No One Else (NC-17)
Title: No One Else
Paring: Guy of Gisburne/Robert de Rainault, Guy of Gisburne/Philip Mark (Team Norman FTW!)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,844
Summary: After his deposition by Philip Mark and subsequent restoration, Robert de Rainault has a score to settle with his protégé. Set after the episode "The Sheriff of Nottingham".
Notes: Uh, nigh on PWP here. The fic includes the usual fucked-upedness of any Guy/Sheriff relations and maybe a bit more, because I love de Rainault and I love trying to write his dialogue, the sharp-tongued bastard.
And silly old LJ really dislikes my formatting or something, so some of the indentation for paragraphs gets wonky. Sorry about that, but I can't make it behave.
Beta'd by 3scoremiles_10, who is awesome and saved me from my Americanisms, as well as other diverse horrors.
No One Else
The hall was empty save for myself. The high ceiling was lost in the darkness the few torches couldn’t chase away, and the rows of benches were bare and vacant. Philip Mark was gone, and de Rainault was back.
It was only a matter of time before he sent for me, so I had decided to make the messenger’s task easier by simply waiting for the summons in the hall, rather than lingering in my chambers. That the summons would come was inevitable; it was only a question of when.
I put my head in my hands, cursing myself and him and my fate. I love him, God help me. I could have loved anyone, but it had to be him. I can’t know what he truly feels towards me, but I’m sure it isn’t love. He probably just likes to have me as I am: a dog of his that he can beat and which still comes crawling back to him.
I wish I was free of him, but how could that ever come to be? I compare every kiss to his, and when someone holds me I can’t help but think of the way he holds me - confident and sure. No one else has ever matched him in my mind, and no one else could make me come back to him the way he does, time and again. For I do come back to him every time, though I tell myself I don’t want to. In truth, I can’t live with him, but can’t bear to be without him: he drives me mad.
He drives me mad because he knows I love him, of course. I can’t hide it from him; he’s too cunning for that. And he exploits that knowledge like the politician he is, manoeuvring me like a chess piece by using my own idiotic heart against me. Sometimes he makes me think he cares for me as I care for him. I am mad to believe it, and it’s probably a trick of his to keep me on a close leash, but every now and then he touches me so gently that I fall in love with him all over again. And then he fucks me like a whore and I can’t decide whom I hate more: him for using me so, or myself for consenting to such use.
When Philip Mark came, I thought I might finally be free. Philip - he let me call him by his Christian name - seemed to care for me in a way my lord de Rainault never had. I had only one night with Philip, back when all the world was right. Then, Robin Hood was in the dungeon and I finally had found someone who could love me: he was gentler than de Rainault. He held me and kissed me, and when he was finished, Philip held my hand to his breast and slipped a golden ring on my finger, saying:
“This is to show what you are to me, Gisburne; that you’re mine now and mine alone.”
I did not love him, but I did not hate him. And he was the sheriff - what could I do? I hadn’t seen it at first, but I quickly recognised the glint in his eyes when he looked at me: do I not see that same gleam in de Rainault’s eyes often enough?
I had submitted to him willingly, in the end. Under his hands, I had thought, I might come to love him. I had hoped that Philip Mark’s soft touch might drive the memory of de Rainault’s roving fingers and greedy mouth from my mind at last. His mouth…
I groaned and I rubbed the heels of my palms into my eyes, cursing myself aloud for a fool so that my own words echoed back to me in the stone hall. No, I’d never be free of Robert de Rainault. Even now, though I knew not what punishment he had in store for me, I was still thinking of him with love.
“Oh, leave Gisburne out of this. Gisburne has enough to worry about already.”
Merciful Lord, please let him forget that ring. Please let him just be satisfied with the knowledge that already he has me! I can’t get away from him - couldn’t get away - even if I wanted to, curse him.
There was a sound of booted feet upon stone at the far end of the hall.
Robert would see me as he entered, sitting with my back to him, hunched on a bench.
The footsteps approached me. He would saunter confidently up to me.
He would come up behind me and kiss me on the base of my neck and tell me that he forgave me, that he knew my heart was in torment enough already. He would sit beside me on the bench and slowly lean in to press his lips against mine. His hand would seek out my own and he would hold it, entwining our fingers. He’d let me pull him close against me, and I could lie him down right there on a bench in the great hall and show him with my mouth that I’d missed him. And when we were done, he’d look up at me and touch my cheek, and he’d tell me that he loved me and no one else.
“My lord of Gisburne, the sheriff demands your presence in his chambers.”
How seldom do our dreams withstand the force of reality.
With a resigned sigh, I rose to my feet, not wishing to meet the knowing eyes of the messenger. I lifted my head high, brushed some stray hairs from my face, and walked resolutely to the end of the hall. The rustle of my feet on the rushes was the only sound: I supposed the servant was watching me go, the dog. They all know, of course, but if a word were said de Rainault would have their tongues out. Yet that does not change the fact that every God-cursed servant in the castle knows that I am de Rainault’s boy.
I sighed again as I began to climb the stairs up to the sheriff’s chambers. The air was already colder away from the fire in the hall, and I wished I could return thither. De Rainault’s rooms were nearly always comfortably warm, but I expected to find precious little comfort in that chamber tonight.
I suppose I should be grateful that he even deigns to touch me. My “father” always said I was a useless bastard, but apparently he was not entirely correct. Both de Rainault and Philip could’ve agreed that I had at least one use, though they might agree on nothing else. For myself, I would always know that I was a knight and a good fighter, and that would have to suffice. As I climbed the last few steps to the de Rainault’s floor that knowledge comforted me, and I stood a bit taller as I mounted the landing.
A draft of warmer air greeted me as I reached the hall to the sheriff’s chambers. I could see the bright light of the fire flickering out from underneath his door, making the rest of the hallway dark in contrast. My heart heavy, I walked slowly down the corridor, half-anticipating, half-fearing what awaited me.
Summoning up what pride I had left, I raised my fist and rapped firmly on the chamber door.
“Come in.”
De Rainault was in his usual seat before the fire, and his back was to me so I could not see his face. The lights in the room had been extinguished but for the hearth fire, so all the corners were filled with dancing shadows.
I entered, closed the door softly behind me, and turned to face where my master was seated.
“You know, I’m very displeased with you, Gisburne,” he announced, addressing the fire.
I swallowed.
“Yes, my lord.”
“You changed sides quite quickly, Gisburne - with almost insulting speed!” His voice was unsettlingly calm. After all, the man had been exiled, dressed in rags, abandoned in Sherwood at night, captured by outlaws, and thrown into his own dungeons all in the space of two days. By all rights he might have screamed at me, but after all this time together I knew that volume was a poor gauge of de Rainault’s anger.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” I said earnestly, though not too loudly, lest I destroy the fragile calm of the room.
“Sorry? I should think so, Gisburne. I’m sure you’re very sorry that Philip Mark is dead, and even sorrier that you sided with him in the first place.”
“It is as my lord says,” I mumbled. With him in this mood, all I could do was agree with him and hope to weather his displeasure. To do otherwise was suicide.
“It is,” de Rainault agreed. He lifted his hand from the arm of his seat and something glinted as he turned it between his fingers: he was holding my ring in his hand. Oh Christ.
I started forward, “Please, my lord, I was -”
And then came the fury I had expected. He leapt to his feet and rounded on me, stalking angrily towards me across the floor until he was close enough that I could’ve kissed him.
“You were what, exactly, Gisburne?” he yelled, making me flinch at the volume in such close quarters, “You were his whore, Gisburne,” he snarled, holding up my ring and then tossing it to the floor in disgust, where it clinked and clattered away into a corner.
“I’ll wager I wasn’t five minutes in Sherwood Forest before he’d had you every way he could think of! And did you raise a finger to help me? No.”
He said that last word very quietly, but I still didn’t dare to move an inch.
I tried not to meet his eyes, but then he raised one finger and traced it slowly down my chest and I couldn’t help but shudder and look at him. His face was shadowed in the dark room, making it utterly unreadable. He knew what he was doing though, because for all that my mind was lost in fear, my traitorous body was thrilling to his touch.
“You used to love me, Gisburne, or so you said,” he murmured, his hand stopping above my belt.
“I still do!” I choked, finding his caress and the past-tense unbearable, “My lord, I beg you!”
Then he struck me a terrible blow to the head, followed by another that landed on my jaw. I ducked in self-defence, but the following blows drove me to the ground.
I could have fought back. I could have held my ground - I am stronger than he and a knight of the realm. But I learned long ago that resisting de Rainault would only further enrage him. So I curled defensively upon the floor, bracing myself under the barrage of blows. He gave me a final sharp kick and then reached down, grabbing my hair and pulling my head up. I still could not clearly make out his face, but I knew he was wroth with me beyond expression.
“My lord,” I pleaded, loathing the obsequiousness I heard in my own voice.
“What can I do with you, Gisburne?” he asked thoughtfully, pulling my head back at a wretchedly uncomfortable angle as he did so. “I treated you well, but you turned on me like the ungrateful cur that you are. So what can I do but beat you like an unruly dog?”
I whimpered as he scraped a nail down the exposed skin of my throat.
“It’s a pity, really,” he said resignedly, “You really are my favourite spaniel, Guy, but you ought to be better trained.”
With a rough shove, he pushed me away from him. I collapsed, weak and trembling on the floor, my scalp and body aching. I slowly raised my head up as I heard him move from me and saw that he had walked a few feet away to pour himself some wine from a cabinet against the wall.
I struggled to my feet, hating myself for still nursing the pathetic hope that he might yet forgive me.
“Please, my lord,” I began quietly, “I was a fool.”
“Yes, you were, weren’t you?” he said coolly, leaning against the cabinet with his goblet. “You betrayed your rightful lord and backed the wrong man. You should certainly never gamble, Gisburne, you have very poor instincts for it.”
“I know, my lord,” I said unhappily.
“Really Guy, I take care of you - I’ve even exchanged prisoners for you, counted you as my ally when I tried to convince Philip Mark of my plan, and I kept Hubert de Giscard from making you a scapegoat.”
He sighed, looked thoughtfully down into his cup and then back up at me.
“And still that is not enough, apparently. What do I have to do to get your loyalty, Gisburne?"
The accusations were more than I could bear. I loved him - surely he knew that by now? Reason forgotten, I seized de Rainault’s shoulders and held him against me, burying my face in the shoulder of his tunic. I felt tears welling up in my eyes as I inhaled the scent of him and felt the warmth of his body under the soft fabric. I loathed myself for my weakness, but I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Gisburne!” he said sharply, moving as if to shove me away, though the closeness of my body and my greater strength hindered him.
“God in Heaven, my lord, please forgive me!” I exclaimed, holding him tighter as the tears began to escape from my eyes, “Please, how can you talk of loyalty?” To my shame, my voice broke into a sob, and I felt his body tense, but I ploughed on unheeding.
“You know I love you!” I cried desperately, “I can’t sleep but I think of you!” I shook him in my desperation to be heard, and I heard his goblet clatter to the ground as he dropped it. He struck me then, but I held on.
“When Philip Mark touched me I was still thinking of you!” I insisted, my misery turning to rage and frustration, “I couldn’t forget you even then!”
A great series of sobs racked my body, though I managed to repress the sound. But I still held him and cried into his robes, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. De Rainault was as silent and still as a statue in my arms. I wanted him to say something, even to curse me, rather than leave me alone with my own words.
I looked down at him angrily, shameful tears running down my cheeks as I met his gaze and demanded: “Why won’t you let me be?"
He still did not move and, in the deafening silence that followed my outbreak, my anger died. Defeated and heartbroken, I released him and slouched down against the wall, sitting with head in my hands and my legs sprawled before me.
“Why won’t you let me be?” I whispered into my palms, lost in my own unhappiness. It had all spun out of control. I hadn’t meant to say so much, to give so much away. It was nothing de Rainault couldn’t guess, but I still felt that I had lost ground in this mad battle we were engaged in.
The sheriff had yet to say a word to me, but then he walked to my side as I sat. I dared not move, though my every nerve in my body was braced for another attack. But then he stood close beside me and put one hand gently upon my head. My pride balked at the touch - it made me feel more like a dog than ever, but the gesture was still one of benediction. I could hope that he was no longer angry.
“There now, Gisburne. I do believe you’re properly repentant,” de Rainault said magnanimously.
I turned and looked up at him cautiously, scarce daring to believe that such a miracle had occurred. He was standing in the light of the fire now, so I could see the smile that had spread across his face.
“Stop your snivelling, Guy. I think I shall forgive you after all,” he stated, offering me his hand to kiss. I took it and pressed my lips against his skin reverentially.
“Ah, Gisburne,” he said affectionately, placing his other hand upon my head, “You are a pathetically needy creature, aren’t you?”
I nodded silently, though I couldn’t care less what he was saying as long as I was back in his good graces and could stay there. Later, I could berate myself for my self-degradation and womanly weeping, but now… now my lord de Rainault had forgiven me and that would suffice.
But how could I show my gratitude? How could I repay my liege lord? The thought came to me in an instant and I lifted my cheek from his hand, raising my eyes to gaze up at him.
He regarded me, puzzled for a moment. Then, still not shifting my eyes from his face, I took his hand and began to slowly lick and suck the finger which bore his ring of office. He raised his eyebrows and smiled that particular smile of his which makes me forget every moral of every religion I’ve ever heard of. I would do anything under the influence of that sinful smile.
“That’s right, Gisburne,” he purred, “Now you remember how it’s supposed to be.”
I nodded as well as I could without ceasing to suck at his finger, and the hand which he had placed on my head roamed down to play with the collar of my tunic.
“I’m sure you know what ought to come next,” he said idly, slipping his hand down the shirtfront and brushing his fingers across my skin.
Again, I nodded. Rising to my knees and lifting my hands up under his tunic, I tugged down his hose and braies. He was hard already, and I didn’t want to keep him waiting. I tucked the front of his tunic up under his belt and moved closer, though the stones of the floor were hard on my knees. Taking a deep breath, I wrapped one hand around the base of his cock and gave the head the lightest of licks. Above me, I heard him hiss in anticipation.
Glad that I was doing well, I looked up at him, made beautiful and darkling in the dim light of the fire, and took as much of him as I was able into my mouth.
“Ah, Gisburne…,” de Rainault whispered delightedly as I began to slowly work his cock, employing my tongue and hand to please him as best I could.
“Gisburne, my lovely boy,” he crooned, his hand tangling itself in my hair. I moaned at his touch, and as the sound hummed through his cock, he made a small grunt of pleasure. Working more quickly now, I moved my head up and down his length, matching the strokes of my mouth and tongue with the movement of my hand. I was hard myself, but my mind and heart were all focused on the task before me: striving to satisfy my lord’s wishes.
We were both breathing hard now, he gasping above me and I inhaling hard through my nose as my mouth was occupied. I stopped for a moment to take a proper, deep breath, still pumping him with my hand, but he shoved my head back towards his cock before I had much of a chance.
It was all moving faster now, and by the sounds he was making I knew the end was approaching soon. He started to thrust into my mouth then, groaning my name as he did so. His hand on my head was forcing me down onto his cock, all but making me gag. I kept up as well as I could, though he was moving my head at a pace that I thought might break my neck. With a final gasp, his whole body tensed and he came into my mouth, gasping out: “Sweet Jesus, Gisburne!” as he did.
When he was done, I leaned back from him, swallowing in one gulp so I could get the salty taste out of my mouth. As I wiped my lips with the back of my hand I looked up at him, hoping at least to see some form of gratitude.
He was panting, a wonderfully wanton, heavy-lidded look on his face, and he was smiling down at me.
“Get up Gisburne,” he said, reaching down and lifting me by my arm. I stood before him, still swallowing to get rid of the taste of his come, but heart hopeful.
“Kiss me,” he commanded, lifting his face up to mine.
“But my lord, I just - ”
It felt wrong for him to kiss the mouth he had just come in, but he gave me a warning look and I bent obediently to kiss him.
It was just as I remembered - so perfectly unlike the softer kisses of Philip Mark. His moustache scratched against my skin, and he let me wrap my arms around him and hold him against me as we devoured each other’s mouths. This was Robert de Rainault, the man I loved. Despite the madness of it and the pain it brought me, I would always come back to him. How could I not, when the touch of his hands on my body alone could leave me weak and trembling? He was far from perfect, but who was I to demand perfection?
I still had my own erection to contend with, and as we kissed I ground myself against his hip, even as his tongue tasted the traces of his own come in my mouth. Without thinking, I thrust against him as we kissed, but he moved away from me suddenly, and I could only stand dumbstruck as his countenance darkened.
“Out, Gisburne,” he said coldly, pointing towards the door.
I had only to look at that stern face to know that I had no choice but to go. Maybe all would be forgiven after this night, but my lord would have his punishment of me, for all my apologies.
I stumbled out into the dark hallway and heard the door slam shut behind me. Then there was silence, and I was alone again in the night.
Biting my lip to muffle my cries, I finished myself off, leaning against the cold stones of the wall and imagining that his hands were still on me. I pictured his hand stroking me, faster and faster in the pitch-black of the hall until I came with a quick gasp and a whisper of his name.
And when we were done, he’d look up at me and touch my cheek, and he’d tell me that he loved me and no one else.