I bet you were not expecting this update ;) Well, some of you might have been since I posted it on tumblr last night when refused to function for me. But I digress, this chapter is a bit shorter than previous ones, but it's been partially written for ages so I finally finished it, edited it a bit, and now you have it. I hope you enjoy. Thanks!
The end of her week is a whirlwind of commotion.
Thursday proves to be an overwhelming blur of emergency cases spanning from a puppy with diarrhea to a bulldog in labor. She ends up having to call in Zelena for reinforcement when the owner's carry in the distressed animal early in the evening.
The cesarean goes smoothly, the third for this particular pet, and by ten that night Regina is sending the mother and puppies home with a warning that this should be the dog's last litter. She can't handle another. Regina's surprised all of the pups survived this round.
Friday is just as busy, but for once she walks out the doors early, and surprises Henry when she shows up an hour early rather than several minutes late to pick him up from daycare. The way his face lights up, a huge grin tugging at his lips, she thinks she should try to get out of work on time more often.
"Mom!" He nearly topples her with a tight embrace circling her knees, so she ends up crouching, bending until she can hug him properly in turn.
"Hi, Sweetheart." She can't help the way her hand brushes hair back from his face, fingers combing through his silky locks before moving to frame his little chin between her thumb and forefinger. "How about we go to the grocery store and pick up everything I need to make that soup you like for dinner tonight?"
He nods, a breathy and excited yeah tumbling past his lips when he turns to gather his things. She greets Mary Margaret, tells her to enjoy her night with David this evening, and then Henry takes her hand in his and tugs her out the doors before the brunette has a chance to talk her ear off.
Once they are safely in the car, buckled and comfortable she turns to her boy, asks whether she should see if Robin and Roland would like to come over for dinner, and she can see him mull it over, tilt his head and narrow his eyes in thought before a decision is made and he's smiling and nodding and telling her, "Yeah, I like them."
She grins, turns forward and types a quick text to Robin on her cell before dropping it back in her purse and heading to the store.
They make it in and out in record time. Twenty minutes to load up the cart with potatoes and kale, a bit of italian sausage and broth, onions and garlic, and then they are paying and back in the car before Regina chances a glance at her phone.
We'd love to. What time? Is Robin's response to her invitation for dinner, and she shoots him a quick message telling him to get there at six.
The moment they arrive home she places Henry at the table with his favorite coloring book, a box full of crayons, and a bowl filled to the brim with cheerios.
"Henry, I'm going to take a shower and get ready. You stay here until I get back."
He nods, mumbles his agreement past a mouthful of dry cereal before she is kicking off her heels and racing toward the bathroom. She probably has ten minutes...maybe fifteen if she is lucky, and she decides to forgo washing her hair, manages a quick rinse in the shower and a spritz with some perfume and volumizer for her hair.
She's half-way through zipping up her dress, a red keyhole piece that forms perfectly to her curves when Henry pops his head through her bedroom door with a gleeful smile.
"You look pretty, Mommy."
He startles her at first, has her sucking in a breath and turning to him with a, "Didn't I tell you to stay in the kitchen?"
But then he's sucking in his cheeks, little lips puckering into a slightly distraught expression before he grins and tells her, "I made you a flower."
His little hands lift from his sides, coming together in front of his face to hold up a single page from his coloring book. It was supposed to be an apple, the fruit outlined in the center of the paper and a large 'A is for Apple' in block font below, but instead Henry has colored a long green vertical line that bursts with colors at the top. Red and blues blending with oranges and yellows all sprouting from the top of the vivid green stem.
She looks at him, looks at his masterpiece, and she blinks back the tears blurring her vision before thanking him and lifting the drawing to her dresser and bracing it between her mirror and her mother's old jewelry box. The glimpse of her mother's possession has her mind wandering, thinking about the woman who'd disappeared so abruptly from her life, and she thinks she must be doing something right, is at least doing better than her own mother had, because Henry is happy. He is good, and he is kind, and she never lets him go a day without knowing how much she loves him.
She turns, drops a kiss to his forehead and asks, "Want to help me make dinner?"
By the time the doorbell rings; the soup is simmering, her make-up and hair no longer look like she spent the day wrestling with canines and a toddler, and her apron is cast aside on the kitchen counter.
Henry opens the door for their guests, tugs the handle with such exuberance he nearly flies backward with the force of it, but then he's laughing and greeting Robin and Roland with a wide smile and a request to come see his room.
She doesn't even notice Robin at first, well, that's not entirely true. She does notice him, recognizes that he is there, that he looks handsome as usual, and that he smiles when the door opens, but then her eyes fall on Roland, and on Henry, and how the boys seem to get along so smoothly.
It makes her happy, brings a smile to her face, because she knows Roland doesn't have friends here, doesn't have a lot of opportunity for this type of interaction, and it makes her heart swell to see the two boys play so easily.
When she gets around to glancing back toward Robin, the man still standing just outside the front door while his boy is already stepping through the entry to Henry's bedroom, she wonders if he's been like this since the moment the door opened.
He's staring at her, mouth hanging open slightly, pupils dilated, and in that moment she thinks maybe this dress on this particular night was a poor choice. She probably should have saved it for a date without the boys, an evening that she could let him peel it slowly from her body, an evening that she could pull him inside and push him to the couch and not feel one lick of guilt for straddling his lap and…
But that's not tonight, not right now, so she tamps down her sudden arousal, ignores the slickness between her thighs that apparently Robin can cause with a simple look, and tells him to close his mouth and come in from the cold.
That has him laughing, an embarrassed chuckle passing from his lips when he finally takes that step over the threshold and greets her politely with, "Good evening. You look lovely," and not quite so politely with a kiss that grows heated, tongues tangling, hands sliding until they both seem to think better of it when her back hits the wall and a giggle sounds from Henry's room down the hall.
He clears his throat, steps back placing a tiny bit of space where there was none between them an instant earlier. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually so," he pauses, eyes dropping to her lips once more-
"Bold?" She smiles, steps back into him erasing that space. "I like it." Her hands lift to his chest, coasting across the fabric of his shirt until she can grip the lapels and pull him into one more kiss, a little less demanding than the last, but no less brazen.
When she pulls back his arms embrace her, resting snugly around her waist so he can whisper between them, "I think this dress was a rather cruel choice for tonight."
And then she's grinning coyly, her head tilting downward for a moment before she meets his gaze again, her eyebrow lifting suggestively when she shifts even closer, the corner of her mouth pressing against his cheek when she breathes, "You should see what's underneath."
She isn't sure when his hands moved to her hips, but she's definitely aware of it now, with the way his fingers pulse and squeeze and his breaths falter, his muscles tensing along the stretch of their bodies that are still in contact.
His response is hardly verbal, could maybe be characterized as a whimper, and then his head is falling forward, dropping to her shoulder, and she's barely able to bite down her laugh at the last second.
She moves out of his arms a moment later, immediately regretting the loss of contact, but then she's taking him by his hand, leading him back toward Henry's room, and she resigns herself to the fact that not much more will be happening tonight.
Minutes later the boys are taking up residence at the kitchen table, racecars in hand while Regina throws the apron over her head and finishes dinner. The soup is ready, she just needs to stir in some chopped kale and a bit of cream, but she pulls out some bread and butter, a bit of sliced cheese along with a bag of romaine lettuce and a bottle of dressing.
She doesn't notice Robin leave the table, can still hear the boys cheerfully zooming their cars in circles and paths until one clatters on the floor soon to be retrieved by eager little hands, but then there are eager hands on her, settling at the base of her neck, curving onto her shoulders, and then fingers are kneading gently, massaging, and she can't seem to finish buttering the slice of bread in her hand when he's doing that.
"Can I help?" The words leave his mouth not an inch from her ear, and the sensation sends a chill through her body, has her stuck in a hazy moment of nerves firing; his breath on her neck, his fingers digging into her shoulders, his chest against her back.
She swallows thickly, tilts her head to the side when he finds a particularly knotted muscle and mumbles, "I'm cooking for you this time remember? I don't want you to think I'm keeping you around for your skills in the kitchen alone."
She feels rather than sees the smirk that turns up his mouth, his lips pressing to drop a tender kiss where neck meets shoulder, right where he's been circling pressure, uncoiling tension.
"I don't think buttering bread counts. That's more sous chef territory." She smiles and acquiesces, hands him the knife and shifts along the counter until she reaches the simmering pot of soup.
It doesn't take long for them to finish, and then she's loading up bowls with scoops of hearty soup and setting a couple grilled cheese sandwiches in front of the boys. She and Robin opt for salad on the side, and the boys devour both sandwiches before starting on the soup.
It's nice, domestic, and so very... simple. They talk. They laugh, and for a single instant Regina can't help but wonder what it would be like to have this, have all of this but - more. She wonders what this could be, and that frightens her as much as it excites her.
Roland and Henry sip spoonful after spoonful of soup, and Roland seems to approve of the broth at least, but when a flick of green pops up as he stirs his little face screws up into disgust and he says he's finished. After that he indulges in another sandwich, even a bite of Robin's salad
Eventually they all make their way to the living room, the toddlers hopping about like only they can. Henry has all four of them on their hands and knees playing before long, and when her boy pulls out a basket full of little magnetic train cars and tracks she dismisses herself to clean up the kitchen.
There isn't much really. Their bowls, a few crumbs here and there and a scattering of other dishes. She ends up turning the faucet to hot and plugging the sink before dripping in some dish soap.
She can hear the boys, shrieks of joy permeating the atmosphere, deep chuckles from Robin making her own mouth twist up in a grin as she sets to scrubbing the bowls and pot in the sink.
It isn't until she's nearly finished, only a few spoons left to rinse that she feels Robin step close behind her, the heat from his body resonating and building a flush along her skin.
He doesn't say anything at first, the only proof of his presence each hand that comes to rest on her hips. The unexpected contact has her startling, sucking in a breath and dropping the spoons she'd held in one hand to clatter in the sink, her fingers coming to grip tightly at the edge.
"I'm sorry." He makes to take his hands away, to pull himself back, and he must be close because she still can't actually feel him, but she can feel the steady resonating thrill in her nerves. A thrum running along her spine, the back of her thighs.
She halts him with a breathy, "No," and a, "You just surprised me," before swaying back just a bit, a tiny amount, just enough, and she was right. He is close. Close enough that when she leans just so her rear comes in contact with the solid form behind her, and she gasps another breath for an entirely different reason than being startled.
He hears it. He must, because as soon as it passes her lips the fingers at her hips tighten, squeeze and her hands do the same at the edge of the sink while he shifts them both forward, pressing against her from behind.
"The boys?" She asks, her hips now pressed firmly between the ledge of the sink and Robin.
"After building our train track," all of his body lines up with hers slowly - knees at the back of her thighs, chest to her shoulders, "the two of them asked rather politely to watch 'Thomas The Train'." His breath puff against her cheek, her hair blowing and tickling against her neck with each new word. "I gave in."
"Ah." She sighs, partly in response to his words and partly in response to the way the scruff along his jaw is scraping against the flesh at her neck, tantalizing her nerves in a way that makes her wonder what it would feel like against even more sensitive skin.
She turns her head to him, cranes her neck just so, and he takes the cue, drops his mouth to what he can reach of hers, falling to the corner of her smile. She can't quite twist enough to kiss him properly. At least not while she's sandwiched so securely between him and the sink, but she doesn't have any desire to shift at the moment. She's prepared to stay just like this, his arousal making itself known against her rear, his lips whispering kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and oh, that feels so good.
Her hands don't move, just clench tighter to the sink while one of his lifts and tangles with her hair, fingers combing and gripping gently, and then there's his other hand. The hand he's had glued to her hip, now freely roaming along her side, tracing up her ribcage, grazing the side of her breast before skimming back down and gathering her dress just enough for him to feel the bare skin of her thigh.
He's fully hard behind her now, firm and solid when she shifts her hips back into him, and the realization has a moan tumbling past her lips. One that Robin happily chases with a groan of his own, and then his knee is between her thighs bracing her, spreading her legs, and she's so very wet, practically dripping for this man after barely a minute of foreplay.
It's ridiculous really, insane how her body responds instantly to his touch, but she won't complain. Not when her skin is flushed and hot, her folds slick, her nipples pebbling.
A shrill sound from the other room interrupts her climbing arousal, heavy pants tickling her neck from his mouth, and he pauses, smiles against her skin. "I suppose I could have turned the volume a bit lower." It's a train whistle, Thomas chugging along, and the boys laughter permeates through the house a moment later.
Regina is grateful for the reprieve, the momentary calm to pull herself together, to tamp her arousal, because as much as she wants this, as much as she'd let Robin bend her right over the counter and have his way with her this very moment - they are not alone. This is not the time, and they both know it.
"When can we have that official date?" The question leaves his lips somewhere between a whisper and a growl, and she blinks, takes a deep breath, and spins herself to face him. The action has his hand skimming from her hip along the curve at the base of her spine until she can take it in her own hand, lacing their fingers.
She smirks up at him, bites her lip and tilts her head. Her Saturday is free, but she doesn't want to come across desperate, not when she's just seen him tonight, and worse yet she doesn't want to take his precious time with Roland more than she already has. Still, something in his eyes, the earnest smile deepening dimples on his cheeks, tells her he wouldn't mind, not this once.
"Tomorrow night?" She shrugs, watches his expression carefully, reading him. She's just starting to catch his mannerisms, becoming aware of the way he furrows his brow or twitches his mouth, but what she sees doesn't require study. His face turns up in clear and unconcealed excitement, joy, and it has hers doing the same.
"I would love that." He lifts their joined hands, fits their knuckles beneath her chin before pushing slightly until he can drop his mouth to hers once more. The kiss isn't as heated as earlier, but it holds a promise, a longing anticipation, and when he pulls back she follows briefly, lingers a little longer, and he waits for her to end it, something she likes, something she appreciates.
After that it's all heated glances and stolen touches; her hand on his thigh while they enjoy the last bit of the show with the boys, his arm a welcome weight on her shoulders.
When he leaves she tries not to think about the way his eyes traveled her shape one last time, or how he'd sucked in his lower lip, how he'd dropped a final chaste peck to the corner of her mouth while Roland tugged at his sleeve.
Instead she turns to Henry, the boy wide-eyed and grinning until she flips off the television and his smile turns to a pout. "It's bedtime."