I like to think maybe Robbie has some strength to his frame from messing around with so many metal parts and dragging around giant canons and everything else he does that in a moment of emergency he just picks up Sportakook (bridal or over his shoulder, either way) and runs for dear life instead of Sportanerd grabbing him and everyone is confused and Sportacute is flustered because no one has carried him since he was a young babe and Robbie is confused as of why Sportaflop is so red and– yea… but
We need more Stronger-than-we-thought-he-was Robbie Rotten
he’s drunk and stumbly and his lips taste sharp like a lick of blue-raspberry vodka, but he’s soft and safe in even’s arms. warm. sleepy.
he’s a spoonful of melting sugar in even’s mouth.
“why’re we..” isak puffs out a tiger yawn, nuzzles even’s neck softly, where he’s tucked snug in against it. “… dancin’? m’tired. bed.”
even’s smile feels like a bundle of flowers blooming behind his ribs. he dusts a kiss to the top of isak’s head among his curls. breathes him in. says, so quiet in the blanket of moonlight-speckled dark of isak’s bedroom, “i like holding you, this close.”
isak’s laughter hiccups out of him, curls like smoke around even’s ear.
“you can hold me in bed?”
even can hear the smile twitching on isak’s lips - he’s pressing it flat, dipping his chin and brushing his pink, blushing cheek off even’s shoulder to hide it, but even knows.
“in a minute,” he whispers. “i just wanna hold you, like this.”
he’s waltzing them so, so slowly in a ring on the rug on the floor. their hands are threaded together, and he draws them in closer. listens with a sparkle in his smile to the hitch and tug of isak’s breath in his lungs as he presses a kiss to each of isak’s fingers - one by one.
they flutter beneath his touch, restless, until they’ve wound themselves free to tiptoe up along even’s jaw, cupping his cheek.
isak coaxes him into a kiss like that, eyes like spilled honey in the moonlight, and even- he just holds him even tighter.