Of all the places…of all the people…he was stuck with Him for God only knew how long. There were a score of other things he’d rather be doing, with anyone else.

It would be laughable if it weren’t so damnably frustrating.

He gritted his teeth and held his tongue twisting his hand this way and that hoping for a miracle that would not be. It had begun as a nice enough day, as far as things go. Bright sun, blue sky, no bandits in sight to harass him and his men – it had been to perfect to last.

A spell in his own dungeons…

Cracking his head against a wall...

Breaking bread with Edward…

Edward who’d be glaring holes into his forehead that he might leave thinking perhaps he’d have a nice bulls-eye for Hood to shoot at. At the moment all of these options looked quite splendid in comparison, but here he was Guy of Gisbourne tied to a tree – with Loxley.

God surely hated him.

“Given up already have you?” the ex-lord and bandit of Sherwood mused as though commenting on the weather, as though their very lives weren’t in possible jeopardy – maybe the wars had driven him mad, or perhaps this was old hat for him by now.

Being tied to trees.

Maybe Loxley was in the habit of being tied to trees?

Gisbourne clenched his fists till the leather encasing them squeaked shying from that thought as soon as it flashed through his mind.

“As though you haven’t considered it before…”

He could hear the sheriff saying as clearly as if he stood at his ear.

Loxley. Robin.

Tied. Bound.

Completely at his mercy…he shuddered in disgust, or was it desire that made him quiver? He didn’t know and didn’t care to find out. Loxley was not for him, he was to lanky, to rough by far with his bearded stubble, haphazard hair a nondescript brown he was almost plain…but for the look that would come into his eye before a battle…or after a well played scheme…or when he looked at Marian…there was nothing plain about his eyes then. Or him.

Gisbourne had never seen the man smile, but he could imagine it was a pleasant one.

“Do you want to know what I think,” the bandit went on blithely unaware, and likely uncaring, of his rivals deep musings, “No” Gisbourne snarled out of habit. Never let it be said Gisbourne encouraged a conversation with an outlaw.

“I think-”

“I think you’d be wise to shut your mouth”

“Or what? You’ll scream?” this said with a mocking sneer that Gisbourne was glad he could not see, and thus the effort was wasted on him. But his jaw tightened, and his lips thinned even so.

Gisbourne snorted after a nuance of a second letting his lip curl into a grin that Hood would never, ever, see.

Cheeky bastard.

“We’re going to be here for a while” the bandit mused aloud.

“Then I should like it if you would be kind enough to shut up” Gisbourne snapped to which Loxley laugh, laughed as though he found this all very amusing, being tied to a tree with his arch enemy with real cutthroat bandits on the loose sure to come back and finish them off any second, and Loxley was laughing!

“What exactly is so amusing” dare I ask.

“You”

“Me?”

“Unless there is someone else tied to this tree that I cannot see…yes you!”

“I do not think this to be a laughing matter Loxley, they’re as likely to kill you as me” Gisbourne reminded, more than a little smugly.

“That’s true, but notice they are not here” as though he could not see that for himself! He half twisted his head to the side to glare at Loxley who paid him no mind at all whistling something beneath his breath.

The man was deranged.

“Can you not free yourself?” Gisbourne challenged, anything to fill the silence and stop that blasted whistling that grated on his ears like strangled cats.

“Perhaps” Loxley said affably.

“I’m sure before long my men will notice my absence” he added with a shrug, “And if they don’t?” Gisbourne snarled, “Well then it’ll be up to you and me then wont it Gisbourne?”

Gisbourne noted that he sounded none to happy about that prospect and if they hadn’t been enemies, if they hadn’t wanted to kill each other from day one, he might have felt slighted.

As it was he felt only vague amusement, because finally they agreed. He didn’t much like that idea either. Tied to a tree. All night.

With just Loxley for company this was going to be one hell of an experience – which he wished he’d avoided like the plague.

Loxley sighed dramatically, “My hands are going numb,” he muttered.

As though I care.

“Heartbreaking” Gisbourne grunted.

“Wait until yours do” Loxley threw back smartly, Gisbourne snorted. He, unlike Loxley, was wearing gloves that protected his hands from the worst of the ropes bite.

“It’ll be dark soon” Loxley announced, “Can you never keep your mouth shut? You’re worse than your servant Much” this oddly, silenced the outlaw.

Gisbourne relished in the silence, telling himself it was preferable to conversing with an outlaw.

Two hours of his blessed silence and he began to fidget, twisting, testing his bonds again and again as even the silent stillness of the woods began to gnaw at his mind. “Say something dammit, I know you must be biting your tongue something awful” Gisbourne growled.

“Fist you say silence, then you say speak? Would you not make up your mind already?” Loxley drawled, “Since when have you listened to anyone else’s wishes but your own, eh Loxley?” Gisbourne threw back vehemently.

“For your information I listen until I nary think my ears ready to explode, or my sanity, not that you’d know your own men are to afraid of loosing there tongues to say anything to you never mind your villagers” Loxley snarled “I listen to Much whine about lack of food, I hear…someone else ridicule my every attempt at justice naming it and myself foolish, I have the silence of Will when he thinks I’ve done something I’d aught not have done, I have the village people and peasants who want me to snap my fingers and miraculously make everything as it should be…now you tell me I do not listen? You know nothing of me do not pretend you do.”

“And you think you know me so well?” Gisbourne gritted out near to pitying the weight he could feel sinking down on Loxley’s shoulders.

By all rights the man should have gone to his knees beneath it long ago.

“You’d like him on his knees wouldn’t you?” the insidious voice in his head purred,and this time the voice was his own, he didn’t know if that was better or worse than the sheriffs, “kneeling before you like he never would to any but the King…a potent power it would be to know him like that…to own him body and soul…” but that was fantasy and perverse on the side. And Gisbourne wanted nothing of Loxley’s least of all his soul.

“Shut up” he hissed.

“And there you go again, come on make up you mind!” Loxley mocked wit the beginnings of annoyance.

Gisbourne blinked rapidly, not realizing he’d spoke, nor so loudly, “Huh?”

“Well I’ve discovered one thing about you my indecisive friend” Loxley stated dryly, “What?” Gisbourne inquired still bewildered by the whole exchange.

“I’ve hit you over the head far to many times.”

Gisbourne blinked slowly something light and amusing filling his chest and before he knew it he was laughing, a sharp bark of laughter that made – for a moment – his eyes shine and his lip curl into something resembling a smile. Gisbourne nodded seriously, thinking of the thoughts that’d been popping into his head all afternoon, it was likely truer than Robin knew.

“Could be,” he agreed faintly still chuckled.

“Who are you and what have you done with Gisbourne? Wait I don’t care, keep him and welcome to England…whoever you are” Loxley said with all seriousness and Gisbourne for the first time wished he could see the look on Loxley’s face, because he could hear the smile in his words.

“Don’t be stupid Loxley”

“Ah now that seems more like the Gisbourne I know!”

“Know and love?” as soon as the word were out he felt his face flush and was glad, again, that Robin, no LOXLEY dammit LOXLEY not Robin, could not see.

This time Loxley snorted quietly, “Love to hate is more likely”.

And that’s when it hit him, like a slap to the face, like a bolt of thunder, like a…revelation, epiphany, or mayhap more akin to an undeniable impossibility.

He was actually enjoying this tête-à-tête.

He was tied to a tree with Robin and he wasn’t about to gouge his ears our, or cut off his hands to free his bonds, a spell in his own dungeons though would not be so bad in comparison he realized, if the company were half as entertaining, half a clever.

“Half as handsome don’t forget that,” he was going insane that was the only possibility, unless…it was true?

This had never occurred to him before!

“No? Are you sure?” that was the sheriff’s voice coy and subtle with an underlying or truth that made his head spin. “If Loxley knew half the thoughts in my head he’d be cutting off his own hands to flee my company,” he thought eyes darkening, damned if you do damned if you don’t – lately that had become his aphorism.

“Why did you choose this life Loxley, you seem a smart man, even if sometimes slightly stupid” Gisbourne drawled, “Only sometimes?” Loxley asked in disbelief, “Your words flatter me, do try to stop its embarrassing!” he said flatly, near tonelessly and that Gisbourne liked not at all.

“I only meant-”

“This my friend was chosen for me”

“We all make choices”

“You sounded like someone I know for a second…” Loxley trailed off for a moment. Gisbourne almost felt flattered before he reminded himself that he did not in fact like Loxley – it was getting damnably harder not to the longer he spent in the mans company!

“You could always leave, surely you have friends that would take you in someplace else” Gisbourne suggested, a man like Robin always had friends.

Always. People were drawn to those like him, he burned hard and fast like a fierce fire, and above all people craved warmth, a touch of heat, they sometimes forget though that the harder, the faster a fire burs the sooner it flickers out.

Gisbourne winced as the symbolic thought and hoped he was wrong, though God knew why.

He should be pleased at the thought of no more Robin Hood.

“I’ve never run from a fight,” was all Loxley said, “Though I’m sure the sheriff and yourself would welcome a respite from my schemes and thievery” he added on a much lighter note.

“I don’t know it adds color to the day, Nottingham can become rather pretentious,” Gisbourne muttered.

“Ah the politicking! The sheriff must have you neck deep in it, you have my sympathies” Loxley said with all sincerity twisted his head to share a knowing glance with Gisbourne and caught the gleam of something in the other mans eye that made him look away a dull flush creeping over his face.

“I am being stupid” Loxley assured himself, he knew that look, and he also knew that that look could not have been in Gisbourne’s eyes, and moreover it could not have been directed at him.

But then if not him, who then?

Gisbourne heard Loxley shifting his weight, twisting his hands, testing the rope for the thousands time that night, for it was night now, the sun having sunk below the horizon.

He imagined Robin’s, no Loxley dammit, toned arms from sword and bow muscled lean and wiry leading to a narrow wrist with long, aristocratic, fingers calloused by archery and rough working, hands twisted the ropes till they were red and raw and still bound tightly.

“Tight…umm…-” this time Gisbourne did shut down the little voice in his head, the deviant he didn’t know he possessed, because that was going to far, he wouldn’t defile Loxley’s name with thought of that ilk.

He wouldn’t.

Not now that he almost liked the man. “

There’s a lot to like, he’s lean and strong but not a overgrown hulk, eyes a pure blue, quick to lighten with merriment, and easy to darken with anger, but also fast to laugh, especially at your expense! A good face, a handsome face as such things go…” Gisbourne admitted that all this was true though he’d never seen the man smile and that was quick becoming an obsession of his, such a simple easy thing.

A smile. A laugh. A single glance that wasn’t brimming with hate…

They maybe simple, easy things but he’d never have them directed his way, and even if they were he’d not know what to do with them. People rarely smiled at him anymore, in fact they hardly raise their head to look his direction.

But not Robin, never him. He didn’t duck his head in fear from anyone. He met Gisbourne eye to eye without a flinch it had been annoying the first time, now it was refreshing.

Robin and he were equal opposites.

“What are nights like here, are they always so cold?” Gisbourne asked innocently enough, “Colder, usually” was all the outlaw has said in response and for good reason it wouldn’t do for Gisbourne to know where, or how, or when they slept not unless they had a hankering to see the inside of Nottingham’s dungeons. “Well my hands are officially numb from lack of blood and this blasted cold” Robin announced, “And that matters why?” Gisbourne asked drolly.

“Because…” Robin grunted, tugging hard, hissing and tugging again, to what purpose Gisbourne couldn’t imagine it hadn’t worked the last hundred times.

There’s a still silence then next thing he knows the outlaw is in his face eyeing him with a seriousness that makes him uneasy.

“How’d you manage that” Gisbourne asked, honestly curious and more than a little awed the man had the slyness of a fox.

Robin silently offers up his wrist and by the pale streak of moonlight Gisbourne can see the bloody streaks and the raw skin.

“Didn’t that hurt?”

“Nah.”

Robin pulled his hand back pulling a dagger from his boot and sliced Gisbourne’s bonds on one swipe. “Your free” was all he said turning away gathering wood and tugging off the satchel hung over his shoulder where he stored the flint for fire.

Gisbourne stood staring like a dunce.

“Well do not just stand there help me gather wood” he snapped, “Me, gathering wood like a peasant,” Gisbourne repeated even as he did Robins bidding.

“Where do I put it Loxley” Gisbourne asked mildly, “Here. And you could call me by name for tonight if you liked” he replied distractedly.

Gisbourne grimaced knowing that his mind was going to twist that about until he was red-faced and uncomfortable.

“Only for tonight?” he head himself ask with horror, Robin looked up something indiscernible passing over his face.

“Aye, just for tonight, come morning we’ll be Robin Hood and Gisbourne again and whatever passed between us today will be done and forgotten” he said succinctly, Gisbourne felt like flinching at the blunt words but knew the words to be true, it is what he would say if he was being rational.

“Anything else I should gather, Robin” Gisbourne said testing out the word and find it unnaturally easy to say.

Addicting.

“No” the other man said roughly his eyes fastened to the ground as he set about making the fire, Gisbourne sat back on his hunched and watched, drinking in the sight while it lasted like a sailor stares back at land having left the port.

“Why so quiet now?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” A strait answer at least.

“Say it” Gisbourne pressed crowing Loxley till he was leaning back on his heels though only just, “Say what?” Loxley asked glancing up at Gisbourne’s burning eyes “Don’t play stupid, it doesn’t suit you Robin.”

Loxley relented under the steely hardness of his adversaries’ eye, Gisbourne’s jaw clenched in waiting.

“Guy” just one word, a name, it meant nothing really and yet it didn’t disturb him near as much as he’d expected, it didn’t revolt him, it made him think of things that had never occurred to him before. At least, not much.

“Was that so hard?”

“Like you’ll never know.”

Would he be less a man if he kissed him right now, clumsy and awkward as he knew it would be? Would he be branded unnatural with these strange desires, some simple, some not? What’s more, did he have the courage to do it?

He’d never know unless he tried…

“The last thing I want is Robins’ dagger buried in my belly, perhaps it’d be safest to hold out for a signal of some kind” he thought, wisely, drawing back to watch with relish as Robins breath quickened. Gisbourne heard the low rough breaths Robin took, as they froze, as all of Sherwood seemed to freeze with them, nary a wind brushing the trees, only a handbreadth between Robin and him, so close he could see the sharp blueness of his eyes, and they’d never looked quite so shuttered it made him want to shake the man until they opened and his soul was bared, “Among other things no doubt” whispered the voice and he knew, that way lead insanity.

Since when had he ever chosen the sane, safe, secure path anyhow?

To the devil with it, and the devil with the rest of the world – here, now in this vast forest they were excluded from the world, their inhibitions, it seemed like a place apart.

Leaving only him and Robin and a handbreadth distance between them.

Then there was none at all.

“Gisbourne, what are you doing?” the question was calm, but there was a distinct crack, a hesitation to the outlaws voice because of this Gisbourne knew he need not fear reprisals.

If Loxley, if Robin did not want this, him, he’d have a hole in his gut or a black eye already.

But he didn’t.

Gisbourne nearly fell back in shock at the faint, barely there, touch of lips, and it was good, so much more, so much better than he’d ever thought it might be.

Not that he’d ever thought of this before.

Robin tasted of something exotic and heady and wild, and so very good he pulled him closer, rough and gentle at the same time knowing if he didn’t tread with care he would end the night with a whole in his gut for sure.

Robin was not to be trifled with, but then neither was he.

Gisbourne noted with some satisfaction that while Robin wasn’t straddling his lap like a good tavern wench, he wasn’t pulling away in absolute revulsion either.

“Its Guy, remember Robin?” Gisbourne drawled all lazy smugness and dark smoldering eyes that drilled the outlaw to the spot through sheer intensity.

“Sheriff got your tongue?”

Robin made a choked sound and cursed; Gisbourne’s confidence wavered, realizing perhaps that hadn’t been the wisest thing to say.

Not at all, it was likely the stupidest.

“That’s disgusting” Robin growled with a glare, “A jest Robin, nothing more” Gisbourne explained quickly, wondering if Loxley knew that their sheriff had his eyes on Sherwood’s outlaw more often than was natural “And isn’t that just the pot calling the kettle black?” the cheerless irony did not pass unnoticed.

Given the look Loxley was shooting at him which was a mix between a deer ready to bolt and a wolf prepared to go for the jugular, it was possible he had a suspicion of his own.

This was new to him and Loxley, that much at least was clear.

Gisbourne had never known how to sweet talk a woman with honeyed words and soft nothings and he knew that even if he did that would not sway the man before him. Robin would never be swayed with pretty words and promises, not that he would’ve made them regardless.

Loxley knew how easily they could be broken.

A man was only so good as his word, and Gisbourne knew his was worth less than the dirt beneath their feet – for some insane, illogical reason that stung even as he knew it was to be expected.

Loxley was beginning to pull back, his bewilderment leaving, he had to act, and now!

Or forfeit his one chance…

“A chance at what?” his subconscious purred, “Is this a chance to capture the notorious Robin Hood, or your libido pulling your strings like a master puppeteer?” Gisbourne had the feeling this was that something he’d never know he was waiting on, and it had nothing to do with Loxley’s notoriety as Robin Hood.

He grabbed Robin arm, holding him in place, “I repeat what do you think you are doing?” he demanded his pitch going up a notch, wobbly and unsteady.

“I think you know unless your not nearly as quick witted as I give you credit for” Gisbourne whispered his lips brushing his ear, Robin tensed, “I think you’ve overstepped your welcome” he hissed.

“Have I now? What do you propose to do, kick me out of Sherwood and tell me not to come back, I’ll tell you now how much good that’ll do you” Gisbourne drawled his hand gripping the side of Robin face, half intimidation half caress.

His breaths where coming quicker now, Gisbourne could hear them in the thick silence of the forest, “Don’t tell me you haven’t felt it between us? They say…well you know what it is they say, of course” Gisbourne said rambling as nervousness struck him dumb, as it was prone to doing, this wasn’t working dammnit!

“No, I don’t really” Robin said something like a laugh in his words, “They say there’s a thin line between love and hate,” he breathed on a whispered hardly believing he’d dared say the words aloud.

“This isn’t about love Gisb- Guy,” Robin said quickly, steel lining his every word.

“No, its not” Gisbourne freely admitted with a purposefully casual shrug, “This is about me seducing you.”

“You must be joking! Surely…” Robin exclaimed shooting Gisbourne, Guy, a dubious look, shaking his head and inching backwards, “Have you ever heard me joke Robin?” he pressed.

“Good point,” Loxley said with a grunt “And stop calling me that!”

“You said I could”

“I take it back!”

Gisbourne laughed sitting back on his heels here he was trying to seduce the lord of Sherwood and they were sitting here arguing like children. One minute he was smiling like he hadn’t in years and the next there were lips against his, Robins’, Gisbourne was almost to stunned to react.

Almost.

Cheeky bastard!

He pulled the archers lithe body closer surprised though he was he held tighter, their tongues dueling like their swords so often did; it was rough and bruising, and Gisbourne couldn’t get enough.

The leaves crackled crunching beneath them, as Gisbourne maneuvered them to the ground, Robin pinned beneath his greater weight and size.

He worked his hand beneath the tattered and worn tunic Robin wore sending the outlaw to gasping as he pulled it up and off in once fluid motion, cold air meeting pale, bare skin.

Gisbourne kissed the hollow of his throat, leaving a blaze of desire in his wake as he worked his way down, leaving Robin to writhe in torn pleasure.

When he saw the scar he ran a hand over the marks despairing over the ruin he’d made of Robins perfect skin it wasn’t the mans only mark, but it was the worst.

Something suspiciously like guilt, shame, remorse crept over him as he kissed it too sucking the skin ever so slightly, Robin inhaled sharply his eyes half lidded and dark with wanting.

Huffing impatiently Robin tugged at Gisbourne’s leathers and the other man chuckled, “Very well” he mumbled understanding the silent message he began peeling off the leather trappings till they where both bared to the winds bite.

“What are we doing Guy?” Robin panted, even as his hands tangled in the other mans black hair, tightly, bordering on painful.

Gisbourne had always loved that knifes edge between pain, and pleasure.

“I’d think that was obvious,” he growled biting down hard enough on a dusky nipple to draw a hissing gasp, “And if it isn’t?” Loxley panted, “Don’t make me say it again Loxley.”

“Apologizes if I find it so hard that the enemy whose so long wanted me dead, now wants to tumble me in the forest, the turn about is quite staggering really” Loxley muttered, even as he dragged Gisbourne’s head back up for another teeth clashing, tongue dueling kiss that stole the breath from Guy, the kiss stole him of breath and words leaving him floundering for a quip, “You talk to much.”

“Aye, sometimes” Loxley admitted his hands roaming, resting at the curve of his spine, he smirked as Gisbourne gasped when he rocked his hips suggestively, “But I have other uses for my mouth, too, which some would say are quite useful.” Gisbourne gulped, his pulse racing as desire poured through his body and Robins hinting words and that thing he’d done with his hips, was not helping.

“Dammnit, keep control Gisbourne.”

“Shut up” he said, the words more request than command.

Considering that Robin held the power to satisfy his traitorous bodies demands, or withhold his touch, he thought it best.

“And if I refuse?” Robin inquired his voice low pitched and practically purring, “I’ll have to insist” Gisbourne rejoined feeling amusement bubbling inside.

Damned if Robin wasn’t entertaining.

“And when I decline?” he probed, his hands roving before coming back to his ties, as he unceremoniously undid them, his eyes never leaving Guy’s who shifted so he should shove them off and made short work of Robins own breeches.

Gisbourne smirked faintly maintaining an I-am-in-control-you-are-at-my-mercy look that would, and had, sent many a man to begging on hands and knees.

Robin just grinned indulgently, waiting.

“Then I’ll have no choice but to gag you,” Guy stated, “And that would be a pity.” Rob in chuckled, “Aye, because then I could not do this” he kissed the dark haired man soundly, “Or this,” bowing his head to run his tongue over Guys navel, then lower, lower he went, and before he knew what he was about Guys hand were buried in his hair locking him in place.

Robin found it no hardship, sucking licking, scraping teeth ever so slightly until Guy was a writhing mass of nerves under his onslaught. He pulled back as Guys grip went lax, a wolfish grin on his face, “Still wanting to use that gag?”

“God no!”

“I thought as much.”

Gisbourne drew in a shaky breath through his nose as he watched his lover taking a moment to regain his sanity; he’d never known desire could be driven to such heights.

No wonder women loved Loxley so.

Guy did something brazen and nudged Robins legs farther apart, regretting the actions as soon as he’d done it when a spark of fear or the closest he’d seen to it, flashed through the mans eyes.

But he refused to relent, “Robin” once the name was said he realized that a question lingered there, how had that happened even his voice betrayed him!

“Guy” the outlaw warily answered, and wrapped one arm across his back urging him close, giving him his answer.

“Relax,” he muttered, Robin snorted wordlessly, and he didn’t blame him. Gisbourne pushed Robin, rough bark at his back Gisbourne’s brawny arms braced on either side lodged tight between Loxley’s outstretched legs.

Somewhere between the kissing, the roving hands gripping tight enough to bruise, the sensual rocking of hips that cracked the air with groans and soft sighs among all this the clothes were inexplicably removed, a minute detail in the greater scheme as Gisbourne figured it.

“You stopped” Loxley stated, his voice gruff and sharp with buried wont, “Why?”

Gisbourne said nothing for a spell looking over the prize he held trapped in willing surrender, “I have Robin Hood in my grasp and I’m not fighting, maiming, killing, insulting, or otherwise apprehending him, why?” he asked himself “Because…having him like this for one night…its worth chasing after him for a lifetime” the answer he came to was far scarier than he’d imagined, better to have him now and live in the shadow of this man, than never know whatthis connection, could-have-been, was at all.

“Nothing” Gisbourne said, and he knew that his voice shook just the slightest when Robin’s expression lightened and a feather soft touch ghosted across his face in a shadow of a caress hidden in the dark of night.

“I’ll pretend I believe you” Robin said soft laughter lace through his words and proceeded to kiss the frown from Gisbourne’s face, thoroughly, intently, hungrily with the single mindedness of a wolf after prey. Gisbourne grinned and let Loxley have his way, “Robin” he gasped.

“What?” Robin demanded.

“I’ve, as I’m sure you know, us both being people of positions, that I’ve no clue what I’m about” Gisbourne explained in stuttering embarrassed breaths, Robin choked back a laugh, “You tell me this now?”

“Well-”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No!”

Robin laughed heartily, “I thought not, put your mind at rest I think I know how this goes” he confessed.

“So you’ve done this sort of thing before then? Right?” Gisbourne inquired, jealously surging hot and fast through his blood.

“Now Guy, a man like me doesn’t kiss and tell,” Robin said emphasizing his words with a kiss to seal the deal.

“Oh” was all Gisbourne managed, his mind already wandering to imagine other men knowing Loxley like this, had they been good to him? Had they given him pleasure?

“Does it really matter Gisbourne? You’ll have his tight body wrapped around you, what does it matter if he had other lovers? Other men? Or what they might’ve done,” that was the sheriff’s sly voice slipping in his head like a bad neighbor, but he knew his response to that, it did matter, God alone knows why, but it did.

“Oh?” Robin mimicked with an arched eyebrow.

Gisbourne smirked, and in one quick thrust found how this was done between men, “Oh” Robin gasped, a flash of pain with pleasure nipping at its heels dancing through his body.

Gisbourne saw dots the pleasure was building high and fast as he buried his cock balls deep in Loxley’s arse, tight and well formed from exercise and riding no doubt.

He pulled out to push back, inch by tantalizing inch as Robins body gripped him tight as a swords sheath, sweat doting there bodies as they made their own heat.

Gisbourne pressed there lips together to swallow the little sounds Robin made, they were driving him crazy with lust, he thrust harder, faster, working a rhythmic dance as the pleasure built to maddening heights, Gisbourne pressed deep and hard as he peaked, muttering something that he thinks later might have been “Robin.”

“That was…” Gisbourne trailed off, lost for words for what they had just shared the sole witnesses the towering oaks of Sherwood and the night owls nestled in their branches.

“Good” Robin finished contently. “I was going for amazing” Gisbourne muttered sullenly. “Was that a compliment?” Robin asked with a grin, “Perhaps” Gisbourne hedged.

“It was!” Robin exclaimed with more amusement than Gisbourne would have liked. “Don’t push it Robin” Gisbourne growled, but they both knew that here and now Gisbourne was a contented puppy dog and harmless as a kitten.

“Would I do that?” Robin asked with mock hurt tipping his head back to meet Gisbourne’s eye. “All the time” Gisbourne replied blankly.

“You might be right.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

Robin smiled widely, white teeth flashing as he laughed outright, because he couldn’t help it any longer the look of absolute shock on Gisbourne face was enough to make any man laugh. Before long they were both smiling stupid grins and talking absently of significant nothings as the night wore on passing into the threshold of sleep the pair accepted the sandman’s gift.

“So damn cold” was the first thing he thought, “Robin” was the second when Gisbourne woke from his sleep, and the idyllic hours of darkness spent beneath the trees seemed only a twisted dream fabricated by the workings of his own mind.

But they weren’t the evidence of it held loosely in his left hand he looked at the object then at the surrounding woods, no one was there, there would be no bandits to hassle him in his journey back…

He almost wished they would if only that he might see Him before everything changed again.

But he didn’t.

Ten times he nearly tossed the token onto the roadside, into the bushes, over the stream, but each time he drew it back and slipped it inside a pocket, and that’s were it remained. His mood blacker and blacker the closer he came to Nottingham, once the gate closed behind him he felt the might’ve been’s that he hadn’t been considering, vanish.

He searched the grounds hoping that someone, anyone would meet his eye, but the only one who’d ever dared was miles away somewhere in Sherwood. And he was here, there was something telling about that. And about how for one second when he’d woken he’d considered something insane.

“Gisbourne! There you are! Where have you been, lucky thing for you Hood hasn’t been up to his old tricks lately, eh?” the sheriff said staring at him peculiarly, as though he had it written across his forehead in scarlet letters.

“Ah, yes, I think Hoods been otherwise engaged, with me, recently” he explained.

“You don’t say? There’s no marks on you, you’re in one piece far as I can tell, you are aren’t you?” Vaisy demanded, “I cannot abide eunuchs! Disgusting creatures” he spat.

“Yes I barely manage to escape…” he muttered, “you weren’t saying no last night when he kissed you like the hang mans noose was coming, and there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow, you really put up a struggle when he gave you his body sheathing your cock in his arse” the little voice was back again and it was backing his face turn an unbecoming shade of pink in afterthought.

“You and Hood, eh?”

“My lord?”

“Well, are you going to make me guess…a clue no”

“There was an incident involving other outlaws and Robin and I got caught in the crossfire, we both took off in different paths and that’s the last I saw of him, got lost in the blasted forest” Gisbourne explained flatly, “Did you now? Next time you’ll know what to do.”

“Sheriff?”

“Why stick with Loxley of course, its his forest after all” Vaisy said giving Gisbourne another odd look, “Yes, right, I will do that if it should ever happen again” he stammered, “See that you do, cant have my best man stumbling around in Sherwood like a dunce, when there’s outlaws to be had.”

Oh he’d had the outlaw all right, all night long, right there against one of his beloved trees. The memory was enough to make all the cold nights ahead worthwhile.

The sheriff watched Gisbourne ascend the steps and muttered to himself, “He called him Robin.”

“Only I call him Robin.”

---

Three weeks later:

---

The relative calm had had to end; he’d known this as sure as he knew his name. Face to face with Loxley he drew his sword prepared to draw blood, even as his head, his conscious, rebelled.

“So here we are again Robin” Gisbourne murmured.

Flashes of a night that never was blinking out before his very eyes “Up to your old tricks again Loxley?” he called out, “Old tricks Gisbourne? I haven’t even begun!” he touted with a grin that warred with the darkness lingering in his eyes.

“Maybe that isn’t darkness, maybe that’s what they call regret.”

Gisbourne didn’t care, didn’t want to care and ignored it, pulling metal on Loxley there eyes meeting for a fraction of a second enough time for him to see the disappointment flare in Robin’s eyes before it disappeared and they went dark with a familiar fire, the fight, the cause, the manors audience, all blurring out but when it was done he’d been bloodied, marked, and he knew it was business as usual.

“Take what you came for and get out!” Gisbourne raged.

But it was himself he wanted to throttle. And he didn’t understand why.

“My pleasure!” Loxley exclaimed, stalking off to be shrouded by the greenery of Sherwood the others following after having the odd feeling that they’d missed something but didn’t dare ask.

When a message came to him from the sheriff he ignored it, claiming there were matters at Loxley to be attended to, and so he remained sinking into himself, even going so far as to refuse an invitation from Marian.

“What am I doing” Gisbourne asked himself falling onto his bed, Loxley’s bed, imagining the man who’d lived in this house, slept on this bed and wondered who he’d been before he’d left for war, before he’d grown up – been forced to see the world as it really was.

Gisbourne wondered if he’d known him then, would it have changed things? Would knowing Robin have changed him?

“It changed that shady pick pocketing, double-dealing Allan A’ Dale, hadn’t it. Why not you?” there was that little voice again and for once nothing blush worthy was being spewed.

But would he really have wanted that, he had everything a man could want, a name, land of his own, a woman – give or take a little wooing.

He was happy, wasn’t he?

“If you have to ask…” this time the voice inside his head wasn’t his and it wasn’t the sheriffs, it was mocking but in this persons voice there was always an air of lightness. Decency.

“I am content, that’s all a man can ask for,” he said, wondering when he had begun speaking to himself.

“Wrong again Guy, content is not happy, and every man, even you, deserves to be happy.”

Loxley would never say that, to him he deserved every shred of grief he was served, and he did didn’t he? That’s why that night in Sherwood would have to be the night that never was – because it could never be again.

Forcing such thoughts away he lay back on the covers telling himself that he wouldn’t, knowing he would as he pulled out Robins parting token from an inner pocket, glad for its familiar presence in the palm of his hand, even as he knew he should toss it to the fire.

But he’d sooner burn his own gold.

The blank unmarked surface, a clean slate awaiting the carvers’ attention, clean smelling wood worn down and smooth as a feathery touch from constant caresses.

He never, not once, wore the blasted thing but each night it lay on the empty space beside him like a phantom lover.

---

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KnightGuardian: Hope you enjoyed!

Please R&R!