A/N: Short flashback! Might seem repetitive and whatevs but I'm trying to get to know these characters again and get back into the whole writing smut thing, it's been a long time since I've written more than one hundredth words in one sitting for them. Sorry for the decade long hiatus. (It could happen again). Thanks for still sticking with this and for still asking about it and for just wanting to know what happens (still)! This is unbetaed. Thanks! Enjoy this short thing!

Also, thanks to Marion for giving this a quick read when I felt like it was too repetitive and OOC and just stupid. Thank you so much lady!

Happy OQUpdateMonth! Or what's left of it :(

Everything tastes like cardboard today.

The breakfast he cooked for her, the tea they shared, and now, this.

It's her favorite place, and he knows it, which is exactly why he took her here, as a sort of one last hurrah.

But it seems the five layered lasagna tastes like cardboard, dry and difficult to swallow down. She takes another sip of her red wine, but it makes no difference for even the wine feels dull in her mouth.

And later on, even the dessert he's intent on sharing with her tastes awfully like nothing.

Like goodbye.

Because, this is it, their last night spent together here.

He's awfully quiet, even though he decided to take the last three days off to help her pack and just spend some time with her. But still, he's quiet today, has grown quieter as the days passed and she supposed she has too, after all, it's not entirely easy to let go of someone who's become an important part of your life.

Yet the matter remains the same, he doesn't talk, simply looks at her as they eat, as if he wants to say something, a fact that simply unnerves her.

So she doesn't look at him, doesn't say anything, simply focuses on eating. Eating the cardboard dessert and cardboard wine as she looks around, at anyone but him.

Focuses on the cute baby girl to their right, munching happily on some plain spaghetti.

The young couple to her left, sharing bites of food as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

The young group behind Robin whose eyes are solely focused on their phones.

But she still feels his gaze firmly set on her, feels the fire behind it, the intensity, and even though she tries not to, she cannot help herself but glance at him.

"What," she says exasperatedly.

But Robin just smiles sadly at her before shrugging. "I've no idea what's going to happen now."

And this she can't do. Not today. Not ever.

"Robin," she begins, shaking her head, swallowing hard.

"No, hey. No. I just," he sighs and sits straighter in the chair. "Let me just say a few things, okay?"

Swallowing, Regina looks again at the baby, at the couple, at the young group before glancing at him again.

She nods after a moment, moving the glass of wine to her lips, taking a sip.

He does the same, apparently feeling as anxious as her. But then he chuckles darkly and shakes his head.

"These past few years have been… amazing. In you I found the perfect friend. A woman who complements me in the most insane of ways. You've become such a fundamental part of my life that I am entirely at loss on how I'm going to survive my days without you."

She feels her chest tightening, her fingers trembling slightly as she moves the glass to her lips again, taking a big gulp, staring at the ceiling.

"Gods, Regina," Robin shakes his head before his hands move to the center of the table, as if reaching for hers, but then he's pulling them back, wrapping them around the bottle of wine, pouring himself another glass and filling hers when she sets it back on the table.

"I've known for a few weeks, and though I was sure I was prepared, it's just… I'm at loss."

She can't speak, can't conjure up words for fear her thoughts and voice betray her. Gods, she'll miss him.

"Do you really want to leave?" He blurts out of nowhere after a few quiet minutes, frown set in place.

And Regina? Regina hadn't been prepared for that question, so she breaks his gaze, stares at the half eaten plate and wonders if he too tasted cardboard in his meal. Is this finally it? Has their favorite Italian place crumbled just as they have? Is he crumbling, just as she is?

Because, she had been preparing for months, planning for months, setting everything up behind his back, only mentioning something with John's passing, the guilt at seeing him lose his best friend and soon also losing her enough to make her speak.

But now, as she sits with him in this restaurant and reminisces about their past her impending flight just sixteen hours away, she cannot help but think of the answer, and settles for the same answer.

"I need to," she half whispers, and it's the most sincere sentence that has come out of her tonight, the knowledge of it allowing her to feel a sense of relief that convinces her, if only momentarily, that she is doing the right thing.

"What are you running from?" He asks a little bit too loud, people turning slightly to them. He apologizes immediately after noticing her stern look, fumbling as he pushes his glass to his lips and downs his wine in one big gulp.

And Regina recognizes it for what it is. Fear. Fear of the unknown. The same fears she's buried deep down.

Because, how different will life be from now on?

But she answers, with a half truth. Another one. Will she ever be sincere with him again?

"It's time to go home," is what she says.

He goes quiet at that, deep in thought. And she swallows and nods.

"It's just. It just seems odd," he comments after a moment, taking her by surprise.

"What?" She asks, frowning.

"It just. It kills me that everything is falling into place for you. Two months ago you said you were considering moving. Four weeks ago your decision was final. And now, two nights ago you got that phone call. It's almost as if, this is what you were destined to do."

Regina swallows hard, trying to hide the sudden anxiousness that settles over her.

He doesn't need to know that Mal is helping her. He doesn't need to know it's Mal who's offering her a job. He doesn't need to know her decision had been final the moment Marian walked in on them. He doesn't need to know John had known all along, a secret he'd taken to his tomb, that she'd planned everything.

He doesn't need to know.

So she forces a soft chuckle, and takes a gulp of the wine, another one for good measure and just shakes her head.

"Maybe luck is on my side for once," is what she ends up saying, voice a little too deep but it can definitely be blamed on the wine. Yes, the wine.

"Maybe," he smiles sadly.

And that's it, she can't handle the exposure, can't handle sitting in front of him as if this is an interrogation over dinner.

"Want to get out of here?" She asks, straight face, trying to get him to look at her.

But he nods without meeting her gaze, eyes searching for their waiter and calling him over, asking for the bill.

He pays it after a moment, murmuring something about it being his treat, and they leave the restaurant, not bothering to take home the leftovers for they won't be able to eat it tomorrow night over a table game or tv.

They walk, side by side, slowly, as if trying to prolong the hours they have left with each other. They walk, in silence, even though her feet hurt a little bit thanks to her heels and the tiredness from packing everything up for the past few days.

Robin doesn't say anything, at all, is deep in thought, even though his hand absentmindedly reaches for hers, plays with her fingers slightly as they keep walking.

And she should pull it back, push it into her pockets and start getting used to the new life that begins tomorrow.

But she allows herself this, allows herself because she's weak, she's oh so fucking weak for him and, God, this really is her last night here, last time with him.

Robin just holds her hand, tightly, close to his body, his thumb caressing her hand slowly and Regina just bites her lower lip as she moves closer to him, rests her head against his forearm as they keep on walking for a few minutes, before he's stopping and turning to face her.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, softly, so softly Regina feels her heart tugging at his absolute broken face.

Because she understands him, understands the need he has of being close to her, because it's the same thing she's feeling right now. Same thing she's felt for a while.

So she smirks slightly, even though her eyes are burning, her throat is constricted, even though she wants to cry her heart out to him, and shakes her head as she says, "You can fuck me."

But he just chuckles at that and shakes his head.

"My intention isn't having sex with you tonight, Regina. I want us to just, be. Just be."

Regina just nods, half amused, half sad. Has no idea what else to say and then he's leaning in, closer, dropping a casual kiss to her forehead that makes her stomach jolt, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She shakes her head, tears in her eyes and then she's meeting his gaze.

"I have the urge of kidnapping you," he whispers with a frown, thumb caressing her cheek.

She chuckles at that, wetly, feels her nose getting watery and rolls her eyes at him, hitting him on his chest playfully even though on the inside she's glad he's slightly back to his self. She's glad they can have this, glad she can push specific thoughts away from her head.

"Perhaps you'll even develop Stockholm's syndrome. That way you won't leave," Robin mutters softly, beginning to walk again.

She stays quiet at that, frowns slightly in confusion and just continues walking slowly next to him, hand held tightly in his.

"I'd never do that, you know?" He says after a while, and it seems he's rambling tonight, perhaps the wine had done a number on him.

"Huh?" Regina asks, genuinely confused.

"Hold you back. Keep you here against your will. I can't do it," he whispers sincerely and Regina swallows and nods.

"I know," she says, smiling sadly at him.

He's being an utter fool tonight. But thankfully, thankfully she hasn't caught up to it. Doesn't question the need he has of having her close, of holding her hand as they walk. Doesn't question his choice of words, or conversation and prays to all the Gods that she blames it on the wine.

Stockholm's syndrome.

What a bloody idiot. As if he'll ever force her to stay here, force her to fall for him. God, he's been watching too much tv. Gods, he's rambling too much as he tries to correct himself.

And then she's smiling, that smile that he, idiotically, considers his. Only his. No lover has been able to receive that smile (yet). But he supposes that's it, you save a particular smile for your friend, your best friend. And his stomach is tightening at the... loss. Loss. Because he will lose her. At least physically.

And though he's prepared himself emotionally and mentally (had talked to his mother about it), the clock is still ticking, tomorrow is coming, and with it her departure, with no return in sight.

"Want to go home?" He asks, and how weird is it, to call his place their home when she's leaving to find her own tomorrow.

"Yeah," she whispers, tiredly and hand in hand, they walk all the way back to their, well, his loft.


He's a right arse idiot.

Couldn't keep his word.

Couldn't keep it in his pants.

Instead he finds himself balls deep in her, holding her close to him, bellies pressed together, hard nipples pressed against his chest as she rides him, slowly, oh so slowly, drags her hips against his, eyes focused entirely on his, looking deep into him. And for a moment Robin wishes she could read his mind, make sense of these feelings he still can't seem to fully grasp, accept. Even less now, now that she's leaving.



She really is leaving this in a few hours, the knowledge enough to send a jolt of pain to his belly and he just moans, wraps his arms around her and pulls her even closer to him as he sits upright, letting her legs wrap around his waist and his hands grab a

handful of her ass. Quickly, he flips them over, slipping out in the process to which she scowls at the loss, only to groan when he slips easily into her again, the sound of her wet core as he stretches her almost enough to be his undoing.

But no.


This is his last moment with her, and if he can't express his thoughts then at least he can show her by fucking her just as she likes, just as she wants.

He moans at her heat, slips his hand down to her clit to rub it firmly for a few moments, until she's there again, moaning, legs spreading even more for him and continues fucking her.

Fucks her until she's keening.

Until the bedframe rhythmically bumps against the wall.

Fucks her until her center is aching all around.

Fucks her until she's begging him.

But Robin ignores her, continues his firm fuck desperately hoping, hoping, hoping his efforts are enough to make her lose her flight.

Enough to make her stay.


But, how can he convince her to stay when he can barely convince himself to be honest to her.

Tell her the truth.

Throw yourself out there if only for the last time.

But he doesn't, he swallows back the words at the tip of his tongue as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down to her. She's kissing him, kissing him so slowly, so deep, so sensually that Robin has to take a minute to just be, to enjoy the press of her lips, the swipe of her tongue, kisses her back and groans into it as she murmurs breathless against his lips that she's close.

He can't help himself, sneaks one last firm kiss against her lip before he's leaning away, sitting back on his haunches, cock still nestled in her and just grabs her legs by the calves, presses them together, groaning instantly at the snugness and holds both legs to his front, feet resting on his left shoulder. He doesn't give her time to breathe, or moan or whisper anything, instead he fucks her in earnest, groaning and breathing through his nose with every thrust. And she just cries, and arches her back as he continues.

"Gods!" He calls out, when a particular thrust is followed quickly by a wet sound and fuck, this will be the death of him.

She will be his death.

Then she's babbling, begging him and he slows down, just keeps it steady, pushing in to the hilt then pulling out, the tip barely grazing her entrance before he's sliding in again, then out, her arousal dripping into his sheets and then he's pulling out, drags the tip of his cock around her clit and she just trembles in front of him, and without warning, he's slipping into her again, only to groan because he'd underestimated how good this feels, how close he is. "Baby I'm so close," is what he whispers in the dark and he shouldn't be whispering such things, shouldn't be calling her other name than Regina, but fuck it. He's too far gone.

"Yes, yes yes," she lets out, eyes closed as she fucks him back, lifts and rolls her hips in desperation, begging him to move faster.

Robin gives in, takes a deep breath as he leans back slightly, cock still in her, even as she moves desperately, and snakes a hand from around her legs down the back of her thighs to her slick clit. And quickly he moves his thumb up and down, up and down, fast, fast as he keeps fucking her, fast as she keeps fucking him, keening, and his balls are tight, cock painfully hard and then she's pinching her own nipples, closing her eyes tight as she goes still for a moment, tenses, frowns in pleasure and then she's crashing down, hard, crying out as her cunt grips him tight and releases him in quick successions. He braces himself, holds her legs close to him and keeps fucking her, her cunt making all sorts of lewd sounds and he vaguely hears his own voice, his own grunts, her encouragements as she fucks him back, and God, God he can't. With a loud shout Robin comes, mouth biting slightly on her calf as he cries out a curse, cock jolting in her for a last time before he sighs, utterly spent.

And then it's back to quiet.

Quiet, even though their minds keep running.

Quiet as he pulls from her still trembling body, his own jolting slightly at the sensation.

Quiet as he lifts the blanket over their lower bodies.

Quiet as he settles next to her, staring at the white ceiling instead of her.

"You will always have a home here," he whispers after an hour, or maybe two. He's lost count. Yet he knows it's been a long while for the outside world has gone eerily quiet, the stillness that comes from early dawn.

But she doesn't reply to his comment, just stays staring at the ceiling, a restless sleep for them both in sight.