*flail* Late to the part-haaaay?
Name: halfapint
Recipient: thinklast
Hello, my dear. ^_^;; I have... Three parts of your gift. It's sort of a five part fic, + continuation/potentially badly written NC-17 goodness, and eventually a video I'd started making too. :P Unfortunately the 2 parts + continuation porn will be up tomorrow (being it's stuck on my mum's computer) and the video... will be in your posession WELL after the deadline because my dad's computer (which has ALL my footage on it!) has temporarily died and is in the process of being resurrected.
Hopefully I have done you some justice with these? And perhaps these will sate until tomorrow? (They do get... better. And less... silly/dramatic. ^_^;; Or, at least, the last three parts will be...? XD)
Title: Stubborn
Summary: They like each other. They show it, they act on it; they just won't admit to it.
Disclaimer: Not mine. If I could? Your Christmas present, but I can't. ;_;
Part 1: Dungeons and Dead Men ~ Will dislikes his new cellmate. 1x01.
Will didn’t want to die. He had too many things to do yet.
He had been pacing his cell for the last half hour, somehow afraid that the moment he sat down the guards would come to take their last requests and give them a short, sharp drop. It was quite a shock to him, then, when the guards came down not to finally drag the three lads away to meet their maker, but instead to give them an older, wiser… and extremely annoying companion.
Will instantly disliked the older man, who sat by the cell door, occasionally glancing back and giving him a cheeky grin. Here, Will thought, was a thief, a liar, a cheat… This is the sort of man who should be filling up these cells.
Not young boys who had committed no real crime.
He looked over into the next cell, at his younger brother and poor Benedict, huddled together, hidden by the shadows. His gaze lingered at the pair; they were just huddled together for comfort, weren’t they? But their arms were intertwined and, as far as he could tell, roaming each others bodies. He couldn’t make out their faces, but he found himself both repulsed at the notion that his brother was making out with another boy, and also slightly jealous that Luke would at least be able to say he’d kissed someone who wasn’t family.
“Wouldn’t’ a picked you out as the sort who liked to watch. But it’s always the quiet ones…” a voice muttered in his ear. Will shuddered, whether due to the thought that the criminal he was stuck with was so close or whether it was due to the warm breath ghosting across his skin, he was never sure of.
Will turned, and scowled.
“That’s my brother you’re talking about,” he growled, trying to sound threatening, but all it did was garner a larger grin from the outlaw.
“Told you! Always the quiet ones!”
Will turned away in a huff and resumed his pacing. The outlaw joined him in his pacing, humming all the while, annoying the young man even further.
When he started humming, Will snapped.
“Can’t you take this seriously? We’re all about to die, you’re not even from Locksley, my brother is committing sin and all you can do is smile and whistle drunkard’s songs?!”
The other man continued to smile.
“No point fretting yet, is there? That Robin bloke’s doing his best to get us all off the hook, for all you know I might have been born in Locksley and moved, sin is lying with a man as one does with a woman, not snogging another bloke senseless, and my mum taught me that song!” he replied, the last bit sounding just a little bit like he was whining. Before Will could pick him up on it, however, the outlaw had fallen back into his cocky stance, grin upon his face once more.
“Bet you’re just jealous, anyway.”
Will stopped pacing for just a moment, stunned. Had he just said what he thought he said?
He quickly lost his train of thought as the older man took his opening; lips descended on lips, a hand wound it’s way into his hair and the carpenter found his breath completely stolen. After a moment, he realised what was happening and pushed the outlaw away, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and settling down in the corner furthest from the cell door, glaring coldly at his first kiss, who returned to leaning against the cold metal bars and whistling happily, as though he’d only done it to wind the poor boy up.
All he could really think about was how he wished the strange man would do it again.
When they finally escaped, when Luke and Dan were on their way up to Scarborough, Will stubbornly dismissed the notion as part of his fear of dying.
Part 2: Durnkard's Dare ~ Allan's drunk. So is everyone else. Any time between 1x02 and 1x04.
It had been a hard day. Three raids upon the north road, two which descended into fights with the Sheriff’s guards, and the last resulted in Much scolding a not-really-listening Allan and a not-really-interested Roy for trying to kidnap two young ladies while the rest of the outlaws laughed at the scene.
All in all, as Robin said, they deserved to get totally and utterly plastered, ale provided by the noble and generous Sheriff of Nottingham, of course.
Allan was quite happily drunk, and singing loudly to boot. He’d always wanted to be a bard when he was little, going around singing of great heroes and legendary feats of bravery, and his repertoire of songs was quite wide for one not trained in the profession.
Unfortunately, he had a lousy voice. Of course, this didn’t stop him. In fact, the others were so drunk that they were encouraging him to continue, and he grabbed Much’s arm, swinging him round as they sang together.
“Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We’ll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You’re next to sing but you’re never to think,
We’d let you sing dry sir that’s a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink!”
“And I do believe that calls for another drink!” shouted Much, words slurring slightly as he staggered to his master’s side and tried to sit down, missing the tree root by a few inches and instead landing in a pile of leaves, causing laughter among the other men.
Allan was a bit better at holding his drink, or perhaps he was just more fortunate than the poor manservant, as he collapsed next to Will, grinning broadly while he watched the younger man laugh. Through the drunken haze, he admired the way Will’s cheeks were flushed red, how it highlighted usually solemn eyes, eyes currently dancing with merriment, how the ale had made soft pink lips wet… He wondered idly what Will would taste like, after their meal and all the alcohol. He entertained the notion that the younger outlaw would taste of the delicious blueberries John had managed to procure, and then decided he was more likely to taste of alcohol, and possibly vomit. The thought wasn’t pleasant, but it was true. Will had already thrown up a few times, but was still content to drink. Or perhaps he would taste the same he did on that first day in the cells, of copper and dirt and something Allan simply couldn’t put his finger on.
The other outlaws continued their festivities, leaving Allan to his thoughts on Will and what that mysterious taste was, which became progressively more absurd as he drank more ale. Much later, while it was still dark enough to justify the term “night” (but only just), his curiosity got the better of him. He staggered over to his near paralytic friend and fell on top of him, brushing his fingers across the ale-softened lips before he kissed Will, gently at first, then pushing his tongue inside to truly find out how he tasted, to see if he could identify it. Will wasn’t exactly responsive, but he didn’t push him away this time, either.
Just as he was about to figure it out, he felt large hands haul him up and away, a strand of saliva following him for a moment before breaking and falling down Will’s chin, and Allan found himself facing a slightly angry John and a highly amused Robin.
When he woke up the next morning, head pounding and stomach churning, he decided that it must have been the alcohol, and that perhaps he shouldn’t touch the barrel for a while. Will didn’t even know it had happened, and Allan certainly wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.
Part 3: Cart Secrets ~ Allan and Will are stuck in a cart. 1x04.
Stuffed in a small box, unable to see anything except the dark itself, Allan was causing quite a fuss. He kept shuffling around, trying to turn and push Will closer to the edge of the cart, crushing his sides. The seventh time Allan shoved his elbow into Will’s side, he snapped. They’d barely been in the damn thing ten minutes!
“Mind where you’re poking!” he whispered vehemently in Allan’s ear.
“I just needed to move, alright?”
“You’ve done nothing but move since we got into the cart, Allan,” Will hissed, digging bony fingers into Allan’s side in order to try and get the older man to understand what was so irritating about his movements. Allan shuffled away from the probing digits and scowled, though Will couldn’t see it. He thought he heard a muttered “Sorry”, and left it at that. He’d gotten his point across… Or, at least, he’d gotten the closest he’d get to a proper apology from Allan.
Unfortunately, a few minutes later, the conman was back to prodding and poking Will in his bid to dominate the small space. Will kicked his shin.
“Ah!” Allan gasped, repeating the sound a few times as he tried to reach his leg and rub it, as one is wont to do when injured. Unfortunately, all it resulted in was his snuggling his head into Will’s chest, who found it oddly uncomfortable and yet extremely pleasant at the same time. He found himself bringing his hand up and stroking Allan’s head, murmuring reassurances and rubbing his back as he used to do with Luke when he was being picked on by the older, meaner kids.
Eventually, he said what he’d been thinking.
“You’re scared of small places?” he whispered, unsure if they were close enough to Nottingham to warrant a cessation of conversation, and unwilling to let the others overhear them.
Allan nodded into his chest. He pulled his head back, out of Will’s arms and shifted closer to the edge, almost uncomfortable by his admission. Will bit his lip. He’d been hoping to get Allan to talk… He wanted to know about the thief’s past, to try and understand why he thought the way he did, why he acted the way he did. He’d known Allan long enough to tell that most of his tales of childhood adventures were lies - there was no Mary Susan following him round the village he grew up in (which he maintained was Locksley whenever he was telling Will, eyes glittering with mischief and memory as he did so), no mighty oak scaled by none but him, and no uncle who’d lost his fortune on dog fights. Sometimes he wasn’t sure that the tales
Allan’s mother being the daughter of a bard, therefore explaining his vast knowledge of songs, was even true. And, in Will’s opinion, it was the only one that was at all likely. You could always tell by his eyes.
Had they been going over rocks, not grass, it was unlikely Will would have heard the soft admission from his companion.
“Got shoved in Old Man Smythe’s coffin by some older kids when I were seven, just afore he were buried,” Allan whispered, shoulders shaking slightly. Will’s anger, barely held on to, lessened a bit more. “Just me an’ a corpse, trapped. I’d been kicking an’ screaming fer a couple hours when they finally found me in there; it’d been a fire, terrible one, dry summer had made the crops fail and everything in sight was good kindling, an’ ‘is ‘ole family were deader than a plank o’ wood.”
The cart ran over a bump, causing their heads to bang into the roof of the cart, but the jolt had been enough for Will to utilise the light.
Allan was grinning, damn him!
Will slapped his companion and scowled.
“No lies! That isn’t funny, Allan! It’s a horrible tale!”
Allan laughed. “It made me feel a bit better!”
Will leaned in to tickle him a bit as revenge, when the cart jolted once more and Will was thrust into Allan’s side, their faces meeting, Allan’s still open mouth taking in Will’s nose and top lip, teeth catching the skin and making Will gasp. Whether an accident or deliberate, Will would never know, but Allan’s tongue slipped out, licked the lip caught in his mouth before he drew back, apparently embarrassed.
“Er…”
“Yeah…”
The cart stopped before either could get any further, before the problem could be addressed, and it was show time. Too much happened to apologise later, too many other things to think about.
More to come soooooon...~
Recipient: thinklast
Hello, my dear. ^_^;; I have... Three parts of your gift. It's sort of a five part fic, + continuation/potentially badly written NC-17 goodness, and eventually a video I'd started making too. :P Unfortunately the 2 parts + continuation porn will be up tomorrow (being it's stuck on my mum's computer) and the video... will be in your posession WELL after the deadline because my dad's computer (which has ALL my footage on it!) has temporarily died and is in the process of being resurrected.
Hopefully I have done you some justice with these? And perhaps these will sate until tomorrow? (They do get... better. And less... silly/dramatic. ^_^;; Or, at least, the last three parts will be...? XD)
Title: Stubborn
Summary: They like each other. They show it, they act on it; they just won't admit to it.
Disclaimer: Not mine. If I could? Your Christmas present, but I can't. ;_;
Part 1: Dungeons and Dead Men ~ Will dislikes his new cellmate. 1x01.
Will didn’t want to die. He had too many things to do yet.
He had been pacing his cell for the last half hour, somehow afraid that the moment he sat down the guards would come to take their last requests and give them a short, sharp drop. It was quite a shock to him, then, when the guards came down not to finally drag the three lads away to meet their maker, but instead to give them an older, wiser… and extremely annoying companion.
Will instantly disliked the older man, who sat by the cell door, occasionally glancing back and giving him a cheeky grin. Here, Will thought, was a thief, a liar, a cheat… This is the sort of man who should be filling up these cells.
Not young boys who had committed no real crime.
He looked over into the next cell, at his younger brother and poor Benedict, huddled together, hidden by the shadows. His gaze lingered at the pair; they were just huddled together for comfort, weren’t they? But their arms were intertwined and, as far as he could tell, roaming each others bodies. He couldn’t make out their faces, but he found himself both repulsed at the notion that his brother was making out with another boy, and also slightly jealous that Luke would at least be able to say he’d kissed someone who wasn’t family.
“Wouldn’t’ a picked you out as the sort who liked to watch. But it’s always the quiet ones…” a voice muttered in his ear. Will shuddered, whether due to the thought that the criminal he was stuck with was so close or whether it was due to the warm breath ghosting across his skin, he was never sure of.
Will turned, and scowled.
“That’s my brother you’re talking about,” he growled, trying to sound threatening, but all it did was garner a larger grin from the outlaw.
“Told you! Always the quiet ones!”
Will turned away in a huff and resumed his pacing. The outlaw joined him in his pacing, humming all the while, annoying the young man even further.
When he started humming, Will snapped.
“Can’t you take this seriously? We’re all about to die, you’re not even from Locksley, my brother is committing sin and all you can do is smile and whistle drunkard’s songs?!”
The other man continued to smile.
“No point fretting yet, is there? That Robin bloke’s doing his best to get us all off the hook, for all you know I might have been born in Locksley and moved, sin is lying with a man as one does with a woman, not snogging another bloke senseless, and my mum taught me that song!” he replied, the last bit sounding just a little bit like he was whining. Before Will could pick him up on it, however, the outlaw had fallen back into his cocky stance, grin upon his face once more.
“Bet you’re just jealous, anyway.”
Will stopped pacing for just a moment, stunned. Had he just said what he thought he said?
He quickly lost his train of thought as the older man took his opening; lips descended on lips, a hand wound it’s way into his hair and the carpenter found his breath completely stolen. After a moment, he realised what was happening and pushed the outlaw away, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and settling down in the corner furthest from the cell door, glaring coldly at his first kiss, who returned to leaning against the cold metal bars and whistling happily, as though he’d only done it to wind the poor boy up.
All he could really think about was how he wished the strange man would do it again.
When they finally escaped, when Luke and Dan were on their way up to Scarborough, Will stubbornly dismissed the notion as part of his fear of dying.
Part 2: Durnkard's Dare ~ Allan's drunk. So is everyone else. Any time between 1x02 and 1x04.
It had been a hard day. Three raids upon the north road, two which descended into fights with the Sheriff’s guards, and the last resulted in Much scolding a not-really-listening Allan and a not-really-interested Roy for trying to kidnap two young ladies while the rest of the outlaws laughed at the scene.
All in all, as Robin said, they deserved to get totally and utterly plastered, ale provided by the noble and generous Sheriff of Nottingham, of course.
Allan was quite happily drunk, and singing loudly to boot. He’d always wanted to be a bard when he was little, going around singing of great heroes and legendary feats of bravery, and his repertoire of songs was quite wide for one not trained in the profession.
Unfortunately, he had a lousy voice. Of course, this didn’t stop him. In fact, the others were so drunk that they were encouraging him to continue, and he grabbed Much’s arm, swinging him round as they sang together.
“Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We’ll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You’re next to sing but you’re never to think,
We’d let you sing dry sir that’s a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink!”
“And I do believe that calls for another drink!” shouted Much, words slurring slightly as he staggered to his master’s side and tried to sit down, missing the tree root by a few inches and instead landing in a pile of leaves, causing laughter among the other men.
Allan was a bit better at holding his drink, or perhaps he was just more fortunate than the poor manservant, as he collapsed next to Will, grinning broadly while he watched the younger man laugh. Through the drunken haze, he admired the way Will’s cheeks were flushed red, how it highlighted usually solemn eyes, eyes currently dancing with merriment, how the ale had made soft pink lips wet… He wondered idly what Will would taste like, after their meal and all the alcohol. He entertained the notion that the younger outlaw would taste of the delicious blueberries John had managed to procure, and then decided he was more likely to taste of alcohol, and possibly vomit. The thought wasn’t pleasant, but it was true. Will had already thrown up a few times, but was still content to drink. Or perhaps he would taste the same he did on that first day in the cells, of copper and dirt and something Allan simply couldn’t put his finger on.
The other outlaws continued their festivities, leaving Allan to his thoughts on Will and what that mysterious taste was, which became progressively more absurd as he drank more ale. Much later, while it was still dark enough to justify the term “night” (but only just), his curiosity got the better of him. He staggered over to his near paralytic friend and fell on top of him, brushing his fingers across the ale-softened lips before he kissed Will, gently at first, then pushing his tongue inside to truly find out how he tasted, to see if he could identify it. Will wasn’t exactly responsive, but he didn’t push him away this time, either.
Just as he was about to figure it out, he felt large hands haul him up and away, a strand of saliva following him for a moment before breaking and falling down Will’s chin, and Allan found himself facing a slightly angry John and a highly amused Robin.
When he woke up the next morning, head pounding and stomach churning, he decided that it must have been the alcohol, and that perhaps he shouldn’t touch the barrel for a while. Will didn’t even know it had happened, and Allan certainly wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.
Part 3: Cart Secrets ~ Allan and Will are stuck in a cart. 1x04.
Stuffed in a small box, unable to see anything except the dark itself, Allan was causing quite a fuss. He kept shuffling around, trying to turn and push Will closer to the edge of the cart, crushing his sides. The seventh time Allan shoved his elbow into Will’s side, he snapped. They’d barely been in the damn thing ten minutes!
“Mind where you’re poking!” he whispered vehemently in Allan’s ear.
“I just needed to move, alright?”
“You’ve done nothing but move since we got into the cart, Allan,” Will hissed, digging bony fingers into Allan’s side in order to try and get the older man to understand what was so irritating about his movements. Allan shuffled away from the probing digits and scowled, though Will couldn’t see it. He thought he heard a muttered “Sorry”, and left it at that. He’d gotten his point across… Or, at least, he’d gotten the closest he’d get to a proper apology from Allan.
Unfortunately, a few minutes later, the conman was back to prodding and poking Will in his bid to dominate the small space. Will kicked his shin.
“Ah!” Allan gasped, repeating the sound a few times as he tried to reach his leg and rub it, as one is wont to do when injured. Unfortunately, all it resulted in was his snuggling his head into Will’s chest, who found it oddly uncomfortable and yet extremely pleasant at the same time. He found himself bringing his hand up and stroking Allan’s head, murmuring reassurances and rubbing his back as he used to do with Luke when he was being picked on by the older, meaner kids.
Eventually, he said what he’d been thinking.
“You’re scared of small places?” he whispered, unsure if they were close enough to Nottingham to warrant a cessation of conversation, and unwilling to let the others overhear them.
Allan nodded into his chest. He pulled his head back, out of Will’s arms and shifted closer to the edge, almost uncomfortable by his admission. Will bit his lip. He’d been hoping to get Allan to talk… He wanted to know about the thief’s past, to try and understand why he thought the way he did, why he acted the way he did. He’d known Allan long enough to tell that most of his tales of childhood adventures were lies - there was no Mary Susan following him round the village he grew up in (which he maintained was Locksley whenever he was telling Will, eyes glittering with mischief and memory as he did so), no mighty oak scaled by none but him, and no uncle who’d lost his fortune on dog fights. Sometimes he wasn’t sure that the tales
Allan’s mother being the daughter of a bard, therefore explaining his vast knowledge of songs, was even true. And, in Will’s opinion, it was the only one that was at all likely. You could always tell by his eyes.
Had they been going over rocks, not grass, it was unlikely Will would have heard the soft admission from his companion.
“Got shoved in Old Man Smythe’s coffin by some older kids when I were seven, just afore he were buried,” Allan whispered, shoulders shaking slightly. Will’s anger, barely held on to, lessened a bit more. “Just me an’ a corpse, trapped. I’d been kicking an’ screaming fer a couple hours when they finally found me in there; it’d been a fire, terrible one, dry summer had made the crops fail and everything in sight was good kindling, an’ ‘is ‘ole family were deader than a plank o’ wood.”
The cart ran over a bump, causing their heads to bang into the roof of the cart, but the jolt had been enough for Will to utilise the light.
Allan was grinning, damn him!
Will slapped his companion and scowled.
“No lies! That isn’t funny, Allan! It’s a horrible tale!”
Allan laughed. “It made me feel a bit better!”
Will leaned in to tickle him a bit as revenge, when the cart jolted once more and Will was thrust into Allan’s side, their faces meeting, Allan’s still open mouth taking in Will’s nose and top lip, teeth catching the skin and making Will gasp. Whether an accident or deliberate, Will would never know, but Allan’s tongue slipped out, licked the lip caught in his mouth before he drew back, apparently embarrassed.
“Er…”
“Yeah…”
The cart stopped before either could get any further, before the problem could be addressed, and it was show time. Too much happened to apologise later, too many other things to think about.
More to come soooooon...~