For Dark!OQ Week - Day 4
They've been sharing her castle in the Enchanted Forest for the better part of two months.
Two months where they've spent many, many nights pleasuring each other (they have the entire place to themselves, after all, and Robin has decided he quite likes making her come as he takes her in the library... and the kitchens... and the hall... and the throne room... and every single guest rooms). But they've been very clear about their arrangement. He has his room, she has hers, and they don't venture in each other's space for anything other than a quick chat.
They've broken that rule several times this week. And oh, it's been so worth it.
It had started innocently enough, that first night. She'd come into his room to let him know that a carriage full of gold would be passing through the main road in the morning, a little gem her informants had seen fit to give her (they've been stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, a deed he'd first found laughable, but had turned out to be quite satisfying), and he'd been too distracted by the sight of her to listen.
He's seen her naked plenty of times, but he'd never seen her like that. Hair down and wet from her bath, face devoid of her usual makeup and the bold red lip that sometimes leaves faint smudges on his skin. He remembers how the gossamer material of her night gown teased her stiff, bare nipples underneath it, remembers being quite thankful for drafty corridors in that moment, for the slight wind that made the fabric billow around her and give him little glimpses of her spectacular figure.
He'd brushed off her news, kissed her fiercely, and taken her in his bed, reveling in her ecstatic moans and the way she arched into him as she came on his fingers and then on his cock. By the time they were done, they were too distracted by the pleasure to realize what they'd done.
And then, even after they noticed what was wrong with the general picture, and vowed to keep their sexual encounters away from their private chambers, they'd wound up in his bed again, this time early in the morning, while the sun peeked in from the window and bathed her exposed skin in its golden rays.
After that, he started finding excuses to get her to come over, excuses that had her walking into his room and undressing for him with ease, not a single complaint falling from her lips as he fucked her against the wall, or on his bed, or bent over the railing of his balcony.
And every time, after the aftershocks of bliss had dissipated and he'd cleaned them both up, she would get up, redress, and walk out the door, taking the warmth and intimacy of the moment with her before he could relish it.
Today, however, he doesn't get to indulge on that. Today, she doesn't find him at the breakfast table with that dangerous glint in her eye, doesn't delight his eyes with her leather trousers and lavish cleavage.
"Where's the queen?" he asks the nearest servant girl.
"Sleeping, sir, she said she had a headache and would be skipping breakfast today."
Oh. That explains it, then, he thinks. And then he digs into the spread before him without worry. He'll see her at lunch... and maybe talk her into a quick romp in his bedroom.
But Regina doesn't show up for lunch, or tea time, or for the swim they had planned to take together in the lake that afternoon. She's not anywhere in the castle (he knows, he's checked. Twice.), and the gardens look lovely while bathed in sunset's light, but they lack her tantalizing silhouette in their landscape.
When she doesn't show up for a single meal the next day, he starts to think she may have lied to him. That perhaps she has simply tired of him and has decided to live a separate life, and that headache excuse was just a way to let him down easy.
And if her were a gentleman, he might've let her be. If he were Robin Hood, he might've accepted her choice and left her to her own devices, the way she seems to desire. But he's Robin of Locksley, and he will not be phased out like this. Not after he followed her here on the promise of a new, great life together.
He stomps his way to her chambers, pounding on the door with determination.
She doesn't answer.
He knocks again, harder this time, if that's even possible, and hears a lackluster Go away in response from the inside.
Robin does not heed her command, rather picks the hairpin she'd gifted him with on their first night together from his pocket and picks the lock, expertly twisting and turning until he hears that triumphant little click and the door falls open before him.
The sight that greets him is definitely not what he'd expected.
He thought he'd find her brushing her hair, or poring over her spellbooks, maybe even eating, since it doesn't seem like she's done that at all today, what with abandoning him to have meals on his own. Instead, he finds her in bed, covers up to her chin, hair a riot over her pillow, her skin pale and sweaty, and her face bears an expression of pure misery.
"You're sick," he deduces out loud, walking over to her and placing his hand on her clammy forehead.
"I'm fine, it's just a headache," she counters. And it's her nature, isn't it? To pretend things are fine when they aren't, to appear strong even at her weakest. He should've known.
She insists that she's fine, but his hand on her skin tells another story. She's burning up, the fever taking everything out of her as she fights to sit up.
"Stay," Robin orders, gently but firmly. "Save your strength."
His voice soothes her more than she's willing to admit, but it's gone as fast as it came. the scent of him disappearing as well as he walks away from her.
But then she feels the touch of cool, wet terry cloth on her forehead, and she knows he's there.
Regina tries to manage a scowl, but she's too weak to move right now, so instead she just... lets him do it, lets him run that little wet towel over her neck and chest, the touch of it a refreshing little break from the constant warmth of her skin.
She hears some hollow sort of splashing, and her head turns (or drops, more like) to the side to find him submerging the towel back into a crystal bowl full of water.
"You know," he tells her, his voice a calm whisper that caresses her very soul, "you could have just told me you were ill."
She's about to throw him a haughty Why? but all that comes out is a choking cough, one that has him instantly putting the water and towel on her night table as he eases her up and pats her back until it subsides.
When she sinks back down into the pillows, the movement makes her head spin, and she closes her eyes, trying to calm the dizziness. The last thing she needs is to puke all over him, as well.
The backs of his fingers run softly up and down her cheek, a tenderness in the touch that she's not used to seeing from him. It baffles her, how eerily similar the feeling is to when Robin used to do it.
"How long have you been like this?" he asks her, and she swallows thickly before she rasps a low Two days that takes way too much effort.
"Please go," she tells him when she's regained her breath, "Just the flu. I'm fine."
"You are not fine and I am not leaving," he tells her, and he sounds... tickled? Her eyes find him, and sure enough, there's this look of baffled amusement at her request.
Regina would argue, but she's too damn tired. So instead she just closes her eyes and lets him run that stupid towel over her neck again.
She wakes at some point, not because she feels better, but because she's shivering so much it's impossible to sleep. It's dark, and cold despite the fire roaring in the hearth. Robin sits on an chair by her bed, fast asleep and snoring, his head resting on his hand, elbow bent on the arm of the chair. Regina chooses not to dwell on the fact that he stayed, or on how nice it feels to have him near. Instead, she folds in on herself under the covers, and wills the chills to go away, even tries to warm herself with magic, but is too spent to do so.
The chattering of her teeth wakes him, and he flies to her side immediately, checking her temperature.
"We need to cool you down," he tells her. "Let me get more water, maybe some ice—"
"No," she interrupts. "Don't— so cold."
He sighs then, and then the night air rushes in when he's no longer in front of her to block it.
But before she can cry at his absence, the bed dips behind her, and she feels his arms wrap tightly around her, his body curving into her own as he rubs a hand up and down her arm, plants kisses on her hair.
It takes a few minutes, but his body heat helps the tremors dissipate, and she's pulled back under the veil of sleep while he exhales warmly into her neck.
The next day, he brings her tea, and soup, and bread, then helps her up and out of bed and into her shower. She's never been more glad about adding indoor plumbing and electricity to the castle than she is right now, when such comforts provide her with a heavy, warm stream that hits her back and blissfully works those knots on her shoulders, while the steam rises around her and helps unclog her taxed lungs.
Robin stays with her, though, and while it's not the first time he's seen her naked, it feels oddly intimate to have him running a sponge over her body, up her legs and rib cage, over her breasts, his lips dotting kisses on her shoulders from where he stands behind her as he helps to wash her weak limbs.
It's nice. Too nice. A sort of closeness she's never had with anyone before, and her eyes water over just how grateful she is to him.
"Thank you," she murmurs into the shower, knowing he can hear her despite the water slapping on their skin. "You didn't have to... do any of this."
"We're partners, are we not?" he tells her, and then, sounding just a little wounded, "You should have told me."
"I didn't peg you for the kind to enjoy caring for the sick," she tries to sass him, but it comes out... needy, somehow, like she's asking him for reassurance rather than brushing him of.
"I'm not," he admits, "I'd much rather stay away from anyone who is ill. But you're not just anyone, Regina."
She doesn't know what to say to that, so she says nothing, remains there, standing under the hot stream of the shower, naked and sick while he starts massaging shampoo onto her hair.
"I want you healthy," he says then. "Safe," and his hands hold onto her arms as he mutters the next words into her cheek. "I want you around for a very long time."
When she shivers this time, it's not from the cold, or the fever.
"I... I actually thought you were trying to get rid of me," he admits later that night, when they're both in comfy, warm clothes and staring into nothingness as they lie on her bed. She's curled into him, her head on his shoulder, her lips dusting lazy kisses on his skin. His arm is under and around her, hand rubbing up and down her back as he kisses her brow, and she almost purrs at the gesture, unable to stop herself from reveling in the affection he so freely gives her.
"Why would I do that?" she asks, her voice still low, the words almost slurred in her tired state.
She feels him shrug a bit under her cheek as he answers, "I'm not Robin Hood."
"I'm not Regina Mills," she counters, hating the gravelly tone of her voice. "He was her choice, not mine."
He kisses her brow again, lets his lips linger there, and she can feel his smile when he fondly whispers, "Liar."
She sighs then, and doesn't refute his statement. He's right, after all.
"I don't want you to leave," she tells him, "and I don't want you to be Robin. I want you to be you. What you've done for me these past two days, I... I want that. With you. Always."
It's his turn to sigh, and his breath washes over her forehead, a warm current of air that tickles her lashes and warms her all over. "I want it, too," he says, his voice so low she thinks she may have imagined it at first, but then he reiterates, "I never expected to feel this way about anyone."
"Does that scare you?" she questions without judgment.
"Not exactly, I just... never thought I'd have this," he confesses, the words echoing in her own memories of a time and love long gone.
She Hmms at his admission, then lifts her head just enough to kiss his chin. Robin runs the tip of his nose down the bridge of hers, busses her lips with that newfound tenderness, and then sits up on the bed, telling her it's about time he heads back to his room and lets her sleep.
But Regina doesn't let him go. Instead she kisses him back down onto the pillows, and whispers just one word before she falls asleep in his arms.
"Stay."