Summary quote is borrowed, slightly modified, from the brilliant David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas. All prompts come from tumblr.
"I'm not falling for that," he told her, though his smile became ever-so-slightly strained as he turned his head to the side to mutter, "again."
Regina continued to advance, smirking at the acknowledgement that she had bested him before, but her eyes were soft, her approach gentled into that of a lover, and he could almost believe she was coming to him honestly, that he was – at long last – meeting the woman within the huntress.
"I'm not interested in your gold. I have gold," she said, and she was close enough to make his fingers itch to smooth back the wayward hairs along her temple. He straightened and pressed his shoulders against the tree she had so effectively backed him into, fighting the impulse. "What I want is…"
Her words trailed off and hung between them. One hand explored his chest, and he laid his own overtop, pinning it to his heart. He examined the fine bones of her hand, her wrist, with his thumb, circling and stroking without destination until he was well lost in the labyrinth of her skin. A little shudder passed through them both – an unspoken completion of her sentence, for what she wanted was what he wanted as well – and the hairs on the back of Robin's neck stood up, responding to the charge in the air around them.
"I have known your kisses to be costly, m'lady," he said, but it was a poor warning, and she looked up, pleased, as she reached for the leather of his belt. His hips jerked forward as she worked the buckle, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breath already hitching around the words he mumbled there.
Suddenly she pressed sharply against him, taking him in hand, and he bit into the line of muscle just above her collarbone to keep from crying out. She moved underneath him, and he tried to apologize, smoothing over the area with his tongue, feeling the marks he had left on her. They would bruise, surely, and an errant lick of desire tightened in his stomach, made him even harder.
Not because he had hurt her, never that, but because she would be wearing something of his under her simple linen shirt, a secret only he was privy to. He left the reddening skin along her collarbone in favor of the curve of her jaw, softening it with kisses that broke into groans as she teased him.
Her rhythm hadn't faltered during his ministrations, and now she spoke directly into his ear.
"How many times do I have to tell you to call me by name?"
He tipped his head back against the tree, struggling to keep his eyes open while he chuckled. With some effort, he landed a hand in her hair, pulling, and levered her head back until he could find her mouth. She nipped at his lower lip, paying him back in kind, but they were both too impatient to play, deepening their kisses until they were stealing the very breath, the very sight, from each other.
Robin pulled back on the verge, needing to brace himself against both Regina and the tree for strength, to blurrily answer her question.
"At least once more, m'lady."
Always once more. Her grip shifted again, and he was left saying her name every way he knew how as he shook under her touch, finally sliding down the length of the tree into half-collapse at its base, raw from more than the bark that had scraped through the thin material of his shirt.
Regina had fallen with him, and now she set about freeing herself from the tangle of his lap – not unkindly, but he was loath to let her go so soon, and he gathered himself just enough to pluck at her hand as she rose.
She came back to him willingly, slicking his hair back to press a kiss to his forehead, running a fingertip through his stubble, smiling at each shiver of pleasure she drew out of him.
When he tried to bring her closer, she clicked her tongue against her teeth and fisted her hand in his shirt, holding him in place while she ducked away.
"Save some for next time, Hood."
He listened to the crunch of her fading footsteps, and slowly he came back to himself. He fixed his belt and tunic, sucked at the welt on his lip where she had bitten him, and began to inventory his pockets.
True to her word, his (it was a term he used loosely, he would admit) gold was untouched, but he was missing the bit of bent wire he kept for tumbling locks and a silver ring he had often used to masquerade as a member of the nobility.
He had long stopped trying to understand why Regina insisted on collecting him piecemeal when they both knew he yearned to give himself wholly into her keeping.
He knew the way of thieves.
He would pay whatever price she asked of him, in coin or blood or kisses, and steal his share in return.
(In the deep of night, when he had lost all hope for a peaceful sleep, he remembered her command too well: You heard me. Take it off.)