I wrote this when, really, I should be studying for my Economics exam. I don't regret it (true, I don't have my resulst yet. Maybe I'll regret it then?)
First OUAT thing I've ever wrote. I have no hopes of doing Lana's Queen any justice, but I tried. Because Outlaw Queen is wonderful, and painful, and sexy.
I apologise for any mistakes - gramatical or otherwise. If you find any, feel free to point them out to me so I can fix it.
I hope you like it. Let me know.
Muah.
It had been completely coincidental. At first, at least. Friar Tuck wanted a drink, Little John said it wasn't a bad idea, and suddenly all the Merry Men were in a joint cry for a little pick me up.
Marian had been laughing with them, Roland standing in front of her, enthusiastically telling mama some sort of tale. She was making faces and gasping and looking impressed, and asking for more, more details, oh darling, what happened next?
So he walked out, volunteered to bring them the drinks. Walked for a few minutes, unconsciously trying to convince himself that he found the way Marian laughed very endearing and charming, and that he was so very attracted to the way she... The way she, uh...
Well.
Walking into the White Rabbit (really, what a name for a bar), he quickly ordered a few dozen beers, earning a knowing chuckle from the bartender. There were a few patrons at the establishment, and there was something about it that reminded him of the Enchanted Forest. Those taverns that were much less clean and less ventilated (funny thing to observe) than they ought to be, but always welcomed him.
"There you go, Robin" and the clatter of boxes of bottles against the counter.
He was out the door, his body half turned towards the way that would take him back to the way he came from, to deliver the drinks to his men, to see his wife and son, when there she was. All shoes and skirt and jacket and bright lips, her phone to her ear and a paper bag on her arm.
"I agree, there is a lot to process."
She was walking and bloody hell, there it was. Attraction and longing and a knot and, for heaven's sake, man, stop looking.
"Well, I'm not sure what his schedule is at the moment, but I'm sure Miss Swan already has something in mind. I think tomorrow might be a bit soon, but maybe next week?"
His head turned again and he was watching her standing by the sidewalk, waiting for the right light to cross it. She hadn't noticed him yet, so he kept quiet.
"Good evening, Madam Mayor", came a voice and she looked at the teenager with those brows slightly lifted and one corner of her mouth turning upwards, and there was Her Majesty.
"Good evening, dear" she responded and smiled, all regal, to the young lady walking past her. "Yes, alright, Doctor Hopper. I will talk to them and call you tomorrow, then."
The light turned and she started crossing the road and his body was already leaning to follow when the weight of the bottles on his arms reminded him.
Right. Merry Men, drinks. Marian.
Right.
So he returned, was welcomed with cheers and praises, a "Daddy, look!" from Roland as he lit the small fire he had put together, a warm smile from his lovely, lovely wife.
He smiled back automatically.
They drank and built fires and told tales. Relived stories and wondered aloud, but he kept seeing deep red on the corner of his eyes and "Good evening, dear" right by his ear.
You're quite the good kisser.
Wait until I have my heart back.
Bold and audacious, maybe, but not evil.
Don't get in my way.
I wouldn't dream of it.
Is this magical?
Not exactly.
Tinker Bell told me it was possible.
I never saw his face.
It was me?
Maybe it's all about timing.
.:.
It was silent in the woods. Marian was not lying by his side, but he could see her and Roland curled up together a few paces away, her arms around the boy, both sound asleep.
He was up before he could even make a solid decision, boots on his feet and a knife on his sock, just as a precaution.
One, two, three steps, out of his tent. Four, five, six, seven and one look back. All asleep. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, solid dirt under his boots. Pavement. Sidewalk.
Front porch.
Good evening, dear.
Her lights were down, and he saw no movement. Looking around the empty street, the husband and father and man with a code was pushed aside and suffocated (even though he did not present much of a fight) and the thief, pickpocket, and leader of the merry band of outlaws made a fast, simple decision.
The house was surrounded by trees. It might as well be golden stairs, really.
Circling around, he was in the garden in seconds.
From the kitchen window he saw the dinner dishes drying on the sink rack. Two sets of plates and cutlery, a tall glass (juice for Henry, surely) and one of those he had drank from before. Wine for Madam Mayor.
Climbing back out and up a tree, he saw Henry from his window. Fast asleep, face down on his pillow, some sort of device on his hand, dangerously close to hitting the floor any moment now.
One grip and one push, another branch holding his weight and he could see cool tones. White, gray and beige, a rug, a vanity, mirror and a bigger bed. One of those glasses again, a bottle by it's side this time, feet over covers.
I don't day-time drink.
He climbed back down and walked over to the kitchen window again. Latch open and he was in, swinging his legs over the sink and feet touching the floor, making no noise as he walked out the door to the bottom of the stairs, stopping a moment to listen.
When he was met with silence, he moved forward and climbed one, two, three, four, five steps up, up and onto the corridor.
Henry's door was closed. He walked by it. Regina's was closed, too.
Husband woke up.
What are you doing? Get out of there and go back to your family. Right now.
And then Good evening, dear.
His hand lifted and turned the knob, pushing the door open.
She was wearing silk pajamas. Pants and a sleeveless top, lying on her bed with an arm under he pillow and another in front of her. Hair like a dark halo over plush pillow cover.
Robin did not decide to walk to the bed, lie down on it and run his hand on her waist and over, pushing her towards his chest and bury his nose on the back of her head, but he did it anyway.
She stirred in his arms and he saw the sparks shoot from her hand.
"Shh, it's me, it's only me."
Her shoulders loosed again and she sighed, not fully waking up, and the bubble – stone – lodged in his heart grew an inch or two.
It was something so strong. A force that overpowered him – better: it overpowered his sense of duty and honor.
What of duty, when his muscles, skin and bones came alive at the sight of her?
What of honor, when her smile and caresses were for him and he felt like the most powerful of Kings, even when, in truth, what he was was just a common thief that had his heart and mind stolen by this woman, this wonder, this Queen, this Queen, that would let him close and personal, and would let him get drunk in her.
"You smell like forest", she said, and he turned her towards him. Her hand coming to rest on his neck, short nails caressing and a knot forming in his throat. Still her eyes were shut and her breathing even.
"Regina", he breathed.
"Hmm?"
What would he say? What could he say?
What was he doing here, if he had told her, had pledged her to understand, that he could not be. That he wanted, he wanted, he wanted, but he couldn't anymore.
What could he say to her?
"Regina", he breathed again.
"What?"
Just get out, for the love of God, get out of there.
His forehead touched hers and she squirmed a bit. His hand slid down on her back, and then back up, his leg tangling itself with hers once more, bringing her closer still.
She adjusted herself against him and sighed against his neck, his arm tightened against her in an embrace he had been craving since he let her go of her lips that night outside Granny's Diner.
"I miss you."
And that seemed to have done it.
She was immobile for a moment and then she was prying herself out of his hold on her, dark eyes finding his a moment later.
"Robin", she said, backing up.
One second. Two, three, four and the stone shrunk.
She breathed and looked at him, with all the regal care and motherly concern and that look, that look, that she reserved for him. That look that was his, it was his, because she gave it and he took it, and now he wanted wanted wanted it, wanted her, all of her, gods, he wanted.
Marian also had a look. She also had an expression that used to be his, but he didn't want that anymore. He wanted what his Queen offered him and nothing else.
He told himself, even as his hand twitched to touch her face and tangle his fingers on her hair and fuse her lips to his, that he could not betray Marian. He had a vow to honor and she deserved his respect.
And yet, how was his being here, holding the Queen of the Enchanted Forest in his arms, feeling her skin under his own and smelling her bath oils not a betrayal? How was this being loyal to his wife? How was it that these demanding feelings inside of him kept him faithful?
What difference made a kiss, when he surrendered himself so willingly, when he would kneel before Regina and tell her to take him, Your Majesty, and he would go gladly, he would be hers forever and he would be happy? When he knew that her kisses lit a fire inside him that had him burning in the most delicious way, when he could still taste her on his tongue and it made him see spots and go deaf to the world around him and all he saw was Regina. Regina. Regina.
So he allowed his hand to land on her cheek and his forehead to touch hers, even if the way she flinched and tried to back away from him hurt more than any torture technique the Imp had once used on him.
"I am yours, my lady", he whispered softly, his lips so close to hers. "I am yours and that is irreversible."
He felt her hand on his chest.
Well, they were used to tossing labels around. He was a thief. She was the Evil (bold and audacious) Queen.
Thief drowned husband and stole a kiss.