Disclaimer: I do own Much! I do!

Robin was light. He shone; he burned like fire, scorching everything around him. He was brilliant, beautiful blinding light, and Much had always been drawn to him. Even against his better instincts, instincts that warned of differences between servitude and nobility, that warned of Robin’s infatuation with Lady Marian, that warned that the love that had grown between them was not acceptable in proper society, that warned that Robin would never choose Much over Marian, no matter what the circumstances.

But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was these moments, stolen, when the pair of them would vanish into the forest on the pretense of scouting for soldiers, or delivering to the poor, but when all they were really doing was walking through the trees together, laughing and talking.

Much never made the first move. It was his own way of forcing Robin to ask, to beg permission, even though such pretenses were never necessary. Of course, Robin had never been good at asking Much for anything, even when he truly needed it. Robin’s requests always came in the form of a hand, reaching out to curl its fingers around Much’s, calluses rough against Much’s palm as Robin’s slender fingers rubbed over Much’s knuckles.

And Much would smile, and squeeze Robin’s hand tight, and they’d fall into step, pulses beating in time as they stole shy, sideways glances at each other. And they’d grow silent, in breathless anticipation of what was to come.

On that particular day, the sun seemed to slice through the leaves to fall upon Robin’s hair, illuminating his upturned face and surrounding him in a heavenly glow. And Much stared, as Robin smiled at him, motioning him forwards, to their special place. It always felt like a dream, as if Much would jerk awake and none of it had ever happened.

“Race you to the clearing, Much!” Robin called, and took off, quicksilver and light-footed, darting through the trees. Much had no illusions of speed; he was constantly following Robin, perpetually three steps behind. But today, Much gained on his master, and threw himself forward to grasp Robin around the waist, and send them both tumbling into the sun-warmed grass of their clearing.

Robin was laughing. Robin was an angel, surrounded by sunlight, eyes sparkling, sun-bronzed skin warm in the sun, and Much couldn’t help but join in his laughter as Robin shook bits of leaves from his hair before pulling Much close. A slight breeze swept over them, and the sky was an impossible shade of blue. It was like heaven, as far as Much was concerned.

They laid there in the sun, and Much was silent as Robin tugged off his cap to toy with strands of Much's hair while speaking idly of his half-made plans to help the poor, reclaim his lands, restore the king. For his part, Much was content to lay his head upon Robin’s breast and listen to his master’s heartbeat, the most perfect sound in the world.

“Much?”

“Mmm?”

His name was repeated, along with a gentle tug upon a lock of his hair, and Much rolled away grumbling to glare playfully at his master.

“And just what was that for?” He demanded, the palm of his hand wandering up Robin’s thigh. His master chuckled.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep.” Robin offered, raising a hand to cup Much’s neck, pulling the older man down to him.

“I answered you.” Much said indignantly, yet his hand did not cease its upward motion.

“You said, ‘Mmm’. That does not constitute a valid answer, you make the same noise when you wake up in the morning.”

Robin’s face was impossibly close, and Much was smiling now, knowing that he was going to get what he’d been craving.

“That’s not the only time I make that noise, master.” Much murmured throatily as his hand settled on Robin’s hip.

“I know.” Robin agreed, and he settled gently on Much’s lap, right hand tangling in Much’s hair. "You make that noise when I do this."

And Robin pulled Much's face to his own and kissed him. It was a sweet, tender kiss; Robin's lips moved gently against Much's, and Much couldn't help but sigh in contentment. Robin's hips were moving slowly yet insistently against Much's, the motion creating sparks that elicited moans from both men.

Much parted Robin’s lips and their tongues began a languid duel while their owners’ hands roamed unchecked. Robin’s hands were tangled in Much’s hair, exhaling in breathy sighs as Much’s fingers dug into his hips, slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt to find his skin.

On days like today, Much thanked God that he was allowed to touch something so perfect. Robin’s lips were soft and pliant beneath his own, his skin like velvet. Much’s fingers moved higher as he eased Robin backwards, till his fingers were tracing Robin’s scar.

The scar was a tangible reminder of how close Much had come to losing his master. Touching it was always bittersweet, bringing tears to his eyes at the thought of burying Robin in a foreign land. He pressed his lips to it, tracing it lightly with his tongue before moving to Robin’s nipples and returning his fingers to the spot to brush lightly across the damaged skin.

Something about Much’s fingers on the scar sent shivers down Robin’s spin and he trembled as he lifted Much’s waistcoat over his head, and undid the buttons on his shirt to bare his chest. He left a trail of hot kisses down Much’s neck until reaching his collarbones. Robin nipped and kissed his way across the skin while his fingers skimmed lightly down Much’s chest to rest upon the laces holding his pants closed.

“Robin…” Much breathed, and Robin curled his fingers into Much’s waistband, pulling him down so that their bodies pressed tightly together. Much slips a thigh between Robin’s legs, and his master ground against it, mewling lightly as Much bit into the soft skin of his shoulder. The friction between them sparked and flared, and Much felt the hunger, the need, growing in his belly, and he did not protest when Robin rolled them over and straddled Much.

The archer made short work of Much’s laces, pulling the pants downwards to expose Much. Robin takes Much into his hands, caressing his length in long, smooth strokes that have Much arching upwards, desperate for more contact. Robin was silhouetted against the sun, and, as always, it hurt to look directly at him.

Much began palming Robin through his pants, and his master gasped at the contact, closing his eyes in pleasure as Much undid the laces of his pants, and slipped his left hand inside, reaching upwards with his right to pull Robin down into a deep, luxurious kiss.

They always came at the exact same moment, though whether by design or on accident was unclear. Sex, like so many other things between them, only served to further illustrate their unspeakable bond, which rendered words and actions meaningless. Robin’s pleasure was Much’s pleasure, and vice versa. Sex was always simple, like as effortless as breathing, and Much took savage delight in making his master moan his name, shaking with ecstasy as he came, fingers gripping Much’s arms tightly before collapsing exhausted onto Much’s chest.

Tangled together in the grass, half-naked, with a sheen of sweat over their bodies, Much blinked upwards at the sun, smiling in contentment. Robin was curled against Much, a sated smile on his face. His slim fingers traced intricate patterns across the taut skin of Much’s stomach, and Much could have sworn that his master had traced the words ‘I love you’.

“Do you mean it, Master?” Much asked quietly, bracing himself for rejection. But his master looked up, flashing a smile that dazzled like a meteor across a dark sky.

“Of course, Much.” He said tenderly.

“But what of Marian?” Much questioned.

“Marian is different.” Robin replied, eyes darkening slightly before he pressed his lips to Much’s. “But, if I were made to choose, I know what my choice would be.”

“Oh.” Much said flatly, and turned his gaze upwards once more. Robin seemed to sense his companion’s hurt, and he dropped light kisses over every inch of Much’s face.

“You silly, beautiful man. I’d pick you, you know that.”

And Much felt his heart expand, pounding in time with Robin’s pulse as their fingers twined together of their own accord, a movement, for them, as effortless and essential as breathing.