Pet
Summary: In which The Evil Queen takes her first stab at enjoying meaningless sex, and … well, you'll see. Set during the flashbacks in "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter." Regina/Huntsman (sort of), and of course, Golden Queen angst, per my usual.
He is rather attractive.
For someone who spends all of his time in the woods (and presumably far away from soap and water) he seems remarkably well-kept. There's a rather pleasing scent to him, like earth and pine needles and the faintest whiff of blood – like something wild and free, and all that implies, both pleasant and sinister. His face is nicely shaped, and his body is well-muscled.
She might try, with this one.
There was a time, long ago, back when Daniel still lit up her life, when Regina had thought of sex as an expression of love. She'd thought sex meant something when it happened between two people, or at least that it was supposed to mean something.
One would have thought her … uncomfortable (though mercifully few) experiences in the marriage bed would have quickly disabused her of that childish notion, but she had persisted in her view for quite some time.
No, what it had taken to break her out of that maiden's fantasy was the very man she'd lost her virginity to – which had not been Leopold, although in hindsight perhaps it would have been better if it had.
It had taken her time to learn her final lesson from Rumplestiltskin – longer than she care to admit – but she had learned that sex was much like magic, a tool, a weapon to be wielded, a pleasure to be had.
To be taken.
But the simple fact was, she hadn't taken it. Not since … well. That hardly mattered now. Though it wasn't as though she had been above using her sexuality to get what she wanted.
Truth be told, that had been something he taught her.
"Men are easily led by their desires," he had told her once, during one of their lessons. "Be they desires for power, for glory, or …" his eyes flicked over her body appreciatively, and he smirked as she blushed. "…for women. Once you understand that, you can play into their lusts, and you will find them easy to manipulate."
"Will I?" Regina had asked, trying to sound sultry and sophisticated and not all overcome by a particular desire of her own.
"Indeed you will."
"And does that include you?"
"Oh, I'm not a man, dearie."
Regina had sidled up to him them, almost shyly. She'd pressed her lips and her body to his, and whispered in his ear, "I think you're a man where it counts, Rumple."
He'd giggled and kissed her back, taking control of the situation, as he always did.
"You're getting better at seduction, I think."
"I learned from the best," Regina had whispered, and then the conversation had come to an end, as they found better things to do with their mouths than talk.
Regina wonders for the hundredth time if there is a safe way to rid herself of these accursed memories of him.
Suffice it to say, she is not a virgin, and she has not been one for many years, so there's no need to be prudish or sentimental about seeking pleasure where she can. It she wants the Huntsman, she can take him. She is not the seduced now, she is the seducer, and once he has accomplished his task, she's sure that he can persuade him to accept another reward besides his ridiculous request to outlaw the hunting of wolves.
But he doesn't accomplish his task, damn him!
Although she sneers triumphantly when he gives her Snow White's (supposed) heart, something inside her feels strangely empty, almost …
I know you will never have love in your life because of me. I'm sorry, and I forgive you.
No. She … she doesn't get to do that, she …
She remembers little Snow, after she saved her from her runaway horse, this sweet little girl looking her like she was a … hero, like she was actually worthy of admiration, liked she'd finally done something right (the way her mother never looked at her)…
Regina's throat grows tight.
Right to the end, Snow had to think of herself as pure and innocent, didn't she?
Bitch.
But once she goes to her vault, Regina realizes the empty feeling is because it isn't Snow's heart after all.
And then, all she feels is rage.
"This isn't her heart! This isn't a human heart! You think you can fool me with the heart of a stag?"
And when the Huntsman cowers and asks what she's going to do to him, she comes up with a fitting punishment.
She takes his heart and makes him her pet.
And she channels her rage into lust, and kisses him savagely.
"Take him to my bed chamber."
She can do this. She deserves to get something for his inexcusable failure.
She is The Evil Queen. She can absolutely do this.
Sometime later, Regina struts into her bed chamber, sneer in place, hips swaying seductively. She looks him over and licks her lips.
She decides it's best not to say anything.
It's rather silly to talk to one's pet, after all.
He's on her bed. Nothing's physically holding him there, but for a supposedly ruthless Huntsman, he seems afraid to even move. Regina feels a flicker of contempt, but she pushes it aside, reminds herself that he has a pleasing scent, a pleasing face, a pleasing body…
A body which she would like to see more of, actually …
With a flick of her wrist, his clothes disappear, and he's naked before her. She laughs at his gasp of shock. He is indeed a fine physical specimen. Her eyes rake over his form hungrily, and then she looks back up, meets his gaze for a moment, smirking as she sees his face grow red.
Has he ever been with a woman?
Well, if he has, whatever he's experienced will pale in comparison to her, she's sure.
Really, he should count himself incredibly fortunate, especially given how utterly he failed her.
Regina removes her clothing, slowly, tauntingly, keeping her eyes on him all the while, pinning him with her gaze. And some point she looks down, and lets out a triumphant cackle when she notes the obvious evidence of his arousal, his body responding to her.
She is not to be loved, but she is at least to be wanted.
He was right. Men are easily led by their desires…
Regina, my Regina …
Oh Rumple …
No. Not tonight. She's not thinking of … that. Not tonight, or ever again.
Once she's completely disrobed, she slinks over to the bed. She kisses him, forces her tongue into his mouth, and straddles him. He's quite hard now. She strokes him with her hand, and he whimpers, and she laughs, but just before she takes him into herself …
"Please." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Please, stop."
Regina pulls back to look at him. He seems, quite suddenly, so …. small, and frightened.
He doesn't want this. Not really. This is his body responding to her, she knows. His body, and not his will. Certainly not his heart.
She knows, and she doesn't care.
Except …
How can he say that? How can he ask her to stop?
She could never ask, when…
She'd wanted to. Oh, how she'd wanted to, but the words wouldn't come. They'd stayed trapped in her head, all the words she wanted to say to him.
Her husband. Her king.
Please Leopold, we don't have to … this isn't right. This isn't love. Please Leopold, you're a good man but I don't desire you, and I'm afraid, so afraid this is going to hurt. Please, I don't know how to be what you want, please let me go, let me go before I hate you, let me go before something bad happens, please …
Please. Please, stop.
Regina slaps him hard across the face. She gets off him, scrambles away from him, reaches frantically for something to cover herself with.
How dare he! How dare he make her feel –
He looks so shocked that she actually stopped …
"You're pathetic!" Regina screams at him.
"I …" He seems to tremble in relief, or fear, or both …
"Get out!" When he remains frozen, Regina throws his clothes at him.
"Get out, get out!" She screams, and he scrambles away like scolded pup.
Regina starts breaking things, ripping things – sheets, covers, furniture – sometimes with magic, but more often with her bare hands. She spends her rage, her spite, her disgust, but it's not enough, it's never enough, and it never will be.
At least not until Snow White pays.
After a time, she manages to calm herself.
She needs to regroup. She needs a new plan. Perhaps the Dark Curse is her only option after all.
And in this new land, the Huntsman won't remember that he's both terrified of and aroused by her.
He'll just remember that he's aroused by her, and that will be all. There will be no love between them, but it won't matter.
Because she is not to be loved, but she is to be wanted. She is not be seduced, but she is to be the seducer.
Regina has never experienced sex in conjunction with love. With Daniel, she might have, but he had wanted to wait until they were married, and because of Snow White, their wedding never came. With Leopold, there was no love, certainly.
And with Rumplestiltskin …
With Rumplestiltskin, she had just been a thing to be used.
Like a pet.
No, not even a pet. Because that implied affection, or at least the possibility of it. A master might grow fond of his pet.
She hadn't been Rumplestiltskin's pet.
She had been his whore.
She needs to remember that. She needs to accept it. She needs to never forget it's the truth.
She needs to not start crying over it, because it doesn't matter. It doesn't hurt. She doesn't care.
She knows this. She knows this.
Regina, my wicked one …
She knows this … but somehow, her tears flow freely, all the same.
Author's Note: Okay, so some of you may feel I tried to mitigate Regina's treatment of Graham/Huntsman here, which … yeah, I pretty much did. Understand though, that this not me implying that Regina and Graham having sex in Storybrooke is in any way morally acceptable (he clearly wouldn't have consented if he remembered who he was). However, it is a bit different from the straight-up implication of "Take him to my bedchamber," which is basically, "Obey me in every way including having sex with me or I'll crush your heart." I don't know, perhaps their Storybrooke situation is worse, in its way. But then, this is Regina; she does bad things. And while I enjoy exploring her actions from a psychological standpoint, that doesn't mean I condone or excuse them. Sex without clear consent is never okay, and I'm not trying to imply otherwise.