Aaaand here's my second contribution to the OQ Advent Calendar. Rated M.
Enjoy!
Where the hell are you?
Emma's text has Regina rolling her eyes as she exits her apartment, her low, T-strap heels clicking on the sidewalk as she steps out into the excited bustle of the city. She doesn't answer. Emma is always late for everything. She doesn't get to complain on the one day Regina is a few minutes behind.
A sensible voice in her head reminds her that those few minutes mount up to about forty-five (thanks to that nap she'd accidentally ended up taking), and that the party is only a block away, so maybe Emma has a right to be inquisitive. Regina shuts that voice off, and walks faster.
The expensive bottle of Dom Pérignon is heavy under her arm, the cold beads of condensation cooling her skin as she looks quickly both ways and then half-jogs across the street.
Her outfit is...spectacular, if she does say so herself.
When Mary Margaret had announced that her annual New Year's party would have a 20s theme, Regina had scoffed and mocked and whined about it, but after that last look in the mirror before exiting her apartment earlier, she has to admit she looks pretty damn good.
The Naeem Khan flapper dress she'd picked up at Bergdorf's last week is exquisite, falls perfectly over her figure, the fabric hugging her silhouette and showcasing her curves. The pattern of black, silver and gold stripes catches the light with a subtle sparkle, and the gold fringe at the bottom swishes back and forth as she moves. Her hair is arranged in sleek waves, with a gold headband added for effect. She'd gone for a darker makeup, with a bold burgundy lip and flirty, smokey eyes. More film noir than 20s, maybe, but she feels good. Sexy. She feels sexy.
Regina hasn't felt sexy in a very long time.
She's excited to show off the outfit, has even stashed a cigarette holder into her clutch, so she can pull it out at the party to complete the look.
At the moment, though, the outfit proves a bit of a hazard as she walks the short distance to Mary Margaret and David's apartment. The fabric is smooth, which means the champagne bottle keeps slipping despite her best efforts to hold it tight against her dress, and walking on cobbled pavement in heels is never comfortable, no matter how low they are. Her feet are aching as she picks up the pace.
It's only a few minutes past 10PM, and already there are tipsy young men and women walking around, holding on to each other for support as they hop from one party to the next, blocking her path inadvertently as they try to choose which way to go.
Regina weaves through them as fast as she can, eager to get off the street and into Mary Margaret's, where it better not be freezing like it is out here, or she might kick someone. Flapper dresses are not exactly the best attire when you're dealing with -10 degree weather, no matter how thick your coat is.
Finally, she enters the building, the toasty heat from inside a welcome change from the chilly winds. Regina sheds her coat and drapes it over her arm, after she uses her key to get through the main gate. There are people piling in and out of the lobby, and she moves around them, heads straight to the elevators, and rushes into an empty one that's just about to close when—
"Hold that, please!" a male voice yells, and before she can think about whether or not she actually wants to share the elevator ride, she's pushing the button to hold the doors open.
"Thank you," the man pants as he jumps inside, popping up the lapels of his coat while the elevator doors close behind him.
Regina nods, enjoying the foreign lilt in his voice. She's always had a thing for British accents.
He's about her age, maybe a year or two older. And handsome, too. Incredibly so. Dark blonde hair that is just a tiny bit disheveled from his little run, a hint of age lines around his sparkling blue eyes that are somehow sexy on him, and just enough stubble to make him absolutely irresistible.
He smiles at her politely, and those perfect teeth dig into his bottom lip as he looks at her, appraising her like she just did him. She'd usually feel self-conscious, maybe even nervous, but she smirks this time. She looks damn good tonight, let him stare all he wants.
And then there's a lurch. Violent and unexpected. It shakes the elevator for a moment, and then it stops cold, just two floors before her destination, the lights above them going off, plunging them into darkness.
She hears her ascent buddy let out a frustrated breath, hears the muted thud that she assumes is his back hitting the wall behind them, and she echoes the sentiment with a You have got to be kidding me.
A blackout. On New Year's Eve. And she is stuck in an elevator with a stranger.
The emergency lights switch on then, a soft yellowy glow that doesn't do much in the way of illumination, but at least lets them see their surroundings, making it easier for Regina place her coat on the golden rail behind her, her clutch nestled atop it, and sink to the floor. It's a fancy building, and she thanks her lucky stars that at least she's stuck in a clean elevator, and can sit somewhat comfortably on the art deco-patterned tile as she waits for this nightmare to be over.
The man beside her sighs, and then joins her, slumping down until he's sitting beside her, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands clasped over his lap.
"I suppose now we wait, then," he whispers, and Regina nods. She's got her own legs tucked under her, her fingers picking at the fringe of her dress.
She checks her phone, opens it to Emma's text and tries to reply, tries to call, tries everything, but there's no reception. Not in here.
"Of all the nights for this to happen," the guy says suddenly, and Regina suspects he's trying to make conversation just to make this whole thing more endurable.
"This is what I get for being late," she mutters, and hears him chuckle in response.
"Makes two of us," he informs her, "I was supposed to be here two hours ago."
"You think that's how long we're gonna be stuck here? Like some sort of divine punishment for our tardiness?" she quips, and the lighting isn't great, but she can see him bite his lower lip again, and it's incredibly hot.
"Well, if that's the case, we should probably open that Moet you've got there," he jokes back, and Regina raises an eyebrow at him.
"Are you trying to steal my champagne?"
"Not really, no," he says with a breathy chuckle, "but... do you have anything better to do?"
She can't really tell if he means the comment to be a joke or not, but it makes her laugh anyway.
"I guess you're right. Who knows how long we're gonna be stuck here, might as well have fun with it," she agrees, and grabs the champagne bottle from where she'd sat it beside her, starts unscrewing the cork.
"Let me," he offers when she struggles to pop the thing open.
Regina surrenders the bottle to his waiting hand, and sighs as she waits.
But the pop of the bottle doesn't come, and she turns to find him watching her, his right hand outstretched.
"Robin Locksley," he says when he's sure he's caught her attention. Her answer is an embarrassed chuckle, and a muttered apology for forgetting her manners.
"Regina," she gives him, "Regina Mills."
"Pleasure to meet you, Regina," he says. His skin is warm, smooth save for the calloused ridges on his palm, the contrast in texture making something tickle inside her.
"You're awfully polite for a thief," she jokes as she watches him dig his thumbs between the cork and the tip of the bottle, his tongue peeking out and eyes scrunched up in concentration.
"I'm an honorable thief, milady—"
"Milady?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Would you prefer 'Your Majesty'?" he retorts, and it thrills her that he meets her jibe for jibe, has her longing for more.
"Yes, I think that's more suitable," she says haughtily, making him laugh.
"Well, as I was saying, your majesty, I'm an honorable thief, I'll gladly share your champagne with you," he jokes back, though his breathing is labored from the effort it takes to try and force the cork open.
Finally, the thing bounces away with a loud pop, and champagne foam flows out quickly, drenching part of his coat before Regina grabs the bottle by the neck and takes a deep swig.
It's cold. Could be colder, but she's not complaining, not when the bittersweet taste coats her tongue and the alcoholic charge warms her from the inside out.
She smacks the bottle against his chest, making him laugh, and watches him as he takes his own swig. Little drops of the golden liquid fall over his jaw as he tilts his head back to drink deep, and Regina is suddenly intrigued by how the champagne would taste if she were to drink it off of him instead of the bottle.
He stares at her as he thanks her, then hands her back the bottle and stares some more.
"What?" she asks.
"Would it be too forward of me if I told you, you're quite possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen?" he says, and Regina is glad for the low lighting. At least this way he can't see her blush.
He can see her smiling though, and he smiles back, moves closer, and curiously asks what her plans were for the night before the blackout ruined them.
"Themed party at my friend's place on the eighth floor," she tells him. "The 20s," she adds, gesturing down at her outfit.
"Stunning," he tells her, and Regina feels tingly at the way he says it.
"Thank you," she replies.
"It's a shame your boyfriend is missing the view," he adds, and there's this curious quality to his voice, one that lets her know he doesn't actually feel sorry for anyone, he just wants to know if she's single.
"No boyfriend," she confirms, then dances around the question just like he did when she asks, "Does your wife know you hit on flappers in elevators?"
He laughs, caught in his play, and clarifies, "No wife. Or girlfriend."
Regina hums, then asks what he'd been up to tonight as she casually shifts a little closer.
"Well, I was supposed to meet my mates for drinks. My brother John just moved into the building. Eighth floor, same as your friend."
"I apologize in advance for whatever exaggerated neighborly welcome he'll get from Mary Margaret. She can be a little... intense."
"I'll let him know," he answers with a laugh.
She offers the champagne to him again, and he takes it gladly, sips from it and then hands it back to her.
"If I get sick from sharing this thing with you, I'm suing, just so you know," Regina warns, because it suddenly occurs to her that this cannot be at all sanitary.
But then, with that face, and that accent, and the body she can only imagine is hiding under the thick black coat and scarf he's just now shrugging out of, she thinks it's really not so bad after all.
He laughs at her jibe, promises her he's healthy as a horse, and a voice in her head that sounds entirely too much like Emma's wonders if he's hung like one, too.
Regina drinks some more, and shakes off the lewd comments from her mind. Because that's not who she is. It's not.
But he's staring at her again, biting into his lower lip, and she feels warm and bubbly as the champagne starts to work its magic on her, and for some reason she sees no qualm in leaning forward and pulling on his lip with her thumb, drawing it out from the grip of his teeth.
"Don't do that," she chides half-heartedly. "It's distracting."
"Is it?" he asks, amused as he does it again, and she lets out a frustrated huff, and turns to look up at the ceiling, the walls, anything but his ridiculously handsome face.
She's smiling though. Or, rather, trying very hard not to smile and failing spectacularly.
He's caught her, she can tell as much when he laughs and leans back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling with her.
"Fine," Regina admits. "You're incredibly attractive and it's messing with me— and don't say anything, I can hear the smug tone already. Just... shut up, and drink my champagne."
He laughs again, nods, and answers, "As her majesty wishes," making her shake her head with a smirk as she settles more comfortably against the wall.
She sets the bottle between them, inviting him to get another drink if he so wishes, and Robin thanks her, grabs the bottle and takes another sip.
They stay there like that, quietly taking turns at drinking the champagne, until only one tiny sip is left, and they both accidentally reach for the bottle at the same time.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she starts, at the same time he offers a very British Apologies, I didn't see.
"It's fine, you can have it," she says offhandedly, but he's shaking his head, insisting she take it.
"Robin, it's fine, drink it. I've had enough, anyway."
In her need to reassure him it's okay to grab what's left of the Dom Pérignon, she's shifted closer to him, and realizes just how close when he catches her eyes in the dim light, his nose almost touching hers as he asks if she's certain.
"I am," she breathes, suddenly feeling warm at the mere proximity of his body.
He doesn't move to drink, only drops his gaze to stare at her lips.
"I wonder if..." he starts, but trails off, his breathing labored and heavy.
"If what?" she asks, just as affected.
He swallows, wets his lips with his tongue, and the sight is so sexy it makes her squirm just a little bit, the movement shoving her closer to him.
"I shouldn't say," he whispers back.
"Say it," she insists, surprised at her own candor when she adds, "What do you want?"
He doesn't answer, at least not with words. He simply leans in and kisses her, spurred on by the champagne, no doubt. But her moral compass is a little skewed at the moment, as well, and she kisses him back, a gentle, lingering press of her lips to his.
And maybe it's the pleasant buzz from the champagne, or the extenuating circumstance they find themselves in, or maybe there's some cosmic force behind it, Regina doesn't know. But whatever it is, it feels right. Feels good. Feels perfect.
She's breathtaking. Absolutely gorgeous. And he is kissing her.
Funny, what a few sips of champagne will do to your self-confidence, Robin thinks.
He hasn't felt this attracted to anyone in... shit, maybe ever. And he's well aware that at the moment it's mostly raw physical need, that this is borne of the unbelievable beauty of her eyes and her lips, the sinful curves of her body in that dress. But their conversation has also been pleasant, fun, with a spark and spice he has never really found in anyone before.
She's enticing, stunning in every way, and the electric jolt that stems from her lips like a magic current travels through his body, warming him up from the inside, making his hands act of their own accord as they seek out her face, fingers trailing over her hair, her cheeks.
Her skin is smooth and warm, her lips sweet as she opens them under his, and Robin has lost the ability to think, caught in the clutches of that delicious apple-cinnamon scent of her he's now close enough to discern. He surrenders to the feel of her mouth as it sucks at his upper lip, her hand moving up to his jaw and running over the stubble there.
"Quite a good kisser," he mutters when they part for a moment, and she breathes out a laugh.
"Just wait til I actually get started," she flirts, and fuck, if that smirk she gives him is not the sexiest thing he's ever seen.
Robin dives in, unapologetic, moaning when her hands loop around his neck as she pushes herself tighter against his body, both of them rising on their knees just so they can be closer, just so the kiss can be deeper, hotter.
When her tongue finally drags along his lower lip, Robin moans loudly. The taste of her is intoxicating, vestiges of champagne mixing with that unique flavor he's quickly starting to associate with her name. He can't get enough of it, can't resist the urge to bite into her bottom lip and move back in to taste her again.
His mouth is urgent on hers, sucking at her tongue and savoring the little whimpers that have her vibrating against him. He has the sudden need to touch her, to give her pleasure beyond anything she's ever experienced. A need to give her his very soul, if it'll make her moan like that again.
As it turns out, it's not his soul she needs for that, but his tongue, his mouth as it trails down over her neck, suckling kisses in a path down her throat and back up to line her jaw.
"God, that feels good," she breathes, one of her hands gripping the hair at the back of his neck while the other drifts down his torso, scratching her nails over the fabric of his shirt.
He moves to her mouth again, desperately seeking more of that delicious flavor he's now addicted to, and she gives as good as she gets, exhales loudly into their kiss as she pulls lightly at his hair, making him kiss more fiercely.
Robin breathes deep when they part, his forehead touching hers.
"Mmm," he murmurs, "I was right."
"About?" she asks, breathless.
"Champagne really does taste better on you."
Regina grins, rolls her eyes, but doesn't move away.
"Is that what you were wondering?" she calls back to his unfinished statement from earlier, and Robin nods shamelessly, moving back in to catch her lips again.
His touch bolder this time, taking his cues from her as she starts pulling his shirt out of his trousers.
His hands are grabbing her by the waist, and there's a slight pain in his knees from being bent against the floor for so long, so he shifts them. Moves to sit back down with his back against the wall, and drags Regina over him, setting her on his lap, one leg on either side of him.
"Bloody exquisite," he says gruffly. Her breasts are right at eye level, the V of her neckline showing him just enough to tease, just enough to get him hard, when paired with the slow roll she's added to her hips where she sits above him.
She lets him look for a moment, and then her mouth is hungry on his neck, kissing and nibbling as her fingers deftly loosen button by button on his shirt.
Robin runs his hands over her thighs, dragging the fringe of her dress along until the skirt is riding up, and then he's grasping her rear, delighting in the strangled little cry she lets out into his mouth right before she kisses him again, and fuck, he wants her. His cock is straining against his pants, already aching for her.
"No sex," she mumbles around the kiss, as if reading his mind. "Not here."
"Got it," he answers, glad that at least one of them has enough common sense left to set some boundaries. But if sex isn't an option, then they'll probably have to stop this soon, because she feels too good pressed up against him, all warm and breathless and lovely, and his desire to strip her of that gorgeous dress and feel the heat of her on his fingers, his tongue, his cock, is just too much.
He stops their kiss with a wet pop, one hand rising to play with her hair while the other remains steady on her waist.
"So beautiful," he whispers, his thumb rubbing over her cheek. It's too tender a moment in comparison to the heady exchanges from before, but he can't help it, finds himself mesmerized by her, by the swirling tones of coffee brown in her eyes and the softness of her curls.
She shifts a bit, and the movement has her rubbing up against him. Robin groans, unable to contain it, because it feels amazing, amazing, like her body was made to fit into his, limbs tangled and muscles pressing together in all the right places.
His shirt is undone, and her eyes are now following the movements of her hand as she runs it over his torso, her nails digging into his skin. Robin delights in the action, gasps his pleasure as she does it again, again, then leans in and licks the faint rake marks she's left behind, all the way up from his stomach to his chest.
"Fuck, you've no idea how much I want you. How much I need to make you come," he mutters into her hair, turning his head to kiss whatever part of her he can reach.
Regina pulls back, giving him ample view of her as she tugs at her dress, until the thin strips of fabric on her shoulders slide over them, and she rucks the whole thing down just enough for her underwear to show. Her bra is a tight, black little thing with lace and silk that he's torn between worshipping and destroying. And then she grabs his hands, places them both atop her breasts, and squeezes.
"I'm not stopping you," she utters, her breathing shallow and quick.
"But you said—" he tries to reason. As much as he can reason with her sliding over his erection, anyway.
"I said no sex, but that doesn't mean we can't have a good time," she explains, smiling wickedly at him, and god, this woman. She'll be the death of him. He knows it.
She starts rolling her body on his lap, enjoying the way he's kneading the perfect swells she's so graciously put within his grasp. His thumbs seek her nipples over the flimsy fabric, and give teasing little rolls to the stiff peaks, her loud Yes! More! encouraging him to go faster in his strokes.
The temperature inside the elevator is rising thanks to the lack of air filtering, and he's sweating now. They both are, he can see the light sheen on her face and chest as she gasps and circles her hips over him. So maybe the confined space and limited air supply are definitely not ideal conditions for this, but Robin couldn't care less.
His mouth feasts on her neck, teasing and tasting. On her breathy Please, he tugs at the cups of her bra, until her nipples are exposed to his mouth, and he sucks hard at one, then the other, keeps alternating and watching her, listening to her near-screams of pleasure.
His hands are back on her ass and urging her forward, guiding her movements. She's seeking friction, and Robin is all too happy to provide it, slumping just a little bit further down against the wall, so that she's perfectly lined with his cock. She rocks against him, picking up speed the closer she gets.
He cradles her cheek in his hand, wordlessly urging her to meet his gaze after her nipple pops out of his mouth, and when she does, the seductive darkness of her eyes is nearly his undoing.
"You feel amazing," he rasps, and Regina flashes him that seductive little smirk again, and where his thumb caresses her jaw, she turns, catching it in her mouth and is she— god, yes, yes, she is. She's sucking at his thumb, her eyes intent on his, and the drawn-out Fuuuuuck he lets out would be embarrassing if he wasn't so aroused.
He rocks her harder against him, and the moan she gives him in response is a fucking melody in his ears, her quick breathing an added harmony to the unbelievably gorgeous sight of her dry-humping the hell out of him.
"Good?" he asks, and she nods frantically, then throws her head back and moans again before launching forward to kiss him. Her mouth never does meet his, though, instead it hovers over his lips, her breath warm as she pants and pants, hips circling almost frantically into him.
"So close," he hears her whine, moving faster when his hand finds her nipple again and gives it a little twist, and he doesn't even care if he doesn't get to come, will let her ride the bulge in his pants until it's raw if it means he can watch her unravel under his touch.
And unravel she does, half-shouting as she holds on to his neck and closes her eyes, her body spazzing and trembling with the force of her orgasm. He drops his hand as she rides it out and slows her hips to a more languid pace, but her movements are no less firm, no less wonderful. She rasps out his name, and a low Oh my god that makes him feel smug enough to raise that hand back to her breast, fondling with just a tiny bit of pressure.
Regina moans softly at the sensation, arches into his hand and enjoys his attentions as the last little waves of pleasure ripple through her. Fucking spectacular.
"You're amazing," he mutters as he leans forward, trailing kisses up her neck and to her lips as she regains her composure. She's warm and relaxed, melting into his touch, cozying up into his chest and working to slow her breathing.
And then he feels her hand down on his cock, feels it grab and pump him awkwardly over his trousers. It's not enough, but it feels damn good, and he tells her that, or tries to, anyway, only ends up with a husky "Regina," that makes her buss his lips sweetly.
"Your turn," she mutters, and then her other hand is drifting down as well, and she's slowly pulling down his zipper, knuckles brushing his cock over his boxers.
And then his blasted watch starts beeping, startling them both as it announces the countdown for midnight.
Regina chuckles at his frustration, kisses his chin, then his lips, and together they watch the seconds tick by as they count them out loud.
Ten...
Nine...
Eight...
Her nose brushes his, and then her lips are on him again, kissing him hard as the last few seconds pass.
Three...
Two...
One...
The beeping stops, and the silence is only interrupted by the wet little sounds of their kiss before Regina parts from him, her forehead touching his for a moment before she bends down and buries her face into his neck.
"Happy New Year," she murmurs there. The vibrations of her voice against his skin send shivers down his spine.
"Happy New Year, Regina," he returns, but his voice is strained, hard and aching as he is.
Just then, the lights come on, and the cogs and gears of the elevator start to move, continuing its ascent to the eighth floor.
Blackout over.
And he's going to walk into John's alone, with a hard-on he can't explain.
Regina buttons his shirt back up, and begins adjusting her clothes back into place, and to Robin's utter dismay, he realizes that once those doors open, and they go their separate ways, he may never see her again.
She's still straddling him, her lips kissing the crook of his neck before he gently jostles her so they can both get up.
Shockingly, the second they're both upright, she reaches a hand out to the elevator panel and hits a button that stops the contraption again.
The lights stay on, but her eyes are dark enough to drag him under, back to that lustful haze he'd been in just moments ago.
Her fingers dance over his chest when she draws closer, her lips by his ear as she whispers, "Okay, thief. What do you say we ditch both our parties, and you take me back to your place?"
Robin swallows, turns his head to catch her eyes.
"Are... are you sure?" he asks, because he's still caught in this whole thing, in the champagne and her eyes and those lips and that body, in the warmth emanating from her as she'd pressed herself flush against his body.
"You didn't think I was going to leave you like that, did you?" she teases, her arms crossing over her chest as she looking down at his state of arousal.
"You don't have to—" he starts, because she doesn't. But she shakes her head, drops her arms from their stance and moves closer.
"Robin... do you want to come?" she retorts, and then runs the tip of her tongue up his throat, her hand grasping his erection over his unzipped pants.
He nods, because what's the point in lying, really?
"Then let's go back to your place... so I can have my way with you."
His hand is pushing the button to take them back to the lobby before he can even ponder on what's about to happen.
"As you wish, your majesty," he flirts, and she smiles, scooping her coat and the bottle from the floor.
That little remaining sip that started it all is still in there, gone lukewarm now after their time in here.
The elevator dings, the double doors opening to reveal a quiet lobby, with only the security guard by the gate, a complete contrast to the party atmosphere that had been in full swing when they'd arrived.
She walks ahead of him, throwing the bottle into a nearby trash bin and grabbing her phone to type a quick text, probably to her friends, to let them know she's alright. He should probably do the same with John, but can't be bothered to look anywhere but at her right now. She's bloody gorgeous, heels clicking as she heads for the gate. Her hair is a mess, and her dress is wrinkled and falling haphazardly over her figure now, thanks to his wandering hands, but the sight of her is glorious regardless. Her smile is easy, relaxed, when she turns to beckon him to her.
"Coming?" she asks, and the little wink she gives him has Robin grasping the double entendre of her question with a grin.
He says nothing, just exits the elevator and follows her to the main gate.
He holds her coat for her to slip into, then rubs his hands over her shoulders and down her sides while she fastens it. When she looks up at him, she's smiling.
"Lead the way, thief," she winks, and Robin knows then that he will gladly spend the entirety of this new year catering to this marvel of a woman.
He hopes with all his might, that she will let him.