Title: There's Always Time
Rated: M but it isn't actually that smutty yo.
Summary: In which Regina's fifty one years old, divorced, has a slight aging complex, and constantly struggles with her monotonous life. That is until a friend suggests she goes on a trip that might actually end up changing her life… for the better. Day 7 of OQPromptParty. Prompts: 35, 99, 119, 152, and 199 because I simply couldn't contain myself.
35. AU A: "sorry you're sitting on my sun lounger. B: oh and since when is it yours?" A: I clearly reserved it before breakfast with my towel - which by the way you're sitting on! so get your butt off my sun lounger or else."
99. Sex goes horribly wrong and they laugh about.
119. A walk in the woods / on the beach.
152. Robin and Regina meet at a singles vacation resort, have a blast together, and agree not to see each other when vacation is over. But then someone breaks that agreement….
199. Robin & Regina meet & fall in love in their 50's.
Originally, prompts 35, 152 and 199 combined inspired me to write this but after I finished writing it and re-read it I noticed I had included 99 and 119 unconsciously so :). Here goes nothing!
It had been Mary's idea that she'd go on this trip.
"It's a great way to meet new people, Regina," Mary had said when she showed her the brochure one late afternoon.
At first Regina had felt insulted, and had told her so.
As if she needed to actually put some effort in getting dates, in getting laid (she does, she'll never admit it to herself but she does). Found it stupid given the fact that she was fifty one years old, has been single for the better part of her life and really didn't want to start looking for someone, not when the hot flashes come closer and closer in time, almost suffocating her. Not when taking vitamins are mandatory now. Not when her hairline is covered in grey hairs thanks to her father's genes, the same hairs she has to cover every three weeks with a new batch of hair dye mixed with peroxide and some oil that focuses entirely on those greys. Not when she covers her face with every expensive anti-aging cream known to men every night and every morning, protecting her face from sun spots, dark spots, anything that would mar that face. She had seen her grandmother do it. She had seen her mother do it. And when she'd turned thirty four, and her mother pointed at how ghastly her skin looked, at the amount of lines she had around her eyes and her forehead, she began to do it too.
It's not even that she feels old, logically she knows she isn't actually that old, some may suggest that life truly begins when you hit fifty. But still, she's seen the media, she knows society standards, she knows how forty is the new fifty, she still hears her mother's voice in her head, and for a minute she convinces herself that she is.
She's lived half a century, therefore she's old.
So she'd found it juvenil, had told Mary Margaret so. But the woman had merely rolled her eyes and shook her head, asking her to at least look at it, consider it, just have fun for a second of her life.
Of course, she'd read the brochure, late at night, after the latest episode of Veep (there's something highly entertaining about politics satire) and on her second glass of wine.
It didn't seem as juvenile as she had expected.
Just an all inclusive trip to a resort in Cayman Island a nice manageable price for a week of Pure Unadulterated fun for you and many more like you. Enjoy the beauty of the Cayman islands with complimentary excursions, white sandy beaches, and an energetic nightlife for those nights when laying down to sleep just doesn't cut it. For bookings and more information call 1-800-SIN-GLES
"Well at least the brochure is interesting enough," she muttered to herself and rolled her eyes.
She still tossed it in the garbage.
Only picking it up the next night, after another long monotonous day in her lab, and calling the number.
She admits it, now, as the warm water hits her back (washing the slight inebriation from last night away), that everything about this place is beautiful. From the flora and fauna she's seen over the past few days, to the friendly people, singles, just like her.
Mary Margaret had been right, she needed this.
For the past three days she's had fun, she has truly enjoyed herself.
From blissful continental breakfast where the only thing she has to worry about is if she got to taste everything, to excursions around the small island. From spa conversations with Mal, the woman at the room next to her, recently divorced, (after catching her wife Kathryn sleeping with their neighbor), to late night drinking and dancing and deep sex-related conversations with the blonde lady with an orchid tattoo, Mal and her friend of two nights, Ella, who's way too fond of gin and tries to give her a glass containing huge amounts of it over and over again. The same woman that had yelled last night 'May we all get laid by the time this week ends!' as she made a toast, those around the bar whooping and cheering as they all downed their second to last drink of the night.
And it's only Wednesday.
But today Mal is nursing an awful hangover, as it was to be expected. And Ella's still nowhere to be seen after leaving last night with the young bartender that kept flirting with her (Mal isn't worried, so she won't worry either). So she figures, after three days and two nights of pure unadulterated fun, that today she'll just lounge by the pool, allow herself to recharge for another intense night.
It's probably the alcohol that still travels through veins, or probably the fact that she's surrounded herself for the past few days with good company. But today she changes into her two piece swimsuit, instead of her one piece modest one, thanking the heavens she decided to wax almost everything off right before traveling here, just in case she decided to ditch the pants and tan properly. Though of course, she had rolled her eyes at that voice, knowing she wouldn't dare to do it.
Now look at her.
She's seen around the resort, has seen that the majority of the people are close to her in age, except from the clerks, so she guess she can wear this, at least for today, given the fact that for once in the past few years she actually feels young, she actually feels beautiful, she actually feels desirable even though she's fifty one.
"Oh darling, now is when the fun begins. The ones that criticized us when we were young are busy leading a boring life and the adults that constantly pressured us are mostly dead! Now it's our time to shine, do what we truly desire and no one will be able to stop us, " Ella had said last night, when Regina had jokingly murmured how she felt these days for being a fifty-one year old single woman, divorced when she was twenty five, no kids, Director of the Institute of Biotechnology at Cornell University, leading a boring monotonous night every weekend.
So today she feels energized, feels incredible, and when she turns to to look at herself in the mirror, she's actually excited at what she sees there, then turns slightly, biting her lip at how incredible this bikini makes her ass look. She slips into a yellow romper and sandals before heading down to the pool area.
It's fairly empty, what with it being only nine am and after last night's drunk tellings well, she's not at all surprised.
A man tells her Good morning from her left, winking at her and she smiles at him recognizing him from last night at the bar, utters Good morning back before walking down the rows and rows of lounge chairs, arriving at one just closest to the beach, a palm tree swaying behind it, the leaves affording protection from insolation.
Perfect
She slips off her sandals, and drops the dark blue resort towel on the back of the lounge chair before heading off to the main dining room for a quick breakfast.
The man who'd winked at her follows her, striking a small conversation as they walk to the buffet.
His name is Kurt Flynn, a botanist from Minnesota who enjoys plants far too much and loves the different species one's able to find in the tropical areas. They seat together, and eat breakfast. She goes on to explain her job as well as her interest in using algae growth with irradiation for biofuel. He's taken, almost immediately, and they continue talking back and forth, back and forth, about how she has to visit him and he her lab, as they both eat their hearty breakfast. But when it reaches eleven am, and their coffee has grown cold, the man excuses himself, having to leave for an excursion to the Mastic Reserve, he invites her along and she turns him down, given that's the first thing she did on Monday, but he expects to continue the conversation at night. So with a gentle smile, Kurt walks away and Regina chuckles at herself, because even far away from home, from her work, it still somehow manages to follow her.
It's nice, though, to share your passions with someone, especially a stranger who won't judge her. But still, she got away from home just for this thing exactly, to take a breather and enjoy life past science and biotechnology and tivo nights.
Lounging, relaxing, especially after a full belly, it calls out to her. So Regina stands up and heads off to the pool area, barefooted, down down the rows and rows of occupied lounge chairs until her eyes land on hers, well, on the one she'd claimed as hers and it's quite obviously she isn't the one that's occupying it. Instead a man sits there, he looks fairly familiar but she shakes her head, instead feels rage filling her when he accommodates himself further, his back resting against what is (used to be?) her towel, reading something on his tablet.
Disappointment and anger feels her veins. You have to be pretty moronic to not realize you're sitting on someone else's' property!
"Hi, yes, sorry to interrupt your reading but, you're actually sitting on my chair," she lets out, biting her inner cheek in an attempt to quell the sudden anger she feels at seeing her white sandals upside down.
"Oh?" The man sits up straight almost immediately, and stares at her through his sunglasses. But then he's looking around the deck chairs surrounding them and offering her a small smile. "And since when is it yours?"
Annoyance builds up in her, but at the same time, she swallows hard at the obvious tilt to his voice, the accent making him even more attractive. But still, he's sitting on her place. He's sweating through his blue shirt and therefore sweating on her towel.
"I clearly reserved it before breakfast, the evidence of it currently behind and under you," she points at the blue towel.
He nods at her, but then he lays back down again.
"Excuse me, what are you doing?" She crosses her arms in front of her chest, giving him a murderous look.
"Have you looked around you? All the good chairs are taken," he shrugs and offers her a small smile.
She bites her lower lip, absolutely fuming at this idiotic bastard and then looks around them, finding out that in fact every seat is taken until her eyes land on him again. He's staring at his tablet again, apparently oblivious to her and she clears her throat, gives him an annoyed look.
"What?"
Is he really playing her right now? Right now when she only wants to lounge and relax in the chair she specifically picked out because it was simply perfect? The palm tree swaying, the crisp ocean air, the pool so close to her, the sound of the waves crashing.
"I'm not leaving until you give me my chair back," she shrugs at him. And gosh, she must look like a petulant child, humming and huffing and fighting over a lost toy.
The man sighs and lets the tablet fall against his chest, looks at her through his Ray Bans, and offers her a small smile.
"I'll tell you what, since this chair means a lot to you," he begins sarcastically, "we can perhaps share this one until the next best one gets unoccupied, how about that?"
Is he really that childish? God, the man cannot possibly be younger than her and yet here he is, acting like a twenty year old jock. Well, not to her.
"I'll tell you what. I'd rather," she bends in front of him, catching the reflection of herself on his sunglasses, picks up her sandals from the floor and straightens up again, "sit on the floor than share a lounge chair with you." She gives him a passive aggressive smile. "Nice talking to you." Then turns around, an extra sway to her hips because she can and she loves showing off her assets in a place when no one expects anything from her, a place with no inhibitions, no stress.
And if she feels a slight thrill when she feels his eyes following her, well no one can actually blame her.
.
.
.
The straps of her sundress strain against her slight tender sunburnt skin as Ella talks about Martin, the barkeeper, who apparently couldn't handle all of Ella last night. Mal rolls her eyes from her seat across the table and Regina bites back a laugh as she looks to her right, where the sun is just beginning to set over the sea, the sky bursting in all sort of different colors, pinks and purples and oranges and Regina is in awe, Ella's voice tuning out as she focuses on the scene right in front of her.
The small waves crash softly against the shore, merely three yards away from where they seat sipping margaritas. The warm crisp late summer air fills her nostrils, instantly relaxing her.
This is life.
This is actually something she'd love to do yearly. Fly away to a new destination, something that doesn't involve her speaking at conferences, evaluating poster presentations at different conferences all over the world, symposiums and just mainly traveling for work, like she's been doing for the past twenty years of her life.
God
And to think this is what mother wanted for her so long ago.
To think this is what mother had said would make her happy, truly happy.
And it does, to some extent, it makes her insanely happy to be able to exploit her intelligence, and work doing something she feels a passion for, but when you've done it for the better part of your life with nothing else, it makes you wonder if there's something more to it, more to life.
Of course there is, clearly she knows this, clearly she's witnessed it with Mary and David for the last thirty years, and it scares her, for she still cannot shake the feeling that she lost her chance at it when she signed those divorce papers and threw herself entirely to her job.
Regina swallows hard and looks up to the dark blue sky, smiling sadly at the stars up there.
For decades she'd wondered what happened to him, her Daniel. Wondered if he's happy. If he achieved his dreams as she did hers. It didn't come as a surprise to her when he suggested they'd divorce, they had been, after all, married for seven years, but both had spent the bigger part of the last three years focusing on growing professionally. He'd been busy with Med School. She'd been busy with Grad School. And somewhere along the lines they grew, they changed, and they simply couldn't stay in a marriage when neither one of them felt the same for the other.
It had been amicable, to say the least, perhaps a little bittersweet, after all, they dated all through college and married right after graduation, but after that, after years of marriage, they just had been too ambitious, too busy, never able to figure out the right equation to balance school and their marriage.
But she wonders, more often than not, if that had been it for her. If she had lost her only—
"Regina?"
Mal calls behind her, pulling her from her thoughts and she turns around to face the woman.
"What?"
"I asked if you wanted another drink," the woman says, giving her a small smile.
Regina smiles and nods in reply. "I'll go with you."
Together they walk to the bar, order their drinks flirtatiously and wait for their cocktails. They chuckle at the already drunk couple yelling at the karaoke, a bunch of cheers urging them on and shake their heads. That had been them yesterday, granted at around one in the morning, and those will be them later tonight if the cocktails the bartender lines up in front of them are any it thrills her, it thrills her to throw away her inhibitions and live a little bit, even if it's only for the next four days. Regina takes a sip of her drink, groaning at the taste. It's so delicious! But then Mal is whispering something to the bartender, and half a minute later the bartender's placing two shot glasses in front of them and Mal is giving her an excited look as the young man fills the glasses to the brim.
"I'm not a twenty one year old, Mal," she scoffs at her friend of three days and rolls her eyes.
"You're not a seventy five year old great grandma either, and yet something tells me that a seventy five year old still has more fun than you do, dear," the blonde woman says before chugging down her shot without batting an eye.
Regina scoffs again and rolls her eyes at her. "I do have fun, sometimes."
"Is it before or after you finish watching Veep?" The blonde asks sarcastically.
And Regina just stares at her, wide eyed, shocked that a stranger (because that's what they are, they're just holiday buddies) has managed to decipher just who she is with the bits she's told about herself. She should be livid, she should act defensively, but instead she sighs and after a minute, she chugs down the shot, the bartender immediately filling it up again, a grin on his face.
"Keep 'em coming, hot stuff," Mal winks at the bartender who nods and winks back.
What is it with bartenders and milfs issues?
Then the blonde woman is turning to look at her, offering her a kind smile as she says, "You're only as old as you let yourself be. Look at Ella, she's the oldest one in our group, yet the youngest soul. This age, aging complex you have is preventing you from embracing life, truly embracing it, Regina from New York. Don't let that hold you back," she shrugs and grins, " don't let anything hold you back. It's not like we're getting out of life alive," then winks and grabs her shot glass, nodding to hers. "To new beginnings and to hell with society's standards."
She laughs loudly at that, her eyes crinkling and she picks up the shot glass, nodding at her.
"To hell with society's standards," and they down their tequila in a blink of an eye.
.
.
.
Regina's had a high alcohol tolerance ever since she had her first (then second then up to her fourth drink) in college and had seen all the girls around her tipsy on their second beer and her still sober by her fourth. It takes a lot for her to start feeling even the slightest bit woozy, and almost twice if she's snacking. In comparison to yesterday, today she munches on some fries as she sips on her cocktail. So as Greg, a guy who joined them after Ella's much too loud toast last night, laughs loudly at something Ella tries to say over the microphone in the middle of a song(the guy is smitten with her, everybody can tell), Regina's eyes move to her drink number she-can't-recall of the night.
Her legs tremble, but it's not from the alcohol, it's from the one hour of non-stop dancing she'd had with Kurt. But it had been tiring, the guy kept talking about his visit to the forest, about the type of animals and plants he saw there and whilst that morning she had enjoyed it, that night it truly drained her.
So she had been more than grateful when he had called it an early night, though he had not-so-subtly given her his room number, just in case.
For a minute she'd considered going to his room, getting even if only a little bit of action, alcohol after all makes her turn on with the slightest touch to her skin. But that's not what she wants, not when he could talk about orchids and lizards as he went down on her.
Gosh, and how long has it actually been since the last time she had sex? Possibly years, yes, almost three years ago, when she traveled to California for a symposium. Holy shit.
"Hi, yes, sorry to interrupt your sulking, but you're actually sitting on my… seat," the british accented voice calls from her side and Regina feels her anger rising again, for some reason, at this man that she doesn't even know, but when she turns to face him she's shocked, to say the least.
The man cleans up rather nice.
Gone are the sunglasses, sweat clad shirt and swim shorts. Instead he stands in front of her table carrying two drinks, wearing a white linen shirt and dark jeans, sporting the same grin she'd seen that morning, and finally giving her a look at the eyes behind the Ray Bans. He's incredibly attractive, and he knows so.
But Regina swallows hard and rolls her eyes at him.
"Have you looked around? All the good seats are taken," she shrugs, uttering the same words he'd said earlier that day before taking a sip of her drink, trying to hide the small smile.
The man chuckles at her, a deep thing showcasing his dimples in a way that has her toes curling and biting on the straw.
"May I?"
And this time he actually asks for the seat, for her permission and Regina shrugs.
"I won't kill you, if that's what you're wondering."
He laughs and then sits down, across from her. She's about to ask him what's wrong, about to tell him to speak, but apparently he reads her mind because he's opening his mouth again, a sly smile on his face.
"I realized I had been a bit of a prick this morning, but when I realized my mistake I had been quite too late, given I couldn't find you anywhere."
"Well, you should've looked harder," she murmurs.
"Oh I intended to. But then I realized I could actually find the lady tonight and offer her a drink and the dance she kindly refused last night as an apology."
And though last night had been a blur, filled with one too many drinks and several different faces, she realizes now why he looked slightly familiar that morning.
"Well, I was busy worrying about a drinking buddy, I'm sure you understand?" She gives him a lopsided smile.
She had been, worrying over Mal because she was nearly falling as she danced, grinding hips, with some man. So she'd had no eyes for anyone else, just waiting for the moment to step in if Mal needed her to. But the night went by with no problem, the man backed off when Mal told him to.
"Oh definitely, but still, that doesn't answer the question in between the lines."
"Well, ask the question directly and I might give you a proper answer," she grins, suddenly feeling more alive (if possible) than she'd been in the past three days. God, just how intense will the next four days be? But she's feeling again as sexy as she'd felt that morning, even more flirtatious than she had been with Kurt. God, no wonder they say alcohol is liquid courage.
He lets out another laugh at that and bites his lower lip before nodding, his eyes shining with amusement and excitement. "Would you like to join me for a dance and a drink, m'lady?"
"Only one?" She asks on a sly grin.
He chuckles and then shakes his head. "Would you like to join me for as many dances and drinks as you'd like? Better?"
Regina grins at him and nods. "I'll join you for a drink and a dance."
He guffaws at her answer and pushes one of the drinks he'd been holding across the table to her. If she had been twenty one she would've turned down the drink because it could've be spiked, and still, if not, it would've meant that someone spent money on her and she'd rather pay for it herself rather than have him even hoping she'd pay back in sex.
But one, the hotel is all inclusive, alcohol included so it's basically free, and two, the man doesn't give her any bad vibes. (And third she's fifty one and getting older by the minute, so fuck it).
"I'm Robin," the british man says.
"Regina," she replies as she takes the drink from his hand and gives him a small smile.
One drink turns into four.
One dance turns into eleven songs and a karaoke duo.
He makes her laugh, a lot, has her stopping mid-dance to press her hand against her belly because her stomach hurts from laughing just too much.
And soon enough they're walking down to the sandy beach, stopping for a second for her to slip of her white sandals and he takes them from her, placing them with his shoes just next to some palm trees. They walk closer to the water, arms brushing before they reach the shore and then begin walking along it, admiring the moon's reflection over the water. She enjoys the water against her feet, enjoys the sand between her toes, enjoys the comfortable silence that settles over them until they're heading back, walking down the path they came from.
"This is an actual paradise," he murmurs in awe before turning to face her. "Don't you think?"
"It is. I'm almost sad to leave on Monday," she pouts.
"Hey, a lot can still happen in four, technically five, days," he grins at her.
"Definitely," she winks at him and then looks straight ahead, feeling almost sad at the sight of the palm trees trail leading up to their hotel.
But he suddenly takes a hold of her hand, halting her movements and she turns to face him, thrown back by the look on his face.
He bites his lower lip, suddenly nervous before he takes a deep breath.
"I'm sorry if I'm being too straightforward with you, but I'd loathe to call it a night without at least the promise of another dance tomorrow?" He asks, looking hopeful yet nervous.
Nervous to be turned down.
Nervous because he's merely a year older than her, and though he has a young soul, he's still as filled with insecurities as her.
She smiles in reply, feeling her cheeks slightly tinting in a way they haven't in a long, long time.
"I thought you'd never ask."
And then, as if on impulse, she rises to her tiptoes and leans forward, dropping a kiss on his cheek, only to feel the need to do more (knowing time can't be lost) and pecks his lips, slowly, her lips touching his, the feeling causing a warmth to fill her.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she whispers millimeters away from his lips, his face breaking into a grin and then she's turning around, rushing to pick up her sandals before walking up the trail to the hotel, leaving behind a still stunned but grinning Robin.
.
.
.
Regina doesn't sees him in the morning, instead bumps into Kurt again at the breakfast bar. But luckily this time Mal is waving her from a table, and Regina leaves Kurt with a gentle smile and an, "I'll see you later".
She doesn't see him until late at night, when she gets once again to the bar and he's already waiting for her, face breaking into a smile when he catches sight of her. Regina smiles back at him, more like grins, feels those damn slight flutters in her stomach as if she's a teenager with a crush, and swallows hard as she makes her way to him.
Gosh, she had kissed him last night, well, more like pressed her lips to his as a goodbye but, maybe he didn't appreciate that? Maybe he didn't like her that much and that's why she hasn't seen him all day long?
"Hey," he says simply, still smiling.
"Hi," she murmurs as she sits at the stool next to him.
It goes quiet, both of them apparently at loss for words.
Has it been her fault? Has it been the kiss. Has she-
He leans closer to her (Gosh, she can actually smell the scent of the cologne she was able to catch a small whiff of last night) "You look stunning," he tells her, causing her to bite her lower lip before turning to look at him.
"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself," she shrugs at him, appearing to be unbothered while on the inside she was a sack of nerves.
And he knew it.
"Thank you, I chose this purposely thinking it might increase the chances of a repeat of last night," he lets out nonchalantly and she laughs, cheeks heating up. "Join me for a dance?"
Again she agrees.
Again they dance for hours.
And again he leads them down to the beach.
Feet wet. Toes with white sand in between them. But this night, in contrast to last night, there's light conversation between them, small things. Things about what they do for a living —He a retired professional football player, her a post-grad mentor, a pioneer in biofuel engineering and development and Director of the Institute of Biotechnology at Cornell University. He'd looked at her as if she owned the world, flabbergasted by her and she'd done the same with him, remembering decades ago when she'd watch a World Cup and his name was mentioned. They'd talked about personal details. Both divorced, he has a son whilst she doesn't and soon enough they're sitting side by side on the same lounge chair they'd fought over more than thirty five hours ago.
She asks about his son, and he's more than happy to oblige. He tells her of him, of how when he was two he couldn't stop eating mac and cheese, of how when he was eight he decided he was through with school, of how when he was seventeen he got admitted into college. She absorbs everything she possibly can from his words, her heart filling at the pride in his eyes, the love he clearly have for his son.
"I think you would both like each other very much. This is his last year of college," he says, that sense of pride ever present.
"I'm sure he's a charming young man, even more so than his father."
"Oh definitely," he chuckles and shakes his head before he sighs and looks up to the sky. "You know, years ago I begged, I prayed I got everything I wanted. I wanted with all my heart to become a professional at football, to stand and play where only the greatest stood and played. And I got it. I got everything I wanted. I got the mansion, I got the cars, I got the girls, I got everything I truly desired when I was a young man. But now?" He sighs and then looks at her. "Now I'm sure that's not exactly what I needed."
Regina just stays there, staring at him, eyes filling with tears because that is her, that is also her predicament and though they don't lead the same lives, it all comes back to this.
What once meant happiness for them, what they'd thought would bring them happiness, really didn't in the end.
"Sometimes I wish I could turn back time. I wish I would've realized sooner that I needed to be there for my son more than I needed to be kicking a ball for money and for girls."
"I'm sure that's not how he remembers you," she whispers sadly at him. Her heart truly going out for him.
"No, but he does know that I wasn't there for him, really there for him during the first seven years of his life. It took an injury, a surgery and not being able to play again for me to change, for me to be a better father, an actual father."
She reaches for his hand and brings it to her lap, intertwining their fingers and caressing the top of his thumb with hers.
"You are there now, you became a better father for him, Robin. You were there when he truly needed you the most. I'm sure he forgave you a long time ago, now you just have to forgive yourself."
He sighs and pulls his hand slightly from under hers and for a moment Regina thinks she pushed too far for talking about his son and forgiveness as if she's known them forever, but instead of pulling away like Regina expected him to, he merely turns his hand over and intertwines their fingers again, palm against palm, his his thumb caressing hers.
"I know, I know. I struggle with it, but I know," he nods before sighing and looking straight ahead. "I've ruined the mood."
Regina scoffs. "Nonsense. We're adults, these are our type of conversations."
"Even with slight strangers?"
"Especially with slight strangers," she smiles kindly at him.
He chuckles and then nods, stays quiet for a second before talking again. "Biggest fear then."
She swallows hard and nods, smiling sadly as she speaks. "Time," she whispers, her voice almost muffled by the waves crashing a few yards behind them.
"Time?" He asks, surprised, surely expecting something like fear of heights or fear of dying.
"Time," she says as she nods at him, swallowing before she continues. "I've only recently understood just how incredibly fast time goes. Whilst before I thought that there was time for everything," she shrugs, "There was enough time for my relationship later. There was enough time for getting pregnant later. There was enough time later. Now I'm hit with the fact that the actual time we have here is nearly not enough," she whispers, teary eyed, looking at him.
It feels good, to talk to strangers, strangers that won't judge you, strangers that share the same fears as hers. It's refreshing. It's new.
Robin smiles sadly at her, nodding before whispering, "Regina, there is always time to be happy, darling."
It's a pet name, he shouldn't be calling her sweet nothings, not when she's fucking fifty one years old with an aging complex and a body that melts at the slightest demonstration of appreciation, like right now when his hand moves to her cheek, caressing the skin there, her stomach once again fluttering. She has a crush, a stupid crush she has developed in two nights, two nights of slow dancing, two nights of small conversations over drinks, two nights of loud laughter, two nights of walks in the beach.
But it's so much more than that.
She can feel it already, growing and growing ferociously within her, though she tries to ignore it.
"I have a crazy confession to make," he whispers, his blue eyes filled with embarrassment and the slightest trace of fear. "I believe I'm absolutely smitten with you, Regina," he finishes with a small apologetic smile (more like a grimace). Because of course, he's fifty two and has a crush.
Just like her.
But instead of answering with words, instead of running (it would never work, they've only gotten to meet each other on their good days), she's wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer to her, slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wants to, but instead he lets her, and then she's leaning up, so close to his lips, waiting for him to close the distance.
He does so, and he doesn't disappoint, instead kisses her with a fervor, with a hunger she's never been kissed before. It thrills her, it thrills her that when she lightly scratches the back of his neck, he groans into the kiss, deepening it. It thrills her that when he brushes his tongue against her lower lip her thighs tremble slightly. It thrills her that with a kiss, he's been able to make her feel things she hasn't felt in over twenty years.
.
.
.
Room 823.
His room.
It's drilled into her brain. Even as she takes a shower, freshens up in an attempt to rid herself of any sexual thoughts. (Not really, she's prepping herself, she knows it. She's cleaning her nether regions, twice, three times just in case.)
She's a grown adult.
She shouldn't want it this much.
She shouldn't want him this much.
But she does.
God, she does.
So she doesn't ask herself nor tries to stop herself from putting on some mascara right after showering at two am in the morning. She doesn't question herself when she slips into some lace panties and bra, and catches her reflection in the mirror. Once again mentally patting herself on the back for packing this specific black lingerie, a set she'd picked months ago because they made her feel good, not for someone to see. But tonight, tonight someone will get to see it. Tonight someone will get to see her… and that fact doesn't scare her as much as she should.
She's single.
She's fifty-one.
She's alone in a resort in a Caribbean paradise majorly surrounded by single people, people within her age range.
No expectations.
No critics.
Just fun.
She only gets a few more days of this, better enjoy it while it lasts. So she slips on her burgundy robe.
But of course, her confidence dies the moment she's in front of his door.
823
Eighth floor. Room twenty-three.
Why is she doing this? A booty call? Answering an obvious booty call?
But it's much more than that.
They've shared their past, their secrets, their fears. They've kissed under the moonlight, in the same lounge chair she'd lost her shit over merely two days ago. They've kissed, and kissed, and touched, and explored and finally ended up breaking the kiss because it had become too heated, and he wasn't sure he would be able to contain himself. She'd told him not to, in that deep groggy voice of hers, that need returning to her in full swing when he growled and moved to kiss her again, all tongue, all need, all passion, awakening the same thing deep in Regina.
Then he'd slipped his spare room key into her hand, whispering the room number against her lips, before quickly standing up and leaving her alone, turned on and breathless on that lounge chair.
The ball was in her court. He'd play the game she wanted to play.
And now she is here, in front of his door, preventing herself from using the room key he'd given her. Instead, she swallows and knocks softly on the door, biting her lower lip.
He opens the door instantly, and offers her a big, albeit nervous, smile and opens the door wider, moving to the side to welcome her in.
She smiles in return, her lower lip trembling slightly with the nerves she feels as she walks into his room and swallows hard.
The door clicks behind her as he closes and later locks it. Her heart beats a million times per second, her chest constricts, as she waits for him behind her to say something. But instead all that reaches her ears is silence, silence, except for the sound of the waves coming from the open sliding door. The room is dark, the only light the one coming from the moonlight and Regina focuses on that, on the moon reflecting over the sea, on the rippling waves she can see from this floor, and she feels her nerves settling down, her heartbeat slowing down. This is him, the man that makes her laugh when she misses a step to their dance. The man that offers her kind smiles as they walk right the next one another along the shore.
A stranger, to some extent, but a stranger she desperately wants to cling to for what's left of this trip.
"I apologize," his voice calls out from behind her, close, but not as close as she wants him to be. "I realized I may have been a little too straightforward in my actions and can only imagine how persuaded you must be feeling. I expect nothing from you, Regina, I only want what you willingly want to give, nothing else. I frankly have no idea what I was doing, it's been so long, so long, I don't know how to-"
She turns around then stopping him mid sentence, her confidence returning at the slight tremble to his voice.
"Well I'm here now, so," she shrugs, then offers him a gentle smile.
"Are you sure?" He asks her, smiling at her.
Regina smiles back at him, kindly, then bites her lower lip before she nods at him and then tugs at the knot fastened hastily on her waist, holding her night robe in place, she pulls at it, not breaking his gaze, and then lets it fall to the floor, leaving her in the lace underwear she'd thrown on mere minutes ago.
He breaks their gaze, and Regina bites her lower lip, feeling his gaze raking through her entire body even in the dim light, from her nipples taut against the see-through material of her underwear, to the slight strip of hair in her nether regions.
And then his gaze meets hers again, all dark blue, all wantom, all for her. God, she's quite possibly never felt this wanted, this sexy, this beautiful ever.
"You're simply stunning, Regina," he lets out, in awe, his eyes once again moving to her breasts before he walks closer to her, eyes on her. He reaches for her, a hand landing on her cheek softly, the other one tentatively holding to her waist as he pulls her closer. "I'm not sure I can contain myself any longer," he sighs, forehead resting against hers.
Regina closes her eyes in reply and shakes her head. "Don't. Don't hold anything back."
He doesn't.
.
.
.
He still makes her laugh, after he kisses her inner thighs, and makes her reach oblivion quickly with his mouth and fingers.
He still makes her laugh, even when he's nestled inside of her and she's able to come just from the feeling of him, all thick and hard and perfect inside of her. He manages to mutter something, though strangled, about how he'll kill himself if he burst out too soon and she laughs again, only to groan as he begins moving again.
He moves deliciously on top of her, his slow thrusts igniting her, every sound coming from him leaving her wanting more, more of him, more of this.
He thrusts into her slowly, meticulously, his arms bent on the pillow either side of her face, her legs opened, feet resting over the back of his bent knees. Regina thrusts back into him, meeting him thrust for achingly slow thrust, building herself up, building him up in the process. He groans at one particular roll of her hips, and rests his forehead against hers, until his strokes become more desperate. Yesss, she lets out on a groan, feels herself getting closer and closer to oblivion. Feels his thickness dragging along the underside of her clit with every thrust, feels herself growing hotter and slicker and him grunting in pleasure, moving faster into her. Regina's back arches, her neck straining as she gasps against his lips, her eyes closing in pleasure.
She's going to, she's going to... she just needs—
But his groans of pleasure slowly turn into a groan of pain until he's pulling out from her depths quickly, amidst her protests and rolling off of her desperately.
"I'm sorry, Gods, I'm so sorry."
She hears him let out on a grimace from her side, but she's still on that slowly trekked climb, all tense and sweaty and warm and the almost orgasm hovering over her.
So close yet so far away.
She falls back flatly against the bed, taking deep gulps of breaths as she looks to her right where he is currently tightly pressing to his thigh, looking at her embarrassed, but face scrunched up. God, that could've been one of the most intense orgasms she's experienced in her life.
But she doesn't dwell on it, instead she turns, laying on her side.
"Are you okay?" She asks, voice deep and scratchy, panting but still worried at him.
He nods, panting too, and then her hand lands softly on top of his, sweaty and tense as it presses into his thigh. She bite on her lip as she looks at his hardness, still thick and standing firm and perfect. God, it would've been amazing, incredibly mind blowing, she can still feel it in the tremble of the inner thighs, in the ache between her legs, in the way her center still clenches around nothing.
"What happened?" She asks, as she looks up to his face now, his hand now holding hers on top of his hip.
He's calm now, face relaxed instead of tensed and scrunched up, instead he looks at her amused and incredibly apologetic.
"Cramp," he murmurs with a small smile. "Perfect timing for my body to remember it's not as young as it once was."
It shouldn't be amusing, the fact that he was in pain all the while she was getting closer and closer to the edge. But it is, his apologetic smile, his amused eyes, his embarrassment, it's amusing. So she chuckles, a deep thing starting low on her belly and then growing in pitch as he laughs too.
When the laughter dies down, he pulls her hand to his mouth, kissing it lovingly.
"You shouldn't laugh at my pain," he mutters.
Regina shrugs at him, insides warming up as he kisses her hand lovingly, thumb caressing the skin his lips had been previously on.
"Well, you did rob me of what could've been the most intense orgasm in my life."
"Don't remind me," he sighs, sadly at her, and swallows hard, his eyes darkening with lust at the memory of her all tight and throbbing and sweaty and perfect around him.
But she leans forward and pecks his lips. "It's okay, you can make up for it in the next few days. But perhaps next time you'll let me lead?" She cannot help but ask, something she's been wanting to do ever since she'd first caught a glimpse of him naked.
He grins at her and pulls her to him.
He does, that very same early morning, grips her hips slightly as he lets her take control. It takes them some time to find the perfect angle, the perfect rhythm, but once they do, they both hold onto it tightly, her loving how his neck cranes to suck on a taut nipple, him loving how with every stroke she tenses and lets out a sexual sound, both getting closer and closer to the edge.
He still makes her laugh, afterwards, as they lay under the covers, watching the sky bursting in purples and pinks and blues as they welcome a new day. He kisses her, when they should be sleeping, drops kisses down her back, lower, lower, lower, his back straining, before he's accommodating himself better on top of her.
"I believe I still have to make up for earlier," he shrugs and she grins, opening her legs for him and him slipping under the covers, a lopsided grin on his face.
.
.
.
Time does in fact fly.
Three days go by in a blur of kisses, sun kissed skin, salty air, rough hands caressing soft skin, slow grind of hips, soft kisses on hypersensitive skin, laughter, cocktails, dances, slow walks down the beach.
They wish life would be more simple.
They wish they'd met years ago under different circumstances (they don't regret this, would never bring themselves to), but had they met under different circumstances they wouldn't have to go through what they're going through right now.
They seat, side by side, on the same lounge chair that brought them to meet one another a couple of days ago, saying their goodbyes.
Had it been under different circumstances, they would've perhaps thought that this would work.
But it won't.
This is what they get, a week in a caribbean paradise tucked into memory forever because after paradise, when they both leave to their respective places in the world, stress begins, inhibitions begin, society gets its filthy hands on them along with the crippling self doubt.
But still, he thanks her for the most memorable days of his life and she does the same, only to part ways in the same way they did that first night, with her pushing herself up to her tiptoes and dropping a kiss to his cheek then dropping a slow deep kiss on his lips... a kiss he responds in kind.
.
.
.
Two weeks later, Regina pushes open the glass doors as she walks into the Institute of Biotech at Cornell University. She mutters Good morning to every passing face, some she recognizes, others she doesn't. When she reaches her office, her feels a sadness falling over her, but still manages to utter a Good morning to the bubbly blonde Faye, her personal secretary. The woman offers her a gentle smile and Regina nods as she walks into her office, only to be thrown back by the small floral arrangement, all tropical in oranges and whites and greens, simply gorgeous.
"Tink, I didn't—"
She begins, only to be interrupted by the door closing behind her. But still, she cannot keep her eyes away from the beautiful arrangement neatly placed on top of her dark mahogany desk. She recognizes some of the plants, from the tropical region and her heart does flips flops at what it could be.
Perhaps a thank you note for joining the trip and expecting to hear a review or some comments soon.
Perhaps the hotel, giving her a small piece for her to keep of the place she'd called home for a week. The place she holds very dear to her heart.
So she picks up the card, her legs slightly shaking as she opens it.
I believe we're both too tired and too old to keep wasting something as precious as time not being truly happy.
Will you join me for a drink and a dance?
The clock's ticking.
—Robin
She laughs at it, a small wet sound moving past her lips as she rereads the card again, and then she's placing it on the floral arrangement again, sighing sadly as she traces an orchid she'd more often than not seen stashed against a palm tree in one of their many late night treks on the beach—
"So, will you join me?"
The accented voice asks from behind her and her insides flutter, her lower lip trembles as she turns to face him. He's just by the bookshelf, casually holding a book as he walks closer to her, that big smile on his face, those dimples on display, the sandy hair she'd ran her fingers over in ecstasy slightly tousled.
She shrugs at him, though she cannot stop smiling, can't stop the flutters in her stomach, the tinting of her cheeks, the pure unadulterated happiness she feels.
"Only one?"
He laughs.
|fin|