Chapter Text
Over the next few days, things changed. But they also stayed the same. The brothers picked up their relationship with Robin where they left off, and regarded him with the same politeness and due respect they previously had. Louis still fussed over him, Albert amused himself in his company every night, and William was kind yet cold, entirely pragmatic without a trace of the man who hugged Robin upon his return from police custody; all this happened during their new routine, which included eating breakfast together in the morning, Louis seeing them off for work, and coming together again later in the day.
It almost felt like there had been no change.
Almost.
There was, Robin dared not say admit, the matter of touch .
He hadn’t noticed, at first, too shaken by the happenstance and eager for comfort. A hug here, a strong hold there, a hand keeping him steady: all had been wanted and welcome; Robin had readily thrown himself to their easily given contact. Like cold man finding fire in a tundra, a thirsty traveller discovering an oasis.
He forget, in his salvation, that fire could burn and water could drown.
So Robin grew complaisant and agreeable. The hugs grew longer. The embraces became more intimate. Robin, small and unproudly lithe, fit easily between long arms sliding around his waist, and his touch-starved temperament soaked up the fingers carding through his hair, massaging his scalp while he lay down on one brother’s lap or the other. Clothes slowly got shed, and Robin readily accepted bare arms just as he had accepted those caresses. Legs of pants got hiked up, on occasion, and decorum lost its meaning in the hot study, where he was free to unbutton his collar without fear of repercussion.
Still, Robin didn’t realise the depth of his docility until one night, when Moran and Porlock had come over for dinner and tea.
“And so I approached her,” Moran explained passionately to his audience in the study, standing up and walking across an imaginative ballroom, bowing, “And asked her for a dance. She smiled behind that lace fan of hers, and we were off.”
Straightening up, he placed his around a body they couldn’t see, and danced the most ridiculous moves Robin had ever seen. He laughed, throwing his head back. Beside him, Albert expressed his delight with an easy smile.
“I got my hand on her waist and the other on her dainty wrist. As the song wore on, we danced our way out the ballroom and into the garden, beautfiul and large enough to get lost in easily, if you catch my meaning,” Moran stepped towards the sofa Robin was seated on, winking audaciously, dragging a finger above Robin’s crossed knee. Robin snorted, hitting him with the throw pillow on his lap.
“How scandalous of you, Mr Moran. In polite company, no less,” he grinned shamelessly, “Tell us more.”
“Well,” Moran retreated, looking very proud, “The song was distant, now. We were deep in the garden. We stopped at a dead end,” he suddenly reached forward, and grabbing Robin’s arm, dragged him from the sofa. Albert and William watched him go with great delight. Then, Moran cornered Robin against a shelf, and did not stop at the surprise on Robin’s face or the shocked yelp from his mouth, “And my mind was flushed with temptation and wine.”
He dragged a hand up the side of Robin’s leg, and Robin cringed, shivering. Moran stopped at his hips, and only pride and embarrassment stopped Robin from seeking help from outside, abandoned as he was at the mercy of the war veteran, “And?” he asked, lifting his head in defiance of himself, “Was she equally tempted?”
“Enough to betray herself,” Moran said slyly, dragging his hand shamelessly across his waist, stopping on his navel, “For I discovered her secret, beneath the layers of frock and skirts.”
Robin stared, mouth falling agape, “ No .”
“A knob that could rival most men!” Moran declared, throwing his head to laugh. He pulled Robin forward without warning, dipping him ungracefully by the waist, ignoring all protest and delighting in his poor excitement, “The poor lass packed a mighty sword.”
“How unfortunate for you,” Robin said unpleasantly among the laughter in the room, twirled this way and that by Moran, “You must have been disappointed.”
“Hard to be, when she was as pale as a ghost at being discovered,” Moran said, “I escorted her back, and gave her my word: her secret would be safe with me.”
They stood in front of the sofa, and Moran pushed his dance partner back down. Robin’s breath hitched when he began to fall, but hands received him gently, William and Albert depositing Robin between him.
(William didn’t let go. Even when he was safely sat down.)
“I wonder where she’s now,” Porlock said, twisting a dessert knife in his fingers. Louis hummed in agreement, and Robin inwardly agreed. He really did wonder, not that he would voice those treacherous thoughts. He stared at his thin, unmanly fingers, touched his dreadfully short hair, and caressed his pants, wondering, wondering, wondering.
All the while he was carefully watched.
The first day of the winter holiday came with unexpected news.
“A trip to Amsterdam on the boat,” Robin repeated, looking at the flyer in his hand, provided by William, “In December. Wouldn’t it be too cold?”
“Not unless you are planning to spend it on the deck,” William chuckled, placing both hands on Robin’s shoulder while he studied the card. His hands glided down to join at his sternum, splaying open, “I’ve been told it’s a most enriching experience.”
“I wouldn’t know. The only boat trip I’ve experienced was long ago. My family took one from Germany to get here, and I was too young to remember that ,” Robin confessed easily, depositing the card on the table, “Either way, I wish you a pleasant journey and look forward to hearing your tales, when you return.”
The hands around his neck paused, resting above Robin’s heart. From across the table, Albert looked up from his newspaper, and Louis raised a brow from above his teacup. Robin returned their confusion with dipped brows.
“...Have I said something wrong?”
“For an intelligent man, you are shockingly dense, Robin, in matters of society,” Albert said, re-arranging his newspaper, and hiding a smirk, “And I say that in the most gentle of ways.”
Blinking, Robin turned in his chair. The hands left his shoulder, and William looked down at Robin with a tilted smile, those damned hands clasped innocently behind his back. Crossing his arms, Robin asked, “I would prefer a more direct invitation next time, William.”
“You are rather talented in reading people’s intentions,” William hummed, raising a finger and tapping it along Robin’s temple, “I cannot help but observe, however, that your mind encounters a blank when it comes to reading ours.”
Robin thought about it, humming. Turning around, he stared at the white tablecloth, all too aware of the eyes watching him, curious and ready to dissect him under a magnifying glass. He glanced above his shoulder. William was there, expecting an answer, and knowing he wouldn’t be bored with Robin’s response.
“Rather than a blank page,” Robin started, carefully, choosing his words like one would pick treasure, “You are a like a page of foreign, European tongue. I encounter familiar words, I can come to a consensus on a part of the meaning. But only on occasion. And when the circumstances allow it.
“And then I turn the page. And just when I think I have pinned down some sense of understanding, I find myself in a mirror, confronted with the unwanted truth about myself.”
Robin turned around and took in a stuttering breath. Swallowing, he turned his eyes to his lap. His throat suddenly felt dry, under the weight of those red eyes that glimmered with hunger, with the desire to sink into Robin’s own, find his soul and suck out its core and meaning. He swallowed, and raising a shaky hand, covered his eyes as if he could protect himself. As if it could change anything at this point.
A hand touched his own, and Robin froze. The stranger, which one of the brothers he didn’t know, leaned in, and smiled against the skin beneath his neck.
“Truly,” William whispered, his lip touching Robin’s flushed skin, “You make me want to live and learn, and forget all the world’s darkness.”
He pulled back.
Robin didn’t drop his hand until his skin stopped burning.
While the brothers were busy making arrangements for their carriage, Robin stepped away for a moment. He lifted his head until his eyes landed on the tip of the highest mast, and wondered, idly, what it would be like to fall into the cold waters below. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, and forced the sounds around him to the background, as much as he could. The crowds disappeared. The ladies and their chatter fell hushed, and if he could just focus , he wouldn’t even smell the platter of perfume and tobacco invading his lungs.
When he opened his eyes again, he found a tall, black-haired man watching him.
Robin blinked. Watching him carefully in return, he immediately grimaced, entirely uncomfortable with what he had seen and now felt.
The man tilted his head, and curled his lips, “Oh, have I somehow offended you, sir?”
“Do you…always think this much and this loud?” Robin asked, then quickly averted his eyes in shame, “That was highly inappropriate, please do forgive me.”
“Only if you indulge me with your name,” the man said, extending a hand, clasping Robin’s enthusiastically, “Sherlock Holmes.”
“Theodore Hart,” Robin replied, taking his hand back, “I’ll indulge you with more, such as the reason I have made the previous comment on your conduct, as I know you want to hear.”
“I’d be delighted,” Mr Holmes said, laughter prompting the few people around them to scatter, “I’m listening, Professor.”
Not at all surprised by the use of his title, Robin spoke, “You have a busy mind and talent for intelligence and observation. I, on the other hand, have a knack for a far less impressive skill: understanding a stranger’s emotions and temperament as if they were my own.”
“A curse, and a blessing,” Mr Holmes said, looking around, hands casually pocketed in his trousers, “I’m surprised to encounter you in a crowd.”
“I look forward to retreating to my room,” Robin said abashedly, joining his hands behind his back. Feeling a pair of eyes on his person, he turned around and caught one of his companions watching him, “Ah, I am being called for. Enjoy your trip, Mr Holmes. I hope we see each other again.”
“I’m counting on it,” Mr Holmes called after him. Not providing a response, Robin traversed the parting crowd to find William. He was greeted with a curious, odd look. Intending to dispel any concerns, he hooked his hand with his arm, motioning the ship, “Time to board?”
“At last,” William said. Robin heard the interest in his voice, and saw his eyes searching the crowd for a certain black-haired man, “You’re quick to socialise, today. May I ask how?”
“I hate crowds. Between choosing one man with a thousand thoughts and a thousand individuals with their unique voices, I’d choose the singular man,” Robin said, standing close. Albert and Louis were close behind them, undoubtedly listening, “And I met a man who could distract me from the rest.”
“And who was he?”
Robin was about to answer when an argument began in the queue ahead of them. He tried to get a look but overshadowed by all the tall men and their hats, only managed to hear some of the shouting. Next to him, William stilled, and Robin saw his eyes narrow into unhappy slits.
“...The world is large enough to host us all,” Robin said to him privately, as the queue moved forward, and the two of them with it, “It’s men like him that make in inhabitable -and unbearable- for the rest of us.”
“Us?” William asked, without turning around, “Do you consider yourself as his opposition?”
“In every way that counts,” Robin said bravely, turning his head forward, seeing as he wouldn’t be interacted with directly, “I may have spent my childhood years in modest luxury, but that only lasted until my father went bankrupt. The rest is a life defined by resilience.”
William looked down at him. Robin refused to meet his gaze and felt a spike of irritation at his smile.
“You are cross with me,” William said, escorting them into the ship, as it was finally their turn. Robin refused to dignify that with a response. In fact, he refused to say anything at all until they reached their rooms, which he found they would be sharing in pairs.
“Sadly, I have business to conduct abroad on the ship, hence I won’t be able to spend much time with any of you,” Albert said, at the door of his room, “William, why don’t you share with me, and Louis and Robin can take the room next door.”
“I have no objections,” William said, and Louis and Robin agreed. They parted to their rooms, and Robin sat down happily on his bed, shedding his coat and hat, pleased with the silence and quiet. The peace was addicting. Robin felt like he had been dropped in the middle of an abandoned forest in the cold of winter when he was so used to endless noise and buzz in his ears, that he could almost hear their echoes in his head.
“There will be a dance and dinner tonight,” Louis informed him, having taken off his own coat, “And the ballet show tomorrow.”
Robin tried to look appreciative, at the very least, even though none of the events excited him, “Dinner on a ship. I wonder if we’ll have fish.”
Louis didn’t respond except for a small, private smile. Robin turned to look out the balcony window when a horn blared to signal their departure. The noise of the engine was less distracting than the crowds, and soon, even Robin had grown used to it while he watched the land stretch further and further away.
“I hope we have a peaceful trip,” he mused to himself, and couldn’t help but think this time his wish might come true.
It started with dinner. Robin followed Louis to the dinner hall, and sat down with him, waiting for William to arrive. Albert sat separately from them, talking to the two men beside him, too busy to acknowledge them. William arrived just before the meal commenced, looking absolutely pleased. Before Louis or Robin could ask him the cause of such delight, he turned to Robin and leaned in.
“I met your earlier acquaintance,” he said, steepling his fingers on the table, “A very interesting man.”
“What convinced you of the fact?” Robin asked, tugging on his handkerchief, still mildly cross with him but willing to put it aside for now.
“He successfully guessed my profession in a matter of a few moments,” William answered, picking up his fork, “Fairly impressive.”
“Ah, you too, eh? Though I know you gave as good as you got.”
He received an appreciative smile in return.
They didn’t talk for the remainder of the dinner. Louis and William whispered about something occasionally, and Robin gave them their privacy. Once dinner was done and the orchestra started to play, he retreated to a corner to watch, and make himself as little approachable as possible. It worked, somehow. No ladies so much as looked in his direction, too busy finding better partners. Robin watched, beginning to feel overwhelmed with the ambience in the room; the cloudy atmosphere of lust, sweat and ugly emotions. Half an hour was as long as he could last. He sneaked out, while all the Moriartys were engaged otherwise.
Flinging himself to the deck, he took a deep, hungry breath. The wind blew on his sweaty forehead, rapidly cooling him. Closing his eyes, he began walking to the ship's front. He stopped, suddenly, when he heard the beginning of what he thought was…music. Lively and echoing with the sound of laughter and wild dancing. Following the trail, he stopped at the edge of the ship, watching from above a group of people who had occupied the front deck with lights, animated music and improvised dancing. Men and women, from the lower classes, as judged by their outfits, had created their night of dancing by their own means. Robin smiled, leaning against the rails, and watched.
There were around 50 of them in total. Some watched, cheered and drank, while the others engaged in a dance with all sorts of moves. Men picked up their partners and spun them around, while women threw around their skirts, creating a mosaic of color and a flurry of clothes. Clapping in tune with the music, Robin slowly climbed down the stairs, entering the crowd, not at all feeling out of place with his fancy suit and combed hair. A few noticed him, though, and regarded suspiciously, which Robin tried to settle with a smile and trying to appear as harmless as possible.
A hand tapped his shoulder, and turning around, Robin found a smiling young woman.
“And what’s a man like you doing down here?” she asked, a hand on her hips and a grin on her face, “Was the waltz not to your liking?”
“It can’t compare to this,” Robin answered, feeling her boldness become his own, extending a hand. The woman offered hers, and Robin kissed her knuckles, eliciting a laugh from her, “My name is Robin. And yours?”
“Felicity,” she answered, reaching to pull him by the arm, “And you own me a dance, now, Sir Robin.”
“I don’t know much about dances,” he tried to say, as Felicity parted the crowd like she owned the ship, bringing them to the centre, “I’m afraid you might me disappointed.”
Felicity put her hand on Robin’s shoulder, and placed Robin’s hands on her waist, “I’ll teach you,” she promised, and they were off. Robin really wasn’t good, but his partner didn’t seem to mind how off-tune, off-sync they were. She’d twirl him more than Robin would her, and didn’t mind when he almost dropped her in a low dip. Consumed by the delight and laughter around him, Robin barely heard the scuffle that had started amidst the crowd until he felt something sharp and wet slit past his cheek.
The song had stopped. Near them, a man was screaming prfanties while he tried to strangle another man. The woman beside them was screaming, a broken bottle by her feet. Men started jumping forward, trying to seperate the fight. Lifting a hand to his cheek, Robin’s head began to spin when his fingers came back wet and red with blood.
“Come,” Felicity said, and began to drag him away. Robin followed eagerly. He pressed the edge of his tie against the open cut, and ignored the moisture sliding down his cheek and staining his white shirt.
Eventually they stopped on an abandoned corridor. Felicity sat him down, and told him to wait. Robin did, quiet and bleeding on the floor, head buzzing nausatingly. When Felicity returned, her hands were full with a bottle of liquor and some fabric. She tutted over him, rubbing away the blood, and then wrapping it with the fabric she had. Robin felt a little silly, but glad he didn’t have to see the blood, allowed the woman to do as she pleased.
“There,” she said when she was done, pulling away, “As good as new.”
“Thank you,” Robin replied, touching the fabric, “For helping me, and getting me out of there.”
“I wouldn’t abandon my partner,” she said slyly, and Robin smiled shyly, “Are you feeling alright? No pain?”
“My head aches a bit, but nothing too harsh.”
Humming disapprovingly, Felicity leaned forward, toıching his temple. Robin scooted back until his back hit the wall, and he was cornered. His appreciation for the woman turned sour, though, when he looked into her eyes and desire looking back at him.
“Ms Felicity,” he said, throat dry, hands on her elbows, “I appreciate the help, truly-”
“Then why don’t you show me?” Felicity whispered, looming above him. She settled on his lap, both hands on the wall beside Robin’s head. Robin squirmed, trying to push her off, but ended up chest to chest with the woman, plunged into a spiral of fear and growing warmth.
“Shh,” Felicity said, kissing the tears he hadn’t realised he’d shed. She took one of his hands, placing it above her breast, “It’ll feel good, you know. Don’t be such a-”
Felicity didn’t get the opportunity to finish her sentence. She yelped as she was thrown off Robin, and Robin suddenly found he could breathe . Breathe and move. And move he did, even if it included being hauled up by the arm, and dragged far, far away from Felicity and her liquor.
Robin didn’t know who his saviour was until he was pulled into a bedroom, met with the familiar scent of Albert’s cologne. He looked up, and saw the concerned eyes of William staring back. Now, surrounded by the brothers and free to feel his own emotions, Robin took a shuddering breath, almost collapsing on the bed William sat him on.
“Are you alright?” William asked, hand on his cheek. Robin gave a numb nod, watching his tears wet the bed sheets. He laughed with embarrassment, but crumbled when the door opened and in came a highly disturbed, highly concerned Albert and Louis. He turned around, hiding his face, and wanting nothing but to get away from all of them. To suffer alone, as he always had, when growing up. That was normal, crying alone and without anyone caring for his hurt. This. This concern was not normal. Was not anything Robin was used to.
Arms came to wrap around his waist, steadying him. Robin’s breath hitched, and with a terrified jolt, he stretched to get away, to rip himself free. Instead of freedom, Robin was met with a tighter, more determined hold. A hand climbed to his throat, tilting his head back, and nails dug into the soft flesh of his waist. A weight behind him pushed Robin forward until he was suffocated between a body and the bed, entirely immobilised. Robin continued to shake, to breathe shallowly and fearfully.
“Shh,” Albert’s voice murmured to his ear, going from holding Robin’s neck to pushing into his hair, pulling back the locks wet with sweat, “Hush, my little bird. Breathe.”
“I can’t,” Robin gasped out, head turned to the side, “I can’t.”
“What do you see?” William’s voice asked, and the light burning Robin’s eyes was extinguished, “What do you see, Robin?”
“The e-earth is shaking,” Robin found himself confessing. The weight above him moved, but kept a hold on his thin wrists, trapping him on the plush bed, “Crumbling inwards. I’ll be s-suffocated. I’m-I’m dying .”
“No,” Albert said. He turned Robin to look at the ceiling and pulled a thin, dark strip of fabric over his eyes. A tie, one not the smelling of blood. Robin couldn’t see anymore. But he felt a hand capture both his wrists, pulling them upwards, encouraging Robin to grip the man’s shirt, “You’re not dying. We won’t let you.”
“You can’t protect me,” Robin moaned and dropped a hand. Someone, probably William, caught it, and brought it to his lips, pressing a tender, soft peck to the pulse point. At once, Robin’s panting stopped, fingers shaking. What was happening?
The kisses continued, up and down his bare wrist, nibbling on the skin. Robin, considerably more calm, removed his free hand, to bring it to his eyes and undo the bind there. To see those lips and feel their touch. Albert grabbed it before he could, though, and lifted it until his palm was flat against a warm, bare chest, a heartbeat beneath his fingers. A calm one, unlike Robin’s heretic beating.
“Calm,” he commanded, leaning down to press his face against the blindfold, breath warm against the chill of Robin’s lips, “Breathe now, Robin. We’re here.”
“Albert,” Robin stuttered, and he felt his smile, felt the man’s joy in hearing his name, “Albert. You’re here .”
“So is William,” Albert assured him, leaning back but keeping Robin’s hand on his chest, “And Louis.”
“Louis?” Robin asked, on the verge of a sob, turning his face to find the man. The bed dipped to his left, and a hand reached to cradle his cheek and the tear tracks. Robin squeezed his right hand, and William affectionately squeezed back, warm and alive.
“I want to see,” Robin declared, looking up into the darkness where Albert must be, looking down at Robin on the bed, “Please. I can, can’t I?”
“Yes,” Albert said fervently, and reaching a hand, pulled down the blindfold. There was a bright candlelight on the right, but slowly, his eyes blinked away the blur and saturation, instead focussing on the eyes above him, green and worried.
“Oh,” Robin said, a single tear slipping down his cheek. He turned his head, first to the right to see William, and then to the left to Loius, “Oh,” he repeated, and closed his eyes in agony, breath hitching, “Oh, Lord. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he chanted, hands shaking with small tremors, “Forgive me, please. Please.”
He tried to pull away, to curl into an unattractive ball and be left alone to wallow in his guilt and shame. But no hold gave away. William hung on tight, pleased, and Louis watched beside them, fingers playing with his face, jaw and neck, tufting through black hair. Albert, legs on either side of Robin’s hips, leaned his weight on the body beneath him, affectively straddling Robin. His shirt was unbuttoned to expose his chest, where he’d placed Robin’s hand to rest. Robin looked frantically between them. For an exit, for an opportunity to escape. Albert tutted, palming Robin’s cheek and turning his face, meeting those wide, green eyes.
“No apologies,” he said gently, sternly, and with a hint of teeth. His fingers tapped along the soft skin, and sank beneath his neck, wrapping behind it firmly. Robin tilted his neck, legs writhing uselessly.
“Do you think we’re going to hurt you?” William asked, toying with the hand in his hold, something kissing, sometimes biting that sweet, delicate skin, “Are you afraid of us, birdie?”
Robin shook his head violently, unable to remove his gaze from Albert’s, trapped in their depth, “No,” he whispered, certain and iron-strong, “I’m not. I know you won’t hurt me. I don’t fear you.”
“Then why this urgency to run?” Louis asked, extending his legs to lie comfortably across the bed. He was still sitting up straight, but Albert had transferred Robin’s left hand to his brother, who held it on his lap between his own, “Why are you running, Robin?”
“You want this,” observed Albert. He was now leaning his full weight on Robin, completely extended above him, holding himself above his prisoner’s face by the elbows, “You like being ensnared, being cared for, being consumed. It’s no shame.”
“Isn’t it?” Robin pressed back, hands shaking as he glared at the man, “Easy for yourself to say, free and wealthy as you are, not entrusting your being to the will of others. Not wishing to. You wouldn’t fall as hard and deep as I. You’re not willing to let go and plunge into the abyss. You want to catch me, hold me, but how could I risk the fall? How could I test the danger beneath? I’d be completely at your mercy, and while a part of me delights at the possibility, the rational part of me knows I cannot. A moment’s respite is not worth an eternity of pain.”
“It doesn’t have to be a fall,” William said, bending Robin’s elbow and playing with his fingers, “It can be a flight, instead, above those wanting to drag you down. Won’t you like that?”
Robin laughed, tears in the corner of his eyes, “Why would you tempt me in such way? Why try to drag me in, when it will only end in pain?”
“Because it won’t end in pain,” Albert said. Dipping down, he pressed his lips to Robin’s forehead, dragging them down to kiss his eyelids, “I swear, Robin Hart. As long as you choose us, we will never allow you to fall.”
And how could Robin refuse an offer like that?
Closing his eyes he gave a tired, exhausted nod. Immedietşy, like the rising sun, he felt relief and joy and adoration from all corners. Albert pulled him to an embrace, and rolled them until the two were laying side by side.
“You’re going to be alright,” he promised, hands carding through his hair, “You will.”
And Robin, against his better judgment, could only nod, and bury himself into the warmth of his arms, Louis’ rare expression of joy, and William’s presence behind him.
It would be alright.
Maybe Robin could finally brave the flight without fearing the fall.