priorcommitment | have yourself a merry little christmas

Order, like everything else in Ishiah's life, has its place. Life comes too quickly, ever tumultuous, for Ishiah to expect it in all walks, senses increasingly honed over the centuries to pick up on the slightest changes in the wind, but he finds it in the slightest of details, holds them close to his chest. The same mug of coffee whenever he walks into the coffee, testing its strength, stocking enough to offer the patrons who never seem to know their limits, or otherwise insist on testing them day by day. The same pattern with which to wipe the counters, sweeping motions that waste no time, but overlap enough to guarantee cleanliness. It isn't that Ishiah is incapable of change, but instead that it's only during the constants that he manages to relax at all, shoulders losing their tension even while his eyes and gaze are held sharp. All of it, at its core, amounts to little more than a stubborn habit and addiction clung to by a man never meant to walk the earth for so long.

Mornings have turned lazy over recent months, never quite the same, but still a constant. Tangled limbs and reluctant murmurs, a press a back to chest and fingers weaving through hair. Warmth, always, and heated with a kiss.

The break of that constant is always as abrupt as the shattering of glass.

Ishiah adjusts to the gentle rocking of the train car long before his mind is able to process the details, wings appearing in a blinding flash and sword pulled out with the cool slide of metal. It's a mistake immediately felt as the other passengers in the compartment begin to shriek and yell, some clutching sharply to their chests — the only acknowledgment comes in the sharp furrow of Ishiah's brow, confusion in his expression. He should have sensed them, and quickly enough to stay his hand.

Another second, then two, and both wings and sword are put away.

"Illusionist," he offers by way of explanation, jaw tensing as the train starts to slow, pulling into an unfamiliar station.

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Ishiah's accustomed to the show of resistance, to Robin trying to fight what he'll inevitably cave to and may even be comforted by. He allows it as one of Robin's less concerning habits, and opts instead to think of Robin caving as more of the compliment than anything else. Indication of how much Ishiah means and how much they've shared now, finally able to put aside thousands of years worth of cutting arguments.

Not that they don't have those at times, still. Robin does very much like to make a point.

"And while Christmas may well not mean very much to me, either, I like the so-called Christmas spirit. I like the idea that there is a day most people are given off from work in order to spend time with their loved ones," Ishiah murmurs, a pleased thrum on his skin as he nudges the tip of his nose against Robin's curls. He hasn't had time to miss Robin, but the same can't be said the other way around. It's Ishiah's job to smooth that over.

Even though he can't quite help the way he tenses at the invitation to Robin's bed. Pausing in thought, he asks, "Will you be joining me?"

Because without Robin in the bed, there's little point.

"It's ridiculous," Robin argues, not content to simply let Ishiah get away with such a statement without comment. But beyond those two words, Robin lets the topic of Christmas drop almost fondly.

He can feel Ishiah's breath in his hair, slow, gentle and warm, and he relaxes -- before stilling, and then pulling away to turn in the other man's grip until he can settle his hands on Ishiah's shoulders. His eyes dart briefly toward the clock, but focus quickly again on the only other person in the building.

"Is that what you want?"

Not an argument, Ishiah retorts silently, stamping down the words if only because he knows that Robin needs to get the last one in, and any extra time spent on the matter will just cause the both of them to swirl for that much longer. It isn't an argument, though. That Christmas has turned into more of a commercial event than anything else doesn't make it ridiculous.

Or maybe it does, but Ishiah still enjoys it nonetheless.

His expression remains carefully even for the rest, for the way Robin's warm pulls away and leaves Ishiah empty-handed, a touch too cold.

"Yes. But that doesn't mean that we can skip our talk, because we definitely still need to have a talk," Ishiah adds, words slow and measured. "A lot can happen in seven months."

"Well, we will talk later. But how later is later?" Robin asks, not, curiously, dithering as he often does in the face of straight questions and straighter answers. He pauses, in where he was moving to the office, to stare at Ishiah from across the small distance. The bar does need to be opened, after all, within the next hour. And Robin must be prepared to do more than his fair share, thanks to whatever possessed him to let employees volunteer for work on the holiday.

"I don't like what I've ended up doing to you. But I did it of my own decision, and I can't change that I did it. Does the motivation mean enough to you?"

"Motivation, rationale, and even nature — everything matters, doesn't it? And nothing is guaranteed to mean enough or doomed to mean too little," Ishiah replies, raising his glass to take another sip, this one deeper, held for a moment in his mouth until the burn sears through, at which point it's swallowed down like so much else in their lives. "I want to talk as soon as you have a reasonable chance, which probably means after work today."

His gaze drops for a second, tracing along the line of the bar. "But you don't need to be worried about the talk, Robin. Not as much as your face suggests that you are, at least."

"All I can say right now is that I haven't done what I've been doing because I found you wanting, or because I wanted more than you, Ishiah. I just told myself that you weren't for me, anymore."

One corner of Robin's mouth quirks up, sheltering a fond smile that has to force itself to stop being longing, stop being a little bitter. There's not a lot of use for longing or bitterness, when what's past is past, and what he has, right now, is Ishiah sitting halfway across the room from him.

Robin closes the distance, leaning forward to press their mouths together. It isn't a dry kiss; it's certainly hungry. But there are no hands, and no doubt that Robin doesn't intend it as anything but a declaration of a desire no less after Ishiah's absence.

There's no hiding the smile that stretches across Ishiah's lips halfway into the kiss, nor is there any stopping the hand that raises to run down the line of Robin's cheek. One wouldn't be able to feel the absence in how easily their lips slot together, but there's something about the kiss that's closed a bit more tightly than usual, and Ishiah knows, he can feel as much as anything else that he's been missing from Robin's side.

So he does pull away from the kiss in time, leveling an even gaze.

"But I am for you. And I will always be for you," Ishiah says, tone plain. "That said, I may not always be around, and if that's the case, I'm not going to hold it against you if you look elsewhere. I want you to be as happy as you can be; you know that. Being miserable on my behalf doesn't serve either of us."

"Strong words," Robin says, but there is a smile beyond the sarcasm that says well enough that it's only there for self-defense. As much as Robin does adore Ishiah -- when he does not hate him with a passion, at least -- conversations like these are tiring. He wasn't made to have them. He wasn't made to stick around long enough to need to.

He appreciates the sentimentality, even as he refuses it.

"You can bartend for me today. The waitstaff is only coming in for four hour shifts and only one at a given time, so I'll be supporting that end of business today, whether I like it or not. We'll be out of here when the kitchen closes at eleven."

"I prefer strong words," Ishiah nods with a brief raise of his brows, as though prepared to judge Robin if need be. The layers are clear enough this time for Ishiah to easily find, his eyes focusing on a softer smile hidden behind sharper words. "They show strength of conviction."

Draining the rest of his glass, Ishiah easily stands and rounds the counter, immediately heading towards the nearest sink to wash out his glass. His eyes dart over the bottles, many of the labels clear, certain liquids colored much like liquors he knows from home. But, just in case.

"Some of these brands are unfamiliar. Do you have time to run over them with me?" Ishiah peers in Robin's direction. "Or do you expect me to sample them all?"

"Normally, I would prefer for you to sample them all personally." The look that Robin gives to Ishiah is positively gleeful -- he has just realized that, in addition to whatever else Ishiah means to him, he is, of course, one of Robin's more favorite toys. "But on such a short notice, you will just have to trust your instinct and my advice, if you should need it."

"Relax," he says, moving closer to slip his palms into Ishiah's front jean pockets. "It's Christmas. They are bound to be charitable, or to quickly be too drunk to care. Forget or celebrate, that's what a holiday is all about. But you're not getting away from the tasting. Eventually. The food, and the booze."

He can't help the smile that spreads over his face, exhaling quietly as his back arches to press flush against Robin's chest. Shaking the most of the water off of his hands, Ishiah reaches down to weave his fingers with Robin's, squeezing tight. "I'll keep a shot glass on me just in case someone asks for something I haven't tried," Ishiah muses, tilting his head in thought. Even if patrons are bound to be more forgiving, that doesn't mean that Ishiah wants to take advantage in any way. It's not in his nature.

Delivering a good quality product is key.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ishiah raises an eyebrow. "It sounds like you want to make a night out of it. Tasting. With wine."

have yourself a merry little christmas

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