Prompt: Regina's POV of her recovery and getting shot.
Baby food.
She's a grown woman, for crying out loud, she's the goddamn President of the United States, and she's eating baby food.
She has never despised Sidney Glass more than she does right this second.
Getting shot hurt like hell, she doesn't remember much except for the blinding, piercing pain and Robin's scared eyes as he held her and kissed her and told her she'd be alright. Her days at that hospital in Philadelphia had been boring and monotonous despite the constant visits from friends, staff and doctors, and even now, when she's back at the White House and in the comfort of her own bed, the recovery has been less than ideal in terms of pain and physical mobility, despite everyone's constant (and quite annoying) reassurances that it's normal, that she's doing quite well considering the extent of her injury.
But as frustrating as dealing with the wound has been, as much as she can't stand not being able to work, nothing could've prepared Regina for this horrible diet.
Not eating annoys her, makes her cranky and snappy and she hates everything.
Robin comes into her room, ever the perfect boyfriend, and deposits her lunch on the small bed table Ashley had kindly placed over her lap before she left five minutes ago. Regina stares at the sad lump of food in front of her with disdain. Oh, goodie, more mush.
"Chef Lucas made you mashed potatoes," Robin informs her, like it's not obvious from the looks of the yellowy mass on her plate.
"I can see that," she snaps, rolling her eyes and looking at the offending meal.
Robin is unfazed, moves closer and lands a kiss on her head, chuckling when she rolls her eyes again.
"You're adorable when you're hangry," he tells her.
"So you've said," she barks back.
"Come on, Regina," he insists, "just a few more days and you'll be able to eat proper food again."
"I hate this, get it away from me," she hisses, and the way Robin sighs before he removes the food from her sight makes her feel guilty. He's only trying to help, after all.
"I'm sorry," she sighs, "I'm just frustrated."
"I know, my love, but it'll be over soon," he insists as he places the plate on her nightstand. "Besides, if not eating is what's causing you the most grief after the ordeal you've suffered, I'm grateful."
There's a strange quality to his voice when he says that, a slight hitch in his breath that makes that mask of calm and collected attentiveness slip for a moment, and it's there again, the fear in his eyes, the despair she'd seen in him when she'd woken up after her surgery and he'd cried unnecessary apologies into her skin.
"Oh, Robin," she says, her voice breaking when she finally understands why he's been putting up with her moods without question or issue, how he really is thankful that something as mundane as her crankiness over food seems to be the most dire consequence of her getting shot.
"You almost died on me, I'll suffer the brunt of your bad humor if it means you're alive and healthy and in my arms," he tells her sincerely, sitting on the bed facing her and cupping her cheek in his hand.
"I'm sorry I haven't been a very good patient," she says, leaning into the touch.
"Nonsense, you've been stellar," he insists, and she raises a skeptical eyebrow, making him chuckle.
"I've been a monster," she counters, and he leans closer, drops a kiss on her lips.
"But a very cute monster," he amends, and a small laugh bubbles out of her.
"I love you," she tells him, because now that she's started, she can't seem to stop, and it makes her so happy that she can finally say it, she doesn't think she ever wants to stop.
"I love you, too," he returns, moving in close again, his lips lingering on hers this time, his tongue deepening the kiss when it peeks out to taste her, his quiet moan reverberating against her, making her blindly shove the bed table away and onto the floor as Robin half-sits, half-hovers above her, his weight a delicious comfort as it settles gently on her, careful not to touch her wound, and his lips are hungry, yet soft and lovely as he continues to kiss her.
His hand finds her left breast and squeezes, fingers rolling her nipple as he veers from her mouth to pepper kisses down her neck, his nose nudging away the fabric of her hoodie to seek out more skin.
"Oh, god," she gasps when he moves back up and licks at that sensitive spot behind her ear, grazes his teeth over the lobe, and she wants him so bad she can hardly breathe.
"Robin," she pleads, not really knowing what she's asking for, but certain he will know and deliver it.
"We can't," he mumbles, but his lips have yet to leave her neck, switch from one side to the other, hands finding the zipper of the hoodie and dragging it down.
"But I want to," she whines, her hands on either side of his head, fingers threading through his hair and pulling.
"Mmm," he moans, before protesting again. "Someone could come in."
"I don't care," Regina insists, pulling a bit harder at his hair and delighting in the satisfied groan he gives her, and she thinks she's won, that he's going to surrender, but then...
"Dr. Whale said no physical exertion until you're healed," Robin insists, breathing out a frustrated sigh as he moves away from her, leaving her hot and bothered right there on the bed, with his hands and his mouth and his cock so close and yet so far.
"I hate Whale," she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest in frustration. Her hoodie is still open, zipper all the way down to her belly button, the fabric sitting on her naked breasts, exposing the valley between them to his devouring gaze.
"Tell you what..." he starts, shifting closer again and letting a hand trail down the center of her torso, making her flush with warmth as he continues, his voice rich and breathy, "you eat your scrumptious lunch, and in return, I..." he trails off, removing the hoodie completely and taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking at it for a moment before he lets it go and finishes his sentence, "will make sure it's worth your while."
He looks up at her then, winks and waits for her answer with a cheeky little smirk on his face, and oh that is cheap, that is so, so cheap.
She'll take it.
"Hand me the plate," she replies immediately, waiting patiently as he drapes the discarded hoodie over her shoulders and then reaches for the plate, feeding her bits of mashed potato and laughing as he watches her try and get through her meal as fast as possible.
His way of making it worth her while later proves to be not the orgasm she'd been hoping for (he's adamant about the no exertion thing, much to her chagrin), but rather a dinner roll he sneaks from the kitchen, claiming that he's cleared it with Dr. Midas over the phone and he's allowed her this one indulgence for today, and in normal circumstances, she'd probably strangle him for riling her up only to distract her with food, but as she takes a bite of bread and delights in the taste and texture of it, Regina can't find it in herself to be mad.
