A smile tugs onto Robin's lips as he enters the bedroom to find Regina at her dressing table, perched on the stool with a pitcher and basin in front of her.

He lingers there for a moment, watching as she dabs a wet sponge against her pink skin, washing up and relieving herself of the August heat. Her nightgown—that damn, practically sheer, gown that's been driving him crazy for the last few nights—is undone in the front, and though it doesn't reveal as much as he'd like, he can see the rounded sides of her breasts. Swallowing hard, he watches as she continues, her eyes still closed and her hand moving slow and deliberately. Beads of water slide down her flushed, glistening skin, rolling down her neck and over her breasts, dampening the thin white fabric. The faint smile on her face shows her satisfaction and relief.

He takes a breath—not quite wanting him make himself known, not wanting to disrupt her or make her cover up. Even with the windows open, the heat was nearly unbearable, but still Regina insisted on the nightgown, and though it didn't cover much, it was like a security blanket, protecting her from…

His thoughts trail off, suddenly muddled.

He supposed the nightgown was meant to protect her from him and his advances.

Since Oliver's birth, Regina had recoiled.

It wasn't that she was distant. On the contrary, most of the time she was quite the opposite, and for awhile he couldn't help but think that it was all in his head; but as weeks turned to months, he couldn't help but notice that things only changed between them when they were alone.

When he reached for her at night, she'd roll away, or that she'd stay in the nursery until she assumed he'd be asleep. In the morning, she woke early and it made him miss the not-so-long-ago days when she'd wake up and cuddle into his chest, laughing as she wondered how long it'd be before anyone missed them and came looking for them. When Henry and Roland were out and Oliver was asleep, she didn't seek him out, no longer letting him steal the occasional kiss, no longer laughing at an inappropriate little touch, and when he flirted with her, she shied away from him. And though he hadn't tried to initiate it, he could only assume that sex was completely out of the question.

Of course he knew that it'd take time for that sort of intimacy to return to their marriage after the birth of their son, but he'd been unprepared for the rest.

As he stood there, his smile faded.

He missed her.

The week before Archie Hopper had come for a visit to check up on Oliver, happily reporting that he was a strong and healthy baby. Before he left, Robin pulled him aside. He'd felt sheepish and ridiculous for even asking, but he had no other choice but to keep Robin's inquiries to himself.

Archie seemed uncomfortable by the questions he posed—and at first, Robin took that as a sign that maybe he should be concerned. But his concern fueled more questions, this time about Regina's health and well-being, and eventually, Archie simply shrugged, informing him that women were "curious creatures" and no one could really be certain of "how all of that worked."

Robin stood there, dumbfounded, as the doctor's carriage pulled away—and when he went back into the house, Mrs. Beakley was standing there. His cheeks went red at the realization she'd overheard the awkward conversation between him and the doctor.

"She needs time," she'd said. "There's nothing wrong with her, and I swear to God Almighty, if you tell her that something's wrong with her, or even imply it—"

"I'm not saying something is wrong with her," he'd cut in impatiently, shifting awkwardly on his feet. "But something's…. different."

"Of course it is. She had a baby."

"I know, but... it's… it's not that. It's…" He stopped, sighing at his inability to explain it. "I just… I miss her."

At that, Mrs. Beakley's face softened. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she led him down to the kitchen and made him a cup of tea, letting him settle in for a lengthy conversation that made him wish he had something stronger than tea.

At first, he hadn't been sure where to start, then with a little coaxing he told her everything, starting with the night that Oliver was born and taking her all the way to that morning, explaining how a million little things that he hadn't even noticed had piled up into something seemingly insurmountable.

"Besides," he said, offering an exasperated sigh as Mrs. Beakley refilled his teacup, "Oliver's more than four months old. Shouldn't things… be… well… as they were?"

"Well, I think I've already heard enough of what that doctor you've employed had to say about the matter," she'd said, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "But did he have anything more to say? Something more specific, perhaps?"

"He assures us that everything's in working order."

Mrs. Beakley offered a curt nod. "Physically."

Robin's brow furrowed as Mrs. Breakley refilled his cup of tea. "Sure. Physically, but that's not everything." A grin tugged on her lips as she pulled off her apon and cast it aside before pulling a stool up the counter where she sat down across from him. "Sometimes these things are… more about feelings."

"Feelings—"

"Yes, feelings she has about herself." His face must've contorted in a curious way because Mrs. Beakley laughed and shook her head. "You know, not everything about you."

Now, he stands at the threshold of the bedroom, watching Regina wash up, he found himself thinking of the advice Mrs. Beakly offered—and he found himself longing for the way things used to be between them, longing to touch her and hold her, to kiss her, to make love to her...

"Does it help?"

Regina's eyes flew open as she looked sharply at him. "I didn't know you'd come in."

"I… just did," he murmurs, grinning as he starts toward her. "I was just… lost in thought for a second."

"Ah—"

Regina's eyes fall away from him as she drops the sponge into the basin and shrugs her shoulders in an attempt to shift her nightgown.

"Don't—"

She looks back, her fingers wound around the drawstrings at the front of the gown. "What?"

"Cover up."

"Well, I am done and I—"

"It's a thousand degrees. You've got to be warm."

"It's thin."

"Oh, I am very aware of that," he says, a chuckle rising into his voice. "I just—" Taking a breath, he looks to her. "I miss you."

"Miss me? I'm right here."

"I miss holding you and—" Again, she looks away, and he watches her lace up her nightgown through the mirror. "Regina, it's been months."

"I'm aware," she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

"I just want… things to be normal between us. I want—" His voice halts as her eyes pinch tighter closed. Her discomfort is nearly palpable. Taking a breath, he crouches down in front of her. "Is it... me? Did I do something? Or—"

"No," she says, her eyes finally meeting his once more. "It's not you."

"Then—?"

Her brows arch as if the answer should be obvious to him—and perhaps it should be.

"I… I know this first time will be… hard for you, and I don't want to push," he says, grinning gently. "I mean, we don't even have to really do much of anything, if you're not ready. I just want…"

Again, she looks away as her eyes press closed, and he can't help but notice the way she tugs at her nightgown as if shielding herself.

"Regina, it's only like this when we're alone. When we're with the kids or out and about, everything seems fine... it's… it's like it was."

"I… I can't, Robin. I just… can't do it right now. And I want to—my god, do I want to—but… I can't."

He waits for her to finish, but she doesn't. So, he draws in a breath and tries to coax out an answer. "Why not?"

When she looks back at him, she again gives him that incredulous look that implies that he should be able to figure it out on his own, like this conversation shouldn't be necessary. "Robin. Look at me."

He blinks. "What?"

She sighs and her jaw tightens as her cheeks flush. "I… can't imagine that you would find me at all attractive as I am."

Now, it's his turn to offer her an incredulous look. "What? You're… you're not serious."

"I am, Robin. I… I don't look the way that I used to and… and if you saw me, there's no way…"

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Her eyes roll as she stands up, but before she can walk away, he catches her by the hand. "Regina, look at me." He waits until she does and takes a breath as he tries to collect his thoughts—the idea that he could ever lose interest would be laughable if she were actually serious about it. "I can assure you—"

"Can we just—"

"You want to, though, right?" He interjects, not letting her finish, but releasing his hold on her. "I mean, maybe not in this very moment, but—"

"But you won't once you see me." With a sigh, she shakes her head. "It was so easy after Henry. Everything just… bounced back to the way it was."

He nods. "Well, you were younger then and—" His voice halts as her brows arch up—that was clearly the wrong thing to say. "I just mean you're not eighteen anymore, but the thing is… neither am I."

"Yes, but your skin isn't… all wrinkly and saggy and you don't have angry red marks all over the place, and…" Her head falls back as she sighs, turning away from him and putting some distance between them. "I just feel so unattractive and I know how shallow that is, but I just... I don't think I could stand it if you agreed with me."

For a moment, he just stares at her—she's resolute in her reasoning and when she gets this way, there's nothing he can say to change her mind, and even if there was something he could say she's too stubborn to actually hear it. So, instead, he takes a step toward her. "Have I ever lied to you?"

With a soft sigh, she shakes her head. "No."

He takes another step. "Have I ever done anything that's given you the impression I didn't want you?"

"No."

"Do you think I'd ever intentionally hurt you?"

"No, but that's just it—"

"Do you trust me?" At that, she hesitates and a lopsided smile tugs up from one corner of his mouth. She's not hesitating because she doesn't trust him; she's hesitating because she does. "You do," he says as he reaches for her hand, giving it a light tug as he draws her in. "I can tell."

"It's not a matter of trust, Robin. Nor is it a matter of intention."

"Mm, I disagree."

Her eyes shift to his hand as it settles on her hip. "I can't tell if you're trying to pick a fight or seduce me, but regardless, I think it'll end in disappointment."

"Again, I have to disagree with that last point," he tells her, "And about the other things… it's definitely the second one."

"You're hopeless," she says, rolling her eyes as she tries to step past him. But his hand stays firmly placed on her hip. "Robin—"

"I miss you, Regina, and I don't know if you're even aware that you said it, but you miss me, too."

"Of course I do, but—"

"Nothing has to happen. I just want to hol—"

A sardonic little laugh bubbles out of her, halting his voice. "Oh, if we're going to do this, I'm at least going to get an orgasm out of it." With a huff, she looks away. "Assuming we get that far."

He blinks. "Well… that was a sudden turn…"

"I'm just saying, if I'm going to repulse you forever, I might as well get one last—"

"You're not going to repulse me, and it will not be the last."

Nodding, she offers a slight smile that she has to force. "Well, we'll see about that, won't we?"

Robin watches as Regina draws in a breath—and he can't help but notice that even though she holds his gaze, her hands are trembling. "You don't have to—"

She doesn't let him finish. Before he can out the rest of the words—before he can tell her that she truly doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to do or anything she's uncomfortable doing, that he's glad just to have had her open up a bit—Regina lifts the gown over her head and drops it to the floor.

Her eyes press closed as she stands there, her hands still trembling as she allows him to see her for the first time in months.

Stepping toward her, he reaches for her, slipping his hand over her bare hip as the other hand cups her cheek. "You're so beautiful," he whispers as he leans in, brushing his lips over hers.

"You're lying," she rasps, her eyes still pressed closed.

"We've already covered that I'm not in the habit of lying to you. I wouldn't change that now."

Regina gets out a hint of a laugh before he kisses her—the first kiss that wasn't a soft and passing peck in months. He draws her in closer, holding her against him as his lips slide away from hers, moving across her jaw to the crook of her neck, focusing his attention for a while at the spot she likes there—and he smiles against her skin as she lets out a breathy sigh.

His hands explore her, pressing firmly against her skin and he can feel the warmth of her body against him."Open your eyes," he whispers, his lips barely leaving her skin.

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm worried that if I do... then… this won't be real."

At that, he pulls back just enough to look at her. "Open your eyes," he says again.

This time, she does.

"See. I'm still here."

She nods. "Yes, I… I see that."

His grin turns coy. "So you mean to tell me you've been dreaming about this?"

"I don't remember saying that."

"It was implied."

A soft chuckle bubbles out of her and her cheeks flush as she looks away. "Well, I never dreamed of me standing here completely naked and vulnerable, and you standing there completely dressed."

"I think I can remedy that," he says, leaning back and pecking her lips. "And fast."

He can feel her eyes on him as he tugs his shirt from his pants. "You're awfully eager."

"We haven't had sex in four months. Yes. I'm eager."

Regina bites down on her lip and he can't help but notice the way she tries to hide herself, crossing her arms over the parts of herself that make her uncomfortable. "Actually," she murmurs. "It's been four months and two weeks."

He blinks and tugs the shirt over his head, smirking. "Now who's eager?"

"Just because I hate the way I look doesn't mean—"

"Stop."

"What? I'm just—"

"Stop."

Her eyes widen, but before she can protest or argue or say something else that's self-deprecating, he reaches for her, tugging her to him and wrapping her arms around her—and when her arms follow suit, linking loosely around his shoulders, he smiles into the kiss.

His clothes are removed between kisses and by the time they tumble back onto the bed, he's aching for more.

"Wait," he murmurs. "Are you… I mean…" He stops, drawing in short, sharp breaths as he reminds himself not to rush things.

Regina's eyes are wide and he can see the worry in them. "What? What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Why'd you stop?"

"I, um… Mrs. Beakley mentioned that you might have trouble—"

She grimaces, her eyes pinching closed. "Oh, god. You've been talking to people about this?"

"It… wasn't intentional." Her eyes open and she's giving him that incredulous look again. "She suggested an aloe that might help."

"Aloe—"

He nods. "A, um… a lubricant to—"

"I know what a lubricant would be for and, um… I'm not having that issue."

"No?" He brightens. "So, everything… feels alright?"

She offers him a curt little nod. "Not everything, but… mostly."

He grins and leans back in, kissing her and pushing her back against the pillows. "This feels so good," he murmurs as his lips pull away from her, slipping down her neck and the space between her breasts. "Tell me if something doesn't feel right or—"

"Keep going," she says, her voice husky—and then, as his hand moves to cup her breast, she pulls back. "Just… don't go there." Looking up at her, he nods and grins, then returns his attention to her body, kissing his way down her torso.

A soft moan escapes her as his fingers slip between her thighs, and he glances up at her, watching as her chest rises and falls, appreciating the way her skin glistens.

Reluctantly, he pulls away, repositioning himself on the bed, his eyes lingering over her.

"I hate that you're staring."

"Appreciating." Her eyes roll as he leans forward to kiss her knees, slowly pushing them apart. "Honestly," he says, looking up at her. "There's a lot to appreciate."

"You don't have to try and woo me, you've already got me in bed."

"Oh," he says, shaking his head, again kissing her knee. "I'm not trying to woo you, I'm simply stating the obvious." He kisses the other knee, shifting himself so that he's sitting between them. "It's always nice to have a reminder of just how lucky I am."

"Lucky—"

"Mm, incredibly so."

Again, her eyes roll, but this time, she laughs and says nothing.

Robin leans in, his tongue swiping against her—she's right, she doesn't need the lubricant.

He spends a while between her legs, teasing her with his fingers and tongue, enjoying the way she writhes and squirms, the way she breathes and moans, and mostly, enjoying the way she loses herself in it.

His tongue circles and flicks at her clit as he pumps two fingers in and out of her—he can feel her orgasm building. Her fingers grip at the sheets and in his hair, her hips moving against him as she tries to push herself closer to the edge, and finally, when she gets there, she lets out a scream.

Robin grins, feeling quite satisfied with himself and for a while, he stays buried between her legs, lazily licking and caressing as she comes down from her high.

Stretching out beside her, he rolls onto his side, grinning like an idiot as he strums his fingers over her torso, pushing at the blanket that she's trying to pull up. "It's about a million degrees, you don't need to cover up." He drops a kiss to her shoulder as she lets go of the blanket. "Honestly, there's no reason—"

"You can't deny that I look different."

"I'm not denying that," he tells her. "You've had a baby, of course, there are some things that look different now, but that doesn't make you any less desirable to me." A grin tugs up from the corner of his mouth as his fingers trace one of her stretch marks. "They're like battle wounds. You should be proud of them."

He's not sure if she scoffs or laughs.

"I'm serious. I can guarantee if the positions were reversed, I wouldn't have lived through it."

"Well, lucky for you that's entirely impossible."

Leaning in, he kisses her. His hand tangles in her hair as his other hand kneads at her skin. The kiss is long and languid; he's in no rush and she doesn't seem to be either. His hands explore her, reacquainting himself with every inch of her and allowing her to reacquaint herself with his touch.

He lets out a groan as he feels her hand take his cock, her fist slowly pumping up and down the shaft—and though he hardly needs any encouragement or preparation for what's to come, he has to admit it feels good.

Until suddenly, it isn't enough.

"Should I get—"

"No."

Pulling back, he looks at her. "No?"

"Dr. Hopper said that… well… since I'm nursing, I can't get pregnant."

He can't help but smirk. "Seems like you've been talking to people about this, too."

"Shut up."

Laughing softly, he watches as she lays back—god, he's missed being with her this way.

Regina parts her legs, making room for him as she reaches out to pull him to her. "Maybe you should be on top," he suggests, catching her hand and pressing his lips to the back. "I just… think it'll be more comfortable for you."

Her brow arches. "Did Mrs. Beakley tell you that while you were chatting about our sex life—or lack of it—over tea and cookies?"

He offers a sheepish nod. "It makes sense though… considering…"

"It does," she says, biting nervously at her lip. "But gravity also makes sense."

"Regina—"

"I just… can't imagine… things jiggling and—" She stops, grimacing. "It'd be quite a mood killer."

"I love watching you, you know that."

Her eyes roll. "You loved watching me."

"I still do—"

Regina draws in a breath. "I'd be thinking about it the whole time. I wouldn't feel—"

"Then we won't," he says, cutting in and kissing the back of her hand once more. "But promise me, if something's uncomfortable or—"

"I'll tell you," she says, her voice impatient as a little grin edges onto her lips. "Now, do something to make me forget my nerves."

He nods, thinking about the first time they were together like this. He thinks of the anticipation and the build, remembering how her every touch nearly pushed him over the edge, and he remembers how satisfied he felt after, holding her in his arms. His memory skips over what happened the following day, instead focusing on the next time they were together and the time after that, slowly but surely getting to know each other's likes and dislikes and what made the other feel good as that initial nervousness faded away…

"Robin, please—"

Shifting himself over her, he positions himself, keeping an eye on her as he slowly pushes into her. Her breath catches as his cock slips fully inside of her, and he holds himself still for a moment, waiting for her body to adjust. After a moment, she grins, offering a slight nod. He takes that as his cue.

He goes slow at first, with short thrusts and then as her hips start to rock back and forth against him, as she begins to move with him, he picks up the pace.

God, she's beautiful, he finds himself thinking, as he watches himself fuck her.

Her hands find his chest, pulling him down to her. She catches his lips in hers as her arms wrap around his back and her leg over his hip, drawing him in deeper.

She moans against his mouth just before he breaks the kiss, his lips suckling at her jaw and neck before he sits up and fucks her. She lets out a little whimper as she pushes her head back against the pillow, but it's one of pleasure and not of pain. Her hands move to his hips, her nails digging into his skin as she asks him to go harder.

Smirking, he does as she requested, rocking his hips harder and faster—and then, he slows down, practically pulling out and pushing back in with every thrust.

"Robin—"

"Does it feel good?"

"Mm, yes, but—" She opens her eyes and grins, her hand skimming over her torso in pursuit of her clit. "Please."

She stops just short of touching herself, waiting for him to do it.

Reaching out, he presses two fingers to her clit, rubbing in a hard, circular motion as he continues to fuck her. Her breath grows huskier as she wriggles beneath him. Her skin is flushed and her head is pressed back into the pillow, her back arching up as her hips begin to buck—and as he watches her, he feels that familiar twinge in his cock, telling him that he's nearing a climax of his own.

"Go ahead, let go," he tells her, watching as her fist clenches the sheet beneath her and rubs harder at the sheet. "Come for me."

It isn't long before she comes, her muscles clenching his cock and setting off his own orgasm.

He falls to her side, lying there as he tries to catch his breath, feeling sated and satisfied. Regina rolls onto her side, her fingers tracing circles against his chest as she looks up at him—and then, as their eyes meet, she pulls herself up, hovering over him as she kisses him.

The kiss is wet and sloppy, and when he feels her reach for his cock, he groans against her mouth and tangles his hand in her hair, pulling her closer and kissing her harder.

Regina shifts herself over him, her knees settling on the sides of his hips as she straddles his waist—and then, just before she pulls back, she draws in a breath. He can practically see her heart racing as she sits up, her eyes closing as her hands rub at her skin. Her hips start to move, rocking slowly and deliberately back and forth as she slides along his cock—and again, he can't help but groan.

"You know," she begins, her voice low and raspy, "I usually hate it when you prove me wrong."

Smirking, he nods—it's been the source of many frustrating arguments. "Have I done that?"

"Mm, I think so."

His brow arches as he looks up at her, his eyes lingering over her body as he reaches out to touch her. "You think?"

She nods, grinning down at him as she pulls herself onto her knees, positioning his cock before slowly sinking down onto it, ready for an encore.