Title: "Unholy Orders"
Author: monimala
Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC series)
Rating/Classification: SAC, Marian/Guy, mild adult content, filler ficlet.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, but my mom thinks Guy is hot. Does that help?
Summary: 400 words, a filler scene for 1.6, "The Taxman Cometh."

He pins her with his gaze as if he were nocking and readying one of Robin's arrows, steadies his aim by grasping her close. "Would you really take vows before taking me as your husband, Marian? Honestly?"

"What do you know of honesty, Sir Guy?" she bites back, drawing up and remaining firm. If she is his target, so be it. She will not stand still or silent. "You left your own helpless child to die in the forest," she reminds. "How could you think I would feel anything but disgust for you?"

Guy's hand slips from her wrist, where it was tight and almost bruising, to lie flat against her belly, his large palm nearly spanning its entire width. "I would not kill *this* baby," he whispers, silkily.

"How dare you!" She tries to jerk away, but he holds her fast, both with his touch and with the "don't-trifle-with-me" look in his dark eyes.

"I dare, Marian, just as you dare to deny me at every turn." His hand creeps lower still. "Why must you fight me? Why delay the inevitable?"

"Because I loathe you," she snaps, closing her eyes against the arrogant curve of his lips. Over the course of five years, she told herself that it was Robin's impudent grin that prickled her, that haunted her every dream and plagued her every nightmare. But Robin's playful smile is no match for the slash of wolfish hunger that gives Gisborne the illusion of charm. Maids and gentlewomen alike… he sees no divide, no difference. He wields that smile without prejudice.

And she succumbs with it.

"You loathe me… and yet…?"

She bites back the cry as he cups her through her skirts, his thumb brushing against the place that is already pulsing and yearning for exactly this forbidden touch. Warmth floods her despite her every other sense screaming that this is wrong, that she cannot abide him.

Guy masters her swiftly, with just a few strokes and she collapses against him as he chuckles against her hair. She feels him breathing deep and her own traitorous lungs seem to move in unison, inhaling the scent of leather and self-satisfaction.

"Christ cannot give you that, my lady," he chuckles, mouth accursedly gentle at her temple.

"No," she agrees, thinking of impudence, of playfulness, of reverent hands that wanted but never once took. "But He can give me absolution."

--end--

April 8, 2007.



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