A character study of Guy, maybe midway through the 1st series. Short, probably one-shot, but I love it. rated umm not M, T maybe? for some violent and sexual thoughts (no actions, sorry :p) Wrote this after watching the episode where Guy kills the old Master-at-Arms. Also think of when he kills the Duke of Winchester in series 2. Also think of all the other times Guy kills someone on camera. Does he ever look upset about it? A clue - no!
I wish that I did own BBC and all of its content, what episodes I would then create! muwahahaha
also this is my first fanfic, I've already read all of yours, so please do let me know what you think!
Guy of Gisborne knows he is a man ruled by emotions; anger, jealousy, love – one rapidly chasing the next through his life. In childhood he was taught to restrain himself, but why should he bother when serving one such as the sheriff? He needs his emotions, his anger, his greed, to drive him through the sheriff's bloody deeds. Guy's lip curls, and he thinks that the sheriff likes to watch emotion, his emotions, perhaps because he is so lacking in them himself. He knows the sheriff toys with him, and he goes along with it, damping some feelings down while urging others on until they burst into bright flame. He goes along with it because he knows that it is worth it, that in the end he will get what he wants, for he also lusts for power, for wealth, for social standing, and for other things, too numerous to count. The sheriff is the source of all these things. Chief among his wants is the desire for personal power over everyone he meets. He could never stand the barely concealed sneering behind his back – but now they fear him, now they recognize his superiority. He likes it, to be feared, to be noticed wherever he goes.
He especially likes the women. He likes them because their fear is always so difficult for them to conceal, and because in the end they are so easily dominated. He wears black leather because he likes the way their eyes follow him in it. Eyes filled with fear…and something else. He has never yet met a woman who was not…stirred…by him, and he glories in his power, glories in the sounds they make when he touches them, and in the way they surrender themselves completely when he makes them come.
Men, on the other hand, are more difficult. Even the men who like his leather often prove…problematic, and as for the rest – the only time he is sure of them is when his knife slides into their backs. This moment, too, is power, and he loves it, lusts after it, loves the moment of the kill, loves the moment that the fight goes out of them and they slump against his body, defenseless, vulnerable, and finally, dead.
He pauses for a moment, thinks of Marian. She puzzles him, is always an enigma. A woman, but not like other woman, yet not like a man either. e knows she watches him, sometimes he feels her gaze as he moves through the castle. He has seen her eyes go dark with desire when he leans over her, and felt the heat of her skin burning through his gloves, but there is no surrender there. Always, she stiffens, and turns away, avoiding his touch. Perhaps she is the least easily won woman in all of England. He smiles, knows that when she cries out his name under him it will be the sweetest sound of all. He wonders, how long until she yields, how long until she, too, is one of his conquests? He shrugs, resigns himself to patience in this one instance, it is only a matter of time. Eventually he will have her, one way or another.