8: Service

They blazed along the highway for another half-hour or so, passing a few civilian vehicles but also a troop transport for either HADES, the SSF or maybe even Hexagon's security forces. Robin paid it no mind as it granted them the same favor and therefore provided nothing exciting. Samael had mentioned the militia likely radioed for backup, but probably hadn't made any calls to the House; just like Bristol on the train, they wanted to keep the credit for their potential catch...and avoid scrutiny for getting fucked up by two rebels on a motorcycle.

As the Qoppan mountains veered into range, Samael took an exit onto a winding road that led to a worn-down rest stop. The dingy sedan they'd assisted on the highway was the only other vehicle in the overgrown parking lot, although it appeared that the building it serviced hadn't been in use for at least a decade.

Most of the windows were broken and boarded over, the front doors were chained together, and both vending machines flanking the entrance had been long vandalized and emptied of anything edible. Someone that Robin presumed was a fellow rebel came jogging out of a side door as the motorcycle rolled to a stop next to the car. Robin made out the handle of some sort of firearm sticking up from their waistband, though the lanky, cream-colored female flashed a relieved expression when she made out a familiar face.

"Oh, good, it's you guys," she called out before thumbing toward the building. "We're patching up Amy's arm, but otherwise all good." She smiled as the pair dismounted the bike. "Thanks for the assist, Sammy. You guys had good timing...you and...um..." She tilted her head and studied Robin, inevitably glancing down at his metal legs.

"Stumpy," Robin offered, taking a small bit of amusement from her flabbergasted reaction.

Samael scowled up at him but chuckled all the same, tossing an elbow into Robin's ribs. "This here's Robin. New guy, 'n a lucky guy, too -- he's gettin' one helluva introduction to rebel life!"

"No shit," she mumbled before nodding in Robin's direction. "And lucky is right! I saw you jump onto that van...that was insane."

Robin shrugged amicably. "There were guys in there."

She stared for a few seconds, then looked back at Samael. Samael flashed a grin and tossed out his own shrug. "I mean...he ain't wrong. There was guys in there." He met Robin's gaze again, and Robin kept his expression flat. "You get used to him actin' crazy, 's how I knew I needed to recruit 'im!" Samael concluded with a smile that Robin knew had been falsified for the sake of this confused lady's sanity.

"That's...fair," she said slowly as she turned back toward the building and gestured. "I'm Bobbie-Ann. Come, uh. Come meet the others, Robin. I think we'll be back on the road soon."

Robin waited for Samael to trot after her before falling into step with him. The two followed her to the side of the dilapidated rest stop, where they wiggled past a half-broken door and a small, impromptu barricade that no doubt helped to maintain the illusion of abandonment. Robin was starting to understand that the Movement truly made use of every possible bit of scrap. No wonder Samael had brought him in.

Two rebels were kneeling next to a third -- probably Amy, judging by the pile of crimson-stained bandaging at her side and the fresh gauze wrapped around her shoulder. She glanced up as one of the other two looked over his shoulder. His features reflected momentary alarm, a hand flitting down to his waist before he halted himself and quickly shifted an apologetic expression to Samael. "Sorry, guys. Old habits."

Samael smiled his reassurance. "All good, hon." He nudged Robin's side while inclining his head toward the apologetic rebel. "Morris used to be Blue."

Robin grunted, indifferent. "Shorty said I can kick everyone's ass, now. I got no beef."

He earned a frown from the group as Samael uttered an awkward laugh and waved his hands a bit. "I ain't said that, I ain't said that..."

Morris exhaled and nodded after a few seconds as he sized up Robin, who returned the favor mutely. Morris was on the scrawny side, though his pale green hide was pockmarked with scars. His reaction spoke of combat experience, too. Probably more than the rebels around him.

Behind him, Amy pushed herself to her feet with her good arm while poking at the torn sleeve of her injured shoulder. "Looks like it's done bleeding," she commented, making a face when the last rebel -- Jack? Jake? Joel? -- leaned into examine the bandaging. "Aw, it's fine, Jake, back off. We should head home."

Her fatigues were a bit tight on her tall form, showing a sliver of dark-brown midriff when she stretched her uninjured arm above her head. She turned her gaze briefly toward Robin, tipping her head once. "Amy. Bobbie-Ann and I used to work the fields in Lamtha. We were at L-Base until Wash sent us out here to help with numbers."

Robin vaguely recalled the name as he glanced down at Samael inquisitively. "He one of the hard-asses?"

"One of the hardest," Jake muttered while tossing a lazy salute. "I'm Jake. Used to run with a hoop but decided I'd rather do something more useful with my life." He certainly dressed the part of an ex-hoopster, wearing a black leather vest and ragged jeans that were a size too small for his heavyset frame.

Samael reached out to sling a playful punch into Jake's violet-furred arm. "Aw, what he means izzat he's a big ol' softie who wants to help save the ring!" He winked and Jake fixed him with a sour expression as he lifted a burly arm accompanied by a middle finger.

"Shaddup, ya tiny fucker..." He bent down to gather up the bloodied gauze, swatting away Amy's legs when she attempted to do it instead. "Keep that shoulder elevated, woman. Morris, get the car started. I don't want Nelson bitching us for getting back late."

"She'll probably understand considering we got waylaid by the minutemen," Bobbie-Ann said, hesitation creeping into her voice.

"No she won't," Morris replied around a grimace, hovering near Amy as they moved for the door. "You two mind taking the lead?" He glanced at Samael and Robin, eyes lingering on him a moment longer. "We could use your skills to handle anything on the way."

Samael chuckled and nodded several times as he bounced ahead of the small group to hold the door open as wide as it would go. "On it! Hopefully Robin won't hafta jump on no more cars...but at least I think we got it down to a routine now!"

"That's no goddamn excuse, Wurlitz!"

"Awww, I seent the cute li'l dolls you got in yer room -- we all got some personal effects we keep around!" An innocent grin perched on Samael's muzzle, though Robin wondered if it'd be as effective this time.

Silverman blanched. "Th-they aren't...they're...figurines, and...what the fuck were you doing in my room?!"

"See, I was followin' Thomas back to his room, but we were in a li'l bit of a hurry, went through the wrong door 'n ain't noticed 'til we was --"

"Oh god that's what that stain was..."

Robin snorted as Samael continued to plead his case, though his attention was drawn away from the spectacle when someone uttered his name.

"It is Robin, right?"

He glanced over to see...Morrin. Morse. Morris? That guy. He leaned against the crate next to Robin's, his arms folded as he looked from the half-discussion, half-argument back to Robin. When Robin only grunted, the light-green rebel gave a soft snort of his own. "Morris. Ex-Blue."

Robin met his gaze briefly before settling his eyes once more on Samael's exaggerated hand movements. "You already told me that, puta."

"So you are still with us here on Sirca. Haven't seen a spaced-out stare like that since Bravo Hill."

Robin's eyes rolled back to Morris with a languid smile. "Haven't given me all that much to pay attention to since I got here. You get some trauma from your time in Blue, army boy?"

Morris shrugged, though the way he rubbed the back of his neck spoke for him. "Pretty sure we all got our nightmares. You're just different from the kinda recruit Samael usually digs up."

"You lookin' for a blowjob or a bad joke?" Robin inquired.

The expression he received was somewhere between annoyed and charmed. "Maybe both," Morris replied with a faint smile before he tilted his head toward Robin's arm. "You know you got shot, right?"

Robin blinked and followed Morris's focus to the drying blood encircling the puncture wound in his bicep. "Shit, I sure did. Seems like it's closin' up, though."

"So I take it you'll ignore my suggestion to head to the infirmary?"

Robin pointed a lazy finger toward him. "Smart for a Blue. I'll be fine."

Another shrug as Morris elbowed away from the crate. "I don't doubt it. If he didn't bring you in for your spirit, then it's probably because you don't go down easy." He met Robin's gaze and half-smiled again. "We can use that around here, too." He reached out and tapped a fist against Robin's chestplate. "See you around, Red." Morris paused long enough to cast a glance toward Silverman's tirade against a still-sheepishly-grinning Samael. "I'm sure you aren't the 'thank you' type, so...maybe consider offering that blowjob to him once he's free, eh?"

He tossed up a two-finger wave before wandering off, leaving Robin as the sole witness for Samael hopping from paw to paw in front of Silverman.

"See, now we know what the inside'a that depot looks like! It's good intel!"

"Geezus, yeah, yeah, fine, just...just calm down and. Put that fucking armor back, and don't. Fucking. Go run off on another mission without checking in. Only reason I'm not telling Nelson is because she'd beat my ass, too..."

Samael wiggled his tail and set off a sonorous chime that made Silverman squirm, perhaps in recollection of some memory he attempted to regret. "Yessir, you got it, sir! But I ain't sure who'd ever be able to use this set, anyway..." He winked while slipping far too easily out of the waist harness. "Ain't no one else in these caves fittin' into this li'l get-up."

Silverman almost seemed entranced until he quickly shook his head and scowled. "That's because it was probably made for a kid. Some...fat. Kid." He turned around and then paused to glower at Robin. "Both of you get that gear to the armory before you settle down."

"Ay, I ain't fat!" Samael hollered at Silverman's back. "An' you wasn't complain' about this big ol' butt last cycle!"

Silverman's eyes widened and he ducked his head while breaking into a harried jog. "Get-that-shit-to-the-armory!" he repeated before disappearing through the doorway.

Robin reached down to pick up his bag as Samael paraded toward him with a bright smile. "An' that's how ya negotiate 'round here!"

"With your ass?" Robin deadpanned.

Samael bounced his eyebrows even as a sliver of guilt weaved through his gaze. "Hey now, we gotta use all the tools available to us if we're gonna win this war. An' part'a that is keepin' things nice 'n happy in our own ranks! You wouldn't believe how much fussin' there is 'tween our people at Sidewinder 'n Wash's folks o'er in Lactan...an' then ol' Q-Base right here in the middle like some kinda ugly cuzzin'..." He frowned at the ground for a few seconds before flashing another cheery smile. "So I do what I can to raise them spirits!"

Robin figured there was no real mystery to Samael's undertone. "You really do fuck everyone around here, don't you?"

He caught another minute twitch that was almost immediately replaced by a delighted laugh. "Hey, that ain't the only service I provide! Yer makin' me out to be nothin' more'n a cheap whore!" His pout might have been genuine if it wasn't followed by a cheeky wink. "Plus, it's good fer morale!"

Robin wasn't convinced Samael's Sampi armor was impenetrable. "Yours or theirs, gatito?"

Another enticing glimpse of self-contempt swept just as swiftly under a silken grin. "Heh. Like I said. It's good fer morale!" Samael chuckled and jerked his head toward the door, seemingly unwilling to fracture under Robin's targeted strikes. "Let's get the armor over to Aslan 'n his folks, then see about some drinks 'n grub. We earned it after them two fine jobs!"

Robin laced his fingers behind his head as he studied the hard-packed dirt-and-rock ceiling. His arm still throbbed, though Samael's first aid was better than he'd expected. Shorty had insisted the medic was a real sweet old lady, but Robin hadn't been in the mood to ignore a bunch more questions from another new face. Besides, the redneck must have had experience closing up wounds -- the line of stitching in Robin's arm was the straightest thing he'd seen from Samael so far.

Samael was sprawled at his side as he poked curiously at one of Robin's prosthetics. Two mostly-cleaned plates and several empty bottles spoke of their half-decent meal and less-than-half-decent buzz. Samael promised his homemade moonshine was worlds better, but all Q-Base currently had was some expired brew from a stolen supply drop. Robin wasn't one to seek his numbness through substances, though being tipsy would have made Samael's rambling less penetrative.

His leg shifted again as Samael prodded a bit more insistently. "Man, I'm jabbin' purdy hard...you sure you cain't feel nothin'?"

"Nah. Feel my leg move, but not the prick itself. Same way you don't feel the prick anymore either, I bet."

"Oh, haw haw, Sammy's a slut -- I almost miss the incest jokes," Samael chortled as Robin heard him shuffling at his side. Silence lulled between them for a moment until Samael's voice reached out. "Huh. How come you ain't unpacked yet?"

Robin frowned, ordered himself not to look, and then promptly disobeyed as he glanced down to see Samael on his back with his eyes focused on the other side of the room. Robin traced his gaze to the duffel bag he'd tossed into the corner, and his expression dimmed further. "Told you I didn't need that shit," he muttered.

"Aww, but there's probably some great stuff in there!" Samael exclaimed, rolling onto his stomach and then half-bounding across the floor on all fours. "C'mon!" He reached down to pull the zipper open while grinning over a shoulder. "C'n I take a peek??"

A flare of frustration nearly burst through his manufactured apathy. Robin clenched his jaw and then rolled his eyes in an attempt to return to disinterested. "Too late to ask now, dumbass. Whatever you want, though." He turned his eyes once more to the ceiling supports. "Don't even remember half the shit in there. They moved me around too much to waste time unpacking."

"Well, yer here to stay now!" Samael declared warmly as he unzipped the rest of the bag and then cooed. "Whoa! Paint!"

Another frown dashed across his muzzle before Robin tipped his head down enough to see Samael's tail swinging from side to side, letting out a series of far-too-bright chimes. "Dang, you weren't kiddin'! You brought yer graffiti supplies with ya to the War! See, you was a rebel in the makin' all along!"

Robin pursed his maw as his eyes locked onto the three or four cans of spray paint that Samael lined up at his side. A muted chuckle drew his gaze to the left as Rico squatted next to the paint with a lopsided grin before his friend gestured to one of the bare walls of Robin's room.

"Didn't do it on purpose," Robin grunted, tearing his eyes from Rico to scowl at Samael. "Probably forgot to take 'em out when I went to Basic."

"Aww, well...they feel full, so you should keep 'em fer when yer ready to add yer own hallway-scrawl!" Samael sang out before gasping in excitement. "Holy shit what're these!?"

Robin sat up slightly with a groan, looking more intently across the room at the glinting objects clutched in Samael's hands. "Puta, you ain't never seen-"

"Are these like fancy rings?!" Samael interrupted, far too delighted to wait for the explanation while he attempted to jam his thick fingers into one of the metal items. "Didja steal these from some rich guy at a fancy party or summin'!?"

Robin parted his jaws to try a second explanation, only to pause as a gruff laugh drifted in from the right. "Damn, hermanito...you traded up from those gloves, eh?"

He looked over at Carlos's bemused expression, then shrugged. "They don't get up after getting hit with those..."

"Huh? Oh, are they like..." Samael trailed off while attempting to work his smallest finger into a hole, which was enough to prompt Robin to groan, stand up, and cross the room.

"'Brass knuckles', babosa," Robin grumbled before peering over his shoulder at Carlos's wavering features. He shook his head and glanced down at Samael again, then snatched the weapons out of the redneck's palms. "Guess ya sausage fingers are too fuckin' thick..." He slid one of the knuckles over his own fingers, curling his digits into a fist and savoring the warmth of the metal in his grip. "Ya wouldn't have so many of those fuckin' teeth left if I'd had these on the train..."

Samael tilted his head to observe the well-fitting weapon for a few seconds before winking and twisting back around toward the bag. "Shit, I think ya still knocked a couple loose without 'em...but now you c'n use 'em fer a good cause!" Samael tugged out a few articles of clothing, then suddenly gasped even louder. "Holy-shit-izzat-what-it-looks-like?!" he squealed.

Robin's eyes drifted down again as Samael eased a hard plastic case out of the canvas bag. Another wave of unwelcome memories crashed against his rocky features and he forced out a laugh. "Depends what you think it looks like. It ain't for shovin' up ya ass..."

Samael wasn't bothered by his attempt at a crass remark, his eyes full of a delight that Robin didn't know how to process. Robin could do little more than watch as Samael popped open the case and then whooped his excitement. "Aw shit, it is!" he cried out, whipping his head around to beam up at Robin before looking back at the contents of the case. An acoustic guitar lay nestled in the black felt, its wooden body pockmarked and scarred in a crude emulation of its owner. Robin frowned when his eyes lit onto something tucked under the guitar's strings; he hadn't taken this thing out in almost two quarters, and he couldn't remember -- "You mind if I take 'er for a ride?!" Samael gushed, his fingers already sliding beneath the neck of the instrument to tenderly extract it from its snug cradle.

"Geezus, Shorty, what's the point of askin'?" Robin grumbled, his eyes still locked onto the rectangular slip of paper before he glanced at the brass knuckles again in a muted plea for a ceasefire from the recollections bombarding his thoughts.

"Aw, sorry, hon...I'm jus' so excited, we ain't gotta lotta musical-folks here at Q-Base, 'cept ol' Roy 'n that cutie-pie Morris, so I'm real pumped findin' out that...oooh, izzat...izzat you?!"

Robin blinked and stared down again at the photograph Samael had plucked free from the guitar resting across his lap. He clutched the faded memento in both hands as if it were made of fragile crystal, his voice hushed with respect even as his glee oozed through. "Lookit yer cute li'l smile! An'...all them cute girls...whoa, holy shit are those yer sisters?!? There's so many!"

Robin's feet were rooted in place, his jaw sealed shut as his eyes flicked between the smiling, laughing, grinning faces. The faces that had inspired him to find work, to bust his ass off helping put food on the table and clothes in the dresser and change in the tin can, the way family did.

"Yeah. Parents could barely keep the roof over our head, even working as much as they did. So we took care of each other."

Robin walked across the room, removed the brass knuckles and placed them on the shoddy nightstand while ignoring the way he felt Samael's gaze brush soothingly across his back. "You came from a tribe, you probably did the same shit."

"Aw, sure, we was the same way 'bout helpin' out, everyone pitchin' in to do their part 'n all that..." Robin looked over his shoulder and watched Samael trace a thumb across the picture. "But I wasn't never no caretaker, I was too y...too small." He set the photograph down and lifted the guitar to his chest while smiling at Robin again.

Samael's hesitation distracted Robin from his journey back to feeling nothing. He crossed the room again and squatted next to Samael before the faces in the photograph distracted him and lured his eyes downward.

Faces he had disappointed.

"So...you were the oldest one?"

Robin chewed his lip as he stared at their smiles. "Nah. But I was the only one who could drive. I didn't want them to work, they were going to school." They smiled back, reminding him of the hope they'd all shared in those days. Hope that was scrawled over every one of their faces in spite of the dreary surroundings.

Faces he had abandoned.

"Aww...that's so awesome of you! Yer such an amazing brother...an' I bet they miss you real bad..."

Faces he had betrayed.

Robin set his jaw and placed the photograph into the guitar case. He shrugged and sat down across from Samael, once more fixing him with a blank expression. "Wouldn't know. And wouldn't care."

The wall slowly shifted back into place, protecting him from his own failure.

"It ain't so bad to care..." Samael's blue eyes sought his soul, but Robin only offered his silence as he watched the redneck's hands shift along the guitar. A few seconds passed until Samael murmured a useless consolation before strumming a series of chords.

Robin wasn't expecting to hear anything beyond a bunch of disjointed noise, and his surprise leaked through the stony facade when an actual melody drifted from the guitar. "Dang, poor thing's outta tune...lemme see if I can..." Samael leaned down and began to pluck individual strings while twisting the respective knobs one at a time. His eyes lifted in time to see Robin's baffled expression, and Robin suffered another dazzling grin. "You ain't thought I knew what I was doin'!!"

Robin scoffed and remained quiet while Samael tweaked the last knob and then tried another simple melody. It was unexpectedly coherent, although the tone was harsh and exaggerated, much like the odd grip Samael used around the neck of the guitar.

"I still ain't sure if you do know what ya doing," Robin complained after shaking off the bewilderment, trying to ignore the curious approach of paws from behind. "Looks like ya tryin' to choke the thing, puta..."

"Aw hell, you ain't wrong," Samael lamented around a deft run of his fingers along the strings. "I always was better with an electric...these li'l strings ain't even metal..." He glanced up again while brandishing a warm smile, spinning the guitar by the neck and offering it to Robin. "Show me summin'?"

Robin wrinkled his muzzle as Pauline sat next to them expectantly. "Yeah, yeah, I'll play him something," he groused before accepting the guitar from Samael, who tilted his head with a quizzical expression. Robin paid him no mind and glanced down at his hands, frowning when they slid slowly into place.

Warmth trickled through his veins as memory took the reins and guided his fingers into a soulful ballad. The notes drifted through the small room, even if they echoed in his ears like they had in the auditorium. He heard Samael's happy sigh blend with the murmur of approval, and he closed his eyes to allow his hands full control. They glided across the strings with fewer and fewer mistakes to fill the space with the sonorous tune as his soul swelled with hard-earned pride.

His eyes flit open to see Samael's ecstatic features, his whole body bent toward Robin as delight and desire ran across his muscular frame in equal measure. Next to him, Pauline remained as encouraging as ever, her gaze full of approval.

Robin hated it.

He didn't deserve her smile.

His fingers clenched and the notes struggled to be freed, fighting to escape the guitar with pinched and tinny whimpers. He wasn't worthy of her approval, of these emotions, of this memory.

He grit his teeth and shoved against the warmth, welcoming the static hum back to his consciousness. And as he looked up again through the growing haze, Pauline's proud features began to fade, crumbling into the numbing fog. Her messy mane drifted into smoke, her gleaming smile dissolved into melting glass. Bit by bit his jagged strumming chipped away at her visage until only a single, crimson-flecked eye remained to fill him with bitter accusation.

His hand lifted from the guitar mid-melody, abruptly returning the room to silence.

This was what he deserved.

* * *

Samael flinched, his eyes snapping open in confusion. His soul had been yanked from a cozy cavern and left standing in a frozen wasteland, transported violently by the sudden absence of Robin's entrancing melody. He mumbled a few incoherent words as his brain sputtered back to a start, gesturing with one hand. "Hey...that was beautiful, hon, keep on playin'! I ain't heard guitar like that before..."

Robin stared at him for a few seconds until Samael realized his eyes weren't trained on him, but something that floated between them. Another painful memory, perhaps. Robin shook his head briskly and then clutched the guitar by the neck to hold it out like an unwanted pet. "Nah. I'm good."

Samael bit his lip, hungry for more of the nourishing warmth. "Aw, c'mon, jus' a li'l bit more?" he pleaded, shifting to his knees to shuffle closer. "Yer real talented."

The guitar twitched but Robin's flat expression remained, his eyes finally focusing on Samael. "I'm outta practice," Robin replied bluntly before he jerked his head to the stitching across his arm. "This shit still hurts, too. Think I pulled somethin' in my back fucking up that van." He thrust the guitar toward Samael more insistently, and Samael relented with a soft murmur of dejection.

He gingerly accepted the instrument from Robin, savoring the brush of their fingers when it traded grips. It wasn't as soothing as the embrace of the music...but it was still warm, still a salve to the needling of his urges. Samael brandished a reluctant chuckle to fend off the growling hunger while he set the guitar back into its case, taking a moment to tuck the photograph into the felt as well.

"Well...I am purdy good at givin' a nice massage if ya like," Samael offered, incurable of the small smile that lifted his features. He glanced back to see Robin already halfway across the room, his shirt dropping from his fingers to the floor.

"Ya don't say," Robin replied, sarcasm blending effortlessly with indifference. He peeked over a shoulder to meet Samael's gaze. "Ya offering a distraction?"

Samael chewed on his tongue even as his eyes scoured the scars skimming across Robin's musculature. "Only kinda ache I cain't fix is a heartache..." He climbed to his feet to follow Robin toward the bed while begging his soul for temperance. "But if all you want's a distraction, well. Purdy good at that, too."

Robin snorted and flopped onto the mattress before fixing Samael with an expectant look. "Don't I know it, Shorty. If it wasn't for the fact you can take a punch as easy as ya take a dick, I'd be surprised you weren't just getting rented out for easy cash. Bet you wouldn't even ask for a cut, the way you get into it." He folded his arms under his chin as his tail swayed slowly, drawing Samael's eyes from his rippling back to his equally-attractive rump. "Movement wouldn't have a resource issue if they used you properly."

Another small laugh, though it wasn't as easy as before. "We all got our pleasures," he responded while climbing onto the bed to kneel astride his companion's waist. "There ain't no shame to give or take."

He leaned down to start kneading his palms into Robin's shoulderblades, and Robin grunted softly. "Funny choice of words, gatito. Seems like all you ever think about is giving and taking."

Samael forced out a chortle and ignored his own words as a bolt of self-loathing crashed into his bubbling desire. "Aw, well, 's just who I am! Even mah best friend calls me a whore, it's one'a life's simple truths." He tried to focus on the circular motions of his fingertips despite the way Robin's hips shifted from side to side. "I'm good with it!"

Robin's silence felt almost disappointed. A moment or two passed while Samael worked his hands up toward his companion's shoulders, but as his claws dug lightly into the taut muscles, Robin's voice drifted out with a less-playful lilt. "Damn, thought I was being obvious, didn't think I'd have to dumb it down for ya that hard." Samael blinked in falsified confusion as his twitching tail ruined any illusion of chaste assumptions. "I'm waitin' for you to quit pretending this ain't just foreplay and get to the part where we fuck."

Samael spat out the giggle, hating how his body surged with need, hating even more the way his tongue raced hungrily across his muzzle. "Gawddamn, hon, yer makin' it real hard to prove all them folks wrong."

Robin arched his back into Samael, earning a heated pant across the base of his skull. "Then maybe they ain't wrong," he suggested before twisting around beneath Samael so they could stare at one another.

Samael bit his lip and feigned deliberation even as his hands arranged themselves at Robin's waistband to perform their well-rehearsed dance. "Aww hell, yer hot 'n I'm horny," he mumbled over the whisper of descending cloth. "Let's make the most'a this downtime..."

Samael bit his lip and shifted his weight on the mattress in an attempt to shuffle closer. "I...that ain't me, though. I don't want you to think--"

"What, that you're only gonna come by for an easy fuck?" Robin chuckled, though there was little levity in his tone. "Why would I complain about that?"

The self-loathing hung heavily from his shoulders. "But. I...this ain't jus' about me," he mumbled, searching Robin's eyes. "I wanna talk, hon, I wanna know--"

"Shoulda thought about that before ya went feral on me," Robin interrupted with a flat smile. He jabbed a thumb lazily over a shoulder. "How 'bout you get outta here before it gets any more awkward? Let me know when you gotta job for me. Handjob, blowjob, rebel job, whatever. You know where to find me."

Samael chewed his tongue and he saw the simple truth in Robin's gaze. Regret had a similar taste to failure, and he was fairly certain he swallowed both as he sighed and then shuffled off the decimated mattress. "I...y-yeah. A'right," he murmured, casting his eyes to the floor while stepping into his shorts and taking a ragged breath. "Listen, whenever yer ready to..."

"Yeah, ya said it before," Robin said dismissively, twirling a finger in a loose circle as he laid his head onto the pillow and closed his eyes. "See you next time, gatito."

Samael's tail wilted in dejection. "See you soon, Robin..."

Red vs Blue © Rooster Teeth. Halo © 343 Industries. Concept by Myshu, assisted by The Department of Chupapology.