Title: The Second Time
Author: Nikayla
Pairing: Regina/Jefferson, Mad Queen
Rating: M for safety
My little drabble yesterday sort of lead to this happening today. I think this has even less plot than usual lmao. Descriptive but not vulgar, it isn't my style. Regina's POV this time. Set a week after this fic. I hope you enjoy it :)
It had been a week since your — encounter, with Jefferson. A week in which you'd seen him in passing at Rumplestiltskin's castle, and in more than passing in a handful of decidedly un-queenlike dreams that at his presence made your cheeks flare all too easily. He however seemed entirely disinterested in every gaze you offered him. Or at least he did until you were left alone.
It would appear your mentor still saw you as little more than a nuisance. Leaving the hatter to babysit you while he went out. To do what, you weren't told. You never were. You were treated more like a burdening child than the sorceress you had quickly become. One heart taken was not enough to prove that to Rumple though. And so you were left here with this man you had betrayed the crown with not so long ago and he could barely seem to acknowledge you. But that all seemed to change when Rumple finally departed.
You had your back to him, fiddling with some little trinket, and there was a sudden distinct feeling of eyes on you. A courtesy he had not lent you once since that first traitorous night. You'd been left wondering if you'd done something wrong or worse, if he didn't like you at all anymore. A notion that should not have mattered in the least but, it did. And you only partly hated yourself for it.
You stood your ground though, even as you felt him approach, feigning to be lost in thought, not caring whether he paid you any mind at all. But you did care. That much was proven when you felt a hand at your waist, turning you to face him and an audible little gasp escaped you.
He had the gall to laugh at your reaction, staring down at you with pure mischief in his eyes, using his height to his advantage to make you feel smaller than you already were.
"Don't be so jumpy," he told you through his smirk. And your eyebrows knit together in confusion. "You'll have to excuse me Jefferson but since you haven't done so much as look at me in days I don't know how else I should react."
He laughed at you again. And you felt many things but funny was not one of them. "I couldn't have Rumple suspecting anything now could I?" He asked in that taunting tone of his, moving closer to you until you were forced to take a step back. "No, but it wouldn't have hurt you to treat me like I was here at least." He took another step forward, and when you matched it your back was at the table, leaving you no more room to sink away from his penetrating gaze. It had been long enough since it last settled on you that it felt somehow more staggering than usual, and your hands gripping at the table edge behind you did little but tell him so too.
"And what? Risk him seeing my gaze linger a little too long? It doesn't take much intuition to read through that. You will have to forgive me, my motives tend to go rather transparent once I set my sights on what I want." And then his hands reflected your position, arms on either side of you, gripping the table and pushing closer to you again. His eyes raked over your face, and you found it difficult to do much but let him. He wanted you. It would be so easy to give in.
"He could, be back at any-" your throat had gone dry without your realizing, and staring up at him only intensified the feeling of breathlessness that started once he was so close. "He won't be." Somehow he seemed so sure.
Hands at the table were then at your waist, lifting you up onto it, and gathering your skirts up above your knees. You were a queen, you were a lady and yet you couldn't seem to find the will to voice either fact. Not that it would have mattered. His lips descended on yours quickly, like it were their very purpose. And yours were entirely too welcoming to them but you just couldn't stop it. You felt his hands raking up your legs in search of your petticoats, latching on and pulling them down once he found them, kissing you harder to silence any further protest.
Once he was certain you were in an agreeable state he pulled away, a devilish smirk coloring his features and you were suddenly certain you didn't know what for. He dropped to his knees, pushing your skirts up higher and pulling you closer to the edge of the table. "Jefferson we ca-" but his lips were already on you. Kissing and sucking at your flesh and you could've torn a hole in your lip from biting into it so roughly, trying not to give him the satisfaction when he'd barely done a thing. His lips were insistent, his tongue even moreso. It took far too little time to have you giving into him and allowing him to perform this gratuitous act. You leaned back on your hands and couldn't contain a shudder. He looked at you over your bunched up skirts and smirked. And your well-practiced glare did little but encourage him on.
His attentions grew more fervent, fingers curling into your hips to keep you from squirming away from him, so he could attend to you fully and give you no means of even momentary escape to find your head. Your chest began to rise and fall heavily, pushing against the bindings of your clothing, only adding to the lightheaded state he'd put you in. He was nothing like Leopold. He wanted to please you, his actions spoke of that — although he clearly also wanted to have you writhing on your mentor's table in a heaving mess, all for his ego, but still, he wanted to make you feel good. And that was more than could be said of your, husband. But this, this was certainly not the time to be thinking about him.
Jefferson was clearly much more adept at sex than you. But that had already been obvious. He was only the second man you'd been with, although you wish the first could be uncounted because you didn't have a choice. And that is something you'll never stop wishing. Fair is most certainly never fair.
And fair is even less fair still when he's pulling you closer to the edge of the table, so your legs have nowhere to go but over his shoulders and he's trying oh he's trying to make you so weak your arms can no longer hold you and you'll be forced to lay flat on your back while he devours you. It's not long before he gets his wish. Damn him. And with every lingering pass of his tongue you feel your back arching involuntarily, nails scraping into the wood beneath you, hands almost shaking with their need to touch him.
One hand abandons its grip of its own accord, threading into his hair and pulling, the muscles in your legs tensing and releasing and tensing again. You close your eyes to try to steady yourself but that only makes it feel more intense, shutting off one sense seeming to rob you of your means to keep quiet when a strangled moan escapes your throat before your eyes fly back open to try to gain back the ground you lost. But it's already too late. Your nerve endings are beginning to crackle and fray your vision, his relentlessness becoming almost too much to bear. You try futilely to pull out of his grip even for just a moment, to let the sensations die down so you can collect yourself even a little. His grip only tightens, his actions only increase and it takes only another minute for you to lose it entirely. Head thrown back, legs muscles clenching around him, mouth dropped open and his name so present on your tongue you have no strength to stop from speaking it.
You lie there in a heap letting out labored puffs of breath, trying to piece yourself back together from the hole he ripped through you. But every limb is still weak and buzzing, like magic aftereffects only this time you weren't performing any spell. If you weren't sure he wasn't you could only think he was touched by some sort of magic. But that's an awfully foolish and naive thing for a girl, a queen to say isn't it. And so you keep it locked tight and digress to enjoy the feeling that's washed over you.
You are interrupted though, when he rises to stand and he's still between your legs. He leans over and kisses your neck, and your body is already screaming it can't take anymore. But you imagine however sated you feel he hasn't had the pleasure. And so you try to construct your resolve back together. You can admit after that he deserves some release of his own.
You turn your head to find his lips, kissing him deeply so he might not notice how freely your legs come to wrap around his waist, arms coming to encircle his neck, encouraging him to continue. He kisses you back just as thoroughly, and you ignore the tiny flutter you feel, because he won't feel anything like it and you are foolish enough as it is.
He pulls you back up to a sitting position, one hand pressed to your back and while the other works at his trousers. You stay clung to him, lips moving against his, some languid dance happening between your tongues, dizzying you all the more. You only part when he pushes into you, as you let out a sigh and bite your lip again. He moves to brace either arm behind you, leaving it your responsibility to stay wrapped around him with your still-waning strength.
He's careful, but moves quickly, knowing you've spent enough time that the imp could be back sooner than expected. You try to keep kissing him but every other thrust has little noises forcing their way out of you, making it difficult to do much else but take them. Your head drops back enough for his mouth to find your neck again, but this time instead of a kiss you feel his teeth sink into you and a yelp escapes you. He soothes the bite just after, but it's unmistakable that the huff of breath you felt against your skin was a laugh. You find the remaining stubbornness he didn't chase away yet and fight down the feeling he's causing in your stomach yet again. Kissing him until you feel his actions falter and become more languid, as he all but melts at the touch of your lips and then you get to let out a laugh, pulling him closer with your arms winding tighter around him. You feel a hand come to your hip, trying to clench at you through the leather keeping your skin out of his grasp.
You let out a little hum, his slower movements seeming to lull you into ecstasy instead of throwing you over all at once. Warmth spreading out slowly and thoroughly into every nerve and fiber, weakening your muscles pleasantly instead of so abruptly. When his lips drop to your throat again they zero in on your pulse point, and you can feel him kissing and nipping at the skin there, marking you, but you really couldn't care.
All at once though, it seems that for your effectiveness at coaxing him into a more docile state, he gets over it much more quickly than you. His hand begins to clench tighter, and his thrusts become quicker and more insistent again. And the hum develops more into pants and whimpering sighs and he pushes you both closer until you're tumbling off the cliff and he is all you have to hold on to. He groans and grunts as he's finally overtaken, denies you the pleasure of hearing your name on his tongue, but again you can't help but speak his.
He slows his pace until he comes to a stop, pulling away from you once his breath is even, and adjusts his various layers. He pulls your skirts back down into their proper placement, but doesn't allow you space to hop down off the table yet. The blue of his eyes bores into you, and his smirk is both cruel and infuriatingly attractive. He tucks a few loose hairs behind your ear and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. You never know what to expect from him. That fact both excites and scares you. This time the excitement won out. And you have a feeling it will next time too. You are powerful but somehow no match for him. Once his sight is set on you you know you'll have no recourse but to give in. Just don't let him know that and you'll be fine. He can't know. You can't ever let him know.