[how is this proving she only sees him as a liar and a thief? does she normally make out with thieves and liars? a better way to prove he means nothing is to force him to leave and never speak to him again. when someone asks if she knows Robin Hood, that Green Archer, she could say "he has nothing to do with me" and strip him of the dignity that their Master has been cultivating so carefully.
he doesn't need to have his ear on her chest to know her heart is drumming, racing. he doesn't need to have his nose buried in her hair to know her scent. it floods his nostrils all over again and he can pretend the thick trunk of the oak is behind her and they're not surrounded by everything Robin wanted to avoid.
for a little bit longer, he's able to keep himself from responding to the movement of her mouth and tongue on his. the longer she stays, clutching to him stubbornly, he caves. there's the smallest movement of parting his lips but she's falling away and he resists the urge to follow her downward. his chest is wet with wine from grapes but his lips are wet with the wine from her saliva. as elegant and as out of his league as that thousand dollar cabernet.
that's an out she gives him. one he should definitely take. but he finds himself unmoving, looking over her head and wonders how much longer the two of them will allow hearts to be playthings.
Robin doesn't obey kings. though he called her a tyrant before, and sometimes she seems it, he wouldn't be here if it was only by her order.]
It'd probably be best if I did leave.
[still unmoving. even his hands on her arms haven't so much as shifted or twitched. they continue barely gripping her.]
WHINE......SCHOOL.......
he doesn't need to have his ear on her chest to know her heart is drumming, racing. he doesn't need to have his nose buried in her hair to know her scent. it floods his nostrils all over again and he can pretend the thick trunk of the oak is behind her and they're not surrounded by everything Robin wanted to avoid.
for a little bit longer, he's able to keep himself from responding to the movement of her mouth and tongue on his. the longer she stays, clutching to him stubbornly, he caves. there's the smallest movement of parting his lips but she's falling away and he resists the urge to follow her downward. his chest is wet with wine from grapes but his lips are wet with the wine from her saliva. as elegant and as out of his league as that thousand dollar cabernet.
that's an out she gives him. one he should definitely take. but he finds himself unmoving, looking over her head and wonders how much longer the two of them will allow hearts to be playthings.
Robin doesn't obey kings. though he called her a tyrant before, and sometimes she seems it, he wouldn't be here if it was only by her order.]
It'd probably be best if I did leave.
[still unmoving. even his hands on her arms haven't so much as shifted or twitched. they continue barely gripping her.]