Happy birthday, Brooke!
A/N: AU prompt taken from Twitter. In which Regina's friends keep trying to set her up with Robin.
Warning: There be smut.
Mary Margaret's too-happy Good morning! jars her from the blissful bit of alone time she's managed to catch before the beginning of her workday. She's got her coffee, an iced americano she may have added an extra dash of sugar to, and her breakfast, a delicious ham and cheese croissant from the French bakery down the road from her apartment. Perfect.
Regina doesn't eat like this every morning, tends to stick to sugar-free coffee and healthier meal choices most of the time, but today is Friday, and on Fridays, she likes to indulge. Not a lot, not really. She just likes to give herself a boost, little things that make her day better after a hard week at work. And it's been doing wonders for her, at least until her friend's voice suddenly interrupts her good mood.
"What do you want?" Regina asks cautiously, her eyes glued to the restoration she's currently reviewing.
"Is that Robin's piece you're looking at?" Mary Margaret asks.
"Yes...?" she admits cautiously.
"Oh, that's wonderful! He did a great job, didn't he?"
Yes, Regina thinks to herself, he truly did. It's gorgeous work, even the shape and depth of the brush strokes match the original, and blend into the painting seamlessly. There's absolutely no damage to the canvas, and he's managed to add life and light to it without ruining or even altering the Degas before her.
"It's okay," she says offhandedly, knowing Mary Margaret will probably call her bluff, but Regina refuses to give in, because she knows exactly where this is going.
"Oh, come on, Regina, he's amazing at this and you know it," her friend insists, and it's all she can do to roll her eyes and say Fine, he is.
"He's also really smart," Mary Margaret pushes.
"Well, I'd imagine you'd have to be to work here," Regina throws back, Mr. Gold would not hire an idiot to restore a Degas, after all.
"And he's handsome," her friend insists.
"If you like that British hobo vibe, I guess," Regina responds.
"And single."
"Yes, so you've said. Many times."
"Regina—"
"No."
"But—"
"No!" Regina adds finality to her answer, pushing even more when she adds, "I can find my own dates, thank you."
And she has, many times now, for the past four months, all with one incredibly handsome man. Just because she doesn't flaunt it in front of her friends and coworkers doesn't mean she's been single and pathetically alone since Graham left her, but she's not about to tell Mary Margaret that.
Mary Margaret pouts, defeated, and that's that.
It's been two months since they started trying to set her up, and half of that time, their candidate has been Robin Locksley. Regina's friends, and even her boss, Mrs. Lucas, all insist she should get out there, meet someone new now that it's been a year since Graham ended things, and Why not try with Robin? they insist. He's available, and handsome, and sweet, and smart, and they know he's interested in her, they can tell.
Well, Regina does not need their walking dating app services, least of all with Robin.
Over the weekend, she sleeps in, heads to the spa, dedicates some time to pampering and treating her body and skin to mud baths and massages, and on Monday, she's back at it, back to planning the grand opening of the Degas exhibit at the Gold Gallery.
Mrs. Lucas, the head curator and Regina's supervisor, has left the event in her capable hands, and she's more than ready to prove that she can handle it, that she can take over when Mrs. Lucas retires at the end of the year. She's been fretting about the event all month, arranging and rearranging from flowers and wine selection to the setting of the space and the order in which they'll place the paintings around the room.
Robin has been a tremendous help in the Restoration Department, showering the invaluable pieces with just enough magic to bring them to life again. Not that Regina would ever admit that to her coworkers, not if she wants them to back off from this matchmaking game.
And she does want them to back off, wants to finally live down the teasing from that one time she'd been caught, looking at Robin's retreating figure just a second too long.
She'd excused herself by telling Mary Margaret there was no harm in looking, and that it was only after looking that she'd realized Robin was not her type.
She'd been lying of course. A man that good looking is everyone's type, but Regina can't very well tell that to her friend and expect her to lay off, so she sticks to her lie.
Robin, for his part, throws her a dimpled smile whenever he walks into her office, and tries to flirt behind his polite responses and gentlemanly demeanor. Regina shuts him down with a roll of her eyes, but it's mostly for show. Really, she can't say she minds being appreciated by a handsome, intelligent man... unless Mary Margaret is nearby, watching and planning a June wedding at the Plaza. Then, she minds a lot.
They pester him, too, she's seen them at it, asking him about his dating life, about whether he has met anyone yet. He's been divorced for three years now, after all, they tell him, it's time he got back on the horse. He's always polite to them, even as he rejects their "help". Then throws an amused glance at Regina when he catches her staring at the gaggle of married women flocking around him, trying to set him up with her. Once busted, she shakes her head with a badly hidden smile and looks away.
The day before the opening, it rains. Heavily. All day long.
It's not normal, not this time of year, but water continues to fall from the sky in big heavy droplets that slap loudly against her windshield, and it is precisely during this storm that Mary Margaret decides to call her, just as she's arriving home.
She has no umbrella, and the rain is getting worse, so she ignores the call, and is soaked in the three minutes it takes her to run from the outdoor parking lot to the entrance of her building. Her hair, which is usually styled in long, easy waves over her shoulder, is now drenched and curly, giving her the appearance of a wet dog. Her makeup is smudged, and her face is shining with the cold droplets still clinging to her skin.
She's panting, shaking as much excess water from her coat as she can before she fishes her keys out of her bag. As she's unlocking the door, her phone rings again.
"Ugh," Regina barks, rolling her eyes and grabbing the device, a defiant "No," snapping out of her before Mary Margaret even greets her.
"You know, you are too stubborn for your own good," her friend says.
"You've been at this all day, when are you gonna let it go?"
"But Regina, don't you see?! The opening is the perfect place for you guys to have a first date. You'll be in an environment you're familiar with, there will be good wine and hors d'oeuvres that you have chosen, so you know the food will be good... and I'll bet you he looks yummy in a suit."
"Mary Margaret!" Regina chides.
"Oh, come on, Regina!" she insists, elongating that 'on' for a good ten seconds, "You can get to know each other better while talking about art and admiring an entire exhibit of Degas, what could be better?"
"You leaving me the hell alone," Regina tells her, "that would be better."
She hangs up the phone at that, and is about to put her key in the lock when it rings again.
It's Katheryn this time, thank god, with her she can at least have a decent conversation about the openi—
"You know hanging up on me doesn't work, Regina," Mary Margaret's voice greets her on the other end. Regina huffs into the phone. Betrayed by her best friend. Wonderful.
"Look, I've told you all, I'm fine, I don't need you to fix me up with a coworker, why do you keep insisting?" She finally asks, annoyance coloring her tone as she puts the key in the lock and finally walks into her apartment, her clothes making sludgy noises and dragging water into the foyer.
"What is so wrong with him that you can't accept one date?" Mary fires back.
She's slamming her keys on the counter, rolling her eyes at her friend over the phone even as she smiles in greeting at her guest. He grins back, and it's Mary Margaret's scream of Regina, can you hear me?! that knocks her out of her little trance and makes her answer.
"He talks weird."
"He talks weird? Are you seriously telling me that his accent is the reason you won't date him?" Mary Margaret asks, baffled. And she should be, really, they both know Robin's accent is not weird. It's sexy, very sexy.
Regina huffs, rolling her eyes yet again while the man on the other side of the room smirks at her. She smirks back, then shakes her head a little as she watches him approach.
"Are we really doing this right now?" she asks into the phone, sighing as she adds, "I was just caught in the storm outside and would really like to have some wine and relax. Have some Me time. Instead of listening to you swooning over a man who is not your husband. Does David know how much you like Robin, I wonder?"
"Yes, we are doing this now," Mary Margaret answers, ignoring Regina's dig. Damn, she thought that would do it. "Why won't you let me set up a date for you and Robin?"
Fine, if she wants reasons, she'll get reasons, a whole list of them.
"For starters, he's a clown, always finding a joke in everything, trying to make people laugh. It's annoying."
"I seem to recall you laughing at quite a few of those jokes," Mary counters, and yes, she's right, but Regina's not about to admit that.
"He's bossy and arrogant in meetings, pretending he knows more about the gallery than I do, more about art than I do," she starts, and she can hear the 'But' coming from her friend, but pushes on, speaking over her. "Don't pretend he's not, you've seen the way he acts, flirting and discussing the future of the gallery with Mrs. Lucas whenever her retirement comes up in conversation, how he acts like he's teaching everyone how to paint the great classics every time he describes his restoration process. And don't even get me started on the time he started talking about Van Gogh like he knew him from school or something."
Her companion has reached her now, amusement shining in his eyes as he plays with the ends of her messed up hair. His hand moves down her shoulder, then settles at her waist as he leans in, peppering quiet kisses up her neck.
Regina's head falls back, and she has to fight the urge to let out a moan while Mary Margaret prattles on.
"He was just talking about his emotional response to a TV portrayal of Van Gogh, Regina, it was very insightful!" she defends.
"It was an episode of Doctor Who," she fires back, trying to sound annoyed even though her voice is raspy and low. Those kisses are doing things to her, riling her up while his free hand moves up to push her hair to the side, his lips finding more skin as he starts to remove her coat.
Her arms tingle when he touches them, softly skittering his fingers over them as he drags the fabric down and lets it fall to the floor in a wet heap. She really needs to finish this call before she's caught by her very nosy and very intuitive friend.
"Okay, fine, let's say for a moment that I believe you. That was one time, it's not a regular occurrence."
"You know what's a regular occurrence? Him drinking the last of the coffee from the break room and not putting on a new pot. And those ties of his. What grown man wears ties with artwork on them?"
"They're famous paintings!" Mary argues, and Regina almost doesn't hear her, distracted as she is by those very talented lips still kissing her neck. He's started adding little sucks now, nothing too risque yet, but enough to enthrall her.
"They're silly and too distracting for the workplace, especially if they don't match our exhibits, which, they never do. And frankly, it's not even about him, it's about you and the fact that you're making me your little project because you think I'm lonely and sad when I'm not," she finally says, mentally congratulating herself on the stern steadiness of her voice. After swallowing a moan when his tongue peeked out to give her a little lick, she didn't think she'd be able to pull off such a firm tone. "Now, could you please just let this go? I want to get to that wine before you ruin my mood."
She hears the frustrated sigh on the phone and smiles in triumph.
"Fine," Mary Margaret huffs, "but this isn't over."
"Whatever," Regina replies, her voice far too breathy to be serious, but his hands are now wrapped tightly around her waist, his tongue tickling at the crook of her neck before he sucks at the skin there, moaning against her when her free hand tangles in his hair and pulls.
Her phone is dropped on the counter a little too harshly, but she doesn't exactly care right now, all she wants is more of this.
His kisses grow bolder now that the phone call has ended, and his lips skate over her throat and the line of her jaw before they meet hers, tongues instantly tasting each other. He's warm, and sexy, and hard against her thigh, his thin cotton pants doing nothing to hide it as he palms her rear and pulls her flush against him.
"Still want that wine?" he asks, never stopping in his attentions.
"Forget the wine, just keep doing what you're doing," Regina directs.
Suddenly she's against the wall, pressed gently into the cold surface as he ravishes her. He's kissing his way down her body over her clothes, until he reaches the hem of her skirt and pulls it up as he rises slowly. His hand stops on her thigh, the fabric bunched there between them as his mouth meets hers again.
"Do you really hate my ties that much?" he asks, amusement mingling with the lust in his eyes.
Regina raises an eyebrow at him.
"If I did, I wouldn't have gotten you the one with Monet's Houses of Parliament for your birthday," she throws back, resorting to her usual sass, but she knows her lips are swollen, and that he's kissed off the red lipstick that usually makes her seem a bit more intimidating. Nevertheless, she tries.
But all he does is smile, one hand threading in her wetly curled hair before he kisses her again.
"It's my favorite one," he informs her, leaning in for a soft peck that leaves her licking her lips and wanting more.
"Liar," she accuses, "you hate those paintings."
"Of all the beautiful things in the world he could have painted, he chose a government building," Robin starts his usual rant, frustration so evident in his tone that it makes her laugh. This is precisely why she'd gotten him that tie. It was a joke, a bit of teasing on her part for how opposed he is to that series.
"The Water Lily Pond, Garden at Saint-Andresse, Poppies, bloody masterpieces, all of them, capturing absolute beauty of the outdoors. What beauty is there to capture in sodding Westminster?"
"I like that you get more British when you're frustrated," she laughs, to which he answers with a smug grin.
"Really? I thought you didn't like that I 'talked weird'... milady," he teases, and Regina can feel her cheeks heating a bit.
"I had to get her to back down, that was the first thing I thought of. Clearly it didn't take."
"Well, that's because my accent is quite...enticing, or so I've heard." He says it in this low, seductive voice, right against her throat, and he's quoting her own words, she knows that. She's told him many times how sexy his accent is. Really, what was she thinking using it as an excuse when she talked to Mary Margaret?
"It's still my favorite tie, even if I hate the painting," Robin says then, his head buried in her neck again. The hand he still has on her thigh is inching higher under the rucked up fabric of her skirt. Regina rolls her hips instinctively before he's even touching her, searching for that lovely friction she knows he can provide if he just moves his fingers just a little to the left.
"Is it?" she breathes, trying to keep the conversation going.
"Of course. It was a gift from you," he whispers, and it's a stark contrast, the sweet manner in which he speaks and the sinful way his fingers are now moving the damp fabric of her panties aside and touching her when she wants him.
"Mmm, wet already," he teases, nipping at her jaw before he kisses her wildly, his tongue exploring her, tasting her, his cock pressing harder into her hip. Regina gasps out of the kiss when his fingers finally go from tentative rubs to pressing full circles into her clit, and she cries out a Yes! when he pushes into her, basking in the slow little bursts of pleasure that build and build with every in and out motion of his hand.
"Been wanting you all day," he tells her, his breathing ragged and quick as he adds a second finger and picks up the pace. But the angle is awkward, pressed against the wall as she is, and her skirt is tight and doesn't allow for much room to maneuver, so she takes a minute to enjoy his attentions, just one, and then pushes away, guiding him to the couch.
She loses the skirt and straddles him before he can even ask what she's doing, grinding on his erection and turning his question into a loud moan.
"Fuck, you feel good," he breathes.
"So do you," Regina replies, because he does. He feels wonderful, and he hasn't even fucked her yet.
They've been at this for three and a half of the four months they've been dating, and Regina still can't get enough of him. It had started with a simple discussion over the break room coffee pot. An argument that turned into a flirtation, wherein he'd offered to make up for drinking the last of the coffee by taking her out for one.
That coffee had turned into dinner, into walks around the city, into under-the-table hand-holding and stolen kisses when no one was looking, and Regina has never been happier.
But once their coworkers and friends find out, once it's public knowledge that she's dating the guy everyone wanted to fix her up with, this bubble of sex and smiles and wine and late nights will burst, and she does not want that yet.
Regina enjoys the bubble, enjoys that she gets to come home to him (he usually leaves the gallery first, ends his work earlier and lets himself into her place with the key she's given him), waiting for her with a smile and these incredibly arousing kisses. And in the morning they meet up back at work with no one the wiser. Simple. Easy. Private.
She's grinding harder onto him, can feel his cock bump against where she wants him, but it feels too good to stop and deal with undressing him. Right now she just wants to feel, wants to watch him swallow thickly with every roll of her hips, wants to hear him tell her that he—
"I need to... fuck, you're amazing. Need to taste you," he rasps, and yes, that's exactly what she wanted to hear.
In seconds he's turned them around, sitting her on the couch while he kneels before her and spreads her legs wide open for his hungry mouth.
Robin wastes no time, and Regina cries out a needy More! when he licks at her clit. What she wants more of, she doesn't know, she just knows she wants it.
He seems to understand, though, and settles in, drawing himself closer, her farther out when he grabs her thighs, so that her ass is half out of the couch and her clit is close enough for him to wrap his lips around it and suck.
"God, yes!" she yells, one hand moving up and to the back of the couch, the other down to tangle in his hair. Her eyes close, and her head falls back on the dark grey upholstery behind her.
Robin sucks harder, draws the sensitive nub between his lips and uses his tongue to flick at it in fast little passes that have her jolting with pleasure. Her moans spur him on, and even incite some of his own, one hand staying firm on her leg while the other skates up her body and finds a breast, squeezing it over the burgundy shirt and black lacy cami she's wearing.
"Mmmh," she lets out, loud and long into the thin walls of her apartment. Her neighbors are home, if she's not careful, they might hear her mewling like a wild animal while Robin eats her out.
And then he hums as he sucks at her, and moves that hand from her thigh to her sex, pushing two fingers into her and crooking them just right.
Fuck it, let the neighbors hear.
"Yes, right there!" she screams, rolling her hips into his hand, and she hears a grunt of Fuck, that's beautiful before he dives in again.
His fingers keep hitting that spot inside her as they move in and out, his lips sucking harder, tongue licking faster, and Regina can't stop shouting how good it feels, how much she can't wait to feel him inside her. Her hand tugs at his hair on every sharp little motion of his hand, and her orgasm hits right after he goes harder, firmer, at her request.
She comes with a choked whimper, pulling on his hair to draw him away from her sex and up her body, kissing him deeply and moaning at the taste of herself on his tongue.
Her hands are now grabbing at his shirt, pulling it up and off of him in one quick motion before she does the same with her own, leaving her only in the black cami and the lacy bra underneath.
"You're bloody gorgeous," he tells her as he stands, his voice low and intimate before he leans down to kiss her again, taking off her panties and the cami with deft hands and then removing his own pants and underwear, pumping his cock as he looks at her. Next, he draws her breasts out of the cups of her bra, thumbs skimming over her nipples as he looks down at her.
"Come here," she beckons, kissing him again when his lips are within reach.
He has a hand on each breast now, kneading the swells and toying with each nipple in turn, ducking his head out of the kiss so he can suck at each pert peak, flicking his tongue over them in a way that has Regina clawing at his back.
"Yes!" she yells out when he drops one of his hands to where she's wet and already wanting more of him. His other hand stays right where it is, teasing her nipple with tight little rolls while he moves two fingers inside her. "Just like that, just like that, don't stop."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he grunts into her breast, and then his lips are on hers again, lustful and hurried, desperate in their attempts to taste her, enrapt her. That hand is moving faster, and she feels herself climbing slowly but surely towards the edge of that blissful ciff again.
So despite her earlier commands, she stops him.
"Sit down, Robin," she orders in a husky voice, and when he obeys, she swings one leg over his lap and straddles him just as she had before, taking him in hand and stroking firmly, her thumb pressing over the tip in slow passes, licking her lips as she looks at him.
He kisses her, and then groans, his hands flying to her ass and guiding the steady roll of her hips against his when she finally positions him and slowly sinks down on his cock.
Regina gasps as he fills her, moans out a Robin that makes him curse under his breath. He loves to hear her, she knows that, has seen the way it riles him up when she breathes out his name like that.
"How does it feel?" he asks, his breathing as labored as hers. "Tell me."
"Amazing," she exhales as her head falls to his shoulder. "Love having you inside me like this, with nothing in the way."
They'd gotten rid of the condoms last week, and god, the way it feels, with him bare and hard inside her... it's new and arousing and absolutely incredible.
His hands grip her ass tighter, guide her hips into a slow, rolling pace. She's not bouncing up and down, just circling her lower body above him, feeling him get deeper into her. She's so, so wet, and so turned on by the way he looks at her, at her breasts still peering out at him over her black bra, the cups still shoved to the side. Her nipples are exposed to him, right by his mouth, and he sucks at each one, hard, kneading whichever breast is not in his mouth at any given point, and moaning her name as he tells her how fucking spectacular she is.
Regina loops her arms around his neck, and hugs herself to him when he finally undoes the clasp at her back and lets the black fabric fall away, searching for his lips with her own and pressing her nipples into his chest as she kisses him. He Mmms into her mouth, moving faster.
"Love thi— fuck, yes, do that again, babe, love fucking you like this," he grunts on a sharp little jerk of her hips. Their kiss has faded out into panting breaths in close proximity, their foreheads pressed together as he stares into her eyes. Regina moves faster, slams harder against him, and now she is bouncing, up and down on his cock in short little raps that have him hitting that spot inside her just right.
"Oh, god," she cries out. "You're so hard, so har— Aahh! Feels so good."
He's using his grip on her ass for purchase now, meeting every downward drive of her hips with an upward thrust of his own, and it's deeper, harder, better, everything she needs to race to that unbelievably amazing finish line.
Her knees will be a bit sore after rubbing so much into the couch, and her legs will ache a bit from being in this position for so long, but it's so good, so fucking good, that Regina doesn't care right now. She'll rub her knees raw if that's what it takes to keep this rhythm going. To keep his cock moving up into her just like this.
"Yes! Yes, right there, don't stop," she whimpers, clutching at the hair on the back of his neck and licking at his jaw, nipping at it once, twice, before she kisses him again. It's a wet, sloppy kiss, uncoordinated and wild, and perfect. He sucks at her upper lip, lets his tongue lick at hers when her mouth falls open on a loud moan.
And then his teeth sink into her bottom lip and pull, bringing her mouth back to his, and the action is so erotic, so dirty when paired with the hoarse Fucking love it when you ride my cock like this that he whispers into her ear right before it, that she almost comes right then.
But she can't, not right now, she needs more, needs him to thrust up into her a little harder, needs his mouth back on her breasts.
"Robin." His name is a plea on her lips, and not for the first time, Regina is grateful that their sexual chemistry has been on point from the moment he first kissed her. Robin understands what she needs without her having to voice it, and next thing she knows his lips are sucking on her left nipple, one hand wedging between them and finding her clit as she writhes above him.
The soft slap of skin on skin mixes with her whimpers and his loud groans, and it adds to the thrill of what they're doing, sends her senses into overdrive and makes her buck her hips harder, faster.
"Are you gonna come for me, Regina?" Robin asks, abandoning her nipples to lick a trail up her neck. He nibbles a bit on the soft skin, then kisses her again, one of those messy kisses that somehow rile her up further. His fingers are rubbing fast circles on her clit, and on one particularly hard thrust of his hips up into hers, that current of pleasure that had been building inside her finally unravels, ricocheting through her body in delightful waves, waves that make everything tingle and relax as she screams an embarrassingly high-pitched Robin!
He doesn't stop, keeps that hand moving on her clit and shifts his mouth back down to her nipples. She's sensitive there, sensitive everywhere, but the rough fucking becomes soft caresses and sweet kisses, little things meant to prolong her pleasure without overwhelming her.
Slowly, so slowly, she melts into his touch, until she's breathing deeply, exhaling warmly into the crook of his neck. He's still inside her, still hard, and she knows, from the tension of his muscles beneath her cheek, that he's trying to hold on, to wait until she gives the okay.
"Robin?" she asks, her voice barely audible.
She feels the little rumble of his short "Mm?" under her hand, placed right over his chest, and she smirks, raising her head to look into his eyes.
"I want you to come inside me," Regina tells him, her tone as seductive as she can make it. He groans at that, and then his hands are on her waist, picking the pace back up to fast, deep thrusts. She feels him, even more so now that she's not addled by her own need to come, and whispers naughty things into his skin, things she knows will get him there faster. Like how hard he is, how thick, how she loves the way he moves inside her, the way he fucks her...
When he finally comes, his hand flies to her hair, tangling there and moving her head towards him, kissing her fast and firm and perfect. Regina gives back as good as she gets, and rolls her hips slowly over him for good measure, extending the pleasure of his orgasm just as he did hers.
They fall onto the couch in a heap, her body cradled atop his, one of his arms half-wrapped around her, his fingers drawing patterns over her ribs. One of his legs is dangling off the couch, his other hand running a finger down the slope of her nose, the line of her jaw, his lips dotting little kisses on her forehead.
"You're incredible, you know that?" he tells her, his voice scratchy and perfect.
Regina lifts her head, smirking at him without a word.
"I mean it," he insists. "You're stunning, Regina, in every way."
His comment touches her, has that smug little grin turning into a fond smile as she raises a hand to cradle his cheek, thumb rubbing reverently over his stubble.
"What is it?" he asks, sensing there's more to the touch than mere appreciation.
"I just never thought I'd have this," she admits, giving him a one-shouldered shrug.
He chuckles, tries to lighten the mood by asking, "Have what? An incredibly handsome british man naked and willing under you?"
"Don't get cocky," she chides, and he raises an eyebrow at her.
"Bit late for that, innit?" he teases, and Regina gives him a playful whack on the shoulder before she settles back down in his embrace.
"I never thought I'd have this, either," he says after a few minutes, when they've shifted so that she's pressed between him and the back of couch, his arm pillowing her onto his body, elbow digging into the cushioned surface under them. His hand is in her hair, playing with the ends of the damp curls as he tells her, "I think I'm falling madly in love with you, Regina Mills."
It's a confession that would usually send her running, a notion that would bring forth all her insecurities, that would activate that little voice in the back of her head that always tells her it won't work. But somehow, in the quiet of her apartment, with his warmth and his smile to assure her of the truth of his words, it doesn't feel so scary.
"Yeah?" she asks, smiling up at him.
"Yeah," he tells her, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. It makes her giddy, makes her smile so big that Robin lets out a breathy laugh in reply.
He kisses her then, long and slow and sweet.
And the next day, when they walk into the gallery for the opening of their Degas exhibit, and Robin raises their joined hands to kiss her knuckles (much to the shock and excitement of everyone watching), Regina decides maybe bringing their relationship outside of the bubble isn't such a bad idea after all.