Title: Blurred Edges
by Amy Fortuna
Rating: R.
Summary: Much has a fantasy or two, about saving Robin, about loving Robin. Can fantasies ever come true?

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He thinks about it a lot, the near-misses and all the different times he could have saved Robin.

Words, even whispered in the night to a sleeping Master, don't seem to be quite adequate to sum up how he feels. "Everything I am is yours, I would have died for you," he says, leaning over Robin's sleeping form, his lips nuzzling for a swift instant against the white curve of Robin's shoulder, just inside the boundary of tanned skin where his shirt normally rests.

That's just like Much, just a little bit beyond the boundaries everyone else stops at. And all the many ways he's proved his loyalty over the years make it imperative that he continue. He never could resist blurring that edge between himself and Robin.

Some edges stay unblurred, though, no matter how hard he wishes they could get tangled up in each other until servant and master were joined as one, he knows it's very likely to never happen.

Thinking about it, though, Robin's warmth pressed against him, Much's hand seems to find its way down his body to touch himself. He's listened to Robin do this in the night, especially after a hard, long day, and Robin thought was asleep, but he's not, he's listening, torn between wanting Robin's hand on his own length, and wanting to push Robin's hand away from himself in favor of Much's mouth, the feel and taste of his Master exploding through his senses.

Much has taken care of Robin long enough to know just what the man smells like, every bit of him, dirty, clean, ill, in the bloom of health. Even here, in the quiet of the forest, long after the battles were over, Much can smell him, a salty-sweet tang. One movement and he could lick his exposed shoulder, but he won't, that would blur the edges just a little too far without Robin's knowledge and consent.

But this isn't, touching himself, imagining it's Robin's hand on him, Robin's mouth kissing him, Robin's body pressed against him in a way that suggested far more sensuous things than sleep.

Much would prefer nothing better than to be pleasured by Robin in the exact way he's heard Robin pleasure himself. Robin's breath always seems to catch in a certain way that gets Much instantly hard when he hears it, and the slow stroking rhythmic motion Robin's hips make practically get Much to come without any touch at all.

Much closes his lips tight to avoid moaning into the forest, into the night, into Robin's ear, and firmly strokes himself, images flashing through his brain.

What if Much had taken the spear to the side that Robin had suffered in the Holy Land, what if he had been the one to fall there? Robin would have leaped to his side, protecting him until he was well again. Together they would have walked away from the campaign, heroes and free men, alone together. Maybe Robin would have said something, then.

Much wanted to say something, then, when it was Robin lying pale and still, eyes holding his and never moving as Much held his hand through those long anxious days. But things never go that way, Much didn't know then he would be free, and saying something like that to one's own master could have been disastrous, even for him.

So care would have to suffice, when love wanted to speak. Things could have been so different, if only Much was there to take the blow instead of Robin.

If that had happened, Robin would have said something, a word of gratitude that would have turned into an expression of devotion. And Much would have taken Robin by the hand, drawing the hand to his lips -- he's worked out exactly how he would have done this a thousand times -- and would have echoed Robin's words. Somewhere in there, Robin would have kissed him. It gets blurry, those edges fading between them, like a morning of mist and fog turns the landscape into a world of dim.

Much's hand, touching himself, feels a little too intense. He doesn't want to come yet, wants to stay in this elaborate fantasy, but can't quite get the sequence of images right. Robin kissing him, Robin touching him, handling him with the tenderest care, their bodies pressed together under the moonlight in a tent in the Holy Land.

Here in Nottingham Forest, Robin sighs in his sleep, and Much stills, allowing the fantasy to switch to the present day. What if he did lick Robin's shoulder, and Robin woke up, stirring sleepily into Much's arms, and what if Robin moved against him in just the right way, the movement of his perfect hips just enough to bring Much to the dazzling brink of orgasm, what if Robin leaned up to kiss Much and at the touch of Robin's lips, Much could no longer hold back and.

And what if that was everything Much had ever wanted all wrapped up with a shiny bow on top? What's preventing him from taking it, now, a free man?

Much licks Robin's shoulder, deliberately. The edges are blurred now, and the die is cast.

Robin moves, shifting in what at first looks like to be sleep, and then rising up on an elbow, turning to face Much. There's something of a satisfied smile on his face, and that's rather far from what Much expected, his hand stilled on his erection.

Finger to his lips for silence, Robin moves, pressing against Much. Much can't hold back a little gasp when Robin pushes his hips against Much's. He can feel Robin's erection, too, and suddenly rejection is the least of his worries.

Robin's hand slides around the back of Much's head, and Robin kisses Much, long, slow, sweet, and tender. Much's hips buck sharply at the feel of Robin's tongue moving into his mouth, one, two, three times, and he comes, feeling the pulse of Robin's erection pressed against his, coming with him.

"I've wanted to do that for years," Robin whispers in his ear a few moments later, after they've both stopped panting somewhat, their arms still wrapped around each other.

 And then Robin says the words that Much has been longing to hear for as long as he has been alive. "In so many ways, you've saved my life."

END