Disclaimer: Oh how I wish it was mine, for all the naughty plot lines…alas it isn't so, so fanfiction here we go.
Warning: M for Mature. PWP basically – well maybe a little plot. Certainly AU, possibly a bit OOC too. Oh and entirely un-beta'd so any mistakes you find are mine and mine alone.
A/N: This was written for the AO3's One Million Works Celebration. It was also named after and written while listening to Nashville TV Juliette Barnes (Hayden Panettiere)'s – Trouble Is. Hope ya'll like it ;)
This was a very…interesting…situation indeed. Though that wasn't quite the word he would use for it.
In fact this was exactly the kind of precarious situation he tended to avoid at all costs.
He was a charmer, a con man, a liar, a thief, and most recently a traitor. One of the things he had learned early on in his miserable life was how to adapt, and adapt well. You had to be a chameleon to survive the harshness of poverty and the life he had been born to. He hadn't the luxury of a hot bath at night, much less a cold one once a month in his early years. His family had been beyond dirt poor, living in conditions that made the impoverished of Nottingham or Locksley look like kings and queens in his eyes. In all reality he'd never had a chance at a decent honest life; his own mother had taught him how to steal at the ripe age of five and soothed his guilt as he ate the apple he had taken from the farmer's wagon.
That was the first time he could actually recall the hunger in his stomach receding, and it was a shock to him to learn that the pains in his stomach could actually be banished. He had stolen apple after apple after apple that day and with each time he felt less and less guilty about it – because for the first time that he could remember he wasn't hungry anymore.
He had fallen in with some travelers, gypsies, bandits more like, him and his family when he was younger – thanks to his family actually. They taught him and his younger brother the ways of deception, the many arts of lifting the valuables from another's person or place. It was growing up in his younger years with these less than righteous people that might have muddied his sense of morality. They were always thick as thieves and unfathomably selfish, in fact it was probably that last bit that had distorted his idea of loyalty, when the group, including his own father mind you, had sold him and his brother out to slavery for a quick coin to line an empty purse without so much as a second thought.
When he had said his family was dead, it didn't matter if they were breathing somewhere on this earth or not. For him they were well and truly dead to him. That fact a harsh reality with the loss of his younger brother, the only real blood line he could have considered he had left. In the end even he had turned on him in a way.
During his time spent in slavery was where he had learned how to put on a tough front, where he was forced to grow up faster than his ambiguous life of eleven years had already demanded of him. The time he had told Robin that he understood true torture he hadn't been kidding, not a lick. His body was still littered with faded scars to prove it. It was only thanks to his particular upbringing that he had the skills and sticky fingers capable of eventually lifting the key to their holding cell where him and his brother where kept when they weren't forced to bend to the whims of richer men for cheap labor or worse cheap entertainment. That moment of found freedom had taught him to be grateful for his questionable upbringing, for his gifted and learned talents.
The charm had come later in his life and he fine-tuned it and wielded it like the fiercest of weapons. Despite what other people might think of him, he was incredibly observant and had picked up a sharp wit and silver tongue by listening to the voluptuous whores in the taverns convince the last threadbare shirts off desperate men's backs for just a touch. He also learned that when people thought you were dumber than you actually were, they nearly always underestimated you and allowed you to fade into the background without a second thought. That's when the best secrets were learned.
He might not be properly educated, but he was survival smart.
Those survival instincts and his worldly experiences are exactly what had kept him alive thus far. His gut had developed a fine tuned inkling on things to avoid or do to survive and as a rule he generally followed it. He was out for he, him, and himself and that wasn't about to change any time soon. His entire life had taught him that even those that love you and are supposed to protect you eventually leave and can't be trusted.
That's why he sort of trusted Guy. He had an instinct that they were cut from similar cloth. He knew that Guy came from the same sordid place as him in terms of how they viewed the world and how they got to those views. That's why he had truly turned – because he became aware that Guy valued loyalty above all else – because loyalty is what Guy had been lacking his entire life and would hold onto it like a pit bull with a meaty bone…and because in turn he would be rewarded lavishly for said loyalty.
What Allan valued was coin, but it was a bit more complicated than that if he were being honest. He valued security, having come from nothing and knowing nothing of worth besides his trickery, thievery, and dubious antics…he had never once been secure in life. Coin brought security, ensured a place to sleep, a meal to eat, sometimes a hot body to warm the soul for a night.
Guy paid for his loyalty and in turn he received his security. Quid pro quo.
That's what had him here now, in a very particular situation he would rather not be in. Any other circumstance and he would have tucked tail and ran, washed his hands clean and had nothing to do with it, not a bit. Would have saved his own hide if it was his preference to be had.
As it were the memory of his chosen Masters words were ringing loudly in his ears:
"You keep her here Allan, you understand! You keep her safe or so help me…." the growled threat trailed off but was clear as a Sunday church bell before mass.
"Oi, Giz, 'ou know 'ow stubborn she can be -" he was harshly cut short before he could finish.
"I don't care if you have to drag her back by the hair on her head and tie her down to the bed. You. Keep. Her. In. This. Castle!" he bellowed, the tip of his sword pressed warningly against the soft flesh of his throat and he put his hands up in placation.
"Alright, alright. Don't `ave t` tell me twice. I get it!" he responded, ignoring the fact that Gisborne had already had to tell him twice.
"You do anything you have to do." He spat, turning to make his way to the fight that had exploded into the castle courtyard.
So here he was, in a situation he would rather not be in – which was a surprising norm for him of late. He let out an amused laugh at the irony that his own self-preservation had brought him to this very precipice in the first place.
"Get out of my way Allan!" Marian all but snarled at him, her face flushed with her agitation and anger.
"Sorry, I go` me orders t` be keepin' `ou put." He told her ruefully, shrugging his shoulders as if he was without a care in the world. He was standing in front of her door, blocking her exit, his arms folded over his chest casually.
"Move." She spat. He actually flinched this time at her tone, there was that signature anger and stubbornness that Robin and Guy was always complaining about – he never thought he would be at the brunt of it specifically speaking.
"You 'an't make me." He told her sternly, giving her a wolfish grin when she glared back at him with her petite fists balled up tight with her ire.
If looks could kill he'd be halfway to hell already.
Little did she know he was already well on his way, had been before he'd ever met Robin and the likes.
That was his first mistake: challenging her like that.
As soon as he said it though he realized it was just that: a mistake. She was apparently as bullheaded as Robin or Guy could be when they were challenged or weren't getting their way. He let out a heavy sigh and braced himself for whatever she was cooking up in that pretty head of hers as he watched the flicker of light in her eyes and the minute expressions of her features change.
"It's really sweet of you Allan," she started, her eyes turning doe like with false innocence and he suddenly understood why Guy was constantly pinching the bridge of his nose around her, because he had the funny urge to do the same as soon as the saccharine words left her pretty lips. "To want to protect me. Truly. I appreciate it more than you know." He had the keen feeling she didn't appreciate it a bit.
He watched her wearily as she continued to speak; mustering up every ounce of grateful, demure, damsel-in-distress-that-had-been-saved-by-her-knight-in-shining-armor, persuasion she had in her being to the forefront.
He wasn't having any of it.
Allan let out another heavy sigh. He didn't sign up for this when he'd pledged to either Robin or Guy and yet he always seemed to be the one trying to saddle the untamable Marian. This really needed to stop, just because she couldn't decide which prick she wanted shoved up deep didn't mean he should be made to suffer for it.
If you asked his opinion though personally he'd go with Guy hands down any day, simply because he bathed more often.
"Still ain't lettin' 'ou out." Allan said sadly, feeling for her situation but feeling for keeping his neck safe more. He was looking into her knowing eyes as she contemplated this unexpected response and watched her entire sweet façade melt away for the briefest of instances…before it returned tenfold and she pursed her lips in barely concealed determination.
Why did everything have to be so damn difficult with her?
"Allan," she whined, the tone sending shivers down his spine and straight to his loins. "You know I can take care of myself, you needn't worry." She sashayed right up to him, placing a soft hand in the middle of his chest, batting her eyes at him from under those long dark lashes.
"This ain't 'bout if 'ou can take care of 'urself or not." He said with an exasperated sigh, looking down at her and finding him wishing her expression were genuine instead of a ploy "It's 'bout me neck not `anging from a scaffold." It was always about him.
She batted her eyes at him and smoothed her hand further up his chest, and even through the thickness of his new leathers he could feel the soft heat of it burning against his skin. He took in a deep breath to try and ease the sudden constriction of his throat and pursed his own lips in the hopes of affronting annoyance over his blooming arousal.
"Please." She begged huskily, and lord help him if it didn't sound exactly like a lover asking for release.
He understood in that moment why Guy and Robin were so hopelessly addicted to this woman. It was an interesting insight into both men and how despite her lies, her tenacity, her incredibly willful nature, that they would do nearly anything humanly possible for her.
Good thing he wasn't either of them.
"No. " he bit out past clenched teeth, his arms flexed tight against his chest just under where her hand was wandering. "Tha` won` be workin` on me."
"Ugh!" she exclaimed in disgust, snapping her hand back and finally it felt like Allan could breathe again.
That was the cause of the second mistake.
Allan leaned his head back against the heavy wooden door and closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to forget the sight of those eyes looking up at him as if he were the only man, hell the only thing in the world, that mattered. Trying to forget the feel of her hand on his torso or the heat of her body standing so close to his own. Ploy or no, it had all still been very tangible.
It was the searing pain in his temple and the white flash behind his eyelids that clued him into his mistake with roaring unforgiving clarity.
She had shoved him aside and was out the door in no time. Her makeshift weapon of a wine pitcher rocked against the stone floor mockingly.
He shouldn't have let his guard down, not even for a second to get his bearings.
He shouldn't have forgotten so easily that she was the Night Watchman.
"Bloody chit!" he cursed, stumbling out the door behind her with one hand to his aching head. He let out his own huff of indignant annoyance at the entire situation. Just once he wished the damn lass would follow one bloody order. At least he didn't pass out, small miracles.
She was fast.
He was faster.
She hadn't the experience of running for her life like he had many a time. She had long legs but he had longer ones. She was nimble in her skirts and corset but he was surefooted in his leather britches and boots. The only advantage she really had was knowing the castle better than him, but she wasn't about to get far enough away to use that against him.
He'd been serious about keeping his neck away from that bloody rope.
No noble woman, lady, or whore was worth hanging over.
When he caught up to her he grabbed her by the shoulder and swung her about, their combined momentum slamming her back against the stone wall as he pressed up against her to keep her there. He hadn't meant it to be so forceful that the breath was knocked out of her, and the pain that scrunched up her face had him feeling guilty for a fraction of a second before he remembered his own lingering pain that was sure to bring on a massive headache later.
"Tha` wasn't very nice." He told her, his breaths labored from running as hard as he had to catch up to her.
"Let me go." she demanded, equally out of breath and shoving at his chest with both hands forcefully.
"What's so bloody 'ard 'bout stayin' put for once?" he asked, genuinely curious as he spoke through his labored breaths. He knew she had fighting prowess and genuine skill, but it always piqued his interest that she needed to be in the thick of it every single time.
"He might need me!" she seethed. As if that answered anything.
He felt her leg twitch against him in the briefest of spasms and reacted before she had a chance to follow through on that particularly nasty action. He adjusted his body against her, shoving one of his knees and strong thighs between her legs and pressing firmly against her hip. He couldn't help the smug grin at her scandalized expression and her hitched breath.
He doubted Robin or Guy had ever had the audacity to pin the chit down forcefully.
He was very grateful he wasn't either of them.
"None of tha` now," he chided her – he'd been kicked and kneed and punched in the balls more times than he could count and to hell with that. Let her modesty suffer, it was far less painful.
It was always about him and propriety could shove it, if she had the mind to get that unnecessarily dirty then he had the mind to not care about her purity or innocence – which to him was a mite suspect anyway.
"You wouldn't understand!" she snapped, struggling against him. When she tried clawing at his face and neck to get her way he'd pinned her wrists above her head. "I can help him Allan!" she pleaded, the hint of panic seeping through.
She could struggle as much as she liked. He was still a man, still taller, and still stronger than she was. No amount of bitching about inequality between the sexes would change the biological fact of the matter that he could overpower her. Night Watchman or no she wasn't going anywhere now, but he sorely wished he had them ropes Guy had been talking about.
"Did it ever occur t` `ou tha` `ou could `elp `im by doin` wha` `ou are told an` stayin` bloody well put!" he snapped back looking down at her as she continued to glare up at him. He wanted nothing more than to rest his aching head against the stone wall next to her face but he had already painfully learned that lesson once.
Fool me once shame on me. Allan wasn't the type to make it to fool me twice.
"He's a excellen` fighter Marian." He tried to reason, and he realized he wasn't sure if he was talking about Guy or Robin or both. He wasn't even sure which one it was she damn well cared about more, or was even talking about, and frankly he didn't rightly care. "`Ou drive `im t` distraction, your willful foolishness is bound t` get `ourself, but more 'n likely `im, killed. Far more likely tha` than `efore it helps `im and `ou are either to blind o` daft o` both t` damn well see it." he told her honestly, a bit more harshly than he had intended, his accent coming thicker with his rising agitation. It was true all the same and his world had always been full of harsh honest reality and it was well past time someone enlightened her of the same.
"Stop it." she protested angrily and he could see the hatred in her eyes reflected at him as he hit a nerve.
He was used to people hating him for one thing or another.
It was odd though to have someone hate him for telling the truth for once – generally it was the other way around and they hated him for his lies.
"It`s da truth, da second he sees `ou in da fray is da second you sign `im to his death. It won' matter how good a fighter `ou are, all tha` will matter is tha` `ou could get `urt `n suddenly everythin` is `bout protecting `ou and tha's when a man gets a stray arrow t` da chest or a sword slashin` into `is gut. There is a reason women don' go off t` da Holy Lands and it ain' 'cuz da randy men will 'arm 'em after months of goin` without`." He told her, feeling irritation at having to be the one to explain this to her in so base terms.
Before she could respond there was the familiar sounds of the fight making its way to them somewhere further down the corridor and Allan groaned heavily. She smiled triumphantly up at him thinking she was about to get her way anyway and he pursed his lips again as he tried to figure his next move. They couldn't very well stay in the middle of the open corridor exposed as they were.
Typical of him to be worried about fighting his enemies while he was fighting what was supposed to be his allies (or in this case ally) at the same time.
He grabbed hold of her wrists firmly with enough pressure that she just might have a bruise or two tomorrow.
"Let go of me!" she demanded with petulant indignation, pulling against him tooth and nail every painfully slow step of the way as he dragged her behind him down the opposite direction of the corridor away from the sounds of the fight and hauling her unceremoniously by the waist around a corner forcefully.
He was tempted to just pick her up and toss her over his shoulder when he glanced down the new corridor and notice two armored men taking on one of the bumbling castle guards. It was only a matter of time before they were noticed and he mentally cursed his luck with a string of words so foul that they would have made the blasted Sheriff blush.
Quick on his feet he shoved them into a recess in the wall rather roughly, pushing her back into the tight crevice behind the armored statue by the blouse fisted in his hands.
"Al-" he cut her off with a hand covering her mouth before she could finish the next syllable of whatever useless thing she had wanted to say or snap at him. He was going to be damned if she got him killed today.
"Shut up." he hissed at her in a hushed tone and for the umpteenth time she glowered at him but he could care less as he listened to the sound of metal clashing against metal getting closer to their impromptu hiding spot.
He couldn't help but blame this all on her now. They'd had a perfectly safe hideaway earlier, which she had to go stubbornly run from because one or both of her lover boys, who were perfectly capable of defending themselves, might be in trouble.
If he had been Robin or Guy he would rue the day she was born, and found himself mighty thankful for once he wasn't one of the lords, because this, she, was torture – and he knew torture.
He was starting to understand how Guy had been driven to burn her house down.
As the sounds of the fighting got closer he instinctively pushed his body closer to hers, having already positioned his body strategically against her petite form like earlier in case she had any incredibly idiotic thoughts of fighting him for her supposed freedom just to go fight their actual enemies.
She…was utterly exhausting.
He leaned back just a bit to peak around the side for the armored statue, and with wide eyes watched the sword of one of the enemies run clean through the Sheriff's guard. He had never been more thankful that the enemies had been turned back against them when they'd come round the bend and he was equally thankful that the only person who had happened to possibly see them and were they had ducked off to was now dead.
He listened as the two enemies shuffled off in a jog down the way they had come from, no doubt heading towards the distant sounds of the fight they – or more accurately he- had been running from.
Allan kept his hand covering Marian's mouth for some time – fearful she would foolishly squawk out their cramped hiding space out of sheer vindictiveness and a chance to get her way.
He had met mules that were less stubborn.
"Raise your voice," he warned her, looking her dead in the eye to make sure she understood he was serious " 'n me hand goes back and stays put till this blasted siege is over. Got it?" he both warned and asked in a hushed tone. After a few long moments of more glaring, she finally mutely nodded her head and he wearily pulled his hand back, thankful when she didn't start screaming like a banshee.
"We should be helping!" she hissed in a clipped whisper, her eyes going between his face and offending hand accusingly. He was grateful she heeded his warning because his hand was aching due to the pressure he had used to make sure she couldn't open her mouth and bite down. His hand had started to cramp and he loathed the thought of having to keep it poised over her loose mouth for gods knows how long if she hadn't taken his threat seriously.
"I am." He defended in an equally tight whisper. Sometimes she was so damn thick headed it was hard for him to believe she was a high born.
"We should be doing more, we should be fighting!" she implored.
She still didn't get it. Everything from earlier had gone in one ear and out the other. For someone who prided themselves on not being a typical woman that sure was a typical womanly thing of her to do, not listening to reason or logic.
He was following orders. That was all he needed to be doing. It's what they both should be bloody doing.
He understood that, unlike someone he knew but wouldn't name.
Someone he was pressed flush against. Someone who had very pleasing curves by the feel of it.
Maybe her getting them into this wasn't so bad after all.
Letting his thoughts wonder to her voluptuous curves was his third mistake.
She shifted against him and his body stiffened against her more than it already was, her eyes grew wide for a second, then before he knew what she was thinking they had this deviously knowing glint that had him wanting to pinch the bridge of his nose, again – and this time he actually indulged in the pleasure for a brief moment with his free hand.
Suddenly she shifted against him again and he groaned softly.
She smiled, and it was anything but innocent.
When she did it again, purposefully, Allan's free hand shot down to her hip and gripped her hard to still her decidedly devilish movements.
"Not bein' funny, but 'ou really need t` stop movin' like tha`" he warned her, his voice an octave lower as he let his head hang down for a second as he tried to convince his body not to respond to her intentional movements.
"Why?" she asked, and he could tell by her tone that it was less than innocent in the way she tried to make it sound. The chit knew exactly what she was doing.
She did it again, shifting her thigh just so, making it rub against his cock that so help him was starting to stir at her deliberately inappropriate ministrations.
"You know why." He accused in a low hiss, his heart rate speeding up and his grip on her wrists that he held above her head tightening fractionally. He leaned his head down further and rested his forehead against her shoulder.
"I'm a maid remember…" she trailed off, and did it again. No matter how hard he pressed himself against her in the effort to pin her completely and keep her from moving, she still had just enough room to brush against him and lord help him.
He was hardening against her hip and thigh and there wasn't a single mental image he could conjure that would stop it.
"Got me theories 'bout tha`." He whispered against her skin, unable even if he wanted to too raise his voice. His tenor having turned husky and rough.
It was becoming exceedingly hot in the small space.
She did it again, and again, and this time she arched her back as much as she could pressing her breasts even more firmly against his chest and his breath hitched.
"If you let me go Allan, I could…" she let out a little breathy moan next to his ear and then it all clicked.
He couldn't help the light shudder of his body at the connotation of what her words had meant, but he knew them to be false. She couldn't and wouldn't anything for him, after all she had just proclaimed herself a maiden yet she was making promises of a common whore – one of those things didn't belong.
"Marian," he sighed, this time it was needy and when she shifted again he didn't bother to damper his response, rocking ever so slightly against her sharp hip bone and allowing the pleasure to wash over him.
If she wanted to play this game, he would be more than happy to oblige. He wasn't easily shamed.
He had more years of experience in this then she could ever hope to achieve. He had a head start on her in this arena, having entered at the fresh age of thirteen - when he'd learnt that he was considered attractive and that his good looks and certain services could be purchased for a few coin in the mucky alley ways of taverns and troughs.
He wasn't so easily floundered by a stray touch or breathy moan, by man or woman, when he didn't want to be.
It had him curious how far she would let this ruse go.
If she were under the impressions she could manipulate him and bolt for freedom again with her sexuality, well, she didn't really know him that well at all then.
"Allan," she mewled back and in response he rocked against her again his arousal now undeniably present and pressing into her, he swore he felt her body still at the motion and stiffen at the realization of what she had done. Surely she was now contemplating the solidity of this particular plan and approach now.
He decided to throw her a bone and his own curiosity won out as he gently purposefully relaxed his body, his hand loosening around her hands above her head.
As soon as he had done it she had pushed him back, shoved him hard with all her might against the opposite wall.
Had he not been prepared for it, he would have been stunned, maybe even hurt by the rejection and seemingly sudden loss.
When she tried to bolt by him out of the tiny space he was ready.
Before she could squeeze past him he spurred into action, pushing her back up against the wall of their hiding space.
In a fluid motion – without warning - his mouth was on hers, one hand half cradling her neck and face, the other roaming up the front of her dress to grasp a breast from over the flimsy material of her blouse above her corset and palm it firmly.
He kissed her hard.
He imagined every frustration that he knew of that she had ever inflicted on Guy or Robin, the amount she had put him through since knowing her and especially the amount she had caused him to suffer today, and he kissed her with determination and demand.
Allan kissed Marian for retribution.
If she was going to keep playing the innocent harlot between the three of them – well it was her choice to bring him into this fold. He briefly wondered if she could live with the consequences.
He was a traitor by nature so thoughts of Robin and Guy being offended as he kissed her passionately did nothing to persuade him to stop.
Hell he practically had permission, he could quote Gisborne having told him to do `anything` to keep her safe…well if she was well 'n distracted by his mouth she couldn't be out risking her pretty little hide and ruining everything now could she.
He was only doing as he was told.
When he traced the seam of her bottom lip with his tongue and she moaned lightly, he couldn't help the stroke of his ego. It was a sweet taste of triumph.
He kissed her in a way she had never been kissed, by either of her suitors. Probably because she had never allowed it.
He didn't treat her like a pure lady, he treated her like a longtime lover – and with the same liberties as such as he pinched a nipple through the cotton of her dress and deepened the kiss when she gasped.
There was no denying he was pleased with the response and when she finally started to kiss him back, her hands gripping his shoulders like a vice before moving up into his hair, he knew he had her.
She had lost.
Check mate.
Getting too caught up in it might have been his fourth mistake.
Allan shuffled closer to her body, pressing her gently yet firmly flush against the stone wall and his body, his aching arousal pressed against her body through their clothes as he ground against her for some much needed friction. He could feel her trepidation permeating the air around them, but he didn't question it, he didn't ask permission or apologize. This was all her fault anyhow.
He was simply finishing what she had started. Hindsight could be a right bitch.
When he finally pulled back from the kiss her lips were swollen and her cheeks flushed, her breathing was shallow and her hold was desperate. She was beautiful even in the shadows, and he found it easy to forgive her irritating willful nature when she reacted so wonderfully to his touch.
She looked ready to say something but he pressed two fingers against her lips as he continued to pinch and twist her nipple with his other hand through the fabric of her dress, and gave her a wolfish grin when she arched into his ministrations. Her eyes were dazzling in the dim light, blown and dilated with her pleasure and he was sure they mirrored his own.
Leaning down he kissed her again briefly, pulling back only to move his lips down her creamy jaw and neckline. She was making the most deliriously erotic noises in the back of her throat that he couldn't help but smirk against her supple flesh.
There wasn't much Allan had control over in his life, but his intimate pleasures was one of them and he held onto that fiercely.
Even when Guy took out his frustrations on his body, he still only submitted of his own willful volition.
Next time Guy wanted to sink his hard cock to the hilt into his backside, Allan would have a little more sympathy of his plight with Marian based on this glimpse.
Maybe a good fucking was the only thing keeping both men from going over the edge. It would certainly explain the times he'd caught Robin and Much in otherwise compromised activities with each other when they thought no one would find them. Perhaps he would initiate it with Guy next time; he wondered what expression his Master would have if he sunk to his knees in front of him randomly and eagerly one of these days. He surly deserved it with having to put up with Marian as much as he did.
With that thought in mind he did just that in front of Marian, squatting down on his haunches while his hands went to the hem of her dress and worked it up slowly over her lean beautiful legs.
He heard her make a strangled sort of panicked noise from above him as her hands threaded into the locks of his hair and he smoothed his hand along the back of her calf soothingly, leaning forward to kiss the top of her knee.
"Easy now." He whispered against her skin, just loud enough for her to hear, as if trying to quiet a spooked stallion.
He truly wondered how far she would let this go before she kicked him in the jaw, she was undoubtedly capable of it, and he had exposed the perfect opportunity to her. Yet with every inch the skirt came up, the more convinced he was that she wasn't going to do a damn thing to stop him.
That knowledge sent a thrill shooting straight to his core.
He looked up at her and saw her staring intently back at him, her eyes filled with a stunning mixture of questionable wonder and apprehensive fear, her hands were clutching to his hair like a lifeline - squeezing randomly. He got the skirts up as high as mid-thigh and he broke her gaze to admire her perfect legs that from this position looked like they could go on forever.
There was the sudden temptation to ask if she touched herself at night, but he didn't want to press his luck and break whatever spell he had captured her in as he pushed one hand up under the hem of the skirt, skimming along her inner thigh and teasing over her sex with his thumb through the fabric of her undergarments.
He heard her sharp intake of breath but she didn't stop him and he couldn't help the cheshire grin that spread across his lips.
The cat was getting his cream today, he was sure of it.
This was surly worth risking one of nine lives for.
Guy had told him `anything` and he would hold that to the very bitter end - even as his body swung lifeless from the scaffold.
It was always about him. Allan was selfish, and no woman was worth dying for – but there was a strong gut feeling whispering that he wouldn't die from this, so as is his selfish nature he followed his gut and indulged. She had started it after all.
Allan brushed his thumb over the heat of her center teasingly again, relishing the tremble that raced down her thighs. He bit his bottom lip and pushed the hem of her dress up higher on her thigh so he could see the outline of his hand against her apex. He didn't have the kind of mother to warn him it was rude to stare as he brushed the pad of his thumb over her heated sensitive flesh through her thin undergarments again and again; loving each induced reaction he received from a softly hitched breath to a gentle squeeze of her hands in his hair.
When she unconsciously pulled his head closer he couldn't help the soft chuckle, he leaned in closer and breathed in deep. Her scent was intoxicating, musky and sweet like lilacs and lavender. Ever fiber in his being wanted to rip her undergarments away and taste her honey on his lips.
Time wasn't an indulgence they had on their side.
So in a rushed forceful movement he stood up again, but kept her skirts perched high up on her hips. Instead of just grazing her cunt as before he cupped it hard and brushed long strokes with deft fingers along the folds through the damp cotton. He watched her lips part and her eyes widen at the sensation and he had a feeling that perhaps she was a maiden like she often boasts.
Returning to her sweet lips he kissed her again, softly this time as his other hand grazed ever so lightly over her collar bone and working the neckline of her dress down over her round breasts. As soon as they were exposed after a bit of effort, he lowered his head and took a puckered nipple between his lips, suckling the flesh like a new born babe.
She arched into his touch as his fingers continued their onslaught to her neither region.
Becoming emboldened by the fact that she hadn't shoved him away with disgust despite her opportunity to do so, he worked the hand under her skirt past the waistband of her undergarments to touch her warm flesh uninhibited.
He moaned deeply against her breast when he felt the slick wetness of her folds between his nimble fingers.
She was wet for him.
Not for Robin or Guy.
Marian was wet and ready and aching for him. For Allan-A-Dale.
He had had thoughts about taking this slow and teasing her as she no doubt deserved, about using this only as a distraction to keep her put and as a result safe. About not taking this too far.
As it were….
He was an ever selfish man.
And his fifth mistake was definitely taking this too far.
In a desperate needy motion he moved both hands down and under her thighs and with a grace of practiced movement he hoisted her up and out of instinct and the quest for balance she wrapped her long legs around his lean waist.
The action caused her skirts to bunch up fully around her hips as he pressed his hard length still confined to his britches against her hot core, rocking into her rhythmically in the teasing motion of what he truly wished he was doing to her.
He was feeling himself succumbing to his desires, and he felt dizzy.
Allan peppered her skin with kisses, careful not to leave a mark that could be discovered but certain to leave a few that wouldn't let her easily forget this encounter.
He teased them both until he couldn't take it anymore.
He'd never been gifted with what one would call better judgment, he had a muddied moral compass and he was a traitor anyway after all.
With desperate and deft movements he started to unlace his britches, and pushed them sloppily down his hips with one hand lacking any ceremony, hissing against her flesh as his swollen cock finally sprang free and the cool air touched the heated pulsing flesh.
It wasn't until he started sloppily unlacing her undergarment that he felt her apprehension flood forth in the way her grip changed and her legs started to slacken and before her brain could fully catch up with her body in her aroused haze he ripped the fragile garment away from her skin, fully exposing her to him.
"Wai –"
He crushed his lips to hers, drowning out any protest she had on her pretty lips on the premise that he could claim he hadn't heard her protest later. That he hadn't defiled her against her will.
In a quick movement before she could tear her lips away and tell him to stop, like he knew he should, he thrust into her hard, sheathing himself to the hilt in her incredibly tight warmth.
Her cry of agony was swallowed by his lips, and her body squeezed his tightly trying to block out the pain with reflex.
Apparently she was a maiden.
That was going to be problematic later.
He stayed still for some time, allowing her to adjust to this and to him. There was no going back now, he had already ripped through her maiden head, there would be no point in him pulling back and apologizing. It was too late for any of that now.
He couldn't bring himself to feel any shame about it either. He was selfish like that.
She also brought this on herself in a way. She had started it – he finished it. Consequences were funny like that.
When he felt her body start to relax against him he pulled back and thrust in again slowly and she let out a harsh breath that she had been holding. He kissed her tenderly, wordlessly trying to thank her for the treasure of her innocence, offered willingly or not.
It was a rare treat to take a virgin, unheard of to take a noblewoman's outside of wedlock.
He would take this cherished memory to his grave happily.
Which might be sooner than he anticipated if she were to run to Gisborne or Robin about this little…lapse of judgment of his.
However, she wasn't completely blameless.
And he seriously doubted she would say a word as it were.
Allan moved against her slowly, languidly, cherishing this and wanting her to feel the pleasure of it also.
He reached a hand between them and found that sweet spot and rubbed with knowledgeable fingers over the swollen bud of her clit until she was bowing against him and moaning softly and loosing herself in the overwhelming pleasure of it all.
That was it.
"Good girl," he breathed, as he moved his hand in tandem with his thrusts.
She would regret this later, but for now she was reaching for something she didn't quite understand.
He was going to give it to her gladly.
Allan picked up his pace, thrusting into her with increasing speed and ferocity. His skin was becoming flushed and perspiration was starting to bead on his forehead and down his back with the effort of holding her up and his exertions. He could feel the taut cord that started mid chest down to his throbbing groin start to pull tighter and knew that he was getting closer to the peak of their pleasures.
She surprised him when she tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth, clutching him to her with her legs and hands and lips and that deliriously tight cunt of hers. She arched and mewled and moaned and preened endlessly. He felt one hand come down and her nails dug into the back of his neck, and he could feel the scratches at the scruff and the trail of blood mingling with his sweat.
He imagined with a practiced lover she could become one hell of a wanton minx in bed.
It was getting closer. That glorious beautiful pleasure, that elusive precipice.
He wanted to throw himself over the edge without thought like he had with so many whores before her, but he bit his lip and sped up his fingers movements against her fevered skin until the sound of his hand and body and lips moving against hers was almost obscene.
He was determined to have her cum before him, determined to bring her to that dizzying height of sin.
She wouldn't be able to look at another priest without flushing bright red, not with the knowledge that she had - was - fucking a dirty common thief so wantonly as she were. As if a harlot were hidden underneath all that propriety.
It was when her body suddenly tensed and she gloriously chanted his name like an angel from the heavens as she finally fell from grace, over the edge into the delightful abyss, that the taut cord inside him finally snapped and he thrust into her body hard one last time while moaning her name against her neck as he spilled his warm seed deep inside of her.
They stayed like that, still connected as his spent cock softened inside of her warmth. Their breathing evening out slowly as he rested his weight against her. The sound of their soft panting filling the tight space around them.
Her voice was what finally broke the spell.
"Allan," she choked out, and he pulled back to look at her.
It almost broke his heart to see the wetness of her eyes and the regret and shame already shining back at him so soon.
"We didn't do nothin` wrong." He told her gently, smoothing down her sweat damp curls with the hand that moments ago had been between her legs doing unmentionable pleasurable things to her.
She looked ready to start crying any second, and Allan was never good with crying women. He had not a clue what to do with them, this was why he stuck with whores or whoring himself out, no feelings later.
That was the crux of it though wasn't it, she wasn't a whore, she was Marian.
Infuriating, beautiful, frustrating, strong, brave, stubborn as ever Marian.
"Hey now, none 'o tha`" he told her with a rueful smile, leaning forward to kiss her forehead and the tip of her nose before placing a chaste kiss against her pouty quivering lips.
When she moved to pull away from him he let her, tugging up his britches and lacing them while she adjusted her dress. They worked in silence.
Her having nothing to say and him not knowing what to say.
Maybe next time she was given an order she would follow it, but that was a rather mean thing to think at the moment as she bit her lip and looked near tears.
Well past when the siege was over and they had won, they ventured out from their makeshift hiding space.
"Allan," she said with more conviction before taking a long deep breath when they were out in the corridor again. When they were back in the safety of the open and not lost in some alternate world created by dark cramped hiding spaces.
"Our secret." He promised her, sensing what it was she was trying to voice.
"I belong to Robin." She reminded him quietly, even though it wasn't needed.
"Or Guy." He pointed out wistfully.
"But not you." She added sternly as if he had missed her point. He wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.
"I know." He replied honestly. In all the scenarios he imagined occurring, he never once deluded himself into thinking he would end up with the girl – regardless of what they just did or shared.
She let out a sigh and he wasn't sure if it was because of the reminder of her muddled love life or the fact that he had complicated it further.
One thing was certain through all this, and that was the fact that explaining just what had happened to her virtue on her wedding night was going to be an issue for her regardless of which "true love" she finally choose to settle herself with in the end.
A soft sigh pulled him from his thoughts, and the feel of her hand on his shoulder paused his steps as she turned and looked him straight in the eye.
"Allan," she said slowly, as if wanting to make sure he heard what she said next "I- I don't regret it." She admitted quietly, with a hint of determination lacing her words as if she wasnt sure she quiet believed what she said but was set on making it so in her mind regardless.
Her admission stunned him, but he shook it off quickly and gave her a lopsided smile, unsure what to think. Before he could think on what to say, Guy a little bloody and beaten, rounded the corner, his steps unsteady but rushed and determined, no doubt looking for them - or more to be exact her.
"Marian!" Gisborne exclaimed in relief, as he stumbled up to them, letting his blood drenched sword clatter to the ground as he rushed up to her and took her in his arms, not even caring or waiting for her expected protest at the sudden action. "You're alright…" he said as if he didn't quite believe it, holding her out at arm's length by the shoulders and looking her over for any injuries.
"Of course," she replied in a huff of indignation, as if it were the stupidest worry in the world for him to have.
Allan cleared his throat and rocked on his heels as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leathers. Feeling more than a tad uncomfortable as a blush started to heat the back of his neck where he could still feel the sting of her scratches.
"Allan, he took good care of me…" she trailed off for a moment and Allan let out a little nervious cough "Just as you asked, but we had to find a new place to hide..." she paused for what he was sure was dramatic affect "but he kept me safe from any harm." She told Guy and boy was she was playing the part well, acting like the frightened fawn swooning over her savior and returned brave knight. Covering their tracks well for why they weren't where they should have been found.
It was almost sickening how easily Guy fell for it.
Crafty little bint.
Guy looked over her shoulder directly at Allan with inexplicable emotions. Allan could make out what seemed like gratefulness, relief, and…perhaps pride shining through.
"You're hurt!" she exclaimed, as if she had just noticed the blood covering Guy's face and leathers, drawing his attention away from Allan and back to her. Allan even fancied that might be real concern furrowing her brow as she took inventory of Guy's state. "Here let me help you to the infirmary." She demanded leaving no room for argument, and that stubborn nature was back in full force, as she wrapped her petite arm around Guy's waist and worked one arm over her shoulders.
Allan had to bite down hard on that tricky jealously threatening to well up.
Guy simply let her help and lead him without protest down the hall towards the physicians quarters, and as they passed by him he felt Guy clap him weakly on the shoulder with his free hand in a gesture of silent thanks. He hoped the reward for "keeping her safe" was more than just a pat on the shoulder, and he was willing to reckon when Guy was all healed up it would be.
As Allan watched them go he was willing to bet every copper in his purse and then some that his Master was playing a bit more injured than he actually was just to lean a little more on her form without being too much of a burden on her petite frame.
He wasn't going to get the girl, but at least he could pride himself on the first taste.
As he wondered in the opposite direction down the hall he realized that…
He was perfectly ok with that.
Well there you have it, hoped you liked it. Please be kind and remember to review!
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