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Storybrooke is finally getting a mall.
A few many years too late, but getting one nonetheless.
Emma would’ve believed Regina capable of poofing one into existence with so much as the flick of a wrist, but turns out she simply can’t make one appear out of thin air if the mall is to have big commercial chains, which is the reason Regina’s doing this in the first place.
(Well, kind of. She’s doing it because Henry finally has friends his own age, and like a bratty teenager with two moms who will do anything to keep him happy, he has not shut up about how little there is to do in Storybrooke for people his age and how a mall would be… Poggers ?
She’s not sure what the hell that means).
Regina spends ten days planning the whole thing to a tee. She knows where she’s going to put it, she emails multiple investors, she even gets a rough sketch of how she wants it to look and Emma still doesn’t know why she can’t just… Poof it.
“It’s illegal, Emma,” she says as if Emma’s a complete idiot, which she might be but… Hey. “If a corporation finds out there’s a Starbucks operating in the middle of a town called Storybrooke in Maine , without reporting back to them, we could get sued.”
So, Regina does it by the books.
They travel to Boston.
‘They’ being Regina, Gold and herself, because even if his professional title is a farce from Dark Curse University, he knows how to get his way, even without magic. He gets all the necessary permits, in what Emma believes is record time. Regina gets the contractors and closes the final deal with all the investors and Emma… Well, Emma rejoices in eating somewhere that isn’t Granny’s for two days without having to spend a single dime—Regina and Gold have a weird dynamic but Emma’s not about to intervene whenever the check arrives and both of them get their Black VIP American Express out and silently trifle over who’s paying.
Surprisingly enough, it isn’t the worst trip Emma’s had in her lifetime.
Storybrooke’s Mall begins construction the last week of April, and everyone in town is buzzing with excitement about it, although no one is more excited than Henry and his group of friends.
Teddy Mulligan and Jake Johnson Jr., just like Henry, are much too tall for their age and still haven’t gotten rid of the baby fat on their cheeks. They both wear comic book t-shirts and fancy sneakers and won’t stop babbling about how much they want to spend their following weekends in the up and coming mall.
Their parents, in the fairytale world, were Charlie Bucket and Christopher Robin, respectively (yes, as in… The kid from the chocolate factory and the kid who once had a bear for an imaginary friend). In Storybrooke they go by Mr. Mulligan and Jacob Johnson and they’re both thrilled that their sons have made friends. In that way they are also very much like Henry.
Emma still finds it awfully weird that storybook characters have sex , which yes, it’s rich coming from her given that she’s Snow White’s daughter but she’s not going to stop finding it strange just because of her heritage.
They are good kids.
Emma thinks they’re also a little bit in love with Regina.
There’s only so much sighing and giggling a teenage boy can do when faced with an adult woman, before it becomes obvious. Both Teddy and Jake Jr. surpass those levels of normalcy whenever Regina’s in the room, and if that’s not enough of an indicator, their “hiiii, Miss Mills” and “byeeee, Miss Mills” whenever they see her…
It’s unbelievable that neither Henry nor Regina have noticed.
Not that Emma cares.
It’s not like she’s threatened by a teenage boy.
Two teenage boys.
Who keep showering Regina with compliments since the construction of the mall began.
Actually, Emma is kind of glad that they’re appreciating Regina, because she’s fairly certain that she’s having a much harder time than anticipated; not only because she knows her well enough to realize when something’s off, but because things start to pile up, leaving Emma with an uncomfortable and growing sensation of worry at the bottom of her stomach.
Her first red flag comes on a Monday, thanks to Henry. He has picked up the annoying habit of texting things that could be messaged privately, to their family group chat, which is how Emma finds out, at almost ten at night, that Regina’s yet to arrive home. Henry asks if he should wait for her, Regina replies almost instantly that she still has things to finish at the office. Emma scrunches her nose as she reads it—Regina never stays at her office past six. Ever.
Her second red flag occurs while supervising the contractors. Usually, Regina does it, but come Thursday morning, she has to get to Henry’s school for the monthly PTA meeting, and although Emma enjoys being involved in Henry’s life, the academic side of it has never been her forte. Hence, why she’s supervising contractors. Regina’s instructions are fresh in her brain, but Emma’s still repeating them under her breath in fear of forgetting something important that could potentially come back and bite her in the ass later on: Find the chief, ask which side of the mall they’re working on that day, sign the daily check in sheet and leave.
Simple enough, Emma thinks.
And it is, but it also isn’t, because when she finally gets the chance to talk to the chief of operations, he looks, not only annoyed, but completely disheartened that it’s Emma there as opposed to Regina. Their exchange lasts exactly seven minutes, and as Emma walks away towards her bug she can hear some of the other men in the construction site groan and whine and say “Maybe we’ll actually get something done today, since the hot ones’ not coming.” and Emma’s blood boils.
It takes all of her willpower not to turn back and punch one (or twenty) of them in the face.
First of all— she’s hot.
Second of all—they cannot talk about Regina like that.
She tries to convince Regina to let her go daily to the construction site to do the check ups instead, with a flimsy excuse of quickening the completion of the mall, but when she brings it up at the weekly Town Hall Meeting, her dad intervenes and reminds her that she has the early shift all throughout June until they can find a new deputy. Emma wants to murder him and he’s as oblivious as he is nice because he buys her a set of bear claws when he notices she’s upset, completely unaware that he’s the reason why.
Her third and final red flag, the one that makes alarms blare all around her, showing her something is most definitely wrong, is when Regina cancels their usual Friday Family Game Night.
Regina never cancels Game Night.
Her mom and dad find it odd as well, but they tell her not to worry too much about it and instead they end up staying at the loft, watching a movie with baby Neal. They insist for her to stay as well but Emma’s discomfort grows fast and hard and she knows she won’t enjoy whatever they’re watching with the building concern cursing through her veins.
She tries not to let her imagination run free once she’s back at her apartment, because overthinking has never helped her in these kinds of situations, but the more she stays seated in her living room, staring at the wall, the more the urgency to check in on Regina grows, until it becomes practically unbearable and she’s grabbing her jacket and her keys.
“What’s up with your mom?” Is the first thing that leaves her mouth when Henry opens the door to the Mayoral mansion.
“Good night to you too, mom.” He sardonically replies with a roll of eyes and God—it’s in moments like these that she can see the evident resemblance he holds to Regina. “And what do you mean?”
“I mean she’s acting weird. Long hours at the office? Canceling our Family Game Night? Is she even coming home at all?”
Henry looks at her like she’s insane. She doesn’t like it one bit.
“Okay, damn. Calm down, angry jealous boyfriend.”
The little—
“I can still ground you, you know? I could tell you to go to your room right now and forbid you to go out until you’re eighteen.”
“And then you wouldn’t know what’s happening with mom.”
He shrugs and moves to close the door, as if he has something better to do now that their usual family reunion is canceled. Which, granted, he probably does. He’s a cool kid now. He plays those video games that the teens his age like and he’s good at them, or at least Emma thinks so because unless he’s cheating every time they play together, there’s no other explanation as to why she keeps losing .
She’s here for a reason, though, and that reason is Regina and if something’s genuinely wrong then Emma has to know to do something about it.
Well… Technically she doesn’t have to do anything.
But Regina is… Regina .
And Emma cares about her. Just like she would care about any other of her female friends, (and if a little voice on the inside of her head tells her that that’s definitely bullshit, because if Ruby ever found herself in a similar situation the most she would do would be call Belle and ask about it, then decide to ignore it).
“Kid.” She holds the door open, her whole palm resting against the expensive woodwork. “If something’s wrong with her…”
Henry finally sighs.
More annoyed than actually worried and Emma hates that she sometimes can’t stand this new and improved (quote unquote) version of the little kid that she first met six years ago. She loves him, so unconditionally, she would give Henry her entire life if it meant he would be happy and Emma knows she has never stopped loving him and of course never will, but dealing with the hormonal changes of a sixteen year old boy who used to be nothing but smiles and love and neediness, is something she’s still getting accustomed to.
“She doesn’t want to worry me,” he starts and finally looks at Emma with a semblance of the kid she knows is still in there—now somewhat buried under the growing obsession with girls and nerd stuff—but there nonetheless. “She doesn’t want to worry anyone, actually, but I think she’s having a hard time with the mall thing. I overheard a conversation she had with the construction company the other day. Apparently the deadline for the project is in the next couple of days and the contractors still haven’t finished half of it.”
And Emma tries not to think poorly of the men working at the construction site but she still remembers how they’d acted when she showed up instead of Regina and she’s almost certain as to why the damn project is taking longer than it needs to.
Emma nods, plays with the keychain on her left hand and after weighing up her options, she finally smiles at Henry. She’s not exactly happy about the whole situation, but that’s not his fault and he did help her, so Emma abides his rotten attitude just this once.
She gives him a twenty and tells him to order pizza to at least have something to eat for the night, and then loudly kisses his cheek which gets him to gag and make a whole fuss about cleaning the slobber off his skin, but Emma’s triumph shines bright within her as she leaves the foyer and watches him smile at her while she climbs into her car. She feels his gaze on her as she speeds down the road to Town Hall.
She thinks that maybe she shouldn’t add more stress to Regina’s already stressful day— weeks —but Emma’s poor sense of self control is already out of the window as she parks her bug outside of Regina’s office. Much like she suspected, the entire building, except for one single light at the top of the place, is completely dark. The clock on her phone blinks as she looks at the screen; it's barely eight o’clock.
Why did Regina have to pick Maine of all places? Couldn’t it have been somewhere nicer? Like… Hawaii?
She makes her way to Regina’s office, trying to be as careful and quiet as possible, but not putting much effort into it, because the last thing she wants to do is startle Regina. She’s here to try and lighten her mood, not get a fireball thrown her way.
Regina’s door is closed, but she hears white noise coming from the other side of it. She can identify the sound of Regina’s fingers hitting at her laptop’s keys, the slight tapping of a foot against the linoleum floors, and if she focuses hard enough, the even and tired breathing of what she assumes must be a much too exhausted Regina.
Maybe Emma will have to punch a contractor or two after all.
(Tomorrow, perhaps.
Right now, she settles for knocking on the door).
“Come in,” she barely hears.
Emma finds Regina behind her desk, laptop open like she expected, various papers scattered across the italian mahogany (because Regina speaks wonders of her furniture and always has so at this point in their relationship it’d be ridiculous if Emma didn’t know which table or couch is from where and why it’s as amazing as Regina says it is), as well as pens and markers and various others office supplies that Emma doubts Regina uses for whatever she’s doing at the moment, and while it’s not surprising to see her like this—in all her Mayoral, businesswoman glory—Emma is shocked at how she looks , if she goes past the perfectly combed hair and precisely applied makeup.
Beneath the cold light of Regina’s office, Emma sees the concealer cracking revealing her purple eyebags. Her lipstick has washed away throughout the day and her mascara is slightly smudged over the edges of her eyes. Regina has long abandoned her shoes, what Emma thinks are her favorite dark burgundy Jimmy Choos are thrown carelessly under her desk.
And when Regina finally raises her gaze from her laptop screen to Emma’s eyes, Emma is met with a hollow, deep brown that verges on black.
Her throat closes around thin air.
She has seen Regina go through a wide variety of emotions before: Hatred, anger, fear, anxiety, hope, happiness.
Yet, Emma has never seen her look so…
Small.
“Emma,” she tries smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach her pupils, like it usually does, and Emma hates it. “What are you doing here?”
Emma breathes in, but before she can say anything, Regina’s numb eyes light up with a hint of worry and she quickly stands up, like someone has suddenly put a tack in her chair.
“Is Henry okay? Did something happen?”
Emma smiles.
That small, warm, loving smile that she saves for Regina only. The one that she’s not exactly sure what it means but has made enough of an appearance lately for Emma to know is her signature Regina smile.
“He’s alright. Let’s hope he has your sense of restraint and stop at three pizza slices, though, because if he doesn’t, then we will have a problem.”
Regina huffs.
“I doubt it. He takes after you on his eating habits. It’s a miracle neither of you have ever gotten sick, considering how much crap you both eat.”
Emma snickers. Regina’s right, her eating habits could certainly use an improvement, seeing as she’s closer to thirty-five than she is to her early thirties, but old habits die hard, and she cannot for the love of God, pick a salad over a burger.
(Unless Regina has made the salad, because Regina knows Emma likes spinach and apple and vinaigrette and she roasts peanuts and walnuts and sprinkles lemon juice, but specifically from the ripest lemons because she knows Emma likes those best).
“What are you doing here, Emma?” Regina looks at her once more before her attention returns to her computer screen, her fingers already busy with whatever they had been typing before Emma’s arrival.
Emma closes the door behind her.
“You need to take a break.”
Regina laughs, but it sounds hoarse and somewhat strained and she doesn’t even lift her eyes from the screen and Emma knows she could stay there all night, begging Regina to please take five minutes to rest, and Regina would still not do it just to win another of the many nonsensical arguments that they’ve been having over the years (it’s part of their routine by now). So, Emma does what she thinks is her best bet, and if tomorrow they have to hold her funeral for it, then she hopes people will remember her as the courageous human being that shut Regina Mills’ laptop to try and get her to take a break.
(Then she realises that Henry will probably write something on her tombstone along the lines of ‘Here lies Emma Swan: Gay human disaster and beloved mother’ and she’s glad that Regina doesn’t snatch her heart out of her chest and crush it right in front of her).
“Emma,” she sounds frustrated, more than the murderous angry that Emma was expecting, and she tries to open her laptop once again, but either because of Emma’s quick reflexes or Regina’s tiredness, Emma snatches it away from her before she can even try.
“Emma, I’m not kidding. I have to…”
“Have a drink with me.”
Regina frowns. “What?”
“You have that hideous applejack my mom gave you last Christmas stored in here somewhere, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“One drink. It’ll take us, what? Five minutes? If you need to get back to work after that, I won’t try and stop you. I promise.”
And even though Emma is being one hundred percent sincere, Regina still squints at her, as if waiting to see what the catch is.
“One drink.” She finally concedes and Emma releases the breath she didn’t know she was holding. “But after that you leave and I resume my work. Got it?” And Emma’s not exactly sure what it is about Regina talking to her in that stern voice that gets her slightly dizzy, but she sure is glad she doesn’t have to think about it anymore when Regina gets the apple shaped bottle from one of her desk cabinets and pours her a drink.
They clink their glasses together.
Regina downs hers in a gulp.
“God,” she coughs as the fiery taste of liquor makes its way down her esophagus, and Emma refills her glass before Regina can protest. “Where did your mother get this thing?”
“It sucks, doesn’t it?” Emma finishes her own, swallowing the urge to spit it back out as she pours them another glass.
Regina shoots daggers at her.
“You said a drink.”
“Let’s make it two.” She shrugs and Regina crosses her arms over her chest. “Come on, Regina. It’s already poured.”
To her surprise, it works, and Regina downs her second glass, this time controlling her facial expressions as best as she can. Which isn’t much but Emma’s not about to tell her that, when Regina looks downright adorable pucking her lips together like that.
Two drinks turn into three, and three turn into five, and by the eleventh (or twelfth?) drink, the hideous applejack that Snow probably got from the tomb of Johnny Appleseed himself, starts to taste less like shoedirt and medicinal alcohol and more like the delicious apple punch that Regina made last year for Valentine’s Day. It also starts helping Regina to get her mind off work, and for the first time since the beginning of the mall construction, Emma sees her relax .
Shoulders slumped, cheeks red from the burn of the liquor and the sudden rise of temperature in the office due to the fire being on, her hair slightly disheveled and her eyes back to their normal rich hazelnut color.
“The people I hired are morons,” she finally says after a while. “I don’t know what’s taking them so long to finish. It’s not that big of a building, anyway. It should’ve been ready by now. The investors are all up my ass because I told them they could visit and start buying premises on the 15th. That’s five days away, Emma . There’s not even a mall for them to visit.”
Emma nods, taking small gulps of her applejack to avoid letting her tongue run free, because she doesn’t know how Regina will react knowing that the reason why the contractors are taking much too long to finish a ‘simple task’ is because they love to leer whenever she visits the construction site.
She finishes her drink to swallow the discomfort and… Any other potential ugly emotions that climb towards her mouth when she thinks of those sweaty, immature and misogynistic men fantasizing about Regina.
“I’m not sure what I’m gonna do.” Regina sighs defeated, and the sound wills Emma back to the moment in time, her eyes suddenly drinking all of Regina in. She’s tense again. Her shoulders square back up, she can see the way she grips the glass with her fingers, even her expression sours regardless of the pink hue of her cheeks. “I promised Henry I would have it ready before summer vacation.”
“Hey,” Emma interrupts her then, because even if she’s not great at business talk, Henry talk is something she can definitely do. “Henry won’t mind. He sees you, you know? We all do, and we’re worried. We don’t want this project to destroy you.”
Regina lowers her gaze to the floor.
“I’m so… Tired, and stressed all the time.” She talks in a whisper, careful, as if she’s afraid someone will hear them, even if they both know they’re completely alone. “I’ve tried everything that helps me relax in the past few days and nothing helps—it’s frustrating.”
“Come on, I’m sure you didn’t try everything.”
“Everything that works for me, yes. I’ve tried it all.” She finishes the last sip of her applejack with an undignified movement and then puts the glass back on the table. “I’ve baked, I’ve rewatched all of my favorite episodes of Desperate Housewives, I’ve read, I’ve done yoga, and pilates and guided meditations and nothing helps .”
And maybe is the way Regina’s voice drowns in frustration, or the tingles that the alcohol has left in the tip of her tongue or that Emma is drunk —
“Why don’t you try sex?”
Regina’s eyes widen, almost comically, like she’s a character in one of those old cartoons that Emma used to watch reruns of when she was a kid in the many foster homes that she lived in.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sex.” Emma repeats, and Jesus Christ, she’s trashed and she will most likely regret this in the morning, but as stated before: She’s trashed . “It’s the easiest, most pleasurable way to release tension.”
“I…”
“It’s way better than yoga.”
Regina’s entire face is flushed now. From the little lines just over her eyebrows to the tip of her nose and Gosh… She’s cute.
“And who exactly do you suggest I…” She clears her throat, sits straighter. “Bed?”
Emma cackles.
She doesn’t mean to, but she cackles .
“You’re a child!”
“Bed?” Emma’s laugh doesn’t subside as she grabs Regina by the wrist to stop her from going back to work. “Regina, please, it’s the twenty-first century, you can say fuck .”
“No, I most certainly can not.”
“What? Scared to put a dollar in the swear jar?”
“I’m done with this conversation.”
Emma squeezes Regina’s wrist. She’s still not going anywhere, but Emma won’t risk it.
“I’m sure there’s people in Storybrooke who would jump at the chance of fucking you, Regina.” Regina makes a face, as if Emma’s words are distasteful, and sure they are but Emma’s out of herself, and if her vocabulary is vulgar while sober, then she doesn’t know what the hell Regina expects when she’s not. “Try Tinder.”
“Emma… Storybrooke is the size of a shoebox. I know every person in this town and believe me , none of them are viable options.”
“Why?”
“Because… We have history .”
Emma scoffs.
“So what? We have history and I would fuck you.”
Time stops.
Emma doesn’t realize what she’s said until the silence stretches for far too long and Regina’s gaze gets so intense, she fears it might tear a hole in the middle of her chest.
Shit.
“Uhhh…” She stumbles as she stands up, her knee knocking against the desk where their glasses are, which sends them toppling over onto the floor, crashing loudly, spreading pieces of glass everywhere. “Fuck! Shit! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
She moves to pick them up, piece by piece, which isn’t her brightest idea because she ends up with a cut on the inside of her index finger and she’s so drunk she doesn’t even feel it at first. The only indicators of her wound are the small droplets of blood that start running down the side of her hand.
“Emma.”
Regina tries walking towards her, a worrisome look tinting her features and goddammit she’s so pretty and Emma’s so stupid and she just fucked everything up.
“I have to,” she stands up, her legs wobbly and her balance worse than it has ever been. “I have to go, I left the… Kettle in the oven.”
Regina frowns. “The… Kettle in the oven ?”
Emma ignores her. She walks quickly until she reaches for the doorknob. She tugs harder than absolutely necessary and…
She ends up hitting her entire face against the side of the door.
“Emma!”
Regina sounds scandalized and ouch, fuck , that hurts like a bitch. It’s a miracle Emma doesn’t fall flat on her ass.
“I’m fine, I’m fine! The oven, the stove, the… Whatever the fuck.”
She thinks Regina calls for her as she bolts, she also thinks her nose is broken. She’s not certain about either.
What she’s sure about, as she runs through Storybrooke, trying to get to her apartment like a crazed person, is that she could’ve just poofed herself to her room instead of walking, drunk off her ass in the middle of the night and that she just told Regina Mills she wants to fuck her.
She groans in the middle of the street.
No one hears her, but it echoes from one corner to the other.
This is all Snow’s fault.
Her and her… Damned applejack.
Emma is prepared for things to get awkward between them. She braces herself, the morning after her stupid drunken confession, for Regina to ignore her.
She already has excuses set for Henry and her parents if (more like when) they ask what happened. She rehearses them in her bathroom’s mirror as she brushes her teeth, in a futile attempt to get the taste of alcohol and pathetic out of her mouth.
It… Doesn’t happen, though.
When Emma gets to Granny’s for her usual morning coffee, Regina’s already at the bar, waiting for her own latte. She doesn’t see her at first and Emma thinks this is the perfect time to run away to avoid confrontation, but remembering how poorly that went last night, she decides to suck in a breath and put a smile on her face as she approaches. If Regina isn’t going to acknowledge her for the next couple of days, then Emma prefers to get it over with as soon as possible.
However, as Regina feels a presence come closer to where she’s at, she turns around and when her eyes find Emma’s, Emma doesn’t encounter hatred or awkwardness or even indifference—Regina is looking at her like she always does.
Warm and soft and with far more care than Emma deserves after she crashed her office and made a mess last night.
“Emma,” she greets her and Emma’s heart beats against her ribcage like it’s trying to escape. “You never texted me to tell me whether or not you had made it home safely.”
Emma’s cheeks darken.
She hadn’t done… Anything remotely responsible after getting home. She had taken off her jeans, grabbed a bag of frozen peas to put on her nose and thrown herself to bed with little to no care. She hadn’t even charged her phone overnight. She was that embarrassed about the whole ordeal.
“Yeah…” She rubs at the back of her neck, trying to busy her hands with something to avoid touching anything that would result in a potential injury. “I kinda… Passed out as soon as I got home. I’m sorry.”
It’s a shitty excuse and Emma knows Regina can see right through it, but the sly look Regina gives her is gone as soon as it comes and instead, it gets replaced with something else that Emma can’t place, which is weird, considering just how much she knows Regina.
“That’s alright, Em-ma .”
It’s like a bucket of ice water gets dropped on her head.
She has always liked the way Regina says her name, but when she breaks it like that, into two syllables that run off the tip of her tongue with sweetness, Emma’s entire body thrums.
“How’s your nose?”
“Huh?”
“Your nose. It seemed like it hurt… Yesterday. When you hit yourself.”
Emma swallows hard.
“It’s fine.” And it comes out in a much higher pitch than she would’ve expected, which makes her want to slam her head against the counter. “It’s uh…”
It happens in slow motion.
Regina’s hand surges forward, carefully brushes a strand of golden hair and tucks it behind Emma’s ear, effectively gluing Emma to her spot. She doesn’t dare move, she doesn’t even dare breathe .
That’s not all, though.
That same hand then traces in butterfly touches a path from Emma’s temple, to the outline of her eyebrow until her fingers softly rest against the bridge of her nose.
Emma feels drunk again.
Drunk on overnight applejack and gentle caresses and Regina’s perfume.
“Does it hurt?”
Oh God.
Is this actually happening? Is this a dream? What if she’s still asleep and this is all an elaborate trick from her idiotic brain?
Then Regina presses her thumb and index finger against the developing bruise atop her nose and Emma knows this is most definitely real.
She whines, but it doesn’t really hurt. Not that bad, anyway. Especially not when Regina has somehow, without Emma noticing, gotten closer. Not close enough to bring attention to themselves (because they are still at Granny’s after all), but just enough for Emma to feel Regina’s hot breath against the corner of her mouth.
“Does it hurt, Em-ma ?” She repeats, using her ‘mom’ voice and that’s fucked up because Emma should not find that attractive whatsoever—then again, Emma shouldn’t do lots of things, like telling her son’s other mother that she would be willing to fuck her while drunk off questionable booze.
And yet here she is.
“You should go to Whale.” Regina presses on the bridge of her nose once more, and Emma has to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid crying out loud. “It doesn’t feel broken, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry.”
Emma doesn’t have time to tell her that maybe she will after her shift, because Ruby comes out of the kitchen with Regina’s latte and a paper bag, which presumably carries a bagel with cream cheese on it and leaves both items on the counter with an obliging smile. Her friend looks between them curiously, but makes no attempt to comment, which Emma’s eternally grateful about, because she cannot deal with Ruby’s witty commentary when she’s sure Regina has just destroyed her only working braincell.
Regina grabs her things with such grace and poise that Emma feels almost jealous about it, because no human being should look that good when doing the most basic tasks, especially at eight in the morning, but just as Regina brushes past her on the way to the door, she stops.
Emma feels her, more than she actually sees her and she doesn’t know what to do other than wait .
Regina’s voice is a whisper, low and sinful, and it climbs on Emma’s spine as if it’s dragging perfectly manicured nails over her back.
“Maybe I could kiss it better.”
Emma’s knees shake.
The only reason why she doesn’t fall is because she has half a mind to grab onto the counter.
She thinks she hears Ruby stifle a horselaugh, but she’s not sure because she scatters to the kitchen before Emma can arrest her on charges of… Something, (she’ll think of what later).
Regina’s slight smirk is radiant as she walks towards the door and Emma almost loses herself in the way Regina’s hips sway side to side with every strut.
Almost.
“Regina, wait!”
It’s louder than she intends for it to be. A few of the other customers turn to look at her and Emma’s certain her cheeks cannot possibly get any redder, even if she tried. Regina does stop, though, and she waits for her with her hand on the doorknob, a curious yet expectant sparkle in her eyes and Emma walks towards her as if hypnotized, regardless of her embarrassment.
“Everything okay, dear?”
Emma needs to take a second to remember how to properly breathe.
“Where… Where are you going?”
Regina’s eyes twinkle again, and Emma doesn’t know what exactly is tinting her pupils but fuck if it’s not attractive.
“The construction site for the daily check-up. Why?”
“I’ll do it.” She replies with such conviction, that even Regina, so usually composed, looks surprised. “If I can help you with anything related to the mall from now on, I’ll do it.”
“I thought you had the morning shift for the next couple of weeks.”
Emma shrugs. “I’ll manage.”
Regina looks at her—really looks at her, like she’s searching for something behind Emma’s gaze that Emma doesn’t know what it is. Her stare is intense, more than any Emma remembers up to date and she’s fairly certain that there’s something nagging at Regina. Something she almost spills as she opens her mouth to talk.
Yet…
Nothing comes, and for a split second, Emma believes Regina looks… Disappointed?
“Alright.” Regina opens the door and June’s early breeze almost knocks Emma’s breath out her lungs. “Thank you, Emma. That gives me enough time to contact the investors today, I’ll see if I can get an extension on their visit.”
And it doesn’t feel wrong, but somehow it doesn’t feel right either and Emma’s stomach twists.
Did she do something wrong?
“Regina,” she whispers before Regina can leave and thankfully Regina stops again. “Are you… I mean are we… Okay?”
Regina’s demeanor softens.
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
And Emma wants to say that there is so much that could potentially be wrong between them—like the fact that last night she told her she would be willing to be intimate with her, or that she made a complete fool of herself not a millisecond after doing so, or that the ‘kissing it better’ thing is most definitely going to mess with her head for the rest of the day (or week), but Regina winks at her, which is more of a slow blink done with both her eyes, and then smiles at her and Emma finds her so pretty, so unbelievably pretty, that as Regina walks away towards her parked Mercedes on the other side of the road, Emma realizes she can’t really blame the contractors for not getting any work done whenever they see Regina.
It doesn’t mean she’ll condone their actions, clearly, but she can understand why.
(When she gets to the construction site and they all roll their eyes in annoyance when they see her, Emma finds that sympathy dissolves into rage.
It only exacerbates when she realizes she never did get her morning coffee).
That is all Regina’s fault.
Her and her damned existence.
So, things are not “wrong”, Emma believes they are not, because why would Regina lie if they were.
Still.
Emma would not confidently say that her interactions with Regina haven’t changed.
It’s been three days without Regina showing up to the construction site. Three days since Emma has had to deal with annoyingly awful immature masculinites. Three days since the mall has actually started to resemble a building.
Emma’s quite proud about that.
Especially because Regina notices as well, which gets her to immediately loosen up and go back to their usual dynamic. One that includes having Emma over for lunch every Tuesday.
Emma gets to Town Hall at exactly quarter to two. A lemonade in one hand, a beer in the other, and a bag carrying those chicken wraps that Regina likes so much hung in the crook of her elbow.
(And if anybody asked if Emma drove two hours and a half to get to the little restaurant in the outskirts of the city just to get them, she would defensively say no, even though that was exactly what she had done).
Regina’s secretary never announces her arrival anymore. Unless Regina is in the middle of a meeting or on an important business call, Emma gets into her office without knocking.
This time is no different.
The sight that greets her, however…
Emma opens the door, probably a little more excited than appropriate at the prospect of having lunch with Regina (but okay, sue her, the mall thing has interfered with those plans for the past couple of weeks). She’s all beaming smiles and a happy little strut on her steps.
“Regi— fuck .”
It takes all of her mental capacity not to let go of the drinks.
Scratch that.
It takes all of her mental capacity not to combust into flames right on the spot.
Regina is wearing a dress, which on its own shouldn’t deep fry Emma’s brain because Emma has seen Regina wear dresses many times before, but Regina is wearing that blue dress; the one with the zipper all the way down her back that clings to her curves all too well. The one that hugs her waist and adheres to the rest of her body as if it’s painted on. The one that Emma has always loved in secret, but that today, at the present time, she dreads because—Goddammit.
Regina’s facing the desk with her back to the door and she’s bent down looking at something that must be important and Emma would ask what it is, if only she cared about it as much as she cared about the way Regina’s ass looks in the damn dress.
It’s unfair, really, just how hot she is.
“Oh!” Regina turns her head around, just to be able to watch her and Emma’s eyes snap so quickly to her face, she feels they might bug out of their basins for a second. If Regina notices her ogling, she doesn’t show it. “Come here, Emma. Take a look at this.”
And then she goes back to her original position.
Actually, Emma would swear she bends over lower, so her ass is right in the air and fuck, Emma tries not to look, because losing herself on Regina’s ass for a whole minute as she arrived was already bad enough.
(Her brain does not get the memo, though, because as she walks towards the desk, her eyes keep looking and—)
“Leave the food somewhere else, would you? I don’t want anything to get stained.”
Emma bites on her tongue to avoid replying ‘yes ma’am’ because there’s only so much abasement she can take.
She leaves the drinks and the bag with the food on the little table where Regina keeps her cider, and while she does, she takes a big gulp of air to steady herself, because it’s one thing looking at Regina from afar and another one entirely being close to her.
She stuffs her hands in her jean pockets as she walks towards Regina, who is still bending over her stupid desk, and really, at this point Emma just has to ask any divine power that keeps mocking her existence what exactly did she do to deserve all of this. Wasn’t being an orphan enough? Wasn’t finding out her parents were storybook characters enough? Wasn’t… Everything that had occurred to her since her twenty-eighth birthday enough?
“I don’t know what you’ve done to the contractors,” Regina begins with a smile curling on the sides of her lips as she blabbers. “I had Sidney go and take some pictures today, and I’m impressed! The mall is looking more and more like my original idea. Would you look at this?”
She glows.
Like, actually glows.
The early afternoon sunlight filters through her windows and hits her just right, leaving an angelic glint all over her face, but especially highlighting the tiny scar just on top of her lip and Emma can’t help but be drawn to the way it shines over the crimson of her lipstick.
“It… It’s cool.”
Regina turns to look at her with both eyebrows knit together.
“You have not even remotely looked at the pictures.”
“Oh, no. I have.” She hasn’t. “They look… Great.” She has no idea if they do.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not even close enough to properly see them.”
Emma tries to object but Regina is faster than her, and it’s already too late when Emma feels Regina’s hand on her elbow, urging her closer. Emma would love to say the breath gets knocked out of her lungs due to Regina’s side digging on her front so suddenly, but in reality, the close proximity to her is what makes Emma’s lungs gasp for air. It’s the combination of multiple things. It’s the warmness of Regina’s body seeping through Emma’s clothes, it’s her perfume invading all her senses, it’s the way Regina’s hip aligns itself perfectly with Emma’s jean seam; one misstep, one single brush and Emma knows potential disaster could strike.
Still, she doesn’t find the will to move away.
And Emma could, if she really wanted to. Regina’s hands are back on her desk, her entire attention on the original mall sketches and Sidney’s recently taken pictures (and yes, she admits it’s coming along nicely). If Emma wanted to, she could take a step back, nod to Regina’s excitement, compliment the contractors despite how much of a pain in her ass they have been and go on with their lunch date as if Emma’s short lived inner turmoil were nothing but a quick slip.
She ends up resting one of her hands, the one that isn’t still tightly shut inside her jean pocket, on Regina’s waist.
(She thinks Regina lets out a tremulous gasp, but that might just be her hopeful thinking).
“It’s…” Emma’s voice is lower than it ever has been and she clears her throat on a futile attempt to get it back to normal.
Regina leans against her frame.
Emma’s jeans suddenly feel too constricting.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Hm?”
“It looks great. I think it looks great.”
Regina turns her head around, facing her.
And really, Emma doesn’t know which is worse. The fact that Regina’s hip keeps putting a dangerously pleasurable pressure on her pelvis, or the fact that her face is so close, Emma can easily get lost in the light of her eyes.
A flash.
That same spark she didn’t know how to categorize back at Granny’s just a few days ago.
What is it?
And why is it so terribly alluring?
“Do you really like it?” Regina asks, hushed, sweet. Her lips parting to let a soft sigh blow on Emma’s chin.
At this point, Emma’s willing to say yes to anything Regina asks her, it doesn’t matter just how ridiculous it is. Hell, Regina could ask her to dress as a chicken and dance in the middle of Storybrooke’s Main Street just to make fun of her and Emma would say yes in a heartbeat.
That’s how much of a goner she is.
“I really like…”
You .
It gets stuck in Emma’s throat.
I really like you .
The air hangs heavy around them. It’s like tension is building rapidly between the closeness of their bodies and the sound of their mingled breaths.
God, Regina is so close.
So close, and so warm and so magnificent…
Emma wants to fuck her against her desk.
Oh, she wants to put her hand on the center of her back to push her against the scattered papers and pictures. She wants to pull on that damn zipper and let the dress open unceremoniously to leave Regina clad in only her underwear. She wants to spread her legs open and step between them to rejoice in her heat. She wants to pump her fingers inside her tight and wet—
“Madam Mayor?”
The intercom buzzes so loudly on the otherwise silent office that it makes them jump apart due to the surprise.
Regina hurriedly rounds the desk. There’s a slight tremble on her steps, but Emma thinks nothing of it as she plops down one of the chairs opposite to her. Their gazes meet, only for a single second and Emma watches as that unknown yet engaging spark disappears into nothingness, and Jesus fucking Christ on a bike; it really is driving her crazy not to know what it means.
“Yes, Marcia?”
“Mister Gennette from Macy’s is on the line. He apologizes for not having called sooner, he asks if it’d be okay to have that quick chat that you promised him right now?”
Regina raises an eyebrow at her, but not teasingly or questioning, more like asking for silent permission and Emma forgets for a second that she’s awfully turned on because Regina is so nice.
So utterly and wonderfully nice.
Emma offers her a reassuring smile, and then Regina asks her secretary to put Mister Gennette on the phone.
She understands virtually nothing of what they talk about during the business call, but every so often, Regina looks back at her while toying with her fork, she scrunches up her nose and then flutters her eyelashes and, yeah, okay, it might not be what Emma had envisioned for her first lunch with Regina after weeks of being torn away from it, but they’re together and that’s more than enough.
Besides, Regina looks really pretty, so Emma is happy to just observe.
Emma chokes a little on her baked potato when Regina’s foot starts rubbing up and down her leg.
Regina hides her smirk behind her glass of lemonade.
(And suddenly Emma remembers just how turned on she actually is).
Emma’s idea of a perfect Sunday goes as follows:
- Waking up at noon, preferably after the sun is already way up in the sky so that she can open up the curtains without worrying of any ultraviolet rays invading her vision.
- Staying in her pajamas as she heats up her Saturday’s leftovers.
- Binge watching whatever she’s currently fixating on Netflix.
- Repeating step 3 until it’s time to go to bed.
Her current Sunday is extremely far from a perfect one.
Regina calls her at exactly seven thirty in the morning. Her week has been so full of calling and rescheduling the investors’ visit that she hadn’t had time to go to the supermarket, which now has her in the predicament of having no food in her pantry to give the three teenagers sleeping soundly under her roof.
So, Emma wakes up.
She showers with cold water, because for whatever reason hot water doesn’t start until nine on the weekends (which is ridiculous but then again it has never been a problem before, because as previously stated: Emma doesn’t wake up before noon on Sundays). She takes her phone and headphones and marches over to the supermarket to buy Regina’s list of ingredients for her famous chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes.
(Regina calls it that, not Emma. Although Emma has to give it to her, they really are a hit and anybody who has ever tried them has become a fan, so she supposes they are kinda famous).
She arrives at the mansion at eight thirty. Her hair still slightly wet, her t-shirt stained from the toothpaste she didn’t bother to clean up after brushing her teeth, sleepy, angry and hungry.
She feels the need to kick something out of frustration, but the only thing close enough for her to do so is Regina’s door and she knows she’ll never hear the end of it if she so much as dares leave her footprint on it.
There is an extra key under the mat at the foot of the door. It’s there in case of emergencies, like the time Henry lost his keychain while on his school’s visit to the aquarium, or when David accidentally drank one of the potions Snow and Regina were making to auction off on the Christmas Fair and they found out he was allergic to cardamom, or… For Emma to use at will.
Last time she actually knocked on Regina’s door was… Years ago, maybe.
When Regina told her about the key under the mat, Emma stopped knocking altogether. It was easier like that, she convinced herself - and eventually Regina - of the same thing.
And this time it wouldn’t have been any different, had it not been for the three shopping bags on Emma’s arms, which made it very hard for her to bend down and get the damn key.
She huffs.
Goddammit.
She could’ve still been asleep.
Whatever. She has no time for self pity.
She closes her eyes, grabs hard onto the bags she holds (because if anything gets damaged, Regina will freak), and then focuses all her attention on the place she wants to be in.
She thinks of a white kitchen island, and gray drawers and cabinets. She thinks of a fridge full of apple juice and oat milk and vegetables. She thinks of the aprons that hang on the back of the door. She thinks of the little ceramic plate in the form of a heart where there are cherry candies and chocolate covered raisins.
She thinks of cinnamon and spice and Regina’s laughter as she dances from the stove to the oven to the fridge, a wooden spoon in one hand, a flask of chili flakes in the other.
Emma still doesn’t know how Regina looks so graceful when poofing in or out anywhere. She always tells her it is a matter of practice, but Emma’s been practicing for years now and each and every time she still feels like her organs get blended before getting back into place—but hey, at least she has gotten better at actually arriving at the place she manifests.
“Finally,” she hears, muffled as the white smoke around her finally dissipates. “What took you so long?”
Before Emma is able to take offense to that (because really, Regina should be thankful she even answered her phone at seven am in the first place), her eyes register Regina and what she’s wearing and for what seems to be the hundredth time in the span of a few couple of days, it takes all her willpower not to let go of everything she’s holding.
Regina is a fashionable woman, that has always been clear to Emma.
She has designer bags and shoes and blouses and memorizes color theory to know what heels to wear with which belt; Emma has always admired the thought put behind her outfits, because Emma jumps out of bed and grabs the first thing she can find in the closet with little to no care as to whether it looks good together or not, something that Regina never has a problem reminding her of.
And although today, given that it is a Sunday and it’s ridiculously early, Regina’s not wearing her usual formalwear, she is sporting what Emma believes to be, ludicrously expensive pajamas that consist of a light peach tank top and really really short shorts that cover virtually nothing.
“So?” Regina crosses her arms over her chest and Emma has to force herself to tear her eyes away because she doesn’t need the mental image of Regina’s nipples hardening under soft fabric. “What took you so long?”
Emma takes a second to try and come up with an excuse, but all of them sound equally horrible, so she opts to shrug it off, leaving the bags on Regina’s kitchen island, hoping her nonchalance is well received.
And maybe it is, or maybe Regina’s just too hurried about cooking something up for Henry and his friends, because she doesn’t push, instead she inspects the bags, humming to herself as she starts to take out all the ingredientes: Flour, sugar, butter, eggs, milk, chocolate chips and blueberries. Emma knows there are some more things that Regina uses to make her pancakes, but now she’s more interested in how Regina starts to move around.
Emma doesn’t have the opportunity to witness it often, but on the rare occasions that she gets to watch Regina cook, she does so completely mesmerized.
Regina always hyper focuses on the task at hand. She gets a bowl out and expertly starts to mix together the dry powders before incorporating the liquids—that way the batter is easier to blend, or so she vaguely remembers from the time Emma had to go and help her with the New Years’ Eve cookies. Regina mixes and turns on the stove all the while keeping her perfect posture as she moves from the burners to the kitchen island and from the kitchen island to the drawers.
She rinses out the blueberries and melts a single square of perfectly cut butter into an already warming pan. She measures half a cup of chocolate chips and then throws a little more in one of the resting batters, because she remembers Henry likes them extra ‘chocolate-y’.
Sometimes, when she forgets Emma’s there, Regina sing-songs a happy tune under her breath and Emma’s chest swells whenever she does.
“You know, Emma,” Regina breaks their comfortable silence after throwing the last batch of dried blueberries into the other batter. “You could at least offer to lend me a hand.”
Emma chuckles. “And risk being pulverized if I add a little too much of something to the mix?” Regina smiles as well. “Yeah, no thanks.”
“Fair enough.”
With the help of a ladle, Regina scoops a bit of batter and then lays a perfect circle on the sizzling pan. She’s careful enough to lower the flame on the stove just a tad, and then, steps away from it to look for something on the cabinets way on the top.
It’s easy to forget just how tiny Regina is, since she’s always wearing boots or heels, so Emma can’t help but be surprised in moments like these, when Regina has to get on her tippy toes to open the cabinet. She stretches, trying to reach for something that Emma can’t quite see from where she’s sat, but she does see her struggling and Regina did kinda say that she had been doing nothing all the while she cooked (which is true, but Emma had valid reasons not to!), so she carefully slides off the stool, and slowly, begins walking towards where Regina is.
“I know I said I didn’t wanna risk being pulverized like, a second ago,” the closer she gets, the easier she’s able to hear Regina’s subtle huffs. “But… Do you need any help?”
“Chivalrous as always, Emma.”
“What do you need?”
“I know I have an electric warming tray somewhere up there,” and although it’s pretty clear she’s not going to get it herself, Regina continues to try. Her right arm is way over her head, meanwhile her left hand is holding onto the edge of the counter for support, one of her legs slightly raised as she balances herself on her toes.
“Okay, I’ll get it.”
And Emma kind of expects Regina to step aside to give her enough room to get whatever it is she needs to get, but as she gets closer to where Regina is, Regina doesn’t move and Emma’s feet don’t stop even when her brain is basically screaming at her to come to a halt and the collision is fatal—like watching a car crash from afar: Mesmerizing and unavoidable and—
Regina backs her ass against Emma’s front. Both of her arms suddenly on the kitchen counter as Emma’s own hands reach for the top ledge of the cabinet and yeah, she should definitely step back.
Now.
“Oh!” She hears Regina’s little gasp and the tint of surprise is nothing but a mock, but it gets swallowed by the white marble as Regina lays her cheek against it, pressing harder onto Emma.
Okay, Emma really needs to step back.
“Do you see it?”
“I, uh…”
Truth is Emma’s hand is frozen somewhere between pans and pots and bowls and her eyes are occupied elsewhere as Regina’s shorts raise with her small movement, leaving the creamy skin of her ass full on display.
“Is it there?”
“Jesus Christ, Regina.”
She thinks she hears a chuckle, but the loudness of her own heartbeat overpowers it quick.
Regina’s ass is so round and it looks so soft and it’s right fucking there.
And shit, fucking, hell. Emma really needs to take a fucking step back.
But how can she when all she really wants to do is grab Regina by the hips and grind on her while her moans bounce off the kitchen counter. Emma wants to tear those little shorts off, wants to run her nails down the expanse of Regina’s back and paint her skin with scratches that will last for days.
“The pancakes are burning.”
Emma’s hips buck forward.
This time Regina’s gasp does sound surprised.
“Emma.”
It’s like her body is reacting on its own.
Her hips thrust against Regina’s ass again.
“ Emma .”
“Huh?”
“The pancakes are burning.”
Shit!
“Oh fucking—” Emma finally (finally!) steps back and Regina runs to the stove. The pancake that she picks off the pan is beyond salvation, but it’s only the first of the batch, so not everything is completely lost.
(Except maybe for Emma’s brain cells).
“The tray, darling.” Regina’s voice is a low grunt and it travels directly to Emma’s clit which throbs in an almost painful way. “Is it there?”
“On it. I’m… On it.”
The tray is actually hidden inside the oven, which Regina dismisses with an “oh, I must have forgotten!” and Emma’s superpower alarms go off just as loudly as Henry’s door slamming open.
The kids are awake.
And the pancakes are done.
Just in time.
“You may wanna cover up.” Emma mentions while she finishes setting the table. Five glasses for orange juice, five forks, five napkins and a variety of things to spread on top of the pancakes, just in case.
Regina looks at her visibly confused.
“You know…”
Her frown just deepens.
Emma grits her teeth. “Because of Teddy and Jake.”
“...Excuse me?”
“Oh come on, Regina.” Emma can hear the footsteps running down the stairs, accompanied by laughter and chit chat and Emma takes Regina’s momentary distraction to her advantage and magics her a robe.
Regina fumes.
“Emma!”
“I’m doing you a favor, believe me. If you don’t want Jake and Teddy to bust a nut on your dinner table, this is your safest bet.”
Regina’s objection gets cut off when Henry, Teddy and Jake get to the table. They all have bed hair and sleep clinging to their eyes, but Emma supposes the hunger is worse (and her theory gets tested when all their stomachs gurgle in unison).
Henry gives Regina a kiss before running towards Emma to do the same, and then he’s motioning his friends to sit down, just like he does.
“Good morning, Miss Swan.” Jake and Teddy say and Emma offers them a smile. “ Good morning Miss Mills .”
And really, how can Regina not notice the different inflection in their voice as they say her last name?
She turns to Henry to see if he notices. He’s already face deep in a pancake.
“Morning boys,” Regina’s smile is radiant. “How did you sleep? And please,” she holds a hand in the air, stopping them from answering yet. “Eat as much as you’d like. I made them especially for you.”
And okay, maybe the robe isn’t going to save either sixteen year old from prematurely ejaculating in their shorts when Regina’s so naturally attractive, but they can’t say Emma didn’t try to help.
The pancakes are delicious, not that Emma ever doubted they wouldn’t be, and the breakfast is enjoyable even if she feels the urge to roll her eyes every time Teddy or Jake giggle and blush whenever Regina pays them the slightest bit of attention and no, she’s not jealous, because that would be ridiculous, because Teddy and Jake are sixteen .
(And because Emma can’t really blame then when a stupid smile of her own threatens to slip past her lips whenever Regina calls out her name).
It’s not Emma’s idea of a perfect Sunday, but it comes pretty damn close.
Emma visiting the construction site instead of Regina has the mall ready in eight days and a half.
Everything is perfectly in place. Three stories and an underground level for parking, the space for at least 10 stores on each side of the first two floors, as well as a spacious lobby for where the cinema’s going to be on the third, sharing the rest of the space with the food court and the arcade. The investors visit on a Friday, and by Saturday, all of the localities are taken.
And even though Regina’s original idea was to inaugurate Storybrooke’s first official Mall during mid-June, due to the slight setback, the acclaimed date ends up being July first.
Which is two days from now.
Which means, Emma is taken captive in Regina’s studio well past midnight, because everything needs to be perfect for the inauguration and Emma has to help make sure of it; even though for the past two hours or so she has done nothing but nod and hum at Regina’s stressed chatter. Regina moves from the couch to the desk, then to the window and back to where she began. She speaks on the phone with the investors and the people in town who are volunteering on the big day, ticking off invisible check marks whenever she gets a positive answer. She opens her laptop twice every fifteen minutes, paranoid of her phone not displaying any new potential emails that could ruin the mall’s inauguration. At some point she even begins second guessing herself on whether or not everything is ready, and Emma finds Regina cute sometimes (okay: at all times) but the whole ordeal is bordering on psychotic and it’s twelve thirty-five and Emma would really love to sleep sometime in the foreseeable future.
“Regina,” she calls out to the older woman, who has closed her laptop yet again after finding nothing new on her inbox. “Don’t you think you’re… Overreacting a tad?”
And it’s definitely not the right thing to say, because Regina looks over at where Emma is almost dozing off on the couch and the way she stares at her, completely offended, is enough to send a shiver down her spine, which gets her to sit up straight.
“I mean…” She tries again, clearing her throat in an attempt to gain time to organize her thoughts, because another slip like the one before and Emma’s sure she will miss Storybrooke’s Mall inauguration party due to a ‘mysterious’ disappearance. “You’ve done everything to make sure the party works out fine and so it will work out just fine. You need to stop pushing yourself so much.”
Regina sighs, sitting down on the couch across from Emma.
Their eyes connect. Regina’s pupils are still shining with anxiety and uncertainty and Emma doesn’t know what else to do but offer her a tiny, tired smile, hoping it will be enough.
(And it sort of is, because as soon as it catches Regina’s attention, her shoulders slump and she lets out a shimmering breath).
“I just… Want the people to be happy with it.” And Emma knows what she really means is that she hopes Henry will be the happiest soul in all of Storybrooke once this is done.
“And they will be, I promise.”
Regina hesitates, frowning as if to stop herself from the doubt.
“We still have tomorrow,” Emma talks again. “I think it would be good to stop thinking about the mall altogether for what remains of the night. If you’re still worried about something or you want me to go and check door by door that the volunteers are all set up, then I will do it. For now, I think you oughta go to bed.”
“I wish I could.”
Emma frowns. “Regina, you can . Like I said, we’ll check whatever’s still bothering you tomorrow, first thing in the morning if you want.”
“No, Emma. You don’t get it.” And yeah, Emma’s starting to believe she doesn’t. “I can’t sleep.”
“In an… Insomniac kind of way?”
That earns her a little chuckle and Emma cherishes it in silence as Regina’s smile disappears into a scowl.
“In a: You know how stressed I am over this project and my body refuses to let me get any proper rest until the tension is completely gone, kind of way.”
Emma hums. “Okay, so… How do you get the tension out?”
“Usually I do meditation. I go upstairs to my room, wash my face, moisturize, change into my pajamas, I stretch a little bit to try and get rid of it and—”
“And?!” Emma’s intention wasn’t to interrupt, but the more she hears about Regina’s insane night routine, the more she wonders how in the hell does she manage to get any sleep at all during the night. “There’s more?!”
“Meditation is sacred, Emma. You need to focus all your energy into ridding your body of the stress. It’s very liberating when it finally happens.”
“And impractical. You need to sleep now . You’re not going to take two hours just to prepare yourself to… Meditate, to then actually try and sleep. Think of something quicker.”
And maybe she sounds exasperated, although she doesn’t mean to, and it’s clear that Regina notices too because she instantly crosses her arms over her chest and tenses her jaw out of anger, defensive, like Emma has just offended her entire bloodline.
She’s about to apologize, tell Regina that she’s just tired, because the days have been long and even if she doesn’t do half the shit that Regina’s being responsible for during the entire Mall shenanigans, it still takes a lot of time and effort to be this involved.
Emma can’t explain that to her, however, because Regina’s expression changes as quick as her previous demeanor does and Emma really needs to know what that goddamned spark is that takes over Regina’s warm brown irises because it’s making Emma crazy and this is like the fourth time in over a month that she has seen it.
“Something quicker?” Regina’s voice crawls over Emma with sensuality, and the Mayor licks her lips, snapping Emma’s gaze to her movements. “Like what…?”
Emma gulps.
She suddenly feels like prey waiting to be devoured, and knowing that her predator could potentially be Regina only excites her beyond measure.
She feels her stomach tighten in knots with anticipation.
“I… I…”
“You’re always so eloquent,” Regina chuckles and it vibrates all around the suddenly heavy atmosphere until it rests against Emma’s already tightened pressure on her lower belly. “What if…”
Regina cocks her head to the side, eyes never leaving Emma as her arms detangle themselves from her chest, instead resting against the couch. Her legs open slowly, like the motion is meant to get Emma’s attention to follow its movements, and it works, because the moment Emma catches skin on display, she can’t help but be absolutely enthralled—can’t help but bite on the inside of her cheek as Regina’s skirt moves upwards until it’s much too high on her thighs and Emma gets a flash of white underwear.
Oh.
“Regina…”
It’s meant to be a warning.
It comes out more like a plea.
“What was it that you mentioned the other day…?”
Emma doesn’t know what Regina’s talking about, she says a lot of shit a lot of the time and right now she’s having trouble remembering her own name. How does Regina want her to recall anything she has ever said under these circumstances?
“Ah! I remember,” Regina smiles triumphantly, although it looks more machiavelic. “You said that having sex was much better to help getting rid of stress. Right, Em-ma ?”
“Fuck.”
Regina’s legs open further. Emma’s eyes go wide.
She’s full on display.
Open, wanting, and—fuck, is that a wet spot in the middle of her panties?
Emma feels lightheaded.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Regina asks, honey dripping from every syllable she pronounces. “That I make myself feel good?”
Emma opens her mouth to talk, or maybe to scream that no, she doesn’t mind in the slightest, but just as she tries to, Regina’s right hand starts caressing herself from her knee to the inside of her thigh, and instead of a “no, please continue” or a “don’t you dare stop,” Emma instead moans .
It gets Regina to shiver.
It also gets her to drop the femme fatale attitude. Emma watches attentively as Regina’s resolve gets thrown out the window, her fingers quickly finding way to her warmth.
“ Oh… My.”
Emma’s mouth hangs open.
Yeah, oh my is fucking right.
She watches as Regina arches her back, one of the buttons on her blouse popping open against her chest, revealing a matching set of lingerie and Emma shuts her own thighs tight, the seam of her jeans hitting against her aching clit as she does, and it feels good, but is not nearly enough—and maybe it will never be enough because as Regina’s fingers move in circular motions against damp underwear, Emma realizes nothing will help her calm the fire spreading from the pit of her stomach to where she’s miraculously still seated.
Regina starts breathing heavily.
Her chest heaves up and down and a flush colors her cheeks and collarbones, her eyes get slightly foggy and… Fuck, she’s so beautiful.
A rush of arousal drips onto already ruined underwear and Emma sees how the small patch of fabric still covering Regina’s glistening core becomes almost transparent.
“You should… You should take them off.”
Regina gasps.
Too much?
Emma doesn’t really know how to behave. Is this platonic voyeurism? Is this a new seduction technique that she has never heard of? These sort of things only happen in porno movies and erotic literature so Emma doesn’t know if talking is permitted at all or if eventually Regina’s going to come out from her lustful haze and ask Emma to leave and they’ll chalk this up to the late hour and the tiredness.
Then Regina’s lifting her hips off the couch and Emma’s entire train of thought gets forgotten somewhere in the back of her mind as she sees how the garment, heavy with arousal, slides down toned legs. Slow, taunting, like Regina wants Emma to lose the small bit of sanity that she still has.
(It works).
“Is this better for you?” Regina opens her legs wider now that her tight skirt is out of the way, lifted just enough to rest around her hips.
Emma’s air gets knocked out of her lungs.
Regina is spread completely open. Wetness dripping down her folds, glistening under the soft light in her studio.
“Fuck.”
Regina smiles, and she looks almost shy— almost —because the next second, her fingers are back to where they had previously been, except now, without the barrier of silk, her digits hit directly against her and the whine that ripples through the room makes Emma shut her legs tighter together.
She’s not sure if Regina realizes the effect she’s having on her. Emma doubts she can, especially since her fingers are picking up the pace, making it hard for the former Queen to keep her eyes open, but it really doesn’t matter, because this is more than Emma would have ever dreamed of having. Even if she cannot touch Regina, even if she knows this is going to be seared into her brain for the rest of her life, even if she might not be able to taste her or feel her or…
“Oh my God,” Regina’s hips buck against her hand. Her fingers applying more pressure to her already engorged clit. “Oh my fucking God.”
Emma groans.
This is torture.
Sweet, wonderful and exquisite torture.
She can hear Regina’s wetness against the movement of her fingertips.
“Fuck,” Emma squeaks out. Both of her hands made into fists to avoid reaching out, her knuckles have gone completely white. “Are you…?”
Regina’s legs shake.
Her free hand, which up until that point had been gripping the edge of the couch, her panties creased against her fingers, suddenly joins her other one, not before throwing her underwear to the small table that separates them, and Emma feels the urge to grab it and put it in her mouth, but she refrains by barely a thread of self control when her attention turns back to Regina’s core.
Her right hand doesn’t cease on the movements against her clit, but now her left hand starts toying with her opening and Emma curses—she lets out a string of profanities that would make a grown woman blush (Regina blushes, actually), but she’s far too gone to put a stop to it and as two of Regina’s fingers tease to go inside, Emma falls to her knees.
It’s humiliating and Emma doesn’t care.
She doesn’t give a flying fuck about it because Regina’s fingers go in slowly and her eyes roll to the back of her head and her mouth hangs open in a pretty ‘o’ shape and her hips buck harsly against her, which only sends her fingers deeper inside and right there, in front of Emma’s green eyes which have turned positively dark due to the lust, Regina starts fucking herself.
Her right hand pressing desperately on her clit. Her left hand going in and out as fast as she can handle. Another button pops open. A loud moan echoes around them, Emma feels the vibrations going straight to her own slit.
“Oh… Oh…”
Regina’s wonderfully vocal about it.
Emma’s not going to be able to get her noises out her head anytime soon.
(Not that she wants to, really).
“Oh, Emma .”
The thrill of having Regina say her name gets her crazy, and despite her prior reservations, she reaches out and grabs the wet panties off the table and squeezes between her fingers, trying to calm the necessity of jumping over it to continue fucking Regina herself.
“I’m… I’m about to come.”
“Oh my fucking… ” Emma wants to hit her head against the table. She really, really wants to. “Yes, please. Yes, please make yourself come.”
Regina cries out.
A new energy of desperation clinging onto her already tired fingers.
Regina pumps harder into herself. Her circles become smaller, uncoordinated, completely erratic.
Emma tugs on the underwear she’s holding.
“I’m so… Oh fuck , I’m so close.”
Emma thinks the fabric tears under her fingers, but she’s not entirely sure, because just as Regina pronounces those last words, her body goes still. Her legs wobble, her back arches off the back of the couch and the fingers she holds inside herself go even deeper, to the point where she’s basically knuckle deep within her own heat and Emma can’t feel it, she can’t experience it on her fingertips because she’s still a table away, but she sees how Regina comes.
Sees how the orgasm overtakes her completely.
Sees how her cheeks become pink in a wonderful aftershock, sees how her chest heaves and the muscles of her stomach shake as she tries to compose herself once the pleasure finally subsides.
And Emma finds her gorgeous, more than usual, which is not only infuriating but also incredibly life ruining, because now she’s going to want to see Regina in her post orgasmic bliss on the daily, and Emma doesn’t know if that will be possible.
(Because now that the heat of the moment is gone, Emma can’t help but go back to asking herself what this was supposed to be and whether or not there’ll be a repeat, or if she can even ask about it to try and calm her new found anxiety).
Then Regina opens her eyes, and okay, maybe Emma can leave her self-questioning for later because Regina smiles at her and she looks almost smitten and, who is Emma to break the atmosphere around them?
“Emma,” Regina’s voice is small and hoarse, but alluring all the same and Emma, who is still on her knees and gripping onto Regina’s panties for dear life, can’t do anything but nod dumbly. “Come he—”
And yes, maybe Emma won’t break the atmosphere around them.
But Henry most definitely will.
Regina hears the footsteps leaping down the stairs before Emma has even time to react. She’s still on the floor when Regina has already arranged her raggedy self into something presentable, skirt perfectly in place, the buttons that had popped open on her shirt now expertly covered by the blazer that she had forgone hours ago, and she’s at her desk with an open computer and a moist toilette between her fingers.
Emma stands and puts Regina’s panties in the back pocket of her jeans right before Henry opens the door to the studio.
Thank fuck.
And even with crust on his eyes and the duvet’s pattern embroidered on his cheek (indication that he was sleeping soundly during the incident, which Emma’s immensely grateful about because she so doesn’t want to have that conversation with him), he looks between the two of them for a few seconds in silence before he raises a questioning eyebrow.
(Maybe Emma proclaimed herself victorious much too soon).
Henry is sixteen now, no matter how much Regina still wants to believe he’s same little boy that used to cling onto her skirt whenever it rained particularly too loud; he’s a teenager now, and he’s perceptive, too much so for his own good, which is why the moment his gaze falls on Emma, who looks less composed than Regina (which… Unfair because she wasn’t even the one coming), he opens his eyes in the utmost disgust.
“Ah, fuck, really?!”
Regina turns beet red. “Henry, language!”
“On which couch? Or was it on the desk?” He looks around frantically and when neither of them answers, he jumps a little, backing into the door. “On the floor ?!”
Emma grinds her teeth together.
“Kid, I can assure you there’s nothing of the sort going on here.”
“Then why do you look so… Sweaty and… Gross?”
Oh, this is ridiculous.
Again: She wasn’t even the one coming.
“I’m menopausal.”
She sees Regina hide her smile from the corner of her eye.
Henry notices too and that only gets his disgusted expression to deepen.
“You’re thirty-four.”
“Why are you here?”
“I live here.”
Emma wants to smack him.
Regina clears her throat before she can even try. “What your mom means is: It’s late, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”
Henry scrunches up his nose. “I got up to pee and realized I was hungry, so when I saw the lights on I figured if you were still awake maybe you’d be okay with making me some waffles, I didn’t know mom would be here being nauseating.”
“Gee, thanks kid.”
Regina sighs.
“Remind me, how old are the both of you, again?” Henry shrugs, Emma rolls her eyes. “It’s too late for waffles, but I can cut you some fruit if you’re craving something sweet.”
Henry doesn’t look too pleased (and Emma gets it because fruit instead of waffles? What a letdown), but he ends up nodding, maybe due to the fact that he still looks horrified, even when Emma and Regina hadn’t actually fucked, and will do anything to get out of the uncomfortable situation.
He moves past them, muttering something about “the room being tainted” under his breath, and Emma doesn’t know where he got his flair for dramatics from, but then she remembers his family tree and yikes— that’s where he got it from.
“Emma, are you staying for apples?”
Regina leans against the doorframe, with what Emma supposes is a nonchalant look on her face (although it’s not that convincing) and she feels her heart beat inside her chest at a—frankly—worrying rate; but how can she blame her heart for its response when Regina makes her feel so goddamn much?
She smiles. She could do apples for a midnight snack.
“Mooooooooom,” Henry groans from the kitchen, and he sounds so much like the bratty kid he was when he was ten that Emma shakes her head in shock. “Stop doing gross things to my mom.”
Regina skips ahead of her, a small, yet bashful, smile adorning her features.
Emma screams just as loud as Henry:
“I didn’t do anything to her, you little—”
Henry glares at her until she decides to leave the mansion at almost one am.
Regina doesn’t try to stop her, no matter how much her eyes reflect the longing for it because, well… Henry is really being a pain in the ass, and he has made it his mission to basically cover Regina from Emma’s field of view until she’s inside her bug and driving towards her apartment.
She would admit to staring at Regina’s panties for far longer than necessary once she’s in bed remembering their encounter. She would admit to slipping past the waistband of her own underwear to find herself wet and wanting and so desperate to put an end to her torment. She would maybe even admit to Regina’s name falling off her lips as she comes.
But she won’t.
Not out loud, at least.
The opening party is a success, which comes as a surprise to absolutely no one, but Emma’s not about to say “I told you so,” to Regina because frankly she likes her head where it is and Regina hasn’t stopped smiling since they cut the blue ribbon out front. Emma adores seeing her so happy.
Around six though, most of the people have either gone into the cinema or the arcade, and the initial hype starts to calm as the summer sun sets at the outskirts of town. When Regina notices that apparently no more people are coming, she takes the opportunity to sit down in one of the benches around the little decorative fountain at the bottom of the escalator, Emma seizes the moment to join her.
“How are you feeling?” She asks once she’s sitting down next to her and Regina closes the small distance between them, putting them shoulder to shoulder.
Emma can’t help but beam.
“Good. Really good.”
“I’m glad. Maybe now that the project is over, you’ll be able to go back to your usual routine. No more dealing with contractors or investors or… Annoying people in general.”
Regina chuckles. “Well, that’s not entirely true.”
Emma raises an eyebrow.
“I still have to deal with you, don’t I?”
“Ha… Ha… Very funny.”
“Yes, thank you. I’ve been told I am.”
A comfortable silence settles between them. From the third floor, music and video game sound effects can be heard, as well as laughter and idle chats from the people who keep coming and going. Families and groups of friends go up and down on the escalators, and when they spot them, they all offer them a kind smile, some even venture to offer Regina a “thank you”, and Emma could swear that she sees her blush, though she’s never too sure, since the bright lights on the mall reflect on her skin, making it hard for Emma to confirm her theory.
After a while, Regina breaks the silence by breathing in. Her inhalation feels long and tranquil, as if she’s breathing the moment in, savoring it, she even closes her eyes for a second.
Emma watches her the entire time.
Then, Regina stands up: “Take me home.”
Emma probably looks like an idiot with how fast she blinks.
“Uh… Right now?” Regina nods. “Wh… What about Henry?”
“Mr. Johnson is taking him with the other boys to the cinema to watch that new Marvel movie once they run out of credit in the arcade. Then he’s taking them to his house. Their sleepover will be there tonight.”
Emma’s throat is suddenly dry.
“Oh.”
“Uh huh.”
She doesn’t want to assume that this is Regina’s invitation to finish what they had started (what Regina had started?) two nights ago, because Emma is not an asshole and she actually respects the boundaries in the relationships that she has with women.
More specifically, she respects the boundaries on the relationship that she has with Regina . And sure, for the past month or so Emma has found herself in too many situations that could be misinterpreted as an ‘advance’ of sorts, Jesus Christ, she had basically seen Regina finger fuck herself to orgasm front row but, she doesn’t want to assume . Because what if it has all been friendly behavior?
(Granted, Emma doesn’t think she’s ever had friends who masturbated in front of her but…)
“Emma.”
Regina looks at her exasperated, like she has been waiting for Emma to move for an entire hour, and thankfully it works to finally spur her into action. Emma gets quickly on her feet and tilts her head to motion going to the parking lot where she has her bug. Regina pays for the parking ticket, much to Emma’s dismay, and she arranges herself on the copilot’s seat, pristine and pretty and perfect and Emma doesn’t know how they’re supposed to get home without crashing into a mailbox when Regina keeps putting her hand on Emma’s thigh whenever they cede the crossing to a pedestrian.
Emma is not an asshole.
She’s not going to assume anything.
“Are you alright, dear?”
Emma’s inside voice lets out something that sounds like ‘ hhhnnnggg ’ when Regina’s moniker registers inside her head and she barely has the mind to nod, smiling as if her cheeks are hurting before it becomes too obvious that she’s losing it.
(If Regina notices, she says nothing).
“Come in, let’s have a drink.” Regina says once they’re parked outside her manor.
Emma unbuckles her seatbelt and follows Regina into the foyer, palms sweaty, eyebrows knit together, an uncomfortable sensation of desire threatening to pool down her stomach.
But Emma is not an asshole.
Regina opens the door and steps inside. Emma does the same.
“Where would you like to have me?”
Emma chokes on her own spit.
“What?!”
Regina frowns. “Where would you like to have it ? The drink?”
Jesus fucking—
“Emma, are you sure you’re alright?” Now she looks concerned, just like that night where Emma had suggested she fucked someone to help with her stress and then ended up making a fool of herself by hitting her face against the door. The sense of deja vù is sickening.
Emma is not an asshole.
“Emma?”
She’s not an asshole.
“Emma…?”
She’s not—
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
Ah.
Dammit .
So much for not assuming.
“Crap. Sorry, I’ll go.”
She moves to grab the doorknob, hoping this time she won’t get herself a bruised nose, but before she can escape, Regina grabs her.
Emma half expects her to look at her with pity, or confusion, even derision, but when her eyes meet Regina’s the only thing she sees is that spark—that flicker of something that shines in her pupils and has made Emma wonder what it is for the past few weeks. That same flicker of light that burns a fire so deep within Emma’s arousal.
Regina’s voice shakes.
“Yes.”
Emma doesn’t understand what’s happening. “I’m sorry?”
“Yes, I want you to fuck me.”
Emma’s stomach does a full one-eighty.
“You… You do?”
“Was I not obvious enough?”
“I didn’t wanna assume! What if this was all platonic?”
And yes, now that she says it outloud it sounds fucking ridiculous, so she can’t blame Regina for laughing. She actually laughs too, just a little.
“So, you thought it was… Platonic masturbation?”
“Why didn’t you just say it?”
“I wanted to see if you really meant it! You were drunk when you told me, what if it was the applejack talking?”
“Regina!”
“Oh, don’t turn this on me! You thought I was masturbating for you out of friendliness.”
Fine, Regina wins that round.
They’re also losing a lot of time in semantics when there’s so much more they could be doing. God, Emma has been dreaming about this for days.
For weeks.
For years .
So, she doesn’t reply, doesn’t want to, doesn’t have to. Her body talks for her: She kisses Regina. She grabs her by the neck and pulls her in and kisses her like Regina is the only person in the world, and for Emma, she is.
Regina whines against her lips and Emma licks her way into her mouth. Regina tastes like caramel and spice and Regina , and Emma is addicted to her in a second.
She doesn’t know where or how to begin, she’s so excited and she has waited so long for this that her attempt to be suave and seductive comes off more like desperate and aggressive; she rakes her nails down Regina’s neck, grabs whatever she can get her hands on, Regina’s chest, Regina’s waist, Regina’s back, Regina’s ass…
Fuck. What an ass.
“Should we…” Regina breaks apart when the air becomes scarce, Emma doesn’t stir too far away, though. Her lips descend, leaving a trail of wet kisses on her jawline and her neck. “Oh, fuck.”
And Emma doesn’t know what’s so enthralling about Regina cursing but she wants to hear it again, so she sucks on the pulse point on the side of her jugular and Regina all but melts against her.
“Upstairs.” Emma hears her grunt, and the desperation in her voice is so tangible, she knows she’s got no other choice but to obey.
And Emma knows she could show off—she could grab Regina by the back of her legs and make her tangle them around her waist as she carries her into the bedroom. She works out for a reason, obviously, but the thing is that right now she’s much too anxious to even try. She wants Regina so bad, she has wanted her for so long, that she refuses to waste any more time.
A cloud of white smoke surrounds them momentarily, and when they appear in Regina's master bedroom, not only does she look proud (which… Fuck, Emma’s going to have to unpack that later), she also looks downright hungry.
Their next kiss is gone in a flurry of bites and moans. Hands reaching for buttons, belts and zippers, tugging and groaning in an attempt to get rid of it all. Emma has to break away to shimmy out of her jeans (and she curses herself for choosing to wear her skinniest pair today, but in her own defense, she didn’t know this was going to happen), and while she’s pulling out of them, Regina climbs onto the bed.
She’s clad in a set of matching red lingerie. The crimson lace contrasting beautifully against her skin, and if Emma could write poetry, she would write about Regina and the curve of her waist; about the freckles on her shoulders, the softness of her breasts and the movement of her chest. She would write about every little thing that Emma’s eyes pick up on as she drinks her in.
But alas, Emma is not a poet, and the best she can do is kiss all that overwhelming emotion on her way up Regina’s body.
She kisses her legs, from her calves, to her knees and to the inside of her thighs, where Regina parts them for Emma to go further up, and although she wants nothing more than to give in, she waits, leaves more kisses on the outline of Regina’s underwear and continues on her way up.
Her stomach, her chest, her collarbone and back to her neck. Emma wants to kiss her all over.
“Don’t tease,” Regina breathes out when Emma bites onto the already reddening skin. “Please, don’t tease.”
Emma smiles.
“You mean… Don’t tease you like you’ve been teasing me for the past couple of weeks?”
Regina’s blush darkens.
“I told you already: I thought I was being obvious!”
Emma kisses her deeply before Regina can frown.
“What do you want me to do?”
Regina’s hips buck against Emma’s own pelvis and a thrill of arousal pulls hard on her lower belly.
“Anything. Everything . Whatever you want. Just…” Regina swallows hard, then licks her lips. “Please, I want you so much.”
Emma grunts.
Her kisses descend on the same path they climbed up, except this time she takes her time to pay special attention to the places where Regina’s breath starts to get a little ragged—below her collarbone, just around her nipple, on her ribs, on the outline of her hip bone. Regina whines and grinds herself against thin air, and Emma knows she’s not exaggerating when she thinks to herself that she could spend the rest of her days here. Kissing Regina to oblivion, memorizing the feeling of her skin on her lips, getting her to lose her mind over her ministrations.
“You’re gorgeous, Regina.” She whispers against the inside of her thigh and her warm breath dances against Regina’s already damp underwear, which earns Emma a high pitched moan. “You looked so sexy when you were making yourself come, I wanted to taste you so bad.”
She hooks her fingers on Regina’s panties, pulls them down her legs and throws them somewhere on the floor.
Regina’s hips jolt against the sudden rush of air hitting directly at her core, and Emma feels her mouth salivating at the sight. She’s close, finally close enough to taste her, so Emma doesn’t stop to tease, doesn’t stop to be ‘romantic’ about it; she’s much too desperate for that. Her tongue licks a straight line from Regina’s opening to her throbbing clit, and the moan that leaves her lips as she gets lost on Regina’s tang, gets forgotten somewhere between her legs and Regina’s own moan.
Hands fly directly to her head, tangling themselves on blonde locks as Emma repeats the same motion once, twice, thrice, until it’s finally too much and Regina tugs on her hair, forcing her to stay where she is, mouth against her most sensitive bud, and really, who is Emma to disobey?
Her tongue flattens against it, licks up and down with fervor and Regina squirms against her, panting and whining and pulling on her hair as she builds a growing pace—it starts off slow, almost like a flutter, but as the tension inside Regina grows, her hips start to move harder against Emma’s tongue, up and down, almost erratic against the heat of her mouth until it’s too much but not nearly enough and Regina stops Emma’s movements ltogether, scratching on her scalp until Emma stops.
She doesn’t break apart, though. She merely looks up at Regina, a questioning eyebrow quirked as their eyes meet.
“Just stay… Like that.” She hears her pant, shaking with the ever growing need of coming. “I want to fuck your face.”
Oh.
Fuck.
Emma moans. It’s loud and whiny and it’s all but forgotten as Regina starts grinding against her mouth, both of her hands still safely securing Emma’s tongue on her clit, and Emma doesn’t know how she’s supposed to survive this, or if she’s meant to at all. Especially when Regina’s thighs shut against each side of her head, effectively trapping her in (not that Emma minds. Emma could die here and she would die a happy woman). Regina’s movements start getting harsher, more desperate and her moans get replaced by incoherent babbling, which Emma only understands half of, due to her ears being completely surrounded by Regina.
She picks up on something along the lines of “yes, yes, like that” and “you’re so good, you make me feel so good” and her name, like a prayer falling off a sinner’s lips and Emma is enthralled by all of it.
By all of Regina.
She feels Regina’s clit harden under her tongue, and her hips go momentarily still before grinding themselves faster against her.
There it is.
Emma can tell she’s close.
She can feel it in the way Regina’s thighs shake at each side of her head. Can feel it in the erratic movements as Regina’s moans get higher, louder, more primal. Can feel it on the wetness that drips down her lower lip and onto her chin.
She can feel Regina’s climax building all around her.
“Emma…”
Regina searches for her. Her eyes are completely wrapped in lust and Emma feels lightheaded as she holds her stare, Regina’s hip movements never ceasing.
She watches, fascinated, as Regina bucks against her, as her mouth opens in silent pleasure, as her eyes try to remain open to keep looking at her, yet end up failing as her orgasm builds until the point of no return.
Emma is quick to grab each side of Regina’s hips, settling her hands right on top of her lower belly, where she presses slightly, feeling the muscles contract against her hands, and that is all it takes for Regina to let go.
The orgasm ripples through her hard and fast and much more powerful than expected.
Regina screams, hoarse and weepy and calling out for Emma as her body gets overtaken by absolute delight.
Emma feels a gush of wetness spread over her face and she laps up whatever she can reach for, with Regina’s hands still tightly latched in her hair, and fuck , she knows she’s greedy, but she wants more .
She breaks away slightly, never stirring too far from Regina’s core, and Regina, still recovering from her orgasm, looks at her, a question coloring her pupils.
“Can you come again?”
Regina swallows hard. Her thighs shake at each side of Emma’s head.
“I… I think so.”
It’s all Emma needs to hear. She goes back in, tongue pressing softly against Regina’s still oversensitive clit. She waits, hears Regina mewling against her mouth and feels her hips bucking trying to get away, but once she’s acclimated to the feeling of Emma around her again, she relaxes and Emma starts moving herself in tiny up and down motions.
“I’m not…” Regina breathes in hard, trying to calm herself down. “I’m not going to last too long, I’m afraid.”
And Emma doesn’t know why she finds those simple words so hot—maybe it has to do with the tremor in her voice or with the wet heat that still drips on her chin, but it’s like the flick of a switch, and suddenly Emma is going at it harsher, faster, much more desperate than before.
Regina moans, loud and high pitched and God, Emma has to buy Mr. Johnson a fucking gift for letting them have the house all to themselves, because there’s no way in hell Emma will want to stop anytime soon when Regina sounds like that .
Her right hand detangles itself from around Regina’s hip, where she’s still holding her in place, and instead it sneaks to Regina’s aching core, where she finds her warm and inviting and Emma has to breathe in to calm herself before she all but plunges inside of her, because she might be desperate, but she’s not a complete animal.
Regina, however, at feeling her so close, spreads her legs further apart and tilts her hips upwards, groaning and grunting and tugging on Emma’s hair again, this time harder.
Emma rolls her eyes as she sucks Regina’s throbbing clit into her mouth.
“Inside. Oh my god, please,” and fuck. Regina pleading is going to ingrain herself so deep into Emma’s brain, she’s sure she won’t ever be the same person again. “I need you inside, Emma, please .”
(Oh yeah. Emma’s definitely not coming back from that).
Two of her fingers slide right in, and the feeling of suffocating warmth, wetness and softness around her digits, make Emma break away to moan.
“Fuck…” She’s breathless. Captivated at how Regina takes her in. “You feel so fucking… Good .”
Regina tugs on her hair to pull her up towards her, and once she has her mere centimeters away, she closes the distance between them, kissing her hard; it’s all tongue and teeth and it’s downright dirty, and Emma’s head spins as Regina’s hips start to buck against her fingers, trying, so so so much, to get Emma to move them.
She doesn’t need to be told twice.
And even though a sadistic part of her brain tells her to draw this out, to let it linger until Regina is begging her for more, the feeling of pure heat around her digits, the way Regina licks into the bridge of her mouth, moaning and panting, Regina’s taste still lingering on her own tongue—it’s all too much and Emma would be torturing herself if she didn’t oblige to Regina’s silent requests, so Emma slides her fingers out, just a little, giving Regina enough time to brace herself, and then she pushes them back in.
“ Oh .”
Regina throws her head back, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape.
And Emma finds her stunning.
She repeats the same motion, trying to keep a steady rhythm to her lunges. Her fingers go out, then go back in, and each time she’s buried inside of Regina’s heat, she curls them upwards, massaging the tight spot there before repeating it until Regina’s entire body seems to go haywire—her legs start to shake, her breathing gets erratic, in a way that brings Emma’s attention to the rise and fall of her chest (which… Woah), there’s a thin layer of sweat covering her forehead, the bridge of her nose and the defined line that trails her stomach; but that’s not what let’s Emma know Regina’s close.
No.
Emma feels it. Feels it in the way Regina’s walls tighten around her fingers, making it hard for her to continue with her ministrations. Feels it in the way Regina’s clit throbs whenever the back of Emma’s palm rubs against it. Feels it in the hot and slippery nectar that drips on Regina’s folds and yes, it only takes Emma one more push before Regina is coming.
Hard.
Emma is incapable of looking away. She’s completely mesmerized by how the pleasure takes over Regina, so she watches her— all of her .
She watches her eyebrows closely knit together, her mouth open, yet no sound leaves her lips, the blush on her cheeks, the way her throat contracts as she tries to gasp for air. The subtle tremor on her abdomen as the aftershocks wash over her, the redness around her thighs, the wetness still coating Emma’s fingers, which she pulls slowly, fascinated at the small noise Regina exhales only for Emma to hear.
And Emma tries to memorize it. Every little thing. Every detail. Every speck of the moment.
Emma tries to savour it all.
Because Regina is nice. Not in the ‘kind’ sense of the way (although she is awfully kind too), but in the: She’s pretty and smart and funny and everything Emma has ever liked and so she is nice to have .
She is nice to touch.
She is nice to love .
…
Shit.
Leave it to Emma to have an epiphany at the worst of times, and not even the type of epiphany to be ignored.
Of course not.
It’s the kind of epiphany that leaves you winded. The kind of epiphany that makes you dizzy. The kind of epiphany that changes lives.
Then Regina opens her eyes.
And she looks at Emma and she smiles, wide and warm and inviting and…
“I’m going to mess it all up.” She whispers, caressing Regina’s cheek, her whole body draped over Regina’s with no intention of moving anytime soon, regardless of the anxiety roaming through her veins.
Regina kisses the tip of her nose, then both her cheeks, then her lips, and this time it’s not rushed or heated or desperate; this time is sweet and slow and full of emotion.
Full of…
“Stop.” Emma whispers against her lip scar. “I swear, you’re gonna make me mess it all up.”
“Mess what up?”
“This.”
Regina holds her close, almost as if she’s afraid that Emma will run.
“How could you possibly mess it up?”
“By saying something stupid.”
Regina kisses her again.
Emma melts right into her.
“Like what?”
Emma sighs.
“Like I love you.”
She expects to feel the air shift around them. She expects tension and awkwardness and regret.
She doesn’t expect Regina laughing.
Emma frowns.
“I don’t understand what’s so fun—”
Her offense gets swallowed by Regina’s lips. Emma is engulfed by her, completely. Regina flips them over, much too quick for Emma to understand what’s going on. She rests herself against Emma’s hips, one leg at each side of her waist, and Emma stares at her when she finally pulls away, because first of all, how rude to interrupt her after laughing at such an important matter, and second of all…
Regina’s eyes reflect one thing, and thankfully, Emma’s not enough of an idiot not to know what it is.
“Believe me, darling. You’ve said much more stupid things.”
Emma smiles. “Yeah, I suppose I have.”
Regina grabs her like she’s holy and kisses her like she’s vital and Emma is in love. So irrevocably, hopelessly, wonderfully in love.
“I love you too.”
The best part is that Regina is too.
So, Storybrooke gets a mall.
It’s the hottest hangout spot for the summer, so in Henry’s book it’s definitely poggers .
(Emma still has no idea what that means).
She also gets a girlfriend.
A girlfriend who cooks for her while dressed in fancy lingerie. A girlfriend who laughs at her jokes, even while pretending to be annoyed at them. A girlfriend who kisses her until her body feels like it’s on fire.
A girlfriend who loves her. Unconditionally. As Emma loves her too.
Henry doesn’t really love it (or so he says, because Emma knows him well enough to notice the dopey grin on his face whenever they’re all together; he actively tries to hide it, but Emma can always see it.
It doesn’t prevent him from being annoying as hell).
“Stop fucking my mom.” He grits his teeth together whenever they’re alone.
“I’m also your mom.”
“So, if you really cared about me, you would stop fucking my mom .”
Emma feels like turning him into a frog.
Or a ferret, since Regina says frogs are too easy for transfigurations.
She never does, though. Mainly because she doesn’t remember the exact spell to cast the change, but also because she’s certain Regina will turn her into something much worse if she dares to mess with any hair on Henry’s irritating little head, and Emma likes being a human, thank you very much.
She especially likes it when Regina’s on top of her.
Or under her.
Or just… Anywhere near her.
Really, Emma just likes Regina.
No, actually, Emma loves Regina.
“Henry bought the tickets beforehand, so he will see us at the mall.” Regina puts on her earrings as she goes down the stairs to where Emma waits in the main lobby, and it doesn’t get old (Emma doubts it will ever get old), but the thrill that runs down her spine when Regina leaves a little peck on her lips is always so rewarding.
Emma holds her by the waist.
“You’re so pretty.”
(Another thing that will also never get old? Regina’s subtle blushing whenever Emma compliments her).
“You are too. We should leave, though. He was very adamant about punctuality.”
And Emma bites the inside of her cheek to avoid letting out a snarky comment like “yeah, of course he was”, because their son has the subtlety of a monster truck.
But that’s alright, because even while being a bratty, moody teenager, she would give anything for him.
She would give anything for her family.
As Regina intertwines their fingers, Emma’s heart soars.
Has she said just how much she loves Regina?
(Yeah, too much, perhaps.
She doesn’t really care—Regina loves her too).
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