A/N: So, I have started a new story. It's trash and quite rough round the edges, but here we go. There are more chapters to this, but it can stand alone. We'll see. Also, before I get hate or something, this IS fiction. I know you lot have your theories, I respect that but this is just a crack (smut) fic and should be treated as such. This will never happen in the cannon telling of the story, and I don't think this would happen at all, but hey, everyone says I can be what I want and I decided to be the writer of the imaginary smut fic that might or might not happen, so there you go.

As usual, all disclaimers apply.

On with the show.

Chapter One

It has started with a stupid drinking game—one that she should have never partaken with that stupid thief.

It is easy enough at first: drink whenever Snow would say the word hope, or when Snow tries to be exhaustingly optimistic, or when the Charmings are being sickeningly sweet towards one another. That night, when they have first tried it, they have both gotten so pissed that she had ended up in the supply closet when she had tried to transport herself with magic, and he had crawled his way to his bedchambers only to end up to the other side of the castle—passed out face first when John had found him.

Needless to say, it had been a tie between them.

It had then set off a series of challenges, little bets here and there, nothing big, nothing in exchange, just the bragging rights of winning over the other. Sometimes, it's a not so friendly competition of archery (where she's surprised him by her ability to actually shoot those damned arrows, and she hasn't even used magic), sometimes just another one of their drinking games (a drink whenever Little John is not able to restrain himself at the buffet, or every time one of the dwarves say something stupid—which has always made them both drunk as a fish). She enjoys the drinking game, of course, but it has lead to more raunchy things that has her turned on, not that she'd ever admit to it (but who can blame her, when in one of these stupid drinking games his hand ended up in her ass, kneading it or when her own hand ended up on his member, and she felt it growing and growing underneath her palm even through the layers of clothing?).

It turns out, she's a touchy feely, dirty drunk.

The other games are more or less safe though (and by that she only means it has them not ending up in bed together, under tangled sheets and with a fine sheet of sweat on their glowing, slick skin)—there had been a swimming competition once and a game of chess that had lasted for seven hours.

Of course, she takes delight in rubbing it in his face whenever she wins—he is an irritating, smug, prick of a man and he smells of forest (and since when has this particular trait become something so irritating? Since him, she decides). But she makes no secret of her displeasure (as he makes no secret of his smugness) whenever he wins—grumbling and sulking and challenging him in yet another duel, yet another bet.

She would never in a million years admit it to him, but she does enjoy the little games she has with him. It is easy, a diversion, something that occupies her mind when she can't anymore stand the pain in her heart, something that lifts her spirits up and boosts her ego. It never really escapes her how the thief has taken into staring at her (her cleavage in particular, which is why she has been wearing more revealing clothes as of late—to make sure he knows who's winning in this little game) whenever she challenges him. Winning doesn't hurt, as well, of course.

But more than anything, it gives her something to do other than wallow in self pity and drown in pain. It gives her a reason to smile, too, or grouse, whichever becomes of the game. He gives her a reason to continue living day by day (besides having someone to destroy, having someone who was her equal in intellect is a good reason not to just wither and die a slow death), and actually live, and not become an empty shell, a walking dead. He distracts her, and she has to admit he is a worthy opponent.

But this, this, particular challenge she has just issued on him—this is her forte, this is hers and she smiles evilly as she thinks of how easy it would be to win against him.

"So, your majesty, are you ready to lose?" he asks her as he mounts a chestnut brown horse that is Charming's. He has a grin on his face and his eyebrow is raised—in question or in amusement, she isn't sure.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes as she too mounts her own horse—it isn't hers, not her own horse, but it will do. It is these times that she wishes she still has Rocinante, but the thought leads her to a more distressing path so she curbs it away, and instead she looks over at the thief and smiles at him deviously. She is going to win this game.

"I'm more than ready to kick your ass, Outlaw," she says smugly as she takes position, her fists clenching, and her jaws setting. She hears the outlaw's son, Roland, cheering for her, and it makes her laugh internally. She has gotten closer with the boy, his dimpled smile winning her over faster than she can run. And even when it hurts sometimes to be in his company, even when she misses her own son even more terribly when the dimpled little hobbit is around, she feels an even deeper sense of loss, a deeper aching when he isn't.

"Well, prepare to be disappointed milady," he shoots back, and then he's grinning at her, his dimples showing, throws a wink at her, for good measure as well.

She rolls her eyes in response (never mind the heat pooling in her thighs now just because of one damned wink).

"Alright," Little John says, his voice booming loudly, catching their attention. "At the count of three, alright?" At their simultaneous nod, little John begins to count, "One, two, three," and he's waving his hand.

Both Robin and Regina take off, dusts behind them as they both fly towards the meadow, both egging their horses on, willing them to go faster. Regina takes the lead, and she grins smugly, her hair whipping about as her horse gallops and runs faster and faster. Robin isn't far behind however, and for the next few minutes as they race, they are head to head.

By the second lap (one going to the other end of the meadow, and the other going back to where Roland and little John along with some of the other merry men are), Robin has taken the first place, and Regina is gritting her teeth, because how, just fucking how is she loosing? She's a great rider, she takes pride in that (takes as much pride with it as she does with her prized lasagna), so how the hell is this thief winning over her.

She clucks her tongue and tightens her fist on the reins, giving her horse one pat to make him go faster. She is close, can almost beat Robin, can almost win this goddamn race she ought to win in the first place, only, Robin gets there first, with only a breadth, a hair of a difference in their time.

Robin chuckles, his chest puffing out arrogantly as he dismounts his horse. Roland is laughing as he dashes to his father, crashing onto his leg.

"You won, Papa!" Roland says happily.

"I sure did, son," Robin says, throwing Regina a look that says it all, making Regina huff in annoyance.

"You cheated," she accuses, her eyes narrowing on him as she, too, dismounts her horse. She lets one of Robin's merry men take the horse back to the stables along with Charming's horse, and she walks toward where the Locksley men are, her face scrunching, disapproving. She can't believe she lost that one. "It's the only way you could have one against me."

Robin only laughs. "I won that one fair and square, milady," he tells her. He bends down and hefts his son on his hip, and she tries so hard not to stare at his bulging pectorals—because damnit, now is not the time.

"I still say you cheated," she repeats, her arms crossing against her chest as she frowns.

"I think you were great, R'gina," Roland pipes up, ever affectionate with his queen, ever wanting her to smile—and his comment does just that, and she's smiling at him, her index finger tapping his little nose lightly.

"Thank you, my knight," she says, grinning at him, reaching out to kiss his cheek before he's squirming in his father's arms, wanting to be put down so he can go and play with little John.

Both watch until Roland, little John and the rest of the merry men disappear from the view and all that's left is them standing there, just right outside the entrance of the castle, but never out of her protective enchantment bubble. Regina is frowning whilst Robin is grinning.

"So, how about a payment, milady," he asks as he looks at her, making her frown deepen.

"What payment?" she asks him. "We didn't talk about any payment."

"Ah, but it's a bet, is it not?" he taunts. "And, besides, it's only fair since you had me streaking down the forest buck naked the last time we had a bet and you won. You even too k my clothes from where I hid them and I had to take the biggest walk of shame created on earth as I had to traipse across the great hall where half my men are covered in nothing but a leaf, Regina."

She rolls her eyes at him, exasperated. But he does have a point. "What do you want?" she asks. She knows that it is not and won't be any material thing, Robin isn't like that, which only scares her more because whatever it is, it's not going to be good.

Robin only grins and pulls her to him by the waist, his head falling to the crook of her neck, nuzzling the fragrant skin her finds there. His teeth nip at her then, making her gasp, a rush of heat settling low in her belly. It makes her want to moan, but she suppresses it, instead, she pushes at his shoulder.

"What is it that you want, thief?" she repeats, even as her breathing comes in labored gasps now, and her skin is warming up, and she knows she's somehow flustered, is sure of it because of that damned smirk in his face.

"I want you, milady," he tells her without preamble, "all of you."

"You have got to be kidding me," she exclaims, her jaw dropping indignantly (not gracefully, she realizes, but how dare he?). "Losing a bet does not equate to sex! I'm not a sex toy."

He frowns, his arms tightening around her waist as she struggles against him. "Not a sex toy, Regina. Never a sex toy, never a toy of any sort," he tells her, and he pulls away from her long enough to let her see his eyes, let her see how sincere he is (because even when he can't tell her, out of fear that she might run away, he has feelings for her, feelings that has long since transcended the lust stage). He knows how much she's struggled over the years, over a marriage that's been forced upon her, with a man who she did not even love. He knows it's a delicate subject, knows he must tread lightly, because this is not like that for him—it isn't about owning her or being able to say that he banged the queen. It's about Regina, and finally, finally letting her feel and know how much she's truly worth. Underhanded his tactics may be, all he wants is for her to know how truly beautiful she is, because he doesn't think she believes it. If he only has one chance, one shot at making love with her, then he's going to grab it, he's going to make love to her—he's going to show her, even just once, that she's more than just the evil queen who killed without second thought, more than just the broken Regina who lost so much. She's Regina Mills, the survivor, the woman whose strength carries her through even when she's broken.

But he knows, as well, that she's not really the one to talk about feelings. She runs away from emotions because she feels too much, hurts too much, loves too much. And to her, it's better to not feel at all.

"Think of it as easing the tension," he continues, waggling his eyebrows and once again grinning at her. This way, he doesn't scare her off.

She shakes her head. "What tension," she asks, clearly in denial (because never in a million years will she ever admit to him that she is attracted to him, that she wants to feel that scruff rubbing against the apex of her things, wants to make him put that sharp tongue to a better use than yapping). "There is no tension." She shifts her eyes away from him and once more, in a valiant but futile effort, tries to free herself.

He raises his eyebrow at her.

"I don't want to sleep with you!" she cries out, and she knows she's damn well lying about it, because she does, she fucking does, she just doesn't want the ramifications of her sleeping with him. It's one thing to sleep with someone you're attracted to, somehow, she thinks it's another to sleep with your soul mate. There is no way on heaven or on earth that they would be able to walk away from each other, from it, unscathed. "I feel nothing."

"Don't even try to deny it, Regina," he whispers against her skin, his arms tightening still. His voice is low and husky. He presses his hips against hers. "Don't tell me you don't feel that."

The gasp that escapes her is something she isn't able to control, and she could feel her desire soaking her undergarments even further. And she wishes she can deny it, wishes she can tell him to fuck off, but her mind, her heart and her body tell her that she'd much rather fuck him instead, and so when his lips press against hers, pulling her in a heady kiss that leaves her gasping, grasping, leaves the world teetering and her senses spinning, she doesn't fight him. Instead, she pushes back just as hard, opening her mouth when his tongue swipes against her lips, moaning when he sucks her tongue in his mouth.

"I'll give you a chance at grace," he pants when he pulls away, but he can never be far from her, and so his forehead only drops against hers, and his arms still hold her against him. She doesn't say anything, only nods once, and so he continues, "I'll lower the price to a full hour of snogging."

And she doesn't know whether or not to be disappointed with this, but she doesn't say anything. Maybe she can still get her head on right and push back the hussy Regina that wants to bone the hell out of this man. Maybe she can still reign in the hormones on parade.

"How about another bet, milady?" he asks then, finally pulling away from her, his arms unwound from her waist (and if she feels the lost of warmth, she doesn't say anything).

"What bet?" she asks hesitantly. "And at what price?"

"Well, we'll play cards, how about that?" he asks, easing her tension a bit, because if he asks her to play a game of archery, she'd have gladly roasted his ass right there. "And well, again, if you win, I'll lower it to a full on snogging, for an hour."

"Mmm-hhmm," she hums as she lets it sink in. "And if I lose?"

"Then you'll be mine, all mine for a full day," he answers nonchalantly as if he just hasn't asked her to be his sex slave for a day.

"WHAT?" she yells, all the prim and proper lessons (that have gotten her a rather spectacular bit of punishments when she was younger and Cora was still alive) flying out the window. She looks at him as if he's deluded, and she thinks that maybe he is, he really is, because does he even understand what the fuck he's just asked her? "You forget that I am still your Queen and you have no right at all to make me your sex toy! Furthermore, I can fry your ass faster than you can say sex, or have you forgotten about the great and terrible evil queen?"

"Not quite evil, not even in this angle," he responds, his heart clenching, because he never wants her to keep thinking that she is the evil queen. She was, once upon a time, a long time ago. But not anymore, and he is well aware of half the population of the Enchanted Forest thinking that she is, but really she isn't. She was. But now, now, she's just the queen. She's just Regina…the woman who loves her son, the woman who loves his son—even when she can't even look at him at times.

"You are…" he pauses, searches for the right words, "bold and audacious, but not anymore evil. You are stunning in every way, a woman with a soft spot for children, a mother, a wonderful one at that if the way you care for my son is any indication." He takes her chin between his fingers, lifts her gaze to his from where it's fallen. "You have to stop fighting this Regina."

"Let's just play the damn game, thief," she says instead, a cloud of fury forming over her eyes, running away yet again because it's easier this way, it's less painful.

He sighs, inaudibly, disappointed. He just wants her to find her second chance, with him—no less (but even if it isn't with him, he just wants her to be happy), but he realizes that he needs to keep tearing her walls down, again and again, until they lack the power to rebuild again. He needs to peel her back, lower her shield, one layer at a time.

"Alright," he says, and then he's leading her back inside the castle.

OOOOOOO

She is fucked, and quite literally too. She is well and thoroughly fucked, she knows it, he knows it, and his grin is even more irritating now. Why, why, why did she get herself roped into this?

"Well, well, well," he says, his voice full of mirth and she wants to flip him over and dangle him by the foot over a pit of fire. "Look what we have here."

He lays his cards on the table, and it's royal flush, fucking sodding hell, and she thinks he's cheated, but fuck, she's the one who dealt the fucking cards.

So no, he can't have cheated. She is just, somehow, destined to be fucked by one, Robin of Locksley.

She looks at him, panic rising in her chest, not because she thinks he'll hurt her, or hold it over her head, but because she knows something he doesn't, and that is they are soul mates, and if they do this, well, it means more than just a onetime thing, a tryst, or something equally sordid. This is them connecting, being one, and god only knows what that would mean for them.

But he's grinning at her, dimple in full view, and she doesn't know what to say or feel (anger, Regina, anger, she tells herself, be angry, or indignant, be anything but a horny, blushing school girl), so she clamps her mouth shut and stares at him.

He rubs his hand together, villainous, but not quite, never quite, because there is a twinkle in his eye and his smile is broad but kind, jovial.

"I guess you're mine for tonight, milady," he tells her as he looks at her as though she's his prey, and she supposes that she is.

Did she mention that she's fucked?

Should I continue or what? :D thoughts are welcomed and appreciated.