"Every year, we go to this party, and every year you're overdressed," Zelena points out as Regina secures the backing of a short onyx drop earring and rolls her eyes at the criticism.
"I prefer to think everyone else is underdressed," Regina tells her, meeting Ophelia's eyes in the mirror and giving her a wink. Or her best approximation of one anyway.
Ophelia snickers and dips into Regina's eyeshadow, brushing a shimmery gold onto her lids as her mother continues to lament, "Yes, of course, becauseRegina Mills and her Virginia-mansion-chic should set the dress code for the whole town."
"It's New Year's Eve; it should be festive," Regina argues, taking a step back to get a better look at herself in the mirror.
Her dress is gold and glittery, sequined from top to bottom so she sparkles like the ball they're about to watch sink into a new year. It's not garish, though (Mother will think it is, but who cares?), or slutty. It's classy – form-fitting but not so tight that she looks cheap, long sleeves and a modest neckline but a plunging back that makes her feel sexy. The hem is a little higher than her usual, but it still covers several generous inches of thigh, and she's paired it with black tights (because the temperature has dropped yet again, and it's far too cold to go bare-legged), and a pair of knee-high leather boots with enough heel that she won't feel short but not so much that she'll fall on her ass on the first patch of icy sidewalk.
A subtle smokey eye, a shimmery nude lip, a productive date with the curling iron and she looks damn good, if she does say so herself.
"I think you look really pretty," Ophelia tells her, defying her mother as she gilds her other eyelid and pouts, "I wish I could go with you. It's stupid that the party at Granny's is only for grown-ups."
Considering the many cases of champagne lined up along the back hallway of the diner the other day, Regina can pretty safely say it's not stupid that there's a strict twenty-one-and-over rule at Granny's Annual New Year's Eve Bash.
Zelena must be thinking the same thing, because she scoffs, and says, "If Ruby drinks even half as much champagne as she did last year, she'll still be in danger of floating away. It's definitely not appropriate for children."
Ophelia sulks, and Regina reaches over, brushing her fingers through her niece's hair and telling her, "Life is full of rites of passage; growing old enough to get through the door of Granny's party is one of them. Someday, you too will attend, and I will run interference on your mother while you drink a little too much completely legal champagne."
She throws that last bit over her shoulder, because Zelena is already huffing her disapproval.
"But until then…" Regina reaches over, snatching up a tube of saucy red lipstick and offering it to Ophelia. "Stay here with Grandma, drink some sparkling grape juice, experiment with my makeup all you like, and watch the ball drop on TV."
Ophelia makes a comically grouchy face, and then smiles, relenting with an overdramatic, "Fine." She perks up just a little to ask, "Can I try on your clothes, too?"
"Whatever gets you through the FOMO," Regina tells her, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek, before looking to Zelena and urging, "Now, let's go. It's already almost ten."
"I don't know what you're so antsy about," her sister sighs, straightening her kelly green blouse (she's gone for cleavage this year, and a lot of it), and brushing a piece of lint from her black slacks. "The only people who get there in the first hour anyway are the over-sixty set who want to turn in just after the ball drops, and the nuns."
Regina shrugs, and reminds, "I don't see everyone day after day like you do."
It's not at all because history suggests the owner of a certain sporting goods store will be there promptly at nine-thirty. Not at all.
Zelena says her goodbyes to Ophelia, ordering her not to stay up too late – something Regina thinks is ridiculous; it is New Year's Eve, and the girl istwelve, not two. As far as Regina's concerned she should be attempting to ring in the New Year with every US time zone. It's what she and Zelena had done in their early teen years, after all, toasting their fake champagne with New York, and New Orleans, and Denver, and L.A. (They'd been fifteen before they'd managed to stay awake until Los Angeles, but the trying was half the fun.)
And then they're off, bundling into their coats, and piling into Zelena's car. Regina would prefer her Merc, but she has no intention of ending the night sober, and she doesn't relish the idea of staying parked downtown overnight or getting behind the wheel under the influence either. Ever since Daniel, she has a strict rule of not driving after more than three drinks, no matter how sober she feels – and she has half a mind to drink the last miserable year into oblivion tonight.
So the Pinto it is.
When they arrive on Main Street, it's already packed; nearly every available spot on the street is occupied, and certainly all of the ones that would fit Zelena's boat of a car. They end up parking behind the coffee shop and walking the two blocks to Granny's, where the party is already in full swing.
It's loud inside, the Christmas playlist of the last few weeks switched over to what sounds like a swing band, at the moment. The tree is gone, too, along with all the garland, and in their place are black and gold pennants spelling out HAPPY NEW YEAR 2018 and an absolutely ridiculous amount of gold and black balloons with a good foot of spiraling ribbon hanging off of each one. The balloons cover much of the ceiling, kept away from the lights by several invisible-at-the-moment runs of twine tacked strategically from wall to wall.
With the exception of the date on the pennants, the decorations are the same every year, and Regina has come to appreciate the simplicity of it. It's just enough to set a fun, festive atmosphere, but not so much to disguise that this night is really all about drinking too much champagne and socializing with the neighbors.
Speaking of neighbors…
Regina glances around the room for Robin as they bring their coats back to the only ground-floor room of the B&B—it gets turned into a coat check of sorts every year for the party—but she doesn't see him anywhere.
In fact, she doesn't see him for a good ten minutes, until after she's gotten her first glass of champagne and been pulled into a conversation with Marco. Even then, it's just a passing interaction, Robin's fingertips ghosting down the back of her arm just lightly enough to draw her attention as he leans in and whispers to her, "I don't want to interrupt, but you look bloody fantastic," and then walks away before she can even say hello.
She flounders a little, staring at his back (he's in a black button-down that fits him very well, and grey wool slacks that fit him even better). Regina feels her cheeks flush just a little and hopes she can blame the rising heat in the room.
When she drags her attention back to Marco, he's smiling at her, waiting for her, and she's fairly certain her cheeks flush even deeper when she asks, "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"
.::.
He's kissing her tonight.
She's shown up here, in this dress, this gold number that has her back bare halfway down to her hips. It's maddening, has Robin desperate to drag his tongue up her spine, to kiss along her shoulders; he hasn't felt such a hard punch of lust for a woman in, well… there was that year she showed up in ablack sequined dress that plunged a bit in the front, and he'd certainly felt things then. But her husband had been her date to the party that night, so that had pretty much thrown cold water on those fantasies. But her husband isn't here now – isn't her husband now – and Robin has a perfectly socially acceptable excuse to kiss her in approximately an hour and ten minutes, so he is going to do just that.
For now, though, he's going to mingle.
He's been keeping an eye on her, trying to keep track of her throughout the night and work his way closer and closer, but it seems that someone always has her ear. And now he's gone and lost her, somehow. She'd been talking to old Mr. Worthington, and Robin had headed to the bar to get another flute of champagne, and then she'd been gone.
"Lose your girl?" Ruby asks, sidling up alongside him and draping her arm over his shoulders. She's definitely a bit sauced – not plastered yet, by any means, but he wouldn't call her just tipsy either.
"She's not my girl," Robin answers gamely, because she is not, but they both know he's entirely smitten.
"Sure, she is," Ruby snorts, goosing him playfully and telling him, "She's peeing; I just came from there," before insisting vehemently that he, " Make a move already," and then sauntering away.
Robin laughs in her wake, shaking his head, and taking another bubbly sip of champagne. A few minutes later he catches a flash of gold out the corner of his eye, and lets his attention slip away from Astrid and Leroy, with whom he'd been chatting to pass the time. He locks eyes with Regina just in time for someone else to grab her attention, and Robin nearly lets out an audible growl of frustration before he sees her point apologetically in his direction and disentangle herself.
Well, thank God.
"I'll be back in a minute," he tells Astrid and Leroy, and then he weaves his way through the room toward the glittering goddess of the hour.
When they reach each other, she steps in close and mutters, "Please save me. If another well-mannered person asks how I'm managing through the divorce, I might just scream."
"You have been quite popular," he chuckles sympathetically.
"That's one word for it," Regina grumbles, a grumpy scowl on her (recently glossed, he notices) lips. "I really cannot tell you how much I'm looking forward to midnight. I'm going to relish every second of counting down to the end of this shitty year."
"It's almost over," he assures, glancing at his watch before telling her, "Only fifty-eight minutes left."
"Thank God," she mutters, and then she takes a deep breath, like she's trying to flush out her sour mood. "So, what have you been up to? I saw you talking to Leroy and Astrid – any exciting news from the lovebirds? Are they pregnant, or eloping, or anything that could take the focus off me for a while?"
"Nothing of note, unfortunately," he chuckles. "Truth be told, I wasn't really listening. I was keeping an eye out for you – I've been waiting for a chance to chat you up all evening, but every time I turn, you've been snatched up by someone else."
That look of desperation she'd been wearing as she approached him melts away then, smoothing out into an easy smile as she says, "Well, I'm all yours now. After all, I do believe I owe you a drink."
His brow furrows for a moment, and then he remembers – the winter festival. He grins and reaches for her, urging, "Come on. I think I know just the place to find one."
.::.
He leads her back the way she'd come, but instead of heading for the back hallway with the bathrooms, they turn right and duck into the kitchen. It's even warmer here than in the increasingly crowded diner, the oven fired up to heat some of the trays of food that keep being brought out to the hors d'oeuvres table. But at least it's relatively quiet, and the only person who might try to pester her with too much sympathy (or faux sympathy disguising a thirst for banal small-town gossip) is Granny.
Somehow she thinks she's safe.
Granny looks up as they enter, hefting a pan of pigs-in-a-blanket into the oven, and says, "What can I do for you kids?"
"Just looking for a place to hide the recently divorced from the town gossips," Robin tells her, and Granny lets out a snort and tells them they can stay as long as they want.
"Can I help with anything?" Regina offers, but she gets waved off and told not to lift a finger.
"This is the last round, anyway," Granny says. "You know I stop serving food before the ball drops."
"I do," Regina nods with a smile. Granny has always insisted that she loves throwing this massive party, but she still wants to enjoy the holiday herself. So every year at about 11:30, the food suddenly seems to dry up, and she appears in the diner herself to ring in the New Year with everyone else.
There's obviously some cleaning up to do, but Regina doesn't imagine she'll be allowed to help with it if she can't even help put a few things in the oven.
So Regina turns her attention back to Robin instead, laughing softly when she turns to find him holding a full bottle of champagne. She bites her lip and teases, "So more than one drink, then?"
"I think the holiday calls for a few, don't you?" Robin asks her with a shrug, popping the cork on the bottle, and handing it over to her. For just a moment, she's distracted by how ridiculously attractive he is. He's rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, his forearm flexing slightly as he shifts the bottle. And he's smirking at her, dimples popping, those blue eyes teasing and light.
Regina's brows lift slowly, her voice taunting and obvious as she says to him, "A glass would be nice."
"Nice, perhaps, but not necessary," he responds, turning to ask Granny, "You don't mind if we pilfer a bottle for ourselves, do you?"
Regina checks him out again while he's not quite looking her way. She'd blame the two glasses of champagne she's already had for the way she wants to keep drinking him in, but it would be a lie to pretend she hasn't always found him handsome. And somehow this man is like a fine wine, only growing more and more enticing as his hair has gotten streaked with silver, and his jaw covered over in a light beard instead of the barefaced look he'd sported when they met. His forties suit him, and she desperately hopes hers have been equally kind from an outsider's perspective.
Granny encourages them to "Have at it," moving around the kitchen and cleaning up a bit. Her back is to them a moment later, so Regina nearly misses her muttered, "Whatever will help you two get your courage up."
Nearly, but not quite, and Regina can't help the embarrassed little laugh that spills out of her as she takes the bottle from Robin, their fingers brushing in the transfer. The contact should be inconsequential, should be nothing, but it zings up Regina's arm and ignites a flutter in her chest, silencing her impulse to shoot back at Granny with another exasperated request for people to stop assuming she and Robin are something they're not.
And besides, she has every intention of ringing in the New Year by planting a kiss on his stupidly handsome face, so she probably doesn't have a leg to stand on, does she?
Instead, she lifts the bottle to her mouth, murmuring just before it hits her hips, "My courage is doing just fine, thank you."
Granny snorts a little laugh, but it's Robin who has most of Regina's attention, his Adam's apple bobbing as he watches her swallow that mouthful of champagne. It fizzes merrily down her throat, and Regina licks away a bead of it from her lips (he watches that, too, and suddenly the air between them seems thicker, more charged).
She hadn't really meant for her statement to come out the way it had, but it's there between them, and it's as if they're suddenly very firmly on the same page. She's not sure exactly what his expectations are, she's not even really sure what hers are, exactly, but any pretense that they're not going to end the night lip-locked has sailed cleanly out the window, she knows that.
Her gaze drops to his mouth, too, and her tongue creeps out to wet her lips again as she imagines herself kissing him, hard, imagines… other things, things she probably shouldn't be imagining with a third person in the room. The kitchen suddenly feels very, very warm.
As if he's read her mind, Robin reaches for the champagne himself, chugging down a swallow and then declaring, "Y'know, it's stuffy back here; why don't we take this bottle out back and… go for a little walk in the moonlight."
It's twenty degrees outside. Frigid. And her coat is tucked away amongst God knows how many other black parkas in that back room.
So naturally Regina answers, "That sounds good. I could use some air."
Granny tells them to, "Have a happy New Year, if I don't see you out there," another statement Regina will not examine the implications of until later.
Right now, she's too busy walking in front of Robin toward that back hallway and the door that leads to the rear entrance. Maybe a little bit of biting winter air will help her hormones cool off for a minute.
They're two steps into that back hallway (empty for the moment), when she hears Robin let out a low groan behind her, and then his free hand is circling her arm, turning her and backing her up against the wall in one move, his other arm caging her in as his mouth crashes down onto hers.
Regina moans into the kiss, her body responding with gusto, torso arching to press against him as his hand shifts from her arm to skate up the bare skin of her back. She shivers at the tickling sensation, gasping softly (Robin's tongue dips into her mouth when she does, and hers licks against it), her arms wrapping around his middle and clutching, her ankle running up his calf. The kiss is electric—nothing like the tame and rote kisses she's shared with Leo in the last several years—and Regina lights up with it.
It's like a switch has been flipped, like her body has been given permission to finally reach for something it wants, and oh , how she wants him now. Her skin is tingling, her nipples hardening, and she can feel herself growing wet.
When Robin tips his head out of the kiss, she's almost offended that he'd dare stop kissing her, and then he breathes, "I'm sorry," and she almost laughs.
"I'm not," she husks. Did he not notice the way she was practically climbing him like a tree?
He's panting lightly, his breath washing against her chin as he tells her, "I just couldn't wait another forty minutes with you in this dress. It's maddening; I haven't been able to take my eyes off you all night."
Regina laughs breathily, kissing him again and then murmuring boldly, "Let's go to your place. You can take a closer look at it."
Not that he's not plenty close as it is, stroking along her spine again in a way that works up a soft little sound from her throat.
Robin smiles warmly at her, looking at her with so much affection underneath the very obvious lust (she can feel him hard against her hip, and it makes her clench). It's half teasing and half covering his bases, she knows, when he asks her, "How many glasses of champagne have you had?"
"Just two. I'm tipsy, not drunk," she assures, her own hands wandering down and squeezing at his hips, pressing him more tightly to her. "I know what I'm doing. I want to get out of here."
Robin nods, then pulls back a little, asking as they disentangle, "Do you need to tell—"
"I'll text her; it'll come with less judgment," Regina tells him, reaching for the bottle of champagne he's still holding.
She lied. She's not kissing this man at midnight.
She's going to have sex with him, instead.
And for that, she might need just a little extra courage, so Regina lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a long swig.
.::.
It's absolutely freezing outside.
That's all Robin can think as he and Regina sneak out the back of Granny's Diner.
Well, that and the way she'd been pressed up against him in the hallway.
He's half-hard in his pants as they walk – had been full mast when he was kissing her (and it would be embarrassing, him getting so worked up over just a few kisses, if she hadn't been plastered to his front just as eagerly), but the few minutes it had taken them to find her coat and his, combined with the harsh slap of cold air against his face, seem to have been enough to settle him down just a little.
But only a little.
His heart is thumping in his chest, nerves jumping in his belly as he wraps his arm around her shoulders and steers her toward the side street that leads to his house. His house, that he is taking her to, so he can, as she put it, 'get a closer look at her dress.'
He'd thought he would kiss her at midnight and that would be that, a perfect end to the night, a lovely little indulgence to cap off a week of flirting and good conversation. Now he has no idea what the evening holds, and he's trying not to be too hopeful.
He will be kissing his way down her spine, though, he's deciding that right now. If they're headed back for some privacy in which to make out like horny teenagers (something he happens to know they're quite good at, and at least this time they won't have any reason to feel bad about it afterward), he's damn sure going to acquaint himself with that tempting open back of her dress.
"Are we… actually taking a walk in the moonlight?" Regina questions doubtfully, giving him a sidelong glance.
Robin glances up at the sky – not much moon to speak of, tonight. But still, he says, "Only technically – I walked. I figured I'd be drinking, and it's not that far, even when you're sloshed."
He's stumbled home from the Rabbit Hole quite a few times, several sheets to the wind. The trek home usually seems much farther then than it really is, but in truth it's not far. Ten minutes at a good clip, maybe, fifteen at an amble.
"Thank God you live close to downtown," she breathes, pressing a little closer into his side and adding, "It's freezing."
She's hatless, he realizes. No surprise, considering her hair is styled, she'd clearly taken pains to curl it into those soft waves he wants to bury his fingers in.
He's hatless, too, but aside from his erection, the rest of him seems a bit impervious to cold at the moment. He feels it, sure, but he doesn't mind it.
Robin leans over and presses a warm kiss to her temple, then hands her their pilfered bottle of champagne again, saying, "Have a drink; it'll warm you."
Regina smirks, telling him, "That's a lie," and then taking a drink anyway. She passes it back and adds, "Liquor doesn't make you warmer, it only makes you think you're warmer while it encourages hypothermia to kill you faster."
"Well then, we'd better get you inside, so we can, uh, share body heat," he teases. "I hear getting naked under a blanket together is the ideal way to warm a person suffering from hypothermia."
It's a bit bold, perhaps, but Regina just laughs and shakes her head. "Well played," she praises, and Robin shrugs his shoulders, gives her a smug little frown.
They lapse into a comfortable silence after that, walking quickly together down the sidewalk, the only sound the click-clack of Regina's heeled boots on the mostly-shoveled concrete. There's an apartment nearby with an open window; Robin hears laughter and a bit of premature Auld Lang Syne (there's no way it's the real thing, they've still a good half hour at least.)
It has him stopping short, though, and turning to look at her. "You wanted to ring out the old year."
Regina's brow furrows. "What?"
"Back at Granny's," he reminds her. "You said you'd never been more looking forward to counting down to the end of a year; you'll miss the big group countdown – are you sure you don't want to go back?" It's absolutely insane and self-defeating of him to ask, but, "We can always go back to my place andget a closer look at each other after the ball drops."
Regina smiles at him, bewildered, and like he's a bit dumb, then leans in closer to him again and says, "We can turn the TV on for the countdown; I'd rather be with you than in that stuffy diner with all those people who want to ask me about my ex-husband. I'd much rather be at your place doing far more enjoyable things with my mouth than making small talk."
Robin's brows shoot up, and Regina's eyes widen slightly – she clearly hadn't meant that to be quite as bawdy as it had sounded. Robin chuckles, waggling his brows at her – clearly kidding, and enjoying the way she scrunches her nose with embarrassment.
But then she's tilting her head a little, and then catching him off-guard, pushing up onto her toes and reaching for the back of his neck, pulling him into another brief, tongue-filled kiss.
"I meant that," she murmurs, her breath a warm, white cloud between them before she teases, "But maybe if you play your cards right…"
Her lips brush against his own stunned, slack ones, and then she's taking a few steps backward, the cold rushing in to fill the emptiness in her wake.
She's smirking naughtily at him, and then she turns her back on him so she can walk forward, and Robin trots to catch up.
All he can think now is that they need to walk faster.
.::.
Next time she goes to one of these parties, she might just take Zelena's advice and wear pants.
By the time they get to Robin's, Regina's not-quite-bare thighs are icy and her ears are, too. The rest of her, though, is very warm.
She unzips her coat and hands it to Robin, who in turn hangs it on a hook by the door, his settling alongside it a moment later. As he toes off his boots, she reaches down to unzip hers, balancing one hand against his door as she uses the other to tug off one boot, and then the other.
And then she just feels short.
Robin's not tall, but Regina is used to wearing heels. Pumps, or heeled boots, something, anything, to give her those extra few inches God and genetics did not.
They'd been pretty much eye-to-eye before, but now her chin only comes to somewhere near his shoulder. Which she would know, because now that they're inside and coat-less and shoe-less, it seems they've forgotten how this whole taking-someone-home thing works.
Robin clears his throat and gestures toward his living room with the hand still clutching that bottle of champagne (she could use a bit more of it, now, to be honest) as he tells her, "TV's in there."
"Right," she nods, butterflies erupting in her stomach as she steps into his darkened home. He doesn't turn the light on, but his fingers find hers a moment later, and then he's leading her down a short hallway until it opens up into a small living room. His place isn't very big, and it's been a long, long time since she's seen the inside of it, but she has a vague idea of where things are.
He passes her the bottle, and murmurs, "Let me just…"
Robin's fingers slip from hers, and Regina squints into the dark until the moment she hears a little whoosh, and the low light of a fire flickers into life on a far wall.
The gas fireplace is new; she doesn't remember that from before.
She can see him now – the firelight is low, cozy, but enough that she catches sight of him bending for something. The remote, she realizes, as the TV clicks into life, and Robin flips channels until he finds the New Year's Rockin' Eve countdown.
And then he mutes it, and reaches for Regina again, telling her, "So you won't miss it," as he leads her toward the couch.
Honestly, at this particular moment, she couldn't care less about the damn countdown. She just wants to be kissing him again.
She follows him, sipping from the bottle again as she does, and then passing it back to him as she settles onto the sofa cushions. They're cushy; she sinks in like a cloud. Robin sinks down next to her, leaning forward to settle the bottle on the coffee table and then smiling at her. It's a little lopsided, a little nervous, and she's glad for it. At least it means she's not alone with her butterflies.
His hand finds her knee, fingers rubbing tickly circles over her tights as he says, "I was going to kiss you at midnight, you know. It was going to be very smooth, very timely. Very platonic if I'd been reading you wrong these last few days."
Regina chuckles, those butterflies settling down just a little as she admits, "Me too." She swallows thickly, her hand settling over his, fingers weaving together, then loosening, her digits stroking gently along his as she whispers, "As for whether you were reading things wrong… I don't know. I don't know what the signals were – this week hasn't been what I was expecting."
Robin sits back into the cushions, turning a bit so he's facing her more; when Regina moves to do the same, he reaches for her leg, pulling it up across his lap and letting his hand settle just beneath her knee. His fingers are still cold; the touch chases a shiver through her.
"How so?" he asks, and Regina shrugs, scooting in a little closer (she has one leg bent between them now, pressed firmly to his thigh; those chilly fingers begin to warm themselves by drawing lazy patterns along the back of her lower thigh).
"I hoped I'd see you," she admits. "I usually hope for that – even when I probably shouldn't have hoped for that, I did."
Robin smiles in the blue light of the television, and assures her, "So did I."
"But my plan was definitely not to come back to town and end up making time for coffee, and a walk through the winter festival, and a lunch date, anddivulging many of my innermost secrets." She bites her lip and adds, "Although I have to admit you were on my mind when I picked out this dress, on account of the way you couldn't stop staring at me in that black sequined dress several years back." He ducks his head a little, snickering, and she adds, "Don't think I didn't notice. I did. So did Leo."
Robin winces and asks, "Did I cause a problem?"
"Nah," Regina dismisses. "Although he did request that I refrain from the plunging necklines in the future; men are bound to stare, and all that."
Robin snorts a laugh, his hand running up her thigh, over her hip, around to her back, in a way that makes her suck in a breath. He skims along the apex of the vee plunging down her back, and says teasingly, "You sure showed him, didn't you?"
She snickers and excuses, "It's the back; it's not nearly as tempting."
Robin practically chokes, his fingertip ghosting along the edge of where fabric meets skin as he says, "I'll have you know that this dress is ten times worse than that one. It's been inspiring impure thoughts in me all evening long."
Regina finds herself laughing again – and God, how she's missed a proper flirt. Ten years in a dull marriage had cost her more than she'd remembered – she'd forgotten about all this. But she remembers now, and maybe she's a little rusty, but she thinks she knows how this goes. Case in point, she leans in again, until she's close enough to feel his breath before she murmurs, "What kind of impure thoughts, exactly?" and then closes the distance between their lips.
The kiss is different from earlier, more lip, less frantic. He tastes the same, like champagne and something definitively masculine, still smells like pine and soap, but the whole feel of it is different. Less needy, more lingering. He catches her bottom lip in a soft bite, then sucks at it, and then lets it go.
"Would you like me to tell you, or show you?" he asks against her mouth, their lips meeting again warmly, but only for a moment.
Regina swallows thickly. Her brain is screaming SHOW ME, but she doesn't necessarily want to rush this. They have all night – hell, the next appointment on her calendar is him, in the morning, and she'd already texted Zelena to tell her that Robin would see her home and not to wait for her (she'd then promptly pocketed said phone and left it in her coat pocket so as not to see the reply). And as much as she wants him, it's been a while, she wants to, y'know, work her way up to it.
So she licks her lips and asks, "How impure are we talking?"
"Turn around," Robin urges softly, bussing her lips again and adding, "Your virtue shall remain intact, milady, I promise you."
Regina chuckles, shaking her head and disentangling herself from him, shifting on the cushion until her back is to him. She jumps a little when he touches her again, but it's not so much nerves as those maddeningly light touches being ticklish in the best way.
Still, he murmurs a quiet, "Sorry," and then she feels his breath on her shoulder, followed closely by his lips. She tilts her head to the side, giving him more room, or permission, she's not sure which. Robin takes it regardless, dropping more soft kisses all the way to the curve of her neck. (Her breath catches gently; her nipples harden again.)
And then he plants one right at the base of her neck, just over her spine – but this one is hungry and wet, his tongue swirling a little circle over her vertebra. Regina gasps softly, and then he does it again, an inch lower, again, lower, again, painting a line of hot, damp kisses down her spine, and Regina arches, her head tipping back.
Goosebumps flare out from his touch, cool air hitting spit-slicked flesh, his mouth hot against her skin, his hands (she's suddenly very aware of them) squeezing at her hips. It's unbearably sexy; she aches, she throbs, and she lets out this noise, this high, mortifying moan of delighted surprise.
Her eyes pop open and she claps a hand over her mouth to stifle herself – and she needs it, because as he nears the bottom of that open vee, she moans again, low in the back of her throat, and oh, she's so wet, and all he's done is kiss her, and – oh God – run his tongue back up her spine, one smooth lick all the way up that he closes into a kiss right back where he started.
Regina is a puddle. A melty, drippy, short-of-breath puddle.
And then she feels his fingers wrap around her wrist, giving it a tug to urge that hand away from her mouth, his voice warm in her ear as he murmurs, "Don't do that." He turns her hand in his grasp, draws it back and presses another kiss over her racing pulse point, and Regina thinks she might just combust on the spot.
God, this is mortifying and magical, all at once.
"I think," she gasps, embarrassed all over again at how breathy her voice has gone, "I've just become acutely aware of how long it's been since I've done this."
Robin chuckles, turning his head into her neck and sucking more kisses there. He's gentle about it, but she's a live wire now, every nerve ending wide awake, so even those little touches have her shivering.
"If it makes you feel any better," he murmurs, and she swears his next kiss has a little scrape of teeth in it, "I bet it's been longer for me."
Regina chuckles – she probably has to give him that one. If she was in any mood to think about Leo at the moment, she'd be able to think back and pinpoint the last time they'd bothered to have sex – it was cold out, she remembers that, so almost a year, at least. She doesn't know much about Robin's private life when she's not around, but his comment is enough that she imagines it's probably longer for him.
"Be that as it may—" Regina swallows; she probably shouldn't say this, but, "Leo wasn't very good in bed. It was rarely great; passing, most of the time, but rarely great." One of Robin's hands winds around her middle, and he shifts until he's pressed right up against her back. Regina shuts her eyes, drops her head back to his shoulder and confesses, "I haven't had really good sex since Graham."
And they both know that Graham was in her mid-twenties, several years before Leo. A good decade and a half ago.
Robin freezes for a second, and then, "Okay. You win."
A laugh chokes its way out of her, one elbow jerking back to jab at him as she scoffs, "I'm not sure 'win' is the word I'd choose here."
The air from his snickering shivers across her neck, his beard scratching lightly at her skin and raising another crop of goosebumps. She feels another kiss against the side of her neck, his palm pressing warmly against her belly, his other hand squeezing at her hip. And then he asks simply, "Do you want to have sex tonight?"
"Desperately," she breathes, and then she realizes how that might sound, considering the conversation at hand, and she turns in his grasp, reaching around for his jaw, his stubble tickling at her palm as she assures, "But not because I haven't in so long. Because I want you."
Regina watches him smile, and say, "Good. Because I want you, too."
And, well, that does it.
There's a flurry of movement, of twisting, turning, their mouths meeting clumsily as they try to kiss and rearrange at the same time. Their noses bump, and she nearly knees him right in the boner at one point (thankfully she doesn't, so they can laugh about it, snickering between kisses as he guides her knee over to the safety of the far side of his lap), but eventually they resituate with her straddling his lap, that dress rucked up to the top of her thighs as they make out heavily.
Robin has one hand in her hair, and one on her ass—kneading, grasping. Regina rubs eager palms over his chest, down his belly, back up. His hand shifts, moves down, steals under the hem of her dress and up to palm her through the material of her tights, and suddenly they feel constricting, warm, she's flushed and hot, she wants them off, wants everything off.
She sits back onto his thighs and looks down at him, and he looks so good in that particular moment that she nearly moans out loud at just the sight of him. He's all tousled, his shirt rumpled, his hair mussed by her fingers, his mouth thoroughly kissed. And he has that heavy-lidded look of arousal.
Regina licks her lips and runs her fingers down his chest again, from his collar, over the buttons, down, down, watching his breath hitch with anticipation. God, she has really, really missed good sex. Has missed wanting this much, has missed foreplay that makes her feel like this, foreplay for the sake of enjoying each other rather than out of sheer necessity.
The hand Robin still has tangled in her hair begins to move, stroking down the side of her neck, over her collar, her breast, mirroring her own actions in a way that makes Regina moan softly.
She smiles at him, and he smiles back, and then she runs her hand back up his chest and toys with his top button, telling him, "You look good in this shirt. I'm almost reluctant to take it off."
Robin grins, shrugging his shoulders and teasing, "I can put it back on when we're done if you'd like."
Regina rolls her eyes and laughs, leaning in to kiss him again and opening that top button, the one after, the next one. His hands find themselves busy, too, both of them rising to her collar and tugging it down, peeling her dress down in front. That's one way to do it, she supposes – there's a zipper along the side, but as his hands cup her breasts she decides it's really not necessary.
Robin's thumbs rub over firm nipples, and they moan in tandem, pleasure skittering along Regina's skin, hastening her pace as she works those last few buttons free and pushes the shirt off his shoulders. Robin sits up slightly to work his arms out of it, Regina pushing blindly at the cotton of the tank top he'd had underneath it.
Their movements throw them out of the kiss and she sits back again, ripping the black cotton up and off over his head. The gesture works her own dress back up enough to mostly cover her breasts and Robin pouts at the realization. Regina would pay the dopey expression more notice if she wasn't suddenly distracted by his bare chest.
Robin, clearly determined to be similarly preoccupied, dedicates himself to pushing her dress back down, helping her wriggle her arms out of tight sleeves and leaving the whole thing bunched around her waist.
"I stand corrected; you look better with it off," she pants, and Robin grins, muttering something she's fairly certain is So do you, but he's leaning in as he says it, and then his mouth is on her nipple and her brain short circuits a bit.
He sucks and licks at her, and Regina threads her fingers into his hair, and trembles, and gasps. Her hips rock, grinding against his erection, and she's suddenly very aware once again how wet she is. She can feel herself sliding against the cotton of her thong, and moans when one of his hands drops to the hinge of her hip and thigh, grasping there and pressing her down as he rocks up. He sucks hard at her nipple and does it again, coaxing an, "Oh God, Robin…" from her.
She keeps rocking as he runs his tongue from one breast to the other, sucking at the other stiff peak until she whimpers, her teeth digging hard into her lip to keep from moaning the way she wants to (because there's no need to holler the rafters down over someone sucking her nipples, it's just that it feels sogood…). When he gives her a little nip, though, she can't help the strangled squeak that pops out, her fingers tangling in his hair again and tugging his head back so she can crush her mouth back to his.
He lets her, sinks back into the cushions with a moan and ends up with both hands on her ass again, kneading, squeezing, as their tongues taste and tangle. The kiss is wet and breathless, and by the end of it, she's ready for more, is craving one thing in particular – his tongue, elsewhere.
She wants to ask for it, there's no reason she shouldn't ask for it – and he's good at it, she knows he is, she has vivid memories of that night in London, of turning her face into his pillow to stifle herself as she'd come on his tongue. But those butterflies flare up again, rioting in her middle, choking her voice when she opens her mouth to make the request. For half a second, she just looks at him, breath held, and then she kisses him again, because it's better than gaping at him like a fish.
Robin's on to her, though, parting their lips after mere seconds, and asking, "What is it?"
He doesn't pull back, doesn't put any space between them, and Regina is grateful for it, because it means their faces are so close that they go blurry if she opens her eyes. So she doesn't, she keeps them closed to say, "Could you, um—" And then, "I stopped asking Leo to go down on me after about year two; he never really improved, and it was… just an exercise in frustration."
She has a hand half on his cheek, so she feels the way he smiles before he pecks another kiss to her lips, and urges her, "Lie back."
Regina can't help the little moan that spills out of her, or the way her hands shake slightly as she moves to do just that, climbing off his lap and settling along the sofa as Robin slips off to kneel on the floor.
Movement catches her eye, the TV, an image of a nearly empty Times Square, confetti littering the ground.
"Oh, hey—" she says; Robin looks up at her, and she smiles down and tells him, "Happy New Year."
His brow furrows, his head tilting slightly on a "Wha—?" and Regina points behind him at the TV. Robin cranes his neck around, then turns back to her with a smile and says, "Oh," and then, "I'm going to assume I was kissing you round midnight, so it counts."
Regina giggles (she's not a giggler, but she can't deny that one), and teases, "You might have to do it again – you know, just to be sure."
"Mm, I might," Robin agrees, his palms skating up her thighs and underneath her bunched dress, until he can grasp the waist of her tights, dragging them and her thong down in one easy motion. Regina shifts her legs to help him, then twists a little and tries to find that buried zipper along her side.
When Robin asks what's wrong, she mutters, "Zipper – hold on – want this off."
He says something about wishing he'd known earlier, but then his mouth is busy with the promised kisses, planting one on Regina's knee, then parting her thighs and letting the rest of them climb up, up, up, in a slow line toward her sex.
Regina's breath goes ragged in anticipation, and she finally finds the zipper, yanking at it. It's bunched and loose and doesn't want to come down but she works it halfway and decides that'll do, shimmying the dress down her hips. Robin abandons his task then, much to her disappointment, and helps her wriggle out of it, tossing it down to the other end of the couch and then reaching for her hips and giving them a little tug.
It shifts her sideways a little, gives him better access (he's good and well between her thighs now, leaving her open for him, and she watches his gaze drop down, watches him lick his lips). She's diagonal on his cushy couch, her head in the corner where the arm meets the back, her back supported by the deep cushion, her right foot finding purchase on the coffee table and spreading her open even more for him.
She feels his fingertips tracing gently at the top of her thigh, up, over, down her sex, and he murmurs, "God, you're wet," as his digits sink down along where she is, yes, so very, very, wet.
"Mmhmm," she sighs, her breath catching as she watches him bend his head down. She can't really see him – the light is low, and his face is in a shadowy place, but she can feel the moment he makes contact with her, his tongue licking gently at her clit. All the air rushes out of her, one hand dropping to cup loosely at the back of his head, and then he licks at her again and she moans.
This is going to be quick. She can already tell. Her clit is so sensitive, so responsive to every lick, her thigh twitching when he sucks softly, a little whine sounding in the back of her throat. He sucks again, longer, slower, sucking her in and then pulling back until she slips from his lips, and Regina lets out this sound, this throaty "guhh…" He does it again ("Mmmmnahh…") and once more ("Oh God …") and then he switches to these tapping little flicks of his tongue, right against her clit, and she lets out an "OH!"
The pleasure zings under her skin, sparking little currents of it with every flick of his tongue, making her hips twitch and jerk, making her cry out. And then there are strong hands on her hips, holding her still as he sucks at her once, then goes back to that flickering lick, and Regina feels a rush of shivers and then a bloom of heat, and then it swamps her.
She comes with another cry, her fingers clenching in Robin's hair, and there is no way, no way in hell or anywhere else that she is going another decade without having her clit licked. To her utter delight, he's not stopping, just holding her hips tighter and licking harder, faster, until she's writhing and moaning and gripping the couch cushions as she quakes under the onslaught.
He keeps it up until her gasping cries become plaintive little whines, until she's squirming and breathing, "Too much, too much." He turns his head, then, sucking a damp kiss to her inner thigh, and Regina goes boneless. He gives her another kiss, another, another, the hands that had been at her hips moving to stroke up and down the outside of her thighs as she tries to catch her breath.
"My God…" she pants; his answering chuckle puffs air against her sensitive skin and she shivers, then laughs when he has the audacity to ask if that was good. Regina lifts her head and grins down at him, asking, "You couldn't tell?"
There's just enough light for her to make out his face (smug, and rightfully so) as he tells her, "I could, but it's still nice to hear."
She pushes playfully at his head, thinking what a delightfully flirty idiot he is. But he's earned a little praise, that's for damn sure, so she tells him, "It was incredible. I'm sorry it was so quick."
Robin bends his head to kiss her thigh again, the other one this time, and murmurs, "I'm glad to hear it; I wasn't finished."
His fingers find her then, first one, and then another, and then both together sinking into her and drawing out a gasp. She "Oh" s in pleased surprise, eyes dropping shut as they begin to move. But when he bends his mouth to her again, his tongue stroking along her clit, the sensation has her hissing and twitching and gasping, "Not yet. I need—" she swallows dryly "—I need a minute. And maybe some water."
Robin sits back, his fingers still pumping lazily inside her as he reaches for the half-empty bottle of champagne, taking a quick sip of it himself before offering it over.
It's not water, but it's wet, it'll do, so Regina takes it and gulps down a few swallows. It's not very cold anymore, and it fizzes and bubbles in her throat, but it gets rid of the dryness and gives her over-sensitive nerve endings another minute to settle.
She sets the bottle down on the floor, since Robin's hands are busy at the moment – one inside her, one holding her thigh as he plants another little cluster of kisses in the center of it. Regina had no idea how much she enjoyed having her thighs lavished in kisses until tonight, but now she's not sure she can ever live without it again.
Once she's settled, he moves back in, those kisses climbing up, up, his arm shifting to drape over her hips and hold her steady for him as the movement of his fingers grows more pointed, firmer, a little quicker. He's not quite where she needs him, but he's close, and she can tell he's looking, seeking, testing different angles and depths until he finds the one that makes her moan deep in her throat. He presses again just there, harder, and her thighs clench, her back arching, and she hears a low, "Right there?" as she scrunches her eyes shut.
"Right there," she breathes in confirmation, delicious little pulses radiating out from his fingers and drawing more little moans from her throat.
She feels his breath on her sex a moment before his tongue finds her clit again, and this time it's not that squirmy pleasure-pain, it's just good. Regina moans encouragingly, fingers tangling in his hair again and holding him to her as he stirs her up.
For several minutes, this is all she's aware of – just Robin's tongue experimenting with all the ways she likes her clit teased while he thumps right against her G-spot. He gives her these hard, petting licks, and softer, fluttery ones that make her gasp and tremble and whine. He likes those, or rather she likes those, so he keeps returning to them every few seconds, even when he starts to suck at her – hard, and then soft, and then quick, pulsing little sucks that have her hips pressing up against the arm over her middle, his name like a mantra on her lips.
And then those little licks that both soothe the intensity and rile her up even more, and there is not a single thought in her head except More…
When his fingers change pace, it's all over. She's a moaning, whispering mess already, and then he starts fucking her faster, harder, switches to those pulsing little sucks on her clit again, and she's a goner. The cry she lets out this time puts her first orgasm to shame, a throaty shout of, "OH, yes!" as she curls in on herself and holds him tight against her with her grip on his hair.
Her brain shuts off for a second, she's all body, all pleasure, all noises that would embarrass her with their eagerness if she had any mind to care at the moment.
But she doesn't, God, she doesn't, it's all bliss.
And then he eases off, and she collapses into the cushions, sweaty and panting and so, so happy she came home for Christmas this year.
Fuck.
That was…
Christ.
He's kissing up her body now, fingers slipping out of her and drawing a damp trail up her torso until they can cup her breast. He sucks her nipples again, and she whimpers and laughs softly, because, God, they're not even done yet, not even close to done, and she already feels like there's stardust in her veins.
She's tingling, her thighs shaky, her limbs clumsy as she tugs him up the rest of the way for a proper kiss. She can taste herself on his tongue, can feel the dampness on his beard, and it makes her moan and clutch him tighter.
His mouth veers off down her jaw, her neck, and his voice is low and needy when he pleads, "Regina… I want you."
She nods, and scrapes her fingers along his scalp, then urges, "Bedroom. I don't want to have sex on the couch."
Robin's tongue swirls over her still-racing pulse, and then he agrees.
.::.
Robin is so hard he's fairly certain he could cut glass.
Listening to her, feeling her, tasting her on his tongue, fuck, God, he doesn't think he's ever been more turned on in his life. For a second there during her last orgasm, he'd thought he might suffocate between her thighs, her grip pressing his face hard against her, her thighs closing around his ears as she'd shouted and twitched, but, God, what a way to go.
And now she's lying there all debauched on his sofa (will he ever be able to sit here again without thinking of this and getting a rager of a stiffy?), running a hand through her own hair as she catches her breath.
"I just need to get feeling back in my legs and then we'll go," she tells him with a dopey smile, and he can't help feeling rather proud to have worked her up into such a state. Especially considering that useless tosser of a man she was married to hadn't managed to in, oh, nine years or so.
What a bloody waste, is all he can think. Having this gorgeous woman in your bed and not taking full advantage of every possible way to enjoy her body. She looks every bit as amazing in her birthday suit as she had the first time he'd seen her this way, and if it didn't make him feel like a bit of a creep, he'd just sit here and stare at her for a while.
Instead, he runs one hand along her calf, drops the other to "adjust" his trousers, rubbing over his cock for a moment to give himself some relief.
"You are so gorgeous," he murmurs, and her smile warms, her head shakes.
"I'm sure this isn't my most flattering angle," she tells him – it's a load of lies, that, but before he can tell her so, she's sitting up and reaching for him, pulling him in for another warm kiss. He can't get enough of kissing her, now that he's started. He's kissed away all her lipstick, has grown rather fond of the way her breath catches when he gives that lower lip a gentle nibble, but if she winds her legs around his waist like she's doing right now, they'll never make it to the bedroom.
So Robin summons all his self-control and reaches for her knees, urging them apart and scooting back, repeating her earlier order of, "Bedroom." And adding, "Before I ravish you right here on the sofa."
Regina giggles – and who knew she had that sound in her. He hasn't heard it since they were in college, that smitten little giggle. Not since she and Daniel were snuggled up on the opposite side of a booth at Granny's while he and Marian were much the same.
He doesn't want to think of them now, though – his past love, and hers – not when he's about to lead her to his bedroom and have his way with her.
He pushes the thought aside and stands on knees that creak from too much time spent on them (he doesn't regret going for that second orgasm, not for a moment, not even with the way he's beginning to ache with need). But when he looks back at Regina, she's drawn an arm across her torso, her lip caught in her teeth as she glances tentatively up at him.
"What's wrong?" he asks her. Please, God, don't let her be changing her mind now. He might die of need.
Regina doesn't answer at first, just fumbles around along the back of the cushions for a second, and then the dewy glow of her skin nearly disappears on him as she shrugs into his button-down. She fastens only the middle button, but it's still far too much.
"I'm very naked," she points out, "And you're not."
Robin glances down and realizes she's right – he's still in socks and trousers while she's completely starkers. Or was, anyway. His borrowed button-down seems to have shifted the balance enough that she's comfortable again, because she's standing and pressing against him, her hands dipping down into his back pockets and squeezing before she murmurs, "Bed. Now."
Robin is only too happy to oblige.
His bedroom is not far, by any means, but it takes a bit longer than usual to get there, what with all the times they stop to trade warm kisses, his hands stealing beneath that shirt to grope at her ass, her breasts. She reaches for his belt when they're halfway there, unbuckling it and popping open the button of his trousers before he's pushing her along the way again.
By the time they reach the bedroom, he's unzipped, too, and she's already snuck a hand down to give his cock a quick rub that had them both moaning into each other's mouths.
He flips the light on, for once grateful that the switch goes to his bedside lamp rather than the brighter stand lamp in the corner. He wants to see her (desperately wants to see her), but the transition from the low light of the living room to the white fluorescent in the bedroom would have been jarring. Thankfully, that bedside lamp is muted and warm, inviting even.
Speaking of inviting, Regina leaves him there by the door and heads for the bed (he's busy shoving his pants and shorts down now, then bending to tug at a sock). She sits, then releases that single button and lets the shirt gape open to reveal her toned belly, her stiffened nipples.
Robin's jaw goes slack at the sight of her, at the way she leans back onto her hands and tilts her head a little, teasing him to, "Hurry up. I have some sinful things of my own in mind."
Right, then.
Robin reaches down to yank off his other sock, eager to get back to her. Perhaps a little too eager, in fact, because he overbalances slightly and wobbles, shooting a hand out to the wall to steady himself.
He hears her stifled laugh before he sees it, looking up to find her trying to school the smirk off her face.
"Shut it, you," he grins, finally getting that sock off and prowling toward her as she insists with faux innocence that she didn't say a word. Robin chuckles and shakes his head, telling her, "I heard you laughing."
She's grinning up at him when he closes the distance between them, cupping her jaw and kissing her warmly. She hums against his mouth, shrugs out of his shirt, and wraps her arms around his neck. But when Robin leans in to ease her back toward the mattress, she breaks the kiss with a shake of her head.
"I want to be on top," Regina whispers, and, well, who is he to argue with that?
He breathes, "Okay," kissing her again before they rearrange themselves. Robin stretches out along the mattress, watching as Regina straddles his hips, her hand dropping down to pump his cock slowly. He's starved for touch after being so focused on her, so even just that has him arching a little and letting out a quiet groan. He has no idea how he's going to last once he's inside her.
It's a problem that's not helped by the way she she murmurs, "I'll be right back," and scoots further down the bed, wrapping her lips around his head and sucking him in slowly.
Robin breathes out a soft, "Christ, Regina," as his toes curl.
She draws back until she can circle her tongue over his tip (he swallows down a moan and fights not to twitch), then she bobs up and down a few times before pulling off slowly, sucking firmly as she does. Robin lets loose a ragged breath and fists the sheets, then chokes out a laugh when she murmurs teasingly that she did say she wanted to do better things with her mouth.
"Fucking wonderful," he tells her, but when she bends to take him in her mouth again, he brings a hand to her jaw and stops her. "I can't," he swallows, thumb running over her chin, her lower lip. "I hate to admit it, but I have some concerns about my ability to last, and that feels too good. I don't want to pop too soon."
"Mm," she hums, nipping at the pad of his thumb. "We'd hate to have a repeat of my performance."
Robin chuckles, then breaks off into a quiet moan when his thumb disappears between her lips, her tongue swirling around it as she sucks it in, teeth grazing as she draws back.
"Stop that," he whispers, sounding not at all like he means it. But it had made his cock pulse and jerk slightly, and he's trying not to overheat and come like a schoolboy here.
Regina just grins, very much aware of what she's doing.
It crosses his mind then that she'd told him earlier she hasn't had good sex in a decade, and Robin finds himself suddenly angry on her behalf. Nobody this sexy should be spending their prime having mediocre sex, it's like a crime against nature.
But that was then, and this is now. And now, Robin is determined to give her a thorough seeing-to.
So he reaches for her, urging her back up until they're kissing heatedly again, her thighs on either side of his hips again, his hands full of her breasts again. On a break for air, she murmurs, "We don't need a condom, unless you want…?"
"God, no," he moans, stealing another kiss from her. "I want to feel you."
She nods, her mouth pressed against his again, his bottom lip being sucked at and treated to a teasing bite. Robin reaches down between them, grasping his cock and dragging it through her wetness, rubbing the head against her clit. His breath hitches, or maybe it's hers, maybe it's both of them, and then there are soft fingertips against his length, guiding him home.
When she lowers herself onto him, she releases this throaty moan of satisfaction that would have him feeling incredibly smug if he wasn't so focused on how bloody amazing she feels. She's hot and slick around him and fuck, God, it's been so long. Robin grips her hips hard; he needs a minute—just a minute—to rein himself in, so he doesn't spill over almost immediately when she starts to slide that wet heat all around his eager cock.
She's still close enough to kiss, leaning in and covering his mouth with hers again, their tongues tangling. There's an intimacy to it now, a closeness that hadn't been there even moments ago. But it's there now, as she rocks her hips just enough to work him deeper inside her, until they're pressed snugly together. Their lips part with a wet little smack, Regina's brow pressing to his as she whispers, "You feel so good."
"You, too," Robin groans, finally letting go of her hips and letting his palms run down her thighs and back up.
She asks, "Can I…?" and Robin nods, and swallows.
And then she starts to move.
It's slow at first, Regina drawing up until it's only his tip left inside her, then sinking down with another of those appreciative moans. Up again, and then down. When she sits back a moment later (she sinks down even deeper onto his cock and gasps), Robin drops his gaze to watch them come together and apart, over and over. He probably shouldn't, because she feels like a fucking dream, and watching her take him in again and again, knowing that it's her, that it's them… It's not helping his self-control any.
But Robin has missed this – has missed her, silly as that sounds – and he wants to savor the moment. So he watches them, watches her, as she picks up the pace a bit, riding him a little faster, a little harder. Her breathing is ragged (his is, too); when he looks up, their eyes meet, and he moans at the sight of her – mouth open, jaw slack with pleasure as she fucks him. She's got her hands braced on his belly, and as she moves even harder, even faster, Robin feels her fingers curl, her nails digging into his skin as she lets out this unbearably sexy little cry and tips her head back.
"Oh, you feel—! My God, Robin…. Mmm!"
She's nirvana, she's bloody heaven, the feel of her around him, the heated, slick slippery slide of her. She's still soaked from before and it's as if she's only getting wetter as she takes him more eagerly – and God is she ever eager, especially when Robin brings a thumb to her clit, rubbing it in rhythm with the pace they've set.
"Oh, God, yes! Mm! Just like— Oh, there, right there, oh God there…" she babbles, lifting a hand to fist the hair at her crown as she ruts against him, the picture of wanton abandon, a bloody goddess, a queen, God, she's incredible. The pace she's set is wonderful, maddening, and he can feel the pleasure churning low in his gut, can feel his balls growing tighter as she moves over him, her breasts bouncing right in front of his face, tempting him, God, she's so gorgeous.
Robin lifts his head just enough to catch a nipple between his lips and suck firmly at it, groaning as Regina responds by moaning encouragements and riding him even more enthusiastically.
Fuck, this is too good.
She switches to these shorter thrusts – deep, but not as long, and quicker than before, and Robin has to stop watching her. It feels too good, and she looks incredible, and he can tell that she is loving this, but he's not sure she's there yet, not sure she's about to come – and he just might be if he's not careful. So he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the feel of her, the sound of her, fuck, this is not helping. She's moaning and gasping, and so warm and so wet, and oh God, oh, fuck…
Robin feels that telltale tightening low in his groin and reaches for her hips, pulling her up and off him on her next rise – much to her chagrin.
"What's wrong?" Regina pants, frowning down at him; for a second all Robin can do is shake his head.
Then he says, "I'm too close, I have to— Let me eat you out for a minute."
He doesn't have to offer twice.
Regina lets out a little moan of anticipation and nods, climbing up his torso (she presses kisses all the way up, bites at one of his nipples and makes him arch and groan) while he scoots down a bit so she can straddle his face. Robin wraps his arms around her thighs and tugs her down to him, running his tongue through her folds and then sucking at her clit.
He doesn't waste time teasing, doesn't try to draw this out – he's aching to come, and they've already had plenty of foreplay. This is about reaching that peak, now, so he sucks at her a few times, then switches to that quick, firm flicking of his tongue against her clit that had made her come the first time.
The sound she lets out is absolutely glorious, a high, keening sort of moan, and her fingers end up back in his hair, one hand tangling there and gripping, tugging. Her hips start to rock, jerking a bit here and there, but definitely grinding against him as well, and Robin has to tighten his grip on her as he sucks hard at her clit again and makes her shout.
"Oh, God like that like that – oh! – mm! – fuck, Robin, I'm close…"
Thank Christ.
He moans around her clit – this is what he'd been waiting for, for her to be that little bit closer while he was that little bit further off. So he gives her one final, sucking kiss and then drops his head back and tells her to, "Fuck me, darling."
Regina scoots down, reaches for his cock again and then takes him to the hilt with a pleasured cry.
"That's it," he urges, hands on her hips for a moment while she finds her rhythm, and then he's sending one down to her clit, one up to tease a nipple. "Oh, fuck, you feel incredible, love…" She gasps You, too! and cries out again, and Robin moans, rubbing her clit harder and urging, "Come for me, come on me, you feel so good, d-darling – oh fuck – mm! Oh, love, I'm – mm! – I'm gonna—"
Fuck, fuck, he hadn't spent long enough not fucking her, he's still too close to hold back while she's rutting so enthusiastically on top of him.
But thankfully she lets out this uninhibited moan of pleasure and chases it with a gasped, "Me too! Oh, mm! Me toooo," and he thinks he can hold out for her. He hopes he can.
Robin grits his teeth against the tightening, churning need in his gut and presses his thumb harder against her clit. But after seventeen seconds (he knows, because he's started to count them as a distraction to hold himself back), she still hasn't come and he's so close he can practically taste it.
He's been rocking up to meet her thrusts for a while, but now he reaches for her hand, nudging it down between her thighs, his voice rough and needy as he pleads, "Rub your clit for me."
He sees Regina's brow knit slightly, but she does it, slides her fingers down to where his had been and rubs at herself.
Perfect.
Robin moves both hands to her hips, shifts to plant his feet on the mattress and on her next pass down, he fucks up into her, hard. Regina lets out a startled cry, but a good one, and nods frantically as Robin does it again, again, again, going for broke in the hope it'll get them both where they need to be.
It's maybe a dozen thrusts before she's stiffening and letting out a wail of pleasure, her hand losing its rhythm between her thighs as orgasm grips her. Her hips jerk and pitch in his grasp but Robin holds tight, riding out the wave as long as he can, biting into his bottom lip until he tastes copper, because Regina is damn near screaming at the pleasure of him fucking her through her orgasm.
When he can't take it anymore – his heart hammering, his cock aching, his balls tight, his skin sheened with sweat – Robin drives deep one more time and lets himself come inside her with a loud groan. The release is ecstatic, pleasure pinging through his body like a well-served pinball, knocking through his middle, his limbs, everything. He fucks up into her for another few deep passes as he spills everything he has into her, and then they both collapse. Utterly spent.
Regina flops down onto his chest with a grateful moan, her skin slick and hot just like his, their chests and bellies pressing into each other as they pant heavily.
Robin lifts a suddenly-heavy hand to tangle in her hair and urge her toward him so he can press a kiss to her brow. Regina tilts her head up with a quiet moan, one hand tugging his head down until they can kiss lazily again, tongues tangling languidly, lips pressing, sliding, catching, releasing.
Eventually, their mouths part, noses bumping tenderly before Regina shifts up off her knees with a little grunt and stretches out along Robin's side, one of her legs sliding between his. She pillows her head on his chest, over his still-slowing heart, and begins to trace patterns over his skin with gentle fingertips, the tickling sensation combining with the chill of drying sweat to raise goosebumps across his skin.
It's quiet and tender, a sort of peaceful hush he's reluctant to break, but he can't help wondering if she's cold (he rakes his fingers lazily down her ribs, and she shivers and presses closer to him). Robin nuzzles into her hair, presses a kiss there, and asks softly, "Do you need a blanket?"
"Mm, I'm alright," she rasps, her voice warm and velvety; it hits Robin somewhere in the middle of his chest, the sound of her, the intimacy of the moment. He has a truly terrible thought: They should have done this sooner.
It's ridiculous – they couldn't have. One or the other of them had always been taken. But lying here like this, with her, he can't help thinking of all the other times he's seen her, all the ways they've ebbed and flowed throughout the years, and one thing is suddenly crystal clear: He has wanted her, far more than he ought to have, for far longer than he'd care to admit. Having her pressed against him now feels right, like it ought to be this way all the time.
It's far too sappy a thought for a New Year's romp, especially considering she's leaving the day after tomorrow.
Robin tries to push the thought from his mind – she's here now, and he wants to enjoy every moment of that while he can. So he tightens his arm around her shoulder and sighs, murmuring, "Marian, forgive me—" Regina lifts her head at that, her brows risen up and a look of questioning suspicion on her face as if she thinks she's about it have to remind him she is not, in fact, Marian. "—but I've wanted to do that since that Christmas a decade ago."
Regina snorts a laugh, dropping her forehead to his chest as her shoulders shake. When she lifts her head again, she's looking at him in amused disbelief, her voice colored with it, too, when she says, "Wow… You really went there, huh?"
"No use lying about it now," Robin figures, shrugging his shoulders as best he can.
Regina's smile softens, goes a bit more wry, as she agrees, "Mm. I suppose."
She shifts a little, wriggles up and settles her elbow across his shoulder, propping her head on her hand. The move makes him suddenly aware of the slippery wetness that had been leaking from her and onto his thigh.
He's not particularly bothered by it – the opposite, in fact. It brings him back to the moment he'd finally let go inside of her, to that punch of bliss, the relief of release. He's barely caught his breath from having her and he wants her again. And again.
That desperate ache for her to stay here in Storybrooke with him resurfaces; he doesn't want her to drive away from this town again and stay away for months on end.
But she will, he can't help that, so Robin pushes it down, back, and focuses on the past instead of the future. He strokes the length of her spine as he muses, "I'm not really sure how we managed to stop ourselves that night, to be honest. I loved her, but, God, I wanted you."
The corner of her mouth turns up in something he wouldn't call a smile, not with the air of self-loathing beneath it. It's not the look he wants her wearing while she's still damp with sweat and leaking his cum. Maybe he shouldn't have brought this up at all.
She doesn't seem angry, though – not even when she mutters, "I think the moment of clarity that you were about to cheat on your fiancée, with one of herfriends, was a sobering realization for both of us."
"True," he concedes. "It definitely was that. I'm still sorry that it did so much damage to your friendship with her."
Regina frowns, her brow furrowing, her lip jutting out in a confused pout that he very much wants to kiss (not the time, he thinks – not while they're talking about this).
"Why are you sorry?" she asks him; she's always blamed herself, he knows, and he wishes she wouldn't.
"Because I kissed you first," he reminds, just in case she's forgotten that it was him who'd been first to give in to the alcohol-soaked temptation.
"I kissed you back," Regina counters. "I could have stopped you – I should have stopped you."
"You were upset," he says to her, trailing his fingers up her shoulder, over her neck and into her hair (she shivers, and sighs). "And drunk."
Robin scratches lightly at her nape in a way that makes Regina's eyes slip shut, her voice a soft sigh as she tells him, "No excuse."
They lapse into silence again for a moment – she's right, they hadn't had an excuse, and they both know it. Nothing other than too much whiskey, too much latent attraction. Too little self-control. But it was ages ago, a lifetime ago – literally, for the injured party. Rehashing it is pointless, so he decides to simply… stop.
To lie here with her instead, without the grip of ghosts, and study the way she breathes when he scratches just there and just so. The way her tongue slips out to wet her lips. The way her mascara is smudged a bit beneath her lashes.
She shifts a little, presses closer to him, and he thinks perhaps she's finally getting cold (and if she's not, he is – she's a warm blanket but she only covers so much). So he pecks a kiss to her lips and murmurs, "Let's get under the covers, darling."
Dark eyes flutter open again before she nods, and pulls back (he shivers; her nipples draw tight), and then he's tugging down flannel sheets and a cozy quilt and burrowing their bodies beneath them. They end up on their sides, facing each other, her thigh slung over his hip, his palm cupping the curve of her ass.
She has a hand wandering his ribcage, his side, his hip. It's lulling, cozy; his eyes begin to droop.
And then she asks curiously, "Did you ever tell her about London?"
Robin blinks rapidly to rouse himself, sucking in a breath and squeezing her rear, and then telling her, "Not until after that Christmas. She'd wanted to know if it was the whiskey, or if there was something more between us. I figured it wasn't fair to lie to her while I was coming clean. But I told her it was just the one time, and that it was… only physical."
It had been, mostly. Had been a twist of fortune that they'd both been in the city at the same time, that he'd reached out to her. He'd never meant for them to end up in bed together, neither of them had. But broken hearts are magnetic, and rare opportunities to indulge curiosities mustn't go to waste.
If memory serves, they'd been hitting his father's mulled wine rather indulgently, too. (It occurs to him that every time they've ended up in each other's arms there's been alcohol involved, tonight included, and he wonders if that says something about them.)
Regina's gone quiet, aside from a single nod after what he'd said. She's staring intently at his shoulder, her fingers still spiraling somewhere near his kidney. He wonders if she's perhaps a bit too quiet, and hopes that he hadn't managed to somehow offend her with his answer.
Glutton for punishment, he can't help asking, "Was it? For you?"
She blinks, like he's startled her out of her thoughts, and asks, "Was it just physical?" Then, off his nod, she says slowly, "It was… comforting. I wasn't ready yet to move on from Daniel. Not in any real way. But I missed being touched, being close to someone – someone I liked. I didn't want a one-night stand with a stranger, I wanted… well, what we did, I suppose. Something with no strings, but at least some amount of feeling. So I guess it wasn't only physical, but it wasn't… I wasn't…"
She flounders a bit, her brow pinching as she tries to verbalize her meaning, but she needn't bother.
"I get it," he tells her, lifting his hand to tuck a lock of hair back behind her ear. "It was complicated."
Regina smiles appreciatively, her fingers pressing against his back in a little squeeze.
"Exactly," she says, and then she seems to relax, her fingers taking up their wandering again as she asks, "What about you? Was it… more than you let on at the time?"
"It was complicated," he repeats, with a wry smile. "I loved her, even though we were broken up for that little while. That had been her choice, not mine. And I loved you too, as a friend. I'd always wanted you, wondered what it would be like to kiss you, or… be with you." He pulls her closer, steals a kiss and lets his hand wander back down to cup her breast, to thumb her nipple. He bumps his nose against hers when they part, murmuring warmly just a breath from her lips, "It was a very, very fond memory. One I revisited more than is probably polite to admit."
He feels her chuckle against him, and then she's humming into a kiss, and telling him, "Me, too." Her lips meet his again, warm and seeking, so he shouldn't be surprised when she whispers between kisses, "Maybe we should… make another memory…"
He shouldn't be, but he is – pleasantly so, but surprised nonetheless. They've only just come down from their last, uh, "memory-making."
But surprise or no, he's not turning down a chance to make love to her again. So Robin grins, easing her onto her back as he agrees, "I think that sounds like a great idea."