Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Robin curses in his head, his hand gripping mouth in an attempt to stop himself from voicing his thoughts and give away his presence. What a bloody buffoon he was, thinking he could get away with this. But, he admits, his reasoning wasn't completely misguided.
In the last few months in which he and his men had taken residence in the Royal Palace, he had lost Roland no fewer than 12 times, and in about two thirds of those terrifying cases (they were at war with the Wicked Witch after all), he had found him with her.
The Evil Queen, Regina Mills, her Majesty… he's taken to calling her milady instead, rather enjoying the ire he conjures up in her eyes every time he addresses her inappropriately. Little John and his mates have been constantly warning him, telling him his behavior will get him skewered, beheaded, killed, tortured, but he simply can't bring himself to care. No, it's completely worth it. Worth it to spend his time, if not a few minutes more, in the presence of the gracious Queen.
She's gorgeous, truly, but also bold and audacious, enthralling, stunning, witty and sharp, powerful, and so much more than what most people assume she is. Her "evil' title does not do her justice. He's witnessed the depth, the sorrow, and the humanity in her eyes that night, and no matter how her harsh words are, how she scowls at whomever has the guts to approach her, how regal she attempts to present herself, he knows.
Snow has divulged a bit of her past to him, has told him about how she has willed herself to change, for the sake of her boy: she just isn't the woman she used to be, obsessed with exacting revenge on her step-daughter.
And he finds he can't make himself leave her alone. He engages her in…animated conversations whenever he can, his eyes drink up the vision she is, attempt to catch a precious glimpse of her- as she often makes herself scarce for days on end, opting to grieve the loss of her son in the privacy of her quarters. When she does elect to be present, attend the council meetings and plan against her sister, it seems she always comes out (at first) in clothing even more imposing than the last, donning intricate and daring gowns, painting her face with harsh lines and bright red lips that make his thoughts stray. Other times, her mood leads her to opt for velvety, soft dresses lined with precious gems, pearls or lace, hugging her curves, dipping down in daring places (be it her back or her cleavage, he appreciates the view) and it drives him to distraction, makes it hard to concentrate on David's newest intel on Zelena's whereabouts or the latest monkey attack. There is a pull he feels whenever he's near her, and it doesn't surprise him that his mind is foggy with thoughts of her when he pulls one off on lonely nights.
However, he isn't the only Locksley perfectly captivated by the Queen. Roland has taken her gift (the stuffed monkey he can't sleep without now) as a "go" sign to interact with her, never intimidated by the woman who can easily end a life with a flip of her wrist. It seems Roland is the only human being she tolerates (and the little man greatly appreciates her back, his face lights up whenever she enters a room), genuinely delighting in the moments they spent together. She had been reserved and cold at first, reluctant to show this private side of herself but nowadays she smiles and plays with him, unabashed, listens to him ramble on about his newest adventures, but if anyone comments on her unusual behaviour, she doesn't hold back her death glares, a silent promise of what will happen to them if they ever question her again. Robin always enjoys the stories his son inevitably tells him at bedtime on those days, the tales of a smiling, gentle and warm Queen.
And that is why when Roland went missing for the 13th time, he had naturally thought to go look for the Queen first, learning from the previous incidents. This time, his disappearance was…slightly his fault as he was playing hide and seek with his son: he had seriously underestimated the number of hiding places in this godforsaken castle. After two hours and a half of not finding him, his worry turned to panic, and he sought to ask Regina for help. Things, however, never seem to go the way you want them to, because he hadn't been able to find her in any of the common areas of the castle.
Alarmed, emboldened by his instincts at his son's disappearance, he'd recklessly let himself run to her private quarters. He'd rushed in, panting, eyes roaming the cold walls of the Queen's room, and he'd been bitterly disappointed to not find him here either. Still, he checked the corners of the room, behind the curtains, in the closet… And that's when he heard it. The tell-tale clicking of her heels on the palace floor, approaching the room dangerously fast. Without thinking, he had slipped into the oak wardrobe, tucking himself in with her gowns. Immediately he'd cursed himself for his stupidity, as he could easily have played it off, and he needed her help to find Roland. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And that is how he found himself cursing, trying to remain still, calm and silent. Regina comes into view through the slit of the wardrobe's door, stunning as ever. He'd actually seen her earlier that day- before this whole catastrophe had started.
He'd spotted her during breakfast, silently eating her meal in Snow White and David's company, either nodding along occasionally or raising her eyebrows in a pointed look if either of them said anything idiotic. She'd been stunning then- and she still was now- dressed in black leather pants and one of those gowns that trails behind her in the fashion of a cape, her deep blue corset deliciously hugging her curves and outlining her breasts. He'd barely been able to keep his eyes off her, only a few meters away and directly facing her from his seat, and their eyes had met briefly, hers unabashed and seductive, warming his belly. He hadn't backed down, flashing her his dimples with a cocky grin, not willing to let her win.
Regina was not in the best of moods, and Snow White was, once again, the source of her discontent. She'd been attempting to escape her since this morning, since the irritating princess had given her that look again after her silent interaction with the thief. She'd known then, that Snow would not let it go, would want to have a heartfelt, mushy and extensive talk about this, and she would certainly not go down without a fight…She'd fought bravely, Regina muses to herself, but her efforts were futile in the face of such a monster.
Snow had found her, and she knew she'd have to admit something if she wanted to be left alone. So, Regina had confessed she finds the thief attractive, even though he's an obnoxious, irritating piece of ass she'd rather not talk about. Snow had- of course- gushed at that and gone on with another one of her hope speeches about second chances and love, and- clearly not in the mood- Regina had poofed herself out of there immediately, disappearing in a purple cloud of smoke.
And now she couldn't get him out of her mind. Rather than thinking about how he makes her feel (she needs to sort her thoughts and decide what her plan of action is now that she's been forced to verbally acknowledge it), her mind had perpetually drifted to his knee-weakening dimples, his broad shoulders, his admittedly nice butt, his crinkling blue eyes… And suddenly she'd realized just how horny she really was.
And that's how she'd found herself in her room, pacing, deep in thought and hiding from her step-daughter. How long had it been since she's taken care of herself, how long since Graham? She figures she just never found the time to take care of herself recently, constantly in the throes of adventure and drama in the months following Emma's arrival…but as a healthy adult woman she had needs, and it had all caught up to her in that moment (there'd suddenly been a lack of exciting events in the last few days). She blames Snow for her current predicament, and curses herself for what she's about to do. She isn't ashamed, of course, but it just irks her that the object of her desires is him. Her mother would scoff at the idea that a Queen- her daughter no less- is attracted to a commoner, an outlaw.
Mother would kill me…I'll admit I've slightly been attempting to seduce him and…what's the matter with me? I can do whatever the hell I want. Her whole body is warming up and she can feel the dampness she'd been trying so hard to ignore almost drip from her sex. After all, who cares that it's Robin? She'll gladly use him to pleasure herself, even more so if it'd aggravate Mother Regina muses.
Her long pensiveness had not been at the heart of Robin's worries, as he'd been silently attempting to reposition himself more comfortably in the closet. It's only when she starts to move that his eyes fly to her figure, intrigued as to what she'll do next. The wardrobe is a good meter away from her four poster-bed, facing its right side, and from his position in the closet, as he looks through the slit, he can see her move in his general direction (the bed), her beautiful face slightly flushed, her expression unreadable.
He wonders then, what the point of her visit to her room is, as she's been here for a good five minutes yet hasn't done anything. He feels slightly guilty for eavesdropping on her, but after all it's either that or a possible death.
He's surprised when he sees her start to undress, sitting on the bed to remove her cobalt heels from her feet and adjusting her gown. He slowly swallows his saliva (his mouth had definitely not been watering, he tells himself) as she tugs her high collar off from her outfit, revealing her enticing neck, stretched to the side with a soft moan of relief.
Suddenly Robin panics as it occurs to him she might be here to change her outfit, and he just so happens to be in the furniture where she stores them. He starts wishing to his lucky stars that whatever she's here to do, it doesn't involve her wardrobe. At first it seems he's been heard when she settles deeper on the bed, lying down with her shoulders on a pillow, her body tilted upright from the waist up, an awkward position to sleep in, he contemplates.
But then his mouth dries, his heart starts pounding fast in his chest, blood roaring in his ears as her hands dip down, shimmying and tugging her leather pants down to mid-thigh. Comprehension dawns on him and he can't help his arousal, nor his mortification. I take it back. This is much worse. Much, much worse. I wish she was here to change! Robin's thoughts race, and he quickly admonishes himself …The least I can do is look away and he shuts his eyes, turns his body the best he can to avoid catching a glimpse of the Queen touching herself. Thinking about it makes it worse, his mind conjuring images that frankly, he's not sure he welcomes or hates.
A sigh of contentment escapes Regina's lips as she finds a good position against her pillow, and she lets her head fall back on its fluffiness. She hasn't ever really masturbated to the thought of a particular person before, so she starts slowly, picturing him, Robin, smiling that irritating smile, dimples deepening in his cheeks, eyes glinting with mischief and humor… and her heart flutters at the thought. No! She curses herself. She's supposed to be fantasizing some great dalliance, raw and rough sex that'll make her tremble in anticipation. It's not like I haven't dreamt it before she muses to herself, and she almost snorts at the memory of waking up from that particularly rough and stimulating dream a few nights ago…She had been unable to look him in the eye that day. She starts touching herself then, hanging on to what she can recall, the soft pad of her fingers circling her clit gently. Her breath becomes labored, brow knit in concentration as she ups the pace, her index and middle finger twitching erratically. The fantasy takes form, and she imagines him pounding hard into her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, and her fingers sink in easily, her center slick and damp. FUCK, she thinks to herself, and why the hell didn't I do this sooner?
Robin had never felt as helpless in his life as he felt now. Even when Marian had fallen ill, he had gone and broken into the bloody Dark One's castle to steal a remedy (a magic wand), at his life's peril. But now, he's stuck, waging a war with himself, using all his willpower to stay silent and still (don't look at her, don't look at her don't look). As a thief, of course, this wasn't the first time he's been stuck inside a closet to wait for an indefinite period of time. But then, he hadn't had to listen to this he thinks to himself as she moans again, louder this time.
He curses himself for even coming here in the first place, what had he been thinking? He's using every ounce of his willpower to not turn his head and just watch. His arousal is straining against his breeches, and he tries to scrunch his eyes shut even more as he hears her picking up her pace, the small slicking sound and her gasps of pleasure shooting straight to his groin. He'd given up on trying to fight his wild imagination, and every noise she makes is immediately transferred to his mental image of what's happening on the other side of the door. He's picturing her face twisted by pleasure, surrounded by her resplendent locks of raven hair, a silent cry on her tantalizing lips, her hand wildly rocking against the apex of her thighs…and god he has to stop. Her cries of ecstasy die out a bit for a few seconds as she seems to try and catch her breath, alternating between fucking herself with her fingers and rubbing her clit (he's ashamed that he can tell that much from the noise). His hand has a mind of its own as it snakes down and starts brushes his length through his trousers to slightly alleviate the aching pain, and he almost groans out at what he hears next.
Regina is nearing the edge, her throaty moans and wanton cries echoing in her room as her hand jerks rapidly, wrist tense with effort. Her quarters are pretty much isolated from the rest of the inhabitants of the castle, and she revels in how freely she can voice her pleasure, mouth loosening, cursing vehemently, toes curling, and her body pulsating, humming, hot and so near the edge. Fantasy Robin is behind her now, thrusting into her vigorously, his hand reaching around her to rub her clit. She imagines him whispering huskily in her ear (Fuck, you feel so good and Come for me Regina) and that does it. She sees white as she comes, loudly crying out god knows what, pleasure piercing through her body, numbing her in the best of ways. Her heart is hammering loudly in her ears, and she still feels the glorious after-effects, thighs quivering around her damp hand. She lays there for a few minutes, just panting and staring at the ceiling. After coming down from her high, she tears herself away from her bed, goes to rinse her hands and readjusts her dress and her hair in the vanity. She uses her magic to make sure everything is in place and it's a little flushed that she leaves her room, sated, very content and with the ghost of a smile on her lips.
Robin is shell-shocked. Well, not really, but paralyzed, his mind reeling from what he'd just witnessed and heard. She cried out his name. His name, he repeats to himself. Her voice still echoes in his head ("fuck! Yes, ohgodyes, fuck fuck FUCK! ROBIN! Aaah!") And he knows he'll need a dip in the cold lake or some private time as soon as he can.
He waits a good fifteen minutes (to be safe) before peeking his head out of the closet and then exiting it. He closes its doors behind him and sneaks out of her chambers. Robin rushes back to his room, and as soon as he sits down on his bed, the reality of what he'd just witnessed comes crashing back to him, and suddenly he feels like he's just been slapped. He will never forget the sounds she made… a loud sigh escapes him: he knows this memory will haunt him in his sleep for the nights to come.
Deep in thought, it takes him a moment to recall why he was in her chambers in the first place. Oh shit! ROLAND! He panics as he realizes he still hasn't found his son, now 3 hours since they started playing. There's no time to waste, and he'll need her help to find him as soon as possible, though he winces at the thought of having to actually interact with the Queen so shortly after his…mishap.