Based on this post about Regina's insecurities, and this post in response. Regina thinks that she loves people much more than they love her. Somewhat more M-rated than my stuff usually is, but nothing graphic.

"Mmph," Robin groans, collapsing on the mattress beside her.

"Eloquent," she compliments with a raised eyebrow, turning on her side to tangle a leg between his and lay her head on his chest.

"In case you haven't noticed," he threads a hand in her hair, runs it along her neck and collarbone, over her breast and down to her hip as she shivers, "you tend to momentarily rob me of coherent speech."

Her head rises and falls with his breaths as her hand skims over his chest. "Rob you? And I thought you were the thief."

She knows he's smirking now, though she cannot see it, and it is always her personal mission in bed to keep him from smirking for long. She turns her lips into his skin, runs them up a few inches, then kisses a trail back down, and she smiles in satisfaction when his breath catches. "Only momentarily, then?" she hums.

Before she realizes what's happening, he flips over so that he is above her again, and fuses their mouths together. She groans as his tongue slides into her mouth and his hand flexes against her hip. "I guess not," she rasps, and the words trail off into a whimper as his tongue flicks at the shell of her ear and his hand tugs at her thigh to bring her leg around his hip. Her hand grabs at the back of his neck, her fingers twisting into his hair, and he growls into her ear as she tugs roughly. She chuckles, drags his mouth back to hers, and grins into the kiss when she lifts her hips and he hisses in pleasure.

She settles back on the bed before he can kiss her again or hold every line of their bodies together. Teasing only ever serves to make him more determined to have her writhing and gasping out his name, and she likes him determined. "A Queen does sometimes expect coherent speech to woo her," she says, her voice low and gravelly.

"Well then," he rocks his hips into hers, and she whines as her hands scrabble at his hips to pull him close before she can stop them, "perhaps I'll just have to make the Queen incoherent, too." His mouth chases hers. She smirks and turns her head at the last moment just enough that his lips meet the side of her mouth instead, "You're impossible," he gasps.

Her tongue catches between her teeth as she smirks up at him. "But you love me."

His face softens, becomes tender as he brushes his nose against her cheek. "Mhm, you know you can get away with anything when you put it like that."

Her hands tug again at his hair, sliding up until she's mussed nearly every inch of it. "I love you, Robin," she whispers. She always whispers it, as though the universe will retaliate if it hears her. He lands a gentle kiss to her temple. "I love you," he says, his throat thick; they don't say it often. There's a startling intensity to looking at each other at moments like this, open, naked in more ways than one. He feels so blessed to be the person she's let in, to get to see this side of her, to feel embraced not only by her arms but by the warmth in her eyes and the smiling quirk of her lips, and Gods he loves her, it wells up in him at times like this so strong he can forget to breathe, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can catch them.

"Marry me?"

Her head flops back onto the pillows. "What?"

He pulls back a little until his weight rests on his elbows, bumps their noses together, stares into her eyes, and he's thought about this before, but never has the nerve to say it. "Marry me."

He's taken aback as fear flickers into her expression, and then vanishes as she closes herself off from him. Hands shove at his waist until he rolls off of her. He feels cold and abandoned watching her throw his discarded shirt almost violently out of the way to reach her clothes. She yanks a robe around her body and ties it tight, as if she cannot bear for him to see her unclothed right now, as if she had not come with him inside of her, crying out his name not ten minutes earlier, as if they were not on their way to another round of mind-blowing sex before his heart overtook his head.

"Regina," he calls, when the shock has worn off enough to leave him with the power of speech. "Regina, wait."

Her shoulders tighten, but still she walks quickly out of the room.

He stumbles out of bed after her, nearly tripping as he pulls his pants on while walking and swipes his shirt from the ground, buttoning it as he follows her down the stairs.

Robin finds her in the kitchen. All of her clothes are back on, completely free of wrinkles, her hair no longer mussed, and she's busy making herself a cup of tea, her face blank and unyielding.

He leans against the counter quietly, and he knows she can sense his presence; he'll give her a moment. She sets a mug on the granite counter, rips open a teabag, drops it in the cup, all without acknowledging that he's there.

"Would you make me some, too?" he asks.

She shoots him a brief glance, too brief for him to read, but her hand reaches back up into the cabinet and a second mug and teabag join hers.

"Thank you."

She does not reply, grips the counter opposite him with both hands and stares at the stovetop. He holds onto the counter behind him and stares at her back.

The whistling of the tea kettle breaks the complete still and silence a few minutes later. When she hands him his tea, he catches her fingers, warm from holding the mug. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she shakes her head, her features still impassive, and pulls her hand out of his.

He turns to set his mug on the counter behind him, then faces her once more. "That clearly wasn't nothing."

"Robin," she sighs.

"Do you not want to marry me?"

The air between them nearly buzzes with the tension.

"You don't have to, you know, I just thought—I hadn't planned to say it, or anything." He looks at the ground. "I'm sorry."

He looks up in time to see the hurt on her face, but misses the hope that had been peeking through.

Robin sighs. "Would it really be so terrible?" He tries to grasp her hands so that he can pull her to him, and she will not let him. "Marrying someone who loves you?"

She looks frightened again, and he grabs at her hand more insistently this time.

"You don't really want to marry me. You don't want to be stuck with me," she scoffs.

"That's ridiculous, and you know it."He takes a step towards her. "I'm not going anywhere, Regina. Never."

"Aren't you? As if you've never done that before." She moves towards him until she's all but spitting the words in his face.

"You know that isn't fair, Regina," and he's angry now, anger so deep his voice goes low and dangerous rather than loud, "We swore we wouldn't bring that up when we fought!"

"Well then I guess I've broken a promise to you as well. It feels wonderful, doesn't it? When you trust someone and they break your heart."

"Regina!" he yells, his hand still around her wrist, and she yanks it free, hears his gasp as she twists his wrist at a sharp angle. He doesn't know how the bliss of this morning has dissolved into hurling the most malicious things they can think of at each other like weapons. His eyes search hers, struggling to find some clue as to the real source of her pain.

"Will you please stop treating me like I would run the first chance I got? I asked because I love you."

The anger seems to bleed right out of her, leaving resigned agony in its wake as she backs a few steps away. He has somehow found the crux of the argument, he thinks, but he cannot imagine—

Her lips tighten as she continues, her voice harsh and bitter and a little broken, "I have always loved you more than you love me."

And the anger returns. "Don't you dare," he bellows, taking a quick stride towards her. "Don't you dare say that to me."

"Say what, the truth?" she snarls coldly, the fear and hurt shuttered away again, "yes, I know how you hate it when I do that."

"How could you—how could you say that to me? How could you think that? You know that is not the truth!" He feels betrayed, has no room for anything else—as though she has taken all of his love and thrown it into his face, told him it doesn't matter.

Tears begin to cascade down her cheeks, leaving him stunned, and the anger and hurt falls away, transformed into guilt. She actually believes it. She gasps in a sob before it can escape, and he hates the way she looks resigned to this, as if she's always expected it to happen eventually, as if she's always known he would hurt her.

"Regina?" he breathes. He raises a tentative hand to her cheek, and she turns her face away from him. "Regina, please," he sighs, and this time when he reaches for her, she lets him pull her into his chest and hides her face there. He wraps his arms tightly around her shoulders, tilting his cheek against the top of her head. "I'm sorry. I love you," he whispers. He cradles her face and ghosts his lips over her forehead. "I'm sorry you've ever doubted it. I love you so much," he breathes, a kiss to each cheek, "You are," to the point of her chin, "more beloved," to the tip of her nose. His lips chase away the tears drying on her cheeks, "more precious to me," a kiss to her pulse point, and her eyes flutter shut, "than you could possibly imagine," he brushes a kiss against each eyelid, "And I promise to tell you that every hour of every day until you believe me," her hands clutch at his back as he tilts their foreheads together, "and every hour after."

She smiles tearfully, cups his jaw with both hands.

"I'm sorry, too." Her brow furrows, and she reaches for and cradles his wrist. "Did I hurt you?" she asks.

He shakes his head, but she brings the wrist to her lips anyway, slips her fingers between his. He sweeps the back of his hand against her cheek. "I asked you because I love you. I asked because I trust you so much with this," he puts their joined hands above his heart. "I didn't think through…our track record with marriage is complicated, yeah? I thought we could create something new, but I would never want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"I know."

He cradles the back of her head, and their gazes lock together for a few moments.

"The tea will be cold," she murmurs, still staring into his eyes.

He laughs softly with her. She lets out a ragged breath as he smooths hair behind her ear, kisses her forehead. "I'll make you some more, then."

She lifts a hand to caress his cheek, and the determination in her gaze startles him. "Ask me again," she breathes.

His hands freeze where they had been running up and down her back. "Are you sure? You know that I don't need anything from you except that ridiculously wonderful heart of yours."

"I know," she smiles, her determination growing, "Ask me again." He reaches up a hand to brush a tear off her cheek, lets his thumb linger there to caress her skin.

"Regina, my love," he lifts both of her hands to rest against his chest, and lets out a shaky breath as her fingers curve into him and the smile grows on her lips, "marry me?"

"Yes."

A smile begins to stretch his face until she would swear the very sun could be powered with that look. She giggles, and cannot even find it in herself to be embarrassed. He pulls her into a powerful hug, his arms as tight around her as he can make them. They kiss, a few gentle pecks that lengthen into her tongue swiping against his teeth and his teeth catching on her lips, and when she pulls back he's gaping at her.

"Speechless again?" she teases.

He smirks, runs a finger reverently against her lips. "A little." She tucks her head into his collarbone.

The insecurity may not fade completely in minutes, he could not love me as much as I love him, but she finally, finally believes that , in time, it will.