"Are you serious? Do we have to do this now?"
M. Very M. *hides* And then sickeningly sweet.
prompted by trina-deckers
"Are you—serious?" Regina pants, her hands skating out of Robin's hair and over his bare shoulders to tug him closer. "Do we have—mph—have to—do this now?" His muscles shift under her hands, tense with holding his weight off of her as he thrusts into her again.
"Yes," he insists with a groan. He shifts his weight onto one hand so that he can wind the other into her hair, dropping down for a kiss that neither of them is breathing evenly enough to sustain. "Now," he moans into her ear, his tongue fluttering against her pulse point, making her toes curl. He pulls almost all of the way out, then back in one deep thrust, and pleasure blooms in her belly, her hips arcing towards him, her eyes squeezing shut.
She digs a heel into his lower back, hikes her other leg up a little higher against his chest, and when he fills her again it is perfect, God, so good. She whimpers, and he catches on, keeps up the motion, slow, steady, deep. Her jaw drops open as she arches into him, nails digging into his shoulder, and she barely manages to catch most of the babbling words fighting to escape her lips. His name breaks through, though, a gasping Robin as she shivers with pleasure, with the contrast between his warm body and the crisp winter air that her house cannot completely shut out.
"M'lady?"
She chuckles, a heavy breathy sound over tense muscles, grins at the glint she catches in his eyes, even with his face screwed up in pleasure. He's close.
The words are there, on the tip of her tongue, the ones he wants to hear, but she twists her fingers into the hair at his nape instead, orders, "faster".
He groans and obliges, moves his hand from her hair to the pillows so he can set a quicker pace, drinks in the sight of her as the dragging friction, the angle draw whimpers and grunts out of them both. "Regina, gods, you're so—mm—love you."
God, she loves that she can do this to him, make his voice reedy and strained, loves that her body is all it takes to turn this man from an infuriatingly gallant flirt into a babbling mess, loves the way her name sounds like this, loved, desired.
"Still haven't said it," he reminds her between harsh breaths, his movements quicker now, and he's grinding against her clit as he fills her, driving pleasure into her, making her head spin.
"Robin," she whines.
"My love," he answers pointedly, his calloused hand warm as it moves over her skin. "Say it, Regina" he pleads.
"That's up to you," she challenges. She smirks proudly at his furrowed brow and slackened jaw, at his fingers curling into her skin. He's holding back, waiting, barely able to do so, his pace quick, no longer even.
His hand finds her breast with just enough room to rub over her nipple, and the extra layer of sensation nearly breaks her, has her groaning, arching into him, gasping, "I lo—," catching herself just in time.
His smug smirk would normally earn him a scowl, and a playful hand batting at his shoulder. But then he might stop.
"Yes, Regina?" he encourages, his voice halting and breathy and God she loves that she can do that to him, loves that he's made her forget why she was hesitant to say it in the first place, and as she comes apart beneath him, one hand clenching in his hair, the other fisting the sheets beneath her, her body bowing into his, she finally breathes, "I love you."
Robin grunts, thrusts once, twice, again, buries himself deep as he comes with a harsh groan.
When she opens her eyes to meet the warm, hazy depths of his blue ones, they are both still trying to catch their breath.
After a few moments, Robin shifts for her to stretch her legs, leaning forward for a kiss, languid and deep, his fingers brushing the hair out of her face. He kisses her jaw, her neck. "I love you," he returns. He would get that whack to the shoulder now, but when he lies back and tugs her into his arms, and her fingers play against the stubble on his jaw and neck, there isn't a trace of smugness in his blue eyes, just affection, and warmth.
Okay, he looks a little smug.
"Worn out?" she teases as his eyes begin to flutter closed.
"Very," he agrees, one eye peeking open at her, a delicious-sounding yawn on his lips, "it's Saturday, and far too early to be awake."
"So I shouldn't have woken you then?" she quips, dropping a light, nipping kiss on his neck, just in the spot that makes his breath catch.
"Never said that," he argues, his palm skating up and down her back.
She can hear the pout in his voice as she stretches out her arms and legs that still feel like jelly, and goes to stand. "Where'r you goin?" he slurs sleepily.
She kisses his forehead, drawing the sheets back up around him. "Go back to sleep," she whispers.
Regina's halfway to standing before a tugging hand upsets her, and she falls back against him with an undignified squeak.
"Go back to sleep with me," he insists, looping an arm around her waist, his face burrowing into her hair, his body nestling against hers.
"You're ridiculous," she sighs, even as one of her hands moves to cover his at her waist. "Honestly."
"Mm, but you love me," he murmurs. He's already half asleep again, his voice slurred. Damn him; he knows he's won.
She tries to remember if there's anything important she needs to do today, considers sitting up to glance at the bedside clock, but that would require moving, and she can see from the sunlight streaming into her east-facing window that it's still solidly morning, at least. She can spare another half hour.
"That I do," she agrees, settling in, her eyes falling shut, and at the sleepy grin she feels against the back of her neck, she cannot help but smile.