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“Talk to me.” It sounds a bit more tired than she’d wanted it to, but she just about got out of a magical portal, the nausea is a bitch. Even if Emma is where she expected her to be.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Miss Swan, why are you here?”
Here is a bedroom, a master bedroom. Here is New York. In Emma and Henry’s apartment.
“I don’t know.” Lie.
Emma is standing by the window, looking away to the city. Regina comes to stand slightly beside her.
The bed is disheveled, a tank top and boyshorts on the floor by the closet. She noticed empty plates on the living room table when she entered. Nothing touched since the day Emma and Henry left in a hurry for the Land of Fairytales. In a hurry to help save them all, again, because her parents needed Emma to be the Savior, again. A sacrifice dismissed, another curse dangling by magical threads with ramifications no one truly understands, another price yet to pay added to her tab, or worse, to Emma and Henry’s. Another happiness trampled, and now Emma is sneaking off a world she will never belong to, to a world she never meant to leave.
“Have you slept?” Emma hasn’t, Regina knows. There’s darkness in Emma’s tired, shadowed eyes. She’s paler than usual, her hair has been pulled back in place one too many times.
“Why are you here?” Fair enough.
“Henry was worried about you.” It wasn’t just Henry, though. The idiots were beside themselves, Neal, the Pirate, all of Emma’s… people. She came because she was worried. Mostly.
Emma scoffs. Yes, Regina is lying. She can’t very well admit any of it anyway.
“How’d you find me?”
“Finding people isn’t solely your family’s trade, dear. I have my means.”
“Yeah, I guess you do.”
The silence is heavy. Emma is vibrating with a sadness that seems cold and unbefitting her usually vibrant green eyes. Emma stands, hugging herself with one arm across her middle gripping at her elbow, her left arm by her side. Her silence, deafening. Introspection and conflict. Regina has seen it all before, frustration and guilt. It’s been like watching Emma waste away, slowly. She’s having a hard time deciding if she needs to leave Emma alone for now, if she needs to press and break the walls in front of her. She didn’t follow Emma to New York to stand by as the woman continues torturing herself.
She looks around discreetly. There is a picture of Emma and Henry on the nightstand, they’re smiling big goofy grins. Emma’s closet has one sliding door opened, showing all sorts of clothing. They’re not all that bad. Maybe she did give Emma enough prefaced memories that she actually managed to influence her taste and inclinations. There are books on top of the wall-length dresser facing the foot of the bed. It doesn’t touch the floor and looks suspended.
Modern.
She knows why Emma is here. She misses her home, her life, what was taken from her for the greater good. Again. That, and the mother she’s barely dared to hope for her entire life is actually pregnant. Replaced, five minutes in, because you aren’t the little girl they missed out on. Regina has never wanted to throttle Snow more than she does now.
There are books, some items of jewelry, lotions and a big glass jar with various elements of makeup well organized next to a looking-glass. There is also a full-length mirror against the opposite wall, not far from the window. The scent in the room is a bit musky, it could use a couple of hours of fresh air. It smells of Emma, though. Emma and dust.
Emma’s left hand is closed in a fist by her side. She smells faintly of cigarettes and alcohol. Regina wouldn’t usually allow herself to touch Emma for her own satisfaction. It seems everyone else takes that right without a hint of hesitation. The morons attempting to court her as well.
Regina knows better. Emma doesn’t touch unless she decides to. It always means something, always. She doesn’t touch absent-mindedly. Regina and Emma rarely touch. When they do, it means something. She’s pretty sure they’re both aware of the fact.
Regina brings her fingertips to Emma’s forearms slowly. The instinctive recognition of each other’s magical essence is instantaneous. They fit, there is no denying it. She tried. Emma actually shudders when she feels Regina touching her oh-so-softly. She lets her fingers encompass Emma’s wrist, caressing downward to the taut knuckles, placing her hand over Emma’s. She waits and waits. She waits and delicately, almost imperceptibly, strokes with her thumb. She strokes and caresses and soothes. And she waits.
Slowly, the hand beneath hers opens. First the tension releases. Emma isn’t contracting her hand muscles into her fist, just holding the pose. Regina’s fingertips caress the space between the knuckles. Emma’s hand relaxes a touch more and uncurls slowly, tentatively. It’s just enough that Regina’s fingertips find their way, stroking, cajoling, featherly between Emma’s fingers. Just a little, not much.
Emma’s breath hitches. She exhales. Shivers. Inhales. Exhales. Shivers. Inhales. In rhythm with Regina’s fingers brushing between Emma’s which are parting so Regina can find her way.
Regina and Emma rarely touch. It has never openly meant what it means now.
Desire burns in her nerves, at all the endings. Regina feels impossibly restless, yet the perspective of moving, breaking the spell, not touching Emma anymore is terrifying her.
More than what she’s doing now, more than wanting Emma Swan the way she wants Emma Swan.
It smells of Emma’s musk in the room. There’s been no air but that which Emma has breathed. Intoxicating. She stays still but for her fingers between Emma’s. Still.
She came to find Emma because she’s been missing her. Henry was worried, she was worried, but, truly, Regina has found herself irrationally frantic at the idea that Emma could find a way out and run. And leave. Henry. Her. And leave her.
Regina let them go once, both of them. It about killed her. A life without them. They were happy, they were happy and she did that. She had to keep them safe, she always has to keep them safe. That’s why she didn’t die. That’s why the green bitch did. It’s almost poetic, the irony of it all.
Emma’s head tilts back her way. Her eyes are closed now. Regina takes a step, the smallest, most silent step. It places her just a deep breath and some swaying away from pressing into Emma’s back. She’s burning. Heat is coming off of Emma in waves.
She’s only wearing a tanktop, her shoulder is bare. She has beauty marks, her skin looks soft, inviting. Maybe if she dares.
Maybe if she dares, she can do what she hadn’t in Storybrooke. What she’s been wanting to do since before—if she is honest with herself which she always is, even if it’s sometimes delayed—and thought she never could. Her price to pay.
Careful. She holds her breath. She’s not unconfident, she’s shy. She’s shy because—well, there is enough for her to lose. Everything.
She ghosts her lips over Emma’s skin. She doesn’t touch yet. She exhales once, over the spot she knows she’s going to kiss. It’s inevitable, she needs to, she has to. She exhales and inhales and it’s leaving that hot trace of condensation on the shine of her lips almost on Emma Swan’s back.
Emma’s raw scent, under the slight stale of cigarettes and booze. Emma’s raw scent is… kind. The scent is gentle, not too potent. It has a touch of that muskiness she’s drowning in. It’s soft, not sweet. Regina knows she needs to be careful. Emma’s scent is like gravity pulling her. It’s calling her name, it will hold her and keep her. It’s familiar, it’s comfortable, it’s inexorable. It whispers in her heart. Home.
Another heartbeat. Another shuddering breath, boiling in her lungs, fogging her throat. To hell with caution.
She delicately presses her lips to the warm skin of Emma’s shoulder, above her shoulder blade. Emma’s back muscles ripple, Regina does it again. She can hear Emma breathing in huffs, she does it again. The tip of her tongue flicks at Emma’s skin this time.
There is a moan Regina almost misses. Her brain is registering the explosion on her tastebuds. She’s tasted Emma Swan. As gentle as Emma’s scent is, Emma’s taste is perfumed. Each quality is distinct, heightened by the warmth of her skin. Regina wants it, she wants it all.
Regina kisses her again, trailing prickling kisses, all the way to the round tip of her shoulder. Their hands are still, their fingers intertwined. Regina’s right hand tugs lightly at the hem of Emma’s tanktop. She lets it go to brush her hand on the skin of the small of her back, then her hip. Carefully molding herself into Emma, she finishes embracing her, resting a soothing hand to her abdomen.
She gently presses her face to Emma’s shoulder, lips on skin. She forces herself to breathe, once, twice. She’s still in her high ankle boots, but Emma is barefoot. Regina breathes, once, twice.
Emma lets her head back on her shoulder, her forehead against Regina’s jaw as her chin rests on Emma’s shoulder.
“You came for me.” Emma sounds strained, like there is one too many strand yanking at her heart so hard it’s tearing.
“Idiot.”
Their voices are low. Intimate. Emma is kissing the corner of her mouth, she turns in her arms, their hands part. She’s not brusque. She tenderly nuzzles at her cheek and nose, rubbing, like a cat. Regina pulls her hips into hers.
“Yeah.” Emma says it a breath from her lips, their eyes dancing as her arms embrace her, hands holding onto her back.
Regina’s lost in the sensations of Emma’s face and lips on her. She wants to forget her ability to speak and replace it by kissing, licking, biting, sucking, touching, swallowing. Fucking.
“You didn’t think I would.” They haven’t kissed yet. She’s not closing her eyes. She can see the storm in Emma’s, deep in the green ocean of hidden rage and hurt. Wounded.
Emma’s forehead on hers says no. “I wanted you to.” She lifts her chin, her lips part. She leans, she pulls, gasps. Almost.
Regina has found her way around the hem of Emma’s jeans, back to the front of them. There is a clear snap of a button coming undone before she can even think of what she’s doing. The zooming sound of her zipper going down at once. She wants to stop, it’s too fast. Emma arches.
Their foreheads are pushing against each other’s. The tips of their noses pressing together. Their mouths are slightly opened, grasping for each other’s breath. Emma’s arms are trembling, with the rest of her body sending waves of rolling tremors crashing into Regina.
She’s terrified. She knows the moment they let it go, she’s done for. She’s never going to let Emma go. Regina’s fingertips slip into Emma’s underwear easily against the taut abdomen Emma is sucking in, nerves and desire. Regina cups her, holding a breath. She inhales harshly, swallowing a sob with a whimper.
Emma’s right hand claims the nape of her neck, her thumb on her cheek. Regina’s head tilts back. Emma’s lips are on hers. Once. Twice, and their tongues are in each other’s mouth. She’s never kissed like this. It was always a forbidden rush, or mouthfuls of coveted prizes.
This. Emma. Kissing Emma. It’s not dominant, it’s passionate. It’s not frightening, it’s essential. It’s not possessive, it’s loving.
She’s taken and she forgets to move or explore with her fingers against Emma’s core. She forgets about where they are and what this means. She forgets about Evil Queens and Saviors.
There is only Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma.
Emma’s arousal is so hot and sleek. It’s coating Regina’s fingers of its own accord. There is a lot. Enough that Regina can smear it around on Emma’s labia, on Emma’s soft fuzz of pubic hair, on Emma’s apex, on Emma’s abdomen, as she retires her hand out of her underwear to pull on the offensive tanktop separating her from more of Emma’s skin.
Emma kisses her lips one last time, and again, as if parting from her is painful. Emma lets go with Regina’s swift movement to get her out of her shirt, taking a couple of steps back, caught in the momentum. They look at each other, Emma’s eyes fall on Regina’s glistening hand. She blushes on top of her already flushed cheeks, her neck and chest gradually heating with delicious redness.
Regina chuckles. “Aw, preciosa.” She smiles and shakes her head softly, as she slightly tilts to each side lifting a bended knee to remove boots from feet. She takes a step to Emma, unfastening her own fitted and vintage faded blue jeans, shimmying out of them gracefully before cladding herself to Emma’s hips all over again. She drops her jeans to the smooth wooden floor that runs throughout the apartment.
She gathers Emma’s right hand in her left. She studies it for a moment and then lifts knuckles to her mouth, kissing each one in between looks to a speechless Emma Swan. She kisses the pad of Emma’s thumb, then her pinky and ring finger. She goes to the index, kissing the tip then gently flicks her tongue between the first two fingers.
Emma swallows audibly. With a smile, Regina traces her tongue the length of the middle finger and wraps her lips around it. She feels Emma shake in want. She thinks for a moment Emma’s eyes are going to roll in their sockets.
Emma’s eyelashes bat frantically, her voice is hoarse when she moans. She swallows repeatedly, another shiver runs through her. Maybe it’s not just in want Emma is shaking.
Regina encourages her hand from her mouth to her cheek, kissing its palm tenderly before Emma strokes her skin. Regina leans into Emma’s touch. She looks deeply in the feverish green eyes. Vulnerable.
She trails her hands from the small of her back, to her shoulders, back and forth. Patience. She refuses to be predatory. She knows Emma. Emma who doesn’t touch unless she means too. Emma who doesn’t know how to let others care for her. Emma who bolts when she’s caught in feelings that she thinks are bigger than her.
This, this is positively overwhelming. It’s been there, in the heart of them, in their limbo of getting in each other’s face, of saving each other’s life, of denial and motherhood. This is very, very real.
Love.
Regina breathes, quietly. She does nothing but soothe. She revels and lets Emma touch her, caress her, explore the nape of her neck, the skin of her throat with delicate, almost shy fingertips. When Emma ventures to her collarbones, she smiles at the hesitance. She brings both her hands to her front. She lets her fingers dance on Emma’s forearms, until she reaches the top button of her own shirt.
Calmly, the first button comes loose. Emma’s hands are resting on her skin, heels on her solar plexus, just under her collarbones. Emma has stopped moving. Regina leans in to kiss Emma’s lips, once. She undoes a second button. Lingering close to Emma’s mouth, she kisses her again, twice. She undoes the third button, she kisses her, thrice. At the fourth button, she kisses Emma four times, once on each corner, her upper lip and her bottom lip. Delicately, deliberately. When she undoes the fifth button, Emma leans in deeper to receive her kiss.
Regina smiles. She takes Emma’s offered mouth with gentle lips and tongue. When they part, Emma’s eyes linger. Dazed. Regina helps the shirt slide off of her shoulders. She stands in her simple yet elegant black ensemble of soft panties and bra, see through mousseline and high quality fitting material that shapes to her breast without any ridiculous padding.
“Oh.” Emma swallows again, but her voice evades her at ‘oh’.
Regina mirrors the movement, resting her palms on Emma’s chest. Her bra is white, practical and comfortable. It’s not distasteful. The skin is pearly, more beauty marks, no freckles. What really attracts Regina is the strong hammering of Emma’s heart under her fingertips.
Emma presses her fingers too, acknowledging their connection. Her hands inch lower, longingly. Regina leans forward, kissing Emma’s skin where her hand has just been. She works her way to her collarbone and neck. Prickling trail of small and wet kisses, remembering what it had done to Emma’s back.
She’s recompensed by more shivering as she reaches the earlobe and nibbles at it. “Emma,” Regina says it with her heart on her lips. The name she forbade herself to utter. The name assailing her fantasies and dreams while begrudged to her mind. Because she could never keep Miss Swan at arm’s length. Because Emma disarms her. Defenseless.
“Emma.” She unclasps her own bra. Arching into Emma’s pelvis.
The sensation jolts Emma anew into action. Regina crosses her forearms on her own chest as she accompanies the straps of her bra off her shoulders. She slides it off, pressing into Emma’s, suddenly breathing labourly.
“God,” Emma murmurs, “you’re…” The back of Emma’s hand grazes her nipple, and it hardens painfully. Regina feels her breast resting in her hand. “Breathtaking,” Emma finishes with her thumb tracing the areola of her left nipple.
She feels each caress deep within, carving a pass of molten need, demanding to—
Regina inhales sharply. Emma’s lips are teasing her nipple, her hands fly to Emma’s hair. She feels a tongue lick around it, in Emma’s still-opened mouth.
Regina inhales sharply, Emma closes her lips around the sensitive nipple, and she suckles. Regina’s hands curl into her hair at the back of her head and she pushes. Emma takes more of her breast in her mouth and sucks firmly, relentlessly, as if to swallow Regina’s essence. Her other hand cups her ass inside her undergarment, kneading at it. Regina is arching so far back, she knows she’s going to fall, it doesn’t matter. She needs her hips into Emma’s, she needs the friction of their rocking against one another, she needs Emma’s lips clamped on her breast, she needs Emma’s sucking, she needs her bottom kneaded. She needs.
Regina tilts back but before she falls, two arms hoist her up from under her. She feels Emma holding her firmly on the back of her thighs. She wraps her legs around Emma’s waist, feeling the strain of the contracting biceps under her hands grasping for leverage. Emma scoops her more comfortably against her hips, looking up at her.
They’re looking at each other, knowingly. For that moment when desire turns to craze, passion to frenzy, when want rushes lovemaking into fucking. She wants to love Emma tonight.
“Emma?”
“I’ve got you.”
Regina kisses her lips, her arms around Emma’s neck. Cheek to cheek. Emma walks them to her bed. Regina is gently deposited atop the comforter, but she’s neither pushed nor assailed.
“They’re old bedsheets.” Emma’s is standing, fleeting eyes, between her legs.
Regina kisses the taunting skin of Emma’s abdomen, where her zipper is opened. “Later.” She tugs Emma’s jeans to her hips, “Take these off for me?”
Emma discards her jeans on top of Regina’s. She’s on her knees on the edge of the bed before her, unclasping her bra, which joins the rest of their clothes on the pile. She takes a moment, a featherly caress to firm stomach, taking Emma in. Beautiful.
She rests her face in the valley of Emma’s breasts, tasting the skin, breathing in the intimacy of her scent, right there. She closes her eyes, she listens. Emma’s heart beats, strong, valiant.
Gentle fingers thread through her hair, she’s wrapped into Emma Swan. There’s so much they need to talk about. There’s been so much keeping them from each other, and then she thought she was never going to see them again, to get the other chance she finally wanted, to get…this.
She’s not sure how they will go about life, but they’re going to live. She’s going to live, and love, love until she has breath no more, love until she’s old and Henry is a man, love through every world, every hurt, every hate. She’s going to love Emma, despite. Despite Snow White and her Charming. Despite Rumplestiltskin. She’s going to love despite her past, despite her mother, beside the horrendous, the callous, the atrocious, all that was her for so many years it took losing her family to truly realize she can be herself, it is enough. To be her own.
“Regina?” Emma is assured again. Regina looks up at her. Emma’s fingers wipe the tear rolling down her cheek. “I am sorry, I scared you.”
“I—” She clears her throat, thick with the emotions overwhelming her.
“I am never leaving you behind.” Emma’s voice is determined. “You and Henry and me.”
She’s got no air to vibrate through her vocal chords and say the love, say that she can, that she’ll be so very good because she loves them so very much. Her bottom lip is quivering. It’s annoying her, just as much as the tears blurring her vision of Emma saying all the words agonizing in Regina’s gut.
“We’re staying together.” Emma kneels on the bed, they’re face to face. “‘kay?”
“Okay.” Regina nods. She nods more. she breathes in once, deeply. They’re going to be okay now.
Emma has her tank top in her hand, she dabs it gently to Regina’s face. It’s so sweet, how hard Emma is trying not to be clumsy. The mess she must be. She stills Emma’s hand on her cheek, and wipes at her skin with the white fabric. She wipes her nose too, with a choked chortled laugh. Emma chuckles with her.
“Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are?”
Regina sniffles one last time, and tosses the shirt to the floor. “Yes, Miss Swan, I must be a sight.”
Emma is flushed against her in a heartbeat, pulling Regina onto her thigh. Emma sways back and forth, they’re looking at each other’s reaction, rocking against skin, arousal boiling all over again.
“I can’t think of anyone else.” Emma looks at her, heavy eyes, heavy lip, heavy scent, “There is only you. There’s been only you. Even when I couldn’t remember, I dreamed of you.”
“Emma.” Regina whispers it.
Emma bites her bottom lip, the hand she has between Regina’s shoulder blades digs into flesh with short nails, as Regina feels her grind into her a little harder against her thigh.
“Emma,” she breathes in, a flick of her tongue to her throat, kissing the pulsing vein. “Emma.” She slides a hand in Emma’s white boy’s briefs, teasing the sensitive skin of Emma’s ass with featherlight strokes of her fingertips.
Emma is shivering, her breathing shortening. She nods. Regina can’t wait much longer. Laying her hand flat on Emma’s lower back, she uses her hips to tilt her back and to her side, so that she lies flat on her back.
Regina leans in, her fingers running Emma’s every curve, every line. Goosebumps rise everywhere she touches Emma’s so sensitive, so responsive, soft and toned skin. She follows with her lips, her tongue. She tastes, she lavishes, she swirls and discovers. Emma loves her fingers sucked. It makes her blush and shiver. She finds Emma’s nipples, licking them and blowing on them. Emma likes her breasts licked more than sucked. It makes her pull at Regina’s hair, just a little. She nibbles and bites at the taut muscles of Emma’s shoulders. Emma likes to be marked. It makes her arch her hips forward. She kisses Emma’s neck to her ears. Emma likes her ears licked and sucked. It makes her moan and breathe in huffs. Regina kisses her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her jaw lines. It makes Emma part her lips for her. She kisses Emma’s mouth deeply with her tongue, with her lips, with everything she is. It makes Emma cry out.
“Regina, pl—” Regina kisses Emma again, before making her way along Emma’s chest to her belly button, down to Emma’s hips. She’s drenched herself. She quivers in anticipation at the sight of Emma’s covered sex.
Emma’s abdomen is taut, her muscles flexing with each breath, the line of her hips falling harshly, disappearing in the piece of clothing. Regina parts her legs and leans in, kissing directly on Emma’s swollen lips.
“Oh God!” Emma bucks and flexes, another coating of arousal floods her useless attire.
Regina breathes in, reveling in the muskiness, the softness of Emma’s mouthwatering scent. She uses her hand to pull at the side of her underwear. It comes off in an ample movement.
She parts her legs wide as she caresses her way back to Emma’s inner thighs. She lies flat on her stomach to have the best angle and, lifting the right leg over her shoulder, she kisses the shy flesh of Emma’s silken inner thigh. She rests her cheek against it for a few breaths to feel the warmth and the movement of Emma’s blood. She follows the femoral, she licks the skin covering it up to the strained inguinal tendon before it loses itself in the flesh of Emma’s sex.
Regina bites the intimate patch of rarely exposed skin. Emma’s throat parts with a guttural moan. Her hips raise from her arching back, offered. Hands dive to her hair, grasping, not quite pulling. Regina hums. She licks Emma’s labia apart, eager to fill of her mouth with her pleasure. She licks along Emma’s slit, flicking at her clit. Emma cries out, thrusting her hips. She uses her hands to level her. She breathes in deeply.
Her mouth is hot wrapped on Emma’s tender flesh. She moans at the clenching on her tongue and the litany of little whimpers Emma doesn’t control at all. She licks and soothes and thrusts in the throbbing cunt she’s never admitted wanting to taste so dearly.
Emma is shaking, clenching, rocking, riding, writhing beneath her. She feels herself melt, thick, demanding need between her own thighs. She’s pressing, caressing with her hands. She pushes and massages with her chin, Emma’s taut and responsive. With her tongue, her face, her fingers kneading, loving, every move, every inch of skin, every cry, every mess of arousal and saliva, Regina coaxes, and Emma—
“Oh.” Emma’s breath is ragged, her legs shaking with violent tremors, her fists full of Regina’s hair. “Oh…oh, Regina.” She whispers it and Regina closes her eyes. She swallows the come flowing in her mouth. She imagines Emma’s pleasure traveling down her throat to the depth of her core, inside her belly. She’s been rocking against Emma’s sheets.
One of Emma’s hands flies away from Regina’s hair to cover her mouth. Emma’s head turns to the side. “Regina.” Emma’s voice is cracking, just around the edges.
Regina climbs up to Emma instantly. “Mi cielo.” Emma gazes into her eyes at the word with watery green chaos.
Emma stares and stares. Regina kisses her forehead. She kisses the bridge of her nose, and the tip of it. When Emma closes her eyes for her, she kisses their corners and their lids. She kisses cheekbones and temples, she kisses mouth corners and chin. She’s settled between Emma’s legs, she’s pulled the comforter over them, she’s kissing the anxiety away.
There is no surprise to Emma’s fear, no judgement for it, no weariness. Whatever for? It’s how they are. They’ll have to talk, to know, to map, to process, to heal, but there won’t be need for talk to understand or hesitate.
Emma’s eyes are gigantic. They hold wars and wounds and wonder.
“Mi cielo.” She kisses her lips when she feels Emma’s hand caressing her sides, her hips. She feels herself rub and sway under the probing hands. Emma’s hips turn and her thigh slips between hers. Regina trembles, a weakness suddenly reaping a moan and a gasp from her throat.
Emma’s right hand caresses around to her stomach, to her abdomen. She nudges her with the tip of her nose against Regina’s lips before taking them between her own. Emma’s tongue explores her mouth, smooth on her teeth, soft but intent against Regina’s own. She lifts herself as they kiss, Emma’s left hand on her ass, pressing down, hips pushing down, careful but fervent fingers probing her.
Regina inhales sharply when she feels her clitoris rolled between Emma’s knuckles. She lets her own hand slide down to Emma’s stomach, as she feels her entrance being tested. She breathes in Emma’s puffs of hot air in her opened mouth, thinks of not closing her eyes.
Emma gazes at her intensely as she slowly enters her with two fingers, deeply. Steadily Emma thrusts. Steadily Regina rocks and rides. She squeezes and clenches. Emma won’t go faster, won’t go deeper, won’t stop, don’t stop. Please.
Regina can feel her wetness follow each thrust. She can hear it, too. It’s erotic and insane and she’s never even wanted to care before. She rides and she wants to give. She rides well because she wants to come and give and love and she knows she’s flushed and cracking under Emma’s gaze. She wants to whine and beg and promise and come. So very good.
Emma stares and stares and Regina is losing and it’s okay. She finds Emma’s clitoris with her fingers and she rubs and rides and clenches. Rub and ride and clench. And breathe. Their mouths opened, breathing hard, ragged, fast.
“Em… Emma.” She comes. Boiling pleasure all over Emma’s hand and hip. All over her hand and thigh when Emma’s eyes gloss over as they come together. “Emma,” she pants against her lips.
Emma kisses her, wrapping her arms around her. She lowers her body to Emma’s, looking for her breath to catch. She closes her eyes to recuperate, just a little. She found Emma, she’s safe, Emma is safe, they’re going to be okay. Rest.
Emma’s hands caress her back, their faces against each other, Regina’s hand to Emma’s heart.
“Mi cielo.”
It’s bright behind her closed eyes. Too bright. There’s a vague sound of construction, a further away siren, a buzz, some birds. Cacophony.
A kiss on her shoulder. Emma.
The sounds of the city disappear when she stirs then stretches, replaced by a soft chuckle.
“Hey.”
She turns around, naked under the sheets, sitting up in front of Emma Swan holding two steaming cups of the famous coffee shop she’s never ever tried.
“Good morning?”
“Yeah, it’s early.” Emma extends a cup. “I got scones.”
Regina nods her gratitude, carefully sipping from the coffee she’s surprised to discover is doctored exactly as she likes it.
Emma looks at her, uncertain bright green from the natural light bathing them. Regina pats the spot next to her on the bed. Emma hands her cup before pulling her scarf and heavy hoodie over her head, leaving her barefoot, ruffled messy blonde curls, a baseball t-shirt, no bra and soft, comfortable looking sweatpants. It’s cute, truth be told, and nestled next to her.
“Did you rest enough?” Regina doubts it. Emma looks restless.
“Some.”
Regina slept, content but for her concern for Emma. She tosses and turns and suffers. Her sleep is troubled. It seems haunted, exhausting. She quiets down at times. It’s almost eerie and Regina had to check, more than once, if she was actually breathing. She only seemed peaceful in Regina’s arms, when she talked or hummed softly, until it seemed Emma had passed out, exhaustion claiming her.
“I woke up and took care of some stuff in the kitchen and the bathroom. There were some seriously gross things growing in the fridge…”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Six months.”
Emma opens a paper bag of blueberry scones in their lap, picking one. They eat and drink in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but Regina can see the wariness on Emma’s face, the conflict she found burdening Emma’s shoulders when she stepped in her bedroom the previous night.
She puts away her cup, and the scones. Emma has stopped moving a while before. She seems deep in thoughts. Regina gently pries away her cups and the napkin in her hand. It appears to bring Emma back from wherever she was lost.
She looks at her for another long and quiet moment. Her hands are shaking on her lap, her brow is furrowed in an anxious crease Regina wants to soothe away.
“Whatever it is, Emma, you are strong and you are not alone.”
“I can’t do it.”
Regina wants to ask, but tears pour out of Emma’s eyes, knelt in front of Regina, fists to her thighs, biting her lip and trying so very hard not to sob. Her hair cascades around her defeated chin tucked to her chest.
She pushes a strand of hair from Emma’s contorted, tortured face. “What can’t you do?” She gives a silent prayer that it isn’t them, that it isn’t how they are both feeling, because she’s not certain she can stomach that one alive, since she won’t curse out a land again.
“Stay.” Emma wipes at her nose with the back of her hand, heavy tears crashing to her lap. “I can’t stay in the Land of Fairytales, the Enchanted Forest.” She breathes harshly, choking another sob. “I can’t be who they want me to be, the Princess, the Heir, the Savior.
“I…I'm dying there.”
Regina lets out the breath she has been holding. Relief.
“You have done enough, Emma.” Regina means it with all she is. Because there are only so many sacrifices heroes who don’t want to be heroes should have to make to save the day, the world, and idiots. “You’re not Atlas, Emma. It’s okay to stop. It’s okay to live.”
“I want to go home.” Emma puts both her hands on her mouth. Her eyes wide, horrified.
Regina kisses Emma’s hands away. She combs more hair aside and using the Starbucks napkins, she helps Emma get a hold of herself.
“I want to go home with you and Henry.”
Emma blurts it out and then looks down at her knees. It’s hard for them, being brave for themselves. It’s easier to fight and pursue and run and endure. She’s had some time, to observe Emma in that new light of awareness, in the secret of her heart. They are so very different, so very similar.
“I want to go back to school and make a living doing something that I like, not just because I am good at it and bills need paying. I want to teach Henry how to drive stick and cheer at his baseball games like I used to. I want him to go to college and have choices. I want to cook you crêpes and take you on dates and show you my world. Our world.”
“Our world.” Regina lets it weigh on the tip of her tongue. She doesn’t need convincing really. The Land of Fairytales has never been much else than the land of nightmares for her. She doesn’t think Henry will need much convincing either.
“Can we do it and see them again?”
Regina has no doubt Emma would leave anyway. It would break her heart more, but Emma needs freedom and meaning more than she needs family. Especially if she has the family she’s chosen for herself with her.
“Yes, with time.”
Emma nods, she’ll give her time. “It’s not running.”
Regina cups Emma’s face in her hands. She looks in those green, green eyes, full of conflict and guilt, of hope, love and scars.
“No, mi cielo, it’s not running.”
“‘kay.” Emma sniffles once before she leans forward in Regina’s hands, and hides her face in her neck. Regina feels her snuggle into her chest, almost in her lap. She spreads her legs to allow her to sit between them and wraps her arms around Emma.
“Okay.”