Weak Ale and Resolutions
Author: mideltone_one
Title: Weak Ale and Resolutions
Words: 2541
Genre: Slash
Rating: PG
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 tries to make sense of his day, and his future.
Warnings: Set somewhere during season/series 1.
Characters/Pairings: Allan/Will
Author's Note: First person POV, related by Allan. Written for the Write Allan Right 2009 ficathon.
Weak Ale and Resolutions
I’ve been nursing this pint for some time, which is not me normal style, and the innkeeper is giving me the evil eye, because he wants to shift as much of this seemingly watered down ale, as quickly as he can. I guess a lonely man sitting in the corner looking morose is hardly good for business, but enough of me coin has passed across his bar in the past few weeks to make him hold back from actually throwing me out. I need to work out what I’m going to do, so I need to be away from the gang. Ideally I’d be alone, but it’s peeing down outside, so this will have to do.
It’s been an odd day, to put it mildly. Twice we were nearly caught, which would probably have lead to an appointment with a scaffold and a rope, but that’s not so unusual nowadays. It’s what happened during the second close shave, and once we were safe again, that has knocked me off kilter. It started with Will and me being sent into the castle. Robin needed us to liberate one of Marian’s necklaces from her quarters. I don’t know why she couldn’t get it herself, and I didn’t bother asking; I’ve learnt not to question his motives or actions where she’s involved.
Anyway, we’re in her chambers and, we find out later, the rest of the gang are doing something else in the castle. Seems his lordship decided after we’d set off that there was some other treasure needed taking. We’re both searching high and low, trying to work out where she’s put the thing, when I come across a small wooden box, which I’d ignore if it wasn’t locked. A few moments’ work with a thin metal rod I keep specially for such occasions, and the box opens, revealing a necklace with a whacking great stone on the end. “Will, wot colour was it,” I call out, “‘cos I’ve found something that might be what lord ‘igh’n’mighty said we were after.”
Will answers without even looking up, “It’s an emerald, so green.”
“Well then, me friend,” I say, putting the jewel in me pocket, “it looks like we’ve saved Marian’s, rather pert, backside once again.”
He walks over to me and says, “You’d better not let Robin hear you talking about her like that.”
“Well what’s ‘e gonna do about it? Not bein funny … but ‘e ain’t got ‘earing like a dog. ‘E won’t ‘ear us from the forest” I reply.
“You.” he answers all serious, “He won’t hear you making remarks about his beloved. I haven’t said a word.”
“‘Snot like I said she was fat. She’d be pleased I reckon,” I say.
“I’d like to be there when you tell her that,” he says with a big grin, and moments later we’re both laughing, trying not to make too much noise.
We’ve just about managed to regain our composure when there’s a ruckus from the corridor. I hear Gisborne’s dulcet tones as he orders the guards to search every room, because “some of Hood’s vermin are most likely here.” We look at one another for a moment, realising there’s no way out, except into the corridor, which is now full of guards.
I don’t know why, but God’s honest truth, as I’m standing there trying to work out what to do - go quietly or fight to the end - I glance over to the corner of the room, and notice something odd. I tap Will on the arm, and point at the floor. He just looks back at me, looking confused, so I dash over and take out me trusty dagger. As I hoped, it slides easily down the side of the stone flag, and stops half way along. I push a little harder, and suddenly the whole stone lifts up. It wasn’t sitting properly, which is what I noticed.
Will appears beside me, and we peer down into a tiny chamber below the floor. I whisper to him “C’mon Will. We can hide out in here. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I reckon we’ll just about fit.” I don’t even wait for a reply, pocketing me knife again, and lowering meself into the hole. I notice a bit of grit on the ledge the stone rests on when it’s shut, and sweep it out of the way. I think that’s why it was standing proud before, and I know we don’t want anything to draw attention to the hidden chamber now.
I put me arms up, and motion to Will to get in. The guards are getting closer and he knows there isn’t any choice, even if it will be uncomfortable for a while. He lowers himself in, arms down by his sides, and I lower the lid until it closes with a satisfying click. me elbows come to rest on his shoulders. We’re pressed together tighter than I’ve ever been with another man. “OK?” I whisper into the dark, and I just hear him confirm that he is when the door to Marian’s chambers swings open, and we hear a number of guards come in. We can make out almost everything they say, which also means any noise we make will be clear to them. As our eyes adjust to the dark I can just make out Will’s face. I just hope I don’t look as frightened as he does.
The footsteps come closer and I swear we both hold our breaths, imaging even that will give us away. One of the guards must have spotted the wooden box, because he calls out “Sir, I believe we are too late.”
There are more steps, followed quickly by Gisborne’s voice ringing out through the room. “Damn his eyes. Hood has whatever it was he came for. Find them before they leave the castle and there will be a healthy reward.” The room clears almost as soon as it had filled.
“Great,” whispers Will, “Now we’ve got to get past a load of worked up guards. Are we going to stay here all day?”
I start feeling above his head for the release, when he twitches and starts hiccoughing. I need to check how he is before I go back to releasing us. “You OK?” I ask.
“I’m fine”, he replies, rather spoiling the effect by hiccoughing again in the middle of saying it.
“So I … hick ... see” I say, mimicking his affliction, but smiling at the same time, “I should try to frighten you, to stop those, shouldn’t I?”
“Frightened … hick … enough,” he replies.
We’re both quite relieved and happy-go-lucky when we hear the door open again. Will hiccoughs and I know I’ve got to do something to stop him. I can’t very well shout “Boo”, or make him drink from the wrong side of a cup, so I decide to try surprising him the only way I can in such a small space, without having me hands free. Before he can make another sound I lean forward and lock me lips onto his. If the shock doesn’t stop him, at least it will muffle the sound a bit.
So, we stand there waiting. Either the person above us will leave, or Will will hiccough and we’ll be discovered. I can tell from the sudden stiffening of his whole body that he’s surprised at what I’ve done, and with any luck that will have cured him, but I can’t take the risk that he’ll start up again the moment I stop, so we have to stay there, lips locked together. Funny thing is, after a few moments he relaxes again, and I can see that he’s closed his eyes. He opens his mouth slightly, forcing me to do the same. If I was with a woman I’d be poking me tongue into her mouth, but I’m clearly not, so I don’t.
There are footsteps again, over to the door this time, followed by it closing and a shout of “Clear out”, from outside. Evidently whoever was in charge of guarding the room has decided it’s not worth his while anymore. I wait a few seconds more, before I release Will’s mouth again. “Mate,” I say, about to apologise, “about that I-.”
“Let’s just get out of this castle alive while we’ve got a chance” he says quite calmly, and I have to agree with his priorities.
Thankfully the release works as expected, and by stretching meself I can just see enough of the room to know it’s empty. “You’re taller, so you go first, then pull me out,” I tell him, and he does as he’s told, helping me out of the chamber. I make a point of sealing it, because you never know when you might need a hiding place again. The exit from the castle is no great shakes; we’ve been in enough scrapes to know all the ways in and out of the place without being detected, and once we’re out we half run, half crawl, away from the outer wall to the relative safety of some nearby trees.
What happened in the castle, in the secret chamber, is playing heavily on me mind by now; I don’t want Will to get the wrong idea, so I stop in the middle of the trees, determined to clear it all up. He walks a few paces further ahead before he realises I’ve stopped, then turns back and hurries over. I’m leaning against a tree, getting me breath back, while I try to work out exactly how I’m going to broach the subject.
He stands in front of me, looking slightly worried. “You OK?” he asks, and I nod in reply.
“Will,” I start, tentatively, “back in the castle, when I … you know -”
His whole face lights up, “When you saved our lives.” He throws his arms around me, and we’re dancing around in a small circle, enjoy that moment of relief when the immediate threat has vanished. And then, before I know what I’m doing me lips are touching his skin, and I’m planting sloppy wet kisses down his long pale neck, and he’s letting out little whimpering sounds. Now I’ve had me fair share of wenches, some would say more than, and I’ve enjoyed almost every minute of being with them, but it’s never felt like this. It’s never felt so good kissing someone else, never so connected, but in the back of me mind a small voice is niggling at me that this isn’t right.
I pull back, noticing the marks on his neck, and wonder how he’s going to explain them away when we get back to the camp. And again, without really knowing what I’m doing, I take hold of his head and stare into those beautiful eyes for what seems like an eternity, but can in reality only be a few heartbeats. Me tongue touches me lips, almost a nervous twitch, and then me lips are touching his, and I’m kissing him like I would a beautiful wench, tongues and all.
Except it’s not like any wench. There’s an intensity to it that I’ve never felt before. And for the first time in a long long time, I’m more interested in how me partner feels than satisfying me own needs. It’s all very strange! And as I lower me arms and wrap them around him, pulling him towards me, I realise that this is what I’ve been wanting all these years. But that damned voice is still there, telling me I should be with a woman, that Will wants that too.
It’s like we both realise the same thing at the same time, because as me brain wrestles control from me heart, and I break the kiss, he becomes agitated and pushes me away. “Allan,” he says uncertainly, “I can’t … I can’t … I need to think.” I need time as well. “Me too,” I say, as I turn me back on him and march off as quickly as I can. I know that if I look back me resolve will crumble, and I can’t do that to him; I have to be certain one way or the other, not dithering around in the middle like I am now. And just as importantly so does he.
Which brings me to this inn, where I spurn all contact from the serving wenches, pretend the water on me face is from the rain and not tears of frustration, and try to make sense of me feelings, so I can plan me future. I hear someone at a neighbouring table say something about their mother, and I remember me mum. It’s been over ten years since she passed, but suddenly I’m transported back to the night a few days before she died, when she told me how I should live me life; “At the end of your days, you can repent your sins. So as long as nobody gets hurt, do what your heart tells you. And promise me, my boy, that when the end comes, you’ll have done some things you regret doing, and not a long list of things you regret not doing.”
I realise now that I have to put me fears to one side, and hope against hope that Will feels the same way. Sitting here there are two things I’m sure of; if he’ll have me I want to be with Will, and this ale isn’t fit to drink. The innkeeper’s worked up his courage, and comes over to me. “If you don’t order another pint of ale, you’ll have to leave.”
“Not being funny … but I’ll ‘ave to leave then,” I reply, “‘cos if this is anything to go by, you can’t serve me a pint of proper ale, just more of this watered down piss.”
Needless to say that doesn’t go down too well with him, and not long after I’m walking back towards the camp nursing a cut lip and a black eye, which the fading light thankfully hides. They both hurt like hell, but I have greater concerns to worry about, well one greater concern. As I get close to the camp Will comes rushing over to me from one side. “We need to talk,” he says in that calm way he uses to cover his nerves when we’re on a mission. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad sign, as I follow him to a clearing.
There’s a fallen tree trunk that serves as a bench, and I sit meself down, hoping for the best, but sort of expecting the worst. He notices me cuts and bruises and there’s a flicker of concern, which may be a good sign. “What happened to you?” he asks.
“I’ll tell you later” I reply, not wanting him to get distracted, noticing his neckerchief hiding what I’ve done to his throat.
“I’ve been thinking about what happened today” he says, “and I don’t know how this is going to work out, but I felt something when we kissed, and if you did too, I think we owe it to ourselves to give a go.” I jump up and hug him, and moments later I’ve learnt another lesson: cut lips don’t hurt when they’re kissing someone you love.
Title: Weak Ale and Resolutions
Words: 2541
Genre: Slash
Rating: PG
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 tries to make sense of his day, and his future.
Warnings: Set somewhere during season/series 1.
Characters/Pairings: Allan/Will
Author's Note: First person POV, related by Allan. Written for the Write Allan Right 2009 ficathon.
Weak Ale and Resolutions
I’ve been nursing this pint for some time, which is not me normal style, and the innkeeper is giving me the evil eye, because he wants to shift as much of this seemingly watered down ale, as quickly as he can. I guess a lonely man sitting in the corner looking morose is hardly good for business, but enough of me coin has passed across his bar in the past few weeks to make him hold back from actually throwing me out. I need to work out what I’m going to do, so I need to be away from the gang. Ideally I’d be alone, but it’s peeing down outside, so this will have to do.
It’s been an odd day, to put it mildly. Twice we were nearly caught, which would probably have lead to an appointment with a scaffold and a rope, but that’s not so unusual nowadays. It’s what happened during the second close shave, and once we were safe again, that has knocked me off kilter. It started with Will and me being sent into the castle. Robin needed us to liberate one of Marian’s necklaces from her quarters. I don’t know why she couldn’t get it herself, and I didn’t bother asking; I’ve learnt not to question his motives or actions where she’s involved.
Anyway, we’re in her chambers and, we find out later, the rest of the gang are doing something else in the castle. Seems his lordship decided after we’d set off that there was some other treasure needed taking. We’re both searching high and low, trying to work out where she’s put the thing, when I come across a small wooden box, which I’d ignore if it wasn’t locked. A few moments’ work with a thin metal rod I keep specially for such occasions, and the box opens, revealing a necklace with a whacking great stone on the end. “Will, wot colour was it,” I call out, “‘cos I’ve found something that might be what lord ‘igh’n’mighty said we were after.”
Will answers without even looking up, “It’s an emerald, so green.”
“Well then, me friend,” I say, putting the jewel in me pocket, “it looks like we’ve saved Marian’s, rather pert, backside once again.”
He walks over to me and says, “You’d better not let Robin hear you talking about her like that.”
“Well what’s ‘e gonna do about it? Not bein funny … but ‘e ain’t got ‘earing like a dog. ‘E won’t ‘ear us from the forest” I reply.
“You.” he answers all serious, “He won’t hear you making remarks about his beloved. I haven’t said a word.”
“‘Snot like I said she was fat. She’d be pleased I reckon,” I say.
“I’d like to be there when you tell her that,” he says with a big grin, and moments later we’re both laughing, trying not to make too much noise.
We’ve just about managed to regain our composure when there’s a ruckus from the corridor. I hear Gisborne’s dulcet tones as he orders the guards to search every room, because “some of Hood’s vermin are most likely here.” We look at one another for a moment, realising there’s no way out, except into the corridor, which is now full of guards.
I don’t know why, but God’s honest truth, as I’m standing there trying to work out what to do - go quietly or fight to the end - I glance over to the corner of the room, and notice something odd. I tap Will on the arm, and point at the floor. He just looks back at me, looking confused, so I dash over and take out me trusty dagger. As I hoped, it slides easily down the side of the stone flag, and stops half way along. I push a little harder, and suddenly the whole stone lifts up. It wasn’t sitting properly, which is what I noticed.
Will appears beside me, and we peer down into a tiny chamber below the floor. I whisper to him “C’mon Will. We can hide out in here. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I reckon we’ll just about fit.” I don’t even wait for a reply, pocketing me knife again, and lowering meself into the hole. I notice a bit of grit on the ledge the stone rests on when it’s shut, and sweep it out of the way. I think that’s why it was standing proud before, and I know we don’t want anything to draw attention to the hidden chamber now.
I put me arms up, and motion to Will to get in. The guards are getting closer and he knows there isn’t any choice, even if it will be uncomfortable for a while. He lowers himself in, arms down by his sides, and I lower the lid until it closes with a satisfying click. me elbows come to rest on his shoulders. We’re pressed together tighter than I’ve ever been with another man. “OK?” I whisper into the dark, and I just hear him confirm that he is when the door to Marian’s chambers swings open, and we hear a number of guards come in. We can make out almost everything they say, which also means any noise we make will be clear to them. As our eyes adjust to the dark I can just make out Will’s face. I just hope I don’t look as frightened as he does.
The footsteps come closer and I swear we both hold our breaths, imaging even that will give us away. One of the guards must have spotted the wooden box, because he calls out “Sir, I believe we are too late.”
There are more steps, followed quickly by Gisborne’s voice ringing out through the room. “Damn his eyes. Hood has whatever it was he came for. Find them before they leave the castle and there will be a healthy reward.” The room clears almost as soon as it had filled.
“Great,” whispers Will, “Now we’ve got to get past a load of worked up guards. Are we going to stay here all day?”
I start feeling above his head for the release, when he twitches and starts hiccoughing. I need to check how he is before I go back to releasing us. “You OK?” I ask.
“I’m fine”, he replies, rather spoiling the effect by hiccoughing again in the middle of saying it.
“So I … hick ... see” I say, mimicking his affliction, but smiling at the same time, “I should try to frighten you, to stop those, shouldn’t I?”
“Frightened … hick … enough,” he replies.
We’re both quite relieved and happy-go-lucky when we hear the door open again. Will hiccoughs and I know I’ve got to do something to stop him. I can’t very well shout “Boo”, or make him drink from the wrong side of a cup, so I decide to try surprising him the only way I can in such a small space, without having me hands free. Before he can make another sound I lean forward and lock me lips onto his. If the shock doesn’t stop him, at least it will muffle the sound a bit.
So, we stand there waiting. Either the person above us will leave, or Will will hiccough and we’ll be discovered. I can tell from the sudden stiffening of his whole body that he’s surprised at what I’ve done, and with any luck that will have cured him, but I can’t take the risk that he’ll start up again the moment I stop, so we have to stay there, lips locked together. Funny thing is, after a few moments he relaxes again, and I can see that he’s closed his eyes. He opens his mouth slightly, forcing me to do the same. If I was with a woman I’d be poking me tongue into her mouth, but I’m clearly not, so I don’t.
There are footsteps again, over to the door this time, followed by it closing and a shout of “Clear out”, from outside. Evidently whoever was in charge of guarding the room has decided it’s not worth his while anymore. I wait a few seconds more, before I release Will’s mouth again. “Mate,” I say, about to apologise, “about that I-.”
“Let’s just get out of this castle alive while we’ve got a chance” he says quite calmly, and I have to agree with his priorities.
Thankfully the release works as expected, and by stretching meself I can just see enough of the room to know it’s empty. “You’re taller, so you go first, then pull me out,” I tell him, and he does as he’s told, helping me out of the chamber. I make a point of sealing it, because you never know when you might need a hiding place again. The exit from the castle is no great shakes; we’ve been in enough scrapes to know all the ways in and out of the place without being detected, and once we’re out we half run, half crawl, away from the outer wall to the relative safety of some nearby trees.
What happened in the castle, in the secret chamber, is playing heavily on me mind by now; I don’t want Will to get the wrong idea, so I stop in the middle of the trees, determined to clear it all up. He walks a few paces further ahead before he realises I’ve stopped, then turns back and hurries over. I’m leaning against a tree, getting me breath back, while I try to work out exactly how I’m going to broach the subject.
He stands in front of me, looking slightly worried. “You OK?” he asks, and I nod in reply.
“Will,” I start, tentatively, “back in the castle, when I … you know -”
His whole face lights up, “When you saved our lives.” He throws his arms around me, and we’re dancing around in a small circle, enjoy that moment of relief when the immediate threat has vanished. And then, before I know what I’m doing me lips are touching his skin, and I’m planting sloppy wet kisses down his long pale neck, and he’s letting out little whimpering sounds. Now I’ve had me fair share of wenches, some would say more than, and I’ve enjoyed almost every minute of being with them, but it’s never felt like this. It’s never felt so good kissing someone else, never so connected, but in the back of me mind a small voice is niggling at me that this isn’t right.
I pull back, noticing the marks on his neck, and wonder how he’s going to explain them away when we get back to the camp. And again, without really knowing what I’m doing, I take hold of his head and stare into those beautiful eyes for what seems like an eternity, but can in reality only be a few heartbeats. Me tongue touches me lips, almost a nervous twitch, and then me lips are touching his, and I’m kissing him like I would a beautiful wench, tongues and all.
Except it’s not like any wench. There’s an intensity to it that I’ve never felt before. And for the first time in a long long time, I’m more interested in how me partner feels than satisfying me own needs. It’s all very strange! And as I lower me arms and wrap them around him, pulling him towards me, I realise that this is what I’ve been wanting all these years. But that damned voice is still there, telling me I should be with a woman, that Will wants that too.
It’s like we both realise the same thing at the same time, because as me brain wrestles control from me heart, and I break the kiss, he becomes agitated and pushes me away. “Allan,” he says uncertainly, “I can’t … I can’t … I need to think.” I need time as well. “Me too,” I say, as I turn me back on him and march off as quickly as I can. I know that if I look back me resolve will crumble, and I can’t do that to him; I have to be certain one way or the other, not dithering around in the middle like I am now. And just as importantly so does he.
Which brings me to this inn, where I spurn all contact from the serving wenches, pretend the water on me face is from the rain and not tears of frustration, and try to make sense of me feelings, so I can plan me future. I hear someone at a neighbouring table say something about their mother, and I remember me mum. It’s been over ten years since she passed, but suddenly I’m transported back to the night a few days before she died, when she told me how I should live me life; “At the end of your days, you can repent your sins. So as long as nobody gets hurt, do what your heart tells you. And promise me, my boy, that when the end comes, you’ll have done some things you regret doing, and not a long list of things you regret not doing.”
I realise now that I have to put me fears to one side, and hope against hope that Will feels the same way. Sitting here there are two things I’m sure of; if he’ll have me I want to be with Will, and this ale isn’t fit to drink. The innkeeper’s worked up his courage, and comes over to me. “If you don’t order another pint of ale, you’ll have to leave.”
“Not being funny … but I’ll ‘ave to leave then,” I reply, “‘cos if this is anything to go by, you can’t serve me a pint of proper ale, just more of this watered down piss.”
Needless to say that doesn’t go down too well with him, and not long after I’m walking back towards the camp nursing a cut lip and a black eye, which the fading light thankfully hides. They both hurt like hell, but I have greater concerns to worry about, well one greater concern. As I get close to the camp Will comes rushing over to me from one side. “We need to talk,” he says in that calm way he uses to cover his nerves when we’re on a mission. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad sign, as I follow him to a clearing.
There’s a fallen tree trunk that serves as a bench, and I sit meself down, hoping for the best, but sort of expecting the worst. He notices me cuts and bruises and there’s a flicker of concern, which may be a good sign. “What happened to you?” he asks.
“I’ll tell you later” I reply, not wanting him to get distracted, noticing his neckerchief hiding what I’ve done to his throat.
“I’ve been thinking about what happened today” he says, “and I don’t know how this is going to work out, but I felt something when we kissed, and if you did too, I think we owe it to ourselves to give a go.” I jump up and hug him, and moments later I’ve learnt another lesson: cut lips don’t hurt when they’re kissing someone you love.