Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
- x -
When she had conceived the idea to come here tonight, she had expected to be pushed against the wall with a hot mouth against her neck. Or, failing that, she supposed she would be soundly chided, maybe even slapped. And then pushed against the wall. What she had definitely not expected, when Regina eventually showed up at the door, all glassy-eyes and hastily-smoothed hair, was to be looked at like she had committed some unforgivable sin against the former Evil Queen (which would be really ironic, considering the things Regina had done to her in the time they'd known one another, and even before that).
She was suddenly uncertain, shifting from foot to foot and looking up in a way that she hoped was endearing and coquettish. When those dark eyes just continued to stare at her, that red mouth pressed into a grim line and certainly not making any sound, Emma cleared her throat and muttered, 'Hi.'
'What on earth have you done to yourself, Miss Swan?' came the quick, quiet reply. Emma quirked a brow because it sounded a lot like Regina was concerned not to be overheard, and Emma suddenly began to question whether she had committed some unforgivable sin against the former Evil Queen when she hadn't been paying attention.
Silence. It lasted a few beats, and was punctuated – as were so many of these wordless interactions – through stares. Emma's was confused. Regina's… well, Regina's was a strange blend of horrified, disgusted and downright offended. Then she looked pointedly at Emma's hair, and Emma's hands rose to tangle in it, her eyes lowered to it and an eyebrow quirked as if to say 'this?'
Regina made a noise of disapproval in her throat and slammed the door in the midnight-visitor's face.
- x -
Regina had watched as Emma transformed. She had not uttered one single remark when the leather jackets started to be replaced by shapeless knitwear and twee little coats that seemed to come straight out of Mary Margaret Blanchard's wardrobe. She had even kept silent when all of a sudden, Emma found herself too consumed with Princess duties or some other pressing, post-curse matter, to make her hair match her newfound role. The curls had dropped to waves and then disappeared altogether, and Regina only demonstrated her disapproval by tugging at the annoyingly straight blonde locks just that little bit too hard to pass as pleasurable whenever Emma came to her bed. She had not said a word.
But this. This, she could not abide.
Her lip curled and her hand shook as she threw the apple cider to the back of her throat, barely tasting it on her tongue before it was gone. She closed her eyes and tried to picture Emma as she was that first night, with her hair perfect and her jacket offensively bright and her thumbs in her belt loops.
- x -
'Oh, look at you,' Snow cooed. The lilt of her voice – that low, melodic inflection which seemed to attach importance to everything she said – was more pronounced than usual. Emma tried to smile as her mother cupped her face and looked at her as one might a doll, bequeathed for a sixth birthday specifically so it could attend tea parties and be dressed up.
'I think she looks weird,' Henry commented without sparing the mother and daughter a glance. He clamoured onto the stool at the breakfast bar, his thumbs working over the pad of the handheld game his mother had given him before the curse broke. Snow stared at the back of his head, managing to look both hurt and affronted. Emma felt like she should feel the same way, but found herself amused by this honesty which was evidence of his upbringing with Regina. David, for his part, looked lost as to whether that was his cue to speak. He avoided his wife's gaze and tried to school his face so that it didn't betray that his opinion was more aligned with Henry's than with Snow's.
'Of course she doesn't look weird,' Snow replied eventually, as if Henry was a three-year-old who had yet to learn about filters and when to withhold absolute honesty for the sake of feelings. (And really, what did he know about what was weird and what was beautiful, anyway?) She said it with a sort of self-righteous authority that was a hangover from her days as Princess and then Queen, and it was clear to the room that she considered her judgement final.
Henry just rolled his eyes into the bowl of cereal that his grandfather placed before him.
- x -
'Regina!'
The former mayor closed her eyes and shook her head slightly in exasperation, before continuing right on her way and promptly ignoring the Sheriff.
'Hey, Regina!'
The footfalls heavier and more frequent then, and Regina braced herself to feel a heavy hand on her shoulder which would spin her around and force her to confront the person she was trying to ignore. A few moments later and, sure enough, Emma's hands were on her. She was pushed against a tree, almost stumbling as a result of the awkward impact.
'Really, Miss Swan, I am trying to have a nice, quiet, leisurely afternoon stroll through the park. I do not need you accosting me like thi-' She stopped quite abruptly as Emma's mouth sucked at the base of her neck, hard and fast and without warning.
'What was that all about, huh?' Emma murmured against the soft flesh. 'I know you heard me. And last night?'
Regina grumbled in her throat, and the sound was almost involuntarily. Emma's words, though infuriating, were framed with open-mouthed, wet kisses and Regina remembered that it had been a week because the two idiots had started to miss Emma in the evenings and were asking questions neither of them wanted to answer yet. She almost relented. And then she looked down at the top of Emma's head and her hands grabbed the slim shoulders and pushed the woman away.
'This.' Regina hissed, grabbing a handful of Emma's too-perfect curls before storming away without ever meeting those bright, beautiful eyes.
- x -
At midnight, she was not surprised to hear the doorbell ring, and then a sequence of knocks as if the doorbell wasn't enough. No, it seemed the visitor wanted to thoroughly piss Regina off. She threw the door open and was about to begin her tirade of half-hearted insults when Emma slipped past her and into her home without invitation.
'So that's it?' She said loudly before Regina even joined her in the foyer. 'You don't like my hair?'
Regina glanced at her long enough to determine that yes, there was definitely a hint of amusement in Emma. Her pink lips were smirking. Regina balled her fists indignantly and looked away. Anywhere but at her late-night houseguest who had showed up even though house-owner had made it clear earlier that day that she wasn't welcome. Not like this.
'There's no 'that's it' about it, Miss Swan,' Regina sneered.
'Look, I know it's different, but it's not like you're adverse to brunettes, Regina.'
Dark eyes flashed dangerously and Emma almost lost her nerve right there. She wished Regina would just look at her. Hell, she'd take a death glare over the very firm nothing Regina was offering her right now. Emma laughed then, but she knew it sounded more nervous than anything else.
'Get out,' Regina said.
'No, Regina, I want you to explain why you're being like this.'
'That was not a request,' came the reply after several moments of silence, and the voice was just low enough to make Emma listen.
- x -
'Emma, you have a letter!'
Emma sighed and mumbled something about reading it later, expecting a bill and it was too early in the morning and this bagel was too damn gorgeous to have her attention diverted from it for something she menial. But her mother clearly had other ideas, as she waved the letter in front of Emma's face, forcing her daughter to break the loving eye contact she had established with her breakfast. Emma wondered if this was what it felt like to have a passionate moment disturbed by an annoying parent.
Huffing like a teenager, she snatched the envelope and was intent on slamming it down on the counter in a perfect demonstration of her annoyance and own free will. But then she saw that it wasn't a bill. It couldn't be a bill, because envelopes with bills in them didn't have flourishing handwriting on the front, and they usually used a stamp of some sort, and there was usually an address. Miss Swan, the envelope said, and it was written in ink that would run if it got wet.
The enthusiasm with which Emma tore it open made Snow raise an eyebrow, waiting for an answer from her daughter. Emma took just a few seconds to remove the contents, examine them, and determine that there was nothing else hidden in the depths of the mysterious envelope. She took a deep breath. Then another. Then a third. And then she slammed the countertop with her fist. 'She's such a bitch!'
- x -
'Really, Regina? A gift card to the local goddamn beauty salon?'
'Yes, dear; you should really use it,' Regina replied calmly. She cast a slow, disdainful glance at the deep chestnut curls before turning away from the woman who had, once again, barged into her home.
For a few seconds, Emma could do nothing but open and close her mouth and shake her head in disbelief. Finally, she replied, 'You're crazy, lady-'
'Lady?!'
'If you think I'm gonna change my hair just because it doesn't suit your tastes-'
'No, of course, you only change how you look to suit your mother's tastes,' Regina bit back. When no retort was forthcoming, Regina turned on her heel slowly and glared at Emma. 'It's not enough that you keep acting like them whenever you spend too much time with them, hmm? What's next, pastel gowns and duets with woodland creatures?'
Emma leaned back, running a hand through the now-dark hair as she began to understand.
'Now, I think you should either go and use that gift card and fix yourself, or you should walk out of that door and never come back unless it's to drop off Henry. Because, believe me, Princess,' Regina stepped close to her then, so that Emma could smell the perfume on her skin and morning coffee on her breath, 'I have absolutely no interest in being near a carbon copy of Snow White.'
- x -
At eleven forty-two, when the doorbell sounded and the knocking began, Regina was ready to forsake her magical celibacy and blast Emma halfway across town.
And then she opened the door.
She almost did a double take at the sight before her. Hell, she would have, but Emma was backing her into the house, tangling her hands in Regina's hair, kicking the front door shut, kissing Regina's jaw all at once. Her back hit something and a knee came between her thighs and a cold hand pressed against her throat and she groaned, more loudly than she ever wanted Emma to hear. Her hand came up to push at Emma's shoulder, seeking a moment of reprieve in which she could actually breathe, adjust, appreciate. She blinked slowly, raking her eyes over Emma's body before settling on her face. It was framed by a mess of unruly blonde curls and Regina felt like she could weep from joy or possibly arousal.
The red mouth curved into a grin that was somehow both grateful and predatory. She wound her hands through the blonde curls and tugged gently, before letting the locks slip through her fingers in a moment of unexpected tenderness. Emma closed her eyes and sighed. Regina's hands cupped her jaw and their mouths came together, slow and hot. Regina's hand stayed at the back of Emma's neck as she pulled away and whispered, 'Much better, dear.'
Emma laughed, much less offended by Regina's distaste for her short-lived hairstyle now that she understood her reasoning. And honestly, she didn't disagree. It wasn't her, and if keeping it meant being banned from Regina's life and Regina's bed… Well, it wasn't a sacrifice she was willing to make. She lowered her face to Regina's neck and peppered a trail of sloppy kisses to her ear, reminding herself that no, no radical, abrupt change of style, no amount of shock nor appreciation, was enough to stop her from having this. She cupped Regina's backside, squeezed, and growled, 'Yes, it is. Much better'
She was pressed against Regina's mattress then, faster than she'd thought possible. Her tank top had fallen somewhere on the stairs, but Regina had retrieved the red jacket and almost wrestled it back on Emma's body and growled 'don't even think about it' and Emma had moaned at just that. Her boots had gone the same way as her tank top, and Regina had abandoned her battle with those ridiculously tight jeans and just let them rest around Emma's knees. Her hand was in the blonde curls, pulling Emma's neck back just far enough for it to be slightly uncomfortable and incredibly hot.
Then her mouth was everywhere and her hands were cupping and kneading and worshipping and Emma wondered if it would be worth going brunette again if it got this response afterwards. Regina growled – fuckinggoddamngrowled – and Emma wondered if she'd muttered something out loud, or else if Regina could read what she was thinking and was sending her the same message as she had about the jacket. The blonde made a sound that she would scold herself for later, because it was too much like a plea and it massaged that wicked laugh from those lips; but then those lips descended and Regina was inside her and damn it all if she didn't care about anything but that sensation then. She certainly didn't care that she was whimpering, and she could hardly hear the other woman's animal grunts over the sound of blood rushing to her ears and to her core. And then she fell, cursing and shaking and sweating.
But she definitely heard Regina murmur something when she ascended, dragging her mouth over Emma's abdomen, between her breasts, up her neck. A hand snaked into her hair again, pulling Emma impossibly closer, and Emma heard Regina say 'Emma.'
- x -
'Finally!' Henry exclaimed as he flopped down on the sofa the next day. Emma said nothing. She just smiled as she continued to dry the utensils her mother (who, for her part, clucked in annoyed disapproval at Henry's outburst) was handing to her, glancing over at her phone and grinning every few minutes when the screen lit up. Snow made a noise of frustration when Emma abandoned her dish-drying duties altogether, in favour of typing frantically on her phone. Emma pretended not to hear, and ignored the looks both her mother and son were shooting her.
Snow had taken to indulging in periodical, overly-dramatic sighs and glancing wistfully at Emma's hair; she even made the occasional comment about it being a shame. That was what she did now, and Emma fought back a laugh because the scratches on her back and the ache between her legs (which was returning with a vengeance thanks to her correspondence with Regina) would disagree with Snow's assessment.
Henry was the one who responded. 'I think you look much better blonde, Emma. Happier, too.' And he turned back to the cartoon like that settled the matter; Snow's lament for the short-lived chestnut curls was just wrong and faintly ridiculous, and that made Emma grin because her son was definitely Regina's son.
Her eyes returned to her phone and darkened immediately. Her smile widened.
Now, Sheriff. Bring your jacket.
Oh yeah, she thought as she slipped on the demanded garment, grabbed her keys, and announced that a citizen needed her. This was so much better.