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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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.]

[fucking finally--which is the phrase he manages to keep from leaving his mouth, but only barely. his big sigh implies a lot of that for him. Irahl's pants are a lot easier to get at when he's not half-hiding against the bed.

with things finally open, he's too excited to keep the smirk off his face... but he does take a moment to settle up against Irahl's side again, laying half on top of him.]

Just be a good pillow. [he pats his chest, fondly, before he... lowers his hand, and starts sliding his palm against him in at nice, even, languid pace. he'll be gentle. maybe Irahl won't even notice, at first...

but probably not.]

[--probably not.

for someone who had put up such a fuss, acting so disgusted by the mere idea, his body seems to be running on a completely different agenda. Robin picks up easily, right where he'd left off.

as the hand working over him lights him up--breath pulling tight into his chest and warmth welling up under those fingers--he rubs a forearm over his eyes and then just... leaves it there. falling under the instinct to hide his face, maybe, or trying to focus somewhere far away.

maybe he's still trying to fight it. it's a longstanding habit... but Robin gets a pretty quick response anyway. it doesn't take long before the sniper's tight, standard-issue underthings aren't fitting quite as comfortably as they had before.

it has taken him months, but Robin finally has Irahl somewhere he's always wanted him.]

[well, he is... impressed.

he's handled a lot of merchandise over the years, and figured that Irahl wasn't exactly going to be on the small side, but... it is a pleasant, rousing surprise when his hand travels a little further than expected.

he sounds pretty pleased about it. he's trying to keep quiet, but... he can't help a hum of approval, or how it edges into a soft laugh. he tucks his face against Irahl's chest; maybe he'll keep quieter that way.]

[and by the way some low sound begins in Irahl's chest, and he bites it off fast with another intake of breath, he is fighting a similar--but much more focused--struggle for silence.

however, other than that little battle, Irahl is finally beginning to sink in his own little world. between a swelling tide of alcohol and the pressure of that steady, greedy touch, his blood heats up until his fingers tingle when he flexes them--quietly, restlessly.

he can almost deal with this. as long as he keeps up a mental drone of all the reasons that he's allowed to stop thinking here, and he doesn't pause long enough to consider the fact that Robin might want to escalate this somewhere, he can settle.

for now, he can just breathe and bask and let a little bit of himself go.]

[his attempts to keep quiet don't last very long. he almost forgets entirely, lost in how good the other feels in his hand. he's light and happy and getting tight himself, crooning tiny little wisps and sighs the longer he touches.

he's so happy. this is a dream, that Irahl would even let him...

he almost thinks he can go on doing this forever, entertaining the notion, imagining the dragon writhing and wanting from just a touch--watching his composure splinter away until they're both hot and desperate for each other. or something like that.

but he gets too excited, maybe. he's diligent for a few minutes, but then his motions are somewhat disrupted by him sitting up. he tries to be smooth about it, transition flawlessly... but there's nothing terribly subtle about how he leans down, moves his hand, and mouths shamelessly at the fabric he'd only been touching before.

with tongue. and hot breath. and definite intent.]

[when Robin suddenly lifts and moves away, throwing off the rhythm that had been carrying Irahl away somewhere else, the dragon makes the mistake of opening his eyes and looking down. and so he's looking on as Robin's mouth goes dipping down and pressing in. peering over the forearm still covering part of his face, he watches Robin's tongue drag over him.

it should have snapped him out of his little escapist place. he can feel the anxiety in the back of his head, and hear the busy, disgusted murmurings at seeing someone he knows work over him like this. but it's all so distant. the numbing flood in his brain and the electric pulse in his bones and blood rule everything right now.

instead of balking, a stronger thrill runs right through him, all the way to his spine. and he continues to watch in horror.

it isn't until he's finding that he can't keep quite still, and really notices that he is working up to becoming shamelessly, embarrassingly hard under Robin's mouth that he finally breaks.

cutting off another sound in his throat--muffled under his arm--Irahl shifts around anxiously under his partner, and drunkenly pushes his face to the side again.]

[and Robin does his very best to follow him. he might... accidentally scrape his tongue along the tougher fabric, once or twice, but he's kind of drunk and the details are coming in a little slower than they should. he finds his way back soon enough--and since he can't give him orders with his mouth otherwise occupied, he finally just grabs onto his hips and pushes him down against the bed to hold him still.

he wants more, forgetting the last of his important little hesitations. forget whatever thoughts he had about before being a dream come true--this is where his heart's desire is. he pauses just long enough to slide a hand down his pants again, his mouth working where there's room, his tongue playing at the skin above his band, sneaking under...]

Edited 2015-07-10 23:55 (UTC)

[this time, the mistake that Irahl makes is moving his arm away from his mouth. in his restlessness--with his upper body shifting around a little bit since Robin has everything else pinned down--he arches his neck just enough.

he fails to catch the sound in his throat, this time. it's short and tense, barely enough to hear, but there's still nothing in the way to muffle the deep purr that groans out of him.

Robin knows that sound. it gives everything away.]

[he's heard that sound from creatures who loathe him and monsters who delight in him. there are a few he obsessively aches to hear it from, even--but none of those have ever turned him on as much as Irahl's tense, restless little slip in control.

he can't do it. the teasing is suddenly over as Robin's patience shatters; he reaches eagerly under the last of Irahl's thin clothing to run his hand up and down his length without a single shred of hesitation. the last of his restraint and subtlety are abandoned in favor of gratified moaning--and he barely gives Irahl time to acclimate before he's exposed his arousal and started running his talented tongue all over it.

he wants him. it's painfully obvious. he's hard and he's groaning around the taste of him, and he takes him into his mouth with almost embarrassing eagerness--but there's nothing he wants in the moment more than this, and he's going to take it. the palms digging down into Irahl's hips, pinning him still, don't give the other much choice.]

Nor // AU

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