Festivamente
Regina hates Christmas. Every year, starting all the way back at Halloween, she plays concert after concert where she has to, if not always perform, at the very least listen to Christmas carol, after Christmas carol, after Christmas carol.
"I swear, if I have to hear 'Silent Night' with orchestral accompaniment or play 'The Nutcracker' one more time this season I'm going to smash my violin and take up the theremin or something," she grumbles to Robin as she slides into their bed just past midnight, the melodies still tapping at her head like the pointy ballet shoes she's watched perform the same dance every night for the 16 shows they've performed so far. "Remind me never to take this job with the ballet again."
Robin chuckles gently as she gets herself settled on his chest, pressing a kiss to her slightly damp hair. "How many more shows?"
"Ugh. Seven. I don't even want to so much as hear the words 'sugar plum' ever again."
"Noted." He pulls the comforter up around them against the early December chill. "No Christmas carols will be played in this house, and if anyone gives us gifts of any sweets mentioned in that ballet, I promise to eat it before you are any the wiser."
She tilts her head to kiss his jaw. "You are a smart man, Robin Locksley."
"I know."
"I don't even want a stocking this year. It'll get that dreadful poem stuck in my head."
Robin's fingers skate across her neck and shoulders. "You know you're getting one anyway."
She heaves a long-suffering sigh, and his hands find their way to her shoulders, turning her so that he can knead the knots out of her muscles. Her sigh becomes a relaxed moan as the strain of eight shows in six days and rehearsals mixed in for other gigs finally leaves her. "Is this a bribe?" she murmurs, "so I'll let you buy me a Christmas present?"
"Maybe." He drops a kiss to her nape, then moves his fingers to her neck and the base of her skull as she melts into his touch, massaging the clenched, tense muscles. His lips press against the shell of her ear, and she can feel his smirk as he whispers, "Is it working?"
She shudders involuntarily at the way his calloused hands feel, warm on her back as he shifts her silk pajamas out of his way and trails gentle fingers up and down her spine. "Damn it, I think it is," she admits, pressing back into his touch.
His eyes dance as she turns over, straddles his legs, starts to remove his cotton T-shirt. "Good. Mmm I'll have to think about what to get you. Wouldn't want to forget about it until The Night Before Christmas."
"Robin," she returns with a growl, tossing his shirt aside and resting her forehead on his.
"Yes?"
She speaks the words into his lips, centimeters away from allowing the contact to become a kiss. "Shut up."