101. Kissing in the rain. Set in the Unwritten verse.

Their first date goes horribly wrong.

Robin has planned everything to the last dot--perfect time, perfect location, perfect everything for the woman he'd had a crush on for as long as he's known her. Only the best for Regina Mills.

Only the weather won't bend to his will, nor listen to his desperate wish to dissolve the steely clouds gathering over their heads, or the buffeting wind scattering their possessions, tearing down fairy lights,and lashing them with breakaway leaves. No--despite Robin's silent prayer to the heavens, the sky opens a bare half hour into their carefully assembled picnic, and pours its contents onto the world.

"I'm so sorry," he shouts over the raging elements, but Regina only grabs his hand and tugs at it.

They make for the car, feet squelching in the grass, soaked to the skin halfway--and then she stops in her tracks.

Robin grabs her by the hips to steady himself, another apology spilling from his lips. He can barely make out her face through the heavy rain when she pries his hands from her body and whips around.

Shit, this is a disaster. He fully expects a reprimand, laced with anger and disappointment, with regret that she'd ever given this a chance.

Heavy-hearted, he slips his hands from under hers, cringing at the boldness of his touch clearly unwelcome to her--but instead of letting go she grasps his fingers more firmly and places their joined hands on her hips again.

Robin blinks.

The mighty downpour eases to a light rainfall.

And Regina stays, weaving her fingers with his, the car quite forgotten.

Perhaps all is not lost after all.

"I wanted this to be special," he confesses miserably. "Cliche, I know; but you did tell me you enjoy my efforts to give those a fresh touch in my books."

Regina tilts her head at him, and the sheer beauty of her punches him right in the gut. Her dark locks are a mess sticking to her face and neck, her sundress clinging to her skin, and he swears she's never looked more beautiful.

"Oh Robin," she sighs, those chocolate browns swirling with emotion as they stare right into his bared soul. They always feel that way--magic, how naked he feels under them, how he doesn't in the slightest bit mind.

He only wishes he could read her now as thoroughly as she claims--half fascination, half caution--he can.

Wishes he could scrap this scene gone bad and write it anew, as many times as he needs to get it exactly right.

Regina's eyes are still boring into him, her tongue darting out to lick away the teardrop clinging to her lips. Lips he'd hoped to taste tonight, had things gone well. Which they haven't.

"I'm sor--"

But she won't let him finish his renewed apology. Her hands dart up to fist the lapels of his shirt, and instead of pushing him away she yanks him closer, their lips hovering a hair's breadth apart, the tips of their noses touching. She smells divine, a heady mix of perfume, damp earth, and Regina, pressed up against him head to toe--and can he really be such a lucky bastard?

"This is perfect," she breathes, her words tickling his lips as thunder rumbles in the distance and a lonely sunbeam breaks through the clouds.

And then--they kiss. And kiss. And kiss. They revel in every coming together of their lips, every sigh as the sweet kiss deepens, and the matching little moans as their tongues slide gently together.

When their lips part with a soft pop, their foreheads come together instead, as if they couldn't bear an inch of distance between them.

They stand there, wrapped up in each other, as the rain caresses them.

Perfect, indeed.