The Messenger Boy
Author: mideltone_one
Title: The Messenger Boy
Words: 2556
Genre: Slash
Rating: R, for suggestions, not actions!
Disclaimer:The Robin Hood characters written about here belong to Tiger Aspect and the British Broadcasting Corporation. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended nor is any money being made. I don't own them - if I did I'd be too busy drooling to write! All mistakes are mine.
Summary: Allan has to pass a message to his former comrades.
Warnings: Set somewhere between 2x06 "For England…!" and 2x12 "A Good Day to Die."
Characters/Pairings: Allan/Robin
Author's Note: Even rebellious children deserve to be loved. Written for the Write Allan Right 2009 ficathon.
The Messenger Boy
Allan ran to the hall as fast as he legs could carry him. With every step he regretted the amount of ale he had consumed the night before, and the situation he found himself in. As Gisborne’s boy he was obliged to do his master’s bidding. To an outsider it might have appeared to be the same when he was one of Robin’s gang, but back there he’d at least felt able to protest if he was particularly unhappy about something, and, on occasion he’d been listened to, and plans had been changed. Here though, he had to follow every instruction, however stupid or dangerous it seemed, to the letter. What more could he expect having sold his soul to the devil? He’d be happy to bet though that even Satan himself had happier days than Guy or, come to that, Vasey.
The door swung open, and he walked as quickly as he could, without appearing to run, into the hall. As expected Guy was standing sour faced next to a seated sheriff, who looked somewhat unhinged at the best of times. Better not to draw attention to yourself in such company. “I see you finally decided to grace us with your presence.” Vasey spat each word out with a measure of venom.
“Sorry my lord, I was attending to-”
“You were probably attending to your hangover, or some grubby serving wench you tricked into your bed. Gisborne, when we’ve finished, make it clear to your boy that I do not expect to be kept waiting by scum.” If he’d listened carefully, the sheriff would have heard a tongue being bitten. “We need to lure Hood away from the north road tomorrow so we can intercept a message from the king,” he continued, “and we’re going to do that by making him think there’s a much more interesting prize to be had on the south road. All he’ll find there is an empty wagon.”
“Not bein funny … but ‘ow do I fit in?” He regretted speaking the moment the words were out of his mouth.
“Oh my, Gisborne,” said the sheriff, putting on a sarcastic tone, “it speaks without even being asked to. If that happens again, what will you do about it?”
“I’ll cut out his tongue, my lord.” There was no hint of displeasure at the thought of mauling his boy, almost a sense of pleasurable expectation. Allan swallowed hard but kept his mouth shut.
“We need somebody to carry the story of the fake prize to Hood and his gang, which is where you come in.” Allan looked shocked, shifting from side to side uncomfortably as he imagined what would happen to him if the gang got hold of him. “He looks as if he’s about to wet himself, Guy. Where do you find these cretins?”
“I think he wants to speak,” said Gisborne, to nods from his boy.
“Very well, let him speak.”
Guy nodded. “If ‘ood or any of the gang catch me, they’ll kill me.”
“That is a risk,” said Vasey, “but as long as you get the message to him before you die, it won’t be a problem.” Allan was about to respond, but a raised hand from his master told him not to push his luck. “Leave me now,” said the sheriff, “I’ll see you again on your return, assuming you’re not just left to rot in the forest.”
The two leather-clad men left the hall, one agitated, the other miserable. Once the doors had shut behind them, Allan began talking again. “Guy, I ain’t kidding. If Robin gets ‘old of me, ‘e’ll kill me, or worse.”
“And what would be worse?”
“‘E could separate me from certain parts of me body that I would really miss.”
“And what do you think the sheriff will do to you if you disobey him? Anyway you always made out you were born with a silver tongue. I’m sure you’ll find a way to charm yourself out of danger. Now get on with it. I do not want to keep the sheriff waiting.” Allan cursed his luck again under his breath. Here he was, doing their dirty work, and they couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, offer him any support. He cursed the day he’d been caught in that tavern by Gisborne.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was funny how quickly he fell back into the old ways, and how much he enjoyed being out in the forest again. The rustling of leaves and singing of birds was in stark contrast to the hustle and bustle in Nottingham castle, and he knew which he preferred. Perhaps it was just about wanting what you couldn’t have. He reminded himself of the nights he’d wished for a warm sheltered bed when he’d slept under the forest canopy. Still, he’d happily trade the comfort of a mattress for the comfort of companionship.
As he neared the camp he slowed down. If all the gang attacked him at once there was no way he’d survive. His only hope would be to isolate Robin and talk man to man; even then it would touch and go. Scanning the camp below him, he picked out each of the gang except their leader. Half expecting a knife to appear against his back at any moment, he looked further afield, and noticed a figure walking away from him on the other side of the valley. If his luck was in, he should be able to catch up to his man some way from the camp.
When he did regain sight of his target said man was standing facing a large elm tree, a stream of urine forming at its base. He just managed to stifle a giggle at the sight; oh so elusive Robin Hood, literally caught with his breeches down. Funny as it was, he realised it would not put the outlaw in the best of tempers if their conversation started with him embarrassed. Better to wait a few moments. Allan moved back behind the tree he was standing by, and closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how exactly he would broach the subject of the decoy wagon.
After a few moments contemplation, he decided he had a workable plan. He moved round the tree again to check his quarry was still in sight; he wasn’t. Panicked, he scanned the area ahead but there was no sign whatsoever. Trying to keep the noise he made to a minimum, though his heart was beating so loudly he was sure the whole of the forest could hear it, he ran to the tree Robin had been standing by; he would need to use all the tracking skills he had ever learnt to find the man again. As he reached the tree, he heard a cry. He turned to see where it had come from, just in time for something to hit the back of his head. He went down as heavily as a sack of turnips, not even having time to curse his bad luck before falling unconscious.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He woke in pain. The front of his face was stinging, and a moment later, when a hand made contact with his cheek again, he knew why. He jerked his head out of the way, which only made things worse, as now the back of it hurt as well. His vision cleared in a few heartbeats, to reveal Robin standing in front of him. “Hello traitor,” said the archer coldly. As Allan tried to raise his hands, to protect himself, he realised they were tied. Moving one pulled on the other; evidently there was one piece of rope looped around the trunk of the large oak tree he was now propped up against. “If you’re looking for your dagger, hidden in your boot, it’s here. The knife in question was held up before him, the sunlight glinting off its blade. “And if you’re expecting your new master to ride in with soldiers to save you, I think you’re out of luck.”
Allan snorted. “Far as I can tell ‘e and Vasey are ‘oping I die out ‘ere - it’ll save them the bother.”
“Oh dear,” replied Robin, mockingly, “are things not going to plan in Nottingham? Life not so good now you’ve betrayed your friends?”
“I ‘aven’t betrayed you.”
“Really? You sided with the two most evil men in the shire, and you don’t call that betrayal.”
“No. I call it survival. It started with me being tortured by Gisborne, then ‘im forcing me to spy on you.”
“Tortured? You didn’t think that important enough to tell me?”
“I didn’t think you’d care.” He didn’t pause long enough to let his captor get a word in. “Why would you? I wasn’t ever one of your favoured inner circle, was I? I was the difficult child, the one who argued all the time, the one it was difficult to -”
“Love?”
“Yeah, if you like.”
“And how was I supposed to show that I loved you?” asked Robin, throwing the dagger to the ground, and stepping closer, obviously riled. “By treating you like a child? Cleaning your face with spit on a handkerchief? Tucking you in and saying ‘Goodnight Allan, sleep well’, and giving you a goodnight kiss?” It was an odd choice of words, but the ex-outlaw didn’t have time to think about it as moments later the archer was pressed up against him, their lips locked together, a tongue thrusting into his mouth, rough hands holding his head in position. It most certainly wasn’t the sort of kiss that would send you to sleep, quite the reverse in fact; he imagined he’d be wide-awake all night if he got kissed like that. And it wasn’t like any kiss he’d had before. There was an intensity that he'd never felt before, but maybe that was what kissing another man was like. Somehow, he guessed, kissing anyone other than Robin of Loxley, would not be like this.
The kiss broke, and Robin moved back slightly, though he was still close enough for his breath to send warm drafts of air against his companion’s face. They stood looking at one another for a few moments before the archer chuckled to himself. “I don’t think I need to check for any other hidden weapons, do I?” He glanced down at Allan’s breeches, which were now straining to contain a hardening bulge. The ex-thief himself was trying to work out what his body was doing to him. It had been months since he’d had any sort of sexual relief; perhaps his body was telling him what it wanted. Thinking back to when he’d been in the gang, he remembered once or twice having dreams about Will, and if he were being honest, Robin, involving shared beds, and roving hands. Maybe this wasn’t just a recent thing, born out of a lack of relief. Maybe this was what he’d always wanted.
Robin was pinned up against him again, and now there were two bulges pressed against his leg; one of his own, and one of the man facing him. “When did you … how … why me?”
The archer smiled broadly. “I saw so much suffering out in the Holy lands, it made me realise that I should take my pleasure wherever I could find it. So, while I was in Acre, I found it in the company of men as well as women. And as for why you, you know you can charm the birds out the trees. Why would I be any less susceptible to that all the woman you’ve been with?”
“You never said nothing.”
“I couldn’t exactly march up to you in front of the gang and kiss you, could I?”
“But now I’m not in the gang?” There was a hint of hope in the voice.
“Then as long as we’re careful …”
Warm wet lips landed on the ex-outlaw’s neck. He groaned, then whispered, “Not bein funny … But I could really do with free ‘ands to get ‘old of you.” Keeping their bodies pressed together, the archer freed the knot at one end, letting the rope go lose. Allan stretched his hands out ahead of him, pulled the loop of rope on his other wrist off, and wrapped his newly liberated arms around his companion. Within moments their lips were locked together again, and while one of Allan’s hands gripped the back of the archer’s head, the other took a strong hold of the firm buttock beneath it. They stayed locked together for some time, both enjoying the simple pleasure of human contact.
Breaking the kiss so he could take a breath, Allan sighed. “I’m supposed to send a message to you, to make you go to the south road tomorrow to ambush a supposed cache of treasure, while the king’s messenger is intercepted by Vasey and Gisborne on the north road. Course it could all be a double bluff to see if I’m working for you.” He rested his chin on Robin’s shoulder, waiting for a reply.
“We’d best cover both roads,” said the archer, “That way no one can say we were tipped off, so you won’t be in any danger.”
“I can look after meself,” replied Allan, “Are you going to be this protective all the time?”
“No! So you’d better make the most of it.” They held each other in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth and touch of one another’s body.
“I need to get back to the gang,” whispered Robin, “and you need to get back to Nottingham.”
Allan sighed. “I don’t mean to sound like a love sick puppy, but when are we gonna see each other again?” he asked, “There are things I need to do to you, and I don’t know how long I can wait.” His raised eyebrow brought a smile to his companion’s face.
Robin pondered for a moment, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “I think I’ve got just the place,” he said, “somewhere we can do what we want, make as much noise as we want, and not be interrupted.”
“Go on then, tell me.”
“If you follow the river near Clun westward, it turns almost back on itself about a mile from the village.”
“That’s on the edge of the forest, ain’t it?”
“Yes. There’s a cottage just there. Been empty a couple of years I understand. It’s supposed to be cursed.”
“Not bein funny … but a cursed deserted cottage doesn’t exactly sound that wonderful.”
The Archer grinned. “It has everything we need, a table and a bed. Once we’re both naked, I’ll lean you over the table, and show you all the tricks I learnt in Acre, while I pound you senseless. And then, when you’ve recovered, we’ll get in the bed, and you’ll show me all those Turkish tricks you can remember, and any you’ve picked up here in England. Can you wait till the afternoon, two days hence?”
“I’ll be there at noon, come hell or high water.”
“Go on home then,” said Robin, his hand stroking the back of his companion’s neck before pushing him away, “and remember, this is our secret. We have to hate each other in public.”
“I hate you Robin Hood,” shouted Allan as he walked away, his dagger twirling in his hand, before turning and blowing his soon to be lover a kiss.
Title: The Messenger Boy
Words: 2556
Genre: Slash
Rating: R, for suggestions, not actions!
Disclaimer:The Robin Hood characters written about here belong to Tiger Aspect and the British Broadcasting Corporation. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended nor is any money being made. I don't own them - if I did I'd be too busy drooling to write! All mistakes are mine.
Summary: Allan has to pass a message to his former comrades.
Warnings: Set somewhere between 2x06 "For England…!" and 2x12 "A Good Day to Die."
Characters/Pairings: Allan/Robin
Author's Note: Even rebellious children deserve to be loved. Written for the Write Allan Right 2009 ficathon.
The Messenger Boy
Allan ran to the hall as fast as he legs could carry him. With every step he regretted the amount of ale he had consumed the night before, and the situation he found himself in. As Gisborne’s boy he was obliged to do his master’s bidding. To an outsider it might have appeared to be the same when he was one of Robin’s gang, but back there he’d at least felt able to protest if he was particularly unhappy about something, and, on occasion he’d been listened to, and plans had been changed. Here though, he had to follow every instruction, however stupid or dangerous it seemed, to the letter. What more could he expect having sold his soul to the devil? He’d be happy to bet though that even Satan himself had happier days than Guy or, come to that, Vasey.
The door swung open, and he walked as quickly as he could, without appearing to run, into the hall. As expected Guy was standing sour faced next to a seated sheriff, who looked somewhat unhinged at the best of times. Better not to draw attention to yourself in such company. “I see you finally decided to grace us with your presence.” Vasey spat each word out with a measure of venom.
“Sorry my lord, I was attending to-”
“You were probably attending to your hangover, or some grubby serving wench you tricked into your bed. Gisborne, when we’ve finished, make it clear to your boy that I do not expect to be kept waiting by scum.” If he’d listened carefully, the sheriff would have heard a tongue being bitten. “We need to lure Hood away from the north road tomorrow so we can intercept a message from the king,” he continued, “and we’re going to do that by making him think there’s a much more interesting prize to be had on the south road. All he’ll find there is an empty wagon.”
“Not bein funny … but ‘ow do I fit in?” He regretted speaking the moment the words were out of his mouth.
“Oh my, Gisborne,” said the sheriff, putting on a sarcastic tone, “it speaks without even being asked to. If that happens again, what will you do about it?”
“I’ll cut out his tongue, my lord.” There was no hint of displeasure at the thought of mauling his boy, almost a sense of pleasurable expectation. Allan swallowed hard but kept his mouth shut.
“We need somebody to carry the story of the fake prize to Hood and his gang, which is where you come in.” Allan looked shocked, shifting from side to side uncomfortably as he imagined what would happen to him if the gang got hold of him. “He looks as if he’s about to wet himself, Guy. Where do you find these cretins?”
“I think he wants to speak,” said Gisborne, to nods from his boy.
“Very well, let him speak.”
Guy nodded. “If ‘ood or any of the gang catch me, they’ll kill me.”
“That is a risk,” said Vasey, “but as long as you get the message to him before you die, it won’t be a problem.” Allan was about to respond, but a raised hand from his master told him not to push his luck. “Leave me now,” said the sheriff, “I’ll see you again on your return, assuming you’re not just left to rot in the forest.”
The two leather-clad men left the hall, one agitated, the other miserable. Once the doors had shut behind them, Allan began talking again. “Guy, I ain’t kidding. If Robin gets ‘old of me, ‘e’ll kill me, or worse.”
“And what would be worse?”
“‘E could separate me from certain parts of me body that I would really miss.”
“And what do you think the sheriff will do to you if you disobey him? Anyway you always made out you were born with a silver tongue. I’m sure you’ll find a way to charm yourself out of danger. Now get on with it. I do not want to keep the sheriff waiting.” Allan cursed his luck again under his breath. Here he was, doing their dirty work, and they couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, offer him any support. He cursed the day he’d been caught in that tavern by Gisborne.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was funny how quickly he fell back into the old ways, and how much he enjoyed being out in the forest again. The rustling of leaves and singing of birds was in stark contrast to the hustle and bustle in Nottingham castle, and he knew which he preferred. Perhaps it was just about wanting what you couldn’t have. He reminded himself of the nights he’d wished for a warm sheltered bed when he’d slept under the forest canopy. Still, he’d happily trade the comfort of a mattress for the comfort of companionship.
As he neared the camp he slowed down. If all the gang attacked him at once there was no way he’d survive. His only hope would be to isolate Robin and talk man to man; even then it would touch and go. Scanning the camp below him, he picked out each of the gang except their leader. Half expecting a knife to appear against his back at any moment, he looked further afield, and noticed a figure walking away from him on the other side of the valley. If his luck was in, he should be able to catch up to his man some way from the camp.
When he did regain sight of his target said man was standing facing a large elm tree, a stream of urine forming at its base. He just managed to stifle a giggle at the sight; oh so elusive Robin Hood, literally caught with his breeches down. Funny as it was, he realised it would not put the outlaw in the best of tempers if their conversation started with him embarrassed. Better to wait a few moments. Allan moved back behind the tree he was standing by, and closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how exactly he would broach the subject of the decoy wagon.
After a few moments contemplation, he decided he had a workable plan. He moved round the tree again to check his quarry was still in sight; he wasn’t. Panicked, he scanned the area ahead but there was no sign whatsoever. Trying to keep the noise he made to a minimum, though his heart was beating so loudly he was sure the whole of the forest could hear it, he ran to the tree Robin had been standing by; he would need to use all the tracking skills he had ever learnt to find the man again. As he reached the tree, he heard a cry. He turned to see where it had come from, just in time for something to hit the back of his head. He went down as heavily as a sack of turnips, not even having time to curse his bad luck before falling unconscious.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He woke in pain. The front of his face was stinging, and a moment later, when a hand made contact with his cheek again, he knew why. He jerked his head out of the way, which only made things worse, as now the back of it hurt as well. His vision cleared in a few heartbeats, to reveal Robin standing in front of him. “Hello traitor,” said the archer coldly. As Allan tried to raise his hands, to protect himself, he realised they were tied. Moving one pulled on the other; evidently there was one piece of rope looped around the trunk of the large oak tree he was now propped up against. “If you’re looking for your dagger, hidden in your boot, it’s here. The knife in question was held up before him, the sunlight glinting off its blade. “And if you’re expecting your new master to ride in with soldiers to save you, I think you’re out of luck.”
Allan snorted. “Far as I can tell ‘e and Vasey are ‘oping I die out ‘ere - it’ll save them the bother.”
“Oh dear,” replied Robin, mockingly, “are things not going to plan in Nottingham? Life not so good now you’ve betrayed your friends?”
“I ‘aven’t betrayed you.”
“Really? You sided with the two most evil men in the shire, and you don’t call that betrayal.”
“No. I call it survival. It started with me being tortured by Gisborne, then ‘im forcing me to spy on you.”
“Tortured? You didn’t think that important enough to tell me?”
“I didn’t think you’d care.” He didn’t pause long enough to let his captor get a word in. “Why would you? I wasn’t ever one of your favoured inner circle, was I? I was the difficult child, the one who argued all the time, the one it was difficult to -”
“Love?”
“Yeah, if you like.”
“And how was I supposed to show that I loved you?” asked Robin, throwing the dagger to the ground, and stepping closer, obviously riled. “By treating you like a child? Cleaning your face with spit on a handkerchief? Tucking you in and saying ‘Goodnight Allan, sleep well’, and giving you a goodnight kiss?” It was an odd choice of words, but the ex-outlaw didn’t have time to think about it as moments later the archer was pressed up against him, their lips locked together, a tongue thrusting into his mouth, rough hands holding his head in position. It most certainly wasn’t the sort of kiss that would send you to sleep, quite the reverse in fact; he imagined he’d be wide-awake all night if he got kissed like that. And it wasn’t like any kiss he’d had before. There was an intensity that he'd never felt before, but maybe that was what kissing another man was like. Somehow, he guessed, kissing anyone other than Robin of Loxley, would not be like this.
The kiss broke, and Robin moved back slightly, though he was still close enough for his breath to send warm drafts of air against his companion’s face. They stood looking at one another for a few moments before the archer chuckled to himself. “I don’t think I need to check for any other hidden weapons, do I?” He glanced down at Allan’s breeches, which were now straining to contain a hardening bulge. The ex-thief himself was trying to work out what his body was doing to him. It had been months since he’d had any sort of sexual relief; perhaps his body was telling him what it wanted. Thinking back to when he’d been in the gang, he remembered once or twice having dreams about Will, and if he were being honest, Robin, involving shared beds, and roving hands. Maybe this wasn’t just a recent thing, born out of a lack of relief. Maybe this was what he’d always wanted.
Robin was pinned up against him again, and now there were two bulges pressed against his leg; one of his own, and one of the man facing him. “When did you … how … why me?”
The archer smiled broadly. “I saw so much suffering out in the Holy lands, it made me realise that I should take my pleasure wherever I could find it. So, while I was in Acre, I found it in the company of men as well as women. And as for why you, you know you can charm the birds out the trees. Why would I be any less susceptible to that all the woman you’ve been with?”
“You never said nothing.”
“I couldn’t exactly march up to you in front of the gang and kiss you, could I?”
“But now I’m not in the gang?” There was a hint of hope in the voice.
“Then as long as we’re careful …”
Warm wet lips landed on the ex-outlaw’s neck. He groaned, then whispered, “Not bein funny … But I could really do with free ‘ands to get ‘old of you.” Keeping their bodies pressed together, the archer freed the knot at one end, letting the rope go lose. Allan stretched his hands out ahead of him, pulled the loop of rope on his other wrist off, and wrapped his newly liberated arms around his companion. Within moments their lips were locked together again, and while one of Allan’s hands gripped the back of the archer’s head, the other took a strong hold of the firm buttock beneath it. They stayed locked together for some time, both enjoying the simple pleasure of human contact.
Breaking the kiss so he could take a breath, Allan sighed. “I’m supposed to send a message to you, to make you go to the south road tomorrow to ambush a supposed cache of treasure, while the king’s messenger is intercepted by Vasey and Gisborne on the north road. Course it could all be a double bluff to see if I’m working for you.” He rested his chin on Robin’s shoulder, waiting for a reply.
“We’d best cover both roads,” said the archer, “That way no one can say we were tipped off, so you won’t be in any danger.”
“I can look after meself,” replied Allan, “Are you going to be this protective all the time?”
“No! So you’d better make the most of it.” They held each other in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth and touch of one another’s body.
“I need to get back to the gang,” whispered Robin, “and you need to get back to Nottingham.”
Allan sighed. “I don’t mean to sound like a love sick puppy, but when are we gonna see each other again?” he asked, “There are things I need to do to you, and I don’t know how long I can wait.” His raised eyebrow brought a smile to his companion’s face.
Robin pondered for a moment, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “I think I’ve got just the place,” he said, “somewhere we can do what we want, make as much noise as we want, and not be interrupted.”
“Go on then, tell me.”
“If you follow the river near Clun westward, it turns almost back on itself about a mile from the village.”
“That’s on the edge of the forest, ain’t it?”
“Yes. There’s a cottage just there. Been empty a couple of years I understand. It’s supposed to be cursed.”
“Not bein funny … but a cursed deserted cottage doesn’t exactly sound that wonderful.”
The Archer grinned. “It has everything we need, a table and a bed. Once we’re both naked, I’ll lean you over the table, and show you all the tricks I learnt in Acre, while I pound you senseless. And then, when you’ve recovered, we’ll get in the bed, and you’ll show me all those Turkish tricks you can remember, and any you’ve picked up here in England. Can you wait till the afternoon, two days hence?”
“I’ll be there at noon, come hell or high water.”
“Go on home then,” said Robin, his hand stroking the back of his companion’s neck before pushing him away, “and remember, this is our secret. We have to hate each other in public.”
“I hate you Robin Hood,” shouted Allan as he walked away, his dagger twirling in his hand, before turning and blowing his soon to be lover a kiss.