....I'm running out of titles now.
....I'm also running out of clever comments to write here.
For Rochvelleth, a MuchRobin fic...Treat Much Right, Robin! Well, he doesn't really at the start, but by the end, he's beginning to. =]
It's kind of in three short parts...a Much POV, a Robin POV, and then narritive. So hopefully, enjoy!
He hates him so much.
He hates Robin’s cheeky, teasing smile, and he hates the blue eyes that convey more emotion in a glance than anyone can ever feel. He hates Robin’s laugh, because it’s so full and contagious, and it’s as though he’s forgotten everything they’ve been through together.
But most of all, he hates Marian.
He hates the way she’s a part of Robin, she is Robin. It’s always Marian, how he loves her, how he must save her, how she saves him.
What about me, wants to burst from his lips at every mention. What am I to you?
But he feels he already knows that one.
You’re Much. You’re my servant. You’re no one.
No matter how many times the words have actually spilt from Much’s lips, Robin never catches them. I love you. But I love you, Master. For I love you.
So many times his heart has confessed it’s secrets, and so many times Robin has just smiled in that teasing way. No! he wants to cry. No, I love you!
It’s not enough to say that. Robin doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand all Much dreams of is acceptance, the way he is. Trust, appreciation, to be valued. All Much wants is for Robin to recognize that he loves him. More than he loves food, more than he loves the outlaws, more than he loves life itself. More than Marian loves him, a thousandfold more. More than anything in the world, Much loves Robin. It is a fundamental fact. And it’s a fact that it’s a deep love, a love more than friendship, a love beyond anything anyone’s ever felt, and everyone knows that fact- except, of course, for Robin.
He wants to tell Robin he would die for him. He would starve to death and burn to death and be eaten alive. He would follow him anywhere. He would take any pain. He would take anything.
But he supposes that’s painfully obvious from his protection of Marian.
He’s rather Robin was happy with her than stuck with him.
Oh, he hates Robin so much.
And loves him so much more.
----------------------------
Robin starting to realize something he’s never noticed before.
Much.
Only Much.
But he’s starting to notice him in a whole new way, in glances and chances and something rather special. In maybes, and what if’s, and in if only’s. In a whole range of light and darkness, and all the colours of the world, and all the depth of shadows. In all that has ever been, and all that will ever be, he’s starting to notice Much in a way that’s ever-so-slightly different.
He notices that Much has a curious air around him that makes Robin break out into cheeky smiles all the time. That he can’t stop looking at Much, and he gets the feeling his eyes are betraying all emotion when he does so. That he can’t stop laughing-because when he’s with Much, it is all...okay. It’ll turn out fine.
He wants to reach out and grasp Much’s hand in moments of trouble, and he wants to hold Much close when they’re scared, and after all this is over, he wants to spend the rest of his life in a little cottage in Bonchurch.
But he can’t quite grasp why this way of noticing Much is different, because that’s all he’s ever felt. There’s something, something that has shifted deep down. He knows that Much is his best friend, and always has been. He knows that they’re closer than brothers. He knows that he loves him.
So what is different?
Maybe it’s Marian.
He finds around Much, he can’t breathe, and his veins seem to be filled with some kind of fluttery lightness. And he’s unnerved by the feeling. So he talks about what he knows, what is solid and stable and same. And that is Marian.
He loves Marian. That is a fact, and it’s destined, and it’s been like that forever. It can’t change now, in light of something that may somehow possibly be happening with, at, becauses of Much.
So every day, he invents new love confessions and comparisons, and every day, all he talks about is Marian.
But when he’s tired, and almost asleep, he’ll think to himself how cruel it is that his Much and Marian begin with M, and that he’d far prefer one M to the other.
But then he’s babbling on, incoherent ramblings, deepest thoughts jumbled into words that cannot portray his confusion and love. So he ignores it, and forgets it in the morning, and goes about another day noticing Much in a different manner.
--------------------------------
“Much?”
“Yes, Master?”
Robin’s lips are already in a wide smile, at Much’s voice and Much’s face and just at Much. He looks away, still smiling, and delirious at what Much can do to him. He turns back in only a few seconds.
His eyes meet Much’s, and his smile melts away. There’s something in the way Much looks at him that worries him; it’s something strong and defiant, and it’s telling him Much is angry.
Robin can see it all in a second, and he’s hurt and confused and upset, and his thoughts choose this most inappropriate time to announce themselves; you should tell him how you feel.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, ignoring the voice, caring only for Much and the look.
Much says nothing.
“Much, what is it?”
There’s a tight smile. “Nothing. What was it you wanted?”
Robin thinks frantically as to why he said Much’s name, and the only conclusion he can come up with is because h loves it. He loves the sound of it, the shape of it on his lips, and he loves Much, and tell him tell him tell him.
His mouth opens but he makes no sound, and then he laughs at his stupidity. You. I wanted you.
Much glares at him.
He feels winded now, like something has been knocked out of him. He strides over, and pulls Much round to look at him.
Much pulls himself roughly away from Robin’s arms and stalks off without a word of explanation. He bends and furiously stirs the bubbling stew in the pot over the fire.
“Much. Something is wrong. Tell me.”
Much sniffs, and ignores him.
He can’t understand what’s wrong, and he is feeling so, so, bad for having upset Much like this, and it’s turning his world upside down again. He needs facts.
“Well, I guess I’m going to see Marian now,” he says.
Much turns suddenly around.
“Right. Of course. Go and see Marian.”
It only takes Robin a second to realize, and only from that short, biting, jealous comment, but it stretches out forever. It’s as though time just turns solid around him, and he can reach out and touch it and manipulate it, he can shift back through his memories to his past and to see- to see-
Much.
All along. For ever and ever, and always and always. That's how it is, it's him and Much, and it's love.
To see how they were and are and how he knows they will be in only seconds, because that’s done it- he does love Much, and Much loves him. That’s it, Much’s not-meant confession allowing Robin to make his own, even if it’s only to himself.
But Robin can't keep things to himself for long. So he smiles the smile he doesn't know Much hates, and laughs the laugh he doesn't know Much hates, and then kisses him.
Kisses him in the way he's got a feeling that Much will just love.
...Yay!