For OQ Angst Fest, Final Day.
Prompts used in this chapter are:
10. Why did you come back?
21. I came to say goodbye.
26. This is our last night together.
44. I'm not going anywhere.
It's shocking, how empty his apartment looks with his belongings all packed up.
He's got plenty of space here. One of the benefits of not living in a big city, he supposes. His place has two bedrooms, a spacious enough kitchen, and a standard sized living area.
He's leaving all his furniture here along with some of his clothes, towels, kitchen appliances and other staples, all in the care of his friend Will, who has graciously agreed to pack it up and send it over on a moving truck once Robin finds an apartment in Boston. He'll be staying at a hotel near the hospital, in a comfortable suite paid for by his employers while he finds a suitable place to live (their way of making up for the sudden transfer, he supposes, as it's all been happening very fast). Everything is ready to go. New job, new life. He's all set.
And yet there's this ache in his chest, this needling thing in his heart that seems to beat under one name: Regina, Regina, Regina, over and over again, to the point where it's difficult to breathe sometimes.
Right now is one of those times, on the eve of his flight out of Maine, while he goes through his checklist one more time to make sure he's got everything he needs.
He hasn't heard from her since that day, since that kiss, and he forces himself to accept that, to believe that it's okay she hasn't called, or texted, or answered any of his messages. She wants space, and after the way he's hurt her, she deserves nothing less than for him to respect her wishes.
And then there's a knock on his door, the clock striking 9PM on the dot as he rises from the couch, his glass of bourbon left unattended on the coffee table as he walks curiously to the source of the noise.
Regina is standing on the other side of his door, drenched again by the rain, this time in a tight, sleeveless red dress that hugs her curves and ends just above her knees.
It's the single most wonderful deja vu Robin's ever had.
He wants to hug her, to take her into his arms and taste her lips again, his body all the more desperate for her now that she's here, solid and real and absolutely gorgeous.
But she looks... sad.
"Regina?" he asks, worried.
She walks inside using her cane for support, and opens with, "I swore to myself I wouldn't come back here."
That makes him gulp, nerves bubbling up inside him as he asks, "Why did you come back?"
"I wanted... I..." she starts, then stops, steels herself, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly before she tells him, "I came to say goodbye."
Something drops in his stomach when she says it, a heaviness that makes it even harder to stay away from her, to resist the urge to touch her.
"I... I didn't want you to leave thinking that I hated you or—"
"I don't think that," he quickly interrupts. "And I know that I messed everything up, I understand that you need space."
"That's not why I left that night."
That surprises him, his eyebrows rising as he looks at her curiously, waiting for her explanation.
"I left because I couldn't... that kiss was... we can't be anything more, Robin. You're leaving. And I... I have so much to figure out about myself, about what I want, what life means to me now, after the accident and this long recovery, I... I don't think I know who I am anymore."
"You're a fighter," he tells her. "Regina, your life is proof that no one's path is set. You got a second chance at life, and you embraced it, you pushed yourself in ways you didn't even know you could be pushed, and you beat every obstacle. You're funny, and beautiful, and kind, and ruthless when you need to be. No matter how much you think that accident changed you, that's still who you are at your core. You're stunning, Regina. In every way."
Robin hears the clank of her cane as it falls to the floor, and watches, spellbound, as Regina takes three steps to him and crashes her lips against his.
It's like he's been drowning, fighting against the current that pushes him down towards the darkness to no avail, and suddenly with her here there is a light pulling him out of the depths, granting him the first proper breath he's had in days.
Her lips are as soft and wonderful as he remembers, kissing him desperately as he holds her tight, her went clothes soaking him as he kisses back. He feels her body press closer against his, a shiver running down his spine as her tongue tastes his, and Robin moans and plays with her hair as he savors her.
And then she stops, her breathing quick and shallow as she looks up at him. He can see this hesitation in her eyes, like she's trying to make up her mind about something, and he can't watch her leave, not again, not yet. He's not ready to say goodbye.
"What are you thinking?" he asks.
"How much I'm going to miss you," she says, her voice raspy. She kisses him again, her arms looping around his neck, her fingers playing with the hair at his nape, nails scratching deliciously at his scalp as their lips part with a wet smack. "I can't believe that this is our last night together."
"It doesn't have to be. You could visit," he offers, "I could come back to see you, we could—"
"No," she stops him. "I'm not going to start a relationship with someone who isn't here, Robin. I've enough to deal with on my own."
He swallows, nods. "I understand."
"I'm sorry," she says then, sounding truly so.
"No, don't be," he insists. "None of this is your fault, believe me. If I could go back, I'd never take the job. I'd be here. With you."
"We've always had terrible timing, haven't we?" she jokes, though the laugh she lets out is dry and humorless.
"Maybe," he concedes. "But I don't regret a single moment I've spent with you, Regina."
That makes her smile, makes her eyes sparkle with the hint of tears as she agrees, "Neither do I."
Regina sighs then, smoothes her hands down the sides of her dress and then crosses her arms over her chest, looking a bit shy.
"So—" she starts.
"Don't go," he interrupts, because he can see that survival instinct kicking in, that need to run igniting in her gaze as she catches her breath. "If tonight is all we have," he pleads, "stay."
She gives him a small smile, her hand rising to cradle his cheek, thumb rubbing over the stubble on his jaw. He leans into the touch, his eyes closing so he can just feel her for a moment.
"I'm not going anywhere," he hears her say, and there's this newfound determination in her voice that has his pulse racing.
He opens his eyes to find her still smiling at him, but looking more certain, more resolute, and he leans in slowly, his lips searching hers again. She kisses him back, and he notices the way her whole body just relaxes into him, into this unbelievable connection they share, and Robin sighs into her mouth, his hands holding her face in place as he slants his head to the side and deepens the kiss.
She tastes of whiskey tonight, a bitter hint of liquid courage, mixed with the sweetness of her, the velvety softness of her tongue, and he's aching for her, desperate to see more, to hear her moan his name, to feel her trembling as she comes while he moves inside her.
Every inch of his body is screaming to feel her. To peel off these wet clothes and touch her skin. And then she does it, grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts, ridding him of the fabric in seconds, and then he's bringing her close again, kissing her again, relishing the smoky whisky taste of her and moaning as her tongue twirls with his. He's walking her backwards down the hall, and they bump into the wall, so he keeps her there, pressed against the solid surface as he veers his head down to kiss a line along her neck, taste the hint of salt on her skin, his waist pressing into hers, making her moan when she feels his half-mast erection against her.
His hands are on her waist still, moving up and down her sides without venturing anywhere inappropriate, but then she breathes out a "Touch me, Robin," that changes that altogether. His hand moves back, wedged between her and the wall, then moves down to grasp and knead at her rear. He moans into her mouth, swallows the little whimper she gives in return as she runs her hands over his chest and then back up around his neck again, and there's that little pull again, that slight scratch of her nails that has quickly become one of his favorite things.
Robin nibbles at her bottom lip now, keeps moving that hand downward so he can grasp her thigh and hike it up around his waist. But her dress, sexy as it is, seems to thwart that plan with its tight fit, so he lets her leg fall and focuses back on her upper body. One hand moves up her side, thumb settling on the underside of her breast, and she arches her back off the wall, seeking his touch, and Robin is capable of a lot of things, but denying her is not one of them.
His hand moves higher, until he can knead at the swell of her breast, and his thumb now settles on her nipple, rubbing little circles over it through the fabric. She's not wearing a bra, and the idea that only this red layer of fabric stands between him and her breasts is too much to bear.
"Bedroom," she moans, moving away from his mouth and sucking little kisses down his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. "Please."
He groans, and resumes their walk towards his room, stumbling a little as he guides her through the door and over to his bed. When the backs of her legs hit the mattress, she stops, her hands reaching up and back to unzip that tantalizing red dress.
"No," he asks. "Please, let me."
Regina smiles at that, then turns around and moves her hair to the side of her neck, waiting.
Robin takes his time, undoing the little clasp and bringing the zipper down slowly, revealing inch after inch of tempting skin as he goes, until the zipper ends on the small of her back and the sleeveless top begins to droop down her shoulders. He helps push it down, letting the fabric fall and pool at her feet, where she's toeing off her shoes.
She stands there, shy and unmoving.
"Are you alright?" he asks, running his hand down her shoulder as he gets closer.
"No, I'm not alright," she admits.
"We can stop if—"
"No, no it's not that," she rushes to assure, and in doing so turns around to face him, but Robin's eyes are steady on hers, refusing to venture down until she's explained what she's feeling.
A deep breath, another, and then she finally says, "I haven't... been with anyone since before the accident, my body is... I'm not exactly confident right now."
"May I?" he asks, taking her hands in his and gently pulling them away from where they're pressed against her chest to cover it.
Regina nods, and lets him look, biting her lip nervously as he kneels down before her. There are scars, some from surgery, some from cuts that went deep enough to leave a reminder on her skin; most of them are small now after so long, but they are there, marking her, and somehow she thinks that's ugly, that it's... unpleasant to look at, when in fact it's the most beautiful thing about her.
He kisses the more familiar scars first, the long, thin line over her right thigh (glass from the car had cut deep there), the smaller line over her left knuckle where her hand dangles at her side, the little cuts all over the side of her left leg... and then he sets about discovering the new ones, punctuating his words with a reverent kiss on each of them.
"You," he kisses, "are exquisite," and kisses. "This is who you are," another kiss. "This is proof of what you've overcome," one more. "And it's absolutely beautiful."
When he looks up at her, there's a tear running down her cheeks, and he kisses the little scar on the left side of her belly, then hooks his fingers on either side of her black lacy underwear and begins to pull it down.
She's gorgeous. In every sense of the word. Her skin and her lips and her body, all of it, every bit of her soul that shines through her watery eyes as she looks down at him are beautiful, and Robin wishes for nothing more than to worship her.
But he knows she's still overanalyzing everything, going through scenarios and possibilities in her head, her heart shying away from him as he stands and tries to catch her gaze. She looks away, avoiding him, and that just won't do.
He cradles the side of her face with his hand burying his fingers into the hair behind her ear and anchoring her to him as he begs, "Stop thinking. We're here now, and this is true."
She gasps, finding his eyes at last, and then she's giving him a little nod, and letting him bring her closer so he can kiss her, a firm press of his lips on her to ground her, to remind her that this is their moment, and regardless of what's happening tomorrow, tonight is for them.
When their lips part, she sinks into her embrace, naked and beautiful as he holds her in his arms and feels the heat of her skin seeping into his. Slowly, she pulls away and sinks into the mattress, until she's sitting on the soft covers and looking up at him. She's a dream, and Robin never wants to wake up.
Her breath is shallow, her tongue licking at her bottom lip as she watches him, and it's like her gaze is setting him on fire, heating his skin as he explores hers. He kneels before her again, his hands inching up her thighs, parting them and pulling her more towards the edge so he can settle more comfortably between them and taste her arousal.
He starts with kisses along her outer lips, little pecks here and there that make her squirm and gasp as she lies back and lets him take over, her hand seeking out her nipple and giving it a little squeeze, and damn, if that's not the sexiest thing he's ever seen.
His fingers find her clit, toy with it slowly, deliberately, teasing and testing until she grinds her hips in search for more, and he gladly gives it to her, presses his thumb on the little nub and delights in the raspy Oh! that tumbles out of her. God, he wants her so much.
His cock is hard now, aching to bury itself deep inside her and feeling her orgasm all around him, so Robin brings his free hand down and pulls it out of his pajama pants, giving himself a few good rubs as he leans in and slides the tip of his tongue from her entrance to her clit.
"Mmm, Robin!" she whimpers, and he knows without a doubt he's never heard something as sexy as his name coming out of her mouth like that. It makes him eager, needy, has him pushing two fingers inside the delicious wet heat of her as he licks at her clit again, and again, picking up speed as he hooks those fingers and searches.
When he finds that magical spot inside her, her moans get louder, longer, reedier, and her body is almost vibrating with need. Robin has never seen something so beautiful, and the stab of pain in his heart reminds him he never will again, after tonight.
God, how can he live without this now? She's here, wet and tight and ready for him to kiss and touch and fuck until they're both panting and boneless in the high of orgasm. He can't possibly part from her now.
"More," she whispers, and Robin obeys, pushing his fingers in deeper, giving that spot a firmer touch and watching her whole body shake with pleasure at the action.
In and out his fingers go, and he licks and licks until he can taste nothing but her. He sucks at her clit again, and again, and again, and when he looks up at the stunning map of her body laid out before him, he catches her pinching her nipple a little harder, her hips rolling more decisively now, almost slamming onto his hand.
Robin is entranced by the sight of her, by the sounds coming out of her, tight little moans that escape her in time with every press of his fingers against that sweet spot inside her. She's panting, babbling about how good, how amazing, how God, yes, don't stop.
He doesn't, wouldn't dare to. Not when she's moaning like this, panting his name and kneading her own breast as she gets closer and closer. He's so hard. So, so hard, she has no idea just how sexy she is, no idea what she does to him.
His fingers keep pulsing in and out of her, driving her closer and closer to the edge, his tongue moves back to her clit, flicks at it repeatedly, with as much pressure as he can muster, and then one of her hands moves down to thread into his hair, pulling there as she guides his head, and fuck, that's hot.
He sucks at her clit, moves his fingers faster, moans against the sensitive flesh when she pulls on his hair again, and it seems the vibrations from his voice hit her just right, because in seconds she's gasping, letting out these raspy little screams that have his cock almost twitching with need.
She comes on his tongue, on his fingers, and it's better than he ever imagined.
"God, I need to be inside you," he says when he pulls back to watch her, and she's writhing on the bed still, riding out her orgasm as he slows his fingers inside her, but she's nodding eagerly, breathing out a Please.
It's been fast, and deep, and wild, but as soon as he discards his pants and hovers above her, the atmosphere changes. He gets lost in her eyes, in the sorrow he sees behind the pleasure, and it hits him again, that this is the only time he'll ever get to feel like this.
He gulps down the knot that forms in his throat, breathes in deep, taking in the scent of her, sweaty and perfect beneath him.
"Stunning," he calls her, his head moving down to kiss her. It's slow, and reverent, and perfect. He savors her, relishes the warmth of her, the soft moans she lets out into his mouth as their tongues tangle and move together, his hand settling on the side of her neck, fingers toying with the hair at her nape, trapped between her and the mattress.
It's glorious, having her like this, seeing her, feeling her, and he's desperate to be inside her, to feel her walls clamp down on him as she comes again.
There are condoms on his nightstand, but when he tries to move off her to grab one, she stops him.
"I'm on the pill," she explains. "And I want to feel you."
"Are you sure? I'm safe, but we can still use—"
"I'm sure," she interrupts. "I trust you."
He gulps again, overwhelmed with how much he cares for her. An onslaught of feeling clouds his vision, has him burying his face into the right side of her neck and kissing there. His hand rests on her chest, moves down to her left breast and kneads at the swell, finds her nipple and rolls between his fingers just as he'd seen her do earlier.
She gasps, arching off the bed and into his hand, her mouth seeking him for open kisses. The glide of his skin against hers is incredible, the way her hand wraps around his bicep as she undulates her hips beneath him. And then she's wiggling out from under him, scooting up on the bed until her head lands gracefully on his pillows. Robin follows, taking his place above her once again.
At his curious smirk, she explains, "My back was hurting a bit."
"Oh, I'm sorry," he says, and tries to move off of her, but Regina stops him, shakes her head with a smile.
"I'm fine now," she tells him. "I promise. Keep going."
He chuckles at the adventurous fire in her gaze, but he listens, brings his mouth down to her neck and trails a line of kisses there, down to her chest and over her breasts, until finally, he traps one pert nipple between his lips and sucks.
"Ohh!" she whimpers as she squirms, her breath growing choppy as she encourages him with a "Yes, just like that."
He does it again, and again, pinching the other nipple between his fingers to give her more stimulation, his cock pressing between her legs and hardening even more at the silky warmth there. Robin moves the hand on her breast down between them, over the neat little strip of hair that adorns her and down just a bit further to reach her clit. He rubs tight little circles over it, moves his mouth to the abandoned nipple and treats it to those intense sucking kisses, too.
Her reactions are incredible. He'll be replaying this in his mind forever. The way she arches off the bed in search for his mouth, how she tightens her grip on his hair to keep him on her nipple, sucking and kissing until she's thrashing and begging him, "Inside me. Please, I— mmmh! Fuck me, Robin."
So he does.
If his cock could sigh with relief, it would do so right this second, as Robin positions himself above her and sinks into the wet, tight bliss of her. Regina moans as he stretches her, circling her hips up to meet him as he buries himself to the hilt. He can feel her body moving as she breathes, can pick up the acceleration of her pulse as he brings his head down to her nipple and sucks at it again, his hands planted on the mattress on either side of her head, holding his weight above her. His whole body trembles with the incredible feeling, and he gives himself a few seconds of just being inside her, of having her close and kissing her as his cock pulses for release.
And then he begins to move.
It starts out slow, and deep, and perfect, he pulls almost all the way out, until only the tip remains inside her, and then pushes back in at a measured pace, angling his hips just a little to the side so he can hit that spot again. She's so wet, so warm, and his fingers move down between them again, rubbing that wetness over her clit as he pulls almost completely out again, pushes in again, a little faster now. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking away the taste of her before he kisses her again. She moans and kisses back, her tongue almost desperate against his, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin as she orders, "Harder."
Robin grunts, a primal urge growing inside him as he picks up the pace, slams back into her with more force, satisfaction coursing through him when she reacts with a long, draw-out Yesss.
"Like that?" he asks, and he needn't really, because it's obvious that yes, like that. But he likes to hear her, needs to hear her.
"Yes, don't stop, don't stop," she pleads, almost clawing at him as her legs open a bit more and bend at the knees, feet planted flat on the mattress as she takes him in deeper.
"Fuck, you feel so— mmm— so good," he tells her, his voice gravelly and low as he says the words against her neck, kissing there for good measure as he thrusts again, and again, and again, fucking into her in tandem with her loud moans and needy whimpers.
She's an erotic marvel, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as her eyes close, her head lolling to the side, her nipples stiff and inviting. Robin sucks at them again, first the right, then the left, the back to the right, running his tongue in slow circles around each one in turn before he sucks again, his hips picking up a faster, deeper rhythm.
"God, yes, like that," she rasps. "I'm gonna— oh, fuck! I'm gonna come again."
Her tone is urgent, and he dives faster and faster into her, holding himself above her and watching, mesmerized, as she chases that high, arching off the bed and meeting his every thrust with the quick circling of her hips. Robin leans his entire weight on one hand so he can move the other down between them again, rubbing at her clit in quick, tight passes, heightening her pleasure until she's screaming and coming on his cock.
He can feel it, the way she tightens around him, wet and warm and absolutely perfect as he thrusts again, and again, until he, too, is shouting his pleasure, coming in quick bursts inside her as the cresting waves of exquisite sensation overwhelm him.
God, he wants this forever. The fact that he won't have her like this ever again is nothing but pure torture.
She's panting, catching her breath, same as him, and they both chuckle airily at each other. Robin doesn't want to move. Not yet. Not when he's still inside her. So he lingers for a moment, sinks his weight down onto her slowly and digs his elbows into the mattress on either side of her head, fingers plating with her hair as he leans in for a kiss so tender it makes that knot form in his throat again.
"What am I going to do without you?" he asks, and he doesn't realize how choked up he is until the words come out all warbly and strange. It's enough to make her look away, her eyes focusing absentmindedly on a spot on his night table, and dammit, he's messed things up again, hasn't he?
"I'm sorry," he tells her, moving out and off of her at last and collapsing beside her on the bed. "I didn't mean to make this harder."
She turns on her side to face him, and surprises him by declaring, "I won't ever regret tonight. I want you to know that."
"Neither will I," he tells her, his words dripping with honesty and feeling.
"This whole thing that went on between us—" she starts.
"Was real," he intervenes, because he's sure she's about to dismiss it, to call it a casual one night stand and be done with it, because it's easier to deny how much they feel for one another than accepting that they missed their window. But he's done more than enough denial for both of them, so instead, he insists, "My feelings for you were —are— real."
She smiles sadly at him at that and says nothing, her fingers playing with the hair at his temples. Robin sighs, bringing his forehead to hers and peppering kisses along the bridge and tip of her nose, her forehead, and finally her lips, chaste little pecks that somehow convey more than he could ever put into words.
Regina sighs and shifts closer, grimacing for a moment when she rubs her thighs together.
"I should—"
"Let me," he interrupts, jumping off the bed and walking to the other side, offering his hand to help her up. Regina takes it, walks slowly behind him to the bathroom, their hands still clasped together.
Robin starts the shower, then turns to her and wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close and breathing her in as they wait for the water to warm up. Once they step in, he grabs the sponge and soap, and Regina grabs his shampoo and starts washing her hair while his hands rub soapy foam along her skin, taking the time to explore her again, to appreciate the beauty of her body and commit it to memory.
They take turns helping the other clean up and wash away the suds. It's a melancholic moment, reverent silence surrounding them as they trade wet, soft kisses while the water pounds down on them from above, and when it's done, neither seems to want to leave the steam-filled cocoon they've enveloped themselves in.
He kisses her, slow and deep, his hands moving slowly through her hair, up and down her back, to her rear and back up, until the steam starts to dissipate and she shivers in his hold.
Robin dots one last kiss on her temple, then grabs one of the fluffy folded towels from the rack just outside the shower door, wrapping it around Regina and leaning in to touch his forehead to hers.
"I—" he starts, holding her face in his hands, but she stops him before he can say much else.
"I know," she says, wrapping her hands around his wrists, holding him there for a moment.
He breathes in deep, exhales slowly, resisting the urge to scream at the sheer injustice of it all.
Before he breaks, Robin shakes his head, pulling away from her to grab a towel for himself from the rack, and together they exit the shower and dry off in silence.
She pulls on her underwear when they go back into the bedroom, and he's about to ask her to please stay the night when she turns to him and asks, "Is it okay if I sleep in your shirt?"
"Of course," he says, delighted, and grabs her his heather gray hoodie from the closet as she pulls on the white tee she'd rid him off earlier. She pulls the hoodie on, too, and she looks nothing short of lovely like that, swimming in the cozy fabric and finding a comfy spot on his bed.
She pats the mattress, bare legs tempting him, and Robin finishes pulling on his pajama pants and joins her, shirtless, on the bed. Her arm immediately loops over his stomach, her hand caressing up and down his abs; her head is nestled on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her back, thumb rubbing up and down her arm as he lies flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering just how his life became such a mess.
There are countless romantic movies where the protagonist who is moving away chooses to damn it all to hell and stay with the person they love, and it always ends with epic music and some grand gesture and a kiss. A happily ever after. But life isn't a romantic movie, and he has a contract to fulfill. God, he wishes he'd never taken that stupid job.
It's his own fault. He was an idiot. And now, because of that, he'll never be with the woman that has stolen his heart.
"What are you thinking?" she echoes his question from earlier, her eyes trained on the movements of her hand over his torso. "I can hear the cogs turning from here."
Robin chuckles humorlessly at that, and admits, just as she did before, "How much I'm going to miss you."
She doesn't answer, doesn't say anything else, but she moves closer, holds him tighter, plants a little kiss on his chest before she rests her head back on his shoulder, and with sadness weighing them both down, they drift off to sleep without a single word.
When he wakes the next morning, she's gone, her side of the bed cold and empty, and there's a little post-it note glued to his bedside lamp, which Robin reads bleary-eyed as he tries to shake the last dregs of sleep.
It was real for me, too.
Have a wonderful life in Boston.
PS: I'm keeping the hoodie.
That knot in his throat shows up again, making it impossible to breathe, to feel anything but pain at the idea of never seeing her again.
Even as he walks through the airport that evening, he's thinking of how much he wants to turn back and go to her, to actually act like he lives in one of those stupid romantic comedies and run back home to her.
Instead, Robin checks his bags, boards his flight, and leaves his home behind.