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 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.

[for a minute, he is notably quiet.

he is being very patient. biting his tongue and waiting for this to be over with.

but even he has his limits.

all at once, his arm snaps out, blindly, for the lamp. he almost punches the thing right over. but he manages to grope quickly enough to find and steady the lamp by the switch, twist it, and the thing turns off with a decisive pop.]

[he does make a vaguely startled sound, like a half-hearted yell, when the lamp is suddenly nearly punched out of his grip. he remains frozen there, tense and surprised, for several seconds after the danger has actually passed.

...and then he swivels his head, unhelpfully, to stare down at Irahl. this question sounds especially drunk, for some reason.]

You can do that, but you couldn't stop me getting your nose...?

[he's sure whatever Robin is saying is important, but he's certainly not listening.

he's too busy playing another round of the try to drunkenly escape out from under Robin game. shrugging turns into awkward shoving, as he at least tries to turn away from Robin's weight.]

[he makes a small noise of protest as someone with very long arms starts shoving at his torso and shoulders--and maybe his face, once, which gets a more pronounced noise of protest. he grabs one of Irahl's arms in retaliation, pinning it down to the bed next to them with both of his hands.

which leaves Robin pretty close to Irahl, with both his hands (metaphorically) tied up. Irahl, however, still has one functioning arm. Robin might not have done his math very well.

but he gets quiet and stays low, shifting a little to get in a better position. a comfier position. a lot like when he crawls into the hammock with him on really bad nights (before the two of them pretend that nothing happened).]

[and maybe it's because this is some weird kind of familiar, that he actually goes still for a minute. he huffs--annoyed as Robin settles--but momentarily gives up after that.

especially in the dark now, it's easier to feel like he isn't being stared at and picked apart. he almost believes that maybe Robin will just go to sleep here, like he would in the hammock.

so, there's a minute there where he stops fighting, as if Robin had trapped both of his limbs instead of only one. for now, Irahl's free arm doesn't come swooping in for retaliation.]

[one of the nice things about Robin is that his eyes don't glow in the dark. he's met a lot of dragons with eyes that do, Tek's standing out to him in particular... often, they're mystifying and beautiful to behold, but there have been a few times when Robin distinctly wishes he couldn't see them. he's not shy like Irahl is, but even he can understand not wanting to be looked at, sometimes.

he's had his fun. his adoration of Irahl has bubbled over into silly giggles and failed confessions enough for one night. he may be wasted, but he knows that Irahl's not going to cave over a romantic crush or a promise of safety and comfort. not after all of that.

still... he wouldn't still have his job if he couldn't be flexible. he's drunk, but determined all the same. he's wanted to be with Irahl like this for months. this may be his only chance to show him what he'd never believe on his own--that he's treasured and valued. Robin likes a lot of things, but those things aren't usually people.

and maybe the guy'd finally calm down, for once. who knows.

Irahl said he talked too much, so, Robin finally keeps his mouth shut. in the dark, he finally rests his head down against Irahl's chest, slowly easing off of his arm as the seconds tick by. eventually, he sits and listens to Irahl's heart beating in peace, for a while, closing is eyes to the outside world.

he enjoys being near him in a way he can't, packed into the Underground. even on those bad nights, he's half-asleep or too anxious to find the time to enjoy resting this close to him.]

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