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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[the sniper's eyes drag open in the dark, and sluggishly slide over in the direction of Robin's face.

he has noticed, apparently.

and so, he manages to voice a grunt on the topic, but it's more questioning than argumentative--like he needs verification that Robin is really petting his hand.]

[...and Robin has a somewhat supernatural ability to sense when someone is looking at him, so he knows. he doesn't open his eyes, though. he doesn't move. doesn't say anything.

and he certainly doesn't stop. he continues ghosting his fingers between his knuckles, smile growing a little wider...]

[to his credit, he gives it a few long seconds before he actually does anything about it... though, that may be more delayed reaction and not really something intentional.

and when he does stir, it's to lift his hand up away from Robin... and then it just kind of hovers awkwardly, like he doesn't know what to do with it now.]

[ah, well. when Irahl fails to pull the hand all that far away, Robin continues to keep his eyes closed... and feels for all of the blood in that limb, so he can reach blindly out for his arm and tug it down playfully.

maybe "grabbing" is a better word, since his hand has to travel up his arm to get him to lower his hand on Robin. on his back or something. he doesn't care. he's forcing Irahl to let his hand drop on him somewhere.]

[his limbs are too heavy and drowned to bother fighting when both Robin and gravity are pulling on him.

after a little bit of coaxing, he gives up. Robin gets Irahl's hand and forearm flopping down onto his back, just like he wants.

maybe now Robin will go to sleep. Irahl has at least quietly learned by now that little accommodating gestures like that help him sleep the most soundly, so he's hoping it will be enough to encourage him to stop moving in this case.]

[Robin will let him think it helps, for a little bit. again, he's happy to soak up the ounce of attention, the amount he's gotten Irahl to cave already. he can pretend that he's actually liked, for a moment or two, even if it's entirely from his own meddling.

but... after a minute, he's managed to start rubbing his hand over the others' sternum in that same soothing, rhythmic way. he's mostly just hoping--maybe if Irahl keeps almost falling asleep, he'll keep forgetting that Robin is messing with him.]

[Irahl's patience and tolerance may be his undoing, when combined with a criminal amount of alcohol. maybe he hasn't quite learned what happens when you give Robin an inch of leeway.

because, he doesn't argue. it's always a little irking to be touched in any way, but oh how that reaction is dulled right now. it's almost nice to not to automatically flinch and tense at every little thing.

and Robin is being harmless, he tells himself, in whatever corner of his brain that he's still active in. this isn't terrible. he doesn't have to think about it more than that.]

[oh yes, completely harmless. harmlessly smoothing his hand over his chest, and still harmless when he starts to slowly move a little lower... he doesn't have the fine-tuned dexterity and quick-thinking that he does when he's sober, but he would not have the reputation he does if he couldn't drive drunk, too.

so he plays a game of being quiet, shifting innocently, moving very slowly, testing what he can get away with, always waiting for Irahl to drift back to sleep... until he hits a moment of "now or never", bravely sliding his hand all the way down to something that's probably going to finally wake him up.

though, if he gets kicked out now? totally worth it. would do again.]

[Irahl hasn't been sleeping, but he has been somewhere not quite here. he's no stranger to just unplugging from his body for a while, so it's rather nice to do so out of choice rather than necessity. he's almost enjoying it, for a minute there--hypnotized by the constant rhythm of little doting motions.

maybe he underestimates the fact that Robin might really make a move for something like this. or maybe he's too far in his own head, drifting deep in some other place and some other time.

either way, he doesn't catch him in time. as Robin goes sneaking, the hand on his back suddenly curls, dragging dull claws over the cloth of his shirt. and, with another growl--annoyed and confused--Irahl lifts his head enough to look down at him.]

Ah...

[a soft, surprised little sound as he's clawed... but maybe it'll be quickly forgotten, with how Robin doesn't stop at the warning growl. he does slow a little, tilts his head back just enough to get a glimpse of Irahl's face, a lazy half-smirk playing on his own.

Robin looks very comfortable there. time to see if it's enough.]

[it's enough for Irahl to drag in a heavier breath, a little through his teeth, when he feels that Robin isn't stopping. there's just that little skip, that little telling hesitation that is probably exactly what Robin is looking for, before Irahl finally makes a move to interrupt him.

he needs to interrupt him now, or he might get accused of liking it.

the hand on Robin's back lifts, to fumble down for his wrist instead, going to pull him away just far enough to not be dabbling in dangerous territory anymore.

and he's still peering down at Robin, able to see enough of his face in the dark to find his eyes. just watching. or accusing or demanding or conflicted. it's hard to tell.]

[of course his hand gets pulled away. his head tilts up with it, in his small surprise--so Irahl can finally get a good look at his face.

concern, at first. he might have gotten a little lost in the illusion. Irahl doesn't like that? he can do better. it spreads through a small smile, his eyes full of longing (...though, that might also be the booze talking), before he dips his head back down again, gaze obscured under his bangs.

if he can't have his hand, he'll move against him with his hips. if Irahl thought his fingers were distracting, his quiet sighs of satisfaction can't be much better.]

[his chest rises, ribs stretching, as he catches a breath. he's still managing to find himself surprised, and that is what he's blaming for the way that he's suddenly swimming a little deeper, lightheaded. he's caught off guard--that's why he hesitates. that's all.

and however true what he's telling himself is, it is a fact that he never expects this when it happens. he lives his life behind layers of armor, protected and deadened, so that touch and warmth and terrible closeness always come as a kind of shock to him.

he remembers the last time someone moved against him like this. he feels the pressure, recognizes the signs, and he's taken back there in an instant. this time, the annoyed growl sounds more like a groan, and the fingers around Robin's wrist tighten.]

--Robin.

[he sounds drunk, but his chest sounds tight. he uses his name.]

[poor Irahl is at absolutely no fault, here. if Robin were of sound mind and possessed any foresight, he probably wouldn't have done this. he'd have settled for a hug and a warm body and called it strategic bonding.

but he is ruled by his sappy little heart and his spill-over feelings, these days. hearing him groan is amazing, but hearing him say his name stops his breath in his throat. his face snaps up to stare at him, lips parted in surprise or arousal or--whatever the reason, it hardly matters.]

What? [--escapes him before he can think. what does he want? what can he do to make him happy? his fingers curl aimlessly in Irahl's grip while he waits.]

['stop' is the word he's looking for. he has it ready, until Robin looks up at him, and he can't shake the feeling of warmth and weight on him. Robin's pulse is under his fingers. he's both centered in the moment and drifting at the same time--slowly spinning, maybe--and he wishes he could be all of one or the other. he either drank too much, or should have killed another bottle before climbing into bed.

he doesn't answer. his fingers work on Robin's wrist instead, as he's caught in limbo. frustrated.

he hopes that he won't remember this in the morning. that's the worst part. he can't walk away from this once the night it over. he knows the name of the person looking back at him, and they know his.

he forces a tense sigh, finally, because he doesn't know how to deal with this. he doesn't know what this means, and he feels too clouded to focus on it.]

[he watches Irahl struggling with his own thoughts... Robin isn't thinking about the consequences, and how strange it'll be to wake up the next morning. it hasn't occurred to him that this could hurt their relationship. but he can see the now pretty good--and despite his many selfish reasons, he does also genuinely want Irahl to be happy.

...so he lets out a quiet huff of air, pushing himself up with the one hand he's still got free. he wobbles a little when he gets upright, still straddling the other man, his arm still trapped in his grip.

he offers him a hazy, sympathetic smile. his words run together a bit, despite the charming attempt.]

Would you like another drink?

[he doesn't mean to agree so quick. he tells himself that he should think about it, there are repercussions and dangers to consider, but he's already nodding.

yes, by all the gods, he would love another drink. he needs the excuse and the distraction.

he at least has the presence of mind to stay where he's at, and wait for Robin to make the first move, though. he's keeping all movement to a minimum until he's free.]

There you go... [muttered soft as he concedes. there's some communication. he makes a short (but valiant) effort to reach the bottle from where he's at, but the nightstand is clear on the other side of the bed... so he has to roll off of Irahl's lap and clumsily reorient himself before he can get it.

the dragon gets some moments of freedom before Robin can turn and hand the bottle to him properly.]

Just don't chug the whole thing, all right?

[and in those moments, Irahl strategically rolls from his back onto his side, and quietly shifts around until he's more comfortable. he drags pillows over to stuff under his shoulders, prop his upper body up a little so he can drink without drowning.

he peers at the bottle in the mostly-dark, swishes the contents and sniffs it after he works it open, but that may mostly be a way to buy time before he actually takes a drink.

he doesn't want to seem too eager for it, after all. but he still takes an eager enough pull from the bottle that it gets him clearing his throat, trying not to cough.]

[his plan maybe didn't work the way he'd hoped, but... as he watches Irahl take a drink, he at least feels a little better about him. he takes the bottle with the same little smile and nod, trying to ignore his own... well, if he sits with his legs folded together, it's not so bad.

he tries to drink to match--but the stuff really is terrible, and he doesn't take it much better. if he's still sober enough to taste this, maybe he really should finish the bottle.]

Look, you... Obviously don't want to sleep with me, and I'm obviously so drunk that I'm not going to remember this in the morning, so...

[he holds the bottle out for him, if he wants another drink...]

[did Robin really expect an answer? Irahl only slides him a glance as he takes the bottle back--maybe it was supposed to be a flat or pointed look, but he's too drunk and squinty to pull something like that off successfully--and he gladly takes another drink. a big one.

he tilts his head back a little for this one and, this time, he's better braced for it. he manages not to cough as it burns the whole way down, but he does wipe his mouth afterward to keep the stuff from sitting on his skin for too long.

and he doesn't automatically tip it Robin's way again, afterwards. he just sits with it a minute, waiting for the burn to clear out of his throat, and not really looking anywhere. he's got that same look of distant, abstract focus that he'd had at the bar, when he'd been steadily stringing drink after drink together.]

...You know what?

[he's got to hand it to Irahl... for someone who's obviously (at least physically) interested in him, this may be the most work he's ever put into something like this in his entire life. well, aside from a few other times. but who needs specifics when you're drunk, anyway?

he scoots further onto the bed so that he can reach the bottle and pull it away from him. he'd let him keep it if he doesn't think he might actually black out from enough of this stuff. he takes his own small drink before he deposits it back on the little table. his words seem to... lose structural integrity as he crawls back over.]

You're a real charmer and I wanna show you a good time, you know? But I think that this one... [he pauses, just a little, caught up in Irahl's face... before he finishes.] This one's pretty much just for me.

[oh hey his hands are near Irahl's junk again. so is his attention. this would have had a lot more impact if he could have just reached down into his pants, but no... he has to fumble drunkenly with buttons for a few moments.]

[the time spent on those buttons is probably important, anyway. it gives Irahl a few moments to take in what Robin is saying, adjust to what exactly he's fumbling with, and form a response. otherwise, Robin might have just gotten more startlement, another growl, and been set back one more step.]

--You.

[a whole one word, but it says a lot. it's heavy with skepticism; a blunt stone of a word dropped on the situation.

he realizes that it's a shift in tactics, but it's one that he's quite not following. it seems like a laughable leap to him. how could whatever Robin is after be for him... and how would that possibly change things if it turned out to be true.]

Uh, yeah. Me.

[gods in their kingdom why are there so many buttons and why aren't his fingers cooperating? his annoyed drawl of a response makes him pause in his efforts, but only long enough to shoot Irahl what he hopes is a sufficiently flat look.]

Just... Shut up and stop thinking about it. Tega.

[he's going back to his task, now. excuse him.]

[he likes the sound of that so much--without even considering the outcome. he would love to stop thinking right now. the struggle with everything in his head, fighting against the cloud of numbness, is exhausting. and prolonged mental debates have never been his strong suit.

he'd love the alcohol to hurry up in its business and smother it all out. any second now.

with a rumbling sound of frustration, he sighs and lets his weight fall back on the pillows, turning more onto his back than his side now. it's a small, but important sign of resignation.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject