Title: White Blank Page
Author: Nikayla
Genre: Fluff fluff fluff
Pairing: Regina/Jefferson, Mad Queen
Set During: Post The Doctor, and before everything went to shit
Rating: PG-13 (mostly for safety)
Author's Notes: Originally started this for TSG prompt "what makes you beautiful" but I couldn't stick to that criteria well enough in my opinion so it became something else. I hope you enjoy it :)
It wasn't any different than any other time. Except it was different. Completely. Though neither would voice it, everything was different. Everything. It'd taken only weeks for the whole thing to turn on its axis. Leaving tables overturned, and china shattered. As if the very fabric of normality had fallen apart. The thing is, normality had done nothing for anybody. Least of all them. And the shift was something they both desperately needed, without even realizing, or being willing to admit. When it happened, it changed everything. Right down to the tip of a pen.
Can you lie next to her
And give her your heart, your heart
As well as your body
And can you lie next to her
And confess your love, your love
As well as your folly
"How long will you be gone this time?"
The words came out almost in a whisper. She hadn't actually intended to let them to come out but there was no stopping them. Her heart did these things, lorded over what her mind wanted, ignored any and every hesitation no matter how much it tried to argue its side. It's foolish. Childish. Mad. And yet a heart is already all of those things. Predestined to crave of love and acceptance. And a heart that has been broken rarely learns from its mistakes. That is the agonizing truth of it all. Our hearts never really do stop craving. Even after the last aching beat.
They had been together then, for more months than even she and Daniel had shared. Although they never actually got the chance to be together, not in the real sense. She was claimed as it were. She was a Queen and had a rightful King, as most Queens do. He thought her a trophy; a most impressive flower to show off every spring. But she felt like a thorn, wishing she could pierce his hands any time he made to grab at her. For Jefferson though, she could be a rose. He didn't look at her like she was a trophy. He looked at her like he wanted her. All to himself. In every way you could want someone. And as her fingers traced an unknown pattern against his chest and the words slipped out so quietly he thought he could have imagined them, he looked down at her in that way of his and her heart claimed the victory, even while her head still doubted.
"I want you to write me a letter." He said, matter-of-factly. "And I will write one to you. But we won't give them to each other."
"Well that seems rather silly." She lifted her head to meet his eyes. That stare of his. So completely penetrating and she met it with one of her own. While she may have been relaxed around him, she was still every bit the strong woman she'd come to be. Meeting every challenge head on and with a glint in her eye that spoke of the power that lay just below her fingertips. But with him the glint was of something else. The nature was pure and unthreatening, but still every bit as unwavering.
"That's the beauty of it. You can say anything you want, because you know I won't read it." He did this often. This teasing. These ideas spun out of the sky with nearly no rhyme or reason, except to make her smile and laugh at the absurdity. Somewhere along the way he had knighted himself, for all intents and purposes, to make certain that she laughed whenever she was with him. It wasn't noble or even altruistic; it was simply because he liked the sound. There was beauty in that laugh of hers. It was one among the wellspring of things he took care and enjoyment in bringing out of her.
She was beautiful. The fairest if he was honest. Although he'd never use that particular turn of phrase where she could hear it. It was the little things that had initially taken his view of her from one of near annoyance to something he never would have thought he'd find, let alone in a very taken and young Queen. It was the way she had begun to carry herself. How little she let on to what she was feeling. How when he was alone with her, she couldn't seem to disguise it much at all. It was the purse of her lips and the swing of her hips, and the way her voice was raspy in the morning. It was all these things and so many more that made him sure that she was the truest form of beauty he'd ever lay eyes on.
"Oh? And what would this letter entail?" She quirked an eyebrow at him, giving in to his game, as always, but remaining unmoved by it as much as she could.
"What you like about me of course."
"Who says I like anything about you?" she teased, rolling her eyes and pulling away from him to hide her smirk while she adjusted the sheets. She yelped when he lurched up and pressed her back down into the bed, floating above her face. He could feel her breath shake faintly, waiting for him to close the gap between their parted lips. He hovered merely inches away but wouldn't bridge the distance. "If you don't like me then what am I doing here hm?" He leaned in closer, his breath dancing across her jaw before he pressed a kiss to her neck, and a hand dragged heavily up her side. It was a battle neither truly won. These tests of willpower seemed to never really be much of a fight at all, unless you count the war they fought within themselves. Which they inevitably lost just as quickly as they began. He was testing her and yet he was the one to touch and kiss her against his own intentions. What is a test when you offer the reward before it's even begun?
"There's a difference between like and want you know." She regretted it the minute it left her lips. She'd scold herself; scold her heart for making her head so hazy. But at every turn another ill-advised sentence fell from her lips and she only dug her hole deeper for it. "You don't like me, but you want me? I'm getting mixed signals here your majesty." He had a habit of reminding her, or perhaps himself of her ranking, and she'd grown to enjoy it almost as much as he did. To be addressed as such within a lover's breath can become addicting far too easily. Reminded in such intimate instances that he knows how powerful you are, not only knows but respects and enjoys how much, it is easy to get lost. She let out a breath through her nose, her head already going foggy. "A Queen does not need to explain herself; she need merely be obeyed no matter her reasoning." Try as she might to well up her control her every other word was fractured by shaky breaths. He always seemed to have this effect, spinning her for a complete loop. It was foolish. It was crazy. It was why she had let him.
"Well if its neither I could just as easily leave." More teasing. Always pushing her buttons and seeing how far he could take it before she'd give in. Her arms drew tighter behind his back, and this time it wasn't her heart that did the talking. "Don't you dare." It was less a warning and more of a breathy command. What with his teeth scraping against her throat it was a wonder she could manage a command at all. He could make a war wage in her head far too easily. All it took was a press of lips or a touch of his hands and half of her wanted to give in immediately. The other spoke of making him work for it and that it was weak to give in. But he made her weak. That was his power. Hers was derived from anger and well-practiced control but his was natural and somehow almost equally deadly. For her pride at the very least.
He lifted his head to find her eyes and a smile born of pure mischief tugged at his lips. Her eyes were already growing heavy, her breathing already growing labored, and he relished in the reaction he could get from barely doing a thing. "What would you have me do?" His voice was thick, and she could feel it work its way around her, deconstructing any fight she may have built up against him. She hated how easy he made it seem. But a woman in love, if this was love, at the very least a woman in lust for a man who so relentlessly pushes her past her breaking point, how can she be expected to resist? There were many things Regina resisted in life; the urge to wring Snow's neck, the urge to kill the King, to let a single crack show around anyone; of these things her willpower to resist was steadfast, but her willpower to resist Jefferson was all but nonexistent. The words escaped her throat without permission. Every letter punctuated by the complete lack of willpower she was able to muster at his question. "Kiss me."
Her chest rose and fell with erratic breath. His hand moved up to hold at her cheek. In reality it was only seconds, but the wait seemed endless as she lay with parted lips simply aching for him to get on with it. She had half a mind to take it upon herself to close the distance but before she could he was pulling at her bottom lip, his tongue then tracing the curve of it, requesting entrance. He had a way of kissing her, that felt nearly more intimate than anything he might do beyond it. It was a muscle tensing, breath hitching, sheet clenching kiss. She had never been kissed in such a way and when he had introduced her to the art form her knees had gone weak. Even now after an infinite number of kisses, more than she could ever count, and even with her back pressed firmly into the bed, she still felt like she could topple over at any moment. It was a talent; she'd be the first to admit. A talent he had a mastery of.
This was a dance they did well. When the feigned resistance ran out there wasn't a single thing that could compare to this feeling. They were both nearly too full of pride to give in easily, but once they did, it was undeniable. Whether it was love, or something only resembling it, it was powerful, it was tangible, it was worth every moment it was denied before. It was when a kiss curled into a smile. For all the right and perfectly wrong reasons. It was when an exhale was a sigh of content and express permission to continue. When their lips connected and the world wasn't such a horrid place anymore. At least not from this position.
"So?" He pulled away long enough to say, before he was brought back down to her waiting lips, which parted without hesitation. "So?" She repeated back as she broke away and moved to place a kiss just under his jaw, pushing herself up to roll over him, and give him a taste of his own teasing medicine. He played the coy card, as he so often did, but when sat up and ran her nails down his chest, and a smile that was somehow half wicked and half innocent danced across her face he let the thought go, to be called upon when he was in a less, urgent frame of mind. He sat up with her in his lap, hands trailing up her thighs and under the hem of her nightshirt, the silk becoming heated between his palms and her skin. "So?" She asked again, testing how far he'd gotten away from himself. His intense blue eyes were glistening up at her, the pupils so dark she could nearly fall in them. His hands pulled her forward until their abdomens nearly pressed together, and then dragged the material up until she lifted her arms for him to rid her of it. His voice dropped down to a lower register, the sound coiling around her and pulling her closer still. "Funny, I don't feel much like talking anymore." A laugh escaped her lips, and she sat up taller, winding an arm around his neck while the other hand pressed to his chest and felt his thundering heart just below the surface.
It was a two player game, and they were a frustratingly even match. It was a tug of war to see who affected who first, the most, the longest, and there was never really a clear winner when they both ended up spent under satin sheets, recharging until the other made a move for the next round to start. There was no end to this back and forth meeting of the minds, meeting of the lips, meeting of the hips. A pursuit that merely took pauses when he'd fall away into another world. Which he would be again, sooner than she wished. But she took it stride, knowing he would come back, that she was what he wanted to come back to.
Her lips turned gentle when they connected with his, savoring the moment like it could be the last. They both knew it could end anytime, but they thought it best not to dwell on such inevitabilities, to focus on the here and now. Now was a much more enjoyable thought to focus on anyhow. No other thoughts could invade; they were far too lost in the touch of the other's hands, the caress of the other's lips. Whatever the future had planned for them, and whenever that future decided to enforce it, right now was safe from its fateful grasp. His hands trailed up her back, and she smiled at how he too would turn gentle without any insistence. Here and now was what mattered, here and now she was his, and he was most certainly hers. And his mind would flood with every aspect and gesture he found so captivating that they took a portal jumper who had found no reason to stay in one spot longer than it took to grab at his targeted fortune, and made him a man who whispers tales of far off lands and how they don't hold a candle to the ear he speaks them into. He would write her that letter, even if she wouldn't do the same. It was worth feeling foolish, and if only the universe read of his words, at least they had been written.
Weeks passed, and when he came back it was in the dead of night. He dared appearing to her then, instead of waiting until morning or when he knew they wouldn't be caught. Separation makes one foolish. In more ways than one. As the purple cloud emerged from nowhere he saw her sleeping form, and every day apart nearly faded. He decided against waking her, simply took up his rightful place on the left side of the bed, and pressed a kiss into her hair. Draping an arm around her waist, he let the fool inside him convince him to stay for a while. He would be gone by morning, before she even opened her eyes, but she knew he had been there. She rolled over, inwardly wishing she would find his face still beside her. He would come to her, she knew, soon enough. Shutting her eyes again her hand traveled further under the pillow, and they popped open when her fingers came into contact with a blunt corner of paper. And a smile that had since lain dormant, bloomed on her lips.