Regina Mills makes her way to The Rabbit Hole, a bar that she's sure wouldn't pass a health inspection if one ever bothered to come to this side of town. She wouldn't have even bothered coming here if she wouldn't have had the day that she's had.
It started this morning when she woke up with a raging migraine, probably from falling asleep on her couch instead of her bed with Egyptian sheets and silk pillow cases. Even after popping two Excedrin, she felt sluggish and fatigue, and she couldn't make her body move faster if she tried. While getting dressed, she poked a hole through the only clean pair of pantyhose she had, which meant that she was bare legged on her way to work, and though it wasn't still winter, it wasn't exactly spring either. It was that awkward period where it could be sunny and warm one day and then blistering cold the next. Then on her way to work, her car decided to break down. So she had to wait for Leroy, a grumpy, shorter man who complained the whole time about her how she never got her car checked and how this was bound to happen one day.
The man was complaining about doing his job.
Then she had to call her mother and explain why she was late, only for her mother to complain that she was irresponsible and that Regina knew she had a meeting this morning and now everything was going to be behind schedule because of her.
Because everything was Regina's fault.
She ends up walking to City Hall. Leroy offered her a ride in his tow truck, but frankly he was not helping her mood much, and he was moving too slow. Plus, Storybrooke is a fairly small town, and she wasn't too far, and it might do her still slightly aching head some goo, the fresh air.
So she walked.
She was halfway to her destination, just passing Granny's Diner, when a blur of curly hair brushed past her legs, straight into the street, followed by a shout of Roland!
Her eyes follow the boy, and then she sees it, a car, heading straight for the boy who's standing in the middle of the street, a ball clutched to his chest. It's natural really, for her to run into the middle of the street and save this little boy who's too frightened to move himself. It's natural for her to pull him into her chest, into safety, as the car comes to a screeching halt.
"Are you okay?" she panted out, a hand moving through the boy's curls.
He didn't get a chance to respond though, because he was taken from her arms.
"Don't you ever scare me like that again Roland, do you hear me?"
She recognized his voice, the one shouting the little boy's name. He must be the boy's father, she thought, even though they didn't look much alike. His hair was lighter, and sandy blonde as opposed to the boy's chocolate curls, his skin fair as opposed to the boy's skin tone that was moreso like hers, an olive complexion.
But the way he looked at the boy, Regina had no doubt he was that boy's father.
"Oh," the man breathed, and only then did she realize that she was just standing there staring at them. How incredibly awkward. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and opens her mouth to say, well, something, but before she gets the chance to, the man is shifting the young boy in his hold and holding on han out for her to shake. "I can not thank you enough."
Regina shook her head, as she gave his hand a firm shake. His hands are incredibly warm, and manage to be both soft and calloused at the same time. She likes his hands, even though they're not hers to like.
"It's no problem, anyone would have-" she started, and she should really get going but he's speaking again.
"I can buy you breakfast, or a cup of coffee?" the man said, motioning to the diner across the street.
Regina could have used the cup of coffee, but she shook her head. "I have somewhere to be." She turned her attention to the little boy who had his face buried in his father's neck. "Just keep an eye on this one."
She didn't really mean it as a dig, but the man seemed to take it as one, his expression darkening as he mutters out that he does watch his son. He tickled his fingers into said boy's side, making one dimple appear and a matching one appear on his father's cheek.
If she had any doubts before, she certainly didn't then.
"Don't you think you should say thank you to this nice lady? She kept you from getting hurt."
"Thank you." the little boy said in the sweetest voice that Regina sincerely felt her heart melt.
"It's no problem little guy," she told him, and she had to fight the urge to reach out and touch his little hand. "Just don't run in the street like that again okay? Not only did you scare your daddy but you could get hurt, and none of us want that, right?"
The toddler shakes his head so vigorously that she thought it might detach from his little body.
"Good." she said with a smile, and her eyes moved to the boy's father involuntarily and she found that he was already staring at her.
"Thank you again." he said. "Are you sure I can't buy you a coffee or something?"
Regina shook her head. "I really have to get to work." she told him, and herself, because even though she knew how pissed her mother would be, she was in no rush to move around him and head in the direction of said work.
But she had to, so with a smile and another small wave, she made her way down the street and found herself hoping to see them again.
When she got to the City Hall, her mother made underhanded comments about her disheveled appearance, and gave her no thanks for the preparation Regina had done for the meeting her mother was having with the sheriff regarding the new deputy. She had the privilege of sitting in the meeting while Graham Humbert, the town sheriff and her ex, made his presentation.
The break up had happened months ago, and they had managed to avoid each other. Her mother never made her sit in on meeting before ("Because I'm sure you'll find someway to embarrass yourself and therefore, embarrass me"), and Regina couldn't help but wonder if this tie was some sort of punishment for being late. She wouldn't put it past her.
The rest of the day consisted of staring at a computer screen which did nothing to help her migraine, and dealing with her mother, which certainly made her migraine worse.
She's so glad it's a Friday, that she wouldn't have to go into the office the next day, that she could go home and have a stiff drink and sleep the rest of the night away.
But then she remembered that all she had at home was wine, and while she liked wine (loved it), she didn't want wine.
And that's what led her here, to The Rabbit Hole, in search of something amber and strong that would burn as it went down her throat but she couldn't necessarily go to Granny's in fear of her mother finding out.
It's sad isn't it? Here she is, thirty-fucking-six years old, worried about what her mother thinks about her.
Regina pushes open the door of the bar, almost choking on the smoke that immediately hits her lungs. It's packed, and makes her want to immediately want to turn around because if her mother head that she had been to a place like this, she would never hear the end of it. But as she takes a quick look around, she realizes that there's no one in this bar that her mother would even associate with.
So, she starts making her way to the bar when she spots him, the father with the adorable son from this morning. He's glaring at the glass of whiskey in his hand like it pissed in his cereal, and she probably should leave him alone, but there's only one spot beside him that's empty, unless she sits in a booth and she does not want to do that and invite people to try to socialize with her.
She sits besides him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and waving over the bartender. She recognizes him, she went to highschool with him. What was his name again? Something Jones. Louis maybe?
He must recognize her too (and really, who wouldn't), because his eyebrows raise to her hairline.
"Regina Mills, what brings you to our neck of the woods?" the bartender asks, a smirk on his lips.
"Tequila. A round of shots actually," she answers, painting a tight smile on her lips.
The bartender who's name she still doesn't know raises his brows to his hairline, but he doesn't arue. He just grabs several shot glasses and fills them a quarter of the way with the amber liquid, before he gives her a black napkin and several lime slice.
"Rough day?" he asks, needlessly wiping at the bar in front of her.
Regina doesn't even try to make the fake smile on her lips seem believable. "I'm sure you have some other customers to tend to and I am in no mood to chat so..."
Jones holds his hands up. "Just being a good bartender, and part of being a bartender is being a part time therapist."
"Well I could talk to Archie Hopper if I wanted one." Regina says as she grabs one of the shot glasses and brings it to her lips. She tosses her head back and lets the liquor burns it's way down her throat, grimacing as she grabs lime and sucks hard.
The bartender tosses his dirty dishtowel over his shoulder before he shrugs. "Well, if you change you mind I'll be down there," he says, motioning down the bar as he makes his way in the direction.
It's only moments before the man before he speaks. "Liam tries to be Dr. Phil to everyone and doesn't realize when to shut his mouth sometimes."
Liam. That was his name.
"Yeah well, Dr. Phil is kinda a hack." Regina mutters as she grabs another shot glass.
The man beside her chuckles, and she finally turns to look at him and finds that he isn't glaring at his whiskey anymore, but looking at her. Even in the low lighting of the bar, she could see how gorgeous and blue his eyes were. She had noticed that morning, but she was still off an adrenaline rush from running in the middle of the street and saving his kid and hadn't been really paying attention.
Now, now she was.
"I didn't catch your name this morning." Regina says as she runs her finger along the rim of her shot glass.
"Robin, Robin Locksley." he says, holding out a hand for her to shake, which she does with a small smile. She lets her hand go back under her chin as he asks, "And you're Regina Mills."
Regina nods, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "The one and only," she clears her throat and licks her lips. "I'm sure my reputation proceeds me."
"It does." Robin says, a small smirk on his lips before he shrugs one shoulder. "But clearly that reputation of yours has you all wrong."
That interest Regina. "You think so?"
"I do," Robin says, shifting in his seat so that his body is turned towards her. "The things I have heard about you are... not the most flattering."
"I'm sure." Regina quips with a roll of her eyes.
"But, the little glimpse I saw this morning, that wasn't the cold-hearted... uh, well bitch, for lack of a better term, that I have always heard about."
It shouldn't flatter her, him saying that she's not a major bitch, but it does. Makes her push one shot glass towards him as she mutters, "There's no way I can drink all of these by myself."
Robin smiles as he grabs the small glass. "Well, I'm at your service milady."
Regina snorts as they clink their shots glasses together. "Milady? What is this, the 1900s?"
"It's apart of my British charm."
Regina rolls her eyes as she holds up her glass. "Bottoms up."
They both down their drinks before sucking on the lime slice, Regina grimacing as she does. They don't stop there, they continuing finishing off the the round she ordered before ordering another. They're both on their fourth shot when Regina asks about his son.
She immediately regrets it when the mood shifts from casually content to sober. He glares at his shot glass once again, shrugging one shoulder. "He's fine. He's was good after meeting you this morning. We really just went about our morning as normal. He wasn't even phased about it really."
"Then why do you look like someone kicked your puppy?" Regina asks as she places her hand on her chin.
"Because everyone in this town has a big fucking mouth, and my ex ended up hearing about it. Long story short, she took him even though it's my weekend. So instead of tucking my son into bed I'm here." Robin looks at her then, and manages a weak smile. "Although you've saved my night from being a totally bummer."
She feels a flush creep up her neck, and is entirely ready to blame it on the warmth in the bar. She clears her throat, turning her attention to the drink in her hand. "Well, I'm very sorry that happened. Maybe she'll let you see him tomorrow?"
"Maybe." Robin mutters. He shakes his head then, runs his hand over his forehead before he says, "But enough about that. I don't want to talk about my ex. Let's talk about a far more interesting topic."
"Which is?"
Robin grins cheekily (which showcases his dimples, she really likes his dimples) before he says, "You."
"Smooth." she says with a light laugh (it's not a giggle, definitely not a giggle). "And what do you want to know about me?"
Robin purses his lips as he thinks, before he shrugs his shoulders and states, "Well, you know why I'm here, I think it's only fair that I know the same."
The brunette shifts in her seat s she exhales heavily. "I just had a shitty day is all. I just... needed alcohol and didn't have anything strong enough at home, so, here I am."
She can tell he's wondering just what made her day so shitty, but she's not drunk enough to talk about that yet, so she holds her drink up.
"To crappy days."
Robin smirked, holds up his own drink, before they both knock them back.
They enjoy more drinks, allow their conversation to move towards more enjoyable topics, and before Regina realizes it, she's way more touchy wit the man than she was an hour ago (has it even been an hour? She hasn't really been keeping track of time). Her hand finds it's way to his knee, or his bicep, or even on his hand, that's warm and manages to be both soft and calloused at the same time.
And she's not the only one doing the touching.
Robin's hand seems to like her knee, his thumb stroking her skin through the nylon of her stockings. It makes her warm, has arousal flowing throughout her veins even though she knows it shouldn't be, she shouldn't be thinking about actually hooking up with this man. This very attractive man who she barely knows, but one thing she does know is that he likes her too - he wants her too.
She doesn't know how many drinks they've had when he asks her to dance. Her first thought was no, because she doesn't dance, doesn't even really like to dance (her mother always told her she had two left feet and "How is your father Puerto Rican and Sicilian and you have not an ounce of rhythm?")
But as she looks around the bar, people are drunk off their ass and wouldn't be paying her any mind, and the few people that were dancing were doing so in a manner that assures Regina that their attention surely wouldn't be on her.
And above all else, she wants to dance with this man. She wants to have an excuse to touch him and be close to him, at least once. Because who was to say that after they left this bar they would see each other again? Without the low lights and alcohol flowing through their veins, would they even be attracted to each other? (She was sure she would be, the stubble, the dimples, the blue eyes, the light-brown-maybe-dirty-blonde hair that seems perfectly done although he doesn't seem like the type of guy that actually styles his hair).
She takes another sip of her drink (they've traded tequila shots for whiskey) before she abandons it, intertwining their fingers and tugging at his hand, giggling when Robin stumbles off of his bar stool.
They move to a corner of the dance floor that's not immediately seen, it's a bit more secluded, and his arm wrap around her as they dance, hovering over her ass as he stares at her with eyes that look several shades darker than they were moments ago and it makes her very aware of how sexually frustrated she is.
Her hands run up his arms, he has good arms, really good arms that she hadn't noted earlier that day because they were under that terribly bulky moss green jacket. It should be declared a crime fr him to ever wear that jacket again, for him to ever hide these arms again.
She finds herself pressed against him, his thigh slightly wedged between her legs, and suddenly she's straddling it as they dance. A quick look around the room tells her that everyone else around her is grinding along to the sexy R&B beat that's playing over the speakers, they're all grinding, so when she presses herself against his thigh, it doesn't look any different than what anyone else is doing.
But damn does it feel good, and she has to let out a sigh at the contact.
Robin grunts out something like God you're sexy, and she just hums in reply, rocking against his thigh. Not too obviously, because even if she is drunk she would die in embarrassment if anyone was to realize that she's basically humping this man's leg, she would die from mortification.
Regina feels his hands skim over her ass and over her back and damn it feels good to feel one of those hands urging her on, encouraging her to rock against his leg more deliberately.
They should get out of here, she thinks. They could go into the bathroom, lock the door, and she could hike this dress up and let him fuck her right against the bathroom stall.
Her thighs clench around his thigh, and god, she needs more than a few passes against her clit. She wants more, and judging by the hardness against her hip, so does he.
She presses a kiss on his neck, a smirk forming on lips when she hears him let out a fuck. "Do you... do you wanna get out of here?"
Robin turns his head towards her. "Do you want to?"
She does, she really does.
So she answers him with a kiss to his neck, running her teeth over his pulse and revealing in the groan that leaves the british man's mouth.
"Fuck, I'll take that as a yes," he rasps, and she nods against his neck. "Okay, uh, lemme just, uh, fuck, take care of the tab and then I'm all yours."
Right, the tab. She forgot alcohol isn't free at a bar (it should be, she should talk to her mother about that, getting a bar that just serves alcohol 24/7 for free. It wouldn't be profitable but it would popular as hell). "Right, lemme get my card and-"
"I got it." Robin says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it babe."
She shouldn't let this man pay for her, and if she wa sober, she absolutely wouldn't. But she's not sober, and he doesn't give her a chance, moving over to the bar with slightly clumsy steps. She watches as he talks to the bartender, takes a few bills out of his pocket, and then surrender his car keys before he moves back to her with a smirk.
"Let's get out of here milady."
It should not turn her on so much, a simple sentence, but it does. Makes her intertwine their hands and tug him out of the backdoor instead of the front, pushing him against the brick wall kissing him like she's a thirsty woman and he's the last cool well of water. She kisses him until her lips are aching for relief and her lungs are aching for air, and then she kisses him just a little bit longer before she has to rip her lips away.
"Fuck, you are so stunning." Robin mutters into the small space where their breaths mingle.
The smile on her lips is a goofy thing that's probably too goofy considering their environment and the atmosphere they're in. But he doesn't seem to mind it, he just kisses her smile with a hum, his hands skimming over her waist, her hips, her ass, and back up again. Their foreheads are pressed together, their mouths hovering, and honestly... it seems like they just can't not kiss each other.
Her back is the one that ends up agaisnt the wall, and he's moved his mouth from her to her neck, sucking and nibbling at her skin, making her bite down hard on her bottom lip to prevent herself making too much noise and alerting someone to their whereabouts.
Even though they should stop. That's what the rational part of her brain tells her. The part of her that's not drunk and high on the ecstasy of his lips, of his scent (which reminds her of the summer camp her mother sent her off to when she was thirteen), tells her that she should stop this before it goes any further, that they should go to her place or his or anywhere that isn't an alley that's potentially visible from the street.
But the way he's kissing her, the way she's rocking into him, the way his hardness is pressing into her hip, well how could she be expected to leave this alley if it means that they would have to stop? But she does want more, needs, more, god, she's practically burning alive-
"Let me taste you." Robin rasps against her lips and she whimpers, her head nodding aa her fingers tangle in his hair
"Please, please go down on me."
She's begging this man, she actually can't believe that she's begging this man to get on his knees in the dirty alley and eat her out against the brick wall of the Rabbit Hole, but she is and he's actually doing it, presses a bruising kiss to her lips, then a suckling one on her collarbone, one againsts her breast, her nipples aching (she has never hated this dress more than she does right now), one against her belly, and then he's pushing her dress up even more, sucing on the inside of her thighs before he lets out a shuddering breath against her underwear.
"You're so damn wet." he comments needlessly as he strokes her through her underwear. The moan she lets out is loud, much too loud considering he's barely done anything (and the fact that they're in public and a public indecency charge would not look good on her spotless record).
He tugs at her underwear until they're down to her ankles, and then she lifts one foot out, and then the other, trying to save her underwear from touching the disgusting ground. Robin catches it and slips it into his back pocket, and is that what he does? Hooks up with women in dirty alleys and takes their panties? Is he some sort of panty thief?
She doesn't have too much time to dwell on her thoughts though, because Robin is placing one leg over his shoulder, and then he places a simple kiss on her clit.
Her hips rock into the air on instinct, and she has to bite down hard on her bottom lip. Who moans at a single god damned kiss?
But then he's licking at her drawing his tongue up from that spot to her center, and while her teeth might be sunken into her bottom lip, she can't help the stifled Fuck that escapes despite her best efforts.
He trails open, wet, sucking kisses just around where she needs him but not quite there. She tries to tug at his hair to where she wants him, because she is no mood for inexperienced men and she will just have to teach him. But she feels the warm vibration of his chuckled breath right where she's sensitive, and that's enough to make her even more needy.
"Can you just," she starts, but she doesn't even know what she wants him to do. She just wants him to do something.
But it seems he gets the idea, because he draws one long lick from between her folds, from bottom to top, his tongue swirling gently around her clit. The hiss that leaves her lips is loud, relieved, but it's over far too quickly, and his mouth is back away from where she's aching for him.
He's teasing her. Torturing her, and if the smirk on his lips is any indication, he's taking great pleasure in it.
"I hate you," she hisses, and in that moment, she has never meant anything more.
He chuckles again, and the vibrations make her bite down hair on her bottom lip. God she just want to fuck his face.
"Patience is a virtue miady."
She would snort if she wasn't incredibly annoyed. Nothing they were doing right now was close to virtuous.
"Besides, isn't it better this way?" he asks, one finger touching her clit gently. "Slowly building towards that peak and then you just, fall?"
She huffs out a frustrated sigh, because yes, maybe if she was having sex regularly then she wouldn't be so pent up and achy, but she hasn't and she needs this, and besides, "We don't have time for slow. We can get caught."
"Not if you're quiet."
She wishes that she had some sort of superpower, that she had super strength or fire that came through her fingertips so she could just make him do what she needs him to do. But she doesn't, so she has no choice but to continue to be tortured by the kisses that Robin's pressing against her thighs, goosebumps rising with each suckling kiss from his mouth.
Her fingers scratch though his hair, and she's thinking about what the hell she's actually doing, legs spread for a man in a dirt alleyway behind a bar, and god what would mother think, but then his tongue finally sweeps through her folds, and she's so caught off guard that she lets out a sound far too loud and pornagaphic considering the fact that they're in public. One of her hands flies to cover her mouth with a clap.
Robin makes a sound against her, or maybe he mutters something, she doesn't know, doesn't particularly care, because he's not letting up, he's not teasing her anymore, he's giving her exactly what she needs. He's lapping a her greedily like he's a starving man and she's the first meal she's had in weeks. Her thighs start to tremble, his beard scratching and tickling against her, and it sets her on fire. Her entire body is tingling, jolts of electricity going right to her bundle of nerves, and she needs more. She needs-
"Fingers! Please I-I need your fingers!"
She feels two thick calloused fingers sliding through her wetness, opening her up slowly and firmly, before he slides two fingers inside her slowly, muttering something about how wet and hot and tight she is.
He angles his fingers so that he's hitting that spot inside her, and it affects her immediately, pleasure flowing from deep inside her and running through her veins, white hot and electric.
"Faster," she groans, rocking her hips in a quick rhythm she needs him to mimic.
He seems to be out of the torturing mood, because he increases the pace with every stroke, until he's moving hard and fast, making far too much noise for where they are but she's too far gone to give a damn.
She has to bite down hard on her bottom lip to keep her from babbling, to keep her from screaming out and possibly getting them caught.
Her nipples are aching through her bra and dress, needing some attention, and she finds herself kneading them through two layers of too many fabrics, and it shouldn't be enough but it is, has her dripping down his fingers, strikes of pleasure lightning up inside her and burning blissfully as she climaxes.
"That was by far, one of the sexiest things I've ever seen." Robin says, his fingers slipping out of her slowly, and she whimpers slightly, her head hitting brick wall behind her as she waits for her heart to stop pounding inside her chest.
She, Regina Victoria Mills, just recieved oral sex from a man that she barely knows (can she even say she barely knows him? He's really a stranger to her) in an alley.
What the fuck.
"Regina?" she hears, and she blinks open eyes she hadn't even realized had closed, dark eyes getting a little lighter with every passing second. "Are you okay?" Robin asks, and he reaches and tucks some hair behind her ear with the hand that had just been inside her, and that shouldn't be some sort of aphrodisiac but it is.
She nods, mutters that she's fine, how could she not be when she could still feel her orgasm coursing through her veins?
They both stand there for a moment, just staring at each other. His eyes are so damn blue. Like the sky, or the ocean, or like, a blue crayon.
"Do you want me to walk you home?"
She blinks, her head cocking to the side a bit. Does she want to go home? She basically got all that she would from their little rendezvous, she could go home, go to sleep, and forget this ever happened.
But she finds that she doesn't want to.
Her hands move to the collar of his jacket, pulling his body close to her and relishing in the feeling of his evident arousal pressing against her. She kisses him, wet and sloppy and exhilarating, and when she pulls away from him, she's paying, her heart is beating wildly in her chest, and she just had one request;
"Take me to your place."