A/N: This is the first installment to the Outlaw Queen Alphabet: Smut Series that I have been working on. The updates might not be frequent, and it might not be in the order that the letters go (which will grate on my nerves endlessly). I hope you like it anyway!
Thanks Miles for the Beta!
A is for art
Regina has never been artsy.
She's never been the creative kind. She's always been more logical, more rational, her life always being guided by numbers and methods. Sure, she's got an eye for design, and has in fact taken some online courses to get a degree in interior design (it had been a hobby at first, but her husband had encouraged her to do it, and with nothing to lose, she had done it), but she can't say she's very creative. Not in the way her husband is, with his creative spirit and mind.
She'd been often told by her husband that she's his muse, and Regina can honestly say that she thinks she really is. She lost count of the times he's asked her to post for his sketches. He'd told her that drawing is like a part of him, and she, as an extension of his soul has become the one thing he enjoys to draw the most, and so he'd drawn her, parts of her, all of her, in many different angles, in various occasions, in states of dress and undress. She's proud of him, of his creative side, proud that he is able to make a living out of his passion.
And she loves to see what he comes up with, loves it when he takes control of his musings and ideas and executes it on whatever medium he gets his hands on. It's actually to absolutely no surprise to Regina that when they'd finally moved into their first house together, he'd claimed a room for himself and designated it as his own area, his workspace. And he's spent many, many hours in his studio, creating the finest pieces of artwork she's ever laid eyes on. She's no connoisseur but she knows beauty when she sees it and her husband's artworks are it.
So should they be, she thinks, for he spends hours creating them, pouring his effort and heart into creating the pieces. It's not been unknown for him to lock himself in his studio when creates a piece and it's taken everything short of a missile attack for Regina to be able to coax him out.
So when she comes home one late afternoon after a long day at work, she's not even surprised that her husband has once again locked himself in his studio, pouring over his new piece. She doesn't mind this, doesn't mind the hours he spends creating a piece because he always makes it up to her, devotes all the time he has free for and to her to make up for the time he's lost. She just worries sometimes, of course, because she's not always sure he is able to take care of himself when he's in a state.
She doesn't even know if he's had dinner yet, and it's past seven already. She supposes she'll find out, but she needs to get changed into something more comfortable (his white tshirt that she loves to lounge in the house in), and make them something to eat.
It is past eight when she finishes her task, and when she does, she makes her way up to her husband's' studio, knocking on the door lightly.
"Robin?" she asks, opening the door a tad to peer inside. She finds him standing in the middle of the room, a clean, empty canvass in front of him. Judging by the size of it, she knows that he'll be here awhile.
"My love?" he asks, bewildered, as he turns around. He looks a bit lost, but bites his lip when he sees her. There's something in his eyes that Regina can't name. "How long have you been here?"
"Awhile," she answers, sliding into the room with a smile and closing the door behind her softly. She makes her way to him and wraps her arms around his neck, sighing softly when he pulls her closer to him, his arms wrapping around her waist. She inhales deeply, his clean pine-y scent wafting to her nose and enveloping her senses. "I missed you."
He presses a kiss against her forehead and tightens his hold on her, one hand rubbing up and down her back. "And I, you," he murmurs through her temple, and she all but melts into his touch.
She wants him to consume her, wants him to love her in all the ways he knows, all the ways she knows he knows. She wants him, wants him with all of her being, and loves him just as fierce.
"How's your day been?" she asks him, not pulling away, only embracing him tighter.
He sighs and kisses a line down her face, down the side of her neck. "Interesting," he says.
There's a shift in the atmosphere, a flaring of the temperature, a sudden change in the environment, and she pulls back to look at him, and it's there again, that look in his eyes that can only mean trouble. He pulls her back into his arms and kisses her this time, senselessly, taking her breath away. He slides his tongue in without permission, but he doesn't need one, not really.
He steals a kiss, but then again, can it really be stealing when it's something she freely gives as she arches back in his arms, her chest launching and rubbing against his. He's wreaking havoc into her senses as he strokes his tongue against hers, making love to her mouth the way she wishes he would make love to her cunt.
He's a talented man, her husband, and his talents are not limited to art. They exceed into the bedroom, and by far he's the best lover she's ever had—something that she's never made a secret of.
She feels his hand play with the hem of her—his—shirt, and he tugs on it, making her raise her hand and pull her lips away for a few agonizing moment so he could slide it over her head. His right hand lowers to cup her breast, his deft fingers finding her hardened nipples and pinching it. She moans at his touch, wishes he'd lower his mouth and suck hard on them, too. Wetness pools low on her belly, and she feels heat between her legs.
"I have a new idea for an artwork," he murmurs as he now watches her watch him while he plays with her tits. He's thrown her shirt somewhere in the room and he is now using both hands to cup and tease her breasts.
It's also an odd thing to say, she thinks, when he looks just about to fuck the living daylights out of her. He finally lowers his mouth to her tits and sucks her nipple hard enough that she arches her back and pushes them closer to his face.
He knows exactly what she wants, and is unashamed to give it to her.
"Mmmhmm?" she hums, not at all interested at that given the circumstances.
He nods eagerly, though, and she doesn't have the heart to shut that eagerness down and make him attend to the eagerness she feels between her legs.
"Yep," he says and then pulls away. She lets out a disgruntled moan at the loss of his hands on her skin and she looks at him with a pout. "I'll get back to you in a minute my love, but first close your eyes."
She looks at him sceptically, before sighing and doing as he's asked. The next time she feels his hands on her it's cold and wet, and she opens her eyes to look at him, finds him kneeling in front of her with a grin, his hands on her legs and they are brightened by yellow paint. She doesn't know what to think, but he seems to have decided that she doesn't need to when he attaches his lips to her wet core. She doesn't get to say anything before he's sucking on her clit, making her rock her hips against his face. The yellow paint on his hands has now transferredointo her skin, marking her.
"Is this..." she huffs and then groans when he slides his tongue inside her slit, "ohmyfuckinggod baby, is this your new—urm, yeah fuck me like that—new project?"
She feels his smile against her pussy and he fucks her more vigorously with his mouth, and she takes that as a yes.
Her knees are wobbly at this point, the pleasure he's making her feel using his mouth making her legs feel like jell-o, and she needs to sit or be backed against a wall because she can't cum like this—she'd fall on the floor.
Without having to say anything, Robin knows what she's thinking, and he lets up, leads her to where the blank canvass is resting against a wall. He takes his hand to her torso, places them to trail after where his mouth has been. He sucks against the skin of her neck, and his hands soon follow, marking it yellow, before he moves on to her breasts, sucking her nipples in, biting, nibbling, before his hands follow suit.
She's throbbing now, her pussy in need of stimulation, having been fucked by his tongue to its almost peak, but her husband seemed to have other ideas as he submerges his hand to the red paint and rubs it down her body, awakening nerves she doesn't even know she has.
Red painted hands caress all over her skin, and briefly she wonders if these are the kind they could easily wash off, and thinks that they probably are, her husband knows how particular she is, and even if they aren't she doesn't think she cares at this point.
Her body is a map of abstract design, colours all meshing together. He pushes her against the canvass and stands behind her, lets her feel his hardness against her ass before he kneels before her and eats her again from behind. She rubs her skin all over the canvass, and she finally gets it, finally gets what his new, ingenious project is and she smirks, rubbing more against the white canvass.
She bends down a little and reaches for the paint, smearing it all over her front and giving Robin the chance to slide his tongue deeper into her hole. She cries out against the evading muscle, her hand laying flat against the canvass and leaving an imprint. She claws against it, drawing a mess of red and yellow lines against the white.
"Oh yeah, yeah right there, baby," she moans when he sticks his tongue inside her, stiffening it and pushing it in and out of her. Her hips ruck against him, following the rhythm he's set, until she is basically fucking his face. "Oh fuck yea, baby, I'm close."
Her words, instead of pushing him to push her over the edge, makes him halt, and she groans in frustration, and she glares at him over her shoulders.
"Fuck me Robin," she orders when he squeezes her ass and cups her breasts once again.
She's so wet, so fucking wet with all the teasing and she needs his cock inside her. He shakes his head though and points at his hard dick.
"Suck," he says, and she smirks, drops to her knees to do just as he says. She kisses the head first, licking it before licking the underside. He groans and closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her tongue on him. She doesn't give him much time though before she's swallowing him whole, letting the head of his hard cock hit the back of her throat. His hand threads to her hair, holding the back of her head, while the other falls against the canvass, leaving an imprint the same as her hand had on the other side.
He is grunting and moaning, his hips rutting against her mouth, and he pulls against her hair slightly, stilling her face as he thrusts into her. She could see how much this pleases him, could see the way he almost loses control, sweat dripping down his brow as he fucks her hard on her mouth.
"What a dirty little mouth," he mumbles, telling her he'll fuck her, fuck her hard, and she can't help it, she moans at the mere idea of it. He tells her he's going to fuck her dirty little mouth until he cums, and he does just that, thrusts into her mouth, in and out. Her jaw almost hurts, almost, but god damn, this feels too good.
She's been married to him long enough to know when he's coming, and she can see it, the lines creasing his forehead as he concentrates hard, the shortness of his breath and sloppy way he thrusts into her. But she doesn't want him to cum, not like this, not in her mouth, not yet anyway. She wants him to cum inside her, wants him to fill her with his cum and feel them trickling down her legs.
So she pulls her head away, takes his hand from the back of her head and pulls away. She sticks her hand into the paint and rubs it down her front before she turns around, presses her body against the canvass, and turns to look at him heatedly.
"Fuck me like this," she instructs and he can see the way his Adam's apple bobs in his throat, his nostrils flaring as he seizes her hips and rubs the satiny head of his cock against her butt crack. She moans when she feels it slide down to her slit, shudders when she pushes back and it slips inside. She's so wet and so slippery that it's no hardship, and she's so keyed up that it's almost a relief when she feels his hot thickness sheathed inside her.
"Oh fuck, baby, fuck me hard," she murmurs. A small scream rips from her throat when he thrusts into her sharply, almost punishingly, and he pushes her back, lets her skin rub against the material of their canvass. The paint on her skin now becomes a swirling pattern against white backdrop, and he takes her hand in his, laying them flat against the surface, making an imprint, but it's no longer separate, individual ones, but two hands, holding on to each other, making a mark against the scratchy surface.
His other hand holds on to her hips, holding it steady as he fucks her hard and deep from behind, holds it steady as he pistons in and out of her pussy. She moans and groans, takes every hard thrust of his hips against her ass. She feels his lips against her neck then, feels him suck hard at a particular point that makes her scream as her orgasm takes over her whole being, leaving her body trembling and him shuddering as her pussy milks his cock.
But he doesn't let up, of course he doesn't, he rides her through her orgasm, and then when she's all but spent and her legs could no longer stand on its own, he turns her and lifts her into his arms, wrapping one of her legs around his waist and throwing the other on and over his shoulder. He doesn't give her much time before he's pushing his still hard length inside her, and gods this position might be awkward but it's wonderful, she can feel him fully inside her, and it makes her float, makes her see stars behind her closed eyes, makes her winded and wired, and she arches his back, lets his mouth find her nipple as he fucks her into his big old canvass.
They're making art, and it's weird, and dirty, and fantastic but she loves this man so much and every part of him makes her ache, makes her want to just float away into the magic of his penis fucking her into whatever hard surface he hasn't done her in yet.
"Oh fuck Regina," he groans when she clenches her pelvic muscles and grips his cock, making her cunt tighter as he fucks her out of her mind.
"Ohmyfuckinggodrobinfuckmeohyeah," she moans in one breath as he hold on to her tighter and nails her harder and harder against the canvass.
She must look like a mess, feels like one too, but none of that matters really, when he pushes inside her cock-hungry cunt and erupts all of his cum inside her. He bites down on the nipple he's sucking on and reaches down to pinch her throbbing clit, making her come a second time.
It's intense, more intense than the previous one and she arches her back as she comes apart in his arms, falling over the edge.
She doesn't know much after that, doesn't know what happens after she closes her eyes and screams his name, but when she opens them again, she finds herself cradled in her husband's arms as he kisses her face over and over.
Her eyelids flutter, and she finds him grinning smugly at her when she finally focuses on him.
"You blacked out," he tells her smugly.
"You fucked me out of my wits," she tells him honestly, shaking her head when he reaches down to cup her cunt in his hands.
She lolls her head to the side, and finds the weird abstract painting they'd made in his big canvass. He leans down when he sees her staring at it, and presses a kiss against her lips.
"Do you like it?" he asks teasingly.
There's not much to see, it is a combination of weird lines and splattered colors, but she knows how it happened, knows what made it look that way and it makes her skin flush and her core tighten.
She sighs, wishing her husband would fuck her again.
"That's my new project," he tells her needlessly, "And I'm calling it fucked."
Regina laughs and shakes her head. She might not be artsy, but damn, she loves art.
Fin
(10/08/17)