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She’s always known Robin had an appreciation for her garb in the Enchanted Forest. At least, she had caught the other Robin staring more than once at the cleavage revealed by her low cut necklines, or felt his eyes glued to her back when her dresses dared to dip low there instead of in the front. She couldn’t say for sure whether this Robin would feel the same way; her clothes were so different in the Land Without Magic, even as the Evil Queen, and he’d seen the other Regina in her boring, drab pantsuits — he might have preferred those over her elaborate, extravagant dresses.
Fortunately, it’s nothing she ever should have worried about. Though there are differences between her Robin and the one that belonged to her “better” half, hers is just as taken with her… assets as the other one was.
They sleep together a lot in the beginning — she’s got a voracious appetite, and Robin matches her in that desire, thank the Gods. It’s passionate and quick to start, a devouring in more ways than one, and more often than not, it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing. She could wear as much or as little as she pleased and Robin would be on her in moments, baring her body to him as she did the same and stripped him as he did her.
When things start to cool down and lust turns into love, that’s when she becomes aware of how much he does care what she wears. Oh, he enjoys her in anything, something he’s sure to let her know, but then there are moments like this.
She’s lying on her stomach in their bed, wearing one of her velvet gowns, the kind that has her all covered up in the front but leaves her practically naked in the back. And Robin is behind her, trailing his fingertips down her spine, tracing every bump and ridge of her vertebrae.
“I love these dresses the most, I think,” he murmurs softly to her, bending his head and she shivers at the touch of his lips to the nape of her neck. “How fitted they are, but also how much tantalizing skin is revealed.”
She hums, unable to formulate a more coherent response when his hand is at her waist now, and his mouth is following the path his fingers blazed.
“But you know, this is perhaps my favorite dress of all,” he tells her, halfway down her spine now as she tries to stay still, fights the instinct to arch into his touch.
“Oh? And why is that?” she asks, raising her head up off her arms just enough to glance over her shoulder. He’s kissing his way back up now, hands firm at her hips, the touch as promising and enticing as the way his tongue swirls over her skin. She can’t see him, but it doesn’t matter when he’s hovering over her like this, warm and solid against her.
He doesn’t respond at first, waits until he’s kissed all the way up to her ear, sucking open-mouthed kisses that have her writhing, already aching for more. “Because,” he whispers into her ear, dotting a kiss to the spot just behind it that makes her shiver every time. His grip tightens, becomes more insistent, urging her to roll onto her back. “It’s the dress you were wearing when you agreed to be my wife.”
There was a time when it would have embarrassed her, the way her face cracks into a huge smile at those words, impossible to hold back or to stop. She feels herself lighting up with it, expanding to encompass him, to embrace them, the love they share. A time when the mere thought that she could have this, that she could be happy, wholly so, without fear of repercussion, would have made her laugh derisively. She would have heard her mother’s voice Love is weakness, Regina and Rumple’s cruel laugh as he made her his bespoke monster, and she would have known that she could never, ever have the love that was meant for good people, for heroes.
Now, she doesn’t even try to contain her smile, because she has no reason to fight it anymore. She can reach up, and pull him into a kiss, and let him remove this garment that he loves so much, and let him pour all of his love into her, and her hands do not shake. Her mind is not preoccupied with worry, with wondering when the hammer will fall.
Instead, all she’s concerned with is removing his own clothes, and guiding him into her, and gasping out his name and I love you, I love you, I love you with every breath as pleasure rises.
Afterwards, she’s cocooned in his warmth, his arm a welcome weight around her body as she presses her back to his chest. There’s no place she’d rather be, even as he interrupts the comfortable silence of their afterglow to say, “As much as I love your dresses, I must admit, I prefer you like this even more…”
His hand slides from her stomach to gently cup her breast, more affectionate than with any intent to rile her back up. It has her smirking nonetheless, grinding her hips back against him softly, just to tease.
“Yes, I’d bet you do,” she chuckles, enjoying the way he groans quietly at her circling hips. It’s much too soon for another round, but her skin tingles with the thrill of imagining feeling that bliss again.
“Gods, you’re such a minx,” he mutters into her hair.
“Mm. But you love me for it.” It’s a statement, not a question, and that too is not something she would have always been able to say with such conviction, such unwavering belief.
He hums in affirmation, nuzzling her neck, dropping soft whispery kisses to her shoulder. “I do. I love you.”
She smiles again, impossibly wide as if she could contain the world in the curve of her lips, and says, “I know.”