TV Shows » Robin Hood BBC » Beltane

Author: Glorious Clio

Rated: M - English - Romance/General - Reviews: 4 - Published: 05-01-12 - Updated: 05-01-12

id:8076077

Title: Beltane
Rating: M
Summary: Marian and Robin PWP. Not canon compliant with anything, including my own AU's.
Disclaimer: I do not hold any ownership over the BBC's version of Robin Hood.
...

Her life was a study in contradictions. The demure lady who took to outlawry. The virgin said to be her leader's whore. Her childhood sweetheart (that same leader) who respected her cunning, brains, and sword hand. Her not-husband-Sir Guy, who treated her like a child. Her closest female friend, a 'heathen' who could easily be cast as a witch for her scientific knowledge.

…

And here, on her birthday, the First of May - all the Christians in Nottingham set aside their prayer beads to celebrate the Beltane.

…

Marian did not dare rise with the maidens and wash her face with dew. She did not take part in dancing around the maypole. The gang could not show their faces in the day of celebrations.

But the night, ah, well. Once the bonfires were lit (well after Norman leaders like Vaisey or Gisbourne had retreated from the rabble), it was a different celebration all together. Nottingham had precious little to celebrate, but a new spring might bring new luck. Nothing was wicked, nothing judged. It was a release from their normal lives.

And Marian, in a dress that she had not worn since leaving the castle, hair about her shoulders, decorated only with blossoms, prepared to celebrate her hard worn and hard used freedom. There were a few minstrels, singing bawdy songs, and dancing that wound pell-mell through the bonfires. There was drinking (of course) and feasting (naturally), laughter, and couples sneaking off to partake in baser fertility rights.

Robin had not come near her all night.

Robin had not come near her in over a fortnight.

It was as if he wanted her to taste her new freedom; he did not expect her to rush to his arms from Guy's. They both knew she needed to catch her breath…

Which could not happen when one was dancing between the flames of the Beltane fires.

Flushed, parched, and out of breath, she collapsed next to Robin and demanded wine. He shared without hesitating (though she had already had three goblets).

"Having fun out there?"

"Yes," she said primly, then after a sip of the (strong) wine, she brazenly said, "But better with a lover, I should think."

"And do you have one?"

"A lover?"

"Mm," he said, taking the goblet back and swallowing a sip himself.

"They suspect it is you."

He choked a bit.

She fell silent, trying to read him.

"Well, tongues will wag," he tried to say nonchalantly.

"I never said that I minded," she told him, stealing a sip from his goblet again. "And anyway, you know I prefer to be guilty of the crime of which I am accused."

He flushed, and Marian wondered if it was from sitting too near a fire, or the wine, or the power of her words.

"Dance with me," she commanded. "It is the anniversary of my birth, and I demand a gift."

"I hardly think my dancing is a gift worth giving. You deserve beautiful tokens of friendship and love."

"Do not tell me what I should have, Robin of Locksley. I only want you."

His eyes pierced her more intensely than usual as she led him to the (vertical) revelers.

…

She was dizzy - from the wine(s) or the dance(s), it was impossible to tell which. Her world shrank to his arms around her waist. Her vision narrowed to his face (and occasionally a shoulder or arm when she stumbled). She was warm - from the fires near her, and from the fires he stoked within her. Passion - she had banked it when he had left, but, here he was, adding fuel to the flame. She had thought that after all of Guy's betrayal, she needed to catch her breath from men, from love, from passion, but here she was, tumbling headlong into it. Robin of Locksley, the noblest man she knew, Robin Hood, the outlaw (more contradictions! How infuriating), was the only man she would give her heart to.

And yet, he did not wish to take her, break her, possess her. He perhaps wanted to shelter her, but was not foolish enough to try it. The reverse was true for her.

…

"Robin, stop," Marian commanded.

"I warned you I was a poor dancer," he said.

She put her hand to her temple and felt her blood pulse through to her fingertips. He brushed her hair back.

"Kiss me."

"You are authoritative tonight, Marian-"

"Are you really complaining?"

He kissed her, as she commanded, by way of answer.

"Again," she whispered, when he parted them.

"Marian," he sounded like he was pleading.

She opened her eyes to him. If she thought his blue eyes piercing before, that was child's play compared to now.

"Do you love me?"

"You know I do," he confessed.

"I love you too. Please," it was her turn to plead. "I… want you. I want to celebrate the Beltane as others do."

"Do you know what you are asking?"

"Yes. I am sharing myself with you. You are sharing yourself with me. That is what I want for my birthday."

"Not a dance?"

She grinned impishly. "I have heard it called horizontal dancing."

They raced away from the flames.

…

The lovers found a hayloft not already occupied. Robin drew up the ladder after them and closed the hatch they had climbed through. There was a moon, near enough to full, to see by. It was foolhardy to bring a candle into a hayloft, after all.

But Marian did not want to think about that now. She helped Robin arrange the straw to form a rough bed, and Robin laid down both of their cloaks.

"Are you sure?" he asked turning to her.

"Shut up," she said, launching herself into his arms. He caught her and held her up.

"Only," he said to her lips between kisses, "It can hurt. The first time."

"Yes," she agreed. But his kisses were arrows, going straight through her to some core of her. The wine and the kisses coursed through her, demanding more. More touch here, more caress there. More everything, now.

…

Expertly, he backed her into the makeshift-bed.

"Robin," she said slowly, unable to say what he already knew. I'm scared. She wanted this, but there was a multitude of feelings currently rushing through her. Lust was priority one, but she wanted to make sure to voice something else.

"Marian," he breathed her name.

He was not trying to rush her. He would not, she knew. She was the one in the rush. Right now, they were just kissing. They were good at kissing. Often when they were kissing, something low in Marian's belly longed for more than just kissing. She just had to relax. She broke the kiss and scooted onto the hay.

He followed her, looking completely entranced by her.

She relaxed and followed his lead. It mostly worked.

He fumbled with the ties of her dress, and she giggled.

"I am out of practice," he confessed.

She smiled. "Good," she whispered back and returned to the safety of his lips. She never wanted to share him again.

All of a sudden, she realized that they were both naked. The wine had distracted her more than she had thought.

He broke away. She knew he was observing every inch of her, committing her to memory. Every mark, every hair, every scar in the faint moonlight. She gasped aloud when he touched her scar on her abdomen.

"Sorry," he said as he moved his hand away.

"No. It is fine," she assured him.

She gave herself over to the oblivion of Robin's kisses again. It astonished her how gentle he was, this rough soldier, knight, outlaw.

He moved over her, sea over sand, kissing her gently, then lowered himself into the cradle of her hips. She tried to make herself relax, but in so doing, only tensed further.

She smiled at him, too brightly. He knew her better than that, knew her contours.

He kissed her again and rolled off her, but taking her with, and she found herself splayed on top of him. "What?"

He toyed with her hair. "I do not wish to rush you, Marian. This was your idea. You set the pace. I shall match you," he promised.

She pushed herself up pulling her knees up next to his hips, straddling his thighs, resting on her heels. She floundered for a moment.

"Sit up," she commanded, without looking down at the pressure that was him against her body.

"Marian?" he did as she bid. "What is wrong?"

She grasped his shoulders and told him, "Nothing. I simply need something to hold on to."

He kissed her, and curled his fingers around her hips.

Marian indeed set the pace of their union, and when she had made necessary adjustments, she let out a sigh. There was no pain, she marveled. A stretching, a little uncomfortable at first, but instead of painful, or wicked, it felt…

marvelous.

All women should be in control, was Marian's last coherent thought.

The rest was a bit of a blur…. A kiss here, a nibble there, caresses in all the right places (could he read her mind?) They toyed with hair, with nipples, with skin. Robin cradled her face above him, her hair swept around them like a curtain, protecting them from the outside world. He rolled her underneath him. She groaned at the change of position. He licked a nipple and blew across it, causing it to pucker. Robin grinned before doing it to the other.

"Robin…"

He returned his lips to her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. If the world had narrowed to only him while they were dancing, it shrunk once again to the points where they touched, where they connected… his hand skimmed down her side, slid between them, and found…

oh.

Oh.

If Marian had thought things felt good before, well. His thumb playing over her most sensitive areas now felt… divine.

Her right leg came up and hooked around his hip. She arched into him, trying to get as close to the spot, that spot as she could… and when the world could not have gotten any smaller, she felt herself explode, as if Greek fire had been lit… but it was so beyond description. The blood in her body rushed through her, her eyes clamped shut, her ears rang…. She heard Robin groan and felt his release against walls of her womb.

Marian realized she was panting. Robin had rolled off her and they lay facing each other. He held her as close to his chest as he could.

She felt sober now, but deliciously so.

"Marian," he said, cupping her cheek.

Her eyes closed. She was no longer a virgin. What they had done was considered wicked, sinful even. She knew she should feel used, and yet, well. She felt like herself. Marian could not regret what she had done, not for an instant. She had not given herself away.

"Again?"

"What has gotten into you?"

"You," she winked, stroking the organ responsible.

They laughed together.

…

Oh yes, her life was a study in contradiction.

But that night, she felt the polar opposites of her life move a little bit closer together.