Fic: Practice
Title: Practice
Fandom: Robin Hood
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Much has been watching him, and he's come to the bewildering conclusion that Tuck is simply unexplainable. Or, at least, probably doesn't work the way other people do.
AN: Written for zeitheist , who wanted Much and Tuck friendship.
Tuck is practicing with his swords, and it's something Much has never seen before.
Not in the half-hearted, perpetually irritated way Allan does, or in the fierce concentrated way that John does. Certainly not the careful, well-oiled and sometimes half-reckless way that Robin does.
Tuck seems to be treating it like a joy.
Like he couldn't think of anything more fun to do today, and has thusly thrown himself into the task with every piece of energy he has.
Though his face looks almost serene.
Much has been watching him, and he's come to the bewildering conclusion that Tuck is simply unexplainable. Or, at least, probably doesn't work the way other people do.
Which is the point, of course, where Tuck notices him watching.
He stops moving, swings slowly to something that's almost completely still save the the sway of his chest when he breathes, then he tips his head.
"Come here,"
"Why?" Much asks, though to be fair it's more of a suspicious demand. Because things that started like that rarely ended well for him.
Tuck made a face, some sort of amused hurt.
"Always so suspicious, come here." Tuck waves this time too, a loose harmless gesture that seems strangely compelling. Much pulls a face but slides off of the log he's perched on, brushes bits of moss off of his trousers, and cautiously goes to meet him.
Tuck's already laying his swords down, finding the weight of two staffs instead.
It becomes clear he wants company in his strange dance of skill.
"If you simply plan to humiliate me-"
"I plan nothing of the sort."
Much is inclined to trust him, he has an honest face. The sort of face that would make you do the right thing and like it.
Though Much has been fooled by honest faces before.
He hangs back, just a little, raises an arm and points at him carefully, it's not much of a threat but he wants to at least give some sort of warning,
"Or if you're going to make uncomplimentary remarks about my fighting skills."
Tuck laughs and reaches out, catches his wrist before he can lower his arm.
"I'm not, truthfully." He pulls, just a little, and Much lets himself be pulled, and not just because Tuck happens to be quite strong. "It's about finding out what your skills are, what you're good at, and sharpening those skills."
"I don't think I'm good at very much," Much says quietly, not sure how Tuck manages to lure him into so much honesty.
"Nonsense, everyone has something they excel at, something they just naturally understand."
Much used to think he understood a few things, but, try as he might, the ground keeps moving underneath him.
He takes the staff from him, accepts the challenge.
Tuck is fierce, for all that he's smiling the impacts are precise and real. It may not have the fear of a real battle but there is less of the pretend that Much is used to in sparring.
Much thinks Tuck is barely holding his full strength, but far from being annoyed he's strangely pleased that Tuck thinks him capable of withstanding it. That he thinks him opponent enough to fight him and not just play with him.
Much lets Tuck push him back without realising it, doesn't watch where he's being pressed until the ground shifts underneath him.
A hand catching his arm, holds him upright.
Tuck doesn't let him fall, and for all it seems like a decent thing for a human being to do, it still surprises him.
Tuck holds him there and looks at him, expression serious.
"You do have your own skills Much, and never let anyone tell you otherwise."
Fandom: Robin Hood
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Much has been watching him, and he's come to the bewildering conclusion that Tuck is simply unexplainable. Or, at least, probably doesn't work the way other people do.
AN: Written for zeitheist , who wanted Much and Tuck friendship.
Tuck is practicing with his swords, and it's something Much has never seen before.
Not in the half-hearted, perpetually irritated way Allan does, or in the fierce concentrated way that John does. Certainly not the careful, well-oiled and sometimes half-reckless way that Robin does.
Tuck seems to be treating it like a joy.
Like he couldn't think of anything more fun to do today, and has thusly thrown himself into the task with every piece of energy he has.
Though his face looks almost serene.
Much has been watching him, and he's come to the bewildering conclusion that Tuck is simply unexplainable. Or, at least, probably doesn't work the way other people do.
Which is the point, of course, where Tuck notices him watching.
He stops moving, swings slowly to something that's almost completely still save the the sway of his chest when he breathes, then he tips his head.
"Come here,"
"Why?" Much asks, though to be fair it's more of a suspicious demand. Because things that started like that rarely ended well for him.
Tuck made a face, some sort of amused hurt.
"Always so suspicious, come here." Tuck waves this time too, a loose harmless gesture that seems strangely compelling. Much pulls a face but slides off of the log he's perched on, brushes bits of moss off of his trousers, and cautiously goes to meet him.
Tuck's already laying his swords down, finding the weight of two staffs instead.
It becomes clear he wants company in his strange dance of skill.
"If you simply plan to humiliate me-"
"I plan nothing of the sort."
Much is inclined to trust him, he has an honest face. The sort of face that would make you do the right thing and like it.
Though Much has been fooled by honest faces before.
He hangs back, just a little, raises an arm and points at him carefully, it's not much of a threat but he wants to at least give some sort of warning,
"Or if you're going to make uncomplimentary remarks about my fighting skills."
Tuck laughs and reaches out, catches his wrist before he can lower his arm.
"I'm not, truthfully." He pulls, just a little, and Much lets himself be pulled, and not just because Tuck happens to be quite strong. "It's about finding out what your skills are, what you're good at, and sharpening those skills."
"I don't think I'm good at very much," Much says quietly, not sure how Tuck manages to lure him into so much honesty.
"Nonsense, everyone has something they excel at, something they just naturally understand."
Much used to think he understood a few things, but, try as he might, the ground keeps moving underneath him.
He takes the staff from him, accepts the challenge.
Tuck is fierce, for all that he's smiling the impacts are precise and real. It may not have the fear of a real battle but there is less of the pretend that Much is used to in sparring.
Much thinks Tuck is barely holding his full strength, but far from being annoyed he's strangely pleased that Tuck thinks him capable of withstanding it. That he thinks him opponent enough to fight him and not just play with him.
Much lets Tuck push him back without realising it, doesn't watch where he's being pressed until the ground shifts underneath him.
A hand catching his arm, holds him upright.
Tuck doesn't let him fall, and for all it seems like a decent thing for a human being to do, it still surprises him.
Tuck holds him there and looks at him, expression serious.
"You do have your own skills Much, and never let anyone tell you otherwise."