Chapter Seven
Robin
Robin’s initial plans for the morning hadn’t involved this.
Five.
The electricity that haloed the beithir settled, and Robin double-fisted curved horns. Hard and mostly smooth under his hands, disrupted every few inches with faint ridges, and gleaming like pounded silver.
Six, seven.
Zyr’s breathing deepened between the numbers as tension leached slowly from his shoulders.
Good.
“Eight,” and Zyr’s barbed tail stopped gouging the floor.
A final beat and Robin’s quiet voice. Nine. Rather than let go, he tugged at the horns out of curiosity. Then, when the beithir inclined his head without complaint, because he damn well wanted to.
Hell, because the beithir had flirted. Asked. And Robin, idiot softie he was, didn’t see the point in withholding something that couldn’t hurt, and might help.
“Tell me if you’re still with me, Zyr.”
“I’m present, Raven-Robin.” Zyr drew in an unguided breath, slow as the last. “May I touch you?”
Robin hummed in quiet approval, shifting closer to the man. In the kitchen, it meant the horns were near his chest. Now, with Zyr in a chair, he felt the press of them to his stomach, at the curve of his ribcage as Robin leaned in, pressed them there.
“I’m glad to hear it, Zyr.” He squeezed those horns, because Zyr was here for it. Had admitted obsession and trust. Powerless. “Tell me what part of me you’re asking to touch.”
He felt a brush against his sneaker. Zyr’s tail, reaching for Robin with hesitant, fleeting pressure.
“Your ankle.”
“You may,” Robin said, the weight of Zyr’s tail coiling around his ankle as soon as the words left him.
“I— Hm. While we do this,” a gentle tug at his horns, “I think we need to be able to talk without risking debt in a fae way. ‘Thank you’ and asking for something, things like that. Debt-free zone. What do you think? There’s no wrong answer. ”
Robin knew what he would prefer. A space where Zyr could ask him for something, keep asking permission, without it risking his fae sensibilities, would be ideal. Unless Zyr didn’t like the games Robin did.
Robin had tried sex without games. It wasn’t satisfying for anyone involved.
“This is somewhat unclear,” Zyr said, the tip of his tail brushing against the cuff of Robin’s jeans. “Now? Whenever you act the raven, pushy and drawn to silver?”
See? Grit. Mouthy. Robin liked mouthy.
He flashed a sharp grin Zyr couldn’t see, because the beithir had his head down and eyes closed still. Because he’d listened.
“I told you, that was me being polite. I’m exceedingly pushy.” Pushy, but with the run of his thumbs over the slight bumps of Zyr’s horns, where he could reach.
“Would you accept ‘while you are on my allotment,’ Raven-Robin? No fae debts here, between us. I can give my named oath.”
“I trust you. No named oath needed.” Robin didn’t miss the way Zyr’s head became that much heavier as he moved his thumbs over his horns, breathing still level.
“I’m more than happy with ‘while I’m on your allotment.
’ It means I can say thank you, Zyr, for telling me you’re still present.
If the feelings wheel had a spoke for ‘pleased,’ I’d use it here. ”
“I’m unsure what I’m feeling,” Zyr admitted. “Differently than I was before. Will you still tell me where you’ll be when you leave here?”
Robin continued to stroke along the ripple-ridges of those curving silver horns. Zyr wasn’t wrong, about him being drawn to them. They were interesting. Silver, metallic looking, larger than someone should be able to stand with.
Right. Telling him his schedule. Explaining things.
“You don’t have to feel anything in particular right now. Just be here. I’m still going to tell you where I’ll be, because you told me how you were feeling earlier. You explained yourself. Feeling differently now doesn’t change that. I can clarify, if you need me to.”
Zyr shook his head minutely. “I believe I understand.”
“Excellent.” Thumbs up, then down. And again, as Robin let himself fall into his own words the way he’d asked Zyr to fall into the count. “I wake up around six each day.”
Said it low, there into Zyr’s darkness. Told him about making coffee for Jan. Leaving for work at half past seven. Coffee with Isobel when she got to the office.
How the first day back, he’d be filled in about management’s morale building attempts, and make sure no one fucked with his future coordinator.
It’d be Tuesday, so a meeting with his boss at ten.
Directly after, he always blocked off his calendar for a couple hours to catch up on shit he hadn’t had time for the day before.
Told Zyr of the bulk of his work days: most of it at a computer, except when he had to take some idiot to task or when Isobel needing to bitch at someone. His job of putting shit in order, clocking out at half past four, and a drive home.
“I’ve got a script to pick up, so I’ll stop by the pharmacy on the way home,” he explained, as if Zyr had asked.
And he had asked for details. He’d done so well.
“It means an extra twenty minutes of dealing with people, but worth it. Home by six and dinner. On Wednesday, Jan and I have a hockey game to get to. We’ll eat at the rink.
“There will be a lot of yelling, but it’s the ECHL, so probably not a lot of fighting.
We have season tickets. It’ll be over around ten, and we’ll be home by eleven.
Other nights, I read, dick around online, or go out with friends.
Weekdays, though, I’m asleep around eleven.
I’m due to come back to Faerie on Friday afternoon, if I get my work done fast enough. ”
Through it all, Zyr’s tail stroked the seam of his jeans, just the first few inches near his ankle. Nothing sexual to the touch. Meditative, if anything, and in time with the pace of his thumbs on Zyr’s horns.
“I don’t do anything wild or dangerous,” Robin finished, squeezing again. “Mostly a homebody. But I like it.”
Zyr let out a slow breath when Robin stopped talking. A steady sound, and his words were clear when he spoke. “I’m still here. I didn’t understand all of that. But I followed enough.”
Was there a word for something like this? Not-after aftercare that wasn’t necessarily tied to kink. That’s what the moment felt like, except for the ‘not tied to kink’ part. His hands where they were, Zyr the way he was. What they were doing.
Whatever it was, Zyr was wonderful in it.
“That’s all I needed from you,” Robin assured him, almost smiling. Beautiful.
“You’ll want to get to work now.” The bastard started to pull back, pull away, his shoulders tensing, and that wasn’t going to happen. Not with reluctance lacing Zyr’s voice the way it did.
Robin held fast to the horns, his arms braced against that pull. He tugged, short and firm. Zyr stilled, and his next breath was a rough, bitten off exhale.
“Don’t tell me what I want.” Steel edged Robin’s clipped words. “Ask or guess, but don’t tell me.”
“Apologies, Raven-Robin.” No reluctance in Zyr now, though he remained tense. No guilt, either.
Good. Perfect. Gorgeous fucking beithir.
“Apology accepted. You did well, Zyr. You stayed with me.” As warm as he could manage, which wasn’t very. “I talked longer than I thought I would. Tell me what you were doing with your tail. I’m curious.”
Curious and trying not to direct that curiosity toward wondering what else that tail could do.
Zyr’s tail disappeared at the question, only to return a heartbeat later. Feather light, but there.
“Is it an irritant? It was to remind myself to focus on you. And pleasant, like your stroking my horns.”
Huh.
Dragons could feel through their horns. Good to know.
Of course that meant Robin’s fingers itched to trail along the curve of one of those horns, curious as a cat (or raven). Later. Maybe. If Zyr wanted him to. Right that moment was for holding firm, and not exploring the horns in a way that was pleasant.
Robin made it up to himself by keeping up the slow ridge pets with his thumbs, the way he had been.
“It’s not irritating. I was curious, is all.
” Any other situation, Robin would have dragged the beithir’s head up and kissed him.
The bastard had used it to focus. “Pleased. Very pleased. What I want is to see your collection, Zyr. Not to get to work. Not yet.” Up and down, thumb over ridges and down toward skin without quite touching.
“I want you to show me the treasures you have under your skin. What you’ve spent your life putting together. ”
Robin felt a tremor through his touch. A deep breath and a shiver.
“I would like that,” Zyr said, voice gone rough at the edges. “You’ll have to let me go, magpie.”
He would, yeah. And Robin did want to see the library. What book-loving kid didn’t grow up wanting a floor-to-ceiling personal library collected through the ages? Zyr didn’t need a rolling ladder. Robin could make due.
What he didn’t want was to let go. That would mean releasing Zyr’s horns and moving away from the space that added frayed beats to the man’s voice, that singing thrum of electricity always just there.
All of the notes mixed with that quiet rush of standing like this, pushy and with a level of control he only found in such moments, the only times Robin’s hands were still and he knew how to move without overthinking every step.
“I know,” Robin agreed, hands moving slowly down the curve of Zyr’s horns in time with his own reluctant sigh.
The next time his thumbs stroked, it was along the base of Zyr’s horns, where flesh met silver.
He pulled Zyr’s head back, smiling at the sight of those still closed eyes.
(Intimate. Respected. Confident.) “Open your eyes. Look at me.”