For Dark!OQ Week - Day 3
He's yelled at her about this before.
Plenty of times, actually. Has told her over and over again that this is not how things are done, that she shouldn't just walk headfirst into a battle armed with nothing but the confidence that her magic will save her.
It's dangerous! he'd yelled once in a fit of rage, Stop trying to get yourself killed!
She'd chalked it all up to him being overprotective, maybe even possessive, and responded to his indignation and incredulous ranting with a taunting comment of her own a time or two. Last week, for example, when he'd spewed his usual nonsense about her 'recklessness' after they'd fought off a group of ogres, she'd said something about how he was getting soft, how he wasn't really the scoundrel he pretended to be.
Well excuse me for wanting to protect someone I care about! he'd barked at her then, and the acknowledgement that she was someone who mattered to him, someone important, was more than enough to end the argument. A cloud of purple smoke of her own conjuring had transported them back to her castle, landing them on her bed in tangled limbs.
But today it's different. Because today, it's the first time he does this to her. It's him who doesn't think, and Regina has to watch as he runs into battle against the crossbows and swords of at least twelve men, all to try and steal the spectacular amount of treasure they're guarding.
She has only her magic, and he only has his flimsy weapons (they're not flimsy, not really, he's as skilled with that bow and arrow as she is with her fireballs, but dammit he can't fight a dozen armed guards with just a stick that shoots other sticks), and neither of them are quick enough.
Their heist fails, and Robin ends up going home with a nasty gash on his stomach, bleeding like there's no tomorrow. Regina gets to work immediately. Throws him on the couch by the fire and kneels before him, closing her eyes and hovering her hands over the wound.
"Regina—" he starts, but she shushes him sharply, adds a brusque Shut up! for good measure.
"Please, just—" he tries again, but she bites him off once more.
"I said shut up," she snaps, opening her eyes to glare at him for a moment before she settles back to her initial position, concentrating now on the healing spells that were always so difficult for her to learn.
Positive experiences. She needs positive experiences, healing experiences, to help the magic flow, so she thinks back to Henry, to curing his little scratches and bumps. Thinks back to Roland and the way he smiles after she closes the tiny cuts he'd get from rose thorns when he picks flowers for her. She thinks of Robin, of him healing her, with words and kisses and unbidden affection despite all of Storybrooke treating her like a villain.
She can feel it, the warmth of the magic as it spreads through her and reaches from her palms all the way to her fingertips. And she opens her eyes to see the bright yellow light closing the wound, stanching the bleeding, infusing the pallor of his skin with pink, lively undertones.
She's done it. She's saved him.
So she slaps him.
"Ow!" he yells, immediately putting his hand to his cheek. "What is wrong with you?!"
"How dare you?!" she screams, rising from her knees and pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, ranting all the while. "Do you have any idea how powerful my magic is? How much trouble we could've avoided if you just let me use it instead of getting in my way and trying to fight twelve guards on your own? How dare you be so reckless?!"
"I had it handled," he defends, and Regina merely gives a pointed glance to his bloodied shirt, raising her eyebrow.
"Yes, great job there, Idiot of Locksley," she barks. "In case you didn't notice, that was me saving your life just now. If I hadn't used my magic you would've bled to death before we could get you help!"
"It was a bloody scratch, Regina, and frankly I'm getting a little tired of you dictating what I can and can't do," he fires back, sitting up on the couch and watching her with narrowed eyes.
"I beg your pardon?!"
"You heard me," he mutters petulantly, and she just... she cannot believe him right now.
"Fine, next time, I'll just leave you to die, then. How about that?!" she shouts, her frustration evident in the slight tremble of her voice.
"It's what you do best, is it not? Evil Queen and all?" he grouses, and she sees it, sees the almost imperceptible wince of his shoulders after he says it, but it's too late. She doesn't stay long enough to hear his apology, disappears in purple smoke and leaves him there.
He gives her an hour.
One hour of space from him and his stupid remarks before he goes in search for her. He shouldn't have said it. He knew the second it left his lips that he shouldn't have used her past against her. He's been on the receiving end of those kinds of insults, he knows how much they hurt, and Regina... well, they hurt her most of all.
It's the one thing she was always constant on after she merged her heart with Regina Mills, that she wanted a new start, a second chance, and here he is bringing that all down with a few barbs, just because he can't accept that she was right.
He would've died without her; the wound wasn't as serious as she made it out to be, sure, but he's seen men die from less. She'd saved him and all he'd done to thank her was undermine her efforts and throw her past grievances in her face. Shit.
Robin breathes, and takes in the night air, knowing full well where to find her by now. He's changed into a clean shirt, and brought a cape with him in case Regina needs it to ward off the chill. And there she is, sitting by her apple tree, her back supported by the trunk, knees drawn up with her arms wrapped around them, her head bent low as her body trembles.
Fuck. He's cocked this all up, hasn't he?
Robin kneels before her, dropping the cape off to the side and moving a hand to grab hers. She bats it away, turning her head to the side so that he can't see the tears she's trying to blink back. But he's seen them now, he knows how much he's wounded her.
"I'm sorry," he tells her, meaning it.
"It's fine," she says, trying to play it off as an insignificant thing. But it's not insignificant, not in the least, and he insists, whispering her name and a begging Please that get her to finally look his way.
The tears are still there, glistening in her eyes despite her attempts to keep them at bay, and he feels horrible. Ashamed.
This time, when he moves to touch her, she doesn't shake him off, lets him take her hand in his and dot a kiss there as he tells her again, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that."
"Yes, you did," she tells him, but she doesn't sound angry. She sounds... sad. And it hurts him more than her ire.
"I wasn't thinking," he explains, "I was just angry. I didn't want to hurt you, I..."
He wants to say it, wants to so badly, because they've been together in this realm for over six months now, and he feels so strongly for her that nothing else can ever compare. She's turned his world upside down, added a thrill to his life that was never there before, and he cannot remember ever being happier.
But it's not the right time to profess his love. Not right now, when he's made her miserable and anything he tells her will be tainted by his earlier words. So instead, he weaves their fingers together and tells her, "Thank you. For saving my life."
"I thought it was just a scratch," she grumbles, her eyes following the movement of his thumb as it caresses up and down hers.
"I was an idiot," he admits, and then, because he can't help it, "but... this is how I feel every single time you put your life in danger, and you always say I'm being paranoid."
"I have magic, you don't," she says pointedly. "And I've never gotten hurt, you did... they almost killed you."
"I was trying to help. If those men had caught you, I... All I wanted was to protect you."
"Oh, yes, by all means, let's make history repeat itself," she snaps, her hand leaving him as she crosses her arms over her chest.
Right. Robin Hood.
"I can't spend my life walking on eggshells because of a doppelgänger I never met, Regina," he argues, sounding just a little miffed when he adds, "and neither should you."
She does look up at him then, brow furrowed in anger as she snarls, "Excuse me?!"
"I chose you. Not Regina Mills. You. And yes, you are merged now, but you are also different people. If this is going to work, I need you to choose me as well. Not the Robin you knew, but me."
"You didn't choose me, we got stuck here together, you had no other choice."
"I never wanted Regina Mills," he counters. "I even kissed her, and I felt nothing. But when I kissed you that first night at the tavern? I've never felt anything like that before."
"It's called 'summer ale,' Locksley."
"No. It was you. And I know you care about me, too. I'm sorry that I scared you by going off alone, and I'm sorry that I didn't listen to you, but I'm here. I'm not dying on you, Regina, and you need to stop acting like I will."
She's lost the battle against her tears now, is letting them fall freely down her face even as she tries to avoid his eyes.
His hand reaches out to wipe the salty drops from her cheeks, his touch lingering there as he shifts and moves to sit next to her, bringing his brow down to hers.
"I'm sorry," he says again, and she nods, her forehead rubbing against his with the action.
"I'm happy with you," she tells him, breathing heavily between them. "I am. And the thought of losing you like I lost... I don't know if I can deal with that again."
"I understand," Robin says, because he does. "From now on, we fight together, yeah?"
She nods again, and he can see how hard she tries to mask her little sniffle, but he catches it nonetheless, and leans in to buss her lips softly. He means for it to be sweet, just a peck, a bit of reassurance amidst the anxiety, but she's sucking at his lower lip, plunging her tongue into his mouth and kissing him with fervor.
He can taste the salt of her tears, feel the desperation in the way she runs her nails over his chest, and all he wants is to sate whatever need she has right now, no matter what it is.
He moans for her, kisses back as passionately as she wants it, sucking at her bottom lip, biting gently into it as his hands find her breasts the moment she straddles him.
It's a quick romp at best. Sloppy kisses and undulating hips as she rucks her skirts up around them, magics away her underwear with a practiced wave of her hand, and then frees his cock from its confines, giving him a few firm tugs before she brings her hand to her mouth, licks it lasciviously and moves it back down.
She rubs up and down his shaft, the wetness of her hand doing wonders for him as he feels his cock get harder and harder, until he's good and ready, almost aching when she lines him up with her entrance.
"Wait," he moans out of the kiss, ducking his head to trail his tongue over her neck and down to her breasts, pillowed together as they are. He loses himself there for a moment, and only stops when her hips move to take him inside her.
"No, wait," he says again, because she's not wet enough, can't be wet enough, he knows her body better than he knows his own at this point, and it hasn't had much in the way of stimulation just yet. He seeks to remedy that by wedging a hand between them until he reaches her clit, thumbing at it in quick circles while his other hand shoves aside the rich fabric covering her nipples so he can take them into his mouth.
"Mmmh!" she groans loudly, her hand leaving his cock as she moves to tangle it in his hair, forcing his head to stay right where it is, buried in her glorious, naked tits. It's no hardship, really, in fact it's just what he wants, to lick and suck at the hardened pink peaks while his hand continues to rub at her between them.
"Inside me," she rasps, rolling her hips where she straddles him still, her sex teasing his hard cock on every pass, his tip bumping softly against her over and over again.
"Not yet, you're— mmm, fuck, that feels good," he trails off when she leans in and nips at his neck, teeth sinking gently into his skin. "You need more."
"I need you," she counters, and then he feels her just there, feels the delicious wet heat of her enveloping him inch by inch, until he's buried to the hilt inside her and she's sitting flush against him, her knees digging into the earth on either side.
He cries out something, he doesn't know what. It might've been a Fuck! or an incoherent Mmmnaaahhyesss, but either way, it feels fantastic. Always does. The way she molds and fits around him like a glove. A tight, wet, amazing glove that squeezes around him as she trembles in his arms.
"You alright?" he asks, because she needs more. He knows she does, and that shakiness in her breathing is probably not from pleasure alone.
She nods, though, buries her head in the crook of his neck and sucks at the skin there, muttering, "Fine," and "just need a minute."
His own hand, which had suddenly fallen slack between them (what with her taking control and all), resumes its activities at her clit, that thumb now bumping against his shaft as he moves it over the slick little bud.
She whimpers into his neck, grows a little wilder in the way she sucks at him, her breathing hot and heavy as he presses more, moves his thumb just a little bit faster. He hasn't moved yet, hasn't let her move, either, wanting her to be ready before she rides him into oblivion. But his cock is painfully hard inside her now, and he needs to thrust. Needs it.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispers, "feel so fucking good."
Regina moans at that, her back arching just a bit as she pulls back to look at him.
"Bloody spectacular," he murmurs, and then he's kissing her, his tongue urgent as it tastes and teases hers. And that feeling, that zinging, tingling heat he'd felt at the tavern on their first night together, the one he'd talked to her about just minutes ago, it spreads and overwhelms him, ignites a fire in him that bears her name and hers alone. Fuck, he loves kissing her.
But Regina has other plans, pulls out of the kiss with a hard bite to his lower lip and stares him straight in the eye, her anger bubbling up again as she rises slightly, using her knees for purchase, until he's almost all the way out of her.
And then she slams back down, and he shouts his pleasure.
She begins to move then, showing him no mercy, still glaring at him as she orders, punctuating her words with hard, downward thrusts of her hips, "Never... scare me... like that... again."
"Never— Mmh, fuck, love, yes, just like that just— shit, you feel so good."
"Promise me, Robin," she commands, her eyes rolling back despite her best efforts to keep that glare going, lashes fluttering as she, too, begins to feel the unbidden pleasure of what they're doing.
"I promise," he gasps, both hands abandoning their posts at her clit and tits and moving to hold her waist, guiding her movements into a rhythm that is just a little faster, a little harder.
She follows, and rides him like there's no tomorrow. Her hands brace themselves against the tree trunk behind him as she slams down into him, over and over as she grows wetter, tighter, her voice breaking into whimpers and loud cries of his name as she fucks him.
Robin growls, moves one hand back down to her clit. Their brows bump into each other's, mouths open and gasping in the smidgen of space between them as he lets his other hand roam from her waist down and under the fabric of her lavish skirt. He moans when he finds the bare skin of her thigh, grips firmly and revels in the suppleness of her flesh.
"More!" she whines, bouncing atop him, her tits pressing into his face as she lifts a little higher and presses into him. It's animal instinct that takes over, rather than their emotional connection. A primal sort of desperation coloring her tone as she orders, "Harder!"
Robin obeys, moves the hand on her clit back to her waist while he keeps the other on her thigh, and slams her down onto his cock repeatedly, circling her hips in tight little rounds that finally have him finding that magic spot inside her. She screams at the feeling, pulls on his hair again, her arms wrapped around his neck and keeping him pressed right into her bosom, where he licks and sucks at her skin like a starved man.
When he pulls back, the view is stunning. There she is, writhing atop him, cheeks flushed, her hair a mess, her eyes still sparking with what's left of her anger as she squeezes her tight, wet heat around him.
"Want to make you come," he babbles as he buries his face in her tits again, his arms wrapping tightly around her as he finds purchase where he can and thrusts awkwardly up into her. It's not a good position for him to do the work, but the messy raps of his hips seem to work, have her whimpers growing louder.
"So close," she tells him, more of a gasp than an actual sentence, but he hums into her chest, his legs cramping with the effort of thrusting from his current position, his ankles digging into the dirt for leverage. His mouth is still on her breasts, tongue laving over the valley between them before it darts down to a nipple. He slicks up the stiff points with his spit, then closes his lips around one and sucks. Hard. And that's all it takes.
She comes with a scream, throaty and full and incredible as her hips roll erratically atop his, moving faster as she rides him through her orgasm. Her hair falls in a curtain over them both, her mouth frantic on his. The kiss is messy, all teeth and pants and uncoordinated licks, but it's hot, and the way her walls flutter around him as she comes and comes is the most amazing sensation he's ever experienced. He'll never tire of this, of feeling her come undone as she reaches that high and shows him just what he does to her. Her breasts glisten with his spit, her chest rising and falling in quick breaths, and it's just so fucking beautiful that he can no longer hold back.
He chases the last few aftershocks of her orgasm with his own, slamming her down onto him one last time before he comes deep inside her, moaning and losing himself in the feel and taste of her. He's thrilled by the little moans that spill from her when his stubble scratches gently at the sensitive skin of her neck, and he lays kiss after kiss there as he rides his high.
They stay just like that until their breathing evens out, Regina being the one to move first.
She rises from where she sits astride him, lets her skirt fall over her legs and stares down at him, waiting for him to join her.
To his surprise, he finds himself pinned to the tree the moment he stands, her hands keeping a firm grip on him as she forces him to stay there, shocked and sex-addled and completely at her mercy.
He's about to ask what's wrong, but she shuts him up with a kiss, one so fervent and wet that he barely has time to register what's happening before he's kissing her back, tongues battling for dominance as she Mmms into his mouth.
"What you said earlier," she begins, her tone suspicious despite her breathlessness. "About us fighting obstacles together from now on. Did you mean it?"
His Yes is not more than a gasp, so he takes a moment to swallow, and breathe, before he adds, "Always."
She tries to hide it, tries to keep her expression as guarded and snappy as she's made it, but Robin sees the change, sees it soften almost imperceptibly, so he chooses to press his luck just a bit, jokingly adding, "But I'd be more than willing to continue these fights if this is how we get to make up afterwards."
Regina rolls her eyes at that, but it's a gesture born of fond exasperation rather than outright disdain. She waves her hand, and when the smoke clears, Robin feels the soft bedding of her room beneath them, feels her hand trailing softly over his bare stomach, and it's then that he notices they're both naked now, facing each other on the bed.
"Rest up, thief," she tells him, cuddling into his side and hiking a bare leg over his thigh, her knee just shy of his softening cock. "We have a lot of making up to do."