Who: Tuck and Will Scarlet What: Bad dreams and cuddles and probably more talking When: Tuesday eaaaarly morning Where: Parsonage Warnings/Notes: Dream memories of torture and being unable to breathe, and then smut because of course!
Tuck could feel the cold metal of the shackle around his neck, cutting into his skin. Heavy footsteps resounded in the dark, and dread filled Tuck's otherwise empty belly. The sheriff was coming back again. He made his presence known about once a day, throwing his weight around, promising Tuck his freedom or at least a meal in exchange for something Tuck could never give him.
In exchange for Robin Hood.
Light flooded the basement, chasing away the shadows. Tuck had to blink the pain from his eyes, and a moment later he felt the shackle press unto his windpipe as the sheriff lifted him by the chain around his neck. With Tuck's arms tied painfully behind him, there was nothing he could do, but choke and splutter and struggle to his feet. The sheriff did this every day, forcing a starving Tuck to stand while he interrogated him.
The sheriff looped the chain over a hook above Tuck's head, and he backed away. Tuck was left there, shackle cutting into his neck, no give in the chain. If he stumbled, if his knees went weak, if he fainted, he was done for. He was going to die, strangled to death by the shackle.
"Where is Robin Hood," Malcolm's cold voice whispered from behind Tuck's shoulder. "Friar, you have held out for weeks now. Surely you must see that this ends one of two ways. Do you really want to stay here forever?"
The whimper that tried to escape Tuck's lips died in his throat. No. No he didn't want to stay here forever, but he wasn't giving up Robin either.
"I'm roasting a leg of lamb upstairs, Friar," Malcolm drawled at him. "Surely you can smell that. You can join me for a meal, just tell me. No one could blame you."
Tuck could smell it. That delicious scent had been torturing him for hours already. He squeezed his eyes closed, refusing to look at the sheriff as he said, "No. No." But his refusal was so much weaker than it had been yesterday. All he could think of was delicious meat, and roasted potatoes cooked in the fat- How he would give anything for just a bite. Just a taste. Anything except Robin Hood. A small whimper did escape his lips then. "Fuck you," he said, those words with more gusto behind them.
His legs were going weak, his knees buckling. It had been weeks now since he'd eaten anything, and he couldn't hold up his body weight for long. God, god he needed to be let down. But the sheriff circled him, standing in front of him, his cold, grey eyes fixed on Tuck's. And then he stayed there, watching as Tuck swayed-
It felt like hours, and Tuck tried. He tried to stay upright, but he was so weak, so dizzy. So...cold? Suddenly he couldn't move at all, his entire body frozen like a block of ice. He cried out, but the sound was cut off by the shackle as he fell-
He couldn't breathe-
Tuck's mouth opened wide as he tried to drag breath into his lungs, his feet scrabbling for purchase, but there was none to be found. He shackle was unrelenting, cutting off his air so mercilessly and he couldn't even fight against it as he hung there, the life choking out of him-
Tuck dragged an awful, gasping, rattly breath into his lungs, screaming on his out breath. He flailed his limbs, relieved that they moved, though that only sent him spilling to the floor from his bed, his head connecting hard with the nightstand. It hurt enough that he stopped screaming and flailing, swapping it for cradling his head, his throat convulsing around strangled sobs. The bedroom was dark, the clock on the nightstand reading two oh three in the morning, not that he could see it from the floor.