Hey there guys, long time outlaw queen shipper, first time OQ writer. This is just something I came up with thinking about how I am always cold, and how I imagined robin always being warm. Enjoy!
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For as long as Regina could remember, she was always cold.
Poor circulation, she supposed. Small veins and not enough blood flowing through her extremities to keep them at a comfortable warmth. She tried her best to compensate though. Keeping the thermostat turned up high, using thicker, warmer cotton sheets at night instead of her cold silk ones she liked. Thick socks and fur lined gloved in the winter, thick throw blankets in the evening.
The winter was the worst time. The coldness would leech into her hands and feet and spread until she was completely frozen. She would wrap herself in a thick blanket climb under the covers, and would lay there until she was warm enough to sleep peacefully. This ritual wasn't a fun one, with all the shivering and aching due to the cold.
Of course, this all changed when Robin entered her life.
He, she found, was always warm. On their first night together, she remembers him taking her hands in his own and holding them, trying to pass on some of his heat.
"Cold?" He asked with a small chuckle.
"I'm always cold." She replied, moving closer to him, relishing in his warmth. He radiated heat, she noticed. He would have to, she supposed, with all those long nights in the forest. Chilly winter nights in the forest, a fire he built long dead after hours of burning. Nothing but the clothes on his back to keep him warm. Yes, he would have to become his own heater.
"Always?" He asked, wrapping the blanket around them.
"Yes. My mother was always cold too." In more ways than one, she thought, "it's genetics, I suppose."
He nuzzled her neck, "Well lucky for you, m'lady, I'm always warm."
And so every night he would slip into bed and pull her back to his chest, tucking their knees and elbows into one another, take her hands into his own, and warm her up with his heat.
He held her like this most of the night, he found. This, or a similar position. An arm curled around her waist, legs intertwined. Once or twice he found her with her head on his chest and an arm thrown over his side, maybe a leg tangled with his own. More often than not though, he would wake in the middle of the night to find her curled into his side.
The routine was the same every night. He would hold her until she was warm enough.
"Better?" He would always ask, dropping a small kiss to her hair.
She would smile and nod, drifting off into a warm and comfortable sleep.