One or the Other by glacis.
Rated NC-17 - slash (Robin/Guy). Minor spoilers for first two series of Robin Hood (BBC). No infringement intended.
Of all the
things he’d expected from a fight with Gisborne, coming hard enough to make his
nose bleed wasn’t one of them.
Started off as a regular day, really.
Think about Marian up at the castle, wish there was someplace to wank
where Much couldn’t find him, dodge Djaq’s knowing look and John’s
commiserating one, think about treason, think about starving people, think
about oblivious lieges, think about lost lands, go out desperately looking for
either a fight or somebody to rob so he could stop thinking. Not hearing the welcome chime from Will’s trap
out on the north road, Robin did what he usually did when he was feeling ornery
and needed to work off steam.
Went to
what used to be his bedroom and picked a fight with Guy.
It wasn’t
the first time he’d sublimated desire for Marian into aggression with Guy. It was becoming a bit of a habit,
really. Unfortunate,
that. Especially since the last
time he’d thrown Guy heels over head across the bed he’d been nearly fatally
distracted by the flash of white skin between the top of those black leather
pants and the bottom of that ridiculously over-buckled jacket. It brought to mind the look on Guy’s face
when Robin was dangling over the snake pit, feeling his pants droop
ever-so-slowly toward his ankles as his shirt rode up over his belly…
Come to
think on it, Robin might not be the only man in
Robin
stumbled over a non-existent tree root and nearly ran into the wall next to his
bedroom window, as his mental image of Marian in tight brown leather was
overlain with a mental image of Guy in tight black leather. Shaking off the disturbing juxtaposition of
lover and enemy, uncomfortably aware that the state of his erection (pressing)
hadn’t wavered when the images switched, he growled under his breath and
continued on his way to beat the holy hell out of Guy Gisborne.
Perhaps he
should have taken a dip in a cold stream beforehand. As it was, his distraction proved his, er,
undoing.
Guy Gisborne
bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood and reminded himself for the seventy
fourth time that day that it would be bad – bad – a BAD idea – to kill the
Sheriff with his bare hands. No matter
how much fun it would be and how very deserving the disgusting little pervert
was of immediate and terminal violent attention.
Although if Vassey threatened to kiss him one more time, sudden death
just might happen. Either the Sheriff would die painfully and
messily or Guy would eat his own sword.
Thankfully
before it got to the point where all of Nottingham would be hazed because the
Master of Arms could no longer contain his disgust at the sexual harassment
from his superior, the Sheriff was distracted by something shiny (and bloody –
looked like another messenger from the King would not be returning to the Holy
Land) and Guy was free to return home to Locksley.
Once there,
he snarled at the guards until they went away, snarled at the servants until
they left him to his bath in peace, then snarled under
his breath at himself until he finally felt some measure of calm. Drying off, he slipped back into his
comfortable leather pants (because God knew the Sheriff wasn’t above sneaking
into his bed chamber and molesting him, and by the time the disgusting little
pervert got the leather unlaced Guy would be awake enough to kill him). Wandering toward his bed, angry thoughts of
the disgusting little pervert were displaced by the presence of the other
sneaky little bastard that made his life living hell. Robin Hood slouched against his bedpost,
looking smug and arrogant and irritating, as always.
Guy ignored
the fact that he looked kind of cute, too, in a scruffy, underfed-squirrel sort
of way. Even had the short reddish fur
everywhere if the glimpse he’d had of Robin’s belly as he hung over the snake
pit was anything to go by. Not that Guy
ever thought about that. Nor had he ever
thought about the phallic implications of poking Robin’s writhing
body hard with a really long wooden pole and enjoying every moment of it. Oh, no, he never thought of that. Consciously. Ever.
“Locksley!”
Guy bellowed, and charged forward to engage Robin in battle, completely
forgetting, as he was wont to do when he was in heat… in the heat of battle…
that by rights he himself should be called Locksley, and Robin was simply Hood
now.
Not that it
mattered. The sneaky little shit dove
under his sweeping arms, evading his crushing grip with a move a snake would
envy, and came up behind him. Guy
whirled around, dodging the expected blow that would have taken his head off.
Only there
wasn’t one. Instead of punching him,
Robin was staring at his chest with big round eyes and murmuring something that
sounded like “smooth” or maybe “cream,” Guy couldn’t hear well enough to
tell. Not taking the time to unravel the
knotted thought processes of the lunatic in front of him, Guy rushed forward
again, intent on getting his hands around Robin’s throat.
He didn’t
quite make it.
Robin woke
up from whatever weird trance he’d gone into and jumped, apparently in an
attempt to get out of the way. He didn’t
quite make it, either. Showing none of
his usual frustrating agility and grace, Robin ended up jumping ON the bed
instead of over it, and Guy, showing his own usual frustrating inability to
fight like a trained warrior instead of a bumbling fool (this only happened
when fighting Robin, for some reason), caught his foot in the bed clothes and
crashed face-first into Robin, knocking them both into an ungainly pile of
limbs in the middle of the bed.
With Guy’s
face mashed into Robin’s crotch.
A yelp of
“Holy Mother of God!” came from a few feet above his head as Guy opened his mouth
to curse and ended up with a mouthful of leather. Leather that had seen too many days in the
forest with no soap and too much sweat, dirt, leaves, and, from the smell of
it, semen. Guy put his arms out to push
himself away from the pungent odor but somehow found them wrapped around
Robin’s hips, getting a nice firm grip on a nice firm arse.
This… was
unexpected.
From bad to
worse, Robin thought somewhat hysterically, looking down at Guy’s face nuzzling
against his erection. The man had
ridiculously long eyelashes. And a very
firm grip.
He should
have known it was going to be a fiasco when he’d found the bedroom empty, only
to have a glistening damp Gisborne walk in wearing nothing but those insanely
well fitted leather trousers. By the
time Robin got his brain back out of his pants, the fight was on. Fortunately, Guy was as clumsy as he usually
was, and Robin should have been able to avoid him easily, knock him around and
make a fool of him.
So much for that plan. For once, Robin’s
reflexes were wildly off, and in an instant, he was splayed on the bed with Guy
draped over him. Long fingers tightened
on his arse and he bucked involuntarily, giving a squeal he would deny he’d
made. Guy looked up with a look of
disgust twisting his handsome face.
“Do you
ever bathe?” he sneered.
Robin was
too busy shaking off the thought that he’d considered Gisborne ‘handsome’ to
reply. Happily, he was used to mouthing
off without thinking, and his subconscious took over, to his delight –er,
dismay.
“If you
don’t like it, do something about it!” he sniped, one hand reaching down
automatically and flicking open his lacings.
His prick, freed from its leather prison, practically smacked Guy in the
mouth.
Guy
smirked. Robin froze (well, most of
him. His prick was still greedily waving
in the breeze).
“Want
something, Robin?” Guy sneered again, and the opening, pardon the pun, was too
perfect to ignore. It was only after
Robin stuck his prick in Guy’s mouth that he found himself praying the bastard
didn’t bite.
Guy looked
shocked, eyes rounding and nearly crossing to look down at the bulk now
stretching his jaw. He was just getting
a firmly disapproving look on his face when three things happened in quick
succession.
Robin
thrust… slipped down the bed from the force of the movement… and rubbed against
Guy’s erection with his shin. Firmly.
With a
gurgle much like a drowning man might make, Guy tightened his grip on Robin’s
arse, sucked as hard as he could on Robin’s prick, and ground his own prick
into Robin’s leg.
Right. So, Guy didn’t bite. Didn’t choke, either, which opened a world of
delightful possibilities in the filthier depths of Robin’s imagination. He couldn’t think much beyond those lovely possibilities
because his brain was quickly being melted down and sucked out the end of his
prick. He was vaguely aware that words
were falling from his mouth, but couldn’t for the life of him stop. Both his hands were buried in Guy’s hair, and
who knew it would be so silky and soft and make such wonderful reins? A little pull to the left, to the right, in
tight, and oh, God, so good, so very very good, his Guy was so very very very
good.
Things got
fuzzy after that. Not that they hadn’t
been fuzzy before, but they got REALLY fuzzy after that. Robin attributed it to his coming hard enough
to make his nose bleed.
Of course,
the fact that Guy was just as good with his prick as he was with his mouth
could have been a contributing factor in Robin’s inability to think, move,
fight, or do much of anything but babble and moan.
“My God,
Robin, do you ever shut up?” Guy glared
after he pulled his mouth off the spent prick, which tasted much better than
he’d expected it to (not that he’d thought about it, at all, of course, no,
never). Robin was still blithering on,
and getting a bit possessive if the pronouns were anything to go by. Guy considered crawling up the bed and
shoving something bulky in the man’s mouth to get that tongue busy on a
worthwhile endeavor, like sucking him dry, but figured Robin would still manage
to talk, and probably bite him as well. Which left only one thing to do, really.
Twisting
deftly, wondering why he couldn’t move like that when they were both dressed
and trying to kill one another, Guy slithered up the bed. Settling behind Robin, it was the work of a
moment to shove the loosened trousers firmly down the solid thighs, hands
lingering along the way, bringing up goose bumps on the soft skin. Yes, Robin was as furry as Guy had expected
him to be. It was just a little erotic.
The way Robin writhed under his hands was more than just a little erotic. Guy snarled under his breath, a different
tenor to his snarling than earlier in the evening. Then, he’d been complaining. He was still whining, but there was more
desperation in his tone. Leather was
only comfortable when one wasn’t hard as a rock and leaking like a sieve.
Wrestling
with his own laces, he sighed with relief when he freed himself. The bite of cold air on hot flesh helped
steady him… wouldn’t do to come before he could even get seated, and give the
little bastard more reasons to laugh at him.
Hands once more on that firm arse, enjoying the contrast of soft skin
over hard muscle much more than manky leather, Guy spread Robin’s arse wide and
worked his prick in.
This
prompted an interrogatory noise in the midst of Robin’s babble, which quickly
gave way to a moan and a rather interesting squeak as Guy thrust home. Then Guy’s world narrowed to heat and tight
and hard and now, barely cognizant of Robin thrusting back against him as he
thrust forward, and why on earth had he wasted so much time fighting Robin when
he could have been fucking him?
Time lost
meaning, though Guy feared it hadn’t been nearly as long as he’d hoped, before
he pumped in one last time and held it, jerking a few times as he emptied
himself. Robin tightened around him, and
Guy nearly passed out from the intensity of the sensation. Things got a little fuzzy for a few moments.
Then
reality crashed in like a rock to the head, as Robin ripped himself away,
drawing whimpers from both of them at the sudden separation (not that either
would ever admit to the sound. Or anything else that happened in the room that night. Robin wouldn’t, as he never did find a good
place to wank, and Guy wouldn’t, as he was paranoid about the Sheriff
eavesdropping). Guy looked up accusingly
at Robin, holding his bereft prick in both hands.
Robin
looked like he’d been pole-axed. Well,
pole-axed and very well fucked. Guy
tried to smirk, but had a horrible feeling his expression held a little too
much sap to make it work. If anything,
Robin looked even more frazzled.
“You… I…
we… augh! Marian!” Scrabbling at his trousers, Robin scrambled
for the window and fell more than climbed out of it. Guy heard him breaking tree branches and
blithering on to himself for quite some time before the sound finally died
away.
Tearing his
eyes from the window, Guy looked at the disaster his bed had become, his
leather trousers now far from clean, and sighed before snarling one more time.
“Wonderful. Now I have to take another bath.”
the END