Our Misery, a
Robin Hood BBC story by glacis. Rated
NC-17. Spoilers
for season three through episode 9.
~~
It had come
down to this. All his life he’d fought
to escape the filth and the poverty and the fear, and here he was. An outlaw. Hunted by his own
sister, ungrateful bitch that she was.
Yes, he’d sold her to her husband.
As he’d been sold, himself, to his first master, at an
even younger age. At least she’d
gotten a wedding ring and the blessing of the church from it. The only thing he’d gotten was lessons in
swordsmanship and submission. He still
didn’t know which he’d learned better.
His wandering thoughts returned to the ragged crew of outlaws encircling
Hood.
Guy of Gisborne. Petitioning to
join an outlaw band. One that didn’t want him.
No surprise there. He’d seldom
been wanted in his life, and when he had, it had ended… badly. He gritted his teeth and forced away the memory
of
The
inaptly-named Little John was bellowing. “He’s not one of us, Robin. He will never be one of us!”
Over to the
side, Robin’s servant glanced quickly from John to Robin to Guy and back to
Robin. His mutter was barely
perceptible. “More of
one than what you might think.”
The woman Kate
gave him a sharp look. Robin took a deep
breath, as Guy watched him closely. It
looked like Robin was in the mood for confession. Guy bit his tongue to keep himself from
telling Robin to shut up. Stopping Robin
when he had a head of steam had always proven to be impossible, from the time
they were children. Manhood hadn’t
tempered that hard head any.
Robin
stared at each of the members of his gang for a moment before taking a
fortifying breath. Guy watched his chest
move and wished there was a way to still his tongue without cutting it out. “There are things you don’t know. Yes,
It was more
than he could take. He interrupted with,
“You don’t have to say anything, Robin.”
Allan broke
in angrily, misreading the situation as usual.
“I don’t care what hogwash he’s fed you, Robin, he and Marion were never
lovers! I was at the castle! I watched him, and I know he wasn’t!” He then looked mortified that his ‘secret’
stalking of Guy was made public. Like
Guy hadn’t always known about his foolish little crush.
Robin
raised a hand. Oh, no. Guy shut his eyes. Robin’s voice came softly to his ear. “No, Guy was never
The air
stilled. If a silence could be called
explosive, this one was. Finally the
friar made a thoughtful sound. “That
would illuminate many mysteries,” Tuck mused aloud.
Guy shook his head. Nothing seemed to surprise the man. The rest of the gang showed various degrees
of disbelief, except Much, who looked a little sick.
“It’s
true,” Much finally said. “Lady Marion
knew. She always knew. She loved them both, as they loved her.”
Robin made
a soft noise, like a bird, just before it dies.
Allan kicked at a tree root, snarling.
John shouted, as was his wont. “But
he killed her!”
Again, Guy
couldn’t restrain his own voice. It
seemed it was time for them both to be shriven, like it or no. His words echoed those he spoke to Meg the
night before he thought he would die. “I
destroyed her. Like I
destroy everything good in my life.”
He straightened from where he’d been leaning against a broad tree trunk,
and turned to Robin, stretching one hand toward him. “Let me go, Robin,” he begged, once more. “End this.
Please.”
Robin’s
eyes were tortured in his drawn face. “If
I end you, I end me.” He turned and
walked away, leaving chaos in his wake.
The fiery
blonde turned on Guy. For a moment he
thought she would strike him. There were
tears on her cheeks, but she looked more resigned than angry. “Well, what are you waiting for? GO AFTER HIM,” she shrieked.
Allan and
John turned on her as if she’d gone mad. “Kate!” they exclaimed in unison.
Beneath the
racket, he barely heard Much say, “Go.”
Once more, Guy
did as he was told.
It was easy
to follow Robin’s trail; such obvious markers made it clear he wanted to be
found. He was at the river, already
disrobed, standing with the water slapping against his knees. He scooped handfuls up, sluicing them over
his skin, washing away the blood and dirt and leaves from their fight.
Guy
couldn’t move.
Robin was
beautiful, with the sunlight playing over his body, water droplets sparkling on
him like diamonds. The black cross
etched on his shoulder stood out starkly, a reminder of the man that lived
beneath that skin, and Guy knew, as he’d always known, that the mercy he sought
was not a mercy Robin would give. He was
too much of life, to grant him death.
And even as he hated Guy, so too did he love him.
He would not end Guy’s pain. Not when he shared it so completely.
Guy’s feet
were moving without his conscious decision.
He shed his leather and weapons, moving naked into the water to come up
beside Robin. Silence lay between them
like a benediction.
A warm
hand, palms cooled by the water, ran from his shoulder to his wrist, taking
dirt and sweat with it. Guy looked up
from the hand, lingering on his arm, to meet Robin’s clear eyes. They were as blue as the sky, as green as the
sea, and they saw his soul without flinching.
It took
every ounce of courage in Guy to hold that gaze.
“All we
have is our misery. And each other,”
Robin whispered.
The words
echoed in Guy’s head as Robin reached up, clasped the back of his neck, and
drew him down into a kiss. The heat was
there, as it always was, slicing through him like steel. Tempered by loss, by rage and pain, forged by
time and something so deep they could never root it out. Never completely kill it. Love, and hatred, misery,
and hope. Everything they’d ever been,
would ever be, could never have.
As Robin’s
hands buried themselves in his hair, and his own arms went around the wet slick
form of his lover, Guy gave up hope of mercy.
He would live with the hell he’d made, with Robin, with their misery.
At least he
had this.
~~
Much left
the squabbling behind to follow his master, as he had all his life. The little voice in his head, the one that
sounded like his mam, was screeching at him about
being a man and doing his duty and all the blather it usually screeched. Had been since he’d nearly walked out on
Robin over Kate, left his master over a woman he’d not had a chance at from the
beginning. But he could ignore it, had a
lifetime’s practice at ignoring it.
He could
also ignore the little voice that sounded like the devil that was whispering
that maybe he had a chance at Kate after all, since Robin had chosen each of
the Gisbornes in turn over her.
Almost made
up for the fact that Kate was his second choice, too. Not that he’d ever had a chance with Robin.
He settled
in the rushes by the river, staring down at the two figures entwined in the
water. Gisborne was kissing Robin like
his life depended on it, hands all over him, though Robin was no slouch himself
with the touching and kissing and climbing Guy’s lanky frame like a dog in
heat.
Not that he
was bitter. No.
He
knew. He’d known forever. How couldn’t he? Wasn’t he always watching Robin’s back? The back Guy was caressing right now? Robin pulled Guy down into the water, and Much squinted to see.
Yeah. They were fucking. Water splashing around them, couldn’t make
out the details, but those were Robin’s knees up by Guy’s shoulders, and Much
had seen men fuck often enough to know exactly what was causing that expression
of near-pain on Guy’s face. Then Guy
threw back his head, and Much could see Robin biting his neck, and Much had a
feeling pretty soon he’d be coming in his pants, because these two were
beautiful together, and always had been.
Caught up in watching the muscles in Guy’s arms and neck strain and the
movement in Robin’s back as they twisted against one another, Much didn’t hear
Allan until the other man sat down right next to him.
Too
dispirited, and aroused, to care more than a little, Much
asked, “Where’s John?”
Allan’s
voice sounded a little strangled when he answered, “Back at camp. Kate’s talking to him. So. Gisborne. Robin.
Explains a lot.”
Much
glanced over, taking in Allan’s rapt expression, looking down to see his
increasingly tight pants. He sighed, and
looked back at Robin and Guy, who must have come when he was distracted,
because they were kissing now, all slow and drugged and sated, like they could
kiss forever.
Of course,
they couldn’t. It wasn’t very long
before the kisses grew heated, and the embracing arms loosened, hands starting
to roam again. Much heaved a second,
louder sigh. They could go on for hours.
Allan
groaned beside him. Much didn’t need to
look at him, could hear him undoing his trouse,
having a wank.
Giving up the fight, Much reached for his own
ties, and gave himself a little relief.
Slightly
breathless, but still sarcastic, Allan grumbled, “Neither one of us had a
chance.”
When Much caught his breath, he agreed. “Never did.”
Then he reached back down and took himself in hand. Lying on the rocky bank, watching his master
fucking his enemy, next to a man just as hopeless as he, Much
couldn’t help but think, as he came, that misery always did love company.
END
