The King of Sherwood Forest (1/1)
Title: The King of Sherwood Forest
Author: ninamazing, or Nina
Fandom: Robin Hood
Word Count: 1318.
Rating: Hard R. Or tasteful NC-17, depending on how you want to look at it.
Spoilers: Set after 2x06, "For England...!"
Characters: Robin/Marian.
Excerpt: These few hours could belong to them. They deserved that much.
Author's Note: A great woman once said, "I hope we have forever in Heaven, because we didn't have enough time on Earth, not nearly enough time ..." and I quite agree. Therefore, I have decided to give Robin and Marian more time in fanfiction, which is the great balm of the human spirit. Please enjoy.
It had been like a dance, that day: rushing through the castle with bows and arrows (and lockpick hairpins), running together in darkened hallways on invisible soundless feet, needing only to glance into each other's eyes to formulate their plan. He wished, just once, to know what it was like to be that dangerous and that beautiful all at the same time. Robin could lead a gang and knock out the sheriff's grunts with bravado, but Marian, as the Nightwatchman, displayed a deadly and yet merciful beauty. Nothing was rash with her, nothing undignified; she lent his schemes an undeniable credibility just by being involved with them.
A rush of gratefulness always came to him when he heard her familiar whistle, and he dashed away briefly from the crew to meet her along the outskirts of the camp.
She was smiling, today. Nothing too bad then.
"Well met, Hood," she greeted him, a cheeky glint in her eyes that barely ever appeared anymore. He wondered if, with her in this cheerful mood, it would be all right for him to kiss her.
"Guy is planning to visit Clun tomorrow," she continued. "He's extracting taxes from the doctor there -- to make him destitute, I expect, and unable to perform any more miracles on the villagers."
Robin's lips tightened. "Naturally," he sighed. "Well. Should be easy enough to drop by tonight, arrange to hide his real valuables, and give him some stolen goods to appease Gisborne."
"That's why I came to you," Marian said, grinning. She ran a hand lightly over his arm, and he curled the arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
"Is anyone suspicious?" he asked softly.
She shook her head. "They usually leave me alone on Bathing Day. And I didn't take a horse this time."
"Were you always this smart?" he wondered, only half-joking. He couldn't stop looking at her, couldn't stop thrilling to the feel of her body against him -- it got warmer, and closer, with each breath she took.
"I was always smarter than you," she whispered, playful.
"Don't tell the men," he hissed back, and the way her whole face shone as she watched him, it was impossible not to kiss her. He loved this: feeling her relax, instantly, as his lips touched her mouth, letting out a long breath she had been holding ever since the sheriff stole her father's position. He pulled away so he could look at her like that, all the notes of worry absent from her expression -- just for these moments.
"I wish you could be like this all the time," he told her.
She gave him a kiss, quick as a wink, but so possessive and firm it shot sparks of fire all the way to his feet.
"Robin," she said, and raised her eyebrows, as if expecting him to notice something.
"Marian?"
She laughed. "I'm just wearing a dressing-gown under this cloak," she admitted. "I rushed out after breakfast."
Oh.
"Marian," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers, his hands anxiously pressing into her cheeks. The Black Knights. The pact. Allan. Clun. Did they have time? "Are you sure?"
"I spend every day doing embroidery and drinking endless cups of tea and flattering important men," she muttered, "listening to stories of suffering villagers and Robin Hood's band of adventurous heroes. Not today. This day is mine. Now, come -- you must know of a mossy spot near here."
He took her hand, but he wasn't walking yet. "Marian --" he began again.
She shook her head. "Don't," she ordered. "We both know what has to be done." Her lips curved slightly upward, once more the grim smile. "Not even you can change that. Just -- just help me forget. For a little while."
His grasp on her hand tightened momentarily, and he reached up with his other arm to untangle her hair from its bun.
"Come," he said simply. He did know of a mossy patch, underneath some trees, hidden from view. She was right. These few hours could belong to them. They deserved that much.
"I should have told you about Clun after all this," she commented, her fingers making easy work of the ties on his shirt. "I'd hate for you to forget."
"I'll remember," he assured her. "But I'll think about it later." He pulled his shirt the rest of the way off and stuffed it under the hood of her cloak, so she was resting on covered ground, in nothing but a dressing-gown, with Robin bent over her. Every time he saw her like this he realized his memories had been wrong; her hair was blacker, her eyes brighter, and her body more full-figured than he had recently recalled.
"Robin," she breathed. He touched a finger to her lips. The vulnerability in her eyes undid him.
"Put your hands on my head," he whispered, "and close your eyes."
He knew she could tell, that she was following with her agile mind the trail of his hot breath down her stomach. She tensed when he reached the bottom of her skirt, but when he looked up her eyes were still closed, and she tugged gently on his head to guide it back down.
Robin went under, and Marian pushed the fabric of her gown aside and out of his way; he let his tongue trail from her knee up through the inside of her thigh. He thought about the muscles there, the hours he knew she spent practicing, the number of times she'd dropped guards and soldiers twice his size. Now all that warrior's strength was quiet, open -- waiting for him.
She pulled lightly at his hair again. Too slow.
Now he moved, spurring himself into action like he was snapping an arrow off a bowstring, burying his mouth in that part of her he'd only seen once, years ago, when they were supposed to be married, before he'd seen anyone else's blood spill by his hand. She moaned, almost cautiously, and all of that went away -- he could think of nothing but how she was soft and wet and warm and how he loved her. Marian.
He nudged against her, harder, and she gasped, gripping his head more tightly. He let his tongue roam, slowly, making circles and stars and taking a most roundabout path to explore her. At last she began to cry out his name and her hands let go, falling back toward the ground. He pushed faster, sucking at her, letting her feel every part of his face against her skin, and the way she bucked into him made him remember the bit about warrior's strength.
As she quieted, he brought his hands up to hold her body, to stroke her until she was nearly still. He left kisses on her legs, not wanting to let go of this just yet -- she was covering him. Marian was covering him.
He smoothed the gown back over her as he returned to her face, enfolding her in the cloak once more. She turned, giggling softly into his shoulder.
"You don't need to worry, Robin," she reassured him. "I'm quite warm."
He tipped her up by the chin to press kisses to her temples, her nose, her cheeks, and finally her lips.
"Did that help?" he asked.
She nodded. "I might start calling you the King of Sherwood Forest."
"What shall I call you?" he wanted to know.
"Your lady," she said, her voice low and husky, as she closed her eyes and nuzzled into him again. "Remember about Clun," she added as an afterthought, her voice stirring the hairs on his chest.
"We've still got time," he told her, gazing up at the sun.
"Good," she affirmed, and kissed him, letting it draw out, opening up her mouth so her tongue could graze across his body.
Bathing Day, he decided, was a good day.
Author: ninamazing, or Nina
Fandom: Robin Hood
Word Count: 1318.
Rating: Hard R. Or tasteful NC-17, depending on how you want to look at it.
Spoilers: Set after 2x06, "For England...!"
Characters: Robin/Marian.
Excerpt: These few hours could belong to them. They deserved that much.
Author's Note: A great woman once said, "I hope we have forever in Heaven, because we didn't have enough time on Earth, not nearly enough time ..." and I quite agree. Therefore, I have decided to give Robin and Marian more time in fanfiction, which is the great balm of the human spirit. Please enjoy.
It had been like a dance, that day: rushing through the castle with bows and arrows (and lockpick hairpins), running together in darkened hallways on invisible soundless feet, needing only to glance into each other's eyes to formulate their plan. He wished, just once, to know what it was like to be that dangerous and that beautiful all at the same time. Robin could lead a gang and knock out the sheriff's grunts with bravado, but Marian, as the Nightwatchman, displayed a deadly and yet merciful beauty. Nothing was rash with her, nothing undignified; she lent his schemes an undeniable credibility just by being involved with them.
A rush of gratefulness always came to him when he heard her familiar whistle, and he dashed away briefly from the crew to meet her along the outskirts of the camp.
She was smiling, today. Nothing too bad then.
"Well met, Hood," she greeted him, a cheeky glint in her eyes that barely ever appeared anymore. He wondered if, with her in this cheerful mood, it would be all right for him to kiss her.
"Guy is planning to visit Clun tomorrow," she continued. "He's extracting taxes from the doctor there -- to make him destitute, I expect, and unable to perform any more miracles on the villagers."
Robin's lips tightened. "Naturally," he sighed. "Well. Should be easy enough to drop by tonight, arrange to hide his real valuables, and give him some stolen goods to appease Gisborne."
"That's why I came to you," Marian said, grinning. She ran a hand lightly over his arm, and he curled the arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
"Is anyone suspicious?" he asked softly.
She shook her head. "They usually leave me alone on Bathing Day. And I didn't take a horse this time."
"Were you always this smart?" he wondered, only half-joking. He couldn't stop looking at her, couldn't stop thrilling to the feel of her body against him -- it got warmer, and closer, with each breath she took.
"I was always smarter than you," she whispered, playful.
"Don't tell the men," he hissed back, and the way her whole face shone as she watched him, it was impossible not to kiss her. He loved this: feeling her relax, instantly, as his lips touched her mouth, letting out a long breath she had been holding ever since the sheriff stole her father's position. He pulled away so he could look at her like that, all the notes of worry absent from her expression -- just for these moments.
"I wish you could be like this all the time," he told her.
She gave him a kiss, quick as a wink, but so possessive and firm it shot sparks of fire all the way to his feet.
"Robin," she said, and raised her eyebrows, as if expecting him to notice something.
"Marian?"
She laughed. "I'm just wearing a dressing-gown under this cloak," she admitted. "I rushed out after breakfast."
Oh.
"Marian," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers, his hands anxiously pressing into her cheeks. The Black Knights. The pact. Allan. Clun. Did they have time? "Are you sure?"
"I spend every day doing embroidery and drinking endless cups of tea and flattering important men," she muttered, "listening to stories of suffering villagers and Robin Hood's band of adventurous heroes. Not today. This day is mine. Now, come -- you must know of a mossy spot near here."
He took her hand, but he wasn't walking yet. "Marian --" he began again.
She shook her head. "Don't," she ordered. "We both know what has to be done." Her lips curved slightly upward, once more the grim smile. "Not even you can change that. Just -- just help me forget. For a little while."
His grasp on her hand tightened momentarily, and he reached up with his other arm to untangle her hair from its bun.
"Come," he said simply. He did know of a mossy patch, underneath some trees, hidden from view. She was right. These few hours could belong to them. They deserved that much.
"I should have told you about Clun after all this," she commented, her fingers making easy work of the ties on his shirt. "I'd hate for you to forget."
"I'll remember," he assured her. "But I'll think about it later." He pulled his shirt the rest of the way off and stuffed it under the hood of her cloak, so she was resting on covered ground, in nothing but a dressing-gown, with Robin bent over her. Every time he saw her like this he realized his memories had been wrong; her hair was blacker, her eyes brighter, and her body more full-figured than he had recently recalled.
"Robin," she breathed. He touched a finger to her lips. The vulnerability in her eyes undid him.
"Put your hands on my head," he whispered, "and close your eyes."
He knew she could tell, that she was following with her agile mind the trail of his hot breath down her stomach. She tensed when he reached the bottom of her skirt, but when he looked up her eyes were still closed, and she tugged gently on his head to guide it back down.
Robin went under, and Marian pushed the fabric of her gown aside and out of his way; he let his tongue trail from her knee up through the inside of her thigh. He thought about the muscles there, the hours he knew she spent practicing, the number of times she'd dropped guards and soldiers twice his size. Now all that warrior's strength was quiet, open -- waiting for him.
She pulled lightly at his hair again. Too slow.
Now he moved, spurring himself into action like he was snapping an arrow off a bowstring, burying his mouth in that part of her he'd only seen once, years ago, when they were supposed to be married, before he'd seen anyone else's blood spill by his hand. She moaned, almost cautiously, and all of that went away -- he could think of nothing but how she was soft and wet and warm and how he loved her. Marian.
He nudged against her, harder, and she gasped, gripping his head more tightly. He let his tongue roam, slowly, making circles and stars and taking a most roundabout path to explore her. At last she began to cry out his name and her hands let go, falling back toward the ground. He pushed faster, sucking at her, letting her feel every part of his face against her skin, and the way she bucked into him made him remember the bit about warrior's strength.
As she quieted, he brought his hands up to hold her body, to stroke her until she was nearly still. He left kisses on her legs, not wanting to let go of this just yet -- she was covering him. Marian was covering him.
He smoothed the gown back over her as he returned to her face, enfolding her in the cloak once more. She turned, giggling softly into his shoulder.
"You don't need to worry, Robin," she reassured him. "I'm quite warm."
He tipped her up by the chin to press kisses to her temples, her nose, her cheeks, and finally her lips.
"Did that help?" he asked.
She nodded. "I might start calling you the King of Sherwood Forest."
"What shall I call you?" he wanted to know.
"Your lady," she said, her voice low and husky, as she closed her eyes and nuzzled into him again. "Remember about Clun," she added as an afterthought, her voice stirring the hairs on his chest.
"We've still got time," he told her, gazing up at the sun.
"Good," she affirmed, and kissed him, letting it draw out, opening up her mouth so her tongue could graze across his body.
Bathing Day, he decided, was a good day.