Stolen Moments
Title: Stolen Moments
Author: spikelvr75
Characters/Pairings: Robin/Much, mentions Robin/Marian
Word count: 5,675
Rating: MA
Category: Epic Short Fic
Warning:Slash, Smut, not safe for work!
Summary: A quiet night in the forest reminds Robin of his nights with Much in the Holy Land.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to the BBC etc.
Author's Note: For Slashfest 2012. Banner made by and beta's by iforget45
The sun was setting as darkness fell over the forest, the fire already lit for the evening, providing the outlaws a little extra heat and light as they prepared for sleep. Everyone was worn out from the day’s events and no one felt like staying up and talking. As much as Robin loved the times where he and his friends would simply talk, enjoying each other’s company, he cherished nights like these too. They gave him the time he needed to just sit and think. He thought of the poor, and of Marian, but mostly of war.
It was never far from his mind; the things he’d seen and done in the Holy Land were far too painful to ever truly forget. He’d feel the warmth of a bright, sunny day and instead of making him feel good in comparison to the rainy English days he was used to, it would remind him of the long marches from one battle to the next, and of the sweat pouring down his skin, trapped in between his body and his armor. When there was a breeze, he would wait for the stinging feel of sand hitting him in the eyes, causing them to blink and water. Though that would never happen with an English breeze, his eyes blinked in preparation for it every time.
When they would fight, when they would ambush the cart of some rich noble who wasn’t expecting them, and when they would save an innocent villager from the noose, he would raise his bow and arrow and fight back the images that would flood into his mind. He had to fight them back in order to be able to pull back the bowstring, aim, and let loose his arrow. As they would fight with swords, the clanging of metal against metal always reminded him of the battles, where his curved blade would slice through Saracen skin as he dodged his enemy’s attack, but he’d force that memory out of his mind to prevent his own skin from getting sliced in the present.
Nights like these though, he allowed himself to dwell on these thoughts. He could still see them: the Saracens he’d shot, lying on the ground, their blood seeping into the sand, dying it the color of red wine. He could hear the sounds of them gasping their last breaths and could see their bodies heaving at the loss of blood. He remembered the look of terror in their eyes. Death came slowly for them, as his arrows pierced their chests, stomachs, and backs. He could still see them in their bloodstained and dirty clothing, lying on the ground like grotesque pincushions often groping for one of the many arrows that would ultimately end their lives. Those were his arrows killing these men, these boys. He couldn’t help but imagine the parents, siblings, children, friends, and all of the Marians, by different names of course, waiting for them at home who would never get to see them again.
That’s what they were too: Marians, all the girls, even though logically he knew they probably looked far more like Djaq, except wearing loose, flowing clothing, covering their heads and most of their bodies, he still pictured them all as Marian. He didn’t know if they even had wives, if they were betrothed, or had secret lovers, or if they even had someone waiting for them at all. The only thing he could think of as he watched them lay dying was Marian’s face as her heart broke, getting the news that he wouldn’t be coming home. He’d always wondered whether or not her heart would actually break for him or if she would have moved on, not caring about his death. Maybe she’d think he’d deserved death for leaving her, perhaps she’d forgotten all about him, or maybe she would react exactly as he’d pictured her, heartbroken with tears streaming down her red face as she screamed her denial of the news. He didn’t know which he’d prefer: would he rather her mourn him with a broken heart or would he rather she accept the news and carry on with her life? He didn’t know which was worse, the pain he felt at the thought of her moving on or the pain of knowing that she would be in pain. Both options were terrible thoughts to him and he mourned for the soldiers he killed and the loved ones they left behind, knowing it could have been him and Marian that had just been ripped apart if only the other man had been a little quicker to shoot the arrow or a little swifter with their sword.
He looked over at Much, who was settling in by the fire to sleep, pulling a blanket over him to keep warm. He remembered all those nights in the Holy Land when he’d spend the night next to Much in their tent, without a fire to keep warm. All of the stories he’d heard about the desert before they got there led him to believe that there would be sweltering heat all the time, but that was only during the day. At night, the sand felt like ice beneath his feet and the desert winds made his skin so cold it would go numb. They’d slept close together to keep each other warm, sharing blankets because it was unnecessary to have separate ones when their bodies were only inches apart. He’d try to drift off to sleep by thinking of Marian. He’d wonder what she was doing at that moment; was she snuggled up in bed next to someone else, a husband perhaps that she’d married once she’d given up on him? Was she making love to someone else as he lay thousands of miles away in a tent in the middle of the desert, following his king on a crusade that he now realized was wrong? He had been so relieved when he came home to find that she was still unmarried, only to have that relief ripped away from him a few months later when she became betrothed to the man that had tried to kill him. Losing her to anybody at all would be the worst thing imaginable, but to Guy? He couldn’t think of anyone worse.
On those nights, back in the Holy Land, he’d try to force the fears he had of her lying with someone else away by remembering the way she’d been with him. He remembered the way her voice squeaked as she laughed and the way her bright, blue eyes would light up and glimmer as she did. He could always make her laugh and her smile was the most beautiful thing about her. Inevitably, the same thing would always happen when he’d think of her this way: he’d feel himself harden and swell at the thought; he felt it happen again now and pulled a blanket over his lap so nobody in the gang would notice. He didn’t think they would anyway, they were all settling into bed early and seemed ready to fall asleep as soon as their heads could land on their pillows. Much was already asleep; the familiar sound of his heavy breathing brought back the best memories he had of the Holy Land.
He rolled over in the small tent, pressing himself up against his best friend. “Much,” he whispered, his voice deep and raspy with need. “Are you still awake?” Robin knew he was, he could hear his friend’s breath catch in his throat when he felt the hardness pressing against his backside.
Much let out a deep breath, “Yes, Master.” He replied, his voice tentative and hopeful. Robin wrapped his arm around him, reaching down to his trousers, and reveled in the sound of Much’s sigh as he slipped them down over his hips, freeing Much’s erection.
Robin wondered how long Much had been hard. Had he only just hardened when he felt Robin press against him? But he knew that was probably not the case; Much had probably been hard since long before he was, just waiting until he thought Robin was asleep before he could do something about it. He knew just as he would lay down at night thinking of Marian, Much would lay next to him, back to back, thinking of him in the same way. He didn’t have a girl back in Locksley to return home to; the person that he spent his nights thinking of, longing for, was only inches away. Sometimes, after they had both lain still for a long time, Robin would start to feel movement behind him, the sound of heavy breathing, ending with a gasp and the sound of his own name in a barely audible whisper as he heard his friend reach his release.
Much had most likely been waiting tonight, just like he usually did, for Robin to fall asleep so he could tend to his condition privately. He was always too afraid to initiate anything on his own; he would eagerly wait for Robin to either begin or fall asleep, never quite knowing which it would be until it happened. Robin loved the power he had over Much, knowing his friend wanted him so badly that anytime he wanted this he could get it. It excited him to know that when Much pleasured himself he did so while imagining him, unaware that he could hear him, and that Robin had the power to either give his friend what he so desperately wanted or withhold it from him so that he would be forced to take care of it himself while wishing he could just be with the man lying next to him.
Robin moved his hand slowly up and down Much’s shaft, feeling the wetness coming from the tip slide down between his hand and the slick, tender skin. He heard Much groan deeply and tightened his fingers around him, quickening his pace. He felt himself grow harder at the sound of quick, shallow breaths and soft moaning, and noticed that his own cock was now pressing painfully against the restraint of his trousers, needing to be freed. He released his hand from Much, eliciting a moan of protest from his friend, while he reached for the waistband of his trousers and ripped them down and off, chucking them to the other side of the tent.
He reached his hand up and cupped Much’s chin, turning his head towards him and looked him in the eyes, licking his lips as he did so. Those blue eyes were so beautiful and deep, the window to a soft, gentle soul beneath them; they reminded him so much of Marian that it sometimes pained him to stare into them. He pressed his lips to his friend’s, sucking gently on his bottom lip. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of moist lips moving against moist lips and couldn’t help but notice how soft and gentle Much’s kisses were, almost feminine, and the thought brought Marian to mind. He remembered the last time he had kissed her, it felt almost exactly the same, and as he imagined her being the one lying next to him, his kisses grew to be more passionate. Much responded to this passion by moving his lips faster, pressing harder, and using his tongue to explore Robin’s mouth, teasing Robin’s own tongue. Robin ran his hands through Much’s hair, remembering how he used to playfully mess up Marian’s hair and the adorable way she’d slap him in retaliation while yelling for him to stop, and giggling at the immaturity of his behavior. He knew she hadn’t really wanted him to stop, she loved the way he’d teased her and he’d loved doing it. Memories like this one made him wish that Much’s hair was longer. Much thought of no one else but the man lying behind him, holding him, kissing him and could allow himself for a few moments to pretend as though Robin was only thinking of him too.
Robin pulled back slowly, looking into Much’s eyes again, imagining a different face for their frame and as Much searched his face, he noticed the blank look and felt a terrible feeling in his chest as though his heart was being crushed. He knew that Robin wasn’t really seeing him when he looked at him. He watched as Robin looked down between them, felt Robin’s hands grasp his hips, and felt the tip of Robin’s cock press up against him. He turned his head to face forward, feeling Robin readjust his body to completely press up against Much, and felt the rough skin of Robin’s hands against his backside as the other man lined himself up with his entrance. He squeezed his eyes shut as he took in the familiar feeling of Robin slowly pressing into him, stretching him open and filling him completely. When Robin had pushed his way fully into his friend, he leaned forward and kissed his neck tenderly. Much shuddered at the feeling.
“I love you, Master.” Much whispered, trying and failing to steady his shaky voice.
“I love you too, Marian.” Robin’s eyes shot open. He knew his mistake as soon as the words left his lips, but there was no taking them back now. He could feel Much’s body tense beneath him, around him. Much felt like he’d been stabbed through the chest with his own dagger.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Force of habit, maybe? I love you, Much. I meant you, I’m so sorry, my friend.” Robin stammered.
No, you didn’t. Much thought bitterly. “It’s okay, I understand.” He replied, while failing to hold back tears. “Just keep going.”
Robin pulled back slowly, so only the tip of his cock remained inside and thrust back into him, roughly, with full force, taking Much by surprise and causing his body to jolt forward, a loud, gasp escaping his lips in the process. He hadn’t been expecting Robin to push back in so hard, and being unprepared for it, had not been able to hold back the sound of the silent crying he’d been hiding from escaping into his voice when he gasped.
“What’s the matter? Did I hurt you?” Robin asked him, genuinely concerned, but silently praying that whatever the problem was, Much would just deal with it so he could continue. It was getting harder every second to hold back.
Much took in a deep breath and released it slowly, calming himself. Of course he was thinking of Marian. You knew this already, just shut up and calm down before he stops. “I’m fine, Master, really.”
“Alright, then.” Robin replied, nodding, knowing that Much wasn’t really alright but pushing that knowledge out of his mind so he could justify continuing. He pushed back in, just as harshly as the last time, again and again, increasing the speed of his thrusts as he went. Each jolt of his hips was accentuated by a quick gasp or moan from Much, who at some point had begun pushing back with just as much force, impaling himself on the long, hard, shaft of his lover.
“Oh, Much,” Robin groaned, taking special care to get the name right this time. “I want you so badly, I need you.”
“Robin, I love you.” Much replied, breathing so heavily that he could barely get the words out. Much had been stroking his own wet cock to the same rhythm which Robin was pushing into him.
“I love you.” Robin responded, gripping Much’s hips harder and using them to push himself faster and deeper into the tight, warmth of Much’s body. He watched with growing excitement as Much pleasured himself, his hand moving so quickly up and down his shaft that it began to blur in his vision as his own thrusts each got deeper, harder, and faster than the one before it. The sounds of their moans and panting filled the air, getting louder by the second, and if anyone outside of their tent could hear them, Robin could not bring himself to care.
Robin knew he was about to reach his release, feeling the intense build up, he pounded into Much as far as he could. The sound of Much’s deep, throaty groan in response to the immense pleasure sweeping over his body in waves sent Robin right over the edge. He felt a burst of pure pleasure as his cum shot from his throbbing cock into Much, and he lay still as he felt more of it slowly pulsate from his twitching member, filling his lover with the warm, wet, evidence of their lovemaking.
He looked down at Much’s cock, still painfully erect. Much was looking up at him, full of need and desire, silently begging him to help him finish. Robin kissed him once, hard on the lips, before pulling away and roughly pushing Much from his side onto his back and moved himself in between the other man’s legs.
“Oh, Master, please…” Much begged, spreading his legs as wide as he could as he watched Robin lower his beautiful face closer to his aching erection, becoming overwhelmed with desire as he watched Robin flit his eyes up at him briefly before lowering his wet lips around his manhood. Much reached down and took Robin’s short hair in his hands, rubbing his fingers through them and grabbing it in bunches, lightly pulling, as he bucked his hips up against Robin’s mouth.
Much stared up at the roof of the tent blankly, focusing solely on the sensation between his legs: wet lips closing over his member, moving slowly up and down, Robin’s tongue licking over his length, tracing beautiful patterns of nothingness onto the delicate, sensitive skin, his tongue reaching the top and then flicking gently over the tip. Robin moved his attentions south as his tongue made its way over his balls; licking, sucking gently, kissing them almost reverently, all while simultaneously moving his hand over the shaft, increasing his speed as he went. He could feel Much began to thrust upward into his hand, could feel the way the other man’s cock seemed to tighten and twitch within his grasp, and he knew he was getting close. He shifted his body upward a little so that when he could tell Much was about come, he was easily able to take him into his mouth before he did. He felt his lover’s thick juices burst into his mouth, felt his member twitch against his cheek, pushing out the last of his cum, and Robin swallowed it up greedily. He loved the taste of it in his mouth; he held it there for a few seconds just savoring the warm ,watery juices, and then the salty aftertaste, and the thick, smooth coating in the back of his throat after he gulped it down. As he lifted himself up to lay face to face with his lover, he kissed Much slowly and passionately, allowing Much to explore his mouth, experiencing the taste of himself on his lover’s lips.
Robin finally pulled away and rolled over onto his back, allowing his body a much needed rest. Both friends were covered in a light coating of sweat, which mixed with the scent of cum and saliva in the air to give the tent that very specific smell of sex that would be obvious to anyone who entered. They both lay there, panting heavily, their chests heaved with each sigh, attempting to calm their bodies and catch their breath.
“That…was…amazing, Much.” Robin told him in between exhausted huffing. He reached between them and took his manservant’s hand in his own, intertwining fingers and squeezing tightly. Much squeezed back as tight as he could manage, considering his body was still slightly weak from his orgasm.
Much shook his head enthusiastically in agreement. He focused on the way his body felt. He felt slightly shaky, it felt like all of the energy he had was sucked out of him, along with his cum. His skin felt cool from the night air hitting his sweat soaked body. His now-soft cock, still wet with saliva and cum, felt the same, uncomfortably cold and sticky, but on the inside he felt like he was burning up. He could feel his ass slightly throbbing in recovery from their lovemaking. He turned to look at Robin, whose face was even more red and sweaty than his own, and watched as his familiar, boyish grin spread across his handsome, unshaven face.
“Having a little trouble recovering?” Robin asked him, smirking. He loved the sight of Much after their lovemaking. He found watching the reactions that the other man had to the pleasures he enacted on him to be an enthralling experience and he loved having the excuse to just gaze upon his lover. He found Much to be such a beautiful man. Robin feigned surprise as he playfully teased his friend, “Was it so good that I’ve actually managed to leave even you speechless?”
“That was beyond good, Master. That was…incredible. Really, it felt…I can’t even explain it…” Much searched for the words to convey how grateful he was for Robin’s affections.
“It’s alright, you don’t have to.” Robin replied, and then crossed his arms underneath his head, using his hands as a pillow and grinned, “I don’t need to hear you praise my work, I could tell I was doing a good job by all that noise you were making.” Robin teased, barely able to contain his mirth.
Much could feel all the blood in his body rush to his face as he tried to imagine how silly he must’ve sounded. Robin looked at him and let out a little laugh, rendering Much almost catatonic with embarrassment.
“Much, that’s a good thing. I appreciate the compliment.” Robin explained to him, turning to his side and propping himself up on one elbow, resting his head against his hand. He watched as Much let out a sigh of relief. “You know, you were pretty incredible yourself.”
“I was?” Much asked him, genuinely surprised.
“You couldn’t tell how much I was enjoying myself?” Robin asked incredulously.
“Of course I could.” Much answered him, “but I didn’t think it was because of me. I thought it was because of you, I thought…” Much allowed his voice to trail off; he wasn’t sure what he thought. He wasn’t sure that he really did much of anything for his Master. Robin had been the one doing most of the work. He was just there, allowing himself to be a substitute for Marian, allowing Robin to forget his regrets for a little while getting lost in the intimate company of someone else. He didn’t mind though, nights like these meant everything to him. He wished there weren’t any other kinds of nights.
Robin leaned forward and kissed him tenderly, silencing all of his doubts. “You are an amazing man, Much. You made me feel incredible, like no one else ever has. I love you, you’re my best friend.” He kissed him on the forehead softly, then pulled back to look into his eyes. They’d begun to tear up.
“I love you too, Robin,with all my heart.” Much said as honestly as he could. He needed Robin to know, to be told as often as possible just in case he ever forgot, even though he knew that Robin could never feel the same way. Robin at least had the decency not to lie to him and respond back saying he felt the same.
“Get some sleep, we have a long day ahead of us. Goodnight, my love.” Robin whispered to him, as Much leaned forward bravely and kissed him, then rolled over so his back was facing Robin and smiled secretly at his own bravery. He scooted back so that his body was pressed against Robin’s and Robin responded accordingly by wrapping his arm around Much, embracing him in a comfortable hug, and laid his head down next to his, breathing in the scent of his hair. Much grabbed ahold of Robin’s hand and snuggled comfortably under his master’s arm. Moments like this could make him forget about slip ups, such as calling him by Marian’s name, could make him forget about the nights where he would hear Robin calling for her in his dreams, or whispering her name as he touched himself. When Robin held him in a close embrace and drifted off to sleep holding him in his arms, he could allow himself, if only briefly, to forget that anyone else in this world existed beyond the two of them, even if he knew deep down that Robin was probably thinking of her at that very moment. But Robin hadn’t been thinking of her, he’d simply been listening to the soft sounds of Much’s deep breathing as a sort of lullaby, focusing on nothing else but that rhythmic sound as he drifted off to sleep.
Robin watched him now, sleeping by the fire, cuddling under a blanket which he was clutching desperately to his chest while shivering, and heard the sound of that same familiar, deep breathing that he had become so accustomed to. He watched his friend in his slumber and wanted so badly to wake him to care for his erection, originally brought on by thoughts of Marian but which had become so incredibly uncomfortably hard because of the memories of Much. He figured that it would only be fair, since it was those memories, the only pleasant ones he had from the war, that made him so aroused, and he knew that Much would never deny him access, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually go through with it.
Instead, he chose to sulk away from the campsite and pleasure himself alone, far enough away that no one could hear or see what he was doing. By this point, everyone was asleep anyway. He stood with his left hand against a tree, supporting himself, using his right hand to rub his cock in swift, rough, short, motions. He closed his eyes and imagined Much lying next to him on his side, imagined as he worked himself with his hand that he was penetrating the behind of his best friend instead. He recalled the memories of those nights in the Holy Land and could almost hear the sound of Much’s gasping and moaning, mixing in his mind with the sound of his own, which were now echoing in the forest. He tried to quiet himself, but couldn’t keep the sound of his excitement down.
“Oh, Much. Much,” he whispered his name, groaning deeply. He could feel himself about to come, “Much! Ohh...” his cum shot against the tree and began to drip down it slowly. He stared at it for a few minutes, making its way down the trunk, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life. He refastened his trousers and made his way back to the camp only to see that Much’s slumber was no longer peaceful as it had been when he’d left. He glanced around the camp, reassured himself that he could count four sleeping outlaws and no one would be spying on them, and then laid himself down next to his friend and snuggled up to him under the blanket.
Much was shivering and Robin wrapped his arms around him in an attempt to warm him up. He’d been thrashing around in his sleep and still fought against Robin, not being calmed by even his embrace this time. Robin slowly moved one leg so it was lying on top of Much’s, intertwined the fingers of their right hands, and gently kissed his cheek. Much finally relaxed against him.
Robin would often reflect upon all of the terrible things he’d seen in the Holy Land and all of the poor decisions he had made. He remembered every person he’d killed and every friend he’d seen lose their life. He could recall the way he would feel during every long miserable day in the sun with little food, the pains he’d felt in his stomach from hunger so severe that sometimes he feared would be the end of him, that he knew still haunted Much to this day. He could still feel the dry, parched feeling in the back of his throat from going without water. He often remembered the sight of Marian’s face, her pained expression, as he told her he was leaving her behind. He remembered reading the Qur’an by candlelight, in the dead of night, and the shock he felt as he realized the people they were fighting against should have been their friends, not their enemies. He was glad that he’d finally been able to at least fix that one mistake, by befriending a Saracen woman, one of the greatest people he had ever known, which caused him an added pain when he would recall the faces of his victims and be forced to wonder if one of them had been her father, her brother, or her friend. This revelation helped him change his purpose in life from blindly following his king into war to instead working towards achieving peace in the Holy Land. He spent a good deal of his time since returning to Locksley remembering these things and wondering if he would ever be able to do enough good for the poor to outweigh all of the terrible things that had happened there.
However, nothing could compare to the way he thought of his times with Much. The things he did with Much were at the same time the best and worst things he’d done in the Holy Land. He loved every minute of their stolen moments in the night, but the guilt he felt for taking them was for worse than everything else he’d done. Much loved him, he knew that, everyone did whether or not they acknowledged that Much was is in love with him, they knew. What most of them didn’t realize is that he loved him back. He loved him in the same way he loved Marian, but he could never love him that much. He was in love with him, as much as a person can be in love with two people, and if he could he would continue to have their moments for the rest of his life. If he could spend every night like this, he would.
He loved Marian too. She was meant for him. She was beautiful, they’d grown up together, they’d been betrothed since a young age, she was of noble birth; she was a lady. It made sense. He could never marry Much, he could never have children with him, they could never share these moments in anything other than in secret. Marian was everything he had with Much and more, she was a love that he could take into the light. She was the love that he could show off to everyone, not now of course, but someday. When things were right again, they would marry, he was sure of it. He loved her for her womanly beauty and feminine ways, which although Much sometimes reminded him of, he could never fully embody. He loved her for her personality, the way she would always match him in arguments and stand up to him. He hated to even think it, but she was the type of person who would never allow a man to call her by another’s name in the bedroom and walk out with his manhood still attached to the rest of him, and he loved that about her. As much as he appreciated the things Much did for him, sometimes he felt smothered by him, and whenever Much acted so often like the rug beneath his feet, it would make him forget that he shouldn’t be treating him that way.
But he did love Much; not with all his heart, the way Much loved him, but he was still in love with the man he laid next to. He wished he didn’t have to choose between them, part of him wondered if Guy’s mere presence in his life wasn’t God’s way of helping him make the decision. Letting him know that he was meant to be in the arms of the man he was embracing. Another part of him wondered if even thinking that was blasphemy; he knew the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, God was most likely not telling him that at all. He didn’t know what to do, but because he knew all along that this relationship was doomed, he felt incredibly guilty about everything he’d ever done to make Much fall more in love with him. Guilty in the sense that he could not possibly ever regret it, but it made him feel terrible just the same.
“Robin…” Much moaned softly in his sleep. His voice sounded lonely, Robin had no idea what he might be dreaming of beyond the simple knowledge that it had to do with him.
“I’m right here, Much.” He whispered into his friend’s ear. He studied his face for any sign of consciousness, trying to determine if his friend was still asleep.
“Robin…” Much started, sleepily, “I love you.”
“I love you too, my dearest friend.” Robin squeezed him tightly.
“Stay?” Much asked.
Robin held him more tightly than he had ever held anyone before. He didn’t care who saw or what they knew. “I’ll never leave you.” He replied, and at least in that moment he wished that statement could be true. He could not take back any of the things he did in the Holy Land, nor would he ever want to take back the things he’d done with his best friend in private, but maybe he could try to make up for his sins one by one, starting with this, the gravest of them all, and begin by making up for at least the way he’d been treating this one man: his lover and the best friend he’d ever had.