since his own nerves aren't relaying the message very well. it's a slow-motion flinch that he pulls away with. he doesn't have much room, so he mostly just pulls his chin up, nudging away from Robin's fingers.]

I know.

[at least the crisis is over. he still wants to do anything with Irahl, desperately--but he's already got him closer than he's ever been. their knees have been touching for a while. he has beautiful eyes. he's drunk and slow and soaking in the kind of quiet attention he'd normally kill for.

he can see his throat scales, now, peeking up from the edge of his scarf. Robin goes back to picking pointlessly at the fabric, quietly marveling.]

You're just... [he doesn't know how to say it, but that doesn't stop his drunk brain from picking whatever word makes it to his tongue first.] ...Beautiful. And you're stupid and funny and I want you to just... Have me however it makes you happy.

[he drops his hand. that was probably incomprehensible. he's already forgetting what he said.]

No one does that around here, you know? No one's happy. I hate it.

[something, somewhere in all of that, hurts. it's a small, dull, faraway pang, but it's enough to be felt.

and then Irahl lifts his arm and stretches it out in Robin's direction. clumsy and seeking.

but it goes over him, bumping past his shoulder so he can reach for something behind him. and when it finally comes reeling back in, it's pulling a pillow along with it.

Irahl doesn't let go of it onto it until it's dragged over--and then squarely onto--Robin's face.

he doesn't shove it down to smother him or anything dramatic like that. there's just the numbed weight of his hand holding it in place. like it could really just stupidly cover up everything Robin had been saying.]

...You talk too much.

[and he doesn't notice until it's too late--he says something muffled and a little indignant into the underside of the pillow, but doesn't fight it off. maybe this is his fate. maybe he deserves to be not-smothered for whatever it is he's done to make Irahl not want to sleep with him.

so he's quiet, for a few moments. kind of stills out. maybe he's finally giving up.

...ha, of course not. he shifts, tentatively pushing up on a corner of the pillow and peering up at Irahl from under it.]

I can be quiet...

No, you can't.

[and it's probably all that he's consumed that gets him to release Robin so quickly. he feels a little better for having symbolically snuffed out whatever path Robin had been threatening to go down. and with the state he's in right now, he's hoping that is enough, and he doesn't have the conviction to try anything more drastic right now.

pulling the pillow off of him, he shifts his attention to trying to get it shoved back under his own head. and that's all, really. he's still mostly settled where he's at. he doesn't even move away from Robin once he frees him.]

Yeah, I can...

[his words are quiet, but they end with a little giggle anyway. it's a cute argument, even if his arguing is defeating the purpose of claiming he can ever stop talking.

after another pause, as he watches Irahl get settled, he tries something else.]

Can I touch your hair...?

[being drunk, he breathes a nice, deep sigh. it's there because of annoyance, but air falls in and out of his lungs easily. he has at least met one of his alcoholic goals for the night--being so intoxicated that he can't help but relax. it's the only way he can manage it, really. he feels loose, all the way to his bones.

so, he does sigh at the request, but that is the current extent of his ire. and Robin is asking now, so that's maybe a step.]

If I say yes to that, will you sleep?

No, but you might.

[he reaches towards his head, and--misses, the first time he tries to touch some of Irahl's lovely hair. his fingers just meet air. the second time, he's more successful, brushing over some of the hair near the back of his scalp.]

You still want your scarf on?

[he rumbles under his breath, and it's a less-human sound than his usual growls. but it lacks strength--just complaining over Robin's accusation, and expressing his discomfort at having Robin get close to touching the short spikes hiding in his hair.

bringing his attention to his scarf is a good distraction, though. realizing he's still wearing... absolutely everything but his boots, he squints one eye down as he starts sluggishly trying to untangle the scarf from his face and neck.

at the very least, he doesn't want to be smothered by that in his sleep.]

[and, well, it's only a matter of time until an elbow knocks into his arm, and he gets distracted, and he starts trying to help Irahl take off his scarf. they can get it off quicker with two sets of hands! ...probably!

once it seems like he's mostly free of the thing, Robin sits up--leaving an empty spot next to Irahl, but only so that he can finally reach down and pry off his own shoes. he sends them bouncing off the edge of the bed. they are already gone forever.

his gloves, too. he peels those off and throws them, too. and then his socks.

and then he plops back down about where he was--hopefully not plopping straight onto Irahl of any of the very large man's limbs.]

[nope. he actually lands directly on an arm. because as soon as there is space opening up next to him, Irahl spreads out. as if maybe Robin just won't come back and he'll have the bed to himself from now on.

so, he grunts when his arm is pinned, and seems surprised by the whole thing. he hadn't expected it.

he really doesn't have room to pull his trapped arm out from under Robin though, so he just reaches with his free one to try and roll him off of it.]

[and Robin doesn't notice at first, because Irahl's arm squishes down with the bed... until things start moving, and he suddenly laughs while he's being unceremoniously shoved over. he kind of rolls, limbs still flopping uselessly behind him...]

Oops... [way too late to say it. balancing on his side, he does at least free enough of Irahl's arm that he could probably wrench it back again.] Didn't mean to lay on you...

[the task is way more difficult than it should be, and not only because Irahl's arms are way too long for this kind of maneuvering. he's just... drunk.

once he finally bends his arm out from under Robin, he awkwardly folds it up in front of him, because... where the hell did he even have it before. arms really shouldn't be this complicated.

and all the jostling is making the room spin again, so he shuts his eyes, just for a minute.]

...This is stupid.

[Robin rolls back into place, squishing up against Irahl's folded-up arm. he's got a big grin on his face, none of that smirking he usually does around the underground. here, he's more like a... kid, like a dumb twelve-year-old.

but a happy, dumb twelve-year-old, at least.]

It's fun! This is fun. This is how people have fun.

[he reaches out--with a dexterity he should not rightfully have--to boop Irahl on the nose.]

[Irahl's only reply to that is a skeptical grunt, and to lift his free arm to swat at the hand coming in close to his face.

but it's too late. like way too late. Robin is long gone by the time Irahl focuses his eyes and waves an annoyed hand between them.]

[it is only Robin's blatant inebriation that keeps him from laughing at Irahl. the sniper has several bottles' worth of alcohol to thank for the fact that Robin won't hold this against him for the rest of his life.]

Wow.

[still, that won't stop him from some slightly-delayed reaction. he makes a face.]

You are wasted, buddy. I'm gonna turn off the light.

[Irahl's endearing state earns him a shoulder pat, before Robin crawls over him to reach for the light on his bedside table. any suggestive posing he manages is actually a complete accident--more the result of his natural state of being than any actual attempts at seduction.]

[he'd picked his head up off the bed by a couple of inches in the process of attempting to defend himself, so his only answer to that accusation... is to just drop his head back down with another grunt.

yeah, he might be a little bit wasted.

though, he's not too far gone to not react to having someone clamber over him. another grunt, which turns into an annoyed groan, and he shrugs against the weight.]

You're heavy.

If you can wear like a million pounds of armor, you can deal with me.

[a million pounds of armor doesn't usually rest notably near Irahl's package, nor does it obliviously move against him as it tries (in vain) to get the stupid light to turn off.]

Hah, I got it-- [the bulb flickers off, and then on again. he drops some more weight on Irahl in a frustrated huff.] --Shit, nevermind. These things are hard. Lemme... [something from the lamp starts squeaking as he turns it. he's just unscrewing the switch now.] Oh, what the fuck. Why does this always happen.

[he screws the switch back in. scoots a little further so that he can actually get a good grip on it.] Why do we even have these lights, still? This is the future. Why are these lights still a thing.

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