Gisborne's boy

By Leah

Summary

Gullan fic set during season ep 1 of season 2 goes very AU from there. Rated M just to be safe as it is a slash fic. However, it is not incredibly graphic.

Disclaimer

I do not own a thing … But if I did. Allan, Guy & Marian would be making whoopee and Robin would be played by an actor who looks less like a puppy.

Nottingham Dungeons. After Allan's torture session

A voice, soft and dark, yet warm like readied bath water, whispers in his ear. The young man it torments moans, shifting his head away, not wanting to listen.

Nevertheless, the dark man standing beside him, possessor of the deep, dark voice will make him listen. The man with the deep, dark voice will seduce him with his words. That black velvet voice will caress the young man's ears with promises of position and wealth until he gives in.

But Allan A Dale is a fighter. He also loves Robin Hood and the group of people who follow him. He will not succumb so easily.

Some time has gone by and Allan's captor is becoming annoyed.

"You obviously need time to think over my offer," the dark man purred in his ear. "I'll leave you with your thoughts." He lowered the purse he earlier dangled in front of Allan's tired blue eyes.

Allan, though his eyes were closed, knew his tormentor was smirking at him.

"Gaoler!" he heard him announce. "This one could use one more round."

"Righto, Sir Guy."

"I will return to you," the voice told Allan softly. "Trust in that."

Allan lowered his head in response and his captor walks away, red velvet purse in hand.

Allan's captor walks away knowing that Allan prepares himself, not for the pain but for his return.

Sometime later, Outside Allan's cell

"I told you to torture him, not near kill him!" Sir Guy of Gisborne snarled at the gaoler who offered a shrug.

"He got a tad cheeky," the little man replied casually. "Almost cut his tongue out."

"And had you done that," Guy growled, looming over him in a threatening manner. "I would have cut your tongue out then fed it to your wife personally."

The gaoler flinched at Guy's words, stepping backwards.

"F-forgive me," he stuttered, his attitude changing instantly from relaxed to one of horror. "I'd be only doin me job, milord!"

But Gisborne was in no mood for apologies. With a leather-clad finger, he pointed at Allan's still form still tied to the poll,

"Get him out of here," he hissed. "Have a physician see to his injuries immediately."

"But he'd be an outlaw!" the gaoler cried, not seeing the logic in this action at all.

"I'm taking him to Locksley this afternoon." Guy replied arrogantly, pulling on his gloves whilst trotting up the stairway.

"Will the sheriff approve of this?" the gaoler added quickly, feeling he had a right to know, for what was worse then a cranky Gisborne? A sheriff chucking tantrums. That's what was worse.
That question caught Guy's attention.

"He's not around to disapprove is he, Clapa?" he asked, voice soaked with contempt. He was becoming rather irritated with the insignificant fool who dared to question his commands.

"No," the man agreed warily. "No he isn't."

Satisfied he was getting his way, Guy continued his journey up the steps.

"Get this man seen to by a physician," he barked over his shoulder, "and have him readied for travel or you'll loose more then you're fucking tongue!"

Locksley Manor

Allan A Dale woke up in a strange room, in a strange bed, naked as a babe.

Wearily and warily, he sat up, watching the sheet fall to his stomach where he noticed that there was a large bandage wrapt around his waist.

"Where the hell am I?" he wondered gingerly touching the material. 'I'm too wicked for heaven.'

The door suddenly swung open. Allan jumped, startled.

Gisborne and a pretty servant girl entered the room.

The girl meekly set a plate of food onto a table whilst Gisborne, a wine jug and goblet.

'Only one goblet?' Allan realised silently, 'Jesu! He's going to poison me!'

"Fuck off," Gisborne told the girl.

The girl curtsied, gave Allan a pitying look then fled the room.

"Well Clapa," Guy said, pouring wine into the pewter goblet. "Is the bed to your liking or do you prefer leaves and dirt?"

Allan frowned his confusion. Gisborne was a highborn lord. How on earth would he know a word like Clapa? Was his mother a whore turned lady?

"I'm not clumsy," he protested.

"And yet I caught you," Guy taunted with a sneer.

"So what are you going to do?" Allan demanded. "Kill me with luxury?"

Guy shook his head, grinning.

"Like I said before. I need someone to tell me about Robin Hood's plans." He paused. "You're going to help me, Allan."

"Just his plans. Not kill him?"

"Exactly," Guy replied. "Your mate Roy tried to kill him. Look where that got the little toss pot!" The dark haired man walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, holding the pewter goblet in his leather clad hands. "Face it," he continued dryly. "If it weren't for me, you'd still be a miserable walking earsling. With my help, in time, you can be so much more then that."

The young man trembled. Not with fear, but with excitement. Before he could entertain the idea further Allan pushed it out of his mind, cursing his greed.

Reaching out, Guy cupped the back of Allan's head with one hand, pulling him inwards.

"Drink," he said, pressing the goblet against Allan's lips.

Allan tried to pull away but the smell of the wine reeled him in. He was gulping and swallowing the rich, red liquid within moments.

Gisborne chuckled softly, enjoying the power he had over his newfound pet.

Before Allan could finish the wine entirely, Guy withdrew the goblet, set it on the floor then eased off his leather jacket and tunic.

Allan's eyes widened.

"What the-" he began.

"Shh," Gisborne purred.

Reaching for the goblet again, Guy dipped his fingers into what remained of the red liquid.

"You're going to enjoy this," he hissed, eyes gleaming wolfishly.

Allan watched in silent fascination as Guy touched his wine soaked fingertips to a rosy nipple. He watched as Guy's lips parted ever so slightly in pleasure. He watched as the nipple stiffened as the air-cooled it.

'My God,' was his only thought.

More wine was applied and soon it was travelling from Guy's chest to his belly button like a river of blood.

Manoeuvring himself, Gisborne lay beside Allan, his black leather pants making small squeaking noises as he moved. When he had finally settled on his back, he turned to his prisoner.

"Lick it off," he ordered.

The end