Sadly, I don't own them.


Robin tries to sleep. Tries to distract himself from the little stabbing pain in his heart, but he can't, and somehow he finds himself walking the grounds at dinner time, making his way to Greenhouse B, startled when he finds twinkle lights decorating the inside of it, a small table for two set with candles and a small bowl full of grapes, with several covered dishes on a little cart on the side. In his anger, he'd forgotten to tell Ruby and Granny that the date wouldn't be happening. They've set everything up exactly as he'd imagined it, cloth napkins and flowers, a basket of dinner rolls that smell like heaven, champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket… What a waste.

He slumps in one of the chairs, elbows digging into the table as he laces his fingers and rests his forehead against them, hating every second of this agonizing moment. He could've had a lovely night with the woman he loves if only he hadn't screwed up. Because he did, he screwed up. He can see that now that he's cooled off. In trying to surprise her with a nice evening together, he'd sought to try and control her time, hadn't even asked her if she wanted to join him for dinner, he'd just gone ahead and planned everything without her knowledge or consent and meddled with her presidential duties in the process. He's a moron, plain and simple.

"Is this seat taken?" a raspy, beautiful voice speaks then, and he looks up to find Regina there, smiling softly at him and waiting timidly by the chair opposite his.

Robin is up in an instant, wrapping her in his arms and crashing their bodies together.

"I'm so, so sorry, my love," he murmurs against her hair, holding her head to him with one hand while the other arm hugs her around the waist.

"I know," she tells him, her arms holding tight around his middle, "it's alright."

"No, it isn't," Robin insists as he pushes back to look at her, "I let you down, I acted like an idiot."

"You did act like an idiot," she affirms with a small smirk, one of her hands drifting up to settle against his cheek, and he leans into the touch, "but you could never let me down, Robin."

"I just wanted to celebrate you, to do something nice for you, and we never get to go out so I thought I'd try and make that happen and give you a romantic evening... I didn't mean to interfere with your duties, or to make you feel like I wasn't giving you a choice. I'm so sorry."

"I know, babe, and I know you meant well, but I'm glad you understand that this wasn't the best way to go about it."

"I'm sorry," he says yet again as he buries his face in her neck, his nose assaulted by the wonderful lavender scent of her hair, and it's like he can finally breathe again.

"I'm sorry, too, I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

"I deserved it."

"Hmm, maybe, but I don't want you to think I don't appreciate the things you do for us, because I do. So much."

She's trembling in his arms now, and Robin just tightens his grip on her, rocking them from side to side and moving his face away from the heaven that is the crook of her neck in order to properly look at her again. He almost whispers an I love you, but her eyes are watery already, and he knows she'll cry if he says it, that she'll feel terrible because this would be the perfect time to return the sentiment and she's not ready, so instead of putting more of a damper on their evening, he lets his hands caress their way down her arms until he can hold her fingers, bringing both her hands to his lips and kissing them, throwing her a smile.


"How did you know where to find me?" he asks her later, when they've finished eating their dinner (a delicious lasagna Robin will have to thank Granny for tomorrow), and are sprawled on the thick camping blanket he'd brought out here this morning with this exact purpose. Regina is on her side, her body molded to his as he lies on his back, his arm pillowing her head, fingers playing idly with the ends of her silky hair, his suit jacket draped over her as they stare at the sky above them, dotted with bright stars in the darkness that hides the two of them from the world.

"I ran into Ruby. She seemed to be under the impression that I'd be out here with you instead of at the oval. Wanna tell me what that's about?" she asks lazily.

"Ruby knows," he admits simply.

"I figured."

"I didn't tell her."

"I figured that, too."

"You're not angry?"

"Not anymore," says Regina, burrowing closer into him to prove her point.

"Chef Lucas knows too," he reveals then, and feels her stiffen against him.

"Did Ruby-" she starts, but Robin shakes his head, his chin colliding softly with her hairline.

"No, it wasn't Ruby, she just figured it out. They've promised not to say anything."

"And you trust them?" she asks apprehensively.

"I do. They've known since before you went to Mexico and have yet to say a thing to anyone but me. They helped me put this together for us today, that's why Ruby thought you'd be here."

"What if they accidentally blurt it out to someone?"

"I'm sure they'll be careful enough not to reveal anything accidentally. But… would it really be so bad?" he asks tentatively, "for people to find out?"

"You know it would. The press would turn it into a scandal and it would hurt my reputation with the people, not to mention what it would do to your credibility. I'd be forced to fire you, everyone would question our every action for the past five years, our every decision. You started working for me while Daniel was still alive, they could easily exploit that… I don't want to see my husband's memory tarnished, or my marriage demeaned by fake allegations of an affair or whatever else they could make up to sell papers." Her tone is shaky, a hint of desperation shining through, so he decides to stop pushing. They've had enough bad moments for one day.

"You're right, apologies," he sighs, hugging her closer and landing a kiss on her forehead.

"I'm sorry," she says then, but he insists she has nothing to be sorry for.

"I want to be with you, Regina, if this is the only way that's possible for now, then so be it. I'm not walking away from you, not ever."

She relaxes infinitesimally then, but the arm she has around his stomach moves up so she can scratch her nails over his stubble, something she tends to do when she's nervous.

"Hey, I promise it'll be fine," he insists. "Granny and Ruby are my friends, and they admire you, they won't do anything to harm us."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. They'll keep their promise."

"Okay," she finally says after a moment of silent contemplation, exhaling and melting against him, kissing his cheek.

"And us? Are we okay?" he asks, just to make sure, and it's her lips on his that reassure him, the taste of her all velvety-sweet and familiar and wonderful, like caramel coating his tongue and rendering him as stupidly in love as ever when she pulls away and smiles before answering his question.

"Never better."


The next week arrives with horrible tidings for the White House. On Monday, they receive information from the CIA that one of their convoys, a large shipment of weapons and armory that had been dispatched to soldiers stationed overseas, has been attacked, its deadly, expensive haul stolen. There are no leads, no indication as to how the hell something like this could've happened, especially considering the amount of advanced technology that the United States government has at its disposal. Regina is livid, stalking down halls and barking orders at people to try and get as much information as they can on the location of the missing weapons, and Robin watches from the sidelines as she makes fast decisions and extends her powerful reach until every pertinent agency and every available resource has been exhausted, searching for clues to the whereabouts of the precious cargo.

By Wednesday, the press finds out about the incident, and all hell breaks loose in the media, but inside the White House, they finally get proper intel. Important, very valuable information from the hidden corners of a little village near where the convoy was last seen, whispers of a French illegal arms dealer named Gaston being behind the bombings that took out a force of forty men and half the weaponry that was being transported. The other half, their informants tell them, is being held by this man in a secure location somewhere in the sandy vastness of the Maranjab desert, ready to be sold to whichever terrorist organization proves the highest bidder.

They don't sleep. They don't eat. They spend their entire time focused on the problem, one that requires all hands on deck because of its scale, and so, unlike the rescue of the kidnapped DEA agent, this time Robin gets to actually do something, gets to discuss strategies with military officers, gets to use his contacts in the UK who work in similar military missions and help Regina liaison with his old comrades in MI6 in order to figure out the best possible approach to the issue. He watches her, sees the bags under her eyes get bigger and darker as the days go by, and he texts her, insists that she get some sleep, that she's no good to the country if she's dead on her feet, but she never replies or acquiesces to his pleas. Instead she soldiers on, chin held high as she addresses every new officer brought to her with possible tools and ideas, until finally, a few hours before dawn on Friday morning, they come up with a proper solution.

Regina sets up a covert mission, an undercover operation that will put some of their best intelligence agents and army men in danger, but it's their best chance, so she signs the order, calls up those in charge of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security at the Department of State, the NCTC, the CIA, and the regiment of the U.S. Army closest to Gaston's camp, to set the plan in motion.

The CIA chooses their best on-site agent for the job at hand, a man by the name of Leroy Grump, who had been in the middle of another undercover intelligence operation in Iran. He scoffs and yammers about his mission being cancelled for this, but when speaking to Regina from the plane transporting him to the site, he promises to get the job done, asking her to stop worrying so much, he's got this.

"We have a group of soldiers waiting for you at a safe location, and from there you'll head out to Gaston's camp. We've been informed that the highest bidder has offered him nineteen million dollars via wire transfer for our weapons. You will offer fifty."

"Fifty?!" the agent asks, bewildered.

"Yes, fifty. The competition can't match that offer, they'll be forced to withdraw."

"And are we actually paying the bastard?" the agent barks on the other end of the line. He's on speaker, so everyone in the room hears the question and waits with baited breath, and Robin realizes they all want to know the answer to that, as well.

"We have the account number that the bidder was going to make the payments to, we'll start a transfer of fake funds to that account the second you close the deal. Gaston won't find out that the transfer is fake until it cancels itself five hours later, so you have until then to get him to lead you to the cargo, secure it, and arrest him for his crimes."

"Five hours, huh?" Agent Grump asks.

"Yes," Regina tells him firmly.

"I'll be done in three."

"I like your optimism, Grump," Emma says into the speaker, earning herself a somewhat indignant look from Regina for interrupting the conversation.

"It's not optimism, sister, it's the truth," he replies to Emma, before addressing Regina again. "Three hours after that transfer's done, you'll have your cargo secure, Madam President, you have my word."

"We're still giving you the full five hours just in case," Regina says good-naturedly before wishing him good luck and hanging up the call.

"So… now we wait?" David asks, piping up for the first time since the decision was made. He hadn't agreed with it, had insisted to Regina that this would only make things worse, that they should just declare the cargo lost and let it die, or send a couple of jets and blow up the entire camp where the weapons are stashed, instead of igniting the intrigue of a possible terrorist threat with the press and the people (which had definitely happened when the information got out), but she'd refused to listen, had put her foot down and declared she was not willing to lose the country millions simply because some lunatic with a god complex wanted to steal them.

"Now we wait," she confirms.

And so they do. They wait, and wait, and once the pilot sends word that he has landed Agent Grump safely with the soldiers and cleared off, they wait some more. After what feels like forever, they receive confirmation that contact with Gaston has been achieved and a deal has been struck, and they get the OK to start the transfer. When that's done, it's back to waiting, and they can do nothing but count the minutes as they pass, staring at the big clock marking the time they have left to complete the mission.

Regina looks exhausted, but belligerently refuses to move from the Situation Room, surviving on coffee and pastries that Robin and Ursula make sure are passed around her every few minutes, so that at least she eats something while this is all going on. She looks so small, so worried, and all he wants is to hold her, tell her everything's going to be alright. She yearns for that, too, he sees it in the wistful glances she throws his way, but then she grows wary, the close quarters making her jumpy, and she averts her eyes from his the second anyone in the crowded space turns their gaze to her.

A little over three hours after the transfer, they get reports of gunfire and a scuffle about forty miles from where the negotiation took place, and suddenly Agent Grump's locator is beeping on their screen, revealing the coordinates of his whereabouts and his vitals. His blood pressure is low, his breathing a little too fast, and Robin's experience speaks out before anyone else can make sense of the graph.

"He's been shot," he informs them, pointing to his BP levels, "looks like he's losing blood pretty fast."

"But he's moving," Ursula counters, pointing at the map, where the tiny red dot that symbolizes the man in question is now heading west at high speed. They must've stolen a vehicle from Gaston in order to get to safety.

A scratchy, static sound breaks through the room then, loud enough to startle them all, and Robin sees Regina's hands trembling, coffee spilling over the rim of her cup as she looks at the speaker.

"Agent Grump?" she asks, "Agent Grump can you hear us? We know you've been wounded, please give us your status."

There's only silence, interrupted every now and then by distant yelling in languages they don't understand, and Regina starts shutting down before Robin's very eyes when the thought that the mission has all gone wrong begins to sink in. And then, thank heavens, their world rights itself again.

"I told you I'd be done in three hours," a gruff voice announces from the other end of the line, and the collective sigh of relief is so loud that Agent Grump hears it, even jokes about it as he adds, "they got a little hostile, but I'm okay, you can stop planning my funeral now."

"Your vitals don't look good, Agent," Regina intervenes.

"You sure know how to sweet-talk a fellow, ma'am," he quips back, his voice growing gentle and tired when he reassures her, "I'm fine. The gunshot on my thigh hurts like a bitch, but I'm fine."

"Agent Grump, this is Vice-President Nolan. Can you give us a status report on the cargo?" David asks into the receiver.

"I'm sittin' on it, sir," Grump replies, much to their amusement, but then Stefan Briar, the surly director of the CIA, takes over the call, seemingly fed up with his subordinate's humor.

"Agent Grump," he reprimands, and then orders, "report your status. Properly this time."

"Cargo's secure and in the hands of the United States government. No casualties."

"And Gaston?"

"In custody. We're ten minutes out from the rendezvous point."

"Copy that, Agent Grump. Extraction team has already landed, they'll take over the cargo and bring you home."

"Yes, sir. Over and out," the agent replies, and the phrase has Regina standing from her seat and calling out the man's name before the line is disconnected.

"Agent Grump? This is President Mills again."

"Yes, ma'am?" he's all business, ready to take orders.

Regina doesn't give him any, only utters a heartfelt "Thank you, you did great work today."

"Any time, ma'am. Jobs like this keep life interesting," he jokes before hanging up.

When the call is over, they all look at each other, at a loss as to how to react to the news. They've done it, they've pulled it off, rescued millions of dollars' worth of weaponry without a single casualty. Suddenly, one of the military officers in the room salutes Regina, and then breaks into applause, his fellows joining him as they congratulate her on a job well done.

The cabinet applauds her diligence as well, and then it's Ursula who dictates a sensible next step.

"I feel like we all deserve a day off, don't you, gentlemen?" she directs the question to the men in the room, but her eye is specifically on Briar, the CIA director, who nods solemnly and agrees, offering Regina a very formal goodbye before he thanks her and takes his leave.

When he's gone, the somber mood in the room goes with him, and the military officers turn to address Regina with less formality, thanking her again and then taking some coffee to go, at Ursula's behest. Robin stays quiet, nods his farewell to those who offer him the same courtesy, and watches as the room empties little by little, until only he and Ursula and Regina are left.

"Madam President, you should get a proper meal, and some well-deserved sleep. I've been told the White House Correspondents Association put their annual dinner on hold when news of this issue broke out, so no need to worry about attending that tomorrow, and I'll speak to Ingrid and see to it that whatever it is you have on schedule is moved to Monday."

"Can that really be done?" Regina asks, and Robin senses apprehension in her tone, as if she can't possibly allow herself a moment to breathe for fear she'll disappoint someone.

"Of course it can, you're the President of the United States and you've just saved us from potential terrorists who would've used our own weapons against us, you deserve a bit of time off," Ursula insists with a smile, finally convincing Regina when she adds, "Little Roland asked for you this morning, maybe you can spend the day with him tomorrow, if Agent Locksley's okay with it?"

She looks to Robin then, and Regina smiles at him from behind Ursula, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"I'm sure he'd love that," he agrees easily, winking at her when he's sure Ursula can't see.

When Robin heads back to his room after dinner with his son and a bedtime story, his plan is to fall on top of the covers and sleep for at least a good ten hours, but then he finds that Regina has powered on the live video footage from her room (it can only be accessed by him, yes, but he's only privy to it when she clicks the button under the study desk to activate it). His television screen is divided into three separate views, one of the bedroom, one of the study, and another of the living area outside the suite. The only movement in the entire feed comes from the bedroom frame, so he chooses that with the remote, and when the tab opens to take up the whole screen, his jaw drops.

Regina is in her bed, unburdened by the elegant grey suit she'd been wearing earlier, clad in nothing but the black silk of her camisole, her hand caressing her bare thigh, coasting over her naked sex as she rolls her hips slowly on the mattress, teeth sinking into her lip as her eyes close.

For a moment, it's like he can't breathe, too caught up in the sight of her and the knowledge that she's turned on the cameras to give him a little show (because, well, why else would she activate the one video feed that only he can see?). Her hand is now toying with her clit, soft strokes that have her gasping as she moves ever so sensually on her bed, like a siren calling to him. Her free hand is buried under the pillow where she rests her head, but it comes out a second later to play with her breasts, nipples rolling under the pressure of thumb and forefinger over her top.

He's hard just from watching her, his hand drifting down to stroke himself on instinct, his mouth watering with the desire to taste every inch of her, to hear her gasp and moan while he taunts her with his tongue, to feel her squirm under his touch, to suck at her until she's pulling at his hair and screaming his name.

Robin grabs his phone, types a quick message, and watches her on the screen as the beeping of her own phone stops her actions. He misses the tantalizing movements of her body immediately.

RL: Aren't you supposed to be sleeping, Madam President?

She doesn't type up a response, but rather looks up at the nearest camera and winks.

He dials her number then, calling instead of texting, because there's no way he can type through this.

"Does this mean I have to finish alone?" she asks as greeting when she picks up, and Robin grins when she raises an eyebrow at him on the screen.

"You're doing this to torture me, aren't you?" he asks, trying to sound indignant, but his tone is full of mirth, if a little breathless.

"You know the way to my room, don't you? Come over and help me out," she taunts back, smiling wickedly at the camera.

"Mmm later. I quite like the view from here at the moment."

"You do, huh?" she tells him, sinking further into the pillows, one hand still grasping the phone to her ear while the other drifts back down to her folds, one finger venturing in and out slowly.

"Oh yes, lovely view, though that top is a bit in the way," he murmurs into the phone, loving the way she smiles, amused at his antics.

"Yet another crisis I must attend to," she says, her voice carrying an official air to it (to mock him, he thinks) before she lays the phone down and sits up, removing her shirt and dangling it from her finger by one of the too-thin straps that had been over her shoulders. She drops it to the floor, taking a moment to squeeze her breasts with both hands, a naughty glint in her eye as she smirks at him through the camera, knowing he can't do a thing right now but stare.

When she raises the phone back from her nightstand to her ear, he growls.

"Enjoying the show, Agent Locksley?" she teases, and he's lost to her, grunts and nods frantically, then remembers she can't see him, so he voices his thoughts, whispers his desire into the phone.

"You're so sexy, my love," he tells her, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Do you want to watch me, Robin?" she all but purrs, one hand already ghosting down her body, over her ribcage, back up to her breast, massaging there before she moves her fingers to her mouth, tongue coming out to lick at the tips of them, and then those fingers are moving to her tits again, taking a nipple and giving it a little twist that makes her gasp into the phone.

"Fuck, yes," he answers her, "I love watching you."

Her hand is back on her clit then, legs open, knees bent and feet planted flat on the mattress, giving him ample view of what she's doing, and he licks his lips as he sees her finger thrust inside and then spread the moisture gathered there over her clit, picking up the pace slightly and then slowing down again, delightful little moans bubbling out of her as she does.

"God, you're fucking amazing, you know that?" he tells her.

"Mmmm," is all she says back, her hand falling slack where it holds the phone, so that the little device is tucked up between her ear and the pillow under her, and "God, Robin," she moans as she makes those passes over her clit a little more vigorous.

"Yes, just like that," he coaxes, "I love it when you touch yourself for me, let me watch you get all wet and riled up."

She moans again at his words, the hand that had been holding the phone earlier finding a breast and kneading there, thumb stroking over the nipple before switching to the other and doing the same, a high-pitched, gaspy little sound escaping her.

"That's it, show me how good it feels," he continues, his own hand attempting to free his raging erection from his trousers, fingers fumbling with the button for a moment because he's so mesmerized by her that he can't coordinate his movements. When he's able to finally wrap his fingers around his shaft, he pumps and pumps to the sight on the screen in front of him, tongue wetting his lips as he continues to watch her.

"God, you really need to get over here," Regina says in a strangled whisper, as her fingers abandon her clit in favor of venturing inside her again, three of them this time, her hips grinding against her hand.

"Make yourself come for me, and I'll go make you come again with my cock inside you," he promises, and she whimpers loudly at that, her body jerking as she rams her fingers in harder.

"Fucking beautiful," Robin groans into the phone, never taking his eyes off the enticing image of her on his screen.

She comes with a raspy little scream, twitching and folding in on herself when the pleasure overtakes her, and then she stretches in the aftermath of her orgasm, her body relaxed and jelly-like as it sprawls on the bed. It's the single most glorious thing he's ever seen.

"So," she says breathlessly when she grabs the phone in a shaky hand and puts it back on her ear, "are you making good on your promise or what?"

"Turn this off," he replies, and watches her slowly get up to do just that, "I'll be there in two minutes."

When he arrives in her room, raging hard-on straining painfully against his re-buttoned pants, she's just getting back on the bed after turning off the video feed, the crumpled sheets sliding along her skin as she moves to make room for him and leans back on her elbows for his perusal, her eyes glinting with mischief, teeth sinking into her lower lip.

Robin crawls over her, his eyes caught on hers as she opens her legs to accommodate him between them, and he licks his way up her naked stomach, the valley between her breasts, deviating to one side and then the other so he can give her nipples a good suck, leisurely reawakening the sexual goddess that had gone dormant after her orgasm.

"You're breathtaking," he tells her, and she smiles at him tenderly, her eyes going soft and hooded as his proximity makes her sink back into the pillows, his lips finally closing over hers in a wet, slow kiss that has her moaning into his mouth.

His arm loops over her belly from behind when she tilts on her side, her back flush against his chest. His other arm, the one on the bed, slides under her to pillow her head, his mouth open and lost in the crook of her neck and shoulder, exhaling hot air over her skin and adding a little lick here and there to rile her up further.

"I want you inside me," she tells him, commands him, really, her hand drifting up and back to rest a palm against his cheek when he abandons the spot on her neck he'd been devouring. She forces his face downward as she moves hers up, lips meeting and tongues tangling, tasting, and he's groaning, rocking his hips against her rear as he rasps out her name.

"Inside me, Robin," she says again, her voice going breathy, and the hand that has been roaming her body from her belly to her breasts now skims lower, fingers finding her clit and rubbing slow circles over it, mimicking the way she'd touched herself for him just minutes before.

"Is this how you want it, my love?" he grunts, "Nice and slow? Or do you want it rough?"

She heaves out a frustrated Robin, please! even as she arches into his touch, rolling her hips when he lets one finger sink into the wet heat of her.

"You feel delicious," he tells her, bringing that finger out and up to his lips, watching as her eyes darken when he sucks on the moistened digit, "taste delicious, too."

"Fuck!" she gasps out, her eyes rolling back, then closing when the sight of him licking her from his fingers becomes too much. His hand is back down and on her clit again, back to rubbing gentle circles that grow firmer when he ups the pace just a tad, just enough to get her wild.

"Do you know how hot it is to watch you like this?" he continues, because he knows she loves it when he talks to her, when he tells her just how much he wants her, "how hard I got just from the sight of you making yourself come for me?"

She lets out a Mmh! that he takes as approval when he thrusts two fingers into her, and then her mouth opens, tongue licking at his upper lip in that maddening way she does whenever he gets her all hot and bothered. The angle is a bit uncomfortable for him, lying on their sides as they are, the arm under her going numb from being in the same strained position for too long, and he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to change the position he finds so accommodating to his need to just take her in as she writhes for him, but his cock is straining against the fabric of his trousers as he rubs his erection against her arse, so though he's reluctant to do so, he removes his hand from her for a moment so he can unbutton everything again, sitting up and deciding he might as well lose all his clothes.

Regina coasts a hand down to her clit for the ten seconds it takes him to remove the offending fabric that restrains his access to her warmth, and he takes a moment to look at her, her fingers lazily moving over her clit as she stares right back at him.

"Come here," she tells him, her voice barely audible even in the silence of the room. Robin obeys her command, readjusts himself so that they're on the same position they'd been in before he moved away, her leg now shifting up and back, resting over his, and his hand returns, two of his fingers joining the one of hers she's venturing to her entrance, and he groans at the sight of them intensifying her pleasure together. In and out their fingers go, slowly, tortuously, drawing gasps and moans from Regina as they move.

"Look down," he tells her, and she does, "look at us fingering you together. You're so wet, Regina."

"Mmm," she agrees in a breath, "feels so good. Don't stop."

Her hand goes slack after a few seconds, and she surrenders herself to the pumping of his fingers inside her when he speeds up, the wet sound of his digits gliding fast and hard along her sex sending him into overdrive.

His fingers still after a moment, when she gasps sharply and grinds her arse against his erection again, begging him to take her. Robin can only oblige, the wet slide of her skin against his cock making him groan with anticipation as he raises Regina's leg with his hand and runs his tip along her teasingly, and then he's sinking into her, and her strangled cries of Yes! and Oh god! are all he can hear as he begins to rock against her, his hand squeezing the flesh of her thigh where he holds it up, opening her for him and giving him the perfect angle to hit that spot inside her that makes her come and come.

She's crying out, her shouts muffled against the pillows where she buries her face as he keeps going, and then she snaps her head back and turns it to look up at him, teeth nipping at his chin, tongue licking at his jaw before she bites down on it hard, and Robin hisses, his rhythm faster, harder, until he's rapping into her over and over again, flesh slapping together as she tells him naughty, wonderful things.

"I love having you ins—mmh!— inside me like this," she pants, "god, I can feel your cock ra—oh!— ramming so deep into me. So good."

She prolongs the last syllable, losing herself in the moment, gasping and whimpering and rutting her hips to meet his thrusts.

"Oh, yes!" she rasps, "Mmmh! Right there. Oh, Robin!"

"Fuck, I love it when you say my name like that," he gruffs out against her throat, his nose buried there, taking in the scent of her, his tongue licking salty sweat from her skin. She's fucking perfect, and he won't last much longer, not at this pace, not when she's breathing out how good he feels, not when she's circling her hips and taking him in deeper.

"I wan—" a moan bubbles out of her as he slams into her, cutting off her words, and then she's trying again, swallowing and licking her lips for a moment before she pants, "I need— god! I'm so close, so fucking close, babe."

She doesn't need to say more, he knows what she needs, and he wants to give it to her, but his hand is busy holding their blissful position.

"I can't," he grunts, "Your leg—fuck!— touch yourself, my love."

Regina shakes her head quickly from side to side, drops of sweat beading at her temples as she gasps out, "No. You—ah!—I want –oh, god!—your fingers."

"Can you hold your leg up on your own?" he rasps out before sinking his teeth into her shoulder as he moves faster, harder. She nods eagerly, pulls her leg away from his grasp and holds it up in the air, a little shaky but steady enough for him to make better use of his hand elsewhere.

His fingers find her clit as he slows down his thrusts, and then when he finds the right amount of pressure to make Regina scream from his attentions, he starts moving in quick raps again, ramming into her as hard as he can as he rubs furiously at her clit and breathes out her name over and over again, accompanied by animalistic grunts and passionate whispers of how hot she feels around his cock, how wet, how tight, how fucking glorious she is.

She comes with a strangled cry of his name, her leg falling when the force of her orgasm is too much for her to have full control of her limbs, but then his hand is back on her thigh, keeping it up so he can thrust the few more times he needs, and he comes right after her, swallowing her shouts as he plunges his tongue inside her mouth and robs her of what little breath she has left with a devouring kiss.

They strip the bed together when they finally manage to stand, set it up with fresh sheets and a new duvet from the mahogany linen closet, and then walk to the bathroom on shaky legs, Regina pulling him lazily as he walks behind her, holding her hand and feasting on the view of her rear as she practically glides around the space.

The steam from the shower joins with their hazy, post-orgasm bliss as they caress and touch for the sake of touching, enjoying the intimacy they've been so denied for the past few days, cleaning sweat and remnants of their lovemaking from their skin with soapy hands as the hot water pounds on them from above, massaging their sore muscles.

His hands hold Regina steady around the waist as she dips her head back to wash the shampoo suds away from her hair, and then it's her turn to do the same, her lips kissing up his neck when she does. It's nothing racy, really, just tiny pecks that make him smile as he shuts off the water and moves them both out, wrapping Regina's lithe form in a fluffy white towel and rubbing his hands over her arms in an effort to stop her from feeling a chill.

They settle into the covers, Robin in nothing but his boxer briefs, Regina back in her silk camisole, joined this time by underwear and the matching silk shorts she'd gone without when she'd started this little adventure earlier. Her warm body stretches alongside his, his head resting on her heaving breast, lips landing a kiss there before he loops himself around her more comfortably, one leg over hers, his arm over her middle as hers comes behind him to rest over his shoulders, her chin just shy of his forehead.

"I kicked ass today," Regina whispers into the night, and Robin chuckles in amusement, her body jostling under him at the action.

"Yes, you did," he admits as she starts drawing random patterns over his arm with her free hand.

"I prevented a terrorist threat," she says then, astounded still by her own feat.

"How did that feel?" he asks, humoring her.

"Thrilling. I was so worried, so frustrated that it would all blow up in our faces, and then it was over and it was just..." she brings her hand up, interrupting the tantalizing trail of her fingers over his skin, and makes a fist in front of him, mimicking an explosion as she opens it with a whooshing sound before she adds, "immeasurable relief… and pride, and… adrenaline. Lots of it. That's why I didn't go straight to sleep, I was too keyed up."

"Quite a rush, then," he offers.

"The best," she agrees, the arm she has over his shoulders shifting, hand threading into his hair as her lips land on the crown of his head. "Thank you," she says, "not just for getting us the contact in MI6, but for being there."

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, my love."

She takes a deep breath beneath him, one that prompts a slow exhale of his own as they both relax into each other, and he'd think her asleep if it wasn't for the way her fingers keep playing with his hair. He raises his head then, bumping her nose affectionately with his and looking into her eyes before he speaks.

"I'm very proud of you," he tells her with all the honesty and love that he can muster, his eyes burning as they skate over her smiling face, then closing as he leans forward and kisses her sweetly.

They have no wake-up call tomorrow, and so they drift off to sleep in each other's arms, unworried about setting alarms to hide themselves from the eyes of others. Robin is an early riser after so many years on the job, so he knows he'll wake with enough time to make his exit and get back to his room before the staff starts meandering the halls, but this is the first night since they moved here that they haven't had to fret about someone interrupting them, and dammit, he will milk that rare luxury for all its worth, and that means welcoming the morning with Regina warm and sleepy in his arms.

He wakes just shy of 8:15 the next morning, having not moved an inch from his comfy position wrapped around her body, his head still pillowed on her breast. He feels muggy, like somehow sleep wants to pull him back under, and he has half a mind to let it, but then remembers he should get back to his quarters soon, in case Roland wakes and goes searching for him.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Regina murmurs groggily, her eyes remaining closed even as she tightens her hold on him when he moves to get up. Her grip is strong, though, and lands him back on the bed with an oof, her body curling into his so that it's her head resting on his chest now.

"It's time for me to leave your lavish chambers, your majesty," he tells her, smiling at the sight of her, hair wild and spread over the pillows, eyes closed and lips pulled up in a lazy grin.

"Mm, I've told you not to call me that. And I don't want you to leave yet," she whispers back, settling further into him, burying her nose in the crook of his neck, her arm heavy over his torso.

"I despise the very thought myself, but there's a five year-old bouncy thing that may just be looking for me soon, and how shall I explain my absence?"

"You tell him you were busy acting as the royal pillow," she replies in her sleep-slurred voice, her eyes still closed, and Robin cannot help but laugh at her adorable musings.

"Somehow I don't see that going over well," Robin argues, "he's the royal best friend, after all, he'll probably say this is his job and not mine."

Regina finally opens her eyes at that, though they remain hooded and droopy as she kisses his chest and then props her head up, the thin strap of her camisole falling over her shoulder as her elbow digs into the mattress, her head tilted to the side.

"He's taking this presidential best friend thing very seriously, isn't he?"

"Oh, he's very proud of his title," Robin nods with a laugh, "the other day he told Chef Lucas he wants to taste every single dish that is made for you before it leaves the kitchen."

"He did not!" she gasps out with an incredulous grin.

"Oh, he did, said it was his duty as your official best friend to make sure all food was, and I quote, 'yummy enough for the queen', or he'd not let them serve it to you."

"He's the best," Regina says then, shaking her head and laughing at the anecdote.

"I suppose he's alright," Robin jokes, earning himself a half-hearted slap on the arm.

They fall silent then, just looking at each other and grinning like fools. He cups her cheek with his hand, and he feels a surge of unbidden love and affection when she leans into the touch and turns her head to drop a kiss to his palm.

"What is it?" she asks when his expression turns soft, and Robin shakes his head with a smile, but answers anyway.

"I'm one lucky bastard, is all," he says, sealing her amused grin with a slow, burning kiss.

It's been clear to him from the moment they kissed for the first time, on that fateful night in her office almost two years ago, but right now, in this moment, the rightfulness of what he already knows sharpens tenfold thanks to his complete and utter happiness: He is hers, and he wants to spend the rest of his life by her side.


Robin leaves Regina's room in day-old clothes and very high spirits, silently making his way through the passage and then straight down to the kitchens, where his son is already waiting.

"Daddy! I've been looking all over for you!" Roland greets after he barrels himself against his legs, and Robin laughs as he picks him up and tickles him, feeling a sense of peace at the boyish giggle he elicits with the action.

"Fell asleep watching the telly in the entertainment room last night, I'm afraid," he lies. He hates lying to his son, hates it, but it's necessary for now, guilty as he feels for doing it.

"Oh. We didn't look there," Roland says, as if suddenly realizing his mistake. "Ashley why didn't we look there?" he demands, and his nanny only laughs, shakes her head and tells him she had no idea his daddy would be there.

"I'm here now, right? Let's have breakfast," Robin interrupts before they can wonder about his absence any further.

"Granny is making us blueberry pancakes!" he informs happily, only to be interrupted by the chef as she makes her way to them from the pantry on the other side of the room, a pack of flour in her hands.

"Correction, young man, you are making the pancakes, I'm just going to supervise," she says gruffly, and Robin laughs at the way his son just beams at the idea.

"Really?!" Roland asks excitedly, and Chef Lucas nods, sends Ashley to get some eggs and blueberries out of the fridge, and starts setting up while Robin watches them with a smile on his face.

When he drops him off at the oval office, his son is carrying a stack of blueberry pancakes smothered in maple syrup, a glass of orange juice, and a tiny vase with a single yellow flower poking out of it, all precariously balanced on a tray that he has difficulty carrying, but won't let Robin help him with, which is endearing, but slightly frustrating, seeing as they have to walk very slowly into the office to avoid spilling anything. Regina lights up the second she sets eyes on them, gets out of her chair and sinks down to her knees in front of Roland, taking the tray from him and kissing the tip of his nose, waiting for him to do the same before she rises, a bright smile on her face as she thanks Robin for bringing Roland in.

They share secret looks, heated glances that promise more for later, and then he walks backwards to the door, his gaze lingering on the perfect image of the woman he loves feeding forkfuls of pancake to his son, who is now perched on her desk in front of her, tiny legs swinging in the space between them. Robin savors the bittersweet departure, he can't stay and just be with them like he wants to, but he knows Roland will have a grand old time with his best friend, and he knows Regina's day is always brighter when his son is around, so he leaves knowing they'll have a good day together, and that's enough for now.