Lion's Heart 4/4 Guy/Robin
Title: Lion’s Heart (4/4)
Pairing: Robin/Guy
Rating: NC-17
Warning: m/m sex
Summary: In which Robin expresses his gratitude. And I am way embarrassed about having written a sex scene, but enjoy!
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
It had been another long day, and Guy had finally barricaded himself in his room, leaving explicit orders that if Vaisey turned up again he was to be informed that Guy had the plague, and no one could go up to wake him for fear of contamination. Damn Vaisey and his obsessive controlling nature. Guy had lost his window of opportunity with Hood. He could have burnt out those unasked for, irritating thrills of sensation that knocked him off balance. He could have returned to that state in which a fight was just a fight, and the only things that made him ache afterwards were bruises. Now it would be back to chance encounters, shouted insults and moments of stupidity when this thing between them interfered with the lives they wanted to lead. Damn Vaisey. Damn Hood, damn Courtell for bringing that letter, and damn the king for writing it and making it impossible for Guy to ignore what there was to be had in Hood.
But still, something good had come of it. Marian had kissed him, and gifted him with a tiny shard of peace, a moment he could smile to remember. A good memory to fall asleep to.
Rattle. Creak.
Or not. Was that his window? What the devil? The shutters swung open, and Hood was revealed perching on the window ledge.
“…what!”
“Keep your voice down. I doubt we want anyone to know I’m here.”
“How did you do that?” He asked, instead of grabbing for his weapons, which would have been the simplest thing to do.
“I know this house better than you do.” And then he slipped inside, and pushed the shutters closed behind him.
“Why then?”
“I’ve been informed I have a debt to pay. Another one. You kept my people safe yesterday, when you didn’t have to, and I think the idea of my gratitude may have had something to do with it. I don’t leave debts unpaid. And I am grateful.”
This wasn’t Hood injured and unarmed, locked away in a lonely tower room. This was Robin of Locksley, meeting him on his own terms, and in some ways on his own ground. And suddenly Guy couldn’t move anymore, couldn’t close the yawning gulf between them or breathe the still air.
“What, aren’t you interested any more?”
That was a stupid question. He had been aching for this man for the last two days. Finally his limbs decided to listen to him, and he stepped in, nose to nose with Locksley. Their eyes locked. Their heartbeats were nearly audible.
“You need to understand, those people I kept safe, they aren’t yours anymore Locksley. They’re mine, to do what I like with.”
Hood laughed mockingly, and without breaking his gaze, began shedding his weapons.
“I’ll believe that when you stop calling me Locksley. Are you claiming you don’t want my gratitude?”
“I’m saying, you should stop pretending that this is about repaying debts.” And then, indulging in the fleeting memory of a dream, he caught hold of Hood’s shirt and began tugging it rather gracelessly over the man’s head. Hood laughed again, and Guy made a silent vow that he wouldn’t be laughing by the time they finished. He tore harder at the shirt and felt a thrill as Hood struggled with the cloth, arms tangled above his head.
He eyed the bandage across Hood’s shoulder.
“Djaq stitched it up. Did a better job than you did.”
“Be thankful I didn’t leave it to rot.”
Hood’s face scrunched up.
“You really know how to seduce a man, Gisborne…wound rot.”
“I’m beginning to think you don’t know how to bed a man, Locksley, with all your chatter.”
Of course, the outlaw couldn’t ignore something that sounded so blatantly like a challenge, and without a moment’s hesitation their lips met. In seconds it had become more of a wrestling match that a kiss, and when Guy tripped over Locksley’s weapons the outlaw immediately snatched the best grip, and angled Guy’s head to his liking.
Damn it, was there anything Locksley didn’t do well?
He broke away hurriedly.
“Wait.”
He started kicking the weapons under the bed, not particularly wanting to get entangled in them again. Then he took advantage of the fact that Locksley had surrendered his grip to push the shorter man backwards.
Hood made a little noise of surprise and fell onto the bed, staring at Gisborne in apparent confusion. Apparently, he wasn’t used to being manhandled. Guy decided to push his advantage, and knelt alongside him. He cupped his hand between Hood’s thighs and watched him arch up gasping. It was Guy’s turn to laugh.
He began yanking at the front of the man’s breeches.
“Gah! Gentle!” Locksley batted his hands away and began to untie them.
Guy wasn’t used to this, to people telling him what to do in bed. Women never, they just lay…
Locksley had escaped his clothes and was instead investigating Guy’s. His hands had crept under his shirt, and were tracing intricate patterns across Guy’s chest. Between them they abandoned that garment too. Locksley’s fingers trailed down his arm, to take his hand, and then suddenly, his fingers were in Locksley’s mouth.
God, that mouth.
Locksley smiled up around his fingers, and Guy felt the faintest hint of teeth behind that smile. Hood’s tongue crept about his fingertips, until he suddenly removed his mouth with a pop and a puzzled expression.
“You use a bow.” He looked intrigued.
“Of course I can.”
“But you use one often, I can feel the calluses on your fingers.”
“You aren’t the only one in the world who can fire a bow.”
“But I’ve never seen you with one.”
“So?”
“So tell me why I’ve never seen you with one.”
“Why should I?”
“Because then I might find a better use for my mouth.”
Guy hesitated.
Locksley’s tongue moved to his chest, and Guy had a vague conviction that he was probably tracing obscenities there. That wandering mouth encountered a nipple, and paused.
Those expectant eyes were staring at him.
“It’s…ah! It’s, a commoner’s, a commoner’s weapon.” Guy hissed.
Hood laughed, and the sound passed through Guy as Hood found that better use for his mouth.
Locksley’s hands were moving, clever hands, to delicately loosen Guy’s leathers. Guy had already risen, and was glad of the relief, until suddenly Locksley had him in hand. A slow lazy motion, matching the slow lazy smile on his face. Guy rocked into it, momentarily content to let him set the pace. This was…surprisingly pleasant. His fevered imaginings had been of something furious and fast, not this gradual climb to inevitable satisfaction.
“I want more than your hand, you know.”
“I know. Have you done this before?”
“Lain with a man?”
“Well, I presume you’ve lain with the Sheriff. But have you taken a man before?”
It was an odd feeling, suddenly being overwhelmed with fury when a man was doing distractingly wonderful things to his cock.
“The Sheriff has never bedded me. He never will.”
“Really? I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“I…tolerate it. He knows how much I am willing to bear, but should he ever press the issue…” It was getting hard to choke out coherent sentences.
“You’d roll over and pretend you were somewhere else.”
Guy was going to punch him, regardless of how good he felt.
“Relax. I couldn’t say no to Richard. Well, I didn’t really want to, but I didn’t want to find out what happened when you refuse the bed of a king either…returning to the issue, have you ever fucked a man?”
Locksley’s hand tightened on the word fuck.
“Yeees.”
“Did he enjoy it?”
“Enjoy it? What’s to enjoy about a man shoving his cock up your arse?”
Hood’s hand stalled, and his eyebrows shot up into his hairline.
“Right. I can see we’ll have to take this slowly.”
He didn’t move his hand again, and then he got off the bed.
“What, are you leaving?” If Hood left him there, thrusting into the air, he really would kill him.
“Don’t be stupid. Where did my vial end up?” Guy waved him in the right direction and, prize secured, Hood returned to the bed, vial in hand.
“Get that away from me.”
Hood looked confused.
“What…oh. Its not to burn things, look.” And then he was poring glistening pale liquid onto his hand, slicking his fingers. “This is why I’m going to be enjoying myself.” Both hands were slick now, and with one hand Locksley grasped Guy’s prick, and with the other he reached behind himself and…
“What are you doing?” Guy had honestly never bedded someone this bizarre.
“Making things easier. I presumed you didn’t know how.” That sounded like an insult, and as Hood knelt on the bed, twisted at a torturous angle, with an inexplicable look on his face, Guy grabbed the vial.
“I can learn.” There was an irrational moment when he nearly flinched away from the liquid flowing onto his hand. It was nothing like the burning liquid, it was thicker, it slid between his fingers. Yes, he could see how this would make things easier.
Locksley stopped twisting about in an attempt to open himself, and took the measure of Guy, slowly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He pushed Locksley onto his back again and reached down.
“Just one finger first, till I get used to it.”
A finger slipped inside, with surprising ease, and remembering Locksley’s motions, he slipped it in and out. He added another, and Locksley made an interesting sound, and Guy’s prick ached. A third, and Locksley gasped.
“Move them, like, like this.” He said, and crooked his fingers.
So Guy did.
Locksley yelped and his hips arched off the bed. His eyes had closed, and Guy did it again. And again, and again.
There was no other word for this. Hood was writhing.
“Thiiiis. This is why. Ah! Men like this.” He garbled an explanation, thrusting upwards into nothing.
“Could you spill, just from this?”
“Never tried, we usually got on to the fucking part quite quickly…ah! Please!”
Please? Locksley had just said please to him.
That was nearly enough to make Guy spill.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.”
“Look at me, and say that again.”
His eyes slid open, and he looked up at Gisborne, for a moment in silence.
“Please fuck me Guy.” And that was it, Locksley open and naked, and not just physically. The arrogance, the mockery, the superiority that flickered in his face in every moment had vanished, and in its place was sincere hunger. Guy debated keeping him there, in that place of truth, thrusting and pleading. But the temptation was too great.
He removed his fingers, and lined himself up, and remembered what Hood had said, no shoving. So carefully, carefully, Guy eased himself into him, all the while he breathed out, and looked Hood in the eye.
He was in Robin Hood. He lay beneath Guy, legs spread, and Gisborne paused for a moment, amazed by his heat, by his internal strength.
He shifted under him, and that was it. Guy was thrusting back and forth, and had taken hold of his wrists, pinning them to the bed, he had no idea why. Hood shifted again, pulling against Guy’s hands, and they started to struggle.
Hood’s strength, thrusting against him, trying to move them, was heady. He could take everything Gisborne had to give, and purify it, change his force to that look of rapture across his face.
Hood was gasping again.
“I need, I need, let go of my hands.” Guy liked him like this, monosyllabic. No chance of hearing any stirring speech or moral tirade now.
“Why?” He asked, as he tightened his grip.
“I need to touch myself.”
Guy didn’t let him. He wondered how close to the edge He could keep Locksley, until his own aching demanded a resolution.
Not long. Hood was meeting his every stroke, incapable of freeing his hands because Guy was in reality, stronger. It was a joyous realisation. Hood’s strength, when he had it, was a nervous kind, a temporary thing summoned up from a store of will, his moral purpose. When he couldn’t see any peasants being oppressed, and there was no king to defend, when he forgot his righteous cause, he was, ultimately, smaller than Guy. Skinnier. Pinned under his strength.
Guy had got lost somewhere, in the thrusting and his thoughts, and it surprised him when he began to topple.
“What?”
But Hood came with him as they rolled and Guy remained inside him, and incomprehensibly Guy was on his back, and Hood was setting the place, straddling him. Hood had leverage now, and yanked his hands out of his grip.
“What do you think Guy? Should I touch myself, or should I hold you down?” And there, that damned grin was back, a devil’s smile.
No.
He took hold of Hood’s cock, which Hood hadn’t expected, and mimicked what he had done to Guy before, but harder, faster.
“Come on Robin.” Another noise, like Guy was strangling him, and then suddenly Hood was taut, every inch of him like the stretched oak of a bow, and he spilt himself, all across Guy.
He didn’t mind, because Hood had become taut inside as well, shivering around his cock. And the expression on his face, the note of desperation and the idea that Guy had done that to him. Guy thrust up, and he might have yelled his name, but everything was a little hazy, a white blank. Hood slid off him, and they lay slide by side, breathing as if they had just raced through Sherwood. One of his legs remained over Guy’s.
Warm, he thought.
He woke up with sunlight streaming across his face, uncommonly calm and comfortable. He was warmer than usual. It took a couple of hazy moments to realise that this was because Locksley’s sleeping form was tangled up with his. They must have slept through the night like this, entwined with one another. Gisborne tried to peel Robin off him, so that he could wake the outlaw up and send him on his way. Hood couldn’t have been sleeping very deeply, because his cautious movements were enough to rouse him. There was a deep, luxurious sound from Hood’s mouth, as the man stretched out along the bed, before rolling over and then curling up again on his side. He was facing Gisborne, and after a couple of slow blinks he focused on Guy’s face, before recoiling backwards with a yelp.
“Christ!”
Guy didn’t know whether to laugh, or grab his sword from the floor. It must have shown on his face.
“I-I forgot you were here.” Hood said hesitantly.
Of course. This was, after all, Hood’s bed. It was no wonder the man looked so disorientated. This was probably the best nights sleep he’d had in weeks, and he surfaced from it staring at Guy’s face.
“You need to leave.” Guy said, and the authority he tried to put in his voice made it a snarl. Snarls didn’t impress Locksley, and the man simply met it with a smile.
“What, I’m not impressive enough to warrant breakfast?”
“Get out of my house.” He was not going to lose control of this situation, and it didn’t make sense to him that he should feel so unbalanced by Locksley. Shouldn’t it be the other way round? Locksley had been the one getting fucked.
“It’s not your house.”
And that was when they heard the noise at the door.
“My Lord, please, if you would but wait downstairs.”
“No, my orders have been disobeyed, and I will know why.”
Vaisey, and by God, the door wasn’t locked.
Hood surged up, and there was a look of confusion, replaced by utter panic on his face.
Guy shoved him under the blankets, and then the door swung open.
“Gisborne! When did you start creatively interpreting my orders?”
“Which order?” He asked stupidly.
“Which one?! The order I gave you to kill a peasant every hour until you got a message to Locksley’s men. Why, how many of my orders have you disobeyed recently?”
He could feel Hood pressed against his side. He wasn’t going to panic.
“I assumed you wanted your gold back more than you wanted dead peasants. And I didn’t want to be shorthanded come harvest time. I apologise for taking the initiative.”
Vaisey looked irritated, but his attention was divided, as it always was by his need to perform for an audience. He turned, preparing to march up and down giving a long soliloquy on the dangers of taking the initiative, and then he stumbled. Over Hood’s breeches. That’s it, Guy was going to be executed.
Vaisey looked down, puzzled, and then surveyed the room.
“What have you been doing in here, Guy?” There were clothes, everywhere. Where the hell had Hood’s distinctive weapons ended up?
Apparently Vaisey had surveyed the clothes and done the necessary arithmetic. Two of everything. And he was staring at the Hood shaped lump under Guy’s bedding.
“Have you got a boy in there with you?”
“…yes.” Guy said. Vaisey knew when he lied.
Then, bizarrely, the Sheriff started laughing.
“Is he pretty?”
“…yes.” Either he was going to be executed or Hood was going to murder him.
“Talented?”
“Very.” And he grinned at the Sheriff, who seemed to have overcome his irritation as quickly as it has arisen.
“Well, let me see the pretty talented thing then.”
“I…no.”
“No.” There was the irritation again.
“He’s shy…it took me a lot of effort to persuade him into bed, if anyone found out, I doubt I’d be able to enjoy him again.”
With an exaggerated roll of the eyes, the Sheriff came forward, and took hold of the bedding. Almost without thought, Guy grabbed his wrist.
“With all due respect sir, no.”
There was a dangerous light in his eyes.
“I believe you’ve forgotten who you take orders from.”
“Not in my bedroom.”
And then, a choked off noise of laughing emanated from the bedding. They both looked down at the Hood shaped lump, and then back up. Guy wasn’t going to break eye contact. Not this time.
“Very well then Guy. Be careful.” The Sheriff added cryptically.
And as Vaisey stood upright he paused to bring his hand down, hard, on the area of the blanket that Hood’s arse was probably under. There was a minor bout of flailing but sensibly, Hood didn’t surface.
“I’ll meet you downstairs Guy. Rise and shine.”
The door close behind the Sheriff, and Guy sprang across the room, shouldering a piece of furniture across the door in case Vaisey has suddenly developed lock-picking capabilities.
He looked wildly at Hood, who was trying valiantly to disentangle himself from the blankets.
“You really have to leave now!”
“He spanked me!”
“And if that’s the worst he ever does to you be grateful.”
“He does worse every day, by breathing. He’s poisoning this shire.”
Guy simply glared at him. He had no time for Hood’s preaching, he had to go and pacify the Sheriff.
“Fine, I’m going.”
And Hood rose from the bed, naked and glorious, and Guy forgot how to breathe again.
“Fit for a king.” He murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing. Hurry up.”
Hood was hopping up and down, getting his clothes back on, and then started fishing around under the bed. He surfaced holding bow and sheathe and sword.
“Did I bring a dagger? I can’t remember.”
“I never saw one. Get out!”
“I’m going already.” And he had slung one leg over the window, before he hesitated.
“Guy…”
And still he hesitated, and Gisborne didn’t know what to say either, because he never did, but he had to say something now, the silence demanded it.
“It’s over. Move.”
And Hood looked grim, fingered the end of his bow, and gave a resolute nod. He dropped from sight.
Strangely, Guy didn’t feel like anything was over. That thing like fear, which was moving deep in his belly, that felt like a beginning.
Pairing: Robin/Guy
Rating: NC-17
Warning: m/m sex
Summary: In which Robin expresses his gratitude. And I am way embarrassed about having written a sex scene, but enjoy!
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
It had been another long day, and Guy had finally barricaded himself in his room, leaving explicit orders that if Vaisey turned up again he was to be informed that Guy had the plague, and no one could go up to wake him for fear of contamination. Damn Vaisey and his obsessive controlling nature. Guy had lost his window of opportunity with Hood. He could have burnt out those unasked for, irritating thrills of sensation that knocked him off balance. He could have returned to that state in which a fight was just a fight, and the only things that made him ache afterwards were bruises. Now it would be back to chance encounters, shouted insults and moments of stupidity when this thing between them interfered with the lives they wanted to lead. Damn Vaisey. Damn Hood, damn Courtell for bringing that letter, and damn the king for writing it and making it impossible for Guy to ignore what there was to be had in Hood.
But still, something good had come of it. Marian had kissed him, and gifted him with a tiny shard of peace, a moment he could smile to remember. A good memory to fall asleep to.
Rattle. Creak.
Or not. Was that his window? What the devil? The shutters swung open, and Hood was revealed perching on the window ledge.
“…what!”
“Keep your voice down. I doubt we want anyone to know I’m here.”
“How did you do that?” He asked, instead of grabbing for his weapons, which would have been the simplest thing to do.
“I know this house better than you do.” And then he slipped inside, and pushed the shutters closed behind him.
“Why then?”
“I’ve been informed I have a debt to pay. Another one. You kept my people safe yesterday, when you didn’t have to, and I think the idea of my gratitude may have had something to do with it. I don’t leave debts unpaid. And I am grateful.”
This wasn’t Hood injured and unarmed, locked away in a lonely tower room. This was Robin of Locksley, meeting him on his own terms, and in some ways on his own ground. And suddenly Guy couldn’t move anymore, couldn’t close the yawning gulf between them or breathe the still air.
“What, aren’t you interested any more?”
That was a stupid question. He had been aching for this man for the last two days. Finally his limbs decided to listen to him, and he stepped in, nose to nose with Locksley. Their eyes locked. Their heartbeats were nearly audible.
“You need to understand, those people I kept safe, they aren’t yours anymore Locksley. They’re mine, to do what I like with.”
Hood laughed mockingly, and without breaking his gaze, began shedding his weapons.
“I’ll believe that when you stop calling me Locksley. Are you claiming you don’t want my gratitude?”
“I’m saying, you should stop pretending that this is about repaying debts.” And then, indulging in the fleeting memory of a dream, he caught hold of Hood’s shirt and began tugging it rather gracelessly over the man’s head. Hood laughed again, and Guy made a silent vow that he wouldn’t be laughing by the time they finished. He tore harder at the shirt and felt a thrill as Hood struggled with the cloth, arms tangled above his head.
He eyed the bandage across Hood’s shoulder.
“Djaq stitched it up. Did a better job than you did.”
“Be thankful I didn’t leave it to rot.”
Hood’s face scrunched up.
“You really know how to seduce a man, Gisborne…wound rot.”
“I’m beginning to think you don’t know how to bed a man, Locksley, with all your chatter.”
Of course, the outlaw couldn’t ignore something that sounded so blatantly like a challenge, and without a moment’s hesitation their lips met. In seconds it had become more of a wrestling match that a kiss, and when Guy tripped over Locksley’s weapons the outlaw immediately snatched the best grip, and angled Guy’s head to his liking.
Damn it, was there anything Locksley didn’t do well?
He broke away hurriedly.
“Wait.”
He started kicking the weapons under the bed, not particularly wanting to get entangled in them again. Then he took advantage of the fact that Locksley had surrendered his grip to push the shorter man backwards.
Hood made a little noise of surprise and fell onto the bed, staring at Gisborne in apparent confusion. Apparently, he wasn’t used to being manhandled. Guy decided to push his advantage, and knelt alongside him. He cupped his hand between Hood’s thighs and watched him arch up gasping. It was Guy’s turn to laugh.
He began yanking at the front of the man’s breeches.
“Gah! Gentle!” Locksley batted his hands away and began to untie them.
Guy wasn’t used to this, to people telling him what to do in bed. Women never, they just lay…
Locksley had escaped his clothes and was instead investigating Guy’s. His hands had crept under his shirt, and were tracing intricate patterns across Guy’s chest. Between them they abandoned that garment too. Locksley’s fingers trailed down his arm, to take his hand, and then suddenly, his fingers were in Locksley’s mouth.
God, that mouth.
Locksley smiled up around his fingers, and Guy felt the faintest hint of teeth behind that smile. Hood’s tongue crept about his fingertips, until he suddenly removed his mouth with a pop and a puzzled expression.
“You use a bow.” He looked intrigued.
“Of course I can.”
“But you use one often, I can feel the calluses on your fingers.”
“You aren’t the only one in the world who can fire a bow.”
“But I’ve never seen you with one.”
“So?”
“So tell me why I’ve never seen you with one.”
“Why should I?”
“Because then I might find a better use for my mouth.”
Guy hesitated.
Locksley’s tongue moved to his chest, and Guy had a vague conviction that he was probably tracing obscenities there. That wandering mouth encountered a nipple, and paused.
Those expectant eyes were staring at him.
“It’s…ah! It’s, a commoner’s, a commoner’s weapon.” Guy hissed.
Hood laughed, and the sound passed through Guy as Hood found that better use for his mouth.
Locksley’s hands were moving, clever hands, to delicately loosen Guy’s leathers. Guy had already risen, and was glad of the relief, until suddenly Locksley had him in hand. A slow lazy motion, matching the slow lazy smile on his face. Guy rocked into it, momentarily content to let him set the pace. This was…surprisingly pleasant. His fevered imaginings had been of something furious and fast, not this gradual climb to inevitable satisfaction.
“I want more than your hand, you know.”
“I know. Have you done this before?”
“Lain with a man?”
“Well, I presume you’ve lain with the Sheriff. But have you taken a man before?”
It was an odd feeling, suddenly being overwhelmed with fury when a man was doing distractingly wonderful things to his cock.
“The Sheriff has never bedded me. He never will.”
“Really? I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“I…tolerate it. He knows how much I am willing to bear, but should he ever press the issue…” It was getting hard to choke out coherent sentences.
“You’d roll over and pretend you were somewhere else.”
Guy was going to punch him, regardless of how good he felt.
“Relax. I couldn’t say no to Richard. Well, I didn’t really want to, but I didn’t want to find out what happened when you refuse the bed of a king either…returning to the issue, have you ever fucked a man?”
Locksley’s hand tightened on the word fuck.
“Yeees.”
“Did he enjoy it?”
“Enjoy it? What’s to enjoy about a man shoving his cock up your arse?”
Hood’s hand stalled, and his eyebrows shot up into his hairline.
“Right. I can see we’ll have to take this slowly.”
He didn’t move his hand again, and then he got off the bed.
“What, are you leaving?” If Hood left him there, thrusting into the air, he really would kill him.
“Don’t be stupid. Where did my vial end up?” Guy waved him in the right direction and, prize secured, Hood returned to the bed, vial in hand.
“Get that away from me.”
Hood looked confused.
“What…oh. Its not to burn things, look.” And then he was poring glistening pale liquid onto his hand, slicking his fingers. “This is why I’m going to be enjoying myself.” Both hands were slick now, and with one hand Locksley grasped Guy’s prick, and with the other he reached behind himself and…
“What are you doing?” Guy had honestly never bedded someone this bizarre.
“Making things easier. I presumed you didn’t know how.” That sounded like an insult, and as Hood knelt on the bed, twisted at a torturous angle, with an inexplicable look on his face, Guy grabbed the vial.
“I can learn.” There was an irrational moment when he nearly flinched away from the liquid flowing onto his hand. It was nothing like the burning liquid, it was thicker, it slid between his fingers. Yes, he could see how this would make things easier.
Locksley stopped twisting about in an attempt to open himself, and took the measure of Guy, slowly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He pushed Locksley onto his back again and reached down.
“Just one finger first, till I get used to it.”
A finger slipped inside, with surprising ease, and remembering Locksley’s motions, he slipped it in and out. He added another, and Locksley made an interesting sound, and Guy’s prick ached. A third, and Locksley gasped.
“Move them, like, like this.” He said, and crooked his fingers.
So Guy did.
Locksley yelped and his hips arched off the bed. His eyes had closed, and Guy did it again. And again, and again.
There was no other word for this. Hood was writhing.
“Thiiiis. This is why. Ah! Men like this.” He garbled an explanation, thrusting upwards into nothing.
“Could you spill, just from this?”
“Never tried, we usually got on to the fucking part quite quickly…ah! Please!”
Please? Locksley had just said please to him.
That was nearly enough to make Guy spill.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.”
“Look at me, and say that again.”
His eyes slid open, and he looked up at Gisborne, for a moment in silence.
“Please fuck me Guy.” And that was it, Locksley open and naked, and not just physically. The arrogance, the mockery, the superiority that flickered in his face in every moment had vanished, and in its place was sincere hunger. Guy debated keeping him there, in that place of truth, thrusting and pleading. But the temptation was too great.
He removed his fingers, and lined himself up, and remembered what Hood had said, no shoving. So carefully, carefully, Guy eased himself into him, all the while he breathed out, and looked Hood in the eye.
He was in Robin Hood. He lay beneath Guy, legs spread, and Gisborne paused for a moment, amazed by his heat, by his internal strength.
He shifted under him, and that was it. Guy was thrusting back and forth, and had taken hold of his wrists, pinning them to the bed, he had no idea why. Hood shifted again, pulling against Guy’s hands, and they started to struggle.
Hood’s strength, thrusting against him, trying to move them, was heady. He could take everything Gisborne had to give, and purify it, change his force to that look of rapture across his face.
Hood was gasping again.
“I need, I need, let go of my hands.” Guy liked him like this, monosyllabic. No chance of hearing any stirring speech or moral tirade now.
“Why?” He asked, as he tightened his grip.
“I need to touch myself.”
Guy didn’t let him. He wondered how close to the edge He could keep Locksley, until his own aching demanded a resolution.
Not long. Hood was meeting his every stroke, incapable of freeing his hands because Guy was in reality, stronger. It was a joyous realisation. Hood’s strength, when he had it, was a nervous kind, a temporary thing summoned up from a store of will, his moral purpose. When he couldn’t see any peasants being oppressed, and there was no king to defend, when he forgot his righteous cause, he was, ultimately, smaller than Guy. Skinnier. Pinned under his strength.
Guy had got lost somewhere, in the thrusting and his thoughts, and it surprised him when he began to topple.
“What?”
But Hood came with him as they rolled and Guy remained inside him, and incomprehensibly Guy was on his back, and Hood was setting the place, straddling him. Hood had leverage now, and yanked his hands out of his grip.
“What do you think Guy? Should I touch myself, or should I hold you down?” And there, that damned grin was back, a devil’s smile.
No.
He took hold of Hood’s cock, which Hood hadn’t expected, and mimicked what he had done to Guy before, but harder, faster.
“Come on Robin.” Another noise, like Guy was strangling him, and then suddenly Hood was taut, every inch of him like the stretched oak of a bow, and he spilt himself, all across Guy.
He didn’t mind, because Hood had become taut inside as well, shivering around his cock. And the expression on his face, the note of desperation and the idea that Guy had done that to him. Guy thrust up, and he might have yelled his name, but everything was a little hazy, a white blank. Hood slid off him, and they lay slide by side, breathing as if they had just raced through Sherwood. One of his legs remained over Guy’s.
Warm, he thought.
He woke up with sunlight streaming across his face, uncommonly calm and comfortable. He was warmer than usual. It took a couple of hazy moments to realise that this was because Locksley’s sleeping form was tangled up with his. They must have slept through the night like this, entwined with one another. Gisborne tried to peel Robin off him, so that he could wake the outlaw up and send him on his way. Hood couldn’t have been sleeping very deeply, because his cautious movements were enough to rouse him. There was a deep, luxurious sound from Hood’s mouth, as the man stretched out along the bed, before rolling over and then curling up again on his side. He was facing Gisborne, and after a couple of slow blinks he focused on Guy’s face, before recoiling backwards with a yelp.
“Christ!”
Guy didn’t know whether to laugh, or grab his sword from the floor. It must have shown on his face.
“I-I forgot you were here.” Hood said hesitantly.
Of course. This was, after all, Hood’s bed. It was no wonder the man looked so disorientated. This was probably the best nights sleep he’d had in weeks, and he surfaced from it staring at Guy’s face.
“You need to leave.” Guy said, and the authority he tried to put in his voice made it a snarl. Snarls didn’t impress Locksley, and the man simply met it with a smile.
“What, I’m not impressive enough to warrant breakfast?”
“Get out of my house.” He was not going to lose control of this situation, and it didn’t make sense to him that he should feel so unbalanced by Locksley. Shouldn’t it be the other way round? Locksley had been the one getting fucked.
“It’s not your house.”
And that was when they heard the noise at the door.
“My Lord, please, if you would but wait downstairs.”
“No, my orders have been disobeyed, and I will know why.”
Vaisey, and by God, the door wasn’t locked.
Hood surged up, and there was a look of confusion, replaced by utter panic on his face.
Guy shoved him under the blankets, and then the door swung open.
“Gisborne! When did you start creatively interpreting my orders?”
“Which order?” He asked stupidly.
“Which one?! The order I gave you to kill a peasant every hour until you got a message to Locksley’s men. Why, how many of my orders have you disobeyed recently?”
He could feel Hood pressed against his side. He wasn’t going to panic.
“I assumed you wanted your gold back more than you wanted dead peasants. And I didn’t want to be shorthanded come harvest time. I apologise for taking the initiative.”
Vaisey looked irritated, but his attention was divided, as it always was by his need to perform for an audience. He turned, preparing to march up and down giving a long soliloquy on the dangers of taking the initiative, and then he stumbled. Over Hood’s breeches. That’s it, Guy was going to be executed.
Vaisey looked down, puzzled, and then surveyed the room.
“What have you been doing in here, Guy?” There were clothes, everywhere. Where the hell had Hood’s distinctive weapons ended up?
Apparently Vaisey had surveyed the clothes and done the necessary arithmetic. Two of everything. And he was staring at the Hood shaped lump under Guy’s bedding.
“Have you got a boy in there with you?”
“…yes.” Guy said. Vaisey knew when he lied.
Then, bizarrely, the Sheriff started laughing.
“Is he pretty?”
“…yes.” Either he was going to be executed or Hood was going to murder him.
“Talented?”
“Very.” And he grinned at the Sheriff, who seemed to have overcome his irritation as quickly as it has arisen.
“Well, let me see the pretty talented thing then.”
“I…no.”
“No.” There was the irritation again.
“He’s shy…it took me a lot of effort to persuade him into bed, if anyone found out, I doubt I’d be able to enjoy him again.”
With an exaggerated roll of the eyes, the Sheriff came forward, and took hold of the bedding. Almost without thought, Guy grabbed his wrist.
“With all due respect sir, no.”
There was a dangerous light in his eyes.
“I believe you’ve forgotten who you take orders from.”
“Not in my bedroom.”
And then, a choked off noise of laughing emanated from the bedding. They both looked down at the Hood shaped lump, and then back up. Guy wasn’t going to break eye contact. Not this time.
“Very well then Guy. Be careful.” The Sheriff added cryptically.
And as Vaisey stood upright he paused to bring his hand down, hard, on the area of the blanket that Hood’s arse was probably under. There was a minor bout of flailing but sensibly, Hood didn’t surface.
“I’ll meet you downstairs Guy. Rise and shine.”
The door close behind the Sheriff, and Guy sprang across the room, shouldering a piece of furniture across the door in case Vaisey has suddenly developed lock-picking capabilities.
He looked wildly at Hood, who was trying valiantly to disentangle himself from the blankets.
“You really have to leave now!”
“He spanked me!”
“And if that’s the worst he ever does to you be grateful.”
“He does worse every day, by breathing. He’s poisoning this shire.”
Guy simply glared at him. He had no time for Hood’s preaching, he had to go and pacify the Sheriff.
“Fine, I’m going.”
And Hood rose from the bed, naked and glorious, and Guy forgot how to breathe again.
“Fit for a king.” He murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing. Hurry up.”
Hood was hopping up and down, getting his clothes back on, and then started fishing around under the bed. He surfaced holding bow and sheathe and sword.
“Did I bring a dagger? I can’t remember.”
“I never saw one. Get out!”
“I’m going already.” And he had slung one leg over the window, before he hesitated.
“Guy…”
And still he hesitated, and Gisborne didn’t know what to say either, because he never did, but he had to say something now, the silence demanded it.
“It’s over. Move.”
And Hood looked grim, fingered the end of his bow, and gave a resolute nod. He dropped from sight.
Strangely, Guy didn’t feel like anything was over. That thing like fear, which was moving deep in his belly, that felt like a beginning.