long road to ruin

[priorcommitment]

He's spent the entire day trying to find a way out of the barrier cast high up in the sky. Shoulders slightly bruised and a few errant feathers trailing behind him, Ishiah makes his way back to the ground carefully, skimming over the largely deserted fields off to the side of the city before circling to the ground, feet running lightly down the dirt path. As far as he can tell, the absolute limits of the barrier can't be reached by someone of his abilities, his brain turning away from conscious thought every time he tries.

Somehow, that's the most unsettling part.

When he reaches a block away from his apartment, Ishiah pauses at the street corner, peeking next down in the direction of Robin's flat instead. Even though he knows that Robin's due to remain at Semele's for another couple of hours, still he changes course, walking at a clipped pace all the way until he reaches Robin's apartment, neatly sliding his key and stepping inside.

Seating himself carefully down on Robin's couch, Ishiah rests his head in his hands for a few minutes, fingers massaging neat circles over his temples.

He falls asleep shortly thereafter, crouched over with his elbows resting on his knees.

Comments

[goodfella]

Where Ishiah fell asleep is where Robin finds him when he finally returns home, and after setting aside his umbrella and taking off jacket and shoes, he makes his way - strangely exhausted - across the room to settle onto the couch beside the rounded bulk of Ishiah's slumped shoulders.

His hands set to work, deft and gentle, in waking the other man up. They move fondly at the back of Ishiah's neck, before Robin gathers both knees under himself to lift his body against Ishiah's side, dropping a kiss, warm and appreciative, against a cheek in need of a shave. His laughter over the fact is a barely-there snort of soft amusement.

"Good morning, starshine."

[priorcommitment]

The reflex hits first, a deep breath pulled into his lungs as Robin's fingers massage against the base of Ishiah's neck. With a slight turn of his head to mirror the circular motion of Robin's hands, Ishiah winces at the ache that consciousness pulls back to his muscles before turning to brush his lips against Robin's wrist and gradually working his way up to the line of Robin's jaw.

"I suppose... technically morning," mumbles Ishiah, reaching out with a hand and smoothing his palm over Robin's chest, fingers sneaking under his shirt and deftly undoing a few buttons. "Sorry I came over without asking. And sorry I fell asleep before your return."

[goodfella]

"No need to ask," Robin says, voice low, soft and private, slick oil turned gentle with warmth. "I'm quite used to it anymore." For the number of times that Caliban had just showed up when he was bored, demanding to 'just watch some teevee and have some beers with a friend.' There had been a spot in the bottom corner of Robin's french-door refrigerator reserved specifically for Caliban's domestic brew swill, and Robin had graciously allowed it.

How things had begun to change.

His expression wavers only a heartbeat at the memory. Ishiah is quickly working his shirt off, and as much as Robin enjoys the promise of finding the other man in a mood such as this, he does wonder despite himself. "Your shoulders are tight as knots. Did you get in a fight?"

[priorcommitment]

Finding a coping mechanism has been difficult in Darrow. When the entire world is reachable through the flap of one's wings, there is never a shortage of problems to tend to, always someone to help in the alleys, always threats to keep an eye on to pass the time. Ishiah is, after all, the type of individual who requires that amount of practicality, preferring to engage in actions that yield measurable outcomes.

But in Darrow, he doesn't know enough. Isn't quite invested enough on a holistic level, not when he isn't sure about the cycle of souls in this realm, or about how much energy he'll need to break out.

Selfish. He's been selfish.

It's easier instead to find solace in the familiar, Ishiah's breath slowing as he cranes his neck for better access to the space between the straight line of Robin's jaw and his collarbone, the expanse of neck deceptively soft in skin, though a puck's physical vulnerabilites never quite align with a human's.

"No fights. I went flying," Ishiah says, pressing his lips together thinly. "Searching for the sky's limits. They're closer than I'd hoped."

[goodfella]

"Flying," Robin echoes back, a sigh of content in his voice at the touch of Ishiah's lips against the column of his neck. Feeling as if he is simply not close enough, Robin swings himself to settle across Ishiah's lap, concern in his eyes - if a dull one. Of the two of them, Robin is the better survivor perhaps, but Ishiah is more capable of keeping himself out of troubles in the first place.

"Testing just once wasn't good enough for you, I suppose?" He offers a wry smile.

"And you come to see me after all of this?"

[priorcommitment]

While not an explicit invitation to air his troubles, Robin spends just enough time talking in vague terms about Ishiah's activity that the peri finds himself incapable of putting off the thoughts any longer. He reaches out to run his hands over the curve of Robin's shoulders, brushing them down until they rest against the crook of either of Robin's elbows, where he presses his thumbs against the softer skin.

"I wondered if greater familiarity with the city would help me at all in my exploration... and perhaps it did, but not enough to find concrete answers," Ishiah murmurs, his own expression sobering fast. "Is it a surprise that I came here afterwards? It felt like a marginally more productive choice as opposed to staying in my own apartment."

[goodfella]

Ishiah's hands are intent enough on remembering him that Robin makes short work of the rest of the buttons on his shirt, slipping it off before folding it neatly and discarding it on the low coffee table in front of the sofa.

His fingers find the waistband of Ishiah's pants next, teasing in between the fabric and the smooth, warm skin beneath.

"A pleasant surprise," he corrects. "Stop flying into windows. Leave that for the canaries. There are better ways to think about this. We'll deal with it. I am as irritated as anyone, but I am willing to let the truth take its time ... with some gentle helping along. Are you?"

[priorcommitment]

"This is the best way I know to search a place. To do so directly," Ishiah says, almost a complaint save for how plainly he makes his statement, no intent on his end to try the same thing yet again, but no apology for having flown that high in the first place. His hands reach out to slide along Robin's back, brushing flat up and along Robin's spine, urging him close. "If there's a better way to think about it, if there's something that you've been doing since you arrived here, I'd like to know. Obviously my normal options aren't yielding any results."

Feeling Robin's fingers slipping between waistband and skin, Ishiah sighs, tension relaxing out of his features as his head suddenly falls against the back of the couch, lids fluttering to a close.

Maybe he needs something tactile right now, hips nudging up against Robin's thighs. Hopefully he's in the mood.

[goodfella]

Slipping closer to the warm spread of Ishiah's pale skin, he's treated to the sight of comfort stealing over the peri's stoic face. A treat no matter the circumstances, and Robin allows the wolfish pleasure that overtakes his smile speak to the truth of that.

"There is nothing," he admits, doubting that Ishiah will be surprised, even if he is bothered. For a puck, waiting is a more ideal game. The most ideal game.

"But I don't want you straining yourself doing the work of both of us, either. If you're going to, the least that I can do is reward you for your effort. If not the intelligence or style of your execution."

The hand searching into Ishiah's trousers slips in fully, cupping him beneath his clothing. Robin sees no reason to move this off of the sofa. For now. He drops a kiss, like a present, onto Ishiah's lips. Gentle enough to be uncharacteristic, except within the framework of his feelings for the man in front of him.

[priorcommitment]

"There is never anything until the last minute with you," Ishiah breathes, brow furrowing for half a second before he stumbles across the very thing, the only thing that lessens the frustration, selfish though it is. "Although I'd say that we've proven to be the happy exception." The statement is made simply, no request for Robin's input, nor even for his agreement — instead, Ishiah's own expression of happiness, more self-centered this time than most.

Lifting his hips to press himself against the palm of Robin's hand, Ishiah slowly picks up a rhythm, pushing away from the back of the couch to thread his hands in Robin's hair, secure and pleading. The kiss is returned with a similar gentleness, but perhaps greater desperation, the result of panic thrumming just outside Ishiah's skin, now something he must deal with after two and a half months spent in the city.

It's a blink of an eye in some ways, but stillness stretches time out when it's neither chosen nor content.

"I don't need a reward, I need... comfort," he adds, perhaps almost uncharacteristically aware.

[goodfella]

Robin gives a good-natured little laugh at Ishiah's assessment. He certainly does not deny that all things are at the last moment, where Robin is concerned, and he does not cow over the idea either. He simply is what he is.

All things but this, as qualified. Somehow, that pleases Robin even more.

"Never let it be said that I am not a provider." Both of Robin's hands pull away, accompanied by a very small smirk on his lips as he pulls his head from Ishiah's gentle grasp on his hair, and he busies himself with sliding clothing off of both of them, starting with his own tie and shirt. Expertly unknotted, his fingers move next to the buttons. "I could get used to coming home to this."

[priorcommitment]

The fast clip of Robin's motions leaves Ishiah watching closely, drawn in by the movement, almost tempted to interrupt the progress of Robin's fingers and snatch the tie away from him. But he doesn't. He doesn't, because there's an art even to the movements themselves, fast and efficient, but also smooth enough to be practically a dance of the fingers, one that Ishiah is loath to interrupt, when his own actions aren't nearly as elegant. Once Robin's skin is exposed, however, Ishiah makes quick work of the skin suddenly exposed in front of him, palms smoothing over the stretch of light olive, fingers pausing by Robin's nipples, dark and flushed, before giving each a pinch.

Worshiping one's body isn't an impulse that comes naturally to Ishiah, except where Robin is concerned, but he goes about it dutifully, lips dropping down wherever Robin will allow — by his clavicle, against his sternum.

"Do you want to?" he asks softly, ears listening, sharp and intent. "Come home to this, I mean."

[goodfella]

Body arching upward against rough, warm hands and softer lips, almost contemplative in their touch against his own ready skin, Robin laughs at Ishiah's sharp pinch. Small, fond, receptive as he always is. Responsive in body as well as in thought.

"I think, if nothing else ... "

Ducking his head, he presses himself between his body and Ishiah's mouth to press him backward, their foreheads molded together, their eyes inches apart. He smiles, without guile, pink tongue darting out to wet pleased lips. "It would be a very long time indeed before I stopped wanting to. Are you putting an offer on the table, Ishiah?"

His fingers find the muscle of Ishiah's back, following the deep line of strong spine up to the broad spread of his shoulders, where Robin grips.

[priorcommitment]

His heart pounds, the beat of it tight all the way to his throat, and his skin buzzing down to the tips of his toes. Sometimes, the physical response requires no conscious thought; Ishiah's body warms until it's just that much higher than Robin's own, just enough so that Ishiah can be responsible for that fleeting moment for keeping Robin enveloped in soft, constant heat.

But even as his body runs hot, the thought coursing through his mind are clinical in their precision. Carefully, Ishiah pushes forward just enough to put distance between his back and the couch, his wings unfurling as he nuzzles against the space between Robin's nose and his cheek, pursing his lips to brush against skin.

"Yes," he murmurs. "Consider this my offer. Although I will most likely continue paying rent on the other apartment for one, two months. Just in case we change our minds."