This story is inspired by my favorite Christmas song, "City of Silver Dreams" by Sugarland, the lyrics of which are scattered throughout the text of the story, as you can see. It's a beautiful song that perfectly depicts Christmas in NYC and I love it dearly. Give it a listen when you get a chance.
This was one of my two fic contributions to this year's OQ Advent Calendar. Second fic will be posted right after this one.
Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas!
The windows in New York City
All dressed up with ribbons and smiles
Snow covers the park like a carpet
Bells on white carriages roll by in style.
There's something about Christmas. Something pure and magical and yes, even cheesy, that makes it Regina's favorite time of the year. She's not a fan of snow, but this year, she makes an exception for the beautiful tapestry of a white Christmas in New York.
As much as she misses her hometown of Storybrooke, Maine, and its quiet streets and her friends, moving here four months ago was the best decision she ever made.
The city is alive with laughter and music and the chaos of late Christmas shopping, twinkle lights decorating every tree that lines the sidewalk, garlands and wreaths with colorful baubles and big bows adorning storefronts and apartment buildings...
Regina soaks it all up, smiles as she tucks her gloveless hands into her coat and continues on her way, enjoying every second.
It's during a quiet lull in her appreciative walk down Fifth avenue that it happens. As she turns the corner and walks by the Plaza, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of pine and cold that seems to linger in the air, a loud gasp catches her attention.
"Papa! Look how pretty that lady is!"
It's a little boy, no more than five or six years old, with cute dimples and bouncy brown curls, and he's staring at her with wide eyes and a half-dropped jaw, finger pointing straight at her from where he's perched on his father's hip.
Regina blushes, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear nervously as the boy's father tries to shush him, neither of them realizing they've already been caught.
"Roland, how many times have I told you not to point at people like that?" he scolds in a captivating English accent, moving his son's hand down with his own.
"Sorry," the boy —Roland— says meekly, and then, "but papa she's beautiful, look! The one with the red scarf."
Instead of pointing at her, he grabs his father's face with his tiny hands, and turns it so his eyes can find her.
Regina stands there, in the middle of the sidewalk as others walk and bump past her, a hesitant smile on her face when the man holding Roland realizes she's noticed their little exchange.
"I'm sorry," he offers with a sheepish smile when he makes his way to her, "he's usually a lot better behaved than this."
She chuckles at that.
"It's fine," she assures him as he places his son on the floor, and Regina leans down to look at him, stretching out her hand.
"I'm Regina," she tells him, smirking when he stares at her, dumbfounded.
"Roland, have you nothing to say?" his father asks with a grin, and the words seem to spur the boy into action, his hand reaching out to grab Regina's as he gives her his name, his voice so low you'd never guess he'd yelled out compliments just seconds ago.
"Nice to meet you, Roland," she says politely, still smiling.
People are still walking, cars are still driving by, Christmas music is still ringing clear from the stores and buildings around them, but the nonstop rhythm of the city seems to slow when the boy's father takes off his glove and offers his own hand and name to her.
"Robin Locksley," he says, his voice rich and smoky.
It's then that Regina realizes just how unbelievably attractive he is.
He's tall, with dark blond hair and blue eyes so bright, they sparkle with the golden gleam of the lights around them. He has a strong jawline, lined with stubble Regina suddenly longs to touch, and perfect teeth that sink into an equally perfect lower lip as he peruses her in turn, his smirk revealing dimples to match his son's.
"You were right, Roland," he tells the boy, though his eyes are still on Regina, his hand still in hers. "She really is beautiful."
"I told you!" Roland says smugly.
Regina blushes again as she drops the man's hand and thanks them both, and he is still looking at her, smoldering and interested. It makes her a little nervous —in a good way, but nervous all the same—, so she turns the conversation back to Roland.
"So, does your mommy know you go around calling strange women beautiful? Doesn't she get jealous?" she asks the boy. It hadn't escaped her notice that there's no ring on Robin's finger. Divorced, she assumes, which means Roland must spend the majority of his time with his mother.
"I tell her she's pretty, too, when we visit her. I didn't remember what she looked like and then Papa gave me all her pictures for my first birthday when I was a baby! She's really pretty. Papa says I look like her," he says timidly, and Regina frowns, looks up at Robin.
"We... lost Marian, I'm afraid," he explains. "Almost five years ago now."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—" she starts, but he puts up a hand to stop her.
"It's quite alright, Regina, really," he assures her, but Roland looks a little dejected at the turn of the conversation, so she moves slightly, out of the way of the oncoming gag of tourists walking by, and crouches down in front of the boy.
"Your mommy's in heaven?" she asks, and Roland nods, his pouty lower lip making her heart clench.
"Papa says she's an angel," he supplies, and Regina grins.
"Really? So she's the one we have to thank, then," she says pointedly, tapping her chin with her finger and puckering her lips pensively.
"For what?" asks Roland.
"The snow, of course. Didn't you know?" she says excitedly, moving that finger from her chin to bop the tip of his nose. "Angels make snow, and send it down to us from the sky so that we know they're watching over us."
His eyes go comically wide at that, and he gasps out a "They do?!" that Regina answers with a low Mm-hmm and a nod. From above them, Robin mouths a Thank you that makes her smile.
"So, what are you up to today, Roland?" she asks then, trying to steer the conversation to a lighter topic.
It's Robin who answers.
"Oh, it's our annual tradition. We walk around the city every year the day before Christmas Eve, just after dinner, and see the lights and the decorations." He picks the boy back up as they make way for a family of four passing through. "Roland loves it, don't you, my boy?"
He nods eagerly, and Regina tells them she was doing the exact, same thing. Roland then gasps as he stares at her and back at his father. One hand cupped over his mouth, he leans in close and whispers something in Robin's ear, something that makes him chuckle.
"Roland wants to know if you would like to join us," he tells her.
"Oh, I don't want to intrude—"
"It's no intrusion, I promise. We'd love to have you. Unless of course, you have other plans, in which case we won't keep you."
"No, no," she answers, almost too fast. "Nothing like that. I'm... I'm new in town, actually. No plans today other than enjoying the city."
"Ah, in that case, I insist you join us locals for a proper tour," Robin tells her, making her raise her eyebrow at him skeptically.
"That accent is not local," she teases, and Roland giggles, then explains.
"Papa is from London, that's why he talks funny."
"Ah, of course," Regina says, looking at Roland and adding, "we should write to Santa and tell him your daddy was lying about being a New Yorker. That way you get all the presents and he gets coal."
"Hey, now," Robin interrupts, playing along, "I was not lying. I've lived here for eight years! That counts as local, doesn't it?"
"Prove it," Regina dares, and is all too pleased when he takes on the challenge.
They walk the street together, Roland pointing at everything with contagious enthusiasm.
Regina feels... comfortable, warm, happy, enjoys Robin's stories and Roland's excited squeals. The boy is as charming as his father, and she finds herself not wanting to leave their company.
They discuss their jobs (he's an Art History teacher at NYU, she learns, and excitedly tells him she's a curator at the MET), their hometowns, what brought them to New York (work for her, marriage for him), how they've adapted to life here...
He's attentive, asks questions and really listens to her answers. It's easy conversation, peppered with Roland's little giggles and the occasional "Look at that, papa!" that warms her heart.
Before they know it, they're by Rockefeller Center, admiring the gorgeous Christmas tree. Regina laughs at Roland's awed expression, and Robin tells her his little boy is always, without fail, mesmerized by the tree's size and colorful display of twinkling lights.
"It's his favorite part," he tells her, and Roland nods, but doesn't speak, still staring at the sparkling beads of color just a little ways away.
They stop by La Maison du Chocolat, and Robin treats them to hot chocolate while Regina grabs some macarons, earning herself a hug from Roland when she surprises him with the treats. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the boy's father staring at them like he's... mesmerized by the sight. So much so that she feels herself blush as she looks down, that traitorous lock falling over her face again. She reaches to tuck it back behind her ear, but Robin is quicker, darting out a hand as he whispers Let me, gloved fingers lingering by her cheek just a second longer than necessary.
Regina misses his touch when it's gone.
St. Patrick's cathedral is all lit up
When the doors open wide I can see
All of those candles burning inside
Looks like somebody's birthday party to me.
The beauty of the city doesn't cease to amaze her. Flurries fall and catch on her hair, her coat, land softly on her boots as the sky turns pink, a tell-tale sign of more snow arriving.
And yet everything is still cozy despite the cold. The smell of candied almonds from a nearby cart, paired with the faint echo of sleigh bells and Christmas carols playing inside every building they pass, make Regina feel safe and content as she basks in the spirit of the holiday.
Even the churches look more inviting. Despite her abhorrence of religion, the eerie candlelight and imposing architecture turn warm and welcoming. She discusses that with Robin while they walk, Roland dozing off on his shoulder, curls covering his face.
"You should get him home," she says, interrupting their conversation when she notices the boy is fast asleep, "I've taken up too much of your time already."
"Actually," Robin says, stopping in his tracks and effectively annoying everyone walking just behind them. "Oh, piss off," he tells them as Regina chuckles, pauses and moves out of the way as he addresses her again. "I was— and I'm sorry if this is incredibly forward of me, but— I was hoping you might like to, um... to... to come back with us?"
"To your place?"
"Well... yes. We live a couple of blocks from here," he says, shrugging in a way that slightly bounces Roland's sleeping form. "The snow seems to be picking up, and it's a bit of a long way back to your apartment in the Village."
It isn't. Not really. She'd be home after less than ten minutes on the F train and a short walk, so she raises an eyebrow at his pretext, prompting him to confess, "I've enjoyed this evening immensely, Regina, I'm not quite ready to let you go just yet."
He's looking at her like that again, like he wants to know her, unravel her every secret with her every layer of clothing... and maybe it's the magical Christmas air, or her own perpetual need for human contact, or a combination of both, but the exchange has her smiling, nodding slowly as she whispers an Okay.
Robin lets out a chuckle that sounds more like relief than amusement, hoists Roland up more securely in his arm, and offers his free hand for her to hold.
Snowy night
Catch the light
Shimmer bright
Angels sing
Roland sleeps while they walk in comfortable silence. When they do talk, Robin compliments her, makes her laugh, flirts with her, and not once does he let go of her hand.
Regina soaks up the attention, pushes back his banter with some of her own, then laughs at his jokes and smiles when he calls her beautiful, feeling that little lick of anticipation firing up places inside her long forgotten. She's been single for quite some time now, and having the interest of someone like Robin, someone kind and funny and handsome, warms her all over.
His West Side apartment is gorgeous. Wooden floors and clean, simple furniture looking homey and lived-in thanks to the toy or two scattered around the place, a few picture frames on the coffee table, and the many drawings and Christmas cards pinned to the fridge with colorful magnets. A large flat-screen TV sits right across from the gray L-shaped couch, forest-green throw-pillows contrasting against the stark upholstery, adding just the right amount of color to it all.
There are large windows half-circling the dining table, the view of the neighboring buildings adorned by the snow swirling in the air outside, and a giant bookshelf rests just beside the hallway that leads down to the bedrooms, teeming with thick spines old and new. The collection of tomes on the two bottom-most levels is decidedly more colorful than the rest, and Regina smiles when she realizes why. They're children's books. That is Roland's part of the shelf.
A small Christmas tree sits in a corner of the living room, with multi-colored twinkle lights all over it and ornaments haphazardly placed on the lower branches. Roland's work, no doubt.
They stand by the foyer for a moment, and Robin allows her a minute to get acquainted with her surroundings, disentangles his hand from hers at last, and gestures for her to make herself at home while he puts Roland to bed.
The little boy stirs at the mention of his name, but doesn't fully wake, only cuddles further into his father's embrace and goes back to his dreams. Robin hugs him back, presses a kiss to his brown curls, and Regina feels herself melt at the sight.
She sheds her coat and scarf, placing them on the rack by the door. Robin is gone for quite a few minutes, so she takes a seat on the couch and places one of those green cushions in her lap, her fingers fiddling with a corner of it while she waits.
Finally, she sees him padding out onto the living room to join her, smiling and stopping just short of the couch to look at her.
"What?" she asks, and he shakes his head at her, that smile still in place as he answers.
"I'm trying to figure out a way to show you I'm as enchanted by you as my son, but I doubt anything I come up with will be as endearing or innocent as his compliments from earlier."
He blushes a little as he speaks, and it makes something tingle inside her, has her grinning back and throwing a flirtatious comment of her own.
"Enchanted, huh? I bet you say that to all the girls."
He laughs at that, shakes his head again, and joins her, his eyes focused entirely on her as he answers.
"My son has never done that before. I have never done this before."
"What? Flirt with a stranger?" she retorts.
"Fall for one," Robin answers, then looks down at his hand, resting so close to hers.
"Would you like a drink?" he asks, and Regina is still trying to fight down the red tint of her cheeks at his previous comment, but nods an affirmative, and watches as he gets up and walks to the kitchen, his voice low as he asks if red wine is okay.
"Perfect," she agrees, and appreciates the rear view of him as he pours...
Here below
Children know
Faces glow
Bells they ring
Through a city of silver dreams
They talk about Roland, about his upbringing and how hard it's been for Robin to raise his son as a single dad. He has a nanny, he tells her, a young woman called Ruby that Roland loves to spend time with when Robin has to work, but other than that, it's just the two of them.
There's a pride in him when he speaks about his son, a love that is so easily discernible in the way he talks, that has Regina smiling serenely as she listens to the stories and sips her wine.
"I'm sorry, I can go on and on about him, I'll stop," he tells her when she shifts to a more comfortable position.
"No, no, no, no, it's fine, really. He's beautiful, and such a sweet child, I can tell you adore him."
"I do," he says simply.
"You're a good father," Regina commends, "which is quite refreshing considering I spend most of my day surrounded by the work that dark, tormented souls with daddy issues have left behind throughout history."
He laughs at that, and it's light, easy, makes her body tingle as she takes another sip.
She places her glass on the coffee table, gets more comfortable where she sits and watches Robin for a minute, lets him watch her in turn.
"You really are quite beautiful, you know that?" he says at last, "Roland has great taste."
"Does he, now?"
"Well, I... like to think he gets it from me," Robin jokes, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he shifts just a little closer.
Regina laughs at that, rolls her eyes despite her amusement, and tells him he's incorrigible, to which his only reply is a sly little smile that makes her body flare up with desire.
After a few minutes of contemplative silence, she notices a copy of Van Gogh's Olive Trees hanging on the wall, comments on it, and the conversation becomes about art in general. Paintings, sculptures, books...
They both share a love for the classics, Regina discovers, though they disagree on which Charles Dickens novel is the best (she insists it's A Christmas Carol, of course, a classic in every sense of the word, but he challenges her, tells her it's jaded and overhyped, that he much prefers Great Expectations).
"The movie for that one was better, I'll give you that," she admits, much to his amusement.
"Roland adores the Christmas Carol movie, actually. We watch it every year. He's a big Oliver Twist fan, too."
"Is he?" she asks with a frown. The tale of an orphan boy suffering through various kinds of child labor and abuse doesn't really seem an appropriate story for a child as young as Roland.
"Well, he loves Oliver and Company... the Disney film? It's very loosely based on Oliver Twist."
Ah, that makes more sense, then.
But, "That doesn't count, it's not really Dickens," she tells him, just to get a little more of that banter they had going on.
"Why, you baffle me, milady," he says in mock outrage. "Disney classics always count."
"Did you just call me 'milady'?" she asks with a giggle, and Robin shrugs, unapologetic.
They move on to movies after that, from Roland's favorites to their own, and the conversation flows easily, brings up more topics to discuss, more things to jokingly fight over. Regina loves it.
They come back to Christmas after a while, and discuss their favorite traditions. They talk about songs and food and decorations. Regina tells him she's spending the holiday alone, and is grateful to see that there's no pity in his eyes when she says it, only appreciation and curiosity.
"Crazy family?" he asks.
"Not exactly. My father died two years ago."
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," she promises, "he'd been dealing with MS for a long time. As much as I miss him, I'm glad he's no longer suffering."
"And your mother?" he prods, and Regina sighs.
"Now, she is a bit of a touchy subject," she admits.
"Oh, I didn't mean to—" he starts, but she shakes her head, and decides to tell him the short version of her sob story.
"She abandoned us when I was six, then came back when I was a senior in high school, but it was clear from the moment she arrived she was only after Daddy's money, and that she'd never cared for me, so when I left for college, Daddy sent her packing. Haven't heard from her since."
"That has to hurt," he says, and his thumb rubs back and forth over her wrist. Regina hadn't even noticed he was touching her until now, but the contact is welcome. Soothing.
"Not exactly. I was angry, never sad or hurt, I just wanted her gone."
"Then good riddance, I say," he offers, and she smiles, gives him a nod.
"Since my father died, I've spend Christmas with my friend Mary Margaret and her family. They're wonderful, but they can be a bit... too wonderful."
"Ah, so you needed a break," he finally deduces.
"You could say that," Regina replies with a chuckle, leans forward to grab her wine glass again and take another drink, emptying it.
"More?" Robin asks, but she shakes her head, tells him one is enough.
He downs his own glass, sets it back on the table next to hers, and sinks down to the carpet, prompting her to do the same.
Regina curls her knees under her as she sits with her side pressed into the couch, her arm resting over the place she'd just been sitting on. Robin mirrors her position, his hand meeting hers on the couch. It's a tentative touch, but becomes bolder when she doesn't flinch away.
His fingertips start to ghost over her hand, dipping into the crevices between her knuckles, under her palm and over her wrist... until their hands are entwined together, his fingers lazily sliding back and forth between hers, his gaze glued to the movement as Regina watches him.
"What about you?" she asks, her voice low so as not to disrupt the comfortable atmosphere they've settled into.
"My family's back in London, but I wouldn't spend Christmas with them even if they lived two steps away. They never approved of my wife, you see, and that drove a bit of a rift between us."
"I can imagine," she says, and then she's the one playing with his hand, her own fingers interlacing with his own and exploring, caressing. Robin closes his eyes and sighs.
"My parents have not met Roland. I don't ever want them to. My mother has reached out a few times since Marian passed away but..."
He trails off, unable to explain, it seems, but Regina understands, tells him so, and desperately searches for a subject change.
She finds it when she looks out the window, at the snow gusting outside.
"It's really coming down out there," she says, jerking her head towards the window. Robin rises, extends his hand to her and helps her up, but he pulls a little too hard, and the momentum has her bumping into him, their proximity intoxicating.
They hung a star over 5th Avenue
Like a beacon that's calling you home
With our gifts we come looking for comfort
May we find in each other we're not so alone
He licks his lips as he stares at hers, and god, she wants him to kiss her, wants it so bad she can almost taste that enticing bottom lip of his as he sinks his teeth into it.
Instead of closing the gap between them, though, Robin pulls away, takes her hand and guides her to the window, where he stands her just in front of him as they watch the storm.
He's not touching her, but he's standing so close the warmth of his breath washes over the back of her neck. Regina shivers, enjoying the scant space between his chest and her back a little too much.
He's murmuring about the snow, about how much he loves to watch it blanket over the city on nights like this, and she hums her agreement, arms crossed over her chest as she continues to stare out at the stray flurries catching on the corners of the window, the little flakes sparkling as they catch the glow from the twinkle lights inside the apartment.
Regina can feel the heat of his body radiating into hers, feel his gaze glued to her. She can even hear him gulp, and she doesn't turn around, not yet, but it's easy, so easy, to picture him licking his lips with the same anticipation she's had building inside her since she stepped into his apartment.
She hears his breath catch, and turns to address him. Only, when she does, she finds him too close to speak, and her eyes instantly drop to his lips, his free hand rising tentatively. It stops just short of her face, and when she nods her consent, he threads it in her hair, thumb rubbing over her cheek.
He doesn't move, only breathes her in, and murmurs something incoherent into the space between them.
"What did you say?" she asks, surprised at how raspy her voice sounds.
"You smell incredible," he repeats, and slowly moves his face to the side, his nose nuzzling into her hair. Regina is suddenly glad she picked that new apple-scented shampoo at the store the other day.
"So do you," she replies, because it's true. He smells like... like forest. Woodsy and fresh and amazing.
His face is blurrily back in her line of vision, his hand dropping from her cheek as the tip of his nose runs down the bridge of hers. His mouth is slightly open and his eyes flutter shut, and Regina can't resist, closes her own and simply allows herself to feel.
He doesn't move to kiss her, not yet, rather nudges her nose with his a little more, and pulls her body closer, holding her as his hands now roam her sides. Up her ribcage, down to her waist and back up in firm, tortuous motions that have her exhaling loudly into his chest.
Her own hands have found purchase on his navy henley, bunching the fabric by the hem, revealing just a sliver of skin that she accidentally touches with her fingertips. Robin hisses briefly, then lets out a little laugh.
"Icy fingers," he whispers by way of explanation.
"Sorry," she whispers back, "I don't like wearing gloves..."
He shakes his head, touches his brow to hers, and tells her it's no matter, and he's too near for Regina to see him properly, but she can tell he's smiling.
And then he calls her name, Regina, a reverent whisper in their peaceful little bubble, so low she feels more than hears it.
She Mmms in response, and wets her lower lip with her tongue as she waits for him to speak.
"May I kiss you?" he finally asks, his mouth almost touching hers as he speaks. Regina swallows, entranced and aroused by just how close he is.
The answer is obvious, but he's giving her the choice, and she appreciates it, likes that he's making sure she's comfortable with whatever is about to happen.
It's easy then, to tilt her head up and kiss the tip of his nose, then back down to look at his lips. And it only takes her a few seconds to nod and whisper back a breathy Please.
When he finally closes the tiny bit of space between them, it's with the soft caress of his lips over her own. It's slow, and sweet, and wonderful. His hand moves back up to play with her hair again, thumb rubbing across her cheek once more as he kisses her, and Regina finds herself grabbing onto his wrist for leverage and pulling herself closer, until their chests are pressed together fully. Robin then slants his head just a little bit, changing the angle, and adds more dimension to their exchange when he sucks gently at her upper lip.
She opens her mouth to him, strokes his lower lip with her tongue, and delights in the low moan that erupts from him as he does the same to her. He tastes like the Merlot they've been drinking, with a hint of salt that seems to be all him, and the vestiges of the treats they had earlier. It's not a combination one would normally find irresistible, but Regina cannot get enough, surrenders completely to the intoxicating flavor of his kisses, and presses herself tighter against him.
His tongue tangles and twists with her own, tastes and explores her, his other hand wrapping around her waist and moving lower, pausing just short of her rear. He doesn't stop kissing her, though. Instead, he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, and grunts when she moans at the delightful sensation.
Snowy night
Catch the light
Shimmer bright
Angels sing
The rough texture of his stubble burns deliciously against her neck when he moves to dot little kisses there, his breath hot on her skin, and the whimper she lets out sounds foreign even to her own ears.
He sighs longingly, forehead sinking to her shoulder as they both take a moment to calm their incessant panting. He's still holding her by the waist, his arms strong and solid, and so Regina moves her hands to his biceps, fingers pressing into his muscles when he lands a kiss on her shoulder.
And then he looks up, his eyes beautifully blue and clear and open as they stare into hers, and Regina is caught in their depths with no desire to escape.
"What are we doing?" he asks, finally breaking the silence, his voice injected with the same exhilarated amusement she's feeling. His arm moves from under her as he brings a hand back to cradle her face, thumb slowly caressing her temple, and Regina leans into the touch as she searches for an answer.
"I have no idea," she settles on, "but I'm not complaining."
He laughs at that, and dives back in, bolder this time in his touch. His other hand is still on her waist, but only for a moment, only to ground her against him before it ventures lower, finally settling on the curve of her rear, right where she knows he's been wanting to touch her since their kiss began.
Regina doesn't mind, rather likes it, actually, and when he kneads over her jeans, she gasps, kissing him harder. Her hand touches his neck, moves to travel over his jaw, and god, he's good at this, so good at this, sucking at her bottom lip when her mouth falls open on a gasp, that hand he'd had on her cheek pushing into her hair and gently tugging as it buries itself in her short locks.
"You're quite a good kisser," he compliments when they part for air, his hot breath fanning over her skin. Regina pulls back, flashes him a smug little smile, and brings his face down to hers so she can kiss him again.
She takes her time, lets the tension build up by running the tip of her tongue along his lower lip, then gives him a tiny, teasing bite, eliciting a groan from him that's half-frustration, half-excitement. His mouth is hungry for her, and this new kiss is incredible. Deep, wet, and unhurried. It's a blur of the best kind, nothing but heavy breaths and the slow, teasing passes of his tongue over hers as their lips meet and part with a muffled pop.
His hand has long dropped from her hair, is now playing with the hem of her top, circling over the skin revealed when it rides up with her movements. She's so tempted to let him remove it, to tell him how badly she wants more of those wonderful little swirls of his fingers over the rest of her, but her mouth is busy with his, and enjoying it very, very much.
His next moan is louder, needier, his hand now fully under her shirt, splayed on her lower back and pressing her into him. But while their stance becomes more passionate, their kiss winds down to something sweeter. Quiet little pecks that make her tingle all over. Especially when he moves back to her neck, then kisses a trail from her jaw to her ear.
"God, the things I want to do to you," he whispers there, and she moans loudly, because that tone of pure desire in his voice is the hottest thing she's ever heard.
She needs to breathe. Needs to cool down and regroup, before that one glass of wine, and the snow, and the flirting, and all these kisses get to her head and she does something she'll regret in the morning.
She also needs to ignore the little voice in her head that tells her there's no way she'd regret letting this incredibly sexy man have his wicked way with her.
Regina takes a moment, mimicking Robin's earlier actions and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as she smirks at him, licks her lips in response to his comment, and his answering groan thrills her.
"I'm not stopping you," she says, though she should, she really should, because this is crazy. She's not the kind to sleep with a guy on the first date, and this wasn't even a date!
"But..." she adds dejectedly, cursing her conscience. "It's probably best if I do. I should really get going, before the storm is in full swing."
"Little late for that," he informs her, cocking his head towards the window. Sure enough, in the few minutes they've been lost in each other, a full-blown blizzard has formed outside, far too strong for her to venture home.
What the hell is she supposed to do now?
"Stay," he tells her, meeting her worried gaze before he busses her lips softly. He then brings his forehead down to hers again.
"Robin," she says in warning.
"I'll behave," he promises. "I'll sleep out here on the couch, you can take my bed. We won't do anything you don't want to do, Regina. You can trust me."
She can, she knows this, she has no idea how she knows it, but she does.
"Okay," she agrees, because it's not like she has many options, not with the feet of snow currently drowning the streets of New York, making traffic a living hell and stopping anyone from walking the street. She does have one caveat for this overnight visit, though, and throws it in with a firm voice: "But I'm taking the couch."
"Regina—"
"No," she presses, "This is your home, I won't have you going out of your way like that."
"It's really nothing," he insists, but she raises a hand to stop him.
"Robin, what does Roland do first thing in the morning when he wakes up?"
"He cuddles with me to tell me about whatever new dream he had the night before, and then he drags me out of bed to make him breakfast," he answers with a smile.
"Exactly. I will not disturb your child's routine by having him walk into the room and find a stranger instead of his father on that bed."
"But—"
"I mean it. I'd rather brave the storm than intrude on your lives like that."
He sighs at that, shakes his head and calls her stubborn, to which Regina only raises an eyebrow.
"Fine, the couch it is," he relents. "Can I at least offer you something more comfortable to sleep in?"
"That, I will gladly accept," she answers, biting her own smirk as he nods and moves toward the bedroom.
It's like this whole town has swallowed some magic
With a taxi horns singing away
They say that this city will change you
But it ain't me that's been changing
From what I can tell.
His pajama pants are warm, soft, and far too big on her. His hoodie smells like him. All pine and fresh and wonderful. Regina brings the folded garment to her nose, takes a deep whiff, and then catches sight of her silly smile in the bathroom mirror.
She cannot believe this is happening.
She is at a stranger's apartment. A man's apartment... wearing his clothes and staying the night.
It looks worse than it is, she tells herself. She's staying the night because there's a blizzard outside. She's wearing his clothes because sleeping in skinny jeans is uncomfortable. And she's here because she'd enjoyed her time with him and his son.
Robin has been nothing but nice. Respectful, kind, charming...
Delicious.
He's a fantastic kisser, and in such a short span of time Regina has already become dependent on the way he runs his tongue along her own, to how he'll suck at her upper lip when he's just starting to deepen their kiss...
Her body is still tingling from their little makeout session by the window, still feeling the ghost of his hands running down her sides, pressing her against him.
He's just outside, just a few steps down the hall, waiting for her. He'd walked her into his room, brought his clothes out for her from his closet, along with a thick knit blanket and two extra pillows, and directed her to the bathroom with her sleepwear before telling her he'd go "make the couch decent" for her to sleep on.
So here she is, in his bathroom, staring at the bits of lipstick he hasn't managed to kiss off quite yet, and smiling giddily at her own flushed state.
Regina takes off what's left of her makeup with the trusty makeup remover wipes she keeps in her bag, splashes her face with cool water, and dries off with the fresh hand towel he's left in here for her. She feels a little exposed, now that she's washed away her armor, suddenly misses the red on her lips and the eyeliner and mascara. But when she walks back out into the living room, and he looks at her like she's something akin to the works of art he so passionately rambles about, her self-confidence is restored in full force.
"Stunning in every way," he says, extending a hand to her and bringing her close, his nose brushing softly over hers.
He's changed while she was gone. Is now barefoot, wearing flannel pants similar to the ones he's given her, and an old worn T-shirt that hugs the firm plains of his body and lets her feel more of those toned muscles... yum.
For a moment, she's torn between flirting back and just kissing the hell out of him, but he inadvertently makes the decision for her, when he pulls back and gestures toward what will be her bed for the night.
The blanket she'd seen him grab is now nestled into the cushions, the pillows placed against the arm of the couch. The sight makes Regina yawn, realizing just how tired she is.
"Sleepy?" he asks, and his voice is low, beautiful, his hand playing with hers.
"Just a bit," she admits, "but I don't want to go to bed just yet."
He grins at that, laces his fingers with hers as he guides her to the couch. He sits down first, then pulls her down gently, so that she lands just next to him, right where they started earlier.
The pillows are against her thigh, and she reclines a little against them, invites him closer with a smile.
They talk about nothing and everything. It's fun, and light, and easy, and Regina lets herself enjoy it, rests her head on her hand, elbow pressing into the arm of the couch, and discusses their earlier stroll with him.
"What was your favorite part?" he asks her, curiosity and mirth dancing in his eyes.
"Roland's reaction to the tree at Rockefeller Center," she says immediately, laughing with him when they both remember the boy's wide-eyed stare.
"Every year," Robin tells her. "You'd think I'd get my fill of that stunned face he makes, but it gets me every single time."
"I've never seen anyone stare at something with such fascination," she says with a giggle. "He's adorable."
"Yeah, he's alright," Robin jokes, and they both laugh lightly when she whacks his arm in response.
"How about you?" she asks him then, "What was your favorite part?"
"Meeting you, of course," he replies, and they don't even know each other, Regina reminds herself. Not really. Her heart has no business fluttering in her chest like this at the simple honesty of his statement, the tenderness of his smile.
But flutter it does, and Regina's not sure she ever wants it to stop...
She straddles him, knees digging into the couch on either side of him, and leans in ever so slowly, her eyes focused on those dimples of his.
And then she's kissing him, savoring him with the languid press and pull of their lips, tasting more of him when his mouth opens, his tongue instantly seeking hers.
His touch is innocent enough, respecting her boundaries just as he's promised. One hand is roaming her back, with an occasional drop downward to run over her thigh, and the other is diving into her hair. He likes her hair, it seems, likes the feel of it between his fingers. And who is she to deny him that perk? Especially when it feels so good to have him tugging and massaging her head while they trade lazy kisses.
When they part, noses touching and lips brushing, he's holding her by the waist, and his breathing is heavy, labored, as he tells her, "You're making it quite difficult for me to behave, you know."
Regina half wants to tell him, Then don't, but she's set those boundaries for a reason (she can't think of what that reason is right now, but there must have been one at some point). Instead, she grins mischievously, winks at him, and agrees to give him a break, shifts back to her previous spot beside him and cuddles up into his side, sighing happily when he throws an arm around her over the back of the couch. The weight and warmth of his hand on her shoulder makes her feel safe, cozy.
"Sorry," she says. "That was evil of me."
"That seems somewhat of an overstatement," Robin interjects as she pulls back to look at him. "Bold and audacious, perhaps, but... not evil."
Regina chuckles, shakes her head lightly, and then settles back down against him.
They start up a conversation again. Or try to, anyway, but Regina can't quite keep her eyes open, and dozes with her head resting on his shoulder, listening to him talk about his love for Post-Impressionism. Van Gogh, Cezanne, Gauguin, Rousseau... his raspy baritone soothes her as he describes what he admires about all of them, the hand that holds hers on his lap rubbing little circles into her wrist.
Regina Hmms, adds a comment or two of her own, her voice lazy and low, and before she knows it, she's falling asleep right there against him, closing her eyes to the sound of him describing the emotion behind brushstrokes and vibrant colors.
His silence pulls her from slumber about an hour later, and one glance at him tells her he's dozed off, too.
She has to wake him. He has to get to his bedroom, so that his son doesn't startle upon finding an empty bed tomorrow. And she will, she'll wake him.
But first, she allows herself a few minutes, just two or three, to simply take him in.
His breathing is deep and slow. Relaxed. His hand, which had held her tight as they flirted and laughed earlier, is now limp over her shoulder, and his face is turned towards hers, his lips a hair's breadth from her own.
He's got a couple of freckles on his right cheek, she notices, and a tiny birthmark on his jaw, hidden by the stubble she's quickly becoming addicted to. His lower lip juts out just a tad as he sleeps, making him look pouty and so damn kissable she has to take a deep breath to stop herself. His hair is sticking out at odd ends, mussed by the way his head is pressed sideways into the couch back. Adorable and sexy all at once.
One unruly lock has fallen over his brow, and Regina pushes it back quietly, the backs of her fingers ghosting along his cheeks as she brings her hand back down and settles it on his chest, pushing lightly for leverage as she shifts her position.
When she's hovering above his form, she calls his name, trails her mouth from his jaw to his ear in tiny pecks, and whispers that it's time to wake up.
His lashes flutter as he stirs, those baby blues opening to stare right at her. And there's that smile again, the tender one Regina can't help but return.
"We fell asleep," she informs him.
Robin sighs, keeps looking at her all bleary-eyed and drowsy, still smiling fondly, and Regina laughs, rests her head on his chest for a bit and takes in the clean scent of fabric softener on his shirt.
"I don't know about you, but I'm quite comfortable like this," he breathes, his hand absentmindedly running up and down her arm, still trying to wake up fully.
"The whole point of me sleeping on the couch was so that you would be in your bed tomorrow morning," she reminds him.
"I know," he sighs dejectedly, and then he's moving, carefully so as not to jostle her too much (impossible when she's lying half on top of him, but Regina appreciates the attempt), and rises from the couch.
His back pops when he stretches, his neck creaking when he moves, and Regina looks down at her hands on her lap, feeling a little guilty that she's made him sleep in such an awkward position.
Suddenly he's standing before her, his legs bumping her knees upon moving closer. When Regina looks up, he's grinning at her.
"I'll see you in the morning," he says, his voice low and melodic, like a lullaby meant only for her.
She nods, smiling back at him, and Robin tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in response, his touch lingering on her cheek.
"Good night, Regina," he whispers.
"Good night, Robin," she answers, and watches him walk around the living room and kitchen. He closes the billowy curtains over the windowpanes, shutting out the visuals of the snow still falling heavily outside, then turns all lights off except for the ones on the Christmas tree, and the room is suddenly awash in faint little sparks of color that change by the second.
When she sees him reach his bedroom door down the hall, Regina cuddles under his blanket, into his hoodie, and lets the scent of him lull her back to sleep.
Snowy night
Catch the light
Shimmer bright
Angels sing
The first thing Regina hears the next morning is a loud gasp.
It's not what wakes her. Not really. It's not loud enough for that, but she hears it nonetheless.
"Roland, that's not polite," a voice murmurs softly.
"But Papa, look! She's even more beautiful when she's sleeping!" another voice answers, in that loud-whispery way children tend to speak when sharing secrets.
"She really is, isn't she?" Robin breathes his agreement, and it makes her body tingle as memories of last night start forming behind her closed eyelids.
"I'll start on breakfast, do you want to help me?" he whispers then, and Roland's voice is still that breathy, shouty thing, but it seems to come from farther away now as he answers that No, he doesn't want to cook, he wants to color.
"Alright, go get your crayons and we can pick out a coloring book together, but you have to be very quiet, yeah?"
There's no audible reply, but she assumes Roland is nodding intently at his father. And then the pounding of little feet against the floor rumbles throughout the apartment, and Robin's whispered shout of Roland! has her resisting the urge to laugh.
Regina chooses that moment to finally open her eyes, catches a flash Roland half-running, half-gliding into his room in his blue footie pajamas as she removes the blanket from over her body, and stretches like a cat.
Robin is still in his pajamas, standing by the kitchen, carefully setting up the griddle and mixing pancake batter as quietly as he can.
"Good morning," she slurs sleepily.
"Well, look who's finally woken up," he greets, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before making his way over to her. His fingers grip at his hoodie on either side of her, pulling the fabric and Regina with it, until they're close enough that he can kiss the tip of her nose.
"How did you sleep? Was the couch okay?" he asks with a grimace.
"You're cute when you worry," she answers with a smirk. "Couch was great."
She means it, too. She doesn't know why he kept insisting on the bed like the couch was some hellish monstrosity, designed to keep her from sleep. She's quite well-rested. In fact, she would happily take another nap on that thing. Preferably with Robin cuddled up next to her.
He sighs, relieved, and then looks her over, shaking his head.
"What?"
"You're a goddess," he tells her simply, running his hands up and down her sides in slow, tantalizing motions.
Regina chuckles at that.
"Well, this goddess needs a human moment. Mind if I use your bathroom?"
"Not at all," he answers with a laugh of his own, stepping away from her to let her pass.
"I've a couple of spare kids' toothbrushes for Roland in the top right-hand drawer, they're small, but they're new. Hand towels are on the left," he tells her.
She thanks him and walks away, and if she adds a little sway to her hips as she moves to his room, well, who can blame her?
When she heads back out into the living room, teeth brushed and face washed, Roland is still not there. She'd passed his room just now, had seen the door closed and figured he'd already gotten what he needed, but it appears that's not the case.
"Did he go look for those crayons in Switzerland or something?" she asks, making Robin laugh as he throws a handful of blueberries into the pancake batter he's just poured on the griddle.
"Heard that, then..." he comments, waiting for confirmation on just how much she heard while she was 'asleep' earlier. But Regina won't make it that easy, simply nods and doesn't elaborate.
After a very short staring contest, he sighs, and answers her question from before.
"This always happens. I'll bet you anything the crayons are all scattered under his bed and he's still trying to get all thirty-six of them together. It's a rule that he can't color unless he has all his crayons in the crayon box."
"Should I go help him?" Regina offers, but he shakes his head at her.
"It's alright. He'll find them eventually."
He flips the pancake, and sets the spatula on the counter just as she moves closer.
"Mmm, minty," he comments after she pecks his lips, and Regina nods, grabs a blueberry from the carton beside the stove and pops it into her mouth.
She's about to grab another one when Robin's arms hook around her thighs and lift. Regina lets out a surprised squeak, and holds on to him as he sets her atop the counter, her legs dangling and opening to accommodate him between them.
"I'm sorry, but the sight of you in my clothes all sleepy and lovely is just... it does things to me."
She smirks at him, leans back a little further to showcase his hoodie, and invites him, "By all means, Mr. Locksley."
He dives right in, feasts on her neck, makes her gasp and whimper with the gentle suction of his mouth on her skin. Regina threads her fingers into his hair, holds his head in place when he finds a delicious spot right by her pulse point that drives her wild.
His hands are on her waist, not venturing anywhere, just holding her, just squeezing tightly whenever she moans out loud.
"Regina, you're up!" a little voice says as something heavy (the box full of crayons, she later realizes) is dropped onto the coffee table, and the loud bang has them jumping apart so quick, she's still disoriented when Roland reaches her and pulls on her hand. He doesn't seem to notice, only continues pulling insistently on her hand, forcing her down from the counter and to the living room.
"Did you like sleeping over? Papa told me when I woke up that you slept over. Did you watch movies? Are you staying for breakfast? Do you color? I wanna color with you. I have a lot of coloring books and you can pick one for you and I'll pick one for me and we can color while Papa makes the pancakes and then-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Robin interrupts, chuckling as he tells his son, "Roland, Regina is our guest."
"I know, Papa, that's why I told her she can pick her own coloring book," the boy says, with a hint of exasperation that has Regina laughing.
"You shouldn't force her to color, son, maybe Regina wants to do something else."
You, supplies that horny, treacherous voice in her head. Regina wants to do you.
"But she wants to color! Right, Regina?" he asks, and then he turns those adorable puppy eyes on her, and she is powerless to refuse.
"Of course I do!" she confirms, and Roland squeals.
"You can pick whatever you want!" he tells her excitedly, all but dragging her toward the bookshelf. "I have tons!"
They go through coloring books together, and she ends up picking one depicting scenes from Dr. Seuss's Cat in the Hat, mostly because of the way Roland giggles and tells her that Papa doesn't like that story.
"Because it's silly," he explains when Regina raises an eyebrow at him. "Why would a cat want a hat?"
"You're completely missing the point of the story," she challenges.
"The story makes no bloody sense anyway," Robin retorts.
"Language, Papa," Roland interrupts, aghast at his father's word choice in a way that makes Regina laugh into her hand. Robin groans, grabs his wallet, which Regina only now realizes is resting on the counter, and fishes a dollar out of it.
"Y'know, that school of yours is going to land me in the poor house," he jokes.
There's a clear glass jar above the fridge, and Robin grabs it, twists off the top, and deposits the dollar inside it, holding it up for his son to inspect.
"His teacher is very strict about cursing around the children," he tells Regina.
"I see," she says with a smile.
"When we curse, Mrs. Lucas says 'Language!' and it's so funny!" Roland adds, which explains the way he'd chastised his father just seconds before, she realizes.
A few minutes later, she's sitting on the floor, leaning over the coffee table and happily indulging Roland in his coloring craze, while the sizzling of bacon and the background noise of the cartoons on TV act as soundtrack to their activities.
He's picked a book about zoo animals to color, and while Regina shades in the red stripes in the Cat's hat from her own book, the little boy is holding one crayon in each hand, one gray, one brown, and is staring at them intently, the tip of his tongue peeking out, eyes scrunching in concentration.
"Can't decide?" she asks, and he shakes his head, not removing his gaze from his two choices.
"What animal are you going to color first?" she asks, staring at the page he's picked to work on. There's an assortment of animals smiling up at her. Two hippos, a lion, a giraffe, a monkey, and an elephant.
"The monkey! It's my faaaaaaaavorite," he informs her.
"Ah, so this is a very important decision," she prods, and hears Robin laugh from behind them as Roland nods solemnly. Adorable.
Regina taps the gray crayon.
"I like this one for the monkey," she offers, and Roland instantly drops the brown crayon back in the box, thanks her for her help, and starts to color.
After he's finished the monkey, the giraffe, and half a hippo, the opening theme for a Harry Potter film on TV has him abandoning his work, and excitedly settling in to watch with a "Look, Regina! It's Harry Potter!"
He says Harry's name in an abysmal imitation of a British accent, and it makes her giggle in amusement before she leaves him to his movie, her eyes finding Robin as he sets the bacon on a plate and works on browning the last of the pancakes.
The blueberries are gone, except for five or six inside a plastic cup that Robin keeps grabbing and eating, so she leans forward, takes one, and is promptly chastised with a Hey! as she chews on it.
"What?" she laughs.
"Those were my blueberries," he insists, but his eyes are sparkling, his lips pulling up at the corners.
"Hey, Roland," she calls, not taking her eyes off of Robin, "your father doesn't want me to eat his blueberries."
"Papa!" he gasps, tearing his attention from the cat that's just transformed into Professor McGonagall and looking at the pair of them instead. "We are good people. Good people share."
"I swear, that school of his is one giant hippy nightmare," he mutters under his breath, and Regina gives him a smug smile, extending her hand to him, palm up.
The last of the blueberries in the cup end up in that hand, and Robin is giving her that smile again, the one that makes her want to do things to him, as he bows with a flourish.
"Your blueberries, your majesty," he says loudly, much to Roland's amusement, and then the boy's attention is back to the Wizarding World, and Robin's is back on the pancakes, and Regina is left to lean against the counter and watch this incredibly handsome man cook her breakfast.
It's the best view she's had in years.
The food is delicious, and she enjoys every bite as she listens to Roland's incessant chatter. The TV is off for the time being, and instead of the magical tunes of Harry Potter, their background music is now the bustling of the city outside. The sounds of snowplows and people walking briskly by as they start their day filter in from the open windows, with the occasional notes from a Christmas song or two from neighboring apartments and stores down below.
It feels wonderful.
Once breakfast has been consumed, Robin announces it's time for Roland's bath, and Regina takes it as her cue, telling him it's about time she heads out.
"You're leaving?" The little boy asks her, pouting as he looks up at her in those adorable pajamas.
"I'm afraid so, sweetheart, I have to get home," she answers, crouching down in front of him when he opens his arms for a hug.
"You're the prettiest bestest friend I've ever had," he whispers into her ear, and she lets out a small laugh as she clutches him a little harder.
"I'll, uh, go get him settled while you change, yeah?," Robin offers uncertainly, and Regina nods from over Roland's shoulder, closes her eyes as she gives him one final squeeze, and then lets go, watching him walk slowly away and into his room.
Robin walks in right after him, and Regina hears them murmuring to each other as she passes by the room and enter's Robin's, her clothes clutched in her hands.
As she gets dressed, she ponders about her night, about this lucky event that brought her to this lovely little family, and she finds that the thought of leaving, of walking away and back to her empty apartment, is not as appealing as it was before she met them.
"He's in the tub with his toys," Robin says when he meets her in the living room.
"He's a wonderful child," she commends, and he smiles with so much pride, something warm and fuzzy tugs at her heart at the sight.
"He's so sad to see you go. I usually can't get him in that tub fast enough, but right now he's just sulking and moving his toy boat around the water. Poor lad's got it bad.
"I really enjoyed getting to know him, and you," Regina says, feeling nervous at the admission. "And I'm sorry for imposing on you the way I did."
"Nonsense," he waves her off, his hand traveling up her arm, leaving goosebumps on her skin in its wake. "You were the perfect guest."
"Your idea of a perfect guest is a strange woman who crashes on your couch and kisses you?" she teases, and he shakes his head in mock exasperation, smiling when she appeases with, "I had a great night... and morning."
Robin nods, moves ever closer, and reaches out to hold her hand.
"My son is quite smitten with you," he tells her, and Regina smiles.
"As am I," he adds, and it makes her giddy. Makes her long to hear that over and over again.
Here below
Children know
Faces glow
Bells they ring
Through a city
Through a city so pretty
He walks her to the door, and grabs her coat from the rack, helping her slip it on and fastening the buttons for her. She can do it herself, isn't exactly sure why he's not letting her, but then she notices the way his finger lingers over the buttons, how his face grows pensive, quiet.
"Everything okay?"
"It's just... I can already tell I'm going to miss you terribly the moment you walk out that door," he answers with a breathy chuckle. "It's silly, I know, but..."
"I feel the same," she confesses, and it has that tender smile of his peeking out at her again.
"Would it be alright if I kissed you again?" he asks then.
Regina nods slowly, eyeing him from head to toe as he moves closer, until his nose is brushing hers and his hand is diving into her hair, settling at her nape as he presses his lips to hers.
She sucks his lower lip into her mouth, teases her tongue over it, and there's that little moan again, the one that seems to always escape him when their kisses deepen.
His lips are closed around her top one, sucking gently, and it feels amazing, the sweetness of maple adding a new delectable flavor to the intoxicating taste of him. One of his hands is grasping her by the waist, holding her there, while the other cradles her face, his thumb caressing her cheek and his forehead falling softly into hers as they part.
"I don't want to leave," she confesses into the sliver of space between them, tilting her head up to kiss the tip of his nose, just because she can.
He doesn't answer, just kisses her again, harder this time, deeper. Regina welcomes it, kisses back just as fiercely, losing herself in the wet passes of his tongue over hers and the lovely feeling of his hand playing with her hair.
"Papaaaaa, my water's getting cold!" Roland yells from the bathroom, stopping their activities.
"Be right there, son!" Robin calls back, but doesn't move, merely stands there, both his hands drifting down to hold hers at their sides.
She should leave now, should say her goodbyes and throw a flirty comment his way as she makes her exit. Instead, she stays there, looking at him and smiling like an idiot.
He doesn't want this to end, either, she can tell by the almost nostalgic way he's already looking at her, by the gentle touch of his fingers as they play with hers. Regina looks at the open window behind him, out at the city that awaits her, and takes a deep breath.
"I should go," she says in a low voice.
He nods, but the action is as reluctant as her words, and it makes her grin, makes her flirt a little as she lands a quick kiss on his lips and tells him, "Take me out sometime, maybe we can continue this."
"How about tomorrow?" he asks immediately, and she pulls back from their embrace.
"It's Christmas."
"So? You said you have no plans, why don't you come spend it with us?"
"Robin are you sure about this? Roland—"
"Loves you. And don't start with that 'disrupting his routine' thing again, you know as well as I do he'd be thrilled to have you."
She smiles at that.
"And you?" she flirts, looking at him from under her lashes.
"Oh, I want you here," he answers quickly. "Where I can do this," he says, punctuating the last word with a peck on her lips, "again," another, "and again," and another, "and again," one more.
"Mmm," she moans into the kiss, seeking him when he pulls back, recapturing his lips.
"Papaaaaaaa," Roland calls again, and this time they both chuckle.
"You better go make sure he's okay," Regina tells him.
"Yeah," he agrees, his hands finding her waist and squeezing for a moment.
"And yes," she adds.
"Yes?" his voice is tentative, cautious.
"Yes, I would love to spend Christmas here with you and Roland," Regina clarifies, and his answering grin is so big she just has to touch him, her hand landing on his chest as she looks into his eyes. "Where's your phone?"
Robin half-trots back to the kitchen and grabs his iPhone, handing it to her after he's unlocked it.
Regina chuckles at the picture on his home screen. It's Roland, all covered in snow, his curls falling just over his eyes as he laughs up at the camera.
"First snow of the season, we spent about an hour at the park just playing in it," he explains as he slides up next to her, his shoulder bumping hers, their faces so close together she could kiss him again if she just turned a little bit to the left...
But if she kisses him, she'll never leave. Will just stay here and sink into the warm sweetness of his lips and the fresh pine scent of him and never go home again.
Typing her number into his contacts list, she hands the phone back to him, and reminds him it's time for her to get going.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asks for confirmation, and Regina gladly gives it, nods her head and asks what time she should show up.
"We usually have dinner at around seven," he starts tentatively, his hand moving up and massaging the back of his neck, "but maybe you can come in the morning and stay for the day? Watch Roland open presents?"
"I'd like that," she smiles, and he breathes a sigh of relief, that nervous hand on his neck now falling to link his fingers with hers.
"Nine okay?" he asks, and Regina nods, gives him a flirty I'll see you then, and a quick peck on the cheek before she walks out the door.
She decides to walk through Fifth Avenue again on her way home, just because, and breathes in the cold air of the morning as she passes small mountain after small mountain of snow, left behind by the blizzard from the night before.
New York looks cheery in the daylight, ready for the holiday that approaches, ready for laughs and lights and songs. There's a giant Christmas card decorating the outside of FAO Schwarz, with Santa handing toys to children of different cultures. The text above the image is loopy and cute, the message inviting customers to embrace the holiday through all traditions, old and new.
And as she enters the shop, and finds a gray stuffed monkey that is perfect for Roland, Regina thinks she's ready for some new traditions of her own.
In this city of silver dreams.