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It was wrong.
Robin knew this was so, but nevertheless his feet somehow always led him to the delicately embroidered tapestry on the far wall of his chambers and down the narrow corridor hidden behind it until at last he reached his goal, emerging from the shadows to embrace his secret (and endearingly resistant) lover. He simply couldn't help himself – couldn't see the point in trying, though his intention in inviting the stubborn youth to join him and his beautiful bride, the Lady Marian, in living in the Locksley estate had initially been entirely benign, despite their colored history.
As he explained to any who asked, he owed it to young Will Scarlet, bastard brother though he may be, to see to it that he lived up to the expectations of their father's long and noble line – and life as an impoverished outlaw would certainly never see those expectations fulfilled; hence, the invitation and an amusing endeavor to see the boy properly educated. And if it was a little strange that he had chosen to place the boy in the suite traditionally reserved for a wife or mistress, well – that was simply because the Marian had already laid claim to a lovely suite of rooms down the hall and the only other room not in immediate need of repairs (the castle, alas, was still recovering from years of neglect following the slaying of its former Lord and Master, his beloved father) just happened to be that one; therefore, his placement was perfectly logical. So, no – he hadn't intended for things to turn out this way. He'd wanted to play the part of a doting and dutiful older brother. Really.
It simply hadn't been as easy as he expected.
Every time he looked at the boy, more stunning than ever in his polished new clothes, he would remember another time, a time not so long ago, when the only way put a halt Will's acerbic and cutting comments was with lips and teeth and tongue. Will had always melted so nicely against him, mumbling pleas for him to “stop” or “release him” with varying degrees of panic, voice always clouded with some bewildering mixture of anger, shame, and desire. Alas, Robin had failed to read the sign's of his reluctant lover's despair until they had both been too far gone. By the time Will had tearfully revealed the root of his anguish – their shared history, his parentage – he was addicted.
Incest was one crime he had never intended to commit – one he had, indeed, reviled all his life.
No wonder Will had been so conflicted.
At any rate, once the news was out he had little time to worry over the matter. Will was too pitiable in his abused and injured state (young Scarlet was lovely when he cried, and the sheriff's men seemed to have taken great pleasure in this) to waste anger on, and there were prisoners to rescue, political intrigues to thwart, and damsels to spirit away and (naturally) marry. As lovely as those few stolen moments together had been, Robin had been quite content to move on and put the whole ugly matter behind him and be a good husband to Marian and brother to Will.
Alas, addiction is something not easily overcome.
He was fine, for a time, since the king had returned at last and there was much to be done, but as his little family settled in for the winter (Will still being a little jumpy around him, but otherwise content) things began to go awry. He loved Marian, he really did, but she... Well, she was a little too predictable sometimes. He craved excitement – and it had killed him to know just where he could find it without being at liberty to reach out and grasp it.
Forbidden fruit, and all that.
It didn't help that he'd actually tasted said fruit before, and his body couldn't understand why he was denying himself now of what he'd so freely taken then. Bloody hormones.
Still, he might have held out, if he had not stumbled upon Will in the midst of a dalliance with one of the maids in the old family portrait gallery one stormy January afternoon. He had just looked so delectable standing there, leaning decadently back against the wall, eyes closed in ecstasy as he urged the girl on her knees to take more of him into her eager little mouth, his fingers tangled in her loose curls. What a sight!
Will had never been so freely enraptured with him.
The thought stung more than it should have, and so he had reacted as he always did when he was hurt – rashly and without thought. “What is this?” he'd thundered, startling the maid into near hysterics and sending her fleeing, presumably to cower in the safety of the servant's quarters, leaving Will vulnerable and utterly at his mercy. So painfully aroused, so perfectly desperate was the poor lad that he didn't even put up a fuss when Robin set about the task of finishing what the maid had started with a punishing ferocity that shocked them both. With every thrust of his own aching need into that too-tight body he made his ownership known, and in every whimpering moan that whispered past the young man's lips his desire was answered.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Yours. Only yours. Always yours.
Yes. Always.
After that, there was no denying the truth of what lie between them.
January had passed into February, February into March. Now a new spring was finally upon them, and though their encounters always began with an argument (Will's lingering innocence shining through in his continued insistence that two men, and especially two brothers, should not lay together, whatever the urgings of their bodies), they always ended with a kiss. Out of respect for his Lady Wife, he continued to act the part of the responsible (if a little too doting) brother by day, but nightfall, as mentioned before, would always bring him from the shadows to immerse himself in the passion of a not-so-brotherly embrace. This was what he – they – wanted, needed, lived for.
Marian held his heart.
Will Scarlet owned his soul.