M-ish-rated chapter. Nothing graphic.
For il-etait-une-fois-nos-reves based on this. M rated, probably.
He always does this, Regina thinks, narrowing her eyes weakly as Robin mouthes along her jaw and tugs at the straps of her bra. He always tries to distract her so that she doesn't remember he's on top, and it's not going to work. (Well, it worked this morning, and she groans and digs nails into his scalp at the memory, his forehead on hers as he held one of her wrists to the mattress and ground into her. But—no—it's not going to work right now.) She locks one ankle around his calf and rolls them so that she is on top again, keeps that hand in his hair and tugs his head to a better angle so that her lips can reach his throat, her cheeks and nose scratched with stubble.
"Robin," she whines, huffing out a needy breath as he flips them over again just when she'd started to settle, her head at the edge of his pillow now. Somehow in the minute when she'd thought him thoroughly distracted by her lips on his neck, one hand digging into his scalp and the other coasting down to his ribs, he'd managed to unhook her bra, and he tosses it carelessly onto the mattress beside them, smirking when she lifts her arms to help.
Damn that hellishly attractive smirk. She lifts her hips and turns them again—wham!
She hits the floor with a thud, Robin freezing in surprise, his weight settled on his forearms, staring at her with stunned eyes. And then they're laughing, giggling, and he nuzzles his nose into her aching cheeks, relaxing his weight more heavily against her, their fluttering stomachs pressed together as they laugh breathlessly some more.
One of his knees has fallen between her legs, wedged there as she glances up at the ceiling from the carpet and grins, meets his lips for a peck that quickly becomes more passionate, his tongue sweeping against her lips, meeting hers, before he pulls away and kisses down her chin and jaw and neck.
And she can feel that grin again on her collarbone where he has begun to swirl his tongue—the smug bastard, he thinks he has won.
She smiles at herself, for he will not see it, raises her leg higher, and flips them over again, shoving at his boxers in the process. He helps her, then encourages her to push away and kick off her own panties, sighs, his hands grasping her hips as she arches into him with a whine and her back arcs. This is Regina, the love of his life, grinning at him and gasping as she joins their bodies, and he wins either way.
Promise
Prompt: angry fighting, M-rated
"Say it," Regina orders, grinding her hips into Robin's, her hands pinning his shoulders to the wall.
"I can't—" he gasps, reaching for her, and she shakes her head, curling fingers around his wrists and slamming them into the plaster.
He whimpers as her lips and teeth find his pulse point, sucking and scraping. "I can't promise that I—"
She tears away with a groan, panting, her hands moving to bury in his hair, tugging painfully. "Say it," she grits out, nipping his jaw.
"Regina," he pleads, cupping her shoulders with both hands.
She rocks her hips forward, a dangerous half-smirk on her lips when his jerk forward to meet her. He takes her moment of distraction as a chance to wrap his arms around her waist, slowing her down, peppering kisses on her forehead, nose, cheekbone, slants his mouth over hers, her fingers fisting in his torn, dirtied, bloodied shirt. "You healed me," he reassures when they break apart and her mouth finds the underside of his jaw, "I'm perf—" her tongue flicks against his Adam's apple, and he swallows heavily, "perfectly fine."
She rips his ruined shirt off with a growl, letting it drop to the bedroom carpet, quickly followed by his scarf and belt, her lips trailing down his chest and stomach, across phantom injuries. She punctuates each word with nipping teeth or a soothing tongue. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid like that ever again."
"I promise I'll always do my best to come home to you at the end of the day. But the Merry Men were in danger, and there was nothing else to—"
Her gasp against his stomach halts his words, her forehead resting against his belly, her fingers digging into his hips.
"Regina?" he breathes as his head falls back against the wall. He reaches to cradle the back of her head.
"When David called me, I was so scared, I couldn't—I couldn't even—" She presses her lips against his stomach, suddenly shaky.
"Come here." He pulls her up to stand again, cradles her face with both hands, breathing heavily. "I'm fine, okay?"
She nods, eyes moist but not quite teary.
He sweeps a thumb across her cheekbone, back and forth, and it's soothing, mesmerizing, almost. Their next kiss is gentle, slow breaths against each other, her hands curling around his neck as her teeth catch on his bottom lip.
"It's okay to be scared," he sweeps chunks of her hair behind her shoulders, "but it's going to take a lot more than a witch with a grudge and some enchanted trees to get rid of me."
She trails the pads of her fingers over his scruff, eyes wide and vulnerable. "Promise me you'll call me next time, at least?"
"Promise," he agrees.
She arches an eyebrow, desire, fear, vulnerability, a hint of a challenge in her dark eyes. "Now will you let me kiss you?"
He burrows a hand in her hair, the other at her waist. "With pleasure, Milady."
He hums as she kisses his jaw, then his chin, and finally his lips, leverages both hands under her thighs to lift her into his arms. Her ankles lock behind him, her arms looped around his neck as he crosses to their bed in three large strides.
"I love you," she sighs as he deposits her on the mattress and crawls over her, his hands working at her shirt buttons, his lips on her collarbone.
"Love you," he returns, the words muffled against her skin. "I'm sorry I scared you."
She moves her toes up his calf, then flips them over, lowering her body onto his in a way that makes him squirm, her hand wedged between them and shoving at his trousers. "You might be able to make it up to me."
"How's th—" his words break off as she grasps him in her hand.
"You'll just have to trust me."
" 'course," he gasps, his eyes rolling back a little, his hips canting up towards her, her mouth on his neck.
"And promise you'll call me next time," she flicks her tongue against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, "instead of trying to get yourself killed."
"I wasn't trying to—mmm—I—"
"Robin," she warns, her hand halting around him.
"Promise," he rasps in her ear.
She sucks in a deep breath, warm air blowing across his neck. "Again."
"I promise I'll call you," he swears, panting, his fingers twisting in the duvet.
He clutches at her arms as her hand moves again.
"No idiotic risks?" she demands, slipping the fingers of her free hand between his.
He takes a halting breath, squeezes her hand. "Wouldn't dream of it."