priorcommitment | long road to ruin

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.

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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.

"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.

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."

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."

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.

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."

long road to ruin

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