This is a little fic I'm writing in response to a prompt over on tumblr. Camping A/U with both Robin and Regina's POV. There will probably be only one more chapter before this is finished.

Ethics and Morality update (don't worry guys, I'm working on the next chapter, it's just being difficult. In the mean time I filled a few little prompts for that verse over on tumblr if you want to check those out - I'm whitebuddah0524)

After I finish E&M, my plan is to focus on Beneath the Dirt and occasionally Doctor. Just letting you all know :)

He's sexy. She's noticed of course, would have to be blind not to, but his physical attraction is extremely muted when he opens his mouth, when he speaks.

"You might have better luck if you place the stakes further apart." She scoffs at that, cranes her neck until his figure can be seen towering beside her, the toned muscles of his arms glistening in the sun.

If looks could kill she is certain her gaze would strike him dead this very moment. One thing Regina has mastered in her lifetime is a glare, a glare that normally has men and women alike cowering in her presence, but since the day she met this man (two years ago at a fundraiser for the school both of their boys attend) he's never been susceptible to her belittling stare.

"I think I can handle pitching a tent without your help, Mr Locksley." He hates that, always has, the way she refuses to call him Robin, and she only does it to see his shoulders sag, listen to the defeated sigh that passes his lips. She'd feel guilty if she didn't know that his ego could use the deflate.

He doesn't take long to recover from the disappointment though, only a moment. Just like that a cocky smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, those damn dimples creasing his cheeks, and she turns away, because right now he isn't saying something annoying, right now she is tired (she'd woken early to pack the car and check on Henry), and sweating (why does it have to be 92 degrees with 65% humidity today of all days?), and it has been a long time since she's found pleasure with another human being, so with Robin standing their all muscular and quiet she is finding it difficult to ignore that pull of attraction, the pool of arousal promising to leave her wet for an entirely different reason than the heat.

"Good to know you're so adept at pitching tents, Regina." She pauses at that, a stake caught tightly in her grip, and she breathes deeply, debates whether she should scold him for using her name when she's asked him to call her Miss Mills, or for the obvious innuendo he's declared with an emphasis on the words 'pitching tents'.

She doesn't have to think long. He doesn't give her a chance to respond at all before telling her, 'I'll let you know if I need any help pitching mine', and with a wink of his eye he walks away, takes the three steps away from her that allows him to reach his own perfectly assembled tent.

And Regina seethes, stabs the dirt with the metal stake in her grip, and mentally berates herself for letting Mary Margaret convince her to join all of them on this little 'relaxing weekend getaway'.

"Why must you aggravate her like that, Mate?" Robin stiffens, turns to face Killian as the man saunters over, two dark bottles in hand, one of which ends up cooling Robin's grip as the condensation on the brown glass drips over his knuckles.

He takes a swig, lets the cool beverage settle for a moment before glancing toward the woman in question. She's still working on her tent, bent over in her dark wash jeans and crisp white tank aggressively pushing another stake in the ground, and Robin can't help but appreciate the view. The first thing he noticed about Regina was her figure, or rather, her backside. And that isn't because he's a lech or a womanizer, but it was impossible not to notice her very shapely assets when he'd been behind her in line at the time, her red dress hugging each and every curve.

She'd been a picture of beauty, the goddess Venus herself, and he'd been determined to introduce himself. As it turned out, she was the one to initiate introductions two years ago, a scowl painted on that beautiful face, and he has always found her much more attractive when her mouth is shut, when she isn't passive aggressively attacking him for unintentionally slighting her. To this day he isn't certain what he had done to get on her bad side, what he'd done to rub her the wrong way when at the time all he could think about was rubbing her in all the right ways. Well, if he's honest, he still thinks about that.

He draws his gaze from the woman before she can catch him staring, before she can scold him for ogling her, and with a shake of his head he states defeatedly, "She brings out the worst in me." Another swig of beer goes down the hatch at that admission.

Killian laughs, pats a palm on Robin's shoulder before saying, "I've noticed." And it's true. Robin isn't a bad guy, or at least, he tries to be honorable. For some reason, the moment Regina went on the offence two years ago, he couldn't help but meet her head on, and now, well, she thinks he's an arrogant playboy so that's what he gives her, and he enjoys the lick of pride when he gets a reaction from her, when she scoffs or rolls her eyes.

Still, he tries to be kind, attempts a friendly interaction each time he sees her, but she never lets it get far, never lets them share more than a few minutes of pleasant conversation before sharp barbs are being tossed by her tongue. He imagines that tongue could be put to so many better uses, that mouth, those lips.

"You seem to have the same affect on her." Robin's pulled from fantasies that have no place in his mind by Killian's words. He gestures toward the center of their little camp where the two of them sink down on two of the six chairs circling the fire pit that has yet to be lit.

It's hot today, a moist heat that has a sheen of sweat settling on his skin, the beer in his hand turning prematurely warm. Kilian takes another gulp of his own beverage, flits his eyes toward Regina where she stands proudly, her back to them as she admires her own handiwork. "I've known that woman only a year longer than you, but I've never seen her feathers ruffled quite how you manage with your mere presence."

Robin sighs, lets his eyes find the woman again, and he can see her tent won't hold up long. If she's lucky it'll make her through tonight, but she wouldn't take his help, always refuses his help. "I'll try to play nice this weekend, Killian." He reassures the man beside him because he's fairly certain Killian is only worried about his and Regina's verbal sparring ruining the weekend for Emma and himself.

"I understand, Mate." The other man lifts his hands, palms facing outward, "Regina can be a real pain in the ass," Robin huffs out a small laugh at that, thinks what an understatement for that woman, "But I don't want to see either of you thrown into the fire over the next two days."

Robin tilts back his head and drains his bottle, glances back at Regina one more time to find her talking with Emma, the blonde welcomed like Robin will never be, and warm brown eyes find his, narrowing the instant they meet. He turns back to Killian, leans forward to tighten the laces on his tennis shoes, "Believe me, if anyone ends up in the fire this weekend, it will be me. I have a feeling Regina wouldn't mind casting me into the flames."

He stands then, tells Killian he's going for a jog on the trail, to which the other man replies, "are you mad?" And maybe he is, but he needs to get out of this camp, needs to get away from that woman who can have him unpleasantly aroused as quickly as she can have his blood boiling with frustration.

It's late morning by the time Regina finishes with her tent, and it doesn't look too bad (in her opinion). So much for putting her stakes further apart. What does a computer programmer know about camping anyway (he knows a lot, she knows as much, knows he takes Roland camping and fishing each summer every weekend).

"You and Robin already getting into it?" It's Emma that walks up beside her, offers her a bottle of water, and as she turns to address the blonde she catches a view of the man in question. He looks her way, says something to Killian beside him before running off on one of the numerous wooded trails.

"Mr. Locksley has already proven to be poor company if that's what you're asking." She twists the cap off her water, chugs down the cold liquid until it chills her stomach, and once more she wonders what possessed her to come on this trip.

It was Henry of course. They've finally mended a rift, finally seem to have moved forward in their relationship after almost three years of being at odds. He'd insisted she take some time to herself (he's growing up so fast), told her to take the weekend and learn some camping skills so she'll take him and they won't end up on the evening news as a mother and son lost in the wilderness.

Emma pulls her from the recollection of her boy and his lack of faith (if only he could see her now, her tent proudly standing). "You could be a little more," Emma pauses as Regina's brow lifts, and she gives the other woman a look that means to tread carefully, but she knows Emma; this woman never treads carefully, "Look," the blonde's hands lift momentarily, a placating gesture, "All I'm saying is Robin is a nice guy, and I've never seen him behave poorly except around you."

She scoffs at that, ignores the little niggle of disappointment that Robin seems to be a perfect gentleman to everyone but her, "So it's my fault then?"

"Of course not, Regina." Emma shakes her head, furrows her brow. "I just think the two of you could actually hit it off if you'd both stop being," the blonde lifts her hand, swirls it in an awkward gesture before finally concluding with, "how you're being."

"Very eloquent, Miss Swan." Emma tilts her head at that, frowns while Regina sips again at her water.

"So now I'm Miss Swan?" There is a twinge of hurt in the other woman's voice, and Regina knows better, knows she shouldn't push away people who have stuck with her through so much, so long.

"I'm sorry, Emma." She takes a deep breath, brushes a droplet of sweat from her temple, "You're right. Robin seems to bring out the worst in me for some reason."

"Oh, I think I know the reason." The blonde smirks, sips at her own water while Regina furrows her brow and narrows her eyes questioningly at the woman. "Let's go for a hike."

She's caught off guard by that, the shift in topic. Her eyes shift around the camp, and she takes a mental assessment of the reality of her immediate future. Killian is still at the center of camp, nursing what looks to be a bottle of beer. Mary Margaret and David finished setting up their tent an hour ago before they disappeared amongst it's blue fabric with a couple bags and the obvious excuse of 'unpacking'.

She turns back to Emma, looks at the mouth of the trail nearest them, the narrow path shaded by walls of leafy green. "Sure," she recaps her bottle, "why not?"

The sweltering heat of the day lingers, sticks in the atmosphere until the sun finally kisses the horizon, painting the sky in dazzling hues, and for the first time Robin is actually happy to be here. He soaks in the beauty of his surroundings, absorbs the coolness beginning to taint the warm air, and starts stacking wood for a fire before the sun leaves them without any light.

It has been a relaxing day, certainly not laborious at least, but after his late morning run to blow off some steam, he's still been wound tightly around Regina, like a kettle ready to whistle, and she's been oddly quiet around him, throwing fewer insults than normal, something that throws him off kilter. Part of him wonders if that's her purpose, but then he thinks better of it, figures she, like him, is just trying to make this weekend less unpleasant than it could be.

Apparently that means they can't talk at all.

He places three sturdy logs against one another, balances them just so, but placing a fourth and fifth has the entire structure toppling to the side before he can steady it.

"Maybe you should place your logs a little further apart."

Speak of the devil. He smirks to himself, shakes his head before lifting his gaze. She's still wearing those dark jeans, the material hugging her form nicely, but she's added a red cardigan over the white tank, and it alludes him how even camping she can look so crisp and elegant, the only hint of a day outside in humidity the curling hairs at her temple.

She looks softer though, her face a touch gentler than when he normally sees her at gathering with their mutual friends, or at school functions. Her makeup is duller, almost non-existent, and he finds that she looks kinder like this, more innocent somehow; her words, however, prove how incorrect of an assumption that would be.

"Do you need help with your wood, Mr. Locksley?" She says it with wide eyes, a mask of innocence and sincerity, but they both know what she's playing at, and she can't hide her proud grin. It's the same game they've rivaled at since day one. He does hate it when she refuses to call him by name, when in reality they know each other rather well. Or at least, they know a lot about each other.

"Are you offering?" He responds with a tilt of his head, a hand gesturing toward the fire pit, but she just smiles, plants herself in one of the chairs, curling up her legs in a manner that reminds him of a cat.

"And deprive you of such a well-suited task?" Her hand lifts to her sternum, presses there, and he wonders what it feels like, wonders how soft her skin would be against his hand. "I wouldn't dare."

"Of course not." He's always thought her a touch pretentious, a little pompous, at least with him, so he stands, offers a slight bow while saying, "Let me get the fire started for you then, your majesty."

She rolls her eyes at that, but says nothing more while he situates the logs and prepares some kindling. The evening flows past once the fire is lit, the six of them happily chatting and joking, laughing and smiling. Regina and him don't speak again, but he hears her talk, listens to her husky voice as she recounts for the group how David and Mary Margaret met, how disgustingly in love they were from the get go.

It makes him long to have known his friends then, when the five of them had met years ago in college. Mary Margaret and Regina had been roommates, had met Emma in a class and the men at a local pub, but while they were all getting to know each other, Robin was settling down with his new bride, putting himself through tech school and working long nights. He wouldn't give up those days for anything, the spring of his marriage to Marian, the budding romance that eventually gave him Roland, but still, he thinks Regina would have been quite a sight to behold in those days, and part of him wishes he could relive the moments his friends reminisce upon with such nostalgia.

"And that's how she got arrested." Mary Margaret continues yet another tale, this one chronicling Emma's wilder days, and he laughs, a hearty thing pulled from his lips while the others smile and Emma has the sense to look a little ashamed.

"Hey, the guy deserved it." The blonde defends before canting the topic of conversation to what Robin has learned is one of her favorites (food), "Anyone up for some s'mores?"

"Oh yes!" Mary Margaret stands abruptly, letting David's hand fall between their two chairs, and Robin has to smile at the couple, the way they seem like two halves split from a whole. "I'll get the chocolate bars and graham crackers. Regina can you grab the marshmallows from the bag behind your chair?"

He stands himself then, stretches his back while his front stays warmed by the heat of the fire. It's gotten a lot colder, but it's still sticky, moisture hovering around them, and he looks up, notices a lack of stars where there should be more, and thinks to himself with a glance toward the tents that maybe he should add some supports to Regina's shelter while she's distracted. It won't make it through a heavy storm, that much he is certain of, but then Killian is placing an ice cold beer in his hand, and the thought slips his mind, carried away by the promise of a warm and gooey dessert as Regina politely hands him a stick with a bright white marshmallow on the end.

"Try not to fall in the fire." She whispers with a wide grin, and he can't decide if she looks evil in that moment, or just plain sexy, the orange glow of flame kissing her skin.