priorcommitment | you may talk about your men of gideon; you may brag about your king of saul

"I think he chastised me," Robin says breathless, tumbling through the door to Ishiah's apartment and nearly tumbling over himself as he moved to lean against it to shut it behind him. The lock had been easy as butter, but Ishiah's deadbolt dangles uselessly from the wall. Robin breathes, before plowing forward again without explanation.

"Castiel actually chastised me. For calling him kid. That's what he is! And I thought that I was a professional blowhard, oh no. I don't think he's been out of the roost nearly long enough to start talking that way to me."

Robin moves to Ishiah's kitchen cupboard. He's spotted the coffee, and the television, and now he's determined to insert himself onto the couch cushions.

As soon as the door opens, metal rattling and heavy steps trailing into his apartment, Ishiah stands with his hand on the hilt of his sword. He's confident enough in his abilities as juxtaposed with that of most others in Darrow, enough so that he doesn't immediately draw the blade or run towards the target. That allows him a small amount of dignity as clear blue eyes follow Robin's progress into the apartment, and before saying even a word, Ishiah sinks back onto the couch.

After a couple of weeks at a stalemate, words exchanged but no more than necessary, the sight of Robin pink-cheeked from a run and rushed in tone is practically welcome. A storm to liven the otherwise still state of the apartment.

Not that the breaking of his door was necessary.

Ishiah waits, back against the couch and fingers against his temple, for Robin to make his way through the entire perimeter of the apartment, uprooting everything in the process.

"Castiel is young," Ishiah points out, folding his hands neatly on his stomach after he's resituated himself, plenty of couch space by his side should Robin want it. "At my age, even I still chastise you in spite of knowing how much older and supposedly wiser you are than myself. Does it surprise you that he would do the same?"

Robin sinks down beside Ishiah, having found a mug and filled it with entirely too much sugar, and a crisp apple in the refrigerator. He pours some of the cold coffee into the mug and stirs it with a finger, licking it off once he's done.

He squints at the display on the screen, before looking up at Ishiah's head beside him. "Supposedly wiser. The only wisdom that is important is the wisdom that I possess, in my opinion. There is only one way to really learn about a thing, and that is through immersion; and what is there anymore which I have not immersed myself in fully?" he asks.

"He is a terrible dancer, for the record. Castiel. And Dean is out wandering again, so good for him, but he has a new hot werewolf friend, and I am still undecided how I feel about this. He isn't like the Wolves from home. He's got some kind of psychic healer shit going on somehow, and I'll be honest, I really miss the days when they had to use tongue."

Ishiah watches as Robin proceeds to consume practically every last bit of sugar that can be found in the apartment, which is only fitting — he keeps it there for Robin's sake, after all. The quickly licked finger gets a look, quickly transferred to the bright green of Robin's eyes as he goes on about his tale, something meaningless and ultimately without import, save for the affection that one would find if they read carefully between the lines. Although the relationship differs in so many ways, there is certainly some love in Ishiah's heart for both Dean and Castiel, and Ishiah smiles faintly in recognition of it, before turning his own gaze back at the television screen.

"Perhaps his tongue has undiscovered properties that you could look into," Ishiah remarks, leaning forward to gather up his notes on the Scitalis, now that Robin is here and demands his full attention. "It could be, as you might put it, 'worth a shot.'" Tapping the papers against the table to keep them level, Ishiah places them gently on the corner of the coffee table before leaning back against the couch, large hands reaching out to gather Robin's legs and turn them until they rest over his own.

"Meanwhile, I can immediately think of several things that you haven't immersed yourself in fully," Ishiah adds, patting Robin's knee. "And before you try to qualify, I've been told that these things can be fun, too."

Robin gives a blink as Ishiah reshuffles their positions, until Robin is half-seated in his lap. This is more physical contact than the two have had in a week, and that it should happen so unceremoniously almost makes Robin suspicious. Almost.

Taking a bite from the apple, he peers at the stack of Ishiah's papers. So he's going looking for a creature of some kind. Robin is, admittedly, a little interested in something like that, whether or not he ends up getting paid for it. Not that he would admit it.

"And what are these fun things," he asks around his mouthful of Ishiah's food, "that I have yet to properly immerse myself in? Do tell me, Ishiah."

His attention falls to the hand on his knee.

There's no attempt yet to further the contact beyond Ishiah's hand on Robin's knee. If anything, all of Ishiah's focus is trained on that hand, keeping it still and calm, even under the close scrutiny of Robin's watchful eyes. "Running a business that directly competes with someone who could potentially be better than you at the trade, forcing you to become cutthroat in competition and risk being pushed out of the market," Ishiah says, the implication in his voice clear. "Taking someone fully under your wing and teaching them to better navigate their life, much like a parent would a child — although you started that back in Manhattan. Having sex with an active angel and not a has-been."

He raises his hand, then drops it back down again on the knee with a soft pat, squeezing around Robin's kneecap as he stares placidly at the repeating clips on the television screen.

"Being married to said has-been."

Robin fidgets under Ishiah's palm, listening more attently with every new word, despite the drinking he'd done earlier that evening. He is not planning on rising to the bait of Ishiah's suggestion that he open up his own bar. If he tried, Robin would buy that shit right out from under him with any amount of illegally-gotten gains he might need to pull out of his ass.

It's everything else that is really interesting.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks, suspicion now registering in his voice, though it is a good-natured suspicion. He does not seem to be about to bolt from the spot and make for the door. "Talking like this after we just had a serious argument."

Ishiah's brows furrow, and he doesn't yet turn to meet Robin's gaze. It's not nerves that keep his gaze pointed away, but instead a faint amusement that sits on his lips and expresses itself in the careful way his thumb traces around Robin's kneecap.

"Both of them came to me, one after the other," he says, shifting the direction of the conversation, offering a tangent of the kind Robin is so fond of using. "I don't know if they were simply failing to communicate with one another, or if they thought repetition might bring a different answer, but those two have come to me for the same answers. Asking me whether or not taking one's grace back is the right choice for a relationship, asking after the difference in lifespan. They are afraid of the cage that they've been placed in, almost more than the world outside of it. And they fight. It's like watching two peacocks chase one another."

He turns to look at Robin at last, tilting his head until it rests against the back of the couch.

"We fought about your employee's bosom. Because we have nothing greater to fight about."

"Perhaps then in their own way smarter than those of us who do not ask advice of others anymore, thinking that we know better." Robin sounds amused, and a little resentful - of himself. Ishiah was right. They'd argued about a pair of breasts that didn't belong to either of them. They had nothing more dire to argue about, in their coupling, than that.

And that was ... astounding.

"And what has any of this got to do with you being a has-been?" he teases, afraid to come to the same conclusion that Ishiah had. Why afraid? He should not be. He truly should not be. It's so seldom that a truly novel idea comes to nest in Robin's mind anymore.

"Now there's something I never would have expected to hear from you," muses Ishiah, smiling broadly as he reaches over to cup a large palm over Robin's jaw, index finger tracing along the straight line, slightly rough after an entire day spent outdoors. "Although, really, who would we go to for advice? No one for their experience, surely."

He mimics — or attempts — Robin's grin, capricious and confident, before leaning close enough to rest his forehead against Robin's, pressing down with an easy weight. Underneath the acrid hint of alcohol remains a heavy floral scent; Ishiah isn't sure which one leaves him slightly lightheaded.

"I've heard you explain to others that I'm on some equivalent of shore leave. Robin, I have no plans of going back. Disappointing though it may be that you've never had me at full strength."

The finger along the cut line of his jaw prickles against an evening's worth of coarse stubble; in turn, the prickles march up Robin's spine, until he wriggles underneath the weight of Ishiah's flashed smile, almost as authentically rapacious as one of his own, and then under the weight of Ishiah himself.

"You're mocking me," he says, though he sounds neither hurt nor indignant.

Shit, he thinks, and then he can't keep his hands to themselves. They sweep up and over Ishiah's shoulders, splay across the width of his back. Always one of Robin's favorite spots on the other man. "Oh," he says, "Fuck arguing. Arguing is for people who enjoy being in traction. I do not. I enjoy having filthy sex with the peri of my infatuations. Why do you wear so many clothes to sit on your own couch and watch television?"

"I don't think mock is the best word. Mimic? Revere, venerate," suggests Ishiah, each word bringing him closer to Robin's lips but not quite touching, expertly teasing Robin over that line hastily and haphazardly drawn between them. He expects the sudden brush of Robin's hands, warmer than his body, fluttering against his skin, and ducks his face against the rough shadow along the side of Robin's neck, breathing in the scent of damp earth.

Only when Robin's hands start to neatly undo the row of buttons down the center of Ishiah's shirt does he stop, hand splayed against the small of Robin's back, limbs far too crowded between the cushions of the couch.

"Wait," he breathes, pulling back, cheeks flushed high and brows knit in confusion. "Are we tabling this discussion for later?"

"No," Robin says, more of a sharp breath than anything. He presses himself underneath Ishiah to rush their mouths together, tasting bitter coffee in Ishiah's as he draws a lip into his mouth, licking desperately there, at the corners, pulling away only to give himself more room to speak.

His hands work fitfully at the buttons again, his eyes narrowed in split concentration as he does his best to get Ishiah out of his shirt without getting the both of them tangled in Robin's tie.

"We are not tabling anything," Robin says, almost viciously. "There is no discussion. Are you going to ask me your question or not?"

"Oh."

Ishiah breathed his surprise, his body tensing in spite of Robin's chaotic movement, like someone had just explained the axis-tilt of the earth of him and his whole body was compensating. Trying to bring the world to a standstill just long enough to understand. But Robin's lips were flushed and swollen, Ishiah having barely the time for a soft, questioning noise before he leans in for more kisses, arching his back just so, giving Robin's hands access to the buttons of his shirt and using his own fingers to loosen the circle of Robin's tie.

His whole body, the spread between his shoulder blades, everything feels radioactive. His hands, restless in turn, unbuckle Robin's belt and yank it away with as much fervor as the edge in Robin's words, one hand heated and wide dropping to palm Robin alongside the blush rising on his own cheeks.

The only constant lies in the sharp green of Robin's eyes, the thick of a forest Ishiah could never completely see through.

"Will you marry me, Robin?"

"Yes," Robin says, not moving for a second - which is not to say that he has not given his answer proper thought, only that he'd thought about hearing the question more than once before. So many of those times, his head had answered it practically with an allergic reaction. But there is something about Darrow ... if he is to be sentenced and imprisoned, why let it be alone. He can hardly imagine a better co-conspirator than the other half of a marriage.

"Terrifyingly, yes. I will."

Sliding Ishiah's shirt over his impossibly wide shoulders, Robin is glad to be sitting. Not because he fears he might swoon like some lovesick virgin, only because to kiss him as sweetly as he means to now would be difficult without standing on the coffee table. And that is just asking for trouble.

Leaning in to the arch of Ishiah's back, he hooks an arm around the back of the other man's neck, rustling pale hair and sliding their lips together. Tentatively at first, and then with even, confident pressure.

Sliding his free arm out of the sleeve of his jacket, he lets it fall beneath him on the couch. "Be married to you."

Edited 2013-09-17 06:15 (UTC)

He's stunned, both to silence and to stillness. The truth is that regardless of what answer Robin has to give, Ishiah's loyalty and affection wouldn't change in the slightest. A refusal feels like what Ishiah is meant to expect, not only from Robin but from the reality of their situation, too wide of a world and too much infinite potential to make promises meant to last until death.

An ache settles in Ishiah's chest at the thought that he would still rather have the world be open to Robin's fingertips than have his picture of happiness painted across Darrow's walls, but it eases away quickly with the brush of fabric over his shoulders, with a press of lips to his own, as soft and sweet as the promise.

So he files away the memory for a later day. Robin, limbs tangled and in his arms, his for the first time in a way he never dared imagine. Pushing the jacket off of Robin's shoulder and quickly releasing the buttons down his chest, Ishiah presses his nose against the baby fine curls along Robin's hairline, kisses the fanning of lashes dark against Robin's cheekbones. It was almost torture, keeping at a slower pace Ishiah couldn't imagine would be maintained for long, but it allowed him the chance to take in everything. Memorize everything.

"I see only you," confesses Ishiah as their lips part, eyes wet before his expression suddenly cracks into a smile, matching the laughter that thrums in his chest. His arms reach underneath Robin, fingers hastily discarding half-worn clothing before holding Robin close to Ishiah's chest. He carries the puck easily in his arms and rushes towards the bedroom, a boyish energy bursting in a pair of wings before he gently lays Robin out on the bed, against clean, pristine sheets.

Not that either of them have lived a very pristine life, but Ishiah appreciates the aesthetic nonetheless.

"You said yes," he marvels, brows furrowed through his smile. "We're getting married."

Robin gives a yelp when Ishiah simply lifts the both of them off of the couch (which Robin had been perfectly happy with) to move them to the bedroom, leaving half of their clothing behind without them. The surprise only lasts until the laughter starts, because Ishiah is ridiculous, and those great, show-off wings of his are out crowding the space around them, all lily-white and barred with gold.

When he hits the bed, it's only a moment before Ishiah's weight is on top of him again, and he snakes his hands artfully out to work on the button and fly of Ishiah's jeans. It is ... nice. It is enviable, the way that Ishiah treats him. He doesn't know how he can be jealous of himself, but he is, as irrational as it might be. Never before this - no, only once before - was Robin ever treated this way by a lover. With respect, but no reverence. Something to be loved, rather than something to be used or enjoyed.

"What else was I going to say?" Robin says, concentration on tugging fabric down over Ishiah's narrow hips. "Stop saying it over and over again, or it will stop sounding like a real word. And then where will you be?"

In his excitement, Ishiah loses most of the careful control cultivated over his years on Earth. The easy balance of his wings suddenly folds when he overcorrects for the bounce of the mattress, the span widening as he bobs from one side to the other, clumsy and rushed. He watches the quick threading of Robin's fingers with great interest, no modesty spared at the obvious physical evidence of his interest as he wiggles to help Robin remove his jeans.

Humming, Ishiah leans in to close his lips around the lobe of Robin's ear, broad shoulders lifted well over Robin's body to give his hands the chance to skate over Robin's abdomen, tracing along planes of muscle.

"Still married to you," Ishiah concludes, brushing the side of his palm along the cut of Robin's hip, slowly easing his trousers down, fingers caught in the elastic of Robin's boxer briefs. "I hear that a common tactic between married couples is using sex to quiet the spouse. Though I would have expected to use that tactic before you."

Once he has successfully (there was no chance of failure) got Ishiah's pants and underwear down past his knees, he gives a laugh that is half groan and wriggles otter-like out of his own constricting trousers, brushing their bodies together.

He hooks his arms over Ishiah's shoulders, nestled in the thin space between powerful wings. It gives him all the leverage that he needs to shuffle thhe remainders of their clothing off of the bed with talented toes.

"Not married yet," Robin clarifies, wit still rapier-pointed, though his voice is becoming the more throaty as he goes. "Not even a ring on my finger, and you had better bet that I want the ring, Ishiah. I know how little baubles mean to you, but in that respect ... "

He grunts when he feels the heat of Ishiah's arousal drag against the thin skin of his inner thigh, and reaches for the bedside table, but his arm is too short where he is trapped beneath the other man and the spread of his wings. Not that he wants Ishiah to put those away, either.

"Have you still got oil in that drawer?" he asks, although he knows that Ishiah does. "Anyway, in that respect, we differ."

Hardly a second passes after Robin debriefs himself before Ishiah's hands start to wander, strong fingers gripping the round curve of Robin's ass and pulling him closer, brushing his lips down the column of Robin's neck. He hums, low and smooth in his throat, as Robin's fingers trace along the curve of his spine, using Ishiah's wings as leverage while stripping them both of the rest of their clothing. It delights Ishiah, who follows the movement with watchful eyes, enchanted by the movement of Robin's digits.

Both of them bare, Ishiah draws in his wings to cover them closely, keeping the warmth between their bodies contained.

His hand reaches out, rummaging in the drawer of his nightstand before unearthing the bottle of almond oil placed at the very back. All the while, he litters Robin's skin with kisses, more fevered and haphazard than usual, breath hiccuping with every roll of his hips.

"I would wear the most—" Ishiah pauses, lashes fluttering as he unscrews the cap of the bottle, warming oil in the palm of his hand before stroking down Robin's length, slick spilling over his fingers. "—the second most ostentatious ring in the world if it made you happy. Do you want the choice to be a surprise? Or are we going shopping together?"

His body strains up against Ishiah's touch, his hands some of the hottest that Robin has ever felt, burning against sensitive skin. He sighs beneath Ishiah, eyes flickering from the large hands in question, reading curiosity, to the man's face. A little dopey. Robin is, as often, inextricably fond.

"You can surprise me," Robin murmurs, lifting hands to spread them wide and brush them up the broad muscle of Ishiah's chest, pausing when they slip low over his nipples. "I like nice surprises, especially when they're presents for me. It doesn't matter to me what kind of stone, so long as it is the size of a Mentos, and nobody can possibly ignore it." He laughs at himself. "It would please me immenely to know that you had to go out looking for something like that."

"With my current salary, I'm not sure how I'd be able to afford that. Unless I sell the apartment," muses Ishiah, mostly joking, nuzzling his nose against the sensitive skin underneath Robin's ear before rolling his hips just so, the grasp of his hand widening until it wraps around both their erections, stroking smoothly from base to tip. Shuddering at the glide, Ishiah's wings quiver and then go very still as Ishiah focuses on maintaining the rhythm, his voice a soft whine against Robin's pulse point.

Arching his back to press his chest further against Robin's hands, Ishiah leans back slightly, pupils blown and skin flushed down to the middle of his chest.

"Who first?" he breathes, releasing his own cock to settle his hand fully around Robin's, twisting as he pulls towards the head.

For the moment, Robin would have been happy enough simply with the delicious heat of the two of them pressed tightly together in Ishiah's slick palm, throbbing nearly together. A good feeling, to want each other the same way. But soon, Ishiah's hand moves away and returns a second later, taking with it a fitful growl from Robin's chest as Ishiah's wrist moves in precisely the way he most likes it, just a little too rough to be sweet.

"Oh, me," he says, entirely feeling his conviction about that. It's been a week for Robin, which is a week longer than he normally has the ability to wait, but he has, for Ishiah.

As soon as he's given instruction, Ishiah releases Robin's cock, still enough oil slick on his hands to reach down to his own and give himself a thorough stroke, just enough to cover his arousal. His eyes fall to half-mast in concentration, breath catching slightly when he finds Robin ready, skin flushed against Ishiah's paler complexion. Wings quivering, Ishiah quickly presses himself inside in one fluid motion, back arching as a groan rumbles deep in his throat, but he's quick to recover. Slick hands smooth up and over the span of Robin's back, pulling him up and slightly away from the mattress, an easier angle as he grinds in deep, and also one that makes Robin's neck more accessible to the worry of Ishiah's teeth.

His hands continue to smooth along Robin's spine, smearing oil over his skin as Ishiah's hips drive up, harsher than usual — more desperate. Forcefully, he reaches up to tug at one of Robin's hands, coaxing the puck's arms around his neck for better support, then wastes no time in capturing Robin's lips in another kiss, hard and wanting.

It's perfect, when Ishiah slides in, easily and all at once with only the barest edge of pain. A perfect discomfort, like scratching an itch he had no way of reaching in quite the same way on his own. He answers the depth of the pleasure with a soft and needy moan as large hands readjust his body against Ishiah's, large hands with confidence and comfortable ownership.

Exactly as they should be, exactly as Robin loves them best. He likes a big man better than a small one in every way, and moreover, he likes Ishiah.

Their shifted angle brings more weight to rest on the joinder of their bodies, and Robin moves fitfully against the sensation until he finds his arms wrapped around Ishiah's neck for leverage. Then they can move together, sharp thrusts meeting the gentle, sinuous ride of Robin, wrapped neatly against the other man.

He breathes into the kiss, dragging in the air that Ishiah has already breathed out, tasting, swallowing his own small noises. He waited. Now he deserves every moment of this, happy enough simply to feel as if he and Ishiah were one skin, crawled up neatly next to each other, sharing their space.

There's no better way to distance Ishiah from his thoughts than to be held in Robin's arms, laying his burdens to rest as he's enveloped by a soft, steady heat. The balance shifts from one moment to the next, tension ever heightening, and it doesn't take long before Ishiah's instincts start to surface. He weaves his fingers into Robin's thick curls, tugging sharply to expose the column of Robin's neck, pressing his nose insistently against the scent before he sucks sharply at the pulse fluttering underneath. His hips slow, though they continue to rock in deep as Ishiah shifts to press Robin down against the mattress, sucking at the delicate heat of Robin's skin where it rushes underneath the line of his jaw.

Fighting over dominion comes more easily to Ishiah when he forgets himself, hands dropping to Robin's hips as he picks up the pace, lips parted with a rush of breath. He wants to consume — no, he wants to possess Robin in whatever ways possible, a growl settling in the back of his throat as he smooths a hand over to pull on Robin's cock. Drawing his head back, Ishiah focuses his gaze on Robin's expression, eyes meticulously mapping out every reaction and using them to navigate. Whatever is possible to make this the best it can be for Robin, simply because Ishiah can.

His knuckles graze against the beat of Robin's abdomen, hot to the touch. "Robin," Ishiah murmurs, voice strained as his wings fold close to his back. "Gorgeous."

He groans when Ishiah steals the lead from him, doesn't fight against claiming hands when they press him down to the blankets, doesn't fight the stretch driving into him, brushing each time against something inside him which seems, he would swear to any god, made simply to make this better. Perhaps that's true. He is made for pleasure, however much it might not be an idea that Ishiah would be comfortable, were Robin to share it.

It certainly feels true, each motion inside him bringing him closer to sorely needed release, each stroke of Ishiah's palm scorching and building Robin to impatience, even as he concentrates on washing himself in the feel of it. Their breaths in the quiet room. The salt-smell of Ishiah's skin. The way their bodies slide together where Robin's warm skin was printed and smeared with the sweet oil of almond.

It is the one simple compliment from Ishiah that throws Robin over the edge he has been staring down, and he finishes with a shout, finishes with laughter at the feel of his own come beaded across his chest and belly as his stares up at Ishiah's intent face with fluttering lashes.

There's an exquisite pleasure that comes from watching Robin as he arrives first, just as requested, just as promised. For Ishiah, this is more the culmination than his own pleasure, watching the sudden seize and release of tension from Robin's limbs, and the brightness of Robin's eyes as he laughs in triumph. The air feels charged around them, the energy drawn over Robin's skin with every brush of Ishiah's fingertips — along his collarbone, down his sternum, coming to a rest near the slight softness of Robin's navel.

From there, everything is brief, a quick few thrusts into tight heat before Ishiah leans down against Robin's body, lips hovering a few inches away from Robin's mouth as he arrives, finishing with a soft groan and spilling deep into Robin. His hand never stops moving, though it's now with a softer touch, tracing to the soft hairs at the back of Robin's neck to help pull him up for another kiss, slow and indulgent.

By the time he pulls away, he's grinning, nuzzling against Robin's cheek and searching for Robin's smile.

you may talk about your men of gideon; you may brag about your king of saul

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