Captured
It was a sad day in Nottinghamshire. For Robin Hood, champion of the oppressed and beloved hero of the people, was said to have been captured by his nemesis, the Sheriff.
These rumors had even reached the fluffy ears of His Leonine Highness, Prince John, and he had sent for the Sheriff to learn the truth for himself.
"Good mornin', Yer Majesty," the Sheriff said with a wolfish grin.
"Ah, Sheriff," the prince said, adjusting his ill-fitting crown. He glanced at himself in a mirror held by the scaly coils of his sycophantic advisor, Sir Hiss. "How very kind of you to grace me with your presence."
"Aw, twern't nothin', Yer Majesty," the Sheriff said with a broad smile. "Anythin' t' serve you, Sire."
With a final stroke of his whiskers, the Prince turned to gaze down in what he hoped was a regal fashion at his vassal. "Anything, Sheriff? I find that highly doubtful. You have not, for example, gotten me that scoundrel Robin Hood."
"Uh...well, Yer Majesty, we're still workin' on catchin' that sneaky fox, but my spies tell me that we should have him in yer hands in just a lil while longer." The Sheriff squirmed a bit under the Prince's gaze. He hated being asked about Robin Hood. It made him nervous.
"And yet, Sheriff," hissed Sir Hiss, allowing the fat wolf a disdainful glance, "our ssourcess indicate that Robin Hood iss here...in the casstle."
The Sheriff glared at the serpent for a moment, then smiled, slyly, and sketched a reverent bow. "Now, Sir Hiss...surely yer not listenin' to all them silly rumors? After all, the Prince is a really smart fella, and there wouldn't be anyway I could hide somethin' like th' capture of Robin Hood from him."
"Yes, quite," the Prince said, allowing himself a slight smile. He knew flattery when he heard it, but he also enjoyed it, and he flattered himself that what the Sheriff said was true. He eyed his chief advisor as he addressed the Sheriff. "You mustn't mind Sir Hiss, Sheriff," the Prince purred. "You know what a suspicious mind our supercilious serpent has. Of course, as a loyal subject of the crown, you would've brought Robin Hood to me had he actually been captured. Wouldn't you?"
"In a minute, Yer Majesty!" the Sheriff said, snapping to almost military attention.
"See that you do, when you finally track the villain down," Prince John said, dismissing the Sheriff with a waggle of his fingers.
The wolf bowed his way out of the throne room. The scrawny lion watched him go, then glanced at Hiss. "Watch him, Hiss. He's up to something. Find out what it is, and I will reward you richly."
"Yess, Your Majessty," the serpent said with a gap-toothed smile, slipping out of his basket and headed stealthily after the retreating wolf.
* * *
"How'd it go, Sheriff?" asked a purple-cloaked vulture as the wolf returned to his beloved dungeons.
"Oh, just fine, Nutsy," the Sheriff said with a grin. "He don't suspect a thing. If he does, though, he'll send Sir Hiss down to keep an eye out, so you just make sure you keep an eye out for him."
"Will do, Sheriff," the vulture said with a smirk. "And I'll keep Trigger outta the way. Know you've been waitin' a long time for this."
"You said it, Nutsy," the wolf chuckled. He lit a lantern, then crossed the courtyard and opened the door to the northeast tower. Climbing the three flights of stairs down into the sub basement level, he found the loose rock and removed it, revealing a tiny keyhole. He unlocked it with a rarely used key that he kept on a ribbon around his neck. His father, the previous Sheriff, had given him the key and the secret of its lock on his deathbed. "You never can tell, son," the older wolf had told him. "Sometimes, a Sheriff needs a place to hide what he's doing even from his King." He hadn't understood, at the time, but he'd had several reasons to use the hidden chamber in the years since. As it had each time before, the secret door at the bottom of the tower opened, revealing a black tunnel leading under the wall of the castle, and the Sheriff passed through, locking the door behind him.
As he walked down the dusty corridor, he wondered, not for the first time, what the tunnel had originally been for. Sometimes he thought it must be a secret storehouse, other times he guessed it was an unfinished escape tunnel, forgotten by the royal family. Whatever it had been, now it was his most private sanctum. He kept his treasures here. In the corner stood a feather bed, finer than the king's, that had been liberated from a traveling noble many years past. A mahogany sideboard held some of the finest vintages ever bottled in Europe, carefully pilfered from the castle's wine cellars. A chest of silver and gold stood in one corner, representing monies skimmed from the taxes since almost the first day of his job. But none of them were as valuable to him as his newest treasure; hanging in irons from the left hand wall, his toes barely touching the ground, clad only in a breechcloth, was the notorious Robin Hood.
The fox glared at him with venomous eyes, unable to vent his rage due to a gag of leather stuffed in his mouth. The wolf let his eyes roam over the fox's form, noting places where dark bruises showed under his fur. Certainly the guards had not been gentle in apprehending him. When Robin had been marched before the Sheriff in chains, one eye had been swollen shut, and he was limping badly. The eye was merely a black eye, now, but the bruises still showed. Still, the wolf mused, these enhanced his primal beauty, rather than detracting from it. The outlaw was as lean as the Sheriff was fat and as red as the wolf was black. The Sheriff loved seeing the outlaw that had humiliated him so very many times, hanging in irons in his private room. He doubted that even people living in the castle would ever find the outlaw, let alone his ragtag band of men.
"Well, well," he said, with a grin, "the famous Robin Hood, my prisoner. I must be doin' some clean livin', brother, t' finally have you under lock and key."
He watched the fox's eyes, loving the way they burned with anger and outrage. He knew the outlaw considered himself in the right in his battle against Prince John. Maybe he was right. Frankly, the Sheriff couldn't have cared less. He knew where his gold came from, and he knew that he was living easy. He saw no problem with Prince John's way; it really hadn't been that much different under Richard. But men like Hood didn't understand that.
"You just can't stop thinkin' of witty things you'd like t' be sayin' t' me right now, can you?" he asked the silent Robin with a grin. "You're thinkin' of all th' ways you could be humiliatin' me, if you weren't all tied up like that, ain'tcha?" The fox remained silent and unmoving, but the Sheriff knew that he was right by the bright little spark of anger that danced in the outlaw's eyes.
"Yer awfully good at bein' clever when you've got yer bow, and yer sword, an' yer band of Merry Men. Awfully good at playin' yer little jokes, stealin' th' Prince's rightful tax money, and then dancin' off inta Sherwood Forest goin' 'Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally!!' But, y'know, Rob...y'don't mind if I call ya Rob, do ya? It's whatcha do, after all." The Sheriff paused to allow himelf an indulgent chuckle, while Robin rolled his eyes. "Rob, y'ain't got a bow here. An' y'ain't got a sword here. An' I sure as heck don't see yer Merry Men here." The Sheriff leaned in close and grinned. "Here, now, it's just you, an' me."
The Sheriff walked over to his sideboard, pouring himself a goblet of his favorite wine. He saw the outlaw's gaze go from hatred to longing. Three days of no food and minimal water had taken their toll, and Robin looked at the pouring wine longingly. "Now, yer probably wondering," the Sheriff went on, "why I haven't handed ya over t' Prince John."
Robin's attention snapped back to the wolf's face, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. So he had been wondering, the Sheriff noted. The lawman paused for dramatic effect, drinking his wine. "Well, Rob. Here's the thing. If I give ya t' Prince John, he'll just have ya beheaded. And ya know, that just isn't enough for me." The Sheriff glanced at his captive audience and was gratified to see a bit of nervousness flicker in the fox's eyes. "After all, I gotta admit that ya ain't hurt much more than my pride in all our little tussles t'gether. But ya hurt my pride bad. Real bad. So bad that I ain't really gonna be satisfied until I hurt your pride so bad that you get th' same feelin' inside when you think o' me as I get when I think o' you. That squeamish, sick feelin' that you'd almost rather die than ever let that person embarrass ya again." The Sheriff grinned and came in close to Robin's face. "It took a lotta thinkin', but I finally figgered out how t' do it."
The wolf reached down and stripped off the fox's loincloth. He saw Robin's eyes widen. Whatever the fox had expected, this had not been it. "Well, now," the Sheriff said, running a paw down over Robin's white bellyfur. "Lookit that. Who woulda thought such a big hero would be so...small." He grinned, as Robin's ears turned a darker shade of red under the fur. He gripped Robin's small, white-furred sheath, and gave it a few tugs. There was no real response, which didn't surprise him. "I was bigger'n'this when I was ten years old." The ears darkened further, and the Sheriff suspected he had hit a nerve. Maybe this was why Robin had been so quick to insult and tease others? To distract from his own...shortcomings?
The Sheriff smiled, pulling over the bench and sitting on it, running both hands over the fox's form, hefting his small sac, stroking his sheath. Robin looked away, ears burning, and he was clearly trying to think of anything other than what was happening. After a moment, however, he gave a small, whimpery moan, and the Sheriff felt the fox's sheath thicken just a little bit. He rubbed under the sac, between the fox's warm legs, then pulled his paw back. The outlaw looked at him, puzzled, embarrassed, uncertain. Good, thought the Sheriff, that's how he's made me feel so many times. It's nice to see the shoe on the other foot.
The Sheriff caught a gentle whiff of the outlaw's musk. He had expected the fox to smell dirty and foul after living in the forest, but he'd spent the last couple of days noticing what a pleasant, exotic smell Robin had. The fox smelled like the forest did; it was an earthy, fresh smell, with just a tantalizing hint of male musk. The Sheriff grinned, softly; he realized he was looking forward to this immensely. He leaned down and licked over the fox's balls, and he was amused to see Robin's eyes pop wide open. Does he think I'll bite them off? the Sheriff wondered. To make the outlaw squirm, he growled, softly, and raked his teeth carefully over their furry confines. Robin winced, panting around his gag. He's afraid, the Sheriff thought. That's good, too.
The big wolf ran his rough hands all over Robin's silky fur. "You're as purty as a girl," the Sheriff chuckled. Robin squirmed, pulling on his bonds. The redness around his ears did not seem able to abate. Well, let's take his mind off of it, the wolf thought. He lowered his head again and began to lick the fox's slender sheath. This caused Robin to sag in his bonds and moan, softly, whimpering in little fretful noises around the gag. It also caused the pink tip of the outlaw's shaft to poke out of the white-furred sheath. The wolf pushed down on the sheath with on hand, causing more to stick out. Then he licked roughly over the tip, causing the fox to moan and squirm.
The Sheriff looked up at his prisoner. "You're liking it, ain'tcha?" he asked, in a low voice. Robin hesitated, looking at his captor uncertainly. Fear, humiliation, and, yes, need were etched across his face. But still he hesitated. "No point in lyin'," the Sheriff drawled. "This," he said, squeezing Robin's cock in his fingers, "tells me you do."
The great outlaw's knees were shaking, and his arms ached, and all he could do was to very slowly and timidly nod his head.
The Sheriff grinned and licked over the cockhead some more before opening his muzzle and pushing it over the fox's shaft, pressing his sheath down with his lips, suckling greedily, and coaxing Robin's cock to grow more erect in his mouth, sliding along his tongue. The fox moaned, shaking, his head lolling. The wolf was now quite erect in his loose breeches, and he could feel that he was starting to dribble precum down his angry red shaft. He stood up, causing the fox's eyes to open and follow his movements, and he loosened his belt, recalling a time when the outlaw had done it for him, as part of a trick. He smirked, thinking how completely the tables had turned. He put his feathered hat on the table, then slipped his tunic off before pushing down his breeches. He was gratified to see Robin's eyes grow wide at the sight of ten inches of thick, red wolfcock, jutting from the dark gray of the Sheriff's groin.
"Bet even your Little John's piece ain't that big," the wolf said proudly, but Robin looked down at the floor, not giving away whether he knew or not. The Sheriff growled; he wanted to use the outlaw in some new ways, but his position on the wall made it impossible. He finally worked out how to use some thick cord to bind Robin's wrists and ankles loosely, tightening the bonds once he took the fox out of the manacles. To the Sheriff's amusement, Robin only gave a cursory struggle. Maybe he thinks he'll find a way to escape if he just plays it cool, the Sheriff mused. Or maybe he's enjoying this even more'n he lets on. I suppose it must be better than th' further beatin' he was expectin'. The Sheriff dragged the outlaw fox over to the feather bed and pushed him down on top of it. "Struggle," he hissed warningly in the robber's ear, "and I have a dagger with yer name on it."
Robin didn't struggle at all as the Sheriff untied him and then retied him, spread-eagled, on the bed's soft surface. He didn't want to appear it, but he was intensely relieved to be down from the chains on the wall. The feather bed felt so good, like lying in soft heather, and there was a nice smell in the air. He knew that he hadn't any chance of overpowering the Sheriff, so his best bet was to go along with this bit of nastiness and hope the Sheriff would get sloppy. He'd get his chance to escape. A pang of doubt hit him. That was what he was doing, wasn't it? It wasn't possible that he was enjoying this, was he? He banished the thought from his mind, trying to fill his head with thoughts of home and Marion. When he escaped, he'd go back to Marian's arms, and...
A comfortable weight settled on his back, and Robin glanced over his shoulder to see the Sheriff climbing on top of him. Something warm poked him under his tail, and Robin startled out of his reverie. The gag was suddenly removed from his mouth, and the Sheriff's chuckle sounded in his ear. "I wanna hear what kind of noises you make as I take you, renegade."
Robin spluttered. "W-what?" His voice was rasping, his throat dry from lack of water. A thrill of fear scrambled up his spine like a spider. He realized that the Sheriff had a weapon more perilous than a dagger pointed at him. "Sheriff, you can't be serious?" He grinned, trying to make his tone concilatory, and to keep the fear out of his voice. "Come now, old boy, surely there must be something we can work out?"
The Sheriff leaned forward, and Robin let out an involuntary yelp as the thick wolfcock pressed against his hole. "Sure is somethin'," the Sheriff chuckled. "We're gonna work out that pretty lil foxhole of yours real good." He gave another shove, and the pointed tip began to force Robin's hole open, slowly.
Robin gritted his teeth, clenching his eyes shut. No...this wasn't happening. It couldn't be! He was Robin Hood! He'd think of a way out! He'd...
Robin couldn't hold back a choked out cry as the Sheriff lurched forward again, burying the whole head of his cock inside his hole. "So pretty," the Sheriff crooned, stroking the fox's side. Robin shook, unable to reconcile the pain he was feeling with the wolf's gentle touch. He sank his sharp teeth into a pillow of the bed, knowing that if he did not do so, he'd scream; he wasn't about to give the Sheriff the satisfaction.
The Sheriff panted. The fox's hole was so deliciously tight. If he'd had any doubts about Robin's virginity in this area, they were now dispelled. Rumors had abounded for years that Robin's men were called Merry for a reason, but it seemed that their leader, at least, did not follow that path. Or maybe the fox was simply used to being on top? It didn't matter. The wolf thrust again, summoning the strength of his lust and coupling it with revenge for every time the outlaw had mocked him.
Robin panted, heavily, and whimpered beyond his control. He could feel the big cock pushing in even deeper, passing through his sphincter muscle, allowing more and more of the wolf inside. Tears of pain rolled down Robin's cheeks. He'd faced torture once or twice before; he'd even been whipped once. Nothing had hurt as badly as this did.
The Sheriff lurched again, forcing the last of his cock into the outlaw's stretched hole, leaving only the knot outside, and the wolf panted, holding back his aching need, wanting to make it last. He rested on Robin's back, loving the way the fox was trembling and squirming beneath him. He pressed his lips to the outlaw's ear, the gesture almost loving, and whispered, "This is the best revenge I could ever take. You won't be able to tell a soul, and you'll never be able to face me quite the same way again. The next time we're face to face, you'll look in my eyes, and you'll remember this, and all your fancy plans will go right out the window."
Robin whimpered, knowing that, on some level, the Sheriff was right. Could he even face his friends again? Would they be able to see in his face that he'd been taken like this? He braced himself, as the Sheriff pulled back, readying for the pain of another thrust...
And then moaned, shocked, as the thrust brought not pain, but pleasure!
His anus, virgin though it was, and bruised as it was likely to be from the rough stretching, had relaxed, and the pain had eased off a bit. And now the point of the Sheriff's cock had hit something inside him, and filled him with...
He moaned again, and the Sheriff chuckled. "Yeah. Little fox slut getting' into it now, ain'tcha, Rob?" The wolf began a slow conquest of the fox's hole, sliding in over and over, constantly rewarded by an opera of moans as he struck Robin's prostate again and again. He growled in Robin's ear. "You like it, don'tcha?"
Robin clamped his jaws down on a 'yes' that had almost floated out without his thinking. He wouldn't admit it to the Sheriff in a million years, but there was a raw center of pleasure now, tinged with just a hint of pain, mostly caused by the wolf's big knot bumping into his bruised hole from the outside. The feeling was incredible! He closed his eyes as he felt the Sheriff's rough paw grasp his betraying cock, which was quite hard and dripping. The wolf's cock slid in and out of him, and the wolf's paw teasing his own shaft mercilessly. Of all the tortures he'd imagined at the Sheriff's hands while hanging in chains, this one had never occurred to him. His head swam with the feeling, coupled with the thick musk the Sheriff's body was producing around him.
The Sheriff kept chuckling. He didn't need Robin's vocal consent; the fox's cock told him everything he wanted to hear. "Well, isn't this even better than the best?" he laughed in the outlaw's ear. "Not only enjoyin' it but hard as a rock. I wonder if you'll stroke this pretty cock in the years to come and think of your ol' Sheriff, bangin' away at yer tailhole." Robin whimpered again, and the Sheriff smiled, then groaned as he felt his climax rising.
Robin kept trying to shut out the Sheriff's words, but they were too true to be ignored. Every time the wolf's balls banged on his, it was like a clock timing its way until his climax. He wasn't just liking this...he was loving it...and hating it at the same time. He tried to will down his climax. He would not be controlled...he was Robin Hood...he had to hold on...
The Sheriff felt the fox tensing under him, felt the spurts of precum over his fingers from the tip of the slender shaft, and knew that the fox was as close as he was. He grinned, pulled back, and then SLAMMED forward, burying his knot past Robin's sphincter! It expanded, rapidly, tying the wolf to the fox, and the Sheriff howled with pure lusty joy as he came deep in his prisoner's ass.
Robin wanted so badly to hold back, but he couldn't control the shriek that was ripped from his lungs as the Sheriff tied him brutally. Half a heartbeat later, he couldn't control the cum that boiled out of his balls, spurting over the Sheriff's chubby fingers and onto the bedsheets. He bucked back against the Sheriff, brain lost somewhere in a deep animal lust, his spasming anus milking the Sheriff for more.
The Sheriff panted, hips still rocking, weakly, spurt after spurt filling the fox's bowels. He was dimly aware that the fox must have reached capacity, for he felt jism leaking down his leg from where the two males were joined together. He kissed the fox's ear. "Oo-de-lally," he chuckled, in a whisper, then he snuggled down on top of his prisoner and fell asleep.
Robin lay there, still panting. He looked over his shoulder at the Sheriff. What had just happened? The Sheriff had just violated him, completely, and he had loved it. His head was awhirl, and he realized just how exhausted he was. The Sheriff's soft breathing told him that the fat wolf had fallen asleep. Robin sighed, still very confused, and snuggled back against the big wolf, falling asleep in moments himself.
* * *
When he awoke, Robin still felt the wolf in him, slowly sliding out. Without hesitation, he began to rock back, assuming the Sheriff would thrust in again, and he was surprised, and a little disappointed, when the wolf withdrew completely.
The Sheriff smiled and stroked his back, gently. "Woke ya up, did I? Sorry 'bout that. I was gonna try to letcha sleep...figure I took a lot out of ya last night...even though I left a lot in ya, too."
Robin looked over his shoulder. "I don't get you," he said, after a moment. "You seem like such a monster one moment...and then the next moment you're kind. It's like you can't decide whether to kill me or kiss me."
The Sheriff mused. "Dunno if I especially care t' do either...but I know what I would like to do." He patted the fox's ass. "Sadly, I gotta go report, so it'll have to wait til later."
Robin watched the big wolf wash and then dress. Finally, the fox asked. "What do you ultimately intend to do with me, Sheriff? Are you going to free me? Hand me over to Prince John? Surely you can't keep me here forever?"
The Sheriff chuckled. "You'll find out," he sneered. "You're mine until I decide otherwise, I'll tell ya that much." He turned with a flourish and swaggered his way back up the secret stairs. After he had safely closed the door behind him, he paused, thinking. What was he going to do with Robin Hood? His plans hadn't gone that far into the future. Surely he couldn't let the robber go? He did have an oath to Prince John after all. And yet, having had the fox, he admitted a certain...fondness. Could he let the outlaw go helpless to the gallows or the executioners block? He just didn't know. With a sigh, he proceeded the rest of the way up to his garrison...
And emerged into chaos! Wolf soldiers were swarming everywhere, and Nutsy and Trigger were running around, fumbling with their crossbows. When Trigger fumbled with his crossbow, the Sheriff always felt a lump of fear in his throat. "Crime-a-netley!" he exclaimed. "What's goin' on up here? Are th' French invadin' or somethin'?"
"Worse!" exclaimed Nutsy. "The Outlaws! Somehow, Robin Hood's men have figured out that he's here! They're attacking th' castle to break him out."
"Oh, damn," the sheriff swore. Then he noticed an inebriated Sir Hiss sleeping half in and half out of a bowl of wine. "Looks like Prince John suspects somethin', too."
Nutsy grinned, despite the situation. "He came slithering around last night. We told him you'd gone huntin' Robin Hood, an' then we offered him some wine. For a fella without much body, he can sure put it away."
The Sheriff chuckled, then sighed. "Can you boys hold the garrison for a few more minutes? I think it's time to get out of this situation before it gets worse."
Trigger saluted, sending a crossbow bolt into the ceiling, where it imbedded itself in a rafter. "You can count on us, Sheriff." The sheriff rolled his eyes at his lieutenants, but he hurried back to the tower and descended the stairs once again.
Robin's ears perked when the Sheriff returned. "That was a short report. Just couldn't wait, eh?"
The Sheriff chuckled. "You wish, red-britches." He opened a chest, fetching out the outlaw's gear. He slashed Robin's wrist bonds with a dagger, leaving the robber confused and looking a little hurt. "Your men are here, and the Prince suspects something's up, so all I can figure is that I gotta let you go so everything gets resolved." He turned back and pulled out a bag of coins. "Here...you can say you followed me in to rob me of these..." He paused as he turned back around and found the outlaw's sword poised at his throat.
A moment passed in silence, as the Sheriff stared at the sword, and Robin's smouldering, angry eyes searched the Sheriff's face. "I should kill you," he finally growled, "for what you did to me."
The Sheriff looked up, into those eyes. "I ain't gonna apologize," he said slowly. "I loved every minute of it, and so did you."
Robin growled, pressing the tip of the blade harder on the wolf's throat. The two of them stared into each other's eyes for a long minute...and then, for the first time ever, it was Robin who looked away. "If you ever breathe a word of this to anyone..." he said, in a furious voice.
"Who would I tell?" the Sheriff laughed. "Nutsy an' Trigger think I been down here torturin' you. You think my men would keep followin' me if they knew..."
"Shut up," Robin growled. He put the sword down and dressed himself, quickly. He grabbed the bag of coins and drew his sword again. "Show me the way out."
They ascended the stairs in a hurry. Once they were past the secret part, Robin scouted ahead, making sure there was no one watching, then they went up another level, to a parapet wall. The sheriff drew his own sword, they looked at each other a moment, and then they began striking swords together, dueling with one another as they emerged onto the curtain wall. A voice, instantly recognizable as Little John's cried, "Rob! You're okay!"
Robin laughed. "It'll take more than a fat buffoon to take me out of the picture."
Prince John's hysterical shriek sounded form his bedroom window. "Sheriff! Kill him! Kill him! Hiss! Where are you? You're never around when I need you!"
The Sheriff growled. "This is yer last day on earth, Outlaw!" They clashed blades a couple more times, and then Robin caught the Sheriff in the ribs with a well-timed kick, sending him sprawling. He leapt over the curtain wall and into the moat. The sheriff panted, getting his wind back, grinning at the sound of their retreating cries of "Oo-de-lally!" Of course he scowled when the other wolves came to see if he was alright, and he knew that he was going to get it from the Prince, but...
He sighed, climbing to his feet. Fat buffoon? Ah, well...what had he expected? He limped towards the throne room, knowing that the sooner he got his reprimand over with, the better.
* * *
Several weeks later, Robin sat on a tree limb, looking at the moon. He'd endured the scolding lectures from Marion and Little John about risking his life for such a small sum of money, heard the many well-wishings of his men...he'd gone to bed with Marion, planning on having her sweet touch caress away the memory of what he'd just been through.
But somehow, it hadn't.
The funny thing was, he didn't even mind that it hadn't. Marion had been wonderful, of course, and had told him he was just tired, and that they could try again the next night. And they had, with equally abyssmal results. Somehow, her soft touch and round curves were not making him burn like they once had.
Sometime in the night, he came to a decision, and he slipped off towards the castle...
* * *
The Sheriff sat, sighing, looking at the moon. It was bad enough that an irate lion had chewed him a new tailhole; he couldn't get that stupid outlaw out of his mind! He scowled, lying back in bed, trying to get to sleep. He had almost succeeded when the arrow flew through the window and imbedded itself in the rafters. He was about to storm out and give Trigger the reprimand of his life, when he noticed that the arrow had a note tied to it. Standing on the bed, he was able to pull it down and read it.
It only had four words, but they made his heart skip a beat. "Your place, ten minutes."
In ten minutes, a dressing gown tied around his middle, he had made his way by various passages to the northeast tower, slipped through the secret door, and descended the stairs. Robin was already there, sitting on the feather bed.
The two of them regarded each other coolly. "I keep that door locked. How did you get in here?"
Robin smirked. "I'm the greatest thief alive, remember? I've picked the locks on the royal strongbox. That old lock was no challenge."
"If you're here to surrender, Outlaw..." the wolf said, looking to see if there was a weapon close to hand.
"I'm here to surrender," Robin said, softly, causing the Sheriff to pause. "But not to the law, not to the Sheriff, and not to Prince John. I'm here to surrender to you."
The Sheriff stared as the fox began undressing. He stared as the fox came closer and knelt down in front of him, fingers parting his dressing gown. He gasped as Robin's lips and tongue began to caress his sheath, causing him to practically leap out to full erection in a matter of moments. Robin smiled and returned to the bed, laying down on his belly. "We can't do this too often," Robin said, softly. "My men will get suspicious, or Prince John will. But I can send you messages like I did tonight, or you can hang a red tapestry out the window, and I'll..." He trailed off, realizing the wolf hadn't moved. "Are you going to come fuck me, or do I have to run back to Sherwood and see if I can get John to do it?"
The Sheriff slowly grinned. "Well, oo-de-lally," he chuckled, as he approached the bed and his outlaw lover.