Disclaimer: The characters are the property of Rob Thurman. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

Warnings: Slash, m/m. Sex between men. If this is something you do not want to see, look for something else. First-person narrative.

Pairing: Robin/Cal

Set during "Nightlife" (first book).

Mood music: Lenny Kravitz — Fly Away (I Want to Get Away).

Pan's Aupheling

by Salysha

I hadn't realized it, but the day had taken its toll on Nik, who asked me to apply burn cream. "Not you," Nik warned with a dirty look, and, despite Robin craning his neck interestedly, I did the honors and applied the ointment on my brother's back. After that, Nik called it a night and left us to play.

Goodfellow seemed to have sobered up considerably. He didn't pass out on the couch like I would have expected, but instead sat upright with a look on his face that told he wanted to talk. Well, not so much talk as say things himself. Already, the ancient Greeks...

I flipped on some TV. After a vicious thumping of the remote, nothing was still on, and there is only so much late-night programming one can take in. I finally clicked the tube off. Bad call. That left us two alone, and Loman had definitely sobered up. He was regarding me silently. He continued to regard me silently until I finally snapped.


Woe himself couldn't have sounded more mournful. "Always so snappy-go-broody. Where's the love?"

"Not here," I said between my teeth as I crossed my arms. Of course, that didn't keep Loman from exhibiting his best mournful face, which I was still pretty damn immune to. I kept my side turned to him, and eventually he settled on the fact that a side view was the only thing he'd be getting from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him settling more comfortably on the couch.

I guess I should have heard his next line coming from miles away, but—bully for me—I didn't.

"You really need to get laid," Goodfellow said. I shot daggers at him, wishing I had real ones at hand. "I don't mean that as a put-down. I'm just wondering how a guy like you hasn't hooked up already."

I grunted. Subject closed. It was a simple grunt of information, even though Goodfellow had sounded more sympathetic than I had ever heard him.

"You aren't bad-looking, and a lot of girls like the 'dark and mysterious,'" he continued, even if I wanted nothing more than to have him shut up. This was something I wouldn't discuss with my brother, and I sure as hell wouldn't have a tête-à-tête about it with Goodfellow, either. I sensed he was about to say something else when a noise stopped us both.

It wasn't a noise to stop the worlds, to be sure, but it was noise enough to make me bolt off the couch and head to the bedroom. I opened the door cautiously, and damned if Loman wasn't by my side the instant I reached Nik's. It irked me; my brother's nightmares didn't need a witness. My glare did little to deter Goodfellow, whom I imagined to have perfect night vision. I set about to ignore him and crouch by Nik instead. "It's okay, big brother. I'm still here. Go back to sleep."

The violent night terror eased, if only by a fraction. Niko's blond hair didn't cover his face, and I was worried to see how the worry-wrinkles persisted. The strangulated noises ceased, though, even originally so well subdued they would have not been caught by anyone but me.

And Loman.

"Do you mind?" I hissed. If Niko was losing any sleep because of Loman's drunken ass, I might yet make good of the Auphe's insatiable appetite and taste me some immortal. He didn't move.

"Would you like me to put him to sleep?"

The question came so quietly, I had to strain to hear it. The aural reception was nothing particular; just your good ol' average American.

"What?" I quickly descended to Niko's side and calmed him down after my too-loud hiss. I rose again and tried at a more acceptable volume, "What did you say?"

"I can help your brother sleep. It is a simple technique, and he will not have nightmares. He will simply be steady out-of-it," Goodfellow explained hastily. He, too, had awoken to conclude that this really wasn't the place for a lengthy parley.

I shouldn't have even considered it; I know I shouldn't have, but the fact was, Loman knew things, and Niko needed the rest he obviously wasn't getting. Niko deserved to rest. Feeling like the worst kind of traitor, I nodded Loman a go-ahead. If Niko didn't sleep through this, I'd have a helluva time explaining why I'd let Goodfellow approach him in his sleep.

"He'll wake up with a slightly stiff shoulder, but he will be well-rested."

Goodfellow's long, slender fingers curled around my brother's shoulder. There was a stifled sound, and then Nik fell into quiet slumber. I barely resisted the urge to jump at Loman, but I had to have faith that he hadn't done any damage. I still couldn't help being a little amazed. "What are you, Vulcan?"

"Star Trek was right about a lot of things," Robin replied, faintly puzzled.

Groaning mentally, I couldn't ignore the positive results produced by his nifty nerve pinch. Nik was resting quietly, without a worry in the world. The worries were plentiful and could all wait until the morning. I ushered the reluctant Goodfellow out of Niko's room before he could offer to keep watch and closed the door behind us.

That still left me with the original problem: a sleepless Goodfellow, just as bored by inactivity as the rest of his capricious kind. I somehow felt better at facing it knowing that at least Niko could rest. We resumed sitting on the couch after he dismissed my offer to fix him an extra blanket so he could turn in.

After a moment of silence—it must have killed him; I truly believe that—Goodfellow continued, "You know, I really meant what I said earlier. Why don't you get on with it? Or rather, get it on?"

"Do you have to?"

He didn't continue, for once. Thank God for small favors. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Robin lurch forward. "Vade retro," I muttered. Loman froze mid-air, and then he got the storytelling look in his eyes. I groaned. "Don't tell me you knew Satan."

"Don't be absurd," Robin chided, offended. "Of course not. We hung out in totally different crowds, she and I."

Miraculously, Robin didn't get hung up on a memory long ago buried and never shared, but reverted to the situation at hand quicker than expected. I saw him edging closer to me. His hand, on the back of the seat, would have been on my back, had it only been inches higher. He looked at me in assessment.

"I have no interest in that," I said acridly. I hoped that discouraged him from whatever schemes he was working up in his convoluted mind.

Not a hope. A hand came to brush against the zipper line of my jacket. "Are you so sure?"

I didn't need to look to my side to see that a charming grin was directed at me. Attractive to anyone who wasn't immune to puck charm. The hand had moved east now, to my chest. I didn't face the expectant stare. My legs grew tired; I pulled them up on the couch and relaxed minutely. The hand was still touching my chest, without me—the fastest hothead in this plane of existence—putting up a fight. Another moved to brush against my thigh. Loman was leaning forward with fast intent in his eyes. I could have—should have—pulled back. I didn't. Instead, I waited deadlocked as he leaned over and kissed me.

As his lips closed in on mine, I was thinking of sweet Georgie Porgie and her freckles, pimples, blistering boils... until I wasn't thinking about Georgie anymore. I was only not human, after all.

Instead, I was thinking about Robin Goodfellow and how his eyes got brighter when we called him Robin instead of Loman or Goodfellow. Since when had I cared? The culprit in question pulled back and looked at me in assessment. This wasn't exactly how I had planned my first kiss to be. I pulled my legs on the couch and inadvertently ended up facing him. I recovered from the lapse in judgment by staring at the floor, the room—anywhere but him. Looking up by accident, I saw the shine in his eyes and unconsciously allowed him to climb on top, straddle me loosely. He reached between my legs to palm the front of my jeans.

"Randy puck," I muttered.

He was also leaning in to lock lips with me. I was sprawled on my back, and Robin was taking over. A hand had closed around my neck and was pulling me fast toward him, while the sinful fondling of my crotch continued. The said area had become distinctly more pronounced. His mouth wasn't wasting any time, either. He really was a great kisser—not that I had experience, and there is only so much Harlequin and Barbarella can teach you. He demanded my mouth and pulled back with a hint of seduction before I had had enough, only to make a retour, equally magnetic and infuriating at the same time.

I felt the tinges of hesitation strike only when he started unzipping my pants. I started to pull away, and, despite being surprised by the recoil, he let me. He cocked his head, and a wavy curl of his hair rolled from one side to the other on his forehead. The dauntless nonchalance stopped at his handsome looks. "Can't you think," he swallowed, "any port in a storm?"

At the time, I didn't realize he applied that to himself, too.

I couldn't suppress a gulp, even though I hadn't intentioned it to sound to the rest of the world. I was also starting to grasp our positions and realize that he was offering. Was this something I wanted? On a level, maybe. Could live without? Yes. Could pass up on? Would want to...?

Effectively cornered, I heaved a breath and bucked up.

That was answer enough to the make-out artist. The lithe fingers snaked under my jeans' waistline until they reached the fly and undid it carefully. The weight on my crotch eased momentarily, and the jeans were suddenly being pulled down. The underwear wasn't spared, either. I was glad to see I measured up to the situation. Slight nervousness was fighting its way in with a vengeance, and this time I really, really didn't want junior to lose its nerve. There were humiliations, and then there were mortal kinds of humiliations.

Luckily, no such problems were in sight. Robin made an appreciative sound as the full length of me was finally exposed, and that took the edge off. A shower and a grower—the genes did something right by me, for once.

Robin was cuddling his hand between my legs, stroking there. He hovered expectantly, prompting the slightest of groans. I wasn't trying to put on a show, but that hand felt good. It sent a jolt down my length, which traveled up for a complete hard-on. Loman copped a kiss out of me before I could stop it. When he came out for air, I realized something essential: somewhere down the line, he had conjured his pants to disappear. It was a miracle; Loman was worse than male fashion models. I imagine that when others still ran around buck-naked, he was strutting around in the finest mammoth fur that squirrel pelts could buy.

The nervousness was fast building up again, but Loman knew his way around. I gave a nervous twitch—or rather, junior did—but he paid no heed to that, instead producing a bottle and wrapper out of his jacket he always carry those around? I couldn't keep the frown from my face, though; I was pretty sure no one was going to get knocked up by this, but Loman gave a look of finality when I tried to ask him about the rubber, and I caved in. Mellow in my old age, I was becoming.

Robin called a break from his itinerant hand-worship and curled a measuring fist around my manhood before picking one of the wrappers and tossing the rest aside with a wicked grin. From what I inferred from the labels, he wasn't even prepared for anything in the "snug" department. The expectations were puffed up. I was gulping a little—sullenly, I hoped—and slid down heavily on my back. He backed away right along and took a wholesome grip. While I was busy trying to figure out what it meant that a guy was holding my prick, he had already rolled on a round of protection.

Pink. Great. My masculinity was shred to pieces, the pieces were buried, and a shaman was performing passing rites over the burial place.

I'd always assumed the thing would need some preparatory action. You know, for the whole shebang. I grimaced at the choice of words in my head, and nearly shook of my head to deter questions when I had a raised eyebrow, asking questions, shot my way. Point bottom was, I had assumed I would need a more active role. Robin seemed to have it all under control, though. He had done what needed to be done, and was sitting straight on my willing bulge, rubbing it under his backside. That tingling between my big toes told me how immune I was to it.

It also occurred to me that this was the longest that I'd ever heard Robin be quiet. A lot of firsts were bound to go down this evening. I realized the potential for a double entendre with the simple locomotive verb, even the direction, and gave an involuntary laugh. The acknowledging look was incredulous. What? A guy couldn't laugh?

"What's so funny?"

Never say my mind wasn't a fast one. I said the first thing that came to my mind. "The Spanish inquisition."

"You know," he mused and stopped all motion, "it's a funny story how they got those pointy hats—"

"Shut up."

I finally realized that it wasn't so much that Robin liked to talk, despite his eloquence. It was that he hadn't had anyone to talk to for millennia. I'm not sure if that insight made me understand him any better, but I think it made me more sympathetic toward him. I pulled him by the arm, roughly, and he understood.

He was hovering expectantly, and I nodded. When the flag's up, you salute. He took care of the rest.

My mind wasn't blown when he inched down, but it was nice. Damn nice. The anticipation was building and running in shivers across my chest and down to my crotch. He lowered himself all the way and started testing the friction as I leaned back and enjoyed the ride.

Next time I assessed the situation, he was crouching over and continuously engaged in kissing, as though seeking affirmation of something, steadily taking it from me. I was a little bothered by the lip-locking; it made this seem like we were in a relationship or something.

He really wanted to keep kissing, but before he was about to cut off my air supply again, I said, "Could we do just that?"

He seemed disappointed, but obliged the request. He stretched up and displayed his figure prominently. I made the mistake of looking forward as he did and quickly returned to staring at the ceiling. I wish he would've covered himself somehow. I'd rather not look at his junk swinging around, but considering what he was doing for me, I felt more decent not mentioning it.

When the climax came, I was overcome by a pleasurable rush that gradually tapered to a steady contentment. That energy condensed to slow vibration that nearly had me humming. I only realized I was displaying emotions openly when I spotted Robin looking at me with a look of understanding, but the puck had mercy for once: he developed a lopsided grin and gave me a wink, and that was us talking it through. He rested a hand to my chest briefly as he finally dislodged. He even took care of de-rubbering me before making it over to the bathroom almost modestly.

I lay still a little longer before I had the sense to put some pants on. I cracked the window open for some city-fresh air and made a trip to the kitchen for some cleansers, which I sprayed around liberally. Once the room was polluted enough to gog up even my senses, I was satisfied. I'm not sure if I should have analyzed more of what had happened, but I think my mind, fouled up as it was, was happier this way.

I could only imagine what Niko was going to say in the morning.


Feedback: Yes, please. It would mean a lot. Thanks for your time!

Sincere thanks to Gypsie (Gypsie Rose) for the proofreading!

Published May 17, 2011.