Something short, sweet and scandalous.


summer loving


The summer has not been kind on the castle.

Stairwells feel damp with mildew underfoot, and even the corridors smell faintly of sweat. The air is thick and heavy and hard to breathe in, and countless layers of clothing are shed to just shy of what would be considered indecent. The shades are drawn by day, re-opened to the skies once dusk has fallen again, and still the heat settles deep, tempers flaring along with the temperature.

The Queen, who might have normally relished such an invitation to wear even more daring necklines than usual, has developed a sudden, curious partiality for higher collars and fancy, draping scarves, covering skin that she had once flaunted.

There are those bold enough to question her choice in attire; Snow White in particular has no reservations about smiling bemusedly at the Queen's elaborate jeweled chokers, and even Prince Charming, loosening his cravat to relieve his sweat-sheened forehead, asks over their midday meal how on earth she hasn't melted yet.

All their inquiries are treated to a simple sneer, in addition to a scathing comment about how fashion never was intended to be a practical pursuit—though she would hardly expect any of them to understand such a sophisticated concept anyway.

It takes a great effort for Robin not to let his amusement show, a treasonous act she'd be sure to punish him for later should she catch him.

And it takes an overly inquisitive five-year-old boy, with the distinct advantage of being the only one allowed close enough, to unravel her scarves and expose the odd little bruises coloring the Queen's skin from throat to collarbone.

Some of the marks travel fearlessly lower still, Robin knows, and she will make him pay for her mortification.

Turnabout is fair play, after all, and he's entirely willing to let her have her wicked way with him (teeth in place of tongue this time, and hands all over, lower, lower—gods, Regina but won't this teach him to think twice before stealing breath and sight and dignity from her again—).

That the Queen should desire to make her claim on him known warms him, considerably more than any of the disapproving looks he's sure to receive from the others for days to come.

But if she's observed to go about her usual scowling business a bit more gingerly than before, walking with great delicacy and flushing prettily whenever she feels the touch of his gaze on her—well, Robin never did promise that a lowly thief such as he would ever be capable of keeping his hands to himself.