“You are either incredibly foolish or just stupidly brave,” Yifan murmured, smiling when the man had to crane his head to look at him, his arms restrained roughly behind his back.

 

“I had to see for myself, he who the town calls Robin Hood,” the man murmured, his gaze defiant.

 

“You must be new,” Yifan replied, curling a finger beneath the man’s chin. His skin was fair, his eyes flecked with green and his lashes were so long he could count each individual strand. In short, he was remarkably beautiful for a man.

 

“So what do they say about me?” He drew back, smirking when the man’s pupils dilated.

 

“That you’re a deviant, but you steal from the rich to provide for the poor. And that you’re very, very easy on the eye,” the man breathed, his eyes raking up and down Yifan’s body.

 

“And you thought to come see for yourself,” Yifan mused, ignoring the snorts of his comrades. He would certainly be ribbed for this later.

 

“I’ve always liked deviants,” the man smirked, the corner of his lips curling and Yifan found himself smirking back.

 

“Well I’m not sure your father would approve, considering how he condemns my actions,” he replied.

 

At the mention of his father, the man’s lips twisted, as if disgusted. His lips were plump, and as pretty pink as the spring flowers that bloomed in the forest.

 

Yifan raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised.

 

“Well, someone like you should not be out here in the forest at such an hour. You never know what lurks among the trees,” he said, turning his attention to his men.

 

“What should we do with him, Robin?” Chanyeol chirped, his eyes glinting in the firelight.

 

Yifan surveyed him as his men tightened their grips, the man arching with a gasp of pain.

 

He leaned forward, catching his chin with long fingers. It was amusing to see the man’s eyes widen, darting to look down at his hand.

 

“Bind him to a tree,” he announced, “and blindfold him. We will return him to his father after we’ve had our fill.”

 

Their dinner was still roasting on the spit and it was clear what the man thought they were about to do to him by the way his pretty lips parted, terror suddenly filling his eyes.

 

“I-,” he gasped and Yifan rubbed a thumb over his plump bottom lip, shushing him.

 

“I meant dinner,” he could feel him shudder with relief, slumping into the arms of the men who held him, “though I wouldn’t mind having my fill of you either.”

 

The promise in his tone made the man look up, his pupils dark, teeth digging into his lower lips.

 

Yifan winked as his men looped ropes around the nearest tree, binding the man against it. The black cloth they tied over his eyes made him look absolutely delicious.

 

-

 

He thought he was dead, from the moment the riders caught sight of him, a big tall man and his companion, equally as tall.

 

He had not intended to be captured and actually dragged to their leader, but that was a special bonus.

Now he could dispel all doubt from his mind. The so called Robin Hood was absolutely striking and one look from those eyes was enough to make him weak in the knees.

 

Yixing jerked against the hands gripping him, arching in protest as he was pushed against the tree, his wrists secured in a series of tight knots. The pressure of the ropes against his skin was enough cause him to stir, squirming and twisting against the hold.

 

A hand grabbed his chin, hard enough to pull a yelp from his throat and his vision went black, a strip of cloth bound around his eyes.

 

His back was pressed up against rough bark and then all the hands were gone, leaving him, presumably, bound against the tree.

 

Yixing turned his head from side to side, his remaining senses heightened by the lack of sight.

 

The rope was coarse and it rubbed against his delicate skin, tight enough that he was sure they would leave bruises. The very thought of being marked like that made his breeches tighten and he flushed despite knowing that there was no one around to see him.

 

He could hear the fire crackling, spitting sparks and the raucous laughter of young men feasting and his heart ached a little. He had never truly had many friends, due to his father’s influence.

 

No one dared befriend the son of the Sheriff.

 

So he grew up lonely, and always wanting. Even when he had been sent away for his studies, his father’s influence never wavered.

 

Heavy boots crunching on leaves made him turn blindly towards the sound, his body tense. The hand that curled around his cheek was warm and slick with grease.

 

Yixing made a face and whoever was standing there laughed.

 

“Robin?” He called and was silenced immediately, something soft and greasy pressed to his lips. Whatever it was smelled absolutely divine and Yixing’s stomach growled.

 

He had missed dinner in favour of chasing down the elusive Robin Hood.

 

“Eat up,” the voice was smooth and silky like honey and it stirred Yixing’s insides like no other. Obediently, he ate, using his teeth to tear strips of flesh from the bone. The meat was tender and salty and grease dripped from his lips as he ate, all decorum abandoned in favour of putting food into his belly.

 

When his teeth met bone, the hand pulled away and Yixing jerked, the tips of his boots digging into the earth for balance.

 

“Wait,” the hand smoothed over his cheek, leaving streaks of oil against his skin but Yixing was too far gone to care. He had just been hand fed like an animal and the very thought that it was Robin himself who had done it, his father’s greatest adversary, made him feel hot all the way down his body.

 

The hand clamping down on the back of his neck startled him and he squirmed, trying to get out of the hold. He was sensitive, something that Robin seemed to notice as he gripped him tighter, the lip of a mug pressing against his lips.

 

The ale was sweeter than he was used to and thicker, coating his tongue and throat as it went down and Yixing could feel the effects almost immediately. Still he drank and drank, dripping it all over his chin and the ground.

 

When his thirst was sated, Yixing collapsed back against the tree. The ale was already hitting him, his head fuzzy and heavy. Grimacing, he tried to straighten up but only succeeded in nearly tipping himself off balance.

 

Robin laughed once more, in disbelief.

“You’re a lightweight,” Yixing heard the mug being set down and his wrists were being untied. He held out his arms and yelped when he was picked up, rather like a sack of potatoes and thrown over his back.

 

His vision was still covered by the blindfold and it hardly mattered anyway as his head was so cloudy that it felt as if his brain had been stuffed full of cotton.

 

“We taking him back, Robin?” There were footsteps coming up to them and Yixing pressed his hands into Robin’s back to try to see who it was but Robin shook him roughly and he flopped back down again.

 

“I’ll do it on my own, don’t need the lot of you getting in trouble,” the deep voice rumbled and Yixing could hear the whinnying of a horse being saddled, the sound of leather rubbing against leather. He could smell it too, the rich sharp scent of it as he was hefted into the saddle.

 

There was a jangle and the horse beneath him snorted, shifting as a new weight joined him, presumably Robin himself.

 

He laid in the saddle, hung over both sides, still very much like a sack of potatoes as Robin spurred the horse on, one hand pressed to his lower back to keep him still. The touch burned and Yixing’s mind wandered to the area where he would very much like to be touched.

 

“Your father is going raise a storm when he finds you like this,” Robin’s honey smooth voice reached his ears and Yixing huffed. He was still blindfolded and when his fumbling hands reached up to undo it, a rough hand batted them away.

 

“Leave it, boy. I don’t want you reporting to the Sheriff on where to find us.”

 

Yixing let his hands drop uselessly, his cheek pressed into the stiff leather of the saddle as Robin navigated the dark forest.

 

He heard the dull thuds of hoofbeats on damp earth turn to sharp, painful clip clops that cut through the blur of his mind and then Robin was pulling the beast to a stop.

 

He yelped when he was lifted, dangling in mid-air.

 

“Ah, I’d better not. Don’t want to destroy your pretty face,” Robin rumbled, amusement coating his voice and Yixing let out a sigh of relief when he was lowered back into the saddle.

 

There came a sound of boots on cobblestone and then he was lifted off the horse once more, dumped unceremoniously on the ground. He winced when he lifted his head, nearly striking it against the wall Robin had placed him against.

 

“Till we meet again, sheriff’s son,” he untied the blindfold with shaky fingers, just in time to see Robin mounted atop his horse, the moonlight shining upon his golden head. He winked before he was riding away and back into Sherwood Forest.

 

Shaking his head, Yixing made to drag himself upright. He slipped a couple of times, barely managing to grab onto the stone wall closest to him. A headache was beginning to form between his eyes, and he could already imagine his father’s ire as he knocked roughly on the door.

 

“Young master!”

 

Yixing took a single step and then pitched forward, the servant catching him in alarm.

 

“Where have you been,” his father’s voice was a hammer to his head, loud and full of disapproval. He straightened long enough to see the stern face swim as if they were underwater and a firm hand struck him hard across the cheek.

 

The blow was enough to sober him for a moment, clutching his cheek in shock.

 

“Father, I-,” he gaped at him, his father’s disapproval burning into his flesh. Father had never hit him before.

 

“Get to bed and sober up,” was the only thing the sheriff said before he was gone, heavy boots tromping down the hallway to his study, where he spent most of his time.

 

Yixing watched him go, swallowing down the burn of tears that threatened to rise up. Ever since Mother died, he had become more and more of a tyrant. He had seen the tax books and they were higher than ever, more than they needed to be.

 

He had also developed a fixation on Robin Hood and his band of men, convinced that he was the only one who could bring them to justice.

 

Yixing did not think they needed to be brought to justice.

 

Robin robbed the rich to help the poor, and he kept only what he needed for himself and his band of merry men.

 

It was far kinder than his father imposing higher and higher taxes that were impossible for the people to keep on paying.

 

Shrugging off the servants that came rushing to his aid, he staggered away, just barely managing to make it to his chambers without knocking himself silly by falling down.

 

His mind was full of amber eyes and golden hair, and the warm touch of a large hand as he slid into the bath the servants had drawn for him, steam rising into the air.

 

Yixing could feel his cheeks flushing as he bathed, rinsing the grease from his face and neck. He could still feel where Robin had touched him, strong and unforgiving. It was enough to stir him, his cheeks burning.

 

He was the son of the sheriff, no man’s touch should stir him so.

 

But Robin was a different man. He was big, strong and so kind.

 

As he lifted his hands from the bathwater, water trickling from them like broken pearls, Yixing could see where he had been grabbed, red prints where the ropes had chafed. He buried his face in his hands, wincing when he pressed against the bruise on his cheek.

 

He slid into bed that night, still half hard in his drawers, at the mere thought of Robin’s eyes, burning a window into his soul.

 

-

 

Yifan did not think he would see the Sheriff’s son again so soon.

 

But he did.

 

The bright eyed lad was walking the market, a brilliantly red apple clutched in one hand. He was surveying the fabrics, when a young boy came up to him, tugging at the hem of his tunic.

 

Yifan froze, his heart in his mouth when the son of the sheriff turned, his lips pulling down in sympathy. Without a moment’s hesitation, he the apple into the boy’s hand, pulling out his purse to give the boy some coins.

 

The boy’s eyes grew wide at the sight of so much money, stuttering his thanks hurriedly before running off, the apple and coins clutched to his chest.

 

“That was very kind of you,” he said, stepping forward cautiously. None of the sheriff’s men were about and it seemed that the man was alone.

 

The man looked up, his brilliant eyes affixing on Yifan. A soft smile tugged at his lips and he walked closer, reaching up to press a hand boldly against Yifan’s chest.

 

“Is that you, Robin?” The smile was curling into a smirk and Yifan smirked back, curling his fingers around the man’s wrist. His wrist was remarkably tiny and looked so delicate in his big hand.

 

“Indeed,” he ducked his head, practically smouldering and the sheriff’s son parted his lips, so pretty and pink, as if to make some comment.

 

“Are you going to yell for your father?” Yifan asked, rather amused, though he doubted the man would do such a thing. He had seemed sympathetic, at least from the way he had given the child the apple and coin.

 

The man recoiled as if he had struck him, his expression twisting into one of offense and Yifan found himself regretting the jibe.

 

“I will do no such thing,” he snapped and immediately, the bandit reached to placate him. As the man turned his head, his lips tight in his anger, Yifan could see a small, but purpling bruise on his cheek, as if he had been struck.

 

He cupped the man’s face, and the man, startled by his sudden action, froze.

 

“He hit you,” he said plainly, and the sheriff’s son jerked out of his grip, lifting his hand to cover the bruise.

 

“I came home drunk out of my mind, reeking of leather and ale. Of course, he was angry,” he said tersely and Yifan growled under his breath.

 

It was not uncommon, for men to beat their sons, he knew. Hell, his own father had beaten him before he died. And it was irrational for him to be this worked up over someone he barely knew.

 

“He was worried about me,” the man said, his gaze softening. He patted his chest, smiling now.

 

Yifan was about to say something else, a retort that that was no good reason to hit his son but Chanyeol was calling for him, his expression rather frantic.

 

“I didn’t get your name the last time,” he said quickly, casting a quick glance at his comrade. Already he could hear screams and yells and thundering hoofbeats coming down the street, a sure signal that the sheriff’s men were on their way.

 

“I’m Yixing,” the man said. A very pretty name, fitting for such a pretty face. Yifan said so aloud, revelling in the soft pink blush that spread over his face.

 

“If we meet again, I’ll tell you mine,” he grinned, loosening his grip on the man’s wrist. Chanyeol was nearly upon him, a herd of horses at his heels.

 

Yifan dropped one eyelid down in a wink, Yixing’s melodious laughter ringing in his ears as he broke into a run, climbing up a massive pile of crates.

 

The men had their guns out, the sheriff himself shouting as he pulled his horse to a stop before his son.

 

“Don’t let them catch you!” Yixing cried and Yifan laughed boisterously, swinging atop his horse which had been left only at the edge of the market, for easy escape.

 

He could hear more hoofbeats as Chanyeol joined him, his bright grin as brilliant as the sun as they both rode off into the forest, a group of men at their heels.

 

“He’s a pretty lad,” Chanyeol commented, once they had lost their pursuers, “but how will you see him again?”

 

Yifan grinned and pulled a pendant from his pocket. It was a simple thing, just a ring strung on some rough cord but he could see a name etched into the inside of the ring. It would be something Yixing treasured a lot.

 

Enough for him to come looking for him in the forest.

 

Chanyeol chuckled at the sight of the pendant, swinging off as his horse came to a halt. Yifan did the same, sliding the pendant back into his pocket.

 

He was confident that it would not take long for the man to come searching.

 

-

 

Yixing could have laughed when he realised his necklace was missing. It was a ring of his mother’s, etched with her name.

 

Of course, Robin would have stolen it off him.

 

He was hardly angry. It gave him a reason to go looking for him.

 

That necklace was precious. It was only thing of his mother’s that he was allowed to keep.

 

It had been quite the thrill, watching Robin flee from the market, still laughing. Even his father dragging him atop his horse to send him home did not quite dampen his spirits.

 

His father was absolutely purple with anger when his men returned empty handed, stomping about the house in his rage.

 

“That wretched bastard! One day, I swear on my life, one day I will have him!”

 

The sheriff raged, sweeping the papers and books from the coffee table onto the floor. Yixing was about to escape to his chambers when he him, snarling.

 

“And you! What were you doing talking to that scoundrel?!”

 

Yixing flattened his hands out, the picture of innocence.

 

“I didn’t know who he was, Father,” he lied plainly and flinched back when his father looked over him, spluttering.

 

“That man is the most notorious bandit in the land, Robin Hood, former earl of Huntington. The next time you see him, you call for help immediately do you hear me? For all his crimes he should rotting in a jail cell!”

 

The sheriff thundered and Yixing folded his lips into a thin line, casting his eyes to the floor as he nodded mutely.

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

As if he was about to continue on his tirade, the sheriff opened his mouth. But before he could, Yixing saw his eyes lock upon the bruise on his cheekbone.

 

The anger seemed flee from his face and he took a step forward.

 

“Who did this?” He asked gruffly, cupping Yixing’s cheek. Yixing winced when he thumbed over the bruise, moving to catch his wrist.

 

“You did, Father. Last night.”

 

He said and the look of horror that crossed his father’s face was one he would never forget.

 

The look was gone almost immediately however, and the man’s brows furrowed.

 

“Where were you last night? I was waiting on you to return for dinner.”

 

“I was- in the village, Father. I was exploring,” he stuttered.

 

“You reeked of ale. I remember now. Did you go into the taverns? Have I not warned you away from them?”

 

His father growled and Yixing bowed his head.

 

“I’m sorry, Father,” he said through his teeth. Father could never discover where he had been, nor where he would go from now on.

 

Yixing would be damned before he allowed himself to land Robin Hood in jail.

 

-

 

The forest was dark, even in the daylight. The trees were too dense to allow much light to pass through as he rode through, calling for Robin.

 

Yixing has waited as long as he could, before his heart pulled him towards the forest once more.

 

“Robin?” He called, as loudly as he dared. There was fear in the pit of his stomach even as he rode, for the forest was full of other bandits and thieves, more ready to kill for their plunder.

 

“Robin, return my necklace!” There was a rustle and Yixing jerked, his horse startling beneath him.

 

He had tried to dress as inconspicuously as possible, not wishing to attract more attention to himself.

 

There was more rustling and a figure leapt from the trees.

 

Yixing barely had time to even scream before he was tackled from his saddle, a hand clamped around his mouth.

 

His horse screamed and galloped off on its own, but Yixing had more pressing worries on his mind.

 

He heard the sound of a knife being unsheathed and then there was a sharp point pressed against the soft skin of his throat.

 

Yixing’s breath hitched and he froze in place, hardly daring to move.

 

“Oh, a pretty brat,” the man’s breath reeked, and his voice was pitched and grating. He had a hand around Yixing’s mouth, his legs curled around the man’s waist, keeping him in place.

 

He squirmed but the man tightened his grip, the point of the knife pressing harder against the skin of his throat.

 

“Careful now, pretty boy. We don’t want to send you home to your father with your throat all cut up,” the man cooed into Yixing’s ear and he froze at the threat.

 

Yixing swallowed, his hands fluttering up and the robber hissed at him.

 

“I’m going to let you up and you’re going to give me everything have in those pockets of yours.”

 

He held up his hands, where the robber could see them as he rose, very aware of the knife pressing against his throat.

 

Before the robber could demand for him to empty his pockets, there was more rustling from the trees.

 

Yixing yelped when he was grabbed roughly, a hand curling in his hair.

 

His head was yanked back and then he could see.

 

Robin and his men, two men, were standing in the clearing, their weapons drawn.

 

“You’re in our territory,” Robin growled, his bow in his hand. His hair glinted even in the dim light, and the look on his face was enough to make Yixing’s knees go weak.

 

He whimpered and Robin’s eyes flickered towards his face and then the blade at his throat.

 

“Ah, Robin Hood,” the man cackled almost gleefully, “do you know who this brat is?”

 

Yixing yelped when he was shaken roughly, the blade at his throat digging hard enough to break skin.

 

“Of course I do,” Robin answered, his shoulders stiff. His eyes were hard as he studied them.

 

“Let’s gut him and send him back,” the rogue’s eyes glinted with malice and Yixing could not help the cry of terror from escaping his lips.

 

“A man is more than just his father,” Robin growled, taking a step forward, “let him go.”

 

“Oh, is the great Robin Hood going soft?” The rogue sneered and Yixing gasped when the blade dug deeper into his skin. Warm blood was trickling from the cut.

 

Robin bristled, raising his bow.

 

“We are not killers, rogue. Let him go or I will flay you alive.”

 

“Do as he says, filthy mongrel,” the other men were flanking their leader, tall and imposing with their weapons drawn.

 

The rogue bandit was about to say something when hoofbeats echoed into the clearing and everyone turned to see men bearing the sheriff’s mark riding into the clearing.

 

Before they could move however, the rogue bandit screamed, the knife at Yixing’s throat falling to the ground.

 

Yixing staggered at the sudden loss of support, managing to catch himself fast enough to kick the knife away.

 

He broke into a run just as his father dismounted, his men running to apprehend the bandit before he could escape.

 

By the time they had recovered, Robin and his men were nowhere to be found, save for the red fletched arrow that had pierced the bandit’s hand.

 

“Father!” Yixing gasped as he stumbled into his father’s arms. He buried his face into his neck as his father held him, shaken by just how close he had come to death.

 

The wound on his throat was still bleeding as his father lifted him into his saddle, as if he were a child again.

 

A handkerchief was pressed into his hand and he held it to the cut, still trembling as his father mounted behind him.

 

“Robin saved me,” he murmured as the sheriff turned his horse away from the others. He was shaking too, Yixing realised when he looked up at him.

 

“Your horse came home without you,” he murmured, a hand running through Yixing’s ruffled hair, “I feared the worst had happened.”

 

“Father,” Yixing whispered, guilt a rock in his stomach, “I’m so sorry.”

 

They did not speak again until they were home, and Yixing was immediately sent to bed, after the cut had been taken care of.

 

When he was awoken for dinner, he found his father pacing the floor, staring at the red fletched arrow that had been embedded in the bandit’s hand.

 

“Father?” He asked, sidestepping a servant to reach the table.

 

The sheriff looked at him, and back at the arrow in his hand before setting it aside.

 

“Why were you in the forest today?” He asked as they both sat down to dinner, “the forest is full of bandits and thugs. You ought to stay away.”

 

Yixing shrugged. He could hardly tell his Father that his necklace had been stolen and by the very man he sought to arrest.

 

“I needed some fresh air,” he lied, nodding in thanks as the servant set down a tureen of soup.

 

He could feel his father’s gaze burning into him as he dipped his spoon into his soup, blowing delicately on it.

 

“You understand that Robin Hood is a criminal, don’t you, Yixing? He belongs in a jail cell not terrorizing the good citizens.”

 

“I do, Father,’ Yixing kept his gaze on the soup, sure that if his father saw his face, he would know.

 

“But he did save my life.”

 

“He did,” the sheriff agreed, his expression thoughtful. He had barely touched his food, still surveying his son.

 

Yixing changed the subject quickly.

 

“He wouldn’t have to do what he did if you lowered the taxes, Father. What use do we have for so much money?”

 

He gestured around them. Their home was filled with what he thought were worthless trinkets, things that his father had sent for from abroad.

 

There was a stuffed deer, a massive Persian rug and all sorts of things lying about the house.

 

His father did not answer, though his lips tightened.

 

“Stay away from Robin Hood, Yixing. He is nothing but trouble.”

 

Later that night, as he was soaking in the bath, Yixing let himself sink to the bottom of the tub, wincing at the sting of the cut on his throat.

 

He could not help but remember the way Robin had looked at him, with such intensity that his knees went weak.

 

The way he had allowed a filthy rogue thief to call him weak and put himself into danger to save him.

 

Swallowing, Yixing brushed a finger over the cut in his throat.

 

Father had told him to stay away. But how could he? When they had such a magnetic pull?

 

-

 

“You just couldn’t stay away, could you?” Yifan smirked and Yixing could feel his knees weaken at the very sight. He was currently half hidden behind a tree, creeping on the bandit.

 

He huffed, fingers digging into the tree bark. He had not gone out with the explicit thought to find Robin, only that he needed to take a walk and breathe.

 

It was a complete accident that he had come upon Robin himself, curled up beneath a giant oak tree, taking a nap.

 

He smiled to himself when he noticed his necklace hanging about his throat.

 

“May I have that back?” He asked politely, pointing in the direction of Robin’s neck. Robin’s smile widened and he rose, towering above him.

 

“What, this?” he touched the pendant that he wore, “I rather like it. Does it not look fetching on me?”

 

Yixing laughed, taking a step closer. He reached out, resting his hand upon the bandit’s chest.

 

“It does, but I’d like it back please. The band belonged to my mother.”

 

Robin’s eyes softened and he curled his fingers around his wrist.

 

“How about an exchange, pretty Yixing,” he purred and Yixing leaned forward, interested.

 

“What would you like, gold? Pearls?”

 

Robin laughed and shook his head.

 

“I have no use for such things,” he dipped lower, his eyes lingering on Yixing’s lips and Yixing found his cheeks flushing for no discernible reason. He thought he knew what the bandit would ask for.

 

Robin cupped his cheek, thumbing over his lower lip and Yixing moved closer, almost unconsciously into the touch.

 

“What would the great Robin Hood want from someone like me then?” he breathed. They were so close now that he could feel Robin’s breath brush over his lips.

 

“How about a kiss? In exchange for your pendant back.”

 

In answer, Yixing leaned forward, closing the gap between their lips. He had never been kissed before but Robin clearly had.

 

Large hands cupped his face and he gasped into the kiss, his breeches tightening. His fingers balled into robin’s shirt and he could feel the bandit smirk. He smelled heavily of pine and leather, sharp in his nostrils.

 

Their lips moved in tandem, Yixing’s inexperience showing but Robin was gentle and slow, guiding him.

 

When they pulled apart, Yixing was gasping, a hand brushing across his lips as if he could not believe what had just happened.

 

“You-,” he stared as Robin smirked, steadying him when his knees buckled.

 

“That good?” The bandit asked, heat radiating from his body. Yixing could feel him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist. He was such a big man.

 

“I-, yes,” he panted. He wanted to kiss him again, and wipe that eating grin from the bandit’s face.

 

The bandit obliged, bending to kiss him again. This time, it was harder, not quite as chaste and Yixing could feel his knees turn to jelly. He clung onto the larger man for dear life, desperately trying to keep up as he was pressed up against a tree, the bark rough through the thin fabric of his shirt.

 

“Oh, gods,” he gasped when Robin pulled away, a string of saliva breaking from between their lips. The bandit was still smirking and Yixing’s cheeks flushed when he realised that he was hard in his drawers, just from the kissing alone.

 

“Not a god,” a thumb swiped over his bottom lip and Yixing was ashamed of the way his lips parted in want. He jerked away before it could go further, opening his palm.

 

“May I have my necklace now, Robin?”

 

Robin surveyed him with hooded eyes, his smirk seeming to be permanently fixed in place.

 

“Call me Yifan,” he said and Yixing blinked, confused.

 

“Yifan is my true name, Robin is only a pseudonym,” the bandit explained before he lifted off the necklace from around his throat, fingers brushing against Yixing’s sensitive neck as he set the pendant back in place.

 

Yixing winced when a thumb brushed over the little cut at the base of his throat, little sparks of pain shooting through him. Robin, no Yifan’s expression was one of sympathy as he it gently.

 

“You ought to stay away from the forest. Your father is a man of power and status and few will give up the temptation to hold sway over him,” the bandit murmured and Yixing curled his fingers around his forearms.

 

“If I stayed away, I’d never see you again,” he replied, looking straight into Yifan’s eyes, “I can’t have that.”

 

“I’m a bandit, dearest. One that your father would kill to put behind bars.”

 

The reminder made Yixing’s stomach twist. By all rights and reason, he should despise him, the way his father did. But he could feel nothing but admiration for Yifan’s thinking, for the motivations behind his actions.

 

He could stop all of this, if only he could convince his father to lower the taxes, to help the common folk instead of sitting high in his throne, drunk on power.

 

But even with lowered taxes, Robin Hood would still be on the sheriff’s most wanted list.

 

Shaking his head, he pushed the thought out of his mind. What his father did not know would not kill him.

 

“It will be fine. My father does not know I come here. He thinks I am in the markets, traversing the stalls. Besides, I could I be unsafe with you, the great Robin Hood?”

 

The answering smirk Yifan gave made his heart stutter and a large hand cupped his cheek.

 

“Another kiss then, for your journey back,” the bandit uttered, bending to press another kiss against Yixing’s lips.

 

-

 

So began Yixing’s secret adventures to visit Robin Hood, the greatest bandit in the land.

 

Yifan was amused by just how resourceful the man was, slipping out from under his father’s eyes.

 

For their safety, Yifan always had men posted in the forest, one to watch out for people who might take advantage of the sheriff’s son and two, to ensure that should Yixing be careless, their secret hiding place would not be exposed.

 

For all his days, Yifan had never expected to fall for his enemy’s son.

 

Yixing was funny and sweet, so incredibly naïve that it was endearing. He was educated in all sorts of things, from alchemy to science but so left out in all of life’s great experiences.

 

Yifan took him fishing in the nearby river, taught him how to swim in the creek.

 

The way Yixing’s hair and skin looked beneath the afternoon sun, creamy white skin bathed in golden light, made him fall even deeper.

 

They kissed lazily beneath the great oak trees, Yixing’s fingers threading through Yifan’s golden hair, spent afternoon upon afternoon cuddled up by a stream or a river with apples roasted from the fires.

 

It was beautiful and something that Yifan never thought that he could have.

 

They were kissing again, this time, in their own little private clearing that Yifan had found for them.

 

It was the perfect place, surrounded by thick berry bushes and thorns to protect from prying eyes.

 

Yifan had brought a feast, venison slow roasted over the fire such that it dripped grease and golden bread from the baker. The baker was a little sweet on him, which made it easy for him to get good bread.

 

A few well-chosen words and wink got Yifan the best bread, fresh from the oven.

 

Yixing had surprised him with honey, a treat that the bandit had barely tasted since the fall of his earldom.

 

He savoured it, spread over the fresh bread while Yixing enjoyed the sweet, soft apples that Chanyeol had given them, roasted over the campfires that they made.

 

“It’s beautiful out here,” Yixing murmured as he splayed out on the grass, halfway onto Yifan. His head was resting upon his chest, warm and solid.

 

“I know,” he replied, wiping his fingers on the grass, “as beautiful as you are.”

 

The sheriff’s son blushed prettily, his pale skin flushing pink.

 

Turning, he let Yixing’s head slide onto the grass, leaning down to press his lips against his hair.

 

Yixing cupped his cheeks and Yifan leaned down further, sealing their lips together into a soft, chaste kiss.

 

“ I should get going,” Yixing murmured sometime later, his nose buried halfway in the crook of Yifan’s neck.

 

Yifan looked down at him, the reluctance written all over his face.

 

“My father will come looking for me,” Yixing warned when he only hugged him closer. Yifan scoffed, pressing kisses against his forehead.

 

“One day, I will steal you away and he’ll never find you again,” he mumbled, revelling in his lover’s melodious laughter.

 

“That’d be your biggest robbery,” Yixing whispered fondly, fingers trailing over his cheek. Yifan moved into the touch, kissing his fingertips.

 

“The sheriff’s son.”

 

-

 

It was a literal game of cat and mouse.

 

Yixing pressed himself against a tree, holding his breath. He had to bite down hard on his lip to avoid laughing.

 

Yifan was looking for him, outraged that he had managed to dunk him entirely in the stream and soaked him from head to toe.

 

It was so worth Yifan’s ire however, as Yixing got to see the way his shirt clung to his body, practically mapping out every curve and crevice of his body.

 

The way the material clung to his abs had made his mouth water.

 

He had only seconds to run, before the bandit snapped out of his shock, intent on getting his revenge.

 

Now he was hiding, hoping and praying that the bandit should not find him.

 

He shuddered to think what he would do.

 

Yixing peeked out from around the tree. His skin prickled and he could feel eyes watching him.

 

He barely had time to turn around before a large hand was clamping down around his mouth, stifling the scream before it could get very far.

 

“Got you,” a low voice tumbled in his ear, sending blood rushing south. Yixing writhed as a strong arm wrapped around him, forcing his arms to his side.

 

Something rough rubbed against his skin and he squirmed, his eyes widening at the sight of the ropes in Yifan’s hands.

 

“What do you think you’re doing!” He yelped when Yifan released his mouth, grabbing his wrists instead.

 

“Guess,” the bandit grinned and Yixing yelped when he was pushed chest first against the nearest tree, his wrists pinned at the small of his back.

 

“Yifan,” he tried. It was all too easy for Yifan to manhandle him into position and he was stirring, heat creeping up his neck at the compromising position.

 

A knee pushed between his legs and he strained, gasping when it made contact with his hardening .

 

It seemed that Yifan could feel it as well, as he leaned in close, his mouth hot against his sensitive neck.

 

Yixing cried out, arching as the bandit made quick work of his wrists, binding them expertly behind his back.

 

The feeling of the coarse rope around delicate skin only served to further harden him in his pants and when he was flipped back around, he could hardly raise his head to look his lover in the eye.

 

“You like this,” Yifan mused, his eyes twinkling with mirth and Yixing ducked his head, unable to stop the flush from creeping up his cheeks.

 

“You like being manhandled and pushed around,” the bandit said and Yixing hung his head, only gasping when a knee nudged his legs further apart.

 

“I- ,” he whimpered when Yifan leaned closer, their lips only a hair’s breadth apart.

 

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Yifan’s tone was amused and a finger tipped his chin higher. Amber brown eyes locked into his and Yixing shuddered at the look in his gaze, hungry and lustful.

 

Yifan was still wet, his shirt clinging to his skin and he was hot, fingers digging into Yixing’s arms until it hurt, just a little bit.

 

“Please, I- I haven’t-,” Yixing stammered. He wanted him. There was no denying it.

 

The tension that had been simmering between them ever since Yixing was taken to him was rolling to a boil.

 

Every touch burned, filled with intent and heat.

 

Yixing gasped when he was kissed, more passionately than they ever had before, teeth nipping at his lower lip.

 

He kissed back fiercely, his entire body screaming with want.

 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Yifan growled and Yixing yanked at the ropes binding his wrists, desperate. He wanted to touch, so, so badly.

 

“I want to know why you have ropes on your person,” he gasped. Yifan’s eyes were pools of black, his pupils dilated with lust.

 

“For the uncooperative rogue or royal that passes through these trees,” a rough thumb rubbed against his jawline, gripping his chin tightly and Yixing whimpered, his knees buckling.

 

“You ever do this to them?” He arched when Yifan pressed a knee against his very apparent bulge, rubbing him hard.

 

“Not really, no,” the bandit growled as Yixing writhed helplessly, moans and groans emitting from his lips.

 

“You ever had this done to you?” Yixing shuddered when hot breath brushed over the shell of his ear, tickling him.

 

He shook his head, lips parting with a startled cry when Yifan pinned him harder against the tree, so tightly that he could hardly move.

 

“Do you want me to?”

 

“Yes, please!” Yixing cried out, his hips stuttering as he tried to rut against Yifan’s knee. His entire body was hot and he was flushed with want, near trembling for it.

 

If he cast his eyes down he would be able to see the discernible bulge in Yifan’s breeches. As it stood, he could feel it, stiff against his thigh.

 

Fingers curled around the waistband of his breeches and he yelped when they were pulled down, together with his under things.

 

“You’ve never been touched like this,” Yifan mused as he ran his fingers over the tip of Yixing’s dripping .

 

Yixing was ashamed at the depraved noise that left his lips at the touch, his hips jerking weakly.

 

He shook his head, arching back as his wrists worked against the restraints.

 

Yifan’s eyes held a glint in them as he ran his abnormally large hand along the crack of Yixing’s , tracing a finger delicately around his puckered rim.

 

Yixing made a sound, high pitched and desperate and he laughed.

 

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

 

He pulled out a pot of oil, seemingly out of nowhere and Yixing gaped, even as he spread his legs even further, his breath hitching when the finger against his rim pressed lightly inside.

 

“Why do you have that?” He gasped whimpering when the bandit drew out his hand, liberally spreading oil all over his fingers.

 

Yifan shrugged, dipping to kiss him. Teeth nipped at his lower lip and Yixing parted for him, arching into him as much as he could with his arms bound behind his back.

 

“I’m always prepared,” he purred against his lips and Yixing whined, chasing after him when he pulled away.

 

“Please-,” he begged as Yifan traced his rim once more, the tip of a finger lightly pressing inside.

 

“You’re so tight,” Yifan grunted as he pushed his finger in, Yixing throwing his head back with a cry that sent birds fluttering from the trees.

 

“Oi, hush,” Yixing whimpered when a large hand clamped down over his mouth, muffling his cry.

 

Yifan was gentle but his finger was thick and long and it burned enough for his eyes to well up with tears.

 

“Nnngh,” he moaned, fingers clenching and unclenching.

 

Yifan’s lips pressed against his sensitive neck, murmuring soft nothings into his skin as he stopped, waiting for him to adjust.

 

“Can you be quiet?” Yixing whimpered softly against his hand, his lips moving.

 

“I’ll have to gag you if you can’t,” it was a threat and a threat that Yixing liked very much, given how his twitched.

 

Yifan laughed at his widening eyes.

 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” He teased, rocking him slightly and Yixing let out a whine when his finger moved inside of him.

 

“What about a blindfold? You looked so very fetching that first night we met,” the bandit murmured, mouthing along his neck and Yixing squirmed.

 

He was so hard and he wanted more.

 

“This will burn a little more,” Yifan murmured and Yixing twitched at the feeling of his second lube coated finger pushing against his entrance.

 

His knees buckled and he was barely able to catch himself before the second finger forced its way in, a pitched whine spilling from his lips.

 

“Shhh,” Yifan replaced his hand with his lips, swallowing the shuddering whines that was emitting from Yixing’s mouth.

 

“One more time and I’ll gag you,” he warned and Yixing’s eyes rolled back in his head, his hips jerking.

 

Yixing whimpered and pleaded as he was scissored open, the burn somehow pleasurable to some sick twisted part of his mind.

 

He felt Yifan’s fingers brush up against something inside of him, an electric shock of pleasure turning his knees to jelly, a wail of pleasure spilling forth.

 

Only Yifan’s bruising grip on his hip kept him from crumbling entirely.

 

Yifan’s eyes were glittering as he dug through the pockets of Yixing’s breeches, tugging out the kerchief that the man always kept in there.

 

“You were just begging for it, weren’t you?” He teased as he balled up the fabric, shoving it into Yixing’s mouth without preamble.

 

“Mmmph,” Yixing mumbled, his eyes shiny with tears. His teeth clamped down hard on the fabric, his back arching when Yifan massaged his prostate once more, moans much more muffled by the fabric balled between his lips.

 

He was leaking, liquid dribbling from the head of his all over his breeches. The bark of the tree was rough against his skin, enough that they would leave marks later.

 

Yifan grunted when he dripped more oil over his third finger.

 

For a , he would need more than just two fingers, especially if he were to accommodate Yifan.

 

Yixing writhed, and whining high in his throat as Yifan pressed the last finger into him, splaying his fingers as wide as they would go.

 

His eyes filled with tears as it burned, far more than it had ever done. Yifan’s fingers were long and reached deep, further than his own slender ones could.

 

Yixing had never felt so full in his life and Yifan had only just him, his own still tucked away inside his pants. Judging from the impressive bulge in Yifan’s breeches, he was going to be very grateful for all the prep.

 

He was panting, his hips stuttering jerkily as Yifan twisted his fingers inside him, as far as they would go.

 

“Nnngh!” He tried to warn him, his balls drawing up. But Yifan was faster.

 

Large fingers curled around the base of his , squeezing hard enough for Yixing to cry out in pain, his eyes blowing wide.

 

The swirling in the pit of his stomach was cut short and he was left trembling, shuddering against the tree.

 

Yifan clicked his tongue in disapproval, withdrawing his fingers and Yixing whined in protest at the sudden emptiness.

 

“What would your father say, hm? The high born son of the sheriff bound and gagged by his greatest enemy, practically begging for him?” Yifan mused, running his finger around the tip of Yixing’s leaking member.

 

Yixing twitched, babbling incoherently behind the gag when Yifan squeezed him once more in warning.

 

He was sure he had to look a sight, sweat dripping down his body, his hair matted to his forehead. His breeches were half down his legs, spread apart with his arms bound behind him.

 

He was completely at Yifan’s mercy and he loved it.

 

Yifan pulled down his own breeches, and Yixing whimpered at the sight.

 

He had not seen many men before. Read: any. But Yifan had to be the most well-endowed.

 

Large hands curled around his thighs and Yifan pressed their foreheads together.

 

“Up,” long finger’s tapped against his skin and Yixing barely had enough strength to heave himself into a jump, his legs wrapping around Yifan’s waist.

 

What he lacked in strength however, Yifan more than made up for it, supporting him easily.

 

Something brushed against the rim of his entrance and Yixing whined, squirming with anticipation.

 

“Stop that,” Yifan’s tone was stern as he lined himself up. Yixing arched his neck, the veins in his throat standing out as the bandit slipped inside, the burn near impossible to bear.

 

He whimpered, panting harshly as Yifan moved, pushing inside slowly. His eyes were filling with tears and his fingers curled, nails digging into his flesh to distract himself from the pain.

 

“Is this alright?” Yifan breathed against his skin and he nodded, blinking the tears out of his eyes.

 

“Ngh,” he rasped and the bandit kissed his nose softly, as if in apology and Yixing twitched, his bound arms aching to pull him closer.

 

Yifan let him slide down a little further and he gasped, his hips jerking.

 

The head of Yifan’s brushed against the same point and pleasure exploded in stars behind his eyes, his cries only just muffled by the sodden fabric between his lips.

 

“God, you’re still so tight,” Yifan grunted as he began to move, his hips snapping against Yixing’s thighs.

 

Tree bark scratched against his back as he threw back his head, yelping into the gag when he struck it against the trunk of the tree. That made his head spin and the little scratches against his skin the tree bark made sent little pinpricks of pleasure through all the way down south.

 

Yifan’s lips found his sensitive neck and he squirmed, clenching hard enough for the bandit to gasp, shuddering against him.

 

It was so filthy, him pressed up against the tree, completely helpless and Yifan with his out, ing into him so hard that bits of tree bark were chipping off, tumbling down onto the earth.

 

Every time Yifan nailed him right in the prostrate, Yixing saw stars.

 

He was drooling around the gag, saliva dripping down his chin as Yifan pounded into him, his body shuddering with every .

 

“I’m close,” the bandit panted, fingers digging so hard into his thighs that Yixing was sure they would bruise, “s’been a while.”

 

Yixing grunted in reply, arching. He clenched and Yifan moaned, loud and unabashedly, possibly scaring away all creatures within a five mile radius of the clearing.

 

A hand wrapped around his neglected and he whined, his hips jerking and twitching as Yifan him with one hand, the other still curled around his thigh.

 

It was incredibly attractive, that the bandit could still hold him up as he rammed into him, nails digging into the flesh of his thighs.

 

Yixing could almost see his approaching, his stomach pitching. He moaned into the gag, wrists straining helplessly against the ropes as he climbed the peak.

 

He screamed into the gag as with one last twist of Yifan’s wrist, he was finishing, spilling white all over the bandit’s hand.

 

Yifan’s breathing was uneven, heavier and heavier. His s stuttered in rhythm. Yixing squeaked in surprise when hot splashed into him moments later, Yifan burying his face into the crook of his neck to muffle his moans.

 

“Damn it,” he heard as Yifan pulled away, carefully lifting him off his . His knees buckled the moment they hit the ground and if the bandit had not been there to catch him, he would have fallen to his knees.

 

Yixing whimpered as he was set gently onto the ground, the grass damp and prickly against his bare buttocks. His back was aching and there were probably brown streaks on his white tunic from the bark rubbing against it.

 

He watched, boneless, as Yifan tucked himself back in, looking only a little flushed and sweaty as if he had not just been screwing Yixing senseless moments ago.

 

“Was that alright?” The sodden ball of fabric was pulled out and Yixing could feel his mouth again. He stuck his tongue out, as if to get the feeling back and Yifan laughed, kneeling to look him in the eye.

 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk,” Yixing answered, squirming a little. The coarse ropes around his wrists were beginning to chafe and he was sure his arms were covered with red, rope burns.

 

It was going to be hell hiding them from his father.

 

His knees were still shaky even after Yifan had cleaned them both up the best he could, carrying him to the nearby stream for a bath.

 

The sun was already setting by the time he had recovered enough to walk.

 

“I will walk you,” Yifan murmured into his hair as he buried himself into his arms, his amber eyes glowing in the light of the setting sun.

 

Yixing hummed, tilting his head up for a kiss before large hands were lacing together with his. He was limping as Yifan helped him off the bank of the stream, his clothes still slightly damp from the water.

 

“You will be feeling that,” the bandit teased as they walked towards the edge of the forest, their hands tightly entwined together. Yixing stuck his tongue out, ignoring the fact that it made him look like a child.

 

“That’s your fault,” he grumbled, his cheeks slightly pink. Yifan raised his eyebrows, and Yixing smiled to himself when he felt him thumb gently over the red marks the ropes had left in his skin.

 

They parted at the edge of the forest, close to the sheriff’s estate and Yixing felt very proud of himself when he managed to steal one last kiss before Yifan vanished back into the forest.

 

He did not see the dark eyes watching them from the window of the house, leading to his father’s study.

 

-

 

“You’re insatiable,” Yifan grunted as Yixing rolled off of him, the sun lighting upon his dark hair. His shirt was sticking to him, clinging to his skin in the most fetching way.

 

He rubbed a thumb roughly across Yixing’s swollen lips, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face.

 

Yixing was staring down at him with the brightest smile on his face, poking proudly at the bruise he had left on his throat.

 

Yifan winced at the movement, catching his wrist with a scolding looking on his face.

 

“Ow,” he pouted and the sheriff’s son laughed, bending to kiss him once more.

 

“Don’t be a child,” he chastised, “you’ve left worst on me.”

 

Indeed he had.

 

Yifan was very proud of the fact that Yixing had to chase his attendants out of the bathroom simply because of the massive love bites he had left on the man’s back and shoulders. He had to promise to be more discreet about his marks such that no one would suspect.

 

The sheriff himself would blow a fuse if he ever found out that his sweet darling boy was sleeping with the most notorious bandit in the lands.

 

He kissed the inside of the white wrist gently, watching Yixing melt into the gesture.

 

“I should go,” he murmured reluctantly as Yifan sat up, the covers sliding off the both of them completely.

 

It was just the two of them at the hut, the others having left for their patrol early. Yifan had allowed himself to sleep in, until Yixing arrived, bright and early. They had made out a little, slept a little and then made out a little more, until he was wide awake.

 

“Did you just come to see me?” He asked as Yixing swung off the bed, leaning down to kiss him.

 

“Yes, my love,” the sheriff’s son replied, dropping an eyelid in a wink, “I have business to attend to with my father today.”

 

“Playing with fire,” Yifan hopped off, still only dressed in his breeches. Yixing was smiling up at him as he leaned down, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear just to see him blush.

 

“I like that.”

 

He tangled their fingers together and Yixing squeezed his hand gently.

 

“I do wish I could stay,” he said wistfully and Yifan bent, pressing his lips against his forehead tenderly.

 

“Look for me when you return, dearest. I’ll bring you something sweet,” he murmured and Yixing leaned into his arms.

 

“You never have to bribe me with sweets,” the sheriff’s son replied, standing on his tip toes to kiss him once more, slipping his fingers free.

 

“I just like to,” Yifan replied, tugging him back in before he could get too far. Yixing was laughing softly as he peppered his face with kisses, a large hand wrapping around his slender waist.

 

“I’ll see you when you return?” He asked, watching the sunlight frame his lover’s body as they finally drew apart, already missing Yixing’s warmth.

 

His heart stuttered in his chest when the sheriff’s son turned back to smile at him, so sweetly before ducking out of the hut with a wave.

 

He was certainly looking forward to the next time they would meet.

 

When Yifan thought about meeting Yixing’s father, he thought about the accidental ones, or the ones where the sheriff sent men to pursue him through the Sherwood forest in the hopes of capturing him.

 

He certainly did not think he would find the sheriff between two of his men, bleeding half to death and begging for him to save his son two days after Yixing failed to reappear in the forest.

 

“What’s happened?” He barked gruffly as his men laid the sheriff on a cot, cutting open his shirt to reveal the extent of damage on his body.

 

The man was babbling, almost incoherently, something about his son and bandits. His wounds were full of splinters, which led Yifan to believe that he had been in a carriage collision.

 

He crouched down beside the cot, taking the man’s hand in his.

 

It was cold and clammy and the sheriff was trembling, sweating.

 

“Where is Yixing?”

 

The name seemed to snap the man right out of whatever haze he had been in and his gaze sharpened, latching onto Yifan.

 

“My son, please, save my son,” he gasped, squirming so hard that Chanyeol grunted, a large hand pressing into his hip to hold him still.

 

“What happened to him?” Yifan forced down the panic, keeping his face as calm as he kept the sheriff talking, to distract him from the men pulling splinters from his bloodied leg.

 

“They took him!” The sheriff gasped, fingers clenching around Yifan’s hand, his nails digging into his flesh so hard that they left crescents in his skin.

 

“Who took him?”

 

“A band of men. I don’t know. Thieves, bastards. They took my son!” He was beginning to babble again, his skin hot with fever.

 

With one last yank, the last splinter came free and the men set about washing the wound, cleaning and dressing it as well as they could.

 

The only serious wounds were the knife slashes down his leg and a few cuts across his chest and arms, where he must have raised his hand to protect himself against sharp blades.

 

“Where did you find him?” Yifan asked as he laid the man back down to rest.

 

“On our way back from the next town. He was lying under an upturned carriage with no horse and the driver already dead.”

 

One would be surprised by the way he treated the sheriff but even though they were enemies, Yifan was not so heartless to leave a man to die, and neither were his band of men. They valued compassion above all else.

 

Even if he tried to prosecute them after he recovered, they would do everything in their power to save his life.

 

Yifan watched as his men scrambled for the brandy, the stinging causing the man to howl in agony as they cleaned the wounds, his body thrashing violently in the cot. But he settled soon enough, slipping away into dreamland.

 

He cried out in his sleep, calling a name Yifan remembered and for his son in such desolation that the bandit’s heart ached for him.

 

It was the same name that was etched inside the silver ring that Yixing wore about his throat.

 

“There were tracks, Robin,” Jongin, Chanyeol’s companion spoke up after everything had settled, the sheriff snoring away in his little cot. Yifan could have laughed but fear was a rock in his stomach and his heart was balled up in his throat.

 

“There was blood on the ground and cloth torn from clothes. And we found this,” Chanyeol reappeared from washing his hands in the stream, holding a pendant in his hand that made Yifan’s heart stop.

 

It was Yixing’s necklace, the one he had stolen from him. There was rust coloured stains crusted onto one side of the ring and the cord on which it hung too was stained.

 

“He fought hard,” Chanyeol murmured.

 

“He’s not dead,” Yifan heard himself saying, so strongly that he could almost believe it himself.

 

He had to believe that.

 

There was so much that he had not said, so much that he had not done.

 

Yixing could not be dead.

 

He refused to believe anything else.

 

“The sheriff said they took him. They wanted him to survive. Ransom, or- or revenge, I don’t know. But he’s alive. He has to be.”

 

Yifan could still see Yixing’s sweet smile as he stood in the doorway with sunlight framing him as he promised to return with treats from the next town over. He could still feel the kisses he had pressed against his lips, fingers curling in his hair.

 

“Robin, Robin!” It was beginning to rain when Yifan stormed out of the hut, pulling the hood of his cloak over his shoulders.

 

He slung his quiver over his shoulders, pulling open the stable door.

 

“The rain will wash away the trail if I do not go now,” he snapped when Chanyeol came running out, his cloak fastened over him, his gloves half on.

 

“You’re not going alone, Robin,” his friend snarked back.

 

“The sheriff needs someone-.”

 

“Jongin will watch him. And Minseok will be back soon from his patrol.”

 

Yifan swallowed as Chanyeol grabbed his hand, setting the bloodstained ring in his palm.

 

“He wouldn’t want you to go alone,” his tone was gentle and Yifan could feel the tears balling in his throat, threatening to spill over.

 

He swung round quickly, flinging the saddle over his startled horse. The animal was not very pleased with being woken up in the middle of the night and complained soundly as Yifan saddled him.

 

Chanyeol led the way, the rain beginning to drip harder and faster.

 

With their horses, they did not have far to go.

 

The carriage was still on its side, overturned and Yifan could see the little mound where his men had probably buried the dead driver.

 

Even as rain began pour down from the heavens, they could see hoof prints in the mud, leading away and into the trees.

 

As Chanyeol had said, there were cloth on branches and thorns, possibly torn from Yixing’s clothes as he was dragged through the thicket. The tips of some branches were stained with blood and Yifan could imagine them slicing across delicate skin.

 

His throat closed up as he imagined how terrified and alone his lover must have felt, screaming and kicking for his father even as they took him farther and farther away from home.

 

Ignoring the pain and terror sitting like a rock in his stomach, he dismounted, pushing his way through the thicket of thorns.

 

He could hear Chanyeol following close behind him, slicing apart the briars with his knife.

 

Whoever the bandits were, they made little effort to cover their tracks.

 

Yifan tracked them till the river, where the waters were roaring and crashing, the river swollen from the rain.

 

There were patches of blood on the riverbank, and Yifan’s stomach clenched. He was not squeamish with blood but the very thought of his beloved bleeding at the hands of some unknown man carved pain in his heart.

 

“They can’t have gone far,” Chanyeol muttered as he stared out across the river, “the river was already this high before he left.”

 

They followed the blood patches until a blood curdling scream chilled their veins, causing goose bumps to rise on their arms.

 

“Yixing,” Yifan would know that voice anywhere. His heart leapt to his throat and he broke into a run, following the terrified screams.

 

He crashed through the undergrowth, the fury in his body mounting when the bush parted to reveal Yixing curled up on the ground, his wrists bound together at his front.

 

There was a man straddling him, leering gleefully as he struggled.

 

His shirt was torn and ripped and Yifan could see where rough hands had grabbed him, creating bruises on white skin.

 

The man leaned forward, flicking his knife at Yixing’s already torn shirt and he flinched, desperately struggling to get away.

 

But his legs were pinned beneath him and the one that Yifan could see was crusted with dried blood.

 

There were other men around them, all cackling as Yixing screamed again, freezing in place when the man lowered his knife towards his groin.

 

Yifan could not hear him clearly but his lips were moving, his expression pleading as he strained.

 

His blood was boiling, roaring in his ears but he knew hat he had to remain calm. Any sort of movement or sound could give away their position and put Yixing into even more danger.

 

Slowly, he drew his bow, settling an arrow in the bowstring.

 

The feather tickled his cheek as he drew it back, aiming for the man’s heart as he sat back on his haunches, still taunting Yixing with his knife.

 

The very moment the knife was clear of Yixing’s body, Yifan loosed the arrow, jumping to his feet as the man fell backward, his aim true.

 

He drew his sword, tearing into the clearing as the other men leapt to their feet, drawing their weapons.

 

“Robin,” the name was hissed out between clenched teeth as Yifan stood over Yixing protectively, alone in a circle of wolves.

 

Yixing was cowering, shying away as Yifan raised his sword, his teeth bared and snarling.

 

“Always ruining our fun you are, Robin,” a man spat and Yifan growled back.

 

“Let him go.”

 

“Why should we? His father is the most wretched bandit of them all! Living in the lap of luxury while we common folk starve for want of food.”

 

“The boy is his world, after his wife died. We left him alive, he ought to be grateful.”

 

“Since when do you work for the sheriff, Robin?”

 

Yifan gritted his teeth. He did not tear his eyes from the pack of men circling him, as much as he wanted to make sure Yixing was alright.

 

If he showed any weakness, these men would exploit it straightaway.

 

“I do not work for the sheriff,” he bit out, keeping his body positioned over Yixing. He edged his boot closer to his bound hands, hoping that the man would get the hint.

 

“Yet you shield his son,” a crooked nosed man hollered from the crowd and there were answering agreements.

 

“His son is innocent. You would hold his life responsible for his father’s actions?” Yifan questioned. He could see Yixing moving out of the corner of his eye, curling up into a ball as if he were afraid.

 

Fingers brushed against the side of his boot and he remained still.

 

“Children starve every day, Robin, while their parents struggle to pay the sheriff’s taxes. He lives comfortably in his father’s mansion and does not lift a finger to save us. Can you say he is not like his father?”

 

Yifan chewed on his lip, trying to stall them. Yixing’s hand was in his boot, drawing out the dagger he kept in it.

 

He kept his gaze steady, unwavering so as not to draw any attention to him.

 

“I may be a bandit but I am also the protector of Sherwood Forest. I do not allow this savagery to happen here. Leave now and be glad that I’m allowing you all to keep your hides,” he snarled and the men growled back.

 

“You are our protector, not the protector of the rich and wealthy who steal from the poor.”

 

Yixing was already free from his bonds but he was still beneath him, listening.

 

“I can stop him,” he spoke up before Yifan could say a word.

 

His voice was wavering as he tried to rise to his feet, his injured leg buckling.

 

Anger reared its head in Yifan’s chest as he reached to steady himself.

 

“I can speak to my father, but please let us go. Violence will not solve anything. If you let us go now, I give you my word, I will speak to my father.”

 

“If the bastard lives,” one of the men snorted and Yixing went very pale.

 

“I will speak to him,” he said firmly, meeting the eyes of every man who stood before him, weapons raised.

 

“You will all be pardoned. I hold enough sway over him,” he pleaded when it looked like not one of them would budge.

 

Yifan held his tongue. He knew Yixing felt for every villager who had to pay the exorbitant taxes that his father imposed. He gave every coin he could to the children who came begging and often brought bread to the poorest household in secret.

 

“If you kill me, my father will have every one of you hunted down and hanged.”

 

The threat stirred the men, their brows furrowing as they tried to decipher if the sheriff was truly capable of such a feat and if the death of his son would inspire such actions.

 

“We know where you live, boy. If you speak only weak lies, we will hunt you down and skin you before your father’s eyes,” the leader of the pack growled and Yixing shivered, pressing closer to Yifan’s side.

 

Yifan could feel their eyes burning into him as he led Yixing out of the clearing, never once turning his back on them.

 

When they returned to the river, they found Chanyeol with two of their own men, pacing the riverbank.

 

“Robin!” Chanyeol gasped when they emerged from the thicket, Yixing leaning heavily against Yifan’s shoulders.

 

“You ran so fast that I lost you in the dark.” His eyes skimmed over Yixing, widening at the sight of his wounds.

 

Yixing was in pain, his breathing heavy and laboured as he dragged his injured leg behind him. Yifan had not gotten a close look but he could see what looked like knife cuts all over his chest and body and several deep gashes along his arms and legs.

 

“You came for me,” he murmured, Yifan catching him with a surprised cry when he collapsed, his leg finally giving out.

 

He was tiny in his arms, shivering and wet and bloody.

 

Yifan lifted him in his arms, his heart pounding in his chest as he mounted his horse.

 

They had to get him to a physician and quickly.

 

-

 

When Yixing awoke, the last thing he had expected to see was his father, standing by his bedside.

 

He sat bolt upright, crying out when a lightning bolt of pain shot through his abdomen, his father moving to catch him.

 

“You’re awake,” a rough hand caressed his cheek gently and Yixing leaned into the touch.

 

“You’re alive, Papa,” he gasped, relief flooding him. He caught up his father’s wrist, drawing him close enough to fling his arms around him, eliciting another shout of pain but it was worth it when his father squeezed him close and he could feel wet tears dripping onto his shoulder.

 

“Where’s Yi-Robin?” He asked as they pulled apart, his father cradling his face in his hands.

 

The expression on his father’s face made his blood run cold.

 

“Papa?” Yixing reached for him just as his father pulled out of his grasp.

 

“I told you to stay away from him, didn’t I?” He said stiffly, his jaw set. Yixing shook his head, pushing of the covers, panic beginning to fill his heart.

 

“Papa, please, he saved my life. What did you do to him?” He cried, swinging his legs over the bed. His father moved to catch him when his knees buckled, the pain making his eyes sting with tears and nausea swim in his stomach.

 

“It’s best if you don’t know,” the sheriff said and Yixing curled his fingers around his father’s biceps as he was lifted back into bed, digging hard enough for him to wince.

 

“If he’s dead I will never forgive you,” he trembled as he said it, not daring to look up at his father’s eyes.

 

His father only stepped away, remaining silent.

 

Yixing only heard through whispered rumours as he limped through the town, that the great bandit Robin Hood has finally been captured and was awaiting trial in the dungeons.

 

The guards refused to let him through, no matter how much he stood and begged, until his father’s men came to collect him and his father would not even see him when he was sent home, crying and sobbing.

 

He was confined in the house, the servants keeping him from sneaking out.

 

There was nothing he could do to stop the pending execution, not even send a warning to Robin’s men.

 

But the day before the execution, as the servants were drawing his bath, he heard them from his bed, which he had been refusing to leave save for his baths.

 

“Did you hear? Robin Hood is gone.”

 

“What? Do you mean they executed him early? The townsfolk were hoping to see him one last time. You know how much they adored him.”

 

“No, I mean he escaped. Someone broke into the prison, knocked out the guards and took him away. It’s all very strange.”

 

“Who could be skilled enough to break into that prison? God the sheriff must be livid. We best stay out of his way for the next days.”

 

“That’s the strange thing. The sheriff interrogated some villagers but they kept mum. He sent men into the forest, but none as many as he usually does and all of them his most unskilled.”

 

“Do you think it’s because of his son-,”

 

By this point, Yixing had heard enough. He pushed aside the covers, rustling them hard enough for the servants to hear.

 

The conversation had ceased by the time he stepped into the bathroom, shedding his robes.

 

There was steam rising from the tub and rose petals floated on the water, filling the air with their fragrance.

 

“Out,” he ordered, dropping his robes onto the ground.

 

The servants gave little shrieks and fled.

 

His heart was thumping wildly as he slid into the slightly too warm bathwater, inhaling the rose scented steam.

 

Yifan was alive.

 

And he was free.

 

The words of the rogues trickled back into his mind and he sank beneath the water, swallowing back the truth that he knew to be true.

 

He could no longer see him.

 

It was too dangerous.

 

And Yifan worked for the people. That was the entire reason why the townsfolk adored him.

 

If word got out that he had been sleeping with the sheriff’s son, his credibility would be at risk.

 

The people would no longer believe in him. That would put him at a bigger risk as they would not cover for him as they did now.

 

Of course, the townsfolk would have seen who took the infamous Robin Hood. They just did not wish him ill enough to speak it.

 

It was enough for him to know that Yifan lived.

 

He surfaced, pushing his hair back.

 

The scent of roses was cloyingly sweet, sickening as he climbed out, the water dripping down his face concealing the tears he shed over his decision.

 

-

 

Yifan thought of the sheriff’s son often when he made his rounds.

Yixing had yet to make his way into the forest to speak to him.

 

Surely by now he would already have realised that Yifan had escaped from the dungeons? The townsfolk talked, a lot.

 

He would have sought him out himself but it was still much too dangerous for him to leave the forest.

 

Patrols had been dull and evading the sheriff’s men had been relatively easy, with the bumbling idiots that he sent that crashed through the forest with the noise of a thousand men.

 

Yifan suspected that that was the sheriff’s way of repaying them, by dropping the security around the prison and allowing Chanyeol and Minseok to break him out.

 

But why had he not heard from Yixing?

 

Yifan missed him, the pang in his heart strong enough for him to want to take a risk and leave the cover of the forest.

 

“Still no sign of him,” Chanyeol reported when he returned from his patrols, “but we ran into some of the sheriff’s idiots.”

 

Yifan flagged a little.

 

“Perhaps it is a good thing that he stays away,” Chanyeol said cautiously, “the rogues were right. We serve the people and they are the only reason we managed to get away so many times. Because the people love us.”

 

Yifan knew what they were saying was right.

 

Perhaps even Yixing thought that way. Perhaps that was the reason what he did not come to see him.

 

But how could he let him go so easily? What they had had been nothing like the flings with the lasses of the town.

 

It was more than just a fling.

 

Perhaps he would give him more time. If Yixing did not come to the forest, he would seek him out, the sheriff be damned.

 

Another week passed, agonisingly slowly without Yixing.

 

There was still no news of the man, no letter, no sign of him.

 

The townsfolk whispered and Chanyeol brought back word that the sheriff’s home had been bustling with activity recently and the servants had said that there had been a lot of packing, as if someone was leaving.

 

Yifan’s heart crumpled when he heard.

 

Was it Yixing who was leaving? Or was the sheriff finally going?

 

It would be brilliant news if it were the latter and heart breaking if the former.

 

News finally broke out that the sheriff’s son was leaving town, on his own accord to further his studies. His carriage would travel through the Sherwood Forest to the next town over before he would go to the port and sail away.

 

Yifan was not one to stew over such things.

 

He mounted his horse, slung his bow and quiver over his back the day Yixing’s carriage was due to leave and rode for the main road.

 

There were plenty of tall trees to hide in and bushes to conceal his horse.

 

The carriage was not grand or extravagant but it was flanked by four men carrying lances on each corner.

 

It seemed that the sheriff had taken security far more seriously when it came to his beloved son.

 

Still, that did not stop Yifan from drawing his bow.

 

The shots were clean and quick, the four men not even knowing what had hit them.

 

The driver was frozen when he leapt down from the tree, twirling his knife.

 

“Who goes there?
 

He called, smirking when the driver stuttered, clearly terrified out of his wits.

 

“The sheriff’s son.”

 

Yifan did not have time to reply before the carriage door swung open and Yixing stepped out, draped in a travelling cloak, his dagger in hand.

 

His beauty took his breath away, even when he was pointing a weapon at him.

 

“Who do you think-,” he froze, words falling short when he took in the sight of Yifan standing before him.

 

“Yi- Robin,” he breathed and Yifan cocked an eyebrow. With a well-placed punch, the driver was unconscious in his seat and Yifan was stalking over to the man who had stolen his heart.

 

“Were you planning to leave without a goodbye?”

 

He asked, catching Yixing’s chin in his hand.

 

The sheriff’s son stood frozen, just staring as if he could not believe his eyes.

 

“I- I,” he did not seem to have the words to speak.

 

“Turns out you’re as much of a thief as I am,” Yifan said softly, caressing his cheek.

 

Yixing leaned into the touch and he smiled, dipping his head to press their foreheads together.
 

“What could I possibly have stolen from the great Robin Hood?” Yixing exhaled, close enough that Yifan could feel his breath on his lips.

 

“My heart,” Yifan wrapped his fingers around his slender wrist, carefully pressing Yixing’s palm against his chest over his heart.

 

Yixing gazed up at him and Yifan leaned forward, closing the gap between their lips.

 

Yixing’s fingers curled into his shirt and he clung on even when they pulled apart.
 

“Don’t go, Yixing,” Yifan whispered and Yixing laid his head against his chest.

 

“It’s for the best,” he answered, beginning to pull away.

 

“No, it’s not. You care about the people just as much as I do. What if you stayed? What if you joined me?”

 

Yixing tensed.

 

“What about my father? What would he say? What would the people say if they found out that the sheriff’s son had gone and joined Robin Hood and his Merry Men?”

 

“They would love you more for it,” Yifan breathed and Yixing hugged him tightly.

 

“But I would never see Father again. I would break his heart.”

 

-

 

Weeks later, the sheriff received a roll of parchment, pinned to his door with a red fletched arrow.

 

The words were neat and printed, signed by a hand that he was more than familiar with.

 

Papa, I love you and I miss you. But I had to follow my heart. I’ve joined the Merry Men. I know that you may not approve but if you wish to write me, leave your message beneath the old yew tree. I will see it.

 

I hope you will still love me for my decision.

 

Your loving son,

Yixing

 

Yixing kept watch, hidden high up in a tree when the man set foot into the forest, alone. He bore a little scroll of parchment in his hand and seemed very nervous.

 

The man tucked the parchment into the lowest branches of the yew tree, looking around as if in search of someone.

 

“Yixing?”

 

He called, very softly, and Yixing could not stop himself.

 

Yifan and the others were nearby anyway. They would keep him safe.

 

He scrambled down the tree, ignoring the branches scratching down his arms.

 

“Papa, I’m here,” he said and the look of relief on his father’s face was enough for him to launch himself into his arms.

 

“Yixing, oh, my boy!”

 

“Are you alright with this, Papa?” Yixing asked after they pulled apart, his father cupping his face as if to have a proper look at him.

 

“With you being a criminal?” His gaze darkened a little and Yixing felt a little thrill of fear.

 

“No, I’m not. My son was supposed to grow up to be an upstanding citizen who obeys the laws, not an outlaw running wild in the forest.”

 

A hand smoothed gently over his cheek and relief filtered through him when his father’s eyes softened.

 

“But I love my son and I want you to be happy. If this makes you happy, I’ll leave you to it. Just...”

 

“Just come back and visit alright? I promise you won’t be arrested.”

 

Yixing nodded and his father wrapped him up in a hug once more, winking at Yifan who was smiling at him from behind.

 

It was not until weeks later that the sheriff’s house was robbed and every single one of the townsfolk discovered a little bag of gold on their doorstep.

 

A little slip of paper on the inside read: Courtesy of Robin and his Merry Men, in handwriting too neatly printed to be Robin’s.

 

Remarkably, the sheriff seemed only resigned that his wealth had been stolen and made no move about it.

 

The townspeople marvelled over it, and the disappearance of his son, whose carriage had been discovered abandoned in the middle of the forest.

 

The sheriff did not seem bothered however.

 

His smile was kinder now even as he wandered through the town alone.

 

A ruckus on the edge of the town square caught his attention and to his surprise, his men dragged a young man towards him.

 

The man’s face was partially concealed behind a mask but the cheeky grin and dimple in the side of his cheek made no mistake of who was behind it.

 

“Hello, Papa,” there was a lot of yelling and the man was yanked away, the guard holding him crumpling to the ground.

 

Robin himself was holding onto the man, one eyelid dropping in a wink as he spirited him away, the townsfolk watching on in wonder when the sheriff merely sighed and shook his head.

 

“It will do you well to stop robbing my home! Those things were going to go to you!”

 

And so Robin committed his most successful robbery of all time, stealing the sheriff’s son’s heart, from right under the sheriff’s nose.