A Hope for Silence
Author: mideltone_one
Title: A Hope for Silence
Words: 320
Genre: Slash
Rating: R
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 is moved from the dungeons.
Warnings: Suggested Non-Con.
Characters/Pairings: Allan/Guy
A short iron spigot hung imbedded in the ceiling. Near its base a horizontal bar. Allan a Dale's hands gripped the bar tightly, suspending him in mid air. A small metal pillory just below the bar ensured that he could not escape.
He'd known from the moment he'd been captured that torture was the most likely outcome. He'd prepared himself, as much as one could, for the likely branding to come. When he'd been moved to this isolated room, there had been some comfort in the knowledge that there was no brazier or fire present.
There must be some sort of mind games at play here, he decided, as he stared down at the floor. Being stripped naked wasn't that unusual in the dungeons, he knew from personal experience, but he'd never before been covered, head to toe, in oil. The excess of that oil was dripping regularly onto the floor, mixing there with the drool from his mouth that he could not retain due to the wool stuffed leather ball lodged between his teeth. Any words he spoke were instantly translated into meaningless sounds, not that there was anybody there to talk to.
His back was to the door when he heard it open. There had been footsteps, then something soft hitting the floor, then the door closing again. He discovered earlier that he could turn himself around by throwing his weight to one side or the other. The result was a jerking motion, accompanied by a squeaking noise from the spigot. On the third movement he saw what had made the sound against the floor. A bundle of clothes, not his though, lay there, with only a linen undershirt discernible. With another jerk of his body he came face to face with his captor. He swallowed hard at the sight before him; Gisborne, stark naked, an oil slicked erection in his hand.
"I was hoping you wouldn't talk."
Title: A Hope for Silence
Words: 320
Genre: Slash
Rating: R
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 is moved from the dungeons.
Warnings: Suggested Non-Con.
Characters/Pairings: Allan/Guy
A short iron spigot hung imbedded in the ceiling. Near its base a horizontal bar. Allan a Dale's hands gripped the bar tightly, suspending him in mid air. A small metal pillory just below the bar ensured that he could not escape.
He'd known from the moment he'd been captured that torture was the most likely outcome. He'd prepared himself, as much as one could, for the likely branding to come. When he'd been moved to this isolated room, there had been some comfort in the knowledge that there was no brazier or fire present.
There must be some sort of mind games at play here, he decided, as he stared down at the floor. Being stripped naked wasn't that unusual in the dungeons, he knew from personal experience, but he'd never before been covered, head to toe, in oil. The excess of that oil was dripping regularly onto the floor, mixing there with the drool from his mouth that he could not retain due to the wool stuffed leather ball lodged between his teeth. Any words he spoke were instantly translated into meaningless sounds, not that there was anybody there to talk to.
His back was to the door when he heard it open. There had been footsteps, then something soft hitting the floor, then the door closing again. He discovered earlier that he could turn himself around by throwing his weight to one side or the other. The result was a jerking motion, accompanied by a squeaking noise from the spigot. On the third movement he saw what had made the sound against the floor. A bundle of clothes, not his though, lay there, with only a linen undershirt discernible. With another jerk of his body he came face to face with his captor. He swallowed hard at the sight before him; Gisborne, stark naked, an oil slicked erection in his hand.
"I was hoping you wouldn't talk."