They're not two blocks from Granny's when he presses her gently to the brick of a building storefront and kisses her breath away.

She can't say that she minds.

For a minute - a solid, heart-thudding minute - they're all tongues and grasping hands and torsos pressed flush, and then she tilts her head down to gasp for air and smirks. She can't help it. She feels so... light. Sure there's the issue of Zelena's baby, but not too long ago (it feels that way anyway - it wasn't real, but she remembers all the same), she was lying in the dirt, bleeding out in his arms after he took his wedding vows to said verdant sister. So things right now are looking pretty good.

His lips brush against the tip of her nose, whiskers tickling her lip as he nuzzles down for another kiss, and she chuckles against his mouth, "I thought we were supposed to be walking in the moonlight." Her hands sneak beneath the soft leather of his jacket, skim in toward his hoodie and lift to tug at the zipper. She wants nothing more between them - there's been too much, now, for ages. But not anymore, not tonight.

"We did walk," he reasons against her lips, "and the moon is up. And I don't think your protest is genuine, milady."

"No," she admits. He's ghosting kisses over the apple of her cheek now, light, gossamer things that make her heart flutter pleasantly. Oh, she has missed this feeling - the giddiness of him. "But I'm not sure we should be making out like horny teenagers under a streetlight on Main Street."

"I'm sorry, love," he says as he draws back to look at her, but he is not sorry at all. Not one little bit. He's grinning at her. But then that grin dims a little bit, those blue eyes (dark, dark blue in the night) show a flicker of fear. "I nearly lost you - even if it wasn't true, I lost you and before I'd even found you. I beg your pardon, but I cannot stop reassuring myself that you're real, and solid, and here with me."

"I am," she whispers, worming her hands beneath the warmth of his hoodie once the zipper is free, pressing them against his shirt and then fisting them there, tugging him just that little bit closer. "I'm right here."

"And I, too. For as long as you'll have me." It's a weighted moment - one of promise and reassurance - one she wishes they didn't need. Her fingers unclench and splay along his ribcage, feel the way his lungs fill with air and then deflate.

"It's going to be a long time, thief," she tells him teasingly, that smile tugging at her lips again.

And then his smile is back, too, mischievous and sly as he says, "I do hope so. But... you may have a point about our lack of privacy." He steps back then, leaving her suddenly cold. But all he does is weave their fingers and draw her around the corner of the building, into a dark alleyway where the moonlight barely filters, pressing her into a swath of shadow that will be well-hidden from the main drag. "Can I 'make out' with you here, then?" he teases, testing this world's phrasing on his tongue.

She giggles (since when? since him, it seems), and nods. She may be a Mayor, she may be a Queen, she may be a mother with a rapidly growing teenager. But tonight, right now, she's just going to be a woman who finally has everything she needs in life, and who has, quite frankly, not had nearly enough time alone with her lover since they were reunited. So yes, tonight, she will make out with him in a dark alley, and she will not care one bit what anyone else might think of it. They're all off at Granny's celebrating anyway. And quite frankly, she's earned this.

So they kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss some more, and somehow his knee ends up snugly wedged between her thighs, pressed right up against where she's starting to throb and grow damp. Somehow his hands end up beneath her shirt - fair play, considering hers have unbuttoned him entirely and begun trailing her nails in lazy swirls over the skin of his sides, his lower back. Every time it makes him shiver she feels a little lick of satisfaction that pinballs around her body, goes to her head like good champagne, makes her dizzy and reckless in the best of ways.

Reckless in the ways that have her entirely uncaring of the fact that he's palming her breasts through the black lace of her bra, his thumbs making teasing passes back and forth, back and forth, until her nipples are stiff and aching for something more. His mouth finds her neck, leaves her no longer muffled by his kisses, so the way she gasps and sighs as his tongue traces up and down her pulse goes unchecked.

Her voice is throaty and eager when she sighs, "Robin," and digs her nails into his skin oh-so-gently.

He chuckles - the bastard - but then his thumbs are tugging at the cups of her bra, dragging them down until she's bare against the softness of her top, the calloused roughness of his fingers. He groans softly as he fills his hands with her again, skin to skin now, and his hands are so warm, so wonderful, his fingers grasping her nipples in tandem and giving them little rolling tugs.

Oh.

Her head tips back, lashes fluttering open to stare blindly up at the dark sky as he does things to her, as he teases her breasts in a way that has her moaning, has her rocking her hips against the solid warmth of his thigh, Robin pressing back in counterpoint immediately.

"I missed you," he breathes into her throat, sucking a wet kiss there before whispering, "So much."

"Me, too," she sighs, breaking off into a moan as those archer's fingers work their magic on her. "God, Robin, you have to... we have to..."

"What, my love?"

Regina swallows hard, grinding suggestively against him as she tells him, "Either stop, or keep going."

She feels his teeth against her collar, a gentle love bite, and then the hot rush of his breath in what she thinks might be a laugh. "Which would you prefer?"

That's the question, then isn't it? But it's not really a question at all. It's been too long, they've been apart too long. Decency be damned, she's celebrating their victory today right here in this alley. She answers his question by dragging her fingers along his waistband until she can reach his belt buckle, grinning at his groaning exhale as she begins to undo it.

"Keep going, then," he surmises breathlessly, and she nods, angles her mouth for his, tugs at his button, his fly. He's hard against her fingers, and soft under her touch when she finally works her way beneath his underwear, grasping him loosely and giving him a slow stroke that makes his breath shudder out.

"We have to - be quick," she manages between kisses, as Robin abandons her breasts in favor of freeing her from her own pants.

He frowns as he does it, though, pressing his forehead to hers instead of stealing more kisses. "Regina, it's been months," he argues. "I'd rather like to savor you."

She lifts one eyebrow, her brow bunching against his, as she reminds, "Public alley. People not terribly far away. Quick now, savor later."

"Mm." He's smirking, has finally made his way into her pants and reached beneath the material to squeeze her rear. "I suppose I can live with that."

Their mouths hover, not quite a kiss, as she breathes, "Oh, you suppose so, do you?" He hums an affirmative as he fuses their lips properly and there's not much in the way of talking after that. He rucks her pants down, down to her thighs, but they're tight, they don't go much further than that - it seems he doesn't need much more, though, because he's bringing a hand around front, stroking through her wetness in a way that makes her moan into his mouth, and then his fingers are inside, two of them, slipping in easily and thrusting in time to the way he kisses her (harder, faster, and oh, she's missed him, this, them).

She realizes with a little start that her hand has gone lax around his erection, and they can't have that, so she starts to stroke again, matches his rhythm until both of them are groaning, mouths sloppy, she can't wait much longer, and she wants to come with him inside her, not before.

"Robin, now," she gasps, nipping at his lip (it only makes him kiss her more desperately, not really helping her cause here).

His fingers slip out of her and push at her pants again, but there's also the matter of her boots, and it's bad enough that she's bareassed in an alleyway here, she's not sure she wants to be completely pantsless. For a moment, she regrets changing out of that dress, but the time for regrets is long past, so she simply urges him back a step and then turns to face the wall, tilting her hips back a bit to give him better access.

"Hurry," she urges, and he grunts his disapproval, but still rubs his palms along the curve of her rear, grips appreciatively.

"I want to see you," he protests, and she huffs out a little sigh. This is one of those times his chivalry is less charming, more irritating.

"Next time," she assures, looking back at him over her shoulder. "But I need you now. I'll send Henry home with Emma later, and you can spend all night having your wicked way with me, but right now-mmm."

The promise of more in short order seems to mollify him, because he's guiding his cock against her now, drawing it through her wetness and sinking the tip inside. Her teeth clamp down hard into her lip as he shifts his grip to her hips and eases in further, deeper, taking her slowly inch by inch. When he's all the way inside, his brow drops to her shoulder, both of them breathing heavily at just that - just the feel of finally being together - really truly together - after so long apart.

He turns his face in, skims his nose up the side of her neck in a way that makes her shiver, and then his lips are at her ear, his voice a little strained as he whispers, "Look at me, my love."

She cranes her head around, and he's there, right there, waiting, so close it hurts her eyes to focus on him. But then he's saying the words that make her pulse pick up, make her palms suddenly damp: "I love you."

Her breath catches for a moment, and she waits for the inevitable catastrophe, for the inevitable lightning strike of karma that usually follows anything so incredibly good and sweet in her life, but it doesn't come. It doesn't come, so she smiles, fights the ache in her neck and presses her lips to his as best she can, just once, before saying it back: "I love you."

She wishes she could see him better, now, immediately - why are they doing this in a dark alley? Why didn't she just poof them home into her nice, soft bed, where she could look into his eyes, where there wasn't that twinge in her neck and that - oh, yes - he's moving, finally, drawing back slowly, and pressing in, again, again, her toes curling in her boots at the exquisite pleasure of him inside her at just this angle, and this is fine, this is good, the bed can wait.

She turns her head forward again, lifts her arms to brace against the wall in front of her, pillows her forehead against them and rocks her hips lightly against his rhythm. He groans her name quietly, her name, God, she is so lucky, so, so lucky, finally, and then he picks up his pace, faster, faster, fast, oh, oh!

"Robin!" she gasps, nodding frantically when he asks if this is good, and then he's gripping her hips more tightly, tugging her just a bit to change the angle only slightly. It's a little change, the tiniest shift, but it is everything, takes their coupling from delicious to incredible, and has her biting into her sleeve to muffle her sudden moans. "Oh, right - right there!" she gasps, and "Robin!" again, and "Oh!" and "Don't stop!"

"Wouldn't - unh - dream of it," he swears, over the healthy sound of flesh against flesh, his hips against her ass again and again and again, and then one of his hands is leaving her hip, snaking around front, groping for her clit gracelessly. Clumsy or not, it gets the job done, and the combination of him inside her and his fingers against her and the sheer, wonderful fact that they are both here, and alive, and safe, and not about to be flung into danger again in the foreseeable future has her climbing toward that precipice of pleasure. Has her thighs shaking, and her moans rising in pitch, and oh God, oh God, she's about to - she's going to - she needs to -

He picks up the pace again, pounds into her hard, almost rough but the good kind of rough, the kind that has her pushing back to take him deeper, her fingertips digging into the rough surface of the wall as she fights not to make enough noise that they might as well be in that flood of light from the streetlamp on Main Street for all the discretion they're afforded, and just when she thinks she can't hold her cries back much longer, just when she thinks one more minute of this will have her coming undone with a volume and fervor that will completely give them away, he groans that he's close, so close, oh gods, he needs her to come for him, he wants to feel her let go. His fingers rub faster, harder, his cock pounding her deeper, faster, and that's it, that does it, has her burying her face into her elbow with a wail as her knees go weak, her eyes scrunching shut so tightly there are lights popping behind her eyelids (or maybe that's the orgasm?). She's vaguely aware of him hissing "yes," and "oh, that's it, my love," and something strained about how bloody good she feels.

Robin's fingers are tight on her hip as he comes inside her with a deep, satisfied moan, and then he slumps forward against her, one arm lifting to brace an elbow against the wall alongside her, both of them panting and sweating lightly, and Regina at least feeling thoroughly debauched. She can tick "sex in an alley" off her list of things she never thought she'd do, but has - right beneath "count Emma Swan as a friend," and "defend Snow White," and "save soul mate's ex-wife from certain death only to find out that said wife is in fact her own jealous sister."

She frowns at the little mental reassertion of reality into her post-orgasmic haze, but then Robin is nuzzling into her hair and breathing her in, and coasting one hand down to rub along her thigh, her hip, her rear, and her brain goes delightfully fuzzy again.

They don't talk, don't need to, just hover there in the afterglow together, soft touches, and one of her hands reaching back to grasp at his thigh, to keep him close - and then she feels it, a charge in the air, something heavy and… off. There's the distinct smell of ozone, and the hair on the back of her neck stands up.

"Do you feel that?" she murmurs, and he nods, presses his lips to the back of her head.

"It seems our little walk is over," he says, his voice still a bit rough (she loves it, loves that private bedroom voice, wants to hear more of it, every day, but she has an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach).

"It seems so," she agrees, as he eases himself out of her and tucks himself back into his pants, Regina straightening more fully and righting herself as well (he's a warm, wet dribble down her thigh, a slippery slickness as she turns and fastens her pants, and she couldn't be more satisfied at the feeling).

They leave the alley a moment later, after a wave of her hand has them both looking fresh and innocent and not like they've been fucking in the streets.

And then all hell breaks loose.