Signed Sealed Delivered: Jealousy
Written for a prompt SSD: Robin is jealous (actually ended up filling at least one other prompt too).
And okay, you guys know that my fics are usually a bit raunchy but i’m letting you know that this is VERY raunchy.
Thanks SO MUCH to everyone for keeping me going on this fic and telling me not to delete all the porn and make this PG rated. @somewhereapart, @repellomuggletum15, @the-alpha-incipiens, @starscythe, @brookeap3, you guys are the best.
special thanks to bea for being my beta, and to Jen for great sex toy advice, lol. The toy featured in this fic is the womanizer and everyone should have it.
He hadn’t been snooping. Truly.
He’d just been using her computer to check his email, just to make sure nothing pressing was happening in that full week between Christmas and New Year’s. He’s taken the whole week off after Christmas Eve, and despite it being a verryyy last minute vacation, his employer had understood, assuring him it would a slow week, and it would be unlikely any clients would call with pressing needs. Besides, as his boss Carmella had conveyed, he needed another mini-honeymoon with his wife.
So he had just been reading over his emails, calming any anxiety about his impromptu holiday. And then the chat window had appeared out of nowhere.
Hey, beautiful. Long time no chat! I texted you but I didn’t hear back. Just checking— are we still meeting next week?
His breath is still caught in his chest, heart still racing as he pours over the message for the fifth time..
He shouldn’t click that chat — he really shouldn’t. But he does anyway, because he’s a weak, sad little man.
It takes him to Regina’s profile.
He can’t breathe. Good god on high, she’s so bloody beautiful in the photos she picked. It’s nothing sexy, just these very natural, candid shots of her — two of which he can remember taking himself — and she just looks, well, perfect.
Roland is not pictured on her profile but she mentions him, and the fact she’s a package deal and those who cannot love children need not contact her.
It seems this requirement has done nothing to take down the amount of suitors, however.
He should not be looking, but he’s so hurt and scared, he can’t help him himself. He goes to her inbox and checks recent messages. Of course her page is full of messages from men. Of course it is.
He swallows down the bile rising up his throat as he reads messages from men to his wife, his, dammit.
It cuts deeply, and it’s terrifying. He knows Regina is a catch, he’s never lost sight of that fact.
But these men, some of them aren’t really bad men (he shouldn’t be looking, shouldn’t be looking at this). They are good looking professionals. Doctors and engineers and architects, a vice president of a large tech firm… wealthy men. Powerful men.
Men who might be able to give her a better life than he can.
It’s strange, though. She doesn’t reply all that often. He can see a day or two where she responded to a couple of men, with something short, but there are no long conversations (he should not be looking at this, should not at all, the voice repeats in his head like a dull drum beat he’s set on ignoring, apparently). She’s very selective. But there are a few men she’s responded to, and this guy who recently messaged her appears to be one of only a handful that she’s ever written back. Someone she talked to quite a bit (he sees the string of messages and resists reading it and pouring through every last word).
Robin snoops on this guy’s profile (his name is Andrew, but the man doesn’t deserve a name at all in his opinion).
This is a man who, he recalls, has Regina’s phone number, fuck, she trusted him that much. He’s a pediatrician who works in the city and lives in Mclean, Virginia. He’s has dirty blonde hair and these bright blue eyes and has a six-year-old son of his own.
Robin hates him. Hates him, despite the fact that on paper they seem like they would get along just fine. They both enjoy rugby, a good lager, and activities Robin has come to enjoy in the states like whitewater rafting, skydiving, and mountain climbing. And he loves his family, two brothers and a very loving mother and father who love their grandchildren.
He thinks of his wife going on long camping weekends, his child playing with this guy’s child, and it’s enough to send him into a mini-panic attack.
He almost lost everything.
Almost, but he didn’t.
It’s been three days since Christmas Eve, and Regina and Robin have… been a little preoccupied. Each day has been filled soaking up every activity they can milk out of Roland, and quite frankly they have fucked each other into exhaustion every night (not that he is complaining).
They haven’t really talked too much about the future yet, besides the little talk on Christmas Eve where Regina made it clear she wants him to live with her. She made her choice, he knows she did. She’s not leaving him. They are together.
But some deep rooted insecurity inside him has him wondering why the ivy-league, all-American doctor with a mansion in McLean and a beautiful family isn’t a hell of a lot better than Robin. He won’t be able to afford that, he can’t give her first-class trips to Rio and Peru and Tokyo. He can’t give her a picture perfect family right out of a Hallmark movie. His family is broken and messy and complicated and not what she deserves.
And it sounds silly but he worries maybe she didn’t make the right choice.
He closes the browser and deletes the browser history, his mouth dry and his stomach flip flopping.
He should not have seen this. It’s an invasion of her privacy, and shamefully pathetic that he even looked at all. He should just pretend he never saw it, right?
He shouldn’t talk to her about it. He has no right to be upset or hurt. She did nothing wrong.
But frankly he promised her honesty and the thought of keeping this from her seems worse than confessing.
He’s still trying to work out what to do when she comes into the den, oblivious to what has just happened.
“Hey, babe,” she leans over to kiss his cheek. “Roland is out like a light.”
He swallows thickly, tries to put what he’s seen out of his head. “He had a busy morning,” he replies, trying to keep his voice steady and nonchalant. But she can tell something is off right away, raising an eyebrow and looking rather concerned.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen with work?”
“No, everything’s fine at work,” he says. He’s still sitting at her little desk, laptop opened to his work email. He shouldn’t tell her, it’s just going to start a fight, she’ll be so mad at him for this, and she has every right to be so, yet…
He takes a deep breath and turns to her, swiveling the little chair away from the laptop.
“I… uh, saw something I should not have,” he says, motioning back to the screen.
She looks genuinely confused, searching her mind for what he could have seen.
“A message for you popped up, and I know I shouldn’t have, but… I looked, and…”
“What message?” she asks. She sits on his lap and motions at the computer, and okay, this is a good sign. She doesn’t seem terribly upset.
He sighs and types in the address of her profile. He doesn’t look at her face, so he misses the way she frowns at the sight of it.
She takes his hand off the laptop and replaces it with her own, and checks her inbox.
He grimaces. He doesn’t like hearing that man’s name out of his wife’s mouth.
“Yeah…” Robin says dumbly, not sure how to voice exactly what he’s feeling.
She sighs and turns to him, looking a bit defensive as she reminds him, “Robin, we were broken up. And you fucked Marian. And at the time I thought you two were still dating and this is none of your—” she starts to get off his lap as she speaks, but he is a weak man and the idea of her leaving him is awful, so he reaches out for her, urging her to sit back on his lap. She does.
“I know, I know, I’m not mad at you and you had every right to move on. I mean, you have every right to… you still have that right.” His voice sounds high and pitchy, and he hates it.
“What are you saying?” Her head tilts as she stares at him half-annoyed, half-curious.
“I… looked at his profile,” Robin explains, holding his hand up as she stiffens and opens her mouth to protest, “I know, I have no right, but it happened so fast, and I just…” he shakes his head. “I have no excuse. But he’s a good man, it seems, with a good family, and plenty of money, and…”
She furrows her brows. “Are you jealous of Andrew?”
“Not just Andrew,” he says before he can think better of it. “There are so many guys who want you—”
“You looked at other messages?”
“No, I just… I saw them and looked at the profiles of some—”
That’s enough, it seems. She gets off his lap, putting her hand in her head as she walks away. He feels the loss of her immediately, and it leaves him cold and anxious. Shit, this is a mess. “You read those, oh god…” She sounds less angry than he expected more… upset. The way her cheeks pink and flush he’d almost swear embarrassed is the emotion she feels, but that can’t be it. She has nothing to be embarrassed about.
“I didn’t read them, I just…” He sighs. God, herself ’s an ass. “I visited some of the profiles of those you wrote back to but I didn’t read the conversations, I swear, and I’m not accusing you of anything, that’s not what that is about.”
“Then what is this about?”
“I’ve always known that you could have anyone you wanted, never doubted it for a second, but seeing it, it’s just…”
A shy smile spreads over her face. “Oh. I was quite popular on that site.”
“Of course you were,” he says emphatically. “You’re a catch in every way. And those are men who… they can give you things I can’t.”
She sits down on the couch, that smile splitting wider across her face. “You mean like a summer home in Tuscany and a six-bedroom home in an exclusive neighborhood right outside of D.C.,” she surmises.
“When have I ever cared about that sort thing?”
Never. If she had cared, she would have married one of those men her mom kept trying to set her up with.
He knows this, he should know this, but hearing her say it brings him more relief than he would care to admit.
“You still deserve it. And I want to be the best for you.”
“You already are,” she assures. She walks back towards him and takes a seat back on his lap. “You give me things no one else can.”
She’s too good to him. She knows he needs affection now and she gives it freely, nuzzling into his neck and cuddling him as if he were a child (he is, at this point). His fingers skim down her back.
“Like what?” He cannot help but ask, insecurity bleeding into the question.
“Do you want to read the conversations?” she asks. “I feel like all jealousy you have will be gone if you read them. Though I’m dreadfully embarrassed of my flirting skills in text form.” She cringes, and so does he, but for different reasons.