Note: Rated M. Based on spoilers from the filming of 4x20/4x21. If you do not want to be spoiled on a very, very major plot point, go away.
Robin's been so calm and strong all day, for Roland, and she suspects also for her. But now, as he rests against her headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, his solidity, from their brief and frantic phone conversation to the moment Roland slipped away into his dreams, has begun to waver.
Regina settles a mug of decaffeinated coffee into his hands. Brewing it had given her something helpful to do, while he coaxed Roland into bed. They'd decided silently that Roland only needed Robin's familiarity for bedtime after such a horrific day.
Regina sits beside him, intending to mimic his position, but at the last moment he reaches out and twists his fingers into hers, and so she curls herself into his side instead, looping a hand through his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. He presses his nose in her hair and takes a deep breath, but his jaw feels as tense as it looked when she entered the room.
It feels callous to ask if he's all right.
"Roland asked for her," he confesses, swallowing a gulp of the coffee as she begins to trace her hand up and down the inside of his arm, a slow, almost sleepy touch.
She swallows, and waits. Cannot fathom how they will help his precious son understand why Mama has left again.
"What became of me, in the years since we lost her, that I could not tell who was right in front of me?"
"Robin," she says with a touch of anguish, curling her fingers around his and holding on tightly. "It wasn't your fault. If anything it was—she never would've interfered in your lives, if you weren't—"
"Don't," he interrupts, pressing a kiss to her hair, "don't blame yourself."
"But you can?" she huffs.
"Regina, we could've been together since—I didn't have to—I had no reason to—"
She turns, slides the coffee from his hand and into hers, and reaches over him to deposit it on the bedside table.
"Shh," she soothes. He is crying, silently, but the trembling of his shoulders, and the shakiness of his breaths are clear enough. She tugs him to turn towards her and lets his head rest in the crook of her neck, her fingers twisting into the hair at his nape. "I know," she sighs, tears slipping over her cheeks as well. She doesn't add an at least we are here now, because she knows it will be of little comfort to him, though it is everything to her. How strange it is, for someone to be so ravaged by having unintentionally hurt her, and yet she knows it's true.
They fall asleep like that, Regina's fingers weaving through his hair, their limbs tangled.
A few hours after midnight, Regina wakes to Robin struggling with the zipper on the back of her dress. When his blue eyes catch her dark ones, he drops a kiss to the perplexed crease of her forehead. He's discarded his jeans and button-up, and some of his hair looks damp, as though he's just thrown water on his face. "Go back to sleep, love," he tells her, his voice low but not quite a whisper, "I just thought you'd be more comfortable with a blanket than this," he explains, gesturing towards her dress and sinking onto the mattress beside her.
She blinks a couple of times, and then lifts herself onto her palms and sits, rubbing away the sleepiness from her eyes and frowning when small black marks from her eye makeup run onto her hands. "I need to change," she decides, "and remove my makeup," blinking again and glancing at the bedside table. The red numbers on the alarm clock tell her it is currently 2:47am.
She lifts the comforter he'd pulled over her legs, stands, and heads to the bathroom, almost laughs when she catches the disgruntled pout on his lips from her absence. She smiles over her shoulder, half a smirk, half a more cautious question. "Coming?"
—
"You checked on Roland?" she guesses softly as she rests a plush cream towel on the vanity and switches on the tap, giving it a moment to heat up.
"Sound asleep," Robin answers as he leans against the wall to face her, arms crossed in front of him, "I don't think a tornado ripping through the house would wake him."
He watches as she finishes unzipping her dress and peels off the heavy purple fabric, replacing it withsilk pajama bottoms, as she reaches around her back to unclasp her bra and allows the straps to slide down her arms, pulling a silk camisole over her head and tosses her hair over her shoulders. She can see his thumb brush back and forth across his fingers in the mirror, and she imagines he is itching to bury his fingers in her hair, to slide his palm over her back.
The thought brings a smile to her face, tinged with sadness for all the weeks of this they've missed.
"May I?" he pleads softly as he watches her pump soap onto one of the towels to remove her caked day-old makeup. At her nod, he steps forward and eases it out of her hands and into his. "Close your eyes," he breathes, his thumb skating across the tender skin beneath her eyes, the warmth between them a tangible, comforting thing as he wets the towel, turns off the tap, and begins to wipe her foundation away with gentle strokes.
She's glad of the water, because she hopes it will hide the tears that have unexpectedly begun to well up in her eyes. She feels strangely aware of her own body, of his closeness, of the distance that has been a physical ache to her since he left. Her sense of sight temporarily cut off, her others senses compensating.
If Robin notices the tears pooling at the edges of her eyes, he doesn't say.
"Did you sleep all right?" he murmurs, as he moves his attention from her jaw and cheeks to one eyelid, his breath warm as it brushes her face.
Her nose crinkles teasingly despite herself, her eyes still shut. "You mean despite the fact that you kept moving?"
His voice turns sheepish as he runs the cloth along her lashes one last time and switches to the other eye. "I was reaching for you."
Her eyes snap open at that, and they stare at each other for a moment before they're leaning in, their lips meeting briefly once, again, a third time, tongues tangling as their smiles melt into their touch.
Regina sighs as she pulls away and Robin's forehead settles against hers.
Her fingers find the damp hair that frames his face, her lungs filling slowly. "You used my soap," she observes as the scent fills her nostrils.
"I never said I only knew how to bathe in the river, milady."
She smirks against him, palms coasting up his shoulders.
His fingers twist their way into her dark hair, threading through and easing out the tangles.
"I haven't slept so well in months," she finally confesses in a whisper.
She leaves out the nights she spent crying silently with the ache of his absence, hating herself all the while for wanting him when he was with his true family, hating that she still turned to page twenty-three for hope even though she should have none, even though nothing ever worked out for her. Never hating herself more than for the way she still believed thatshe was part of the family he wanted. She leaves out the middle of the nights when she woke from a dream aching with need, and her own fingers wandered to her breasts, her center, and she imagined them to be Robin's fingers, Robin's lips, pictured his smirk at her every gasp, his groan as she pressed him into the mattress and her lips worked their way down his chest to return the favor. She leaves out the early mornings when, as the glaring red of her alarm clock reminded her that she had passed another night without sleep, she took to running her fingers over the photo she kept in the drawer of her nightstand, to tracing the angle of his jaw and the lines of his smile as she tried to let the safety of that moment in the hallway of Granny's bleed into her present.
"Neither have I."
(And she may not think of it, not now, but he had nights and midnights and early mornings much the same, pressing his face into his pillow to stifle the sobs from his son and the woman he thought to be his wife; wrapping his hand around himself in the shower and biting back groans of her name as he worked himself to frenzied completion, her smile at once vivid and distant to his shuttered eyes; reaching into the pocket that once held the page he returned to her, its absence a dreaded reminder that he no longer had anything to remember her by but his own memory.)
Robin lifts his forehead for a moment, bringing the cloth back to her skin to sweep away the last remains of her makeup. "There," he whispers as his touch falls away.
Their lips meet again, Regina's hands curling into Robin's shirt collar, the damp towel falling to the floor as Robin's palms work their way under her camisole and onto the bare skin of her back. "Robin," Regina gasps, one of his hands trailing up her ribs to brush the underside of her breast. He hmm's in response, breaking off into a stuttering breath as she presses fully into him, smirking to find him half hard against her belly.
"Bed?" he asks, kissing his way across her jaw and to the hollow behind her ear, his tongue flitting against her pulse point.
She shakes her head, her nails scoring their way down his chest, and backs a final step until she's leaning against the wall, pulling him with her. "Here."
He opens his mouth as if to argue, and so she covers his lips with her own.
"Bed later," she promises. She lifts a teasing eyebrow as his hand covers her breast, her breath still heavy.
One of his thumbs continues to rub over a nipple as he uses his free hand to lift her shirt over her head, his eyes fixed on hers.
She searches for anything coherent, but manages only a watery smile, her hands coming to frame his face. He kisses her lips first, lingering as they take deep breaths, and then he makes his way down the column of her throat, lips skimming across her collarbone, down to her breasts. He seems to remember every detail from her vault, exactly when to scrape his teeth gently against tender skin, where to trail his tongue so that it has her gasping for air, how to twist and tug at one nipple and surround the other with his mouth until she arches into him; her nerves are live wires, all thought about how this was not quite what she meant when she said she wanted him here and now falling away because there is nothing but this moment, and his touch, and his love for her so plain she can feel it in his every breath.
She groans in protest as he stands straight again, glaring at him through half-lidded eyes.
"Wait," he gasps before her hand can reach his length. She halts, breathing heavily, irritation flushing across her face before she can stop it as he lifts his hips just out of the reach of hers.
He chuckles warmly, his thumb smoothing away the crease in her forehead as he plants a gentle kiss on her lips. "It's been far too long. I should very much like to be somewhere comfortable."
A determined smirk dances across her lips for a moment before they both disappear in a cloud of purple smoke.
They land on the bed in a heap, and Robin returns, smirking but unfazed, to his task, kissing his way down her stomach, pushing the blue-grey silk of her pajamas and the black lace of her panties down until she can kick them away.
She doesn't realize his lips have moved until she feels his tongue swipe the inside of her thigh and her head thrashes to the side, her toes curl, her hips buck into him. She feels his grin against her skin as he moves back to press soft kisses to her thigh.
"Robin," she groans, twisting a hand in his hair.
"Mmm?" he hums, and the vibrations make her shiver.
He trails kisses down to the back of her knee, open-mouthed and warm, enough to keep her on edge but not enough to ease the quivering need running through her veins. "What, love?" and the endearment has her shockingly close to tears, the warm lilt of his accent sending a shiver up her spine. She lifts her head for just a moment to give him the strongest glare she can manage, which she realizes must look more like a pout because her muscles refuse to cooperate. He raises his eyebrows at her from beside her knee, and then the determination in her expression collapses as he trails his lips against her skin and moves back up to her center. He exhales slowly against her and her hands clench into the sheets.
"Robin," she warns, her chest rising and falling with each heaving breath, and his name falls off into a moan as his lips find her once more. She presses up into him as his tongue flicks against her clit, one of his fingers circling her entrance and then slipping in, a second following as he curls them inside her.
"Don't—" she sighs, her fingers tugging at his hair, "don't stop."
He chuckles against her, another layer of sensation that has her mind even less coherent, and all she can think is that there are no authors, no fate or destiny stopping them now.
Breathless minutes of his fingers and tongue against her, and she is so close she can feel her belly tightening, her body arching to reach him, but she wants their bodies joined. She tugs at his hair until he pulls back, tilting his head with an adorably confused pout on his lips, his jaw slack. "Come here," she orders, winding her calf around his thigh.
His eyes are glassy as he crawls back over her.
"What is it?" she asks, one palm trailing over his shoulder, down his chest, the other cupping his jaw, a gasp escaping her lips as the planes of his body line with hers, his length notching against her center.
He guides himself home, strong and solid as he fills her, settling his weight on his forearms and burying his face in her neck.
When he has filled her to the hilt, he stops for a moment, breathing heavily, groaning as she digs a heel into his thigh and lifts her hips from the bed, her lips skimming along his jaw.
He pulls out, fills her again, his eyes falling shut. Regina whimpers as Robin's eyes meet hers again, watching her, and she is unashamed of the moans slipping past her lips. He threads fingers through her hair, obliging when she pleads more and faster, catching her lips for a heady kiss that is desperate from the start.
"Never—" she gasps out as he brings a hand between them and presses his thumb into her clit, "never leave again."
"I won't," he promises.
She feels her belly tightening again, her stomach fluttering, every drag of him inside her pushing her closer to the edge, and with one last thrust, she comes apart beneath him, around him, trembling as he continues to move, dragging out her pleasure, his movements frantic, erratic until he shudders and finishes, collapsing on top of her.
They are still for a moment, catching their breath, and then he pulls out of her and flops, boneless, onto his back, Regina curling into his side and wedging an ankle between his. She nuzzles into his chest, covering the skin she can reach with languid kisses as his fingers swirl in aimless patterns across her back.
"There are not words for how much I have missed you," he sighs, grinning at her as a smile steals across her face. He traces her lips with his thumb, and Regina drinks in every detail of his features, the patch of tan where a sunburn has almost healed on his forehead, the affectionate crinkle of his eyes and pout of his lips, the still-dilated pupils of his blue eyes. "What?" he asks, his hands finding their way into her hair.
"Nothing," she insists, shaking her head softly, the pads of her fingers running across his stubble. "I missed you too."
She leans down to kiss him, smiling into his lips as his palms make their way from her hair, down her arms and wrists to rest over the backs of her hands, anchoring them to his shoulders.
Regina pulls away with a contented sigh, settling herself into his side again.
Regina wakes in an empty bed, and she has to blink a couple of times and feel for the warmth of Robin's side of the bed before she believes it wasn't just a dream.
As she sits, she takes a deep breath and realizes she hears the clang of pans drifting up the stairs.
She snags her dressing gown from its place by her vanity, and heads downstairs to investigate.
"Morning," Robin greets as she enters the kitchen. He turns to retrieve a mug from the counter, and then settles it in her hands, his lips landing on her forehead.
She breathes in the steam, and then takes a hesitant sip, raising an eyebrow at the smirk he's sending her as he returns to the stove to stir something. "You learned how to use a coffee machine while you were away," she observes, taking another sip. It's a little lighter than her typical brew, but perfectly good.
"And I only broke the first two machines doing it. Ask Roland."
"You didn't," she laughs.
"Indeed." He gestures back towards the stove. "Oatmeal, however, I can be relied upon to cook without incident."
"And you left bed to do so because-"
"I'm cooking you breakfast. Sit," he insists, setting two bowls beside the stove and ladling oatmeal to fill them.
She slides into her usual stool at the counter, snagging Robin's coffee on her way and setting it at the seat beside her. He deposits a plate full of freshly cut fruit, and then the bowls, and sits beside her, smiling proudly.
"Did you turn off the stove, and put the rest of the fruit back in the-"
"Refrigerator? Yes, love."
"Sorry, I keep forgetting that you know how to..."
He chuckles warmly, his hand finding hers beneath the countertop, their fingers twining together.
"Go ahead and eat," he tells her, "I'll reheat it when the boys are awake."
She shakes her head, "I don't know how to explain to Roland that..." Robin turns to her, gives in and scoots his chair closer to hers. "The thing I still don't understand is…why she would do it, even after I had chosen you, and we had left Storybrooke for good."
"I do," Regina confesses after a moment, turning so that she can look at him properly.
He waits for her to explain, his fingers working their way into her hair, as always, her anchor.
"She has been…" Regina searches for the right word, "starved for kindness for most of her life. I am sure you and Roland treated her with more true affection than she has ever known." She swallows against the tears. "It's a difficult thing to let go of. Finally having a family."
He wipes her tears away with his thumb and pulls her to him for a hug, his arms circling her as she tucks her chin over his shoulder.
"If it weren't for you, and Roland, I'd almost feel sorry for her. I think I do, on some level." When he swallows heavily in response, she smiles into his shoulder. "It's all right if you don't"
"I think I could say the same. If it weren't for you, and Roland. I don't think he'd understand if we told him that Marian was never really here. Even if that were the right thing to do."
"No," she agrees. "He won't understand. Not now, anyway."
"We'll figure something out," he promises, and she wonders if he means to reassure her, or himself, "together."
She turns out of their embrace at the clamor of feet on the stairs, and she could not stop her broad smile even if she'd wanted to. Roland is making his way downstairs, his hand clinging firmly to Henry's. When her son catches her eyes, he grins at her.
Robin's hand slides across her back, his lips pressing against her temple for a moment before he opens his arms for his son.
Henry slides into the chair opposite her. "Happy, Mom?" he asks.
She blinks back the moisture welling up in her eyes, and smiles. "Very."