Title: Stolen Moments
Summary: Four times it was the time and one time it wasn't. (Or, in other words: four times Robin and Marian make out and one time they don't.)
Word Count: 1450
Rating: T
Pairing: Robin/Marian
A/N: Prompted by reblogginhood on tumblr.
Stolen Moments
1.
She has just left an unsuitable suitor at the altar, faces an uncertain future, and knows her father might be in terrible danger at this very moment, but as she turns around and stares at the profile she tried so hard to forget ("Robin!"), there is but one thought on her mind: she has made the right decision in coming with the man who is now smiling down at her as though he might never cease doing just that.
Her heart flutters, her breath catches in her throat, and suddenly she is running towards him and tilting her chin heavenwards. She has one precious moment to see his dear, familiar face closing in on her before her eyes fall shut and there is nothing in all of England but the warmth of his mouth against hers. It is not the right time or place, but the future can wait—just for a little while.
2.
"Robin!"
"Just thought I'd drop in on you."
"… What did I tell you about peddling the same old drivel?"
"You asked me if it ever worked."
"I did."
"Well, does it?"
"I don't… you're not… you could be seen, Robin."
"Not if I squeeze myself into this lovely alcove over here."
"Robin."
"Well, what do you know, there's room enough for two."
"Robin."
"Marian."
"I am frowning at you."
"Oh, would you just come—here—ah, yes. Good."
"I am still frowning at you."
"It is too dark for me to see."
"Well, I am telling y-mmmphf. Hmm-m."
"So… want me to drop in on you more often?"
"Oh, be silent and do that again."
3.
The meadow is far enough from the castle for her to relax, and close enough for her to bolt back the moment she feels as though she should.
In other words, it is the perfect place for some time spent with Robin—
—and, as it turns out, Much.
"Would you like some berries now, my L—Marian? Um. My Lady Marian?"
She shakes her head, raising an eyebrow at Robin.
"Much," Robin says, hurriedly pushing himself onto his elbows, and staring at his former manservant with a smile that is too bright for Marian to deem genuine. "Don't you have someplace to be?"
"I promised you I would serve you a lovely fast this afternoon, Master." Much hands Robin another slice of bread, and though his smile is even brighter than Robin's, there is no doubt in her mind that it is real. Of course it is: it is aimed at Robin. "I know I am not your servant anymore, but I like to do it—to take care of you, that is—and of Marian—the Lady Marian, too. Would you, um, like to have another berry?"
"I am quite fine, thank you, Much."
She is now raising two eyebrows at Robin.
"Do you know what I would love," Robin muses, gazing about with slightly furrowed brows. "I would love to give some flowers to Marian. Sadly, there don't appear to be any in the area."
"Oh!" Much cries. "We saw some earlier today. Just a small walk from here. Do you remember, Master?"
"Yes, yes. Um. I was thinking more along the lines of… purple?"
"Purple? Well, I—oh, I know! There are purple flowers in Nettlestone! Yes, I do believe I saw some earlier this week."
"Really?" Robin sits up. "That is wonderful news. Say, you wouldn't happen to—"
"I will go at once, Master." Much is already getting to his feet. "Unless." His face falls. "Unless you want me sto stay? I did promise you—"
"No. No, that's quite alright, thank you, Much."
And off Much goes.
"You are a terrible master, Robin," Marian tells him, too relieved to be rid of Much's loud and cheerful company to put the disapproval she feels she ought to feel into her tone.
"Technically, I am not his master anymore."
"Nevertheless."
"I know, I know." Robin is still smiling, though more genuinely than before. "But I take great comfort from the knowledge that you are just as terrible as me."
"By God, we are terrible, aren't we?"
"Yes." And then he is leaning in for a long-awaited kiss and she does not feel quite so terrible anymore. Not so terrible at all.
"No," she says when they come up for air. "I have changed my mind."
"Oh?"
"We are good. Very good indeed."
4.
There is a narrow alley with a dead end behind Johnson's fish stand. Few people have business there, and fewer still actually act on said business.
She is acting on hers now—or about to, at least.
"Sorry I'm late."
"Robin!" She whirls around and hits him, fingers slapping against his scruffy cheek. "You know how I feel about you sneaking up on me."
"I didn't sneak up on you. You were just looking the other way."
"Yes. Yes, I can't imagine why I would watch the entrance of the alley. Why would I possibly do that while waiting for you?"
"I came from above, love."
She sighs. "I should have known."
"Were you seen?"
"Oh yes." She folds her arms. "By Gisborne and the Sheriff and the Council of Nobles. That is why I am still here, waiting for you."
He tuts his lips. "You're prickly today."
The nerve of him! "I am not."
"Yes you are." He tilts his head to the side. "Tell me, what happened?"
"I—the Sheriff—my father."
"Ah." He is silent for a bit. Eventually, he says, "I could bring him some food later today."
That is not what she was aiming for. "No, Robin."
"You are worried about him."
"I do not want to have to worry about you as well."
His face splits into a grin. "I knew you cared." She hits him again, softer this time, and his grin disappears. "It is no trouble, Marian. I have business in the castle today. It will take but a moment."
"I did not mean to imply—"
"I know you didn't. I'm offering."
She hesitates, torn. Eventually, she nods. "Thank you."
He inclines his head, that rare soft look she loves so well creeping onto his face. "Was there another reason you wished to see me today?"
She doesn't blush. Not in the slightest.
Or maybe a little bit. "Yes."
"Oh?"
The softness is making way for cheekiness again and that just will not do. Before he can say another word, she cups his face with both hands and presses her lips to his, kissing the would-be-grin off his face.
He is taken aback for the barest of moments, but then he is kissing her back, surrendering to her lips and arms. She tugs his quiver out of the way and pushes him back against the alley wall, stealing kisses from the country's greatest thief while burying her hands in his soft, longish hair.
Theirs are stolen moments, few and in between, but they are all the more treasured because of it, and she draws what strength she can from them—to arm her for the days without options; the days without space to breathe.
He tastes of freedom; of the vastest choice she ever let herself make.
5.
His fingers as well as annoyance creep up on her.
"Robin. This isn't the time." It takes what little patience she has not to forcibly remove that mocking smile from his face. His attentions are not welcome right now, and he should know better than to mock her decision to say 'no'.
Then she notices the hairpin that was in her hair only moments ago, and what he is trying to do with it. Her annoyance is forgotten in an instant. "Will it work?"
"Trust me," he says, flashing her a grin, "I've done this before."
And just like that, her annoyance is back, along with another feeling she can't quite define. "With which girl's hairpin?" she shoots back at him.
She supposes she can take some satisfaction from the fact that he does not know how to react to that, if the silly face he makes as a last resort is anything to go by. Then, the door clicks open, and they move inside, all arguments forgotten in the face of the ideal they both long and fight for:
A safe, just, and fair England.