Title: According to plan

Summary: In which Robin isn't a fan of tradition.

Rated: T

A/N: Happy Valentine Day EVA GlindaLoveShoes 3! HOW THE TURNTABLES! This is 1 of your gifts! The other one is coming... pretty soon. This be unbetaed as usual so if it sucks, BLAME ME!


He has to get to her.

It hasn't even been 8 hours since he's last seen her, but he feels that desperate need, that desperate pull to see her again. Touch that soft silky skin of hers, and so he goes, ignores his drunk mates and the comments thrown his way hiding behind the pretense of going back to camp. But once he reaches the outdoors of the Rabbit Hole he takes a breath of fresh air, allowing the crisp late night air to cool him off.

Cool off and think straight because he shouldn't go to her.

He should not see her.

She was more than clear earlier that day and all night through her texts.

But the mere thought of herhas him missing her all over again.

Missing her voice. Her touch. Her scent and just… her.

Gods above. He really should see her. Should be on his way right now because this is the most sane idea he's ,hell, the whole town has had on this dreadful day.

So with determination in his steps and ignoring the warmth spreading weirdly down his legs -lord, he should not have had that last shot of what was it? Ah yes, of course, Fireball. And he'd done so many of those he almost forgot why he was in The Rabbit Hole in the first place, but yeah.

Fireball.

Like the majestic things that Regina is able to make with her magic. Magic from her slim fingers. Fingers that more often than not wrap themselves around him, so small, so delicate drawing sinful thoughts from him. And oh, bad idea. This same train of thought is what has him in this predicament, stopping in the middle of Main Street and frowning.

Because he should not be doing this.

He should keep his distance like he promised her. Like he promise Snow, and even Charming who's back at the tavern doing and drinking God knows what.

So much for his bachelor's party.

"Hey Robin, Congratulations in advance!" An almost-man says on his left and Robin turns to him, nods his head in acceptance and yells back what he thinks is a 'Thank you' but it comes out more as an "FuUuNk you" than another thing, and the human crumb, pardon, the dwarf gives him a weird look and just hurries down the street and into the same bar he walked out of not even three minutes ago. Which leaves Robin alone once again, starring straight ahead at the street that could either take him straight to Regina, or to the south back to camp where he promised everybody he would be.

He should really head down the street instead of up, but this is just such a great idea, because she won't be expecting this. Won't be expecting him. It's brilliant. It's marvelous. And her not knowing makes it even better.

So he walks, and he walks, and Gods above he feels the lightness in his body that only comes from doing the right thing at the right time and drinking the fucking bitter thing off of Hook's flask. The right thing. Because this is right. He should not be forced to spend tonight without her laying next to him. Should not be forced to wait until, damn it, tomorrow to see her, to touch her, to kiss her, to feel her.

And he's dying to feel her. It's been so long. Such a long day without seeing her, just imagining her, what she might be doing now, what she's thinking about, what are they talking about in her own little soiree. Are they even up still?

And are those flowers in front of Belle's place?

Yes they are, gorgeous red roses that call onto him. Immediately, Robin finds himself sprinting towards them because this is fabulous, he can now get to her carrying some flowers that will make her forgive him for not following through with his promises. So he picks one, two, a dozen of red roses not minding the scratches the spines leave on his right hand and forearm. No. Because Regina likes flowers, and she will love these, will love these tonight more than any other night because she isn't expecting this.

It's perfect.

Gingerly, Robin walks, no, nearly stumbles out of Belle's front yard and walks with renewed excitement down the path he knows by heart. The path that leads straight to her.

It's when he's standing in front of her gates that the nerves begin to attack him, that the anxiety settles itself in the pit of his stomach, and he just stands there, palms sweaty, legs trembling, world spinning on its' axis and, yeah, yep, he's definitely feeling the effects of this night wear on him, but this is the best idea he's had in three months since he proposed so he can't back down now, can he?

Shaking his head, Robin skillfully opens the front gate as quiet as a mouse and walks up the steps.

He can't knock, cannot risk Snow finding out, so instead and oh so carefully, Robin backs away from her porch and walks along the front yard of her house, eyes fixated on the many windows, trying to see what's happening on the inside.

But there's no movement, the house is strangely quiet and dark minus the windows he knows lead to her bedroom, and so, confidently, Robin grins as he crouches under some bushes and crawls along the garden, chuckling to himself, deep inside missing his thieving years, but he can't lose focus, he's a man on a mission, and his mission is to get to Regina without being caught.

So he focuses on the task at hand, skillfully, amidst his alcohol induced brain, climbs the tree by Henry's window fairly easily and just maneuvers himself so he's stretching over the thick branch, stretching, his pants stretching as he balances himself carefully on the branch while reaching for the window ledge. Robin grins, as he finds a stable, strong grip and grins as he swiftly pulls his body from the branch, but he miscalculates the force and really his motor skills aren't the best right now so he only groans as his body bangs loudly against the shutters.

"Fuck," He grunts, half snorting half annoyed as he braces for the inevitable, for Snow to wake, for Snow to make a big deal out of something that's quite unnecessary thank you very much.

So he waits.

Waits, for a moment, for some movement, for some sound, but nothing comes from the inside of her mansion, and so Robin releases the breath he didn't know he was holding, and chuckles softly to himself, his breath reeking of cinnamon infused alcohol and the damn pickles the Pirate threw his way. But still.

Best idea he's ever had.

So he maneuvers across her walls, her windows, loses a boot in the struggle and for a moment he's brought back to days when climbing through castles was a much more difficult job. At least now he doesn't have the heavy weight of his winter clothes from the Enchanted Forest, or the bow & quivers hanging from his back. Instead all he has is the jean jacket she got for him on his birthday, a simple shirt and pants and the dozen roses hanging awkwardly from his right hand, this is fairly simple.

At least that's what he tells himself.

But nearly twice he's slipped from the windows' ledge.

Nearly twice he's fallen.

But he keeps going.

And when he reaches her window, he squints his eye, trying to look inside to see if she has company.

If Snow is watching.

Excitement pools in his belly when he realizes that she is blessedly alone and wrapped in a long black sheer robe that has him nearly losing his grip and falling straight to her garden again. Oh but what a heavenly good way to go that would be, he thinks.

But instead, he tightens his grip on the shutters with his left hand, and with his right and while holding the roses, he knocks on the window ungracefully and nearly slips again, but he holds on.

And Regina startles, fireball at the ready but when she realizes it's him, those perfect fingers extinguish that fire and he grins, his eyes taking in her own amusement and the way those perfect tits look under the robe.

Then, out of absolutely nowhere and like a fucking amateur, his fingers slide from the shutter and suddenly he's falling.

Falling

Falling

But instead of a hard surface, he lands on the soft covers of her bed, and quickly finds her again with his gaze, hands on her hips and a grin adorning her face as she stands next to the window.

Magic

Gods above she's pure perfection.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you to get here," Regina mentions on a small smirk and begins walking to her bed, the curtains closing behind her as if on their own accord, shutting out the outside world.

And before Robin can answer, he hears the distinctive sound of her door lock and her bedroom lights slightly dimming.

"I should've known it was all bollocks!" Robin murmurs, his eyes blink blink blinking as he fights the sudden heaviness in them.

But Regina just shrugs and smirks at him as she crawls seductively over him, and stops just when her face reaches his. "It's tradition," she near whispers and Robin feels like he could die right now, right here, under her, at her mercy.

Absolutely brilliant plan this was. If this is what he gets for breaking tradition then fuck tradition a thousand times everyday.

And just when he's about to pull her down for a kiss, Regina leans back and sits directly on his groin, slowly, her hips slightly grinding on him and Lords above, what a marvelous tease she is.

"Thank you for the flowers," she mentions with a grin, and oh yeah, the flowers, the flowers he brought her, where are the flowers? But then she's stopping her movements, drops a small peck to his lips and whispers, "I'll see you tomorrow" against his lips. And before he can protest or understand what's really happening, Regina's face disappears in a cloud of purple and he's softly landing on his bed inside his old tent, where he should've been all along before his absolutely brilliant plan came to mind.

And on a frustrated growl, Robin turns to his side on his former bed and hugs the pillows to his chest.

"Not fair," he whispers to no one in particular, frowning as he turns over and over in bed finding a comfortable spot but deep down knowing tonight he won't get a good night's sleep unless she's next to him.

Oh well, a small price he's (begrudgingly) willing to pay, at least tomorrow he gets to call her his wife.