Smutty addendum for anyone who wants to read it. Not necessary for the story. Very M-rated. Enjoy! :)

When they step through the door, cross the threshold to her house with hands wrapped together, fingers laced, she can't help but feel nervous. A twinge in her gut, butterflies fluttering, and she knows this isn't their first time, not for her anyway, but for him, well.

They are both quiet. She removes her heels, kicking them aside, a smirk tugging at her lips at the memory of another Robin shearing these very same heels from their soles. Now the shoes sit in front of her door unharmed, all evidence of a past that never happened erased from time, only a withering memory, a phantom of something that no longer exists.

She stands there, staring at those shoes, her coat already discarded, and she is so lost in thought, in remembering, she doesn't notice Robin watching her, doesn't realize his attention is on her until his arms wrap around her waist from behind, hands gathering just below her rib cage while he settles his chin on her shoulder.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice is low, jagged around the edges, and just the sound of his words reverberating in her ear drum has a heat pooling between her thighs. A slight hint of whiskey aroma wafts from his lips, lips that are currently staking a claim on the skin where her shoulder meets her neck.

She doesn't want to tell him. She will tell him, some day, maybe tomorrow, but not now, not tonight. Right now all she wants is the clashing of their bodies, the taste of his skin, the feel of his mouth, so she dismisses his question with a partial disclosure. "Us," she tilts her head, providing him with more access, and he quickly takes the hint, nuzzles into her neck, tongue sliding past her pulse point, "I was thinking about us." It isn't until just now she realizes how her voice cracks, arousal thrumming through her entire soul at the feeling of his body pushed against her own, his hardness evident against her rear.

He doesn't respond, not really, just moans into her skin, his hot breath moistening her flesh. A moment later she is turning in his embrace, meeting his lips with her own, and then pulling back, her brown gaze meeting his blue. She feels brave, bold in the comforting warmth of his arms. Her arms lift, each of her hands framing his face, and she caresses his lips with her left thumb, slides the other across stubble.

"I love you." She surprises herself. Maybe it is because in another time, in a different place, she already knows he said the same to her, but either way, the words leaving her mouth have her stomach twisting, have her skin sheening with sweat, and nerves flaring. She doesn't feel anxious for long, not when he crashes his lips to hers, kisses her with a passion that has her forgetting her nerves and reveling in the way he makes her shiver instead.

He ends the kiss, pulling back with her lower lip still tucked firmly between his, teeth grazing her flesh before he lets it slip from his grasp and lands his forehead to hers. "I love you Regina. With everything that I am I love you." He laughs then, a chuckle, small and light as he lifts his head from hers, stares deep into her eyes. "I didn't think myself capable of this kind of love, not anymore. I thought it was impossible for me to love anyone like I'd loved Marian, like I love Roland, but I was mistaken," he lifts a hand from her waist, calloused fingers sliding against her cheek, then through her hair, "I was completely mistaken."

Time seems to speed up after he speaks those words. Her mind swims with the present and the past, their first time then, and their first time now, and it is seconds or minutes later that she has his shirt unbuttoned and falling to the floor, her hands gliding across the firm skin of his chest and shoulders.

"We should go upstairs." She whispers against his lips before invading them once again with her tongue. He stops her, uses the hand on her hip, and the other still wrapped in her hair to separate their bodies, their mouths.

"Lead the way Milady." His eyes are dark with arousal, the typical smug smirk that graces his mouth long forgotten. His lips are plump and moist and slack from their kisses and his own arousal, and the way he is looking at her causes a proud smirk to paint her face, her reddened, moistened lips.

She lifts her hand to meet his in her hair, threads their fingers and pulls their gathered hands down between their bodies before smiling wide and hurrying toward the stairs. He moves behind her, never loosening his fingers from hers, and she loves the feeling of his tight hold, even if her arm is bent at a slightly awkward angle, even if she has to maneuver the steps angled slightly to the side.

They make it as far as her bedroom door before she spins to face him, his body crashing hers against the door, mouths colliding, and she isn't sure if it is Robin or her who finally manages to twist the handle and guide them to the bed. It doesn't really matter. All that matters is the way his fingers pull and tug at the zipper of her dress until the black fabric covering her slips down her arms, her torso, and pools at her feet.

He slows down then, pauses his ministrations, slows his kisses until he pulls back and finishes guiding her to the bed to sit at the edge. His eyes travel her body, and it is then that she remembers this is the first time he is seeing her like this, the first time he remembers ever being with her this way, and the longer she is apart from that other place, that other time, the more dream like it all becomes, like it was all just a fantasy, a figment of her mind, but it wasn't. She knows that much.

His gaze travels her face, the line of her shoulders, the curve of her bra covered breasts, then down to her thighs, her stockings, and she can only allow his observation another moment before she is pulling him forward and eagerly unfastening his belt, lowering his zipper.

His hands are busy in her hair, fingers lazily combing through her tresses, twisting, twirling until she is finally able to push his pants to the floor, his boxers immediately following, and she grasps his length, strokes him from base to tip and back down. He groans, hips rocking forward involuntarily, but then he places a hand on hers, stopping her movements.

"I want to take my time with you." He moves her hand from his hard cock, then kneels before her, begins peppering kisses along her jaw, down her neck into the hollow of her neck, down to the rise of her breasts. His calloused fingers lift and lower each strap of her bra down her shoulders. She lets her head fall back, absorbs the feeling of his mouth on her sensitive flesh, tickling her senses until she feels him stop. His mouth rests against her sternum, still kissing, but now frowning slightly, and she looks down just as he looks up, a silent question in his eyes. It isn't until she comes out of the haze his kisses had caused that she realizes his hands are searching her bra, trying to loosen the garment, and he has figured out that it is gathered in the back, but has not been able to remove it, his access to her breasts not what he would like, so she grins in response, brings her hands to her back and lets him feel what she is doing, lets him bring the garment forward and down her arms.

"I will remember how to do that." He states, feasting his eyes on her bare chest, her hardened nipples, and then, in that moment, 'taking his time' must completely leave his mind because his mouth surrounds one of her nipples as he moves to his feet, pushing her back against the bed, his body bent over her.

He feasts at her breasts, tugs at her nipples leaving them sensitive and damp, and she feels heavy, her body thrumming with arousal, being pulled into the mattress, sensation overwhelming her, and she lets it, lets him do whatever he wants to her body while she just enjoys, relishes the feeling. Maybe it is selfish, but she'll repay the favor later, and over and over again.

She is lost in a fog of excitement. She doesn't even notice that he has stripped her of her stockings and panties until he is pulling the last remnants of lace past her toes, and then he is kissing up her leg, from ankle to knee, along the inside of her thigh until he is so close to where she wants him, his mouth an inch from that bundle of nerves.

His scruff scrapes along her sensitive skin in contrast to the smooth wet gliding of his tongue and moistened lips. He stops then, his face lifting, and she glances downward rises into a partial sitting position, brows furrowing because he was almost there, and it felt so good, and why would he stop, but he looks at her, smirks, that smug smirk has returned, and then he stands briefly, leaning across the mattress to pull a pillow back with him, setting it between her feet where her toes just brush the floor.

He settles back to his knees atop the cushion. "I have dreamt of tasting you Regina, and I plan on enjoying every moment. Lay back," he says resting his hand on her abdomen, and pushing lightly until she dips back down completely, "and relax."

She can't help the smile that settles on her face. A wide, bright thing she can feel in her cheeks, but it leaves her when his tongue finally meets her clit, flicking and sliding against her. Her jaw goes slack, lips fall apart as a moan escapes her, or maybe it was a gasp, she can't tell, and it is even harder to discern between the sounds she is making when his tongue laps at her, his mouth coasting over her clit, sucking and kissing.

She is so wet, slick and slippery, and when he brings his right hand beneath his chin, one finger slowly slipping into her entrance, his tongue stills, lips resting against her as a groan leaves his mouth. He thrusts the one finger in then out, adds another, and then he is hitting that spot inside of her, each drive of his hand forward has a dull pleasure pulsing inside of her.

She is moaning, and writhing, and she is fairly certain she is begging him for more, and harder, and yes, just like that, and more tongue. He obliges. His fingers moving in and out, coated in her wetness, and his tongue is moving again, licking back and forth, then circling her clit before pressing it with more pressure.

Her body is winding up, tensing. Breaths are leaving her lungs quickly, her chest heaving, and her fists clench at the sheets beneath her, pull and twist as she writhes and bucks her hips. Robin's hand holds her firmly to the mattress, and she relinquishes all control, relaxes completely as she feels everything tighten, feels pleasure wash over her senses, her nerves firing all at once, and then she topples over the edge, her muscles clenching and releasing.

One of her hands loosens, stops twisting in the sheets to twist in his hair, pushing at him because he hasn't slowed, hasn't stopped licking at her, sucking, and she can't take it, is too sensitive. Her thighs close slightly, and he pulls his face back, kisses the skin above her pubic bone, slides his nose to the apex of her thigh and hip.

Her breathing is finally slowing. She is coming down, but his fingers are still moving inside of her, slowly, languidly, until they slip from her slick folds and skim past her sensitive clit causing her hips to jolt.

Robin kisses his way up her body leaving a damp trail along her abdomen, then her breasts, sternum, neck until he nips at her lower lip. They kiss languidly, the fiery passion from earlier now a fizzle, a steady burn. She can feel the tip of him against her thigh, and it takes a slight shift of her hips, but then she feels it against her clit, a light pressure, not overwhelming, not for her anymore, but the action has his head dropping to her shoulder, a gasp tumbling from his lungs.

They move up the bed a little awkwardly. Not wanting to part, uncoordinated as their limbs try to maneuver their bodies, but it only takes a few seconds before they are both completely settled on the mattress, half on sheets, half on comforter. She wraps her fingers around his length, directs him to where she is warm and wet, and can't wait to feel him inside.

He glides into her slowly, and she sees his eyes flutter closed just before hers do the same, lost in the sensation, the way his thickness stretches her. Her legs wrap around his waist loosely, and he takes that as a cue to move, begins thrusting, rocking his hips into hers over and over. He moves slowly at first, and it feels good, feels great, but this angle isn't ideal for her. It is pleasurable, a slow tension building, coiling, but she won't get there like this, not without shifting, not without more pressure on her clit.

She pauses him with her palms on his shoulders. A look of concern colors his features before she sends him a small reassuring smile, and pulls her legs up higher. He takes the hint, lifts her legs until each knee is settled into each crook of his arms. This position moves him slightly away from her, gives him a view of her breasts as he begins thrusting again, and oh yes, that is much better.

He is hitting that spot inside of her, that dull pleasure winding up again. His eyes linger on her breasts as they move with each pivot of their hips, and then they glance back up to her face, he stares at her, makes eye contact, and she is certain she would blush if she wasn't already so flushed with arousal. He tells her she is beautiful, professes his love again and again, calls her exquisite, and she isn't sure if it is the way he is talking to her or the way he is moving inside of her, but she is nearing the edge again, creeping closer and closer to release.

His movements become faster, less steady, and she realizes he is close, so close, and he is holding back for her, trying to wait. She moves her hand between them because she is so close too, almost there, and with a little attention to her clit she is going to come. Her hand creeps across her belly, slick with sweat, and then she presses a finger to her clit, just holds it there because each drive of his hips into hers causes a pulse of pleasure, but then his hand is moving hers, brushing it away as he mumbles something about 'let me', and she does.

His thumb coasts across her clit, and it is a moment later that she feels the tensing, the clenching, and then the release as he thrusts into her, hitting that spot inside of her, pleasure spiraling from her core through her veins, through every nerve ending. It is with her clenching and moaning that Robin falters, his hips stuttering against hers, and he empties himself into her with a groan. Her legs drop as he lifts his arms, places them beneath himself on either side of her head and holds a small amount of his weight to prevent himself from falling on her completely.

She doesn't mind his weight pushing her into the mattress, welcomes the feel of it, welcomes the feel of him in her and on her, surrounding all of her senses.

They come down from their mutual orgasms, wrapped in each other's arms. At some point the make it beneath the sheets, beneath the warmth of the blankets, cocooned in their little nest. She'll tell him everything, tell him her tale of past Robin, of seeing herself, seeing the evil queen, but not now. Right now, her eyes are drooping, and the sound of his steady heartbeat is lulling her into a world of dreams.