A/N: This is an edited re-post.
Another Way to Burn
"Madame Mayor, how glad I am to finally see this side of you."
It was a confident drawl and it immediately registered in Regina's mind as trouble.
Bent over her work desk with her back to the door, she finished realigning a stack of paper in the hopes of ignoring the sudden erratic beating of her heart. Once the move prove futile, she pushed herself up and turned.
Emma was smiling at her, though when Regina tried to meet it, all she managed was a sneer.
"Careful, Deputy," She said, silently congratulating her tightening throat on its ability to carve her words from ice, and folded her arms across her chest. "What did you come here for?"
Emma allowed her smugness to fill her smile as she stalked forward, papers in hand. "The report you asked for," She stated as she reached the desk, tapping the documents twice against the top in order to align each sheet.
Regina held her gaze for a second too long, and then reached for the papers, confirming that they were, indeed, the documents she had been expecting. Her gaze drifted to Emma's, full of hesitancy, as she said, "This could have waited for tomorrow."
It was growing late; darkness was already beginning to hang over her little town, and Henry would soon be required to be picked up from Dr. Hopper's. She wasn't going to look at the report properly until the morning, anyway.
Emma shrugged, tight red leather stretching over her shoulders with an almost comical squeak. Her smile remained, even as she leaned into Regina's desk until one butt cheek was perched on top. Regina did not hold back her look of contempt.
"Well, I'd be upset, too, to find me coming early…" She let the words hang off, her eyes sparkling at the double entendre that managed to provoke a blush that, try as she might, Regina could not keep from surfacing beneath the collar of her shirt. "But I was hoping to catch you before you left, while things were still quiet."
They had been skirting around this for far too long, Emma knew, and she wracked her brain again for an answer as to why neither of them had made a move already. Sitting at home - for, as hard as it was to swallow, Mary Margaret's apartment had more than earned the title - it had suddenly struck her.
And, usually, where reason would raise its condescending head and remind her, again, that the mere idea of her and Regina broaching anything more than an acquaintanceship was utterly ludicrous, this time it had not.
Mary Margaret had startled with Emma's jump and, for all of her hurried apologies, Emma wasn't sure that she made sense of a single incoherent utterance as she rushed to leave the apartment. It was time, a voice had told her, and whether she trusted the source or not, she believed its words. It was time. Hell, she was tired of being consumed with these irrevocable longings and no outlet - god, she had tried - in which to burn them off. What's the worst that could happen?
And even though she cringed at that thought (because those words had never served her well in the past), what more could Regina possibly do to her?
She'd suffered enough with this inescapable need for human touch, she wasn't sure how it could get any worse. If anything, she had nothing to lose. She and Regina had not what one might call friendship; any torture inflicted on her tonight would simply be another way to burn. And she'd get through it. She always did.
Regina swallowed thickly, mind reeling with the possibilities of Emma's words. She cut her musings off with a very physical scoff and, for a second, was disappointed that she no longer revelled in the flicker of doubt that swayed precariously within Emma's gaze.
"Whatever you want, Ms. Swan, can wait until tomorrow. I have things to do."
She made to leave, shuffling the report in her hands together as she folded it inside a filing cabinet for use tomorrow. But as she turned back, grabbing for her purse and jacket, she saw that Emma had not moved. With an easy sigh, she resumed her position in front of her desk, to which Emma twisted until she was practically sat atop the cold surface, and raised an expectant eyebrow.
Emma's legs were open just so, the denim worn and giving. If Regina took just one step forward, she would be directly between her thighs. It made concentrating on her reasoning for coming around here, so late in the evening, practically impossible, and Emma shook herself internally.
Damnit, Swan, focus. Get in, get the girl, and get out with your life.
Flustered for something to say, Emma panicked and grabbed onto the first line of speech she had planned while making her way to the Mayor's Office and, with a delayed mortification, blurted, "Have you eaten?"
Regina's surprise at the statement almost caused her to miss the faint blush that began to rise over Emma's cheeks and, mind reeling, she attempted to understand the woman's motives behind the question.
"Yes," She answered, eventually, frown remaining, "now, if there's really nothing more, deputy…"
Shit, she's just not getting it.
Emma sighed, ignoring Regina's 'get out of my office' speech as she struggled for something to say next. It came out awkward and rushed and, with hindsight, made no sense in the current context, but Emma's next question sufficiently silenced Regina's words.
"Do you like films?"
Regina blinked, positively perplexed and, yet again, saw embarrassment colour Emma's features. Before she had a chance to get past a stuttered, "I…" Emma was speaking again.
She made a noise of irritation, squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and then opened them with a loud breath. "Look," and all mirth seemed to leave her face, "I know that you can feel this."
A hand was raised, fingers erratically gesturing between the two of them. Regina regarded the flailing digits with distaste, hoping the sour look pinching her features was enough to disguise the sudden thundering inside her chest.
"So why don't we just do something about it?" Aw, shit. She'd never had a way with words, Emma conceded, but the excuse failed to bring her calm.
Swallowing past the ache in her throat - had someone punched her in the neck? - Emma squared her shoulders and attempted to put on the most naturally reassuring smile she could muster. The expression quickly tainted with the crudeness of her next suggestion.
"It's late, your office is empty, and we're alone. I bet I could have you naked, on that desk," with a flick of the head in its direction, "in less than ten seconds."
Blind desire stumbled across Regina's features, lips popping open with shock and, for a second, Emma could taste a premature victory clawing its way up from her stomach. And then the expression was gone, replaced by an incredulous disgust that had mortification blinding Emma's innate ability to smell truth from lie.
"Absolutely not," Regina seethed, taking a step away from Emma if only to distance herself from the tumultuous waves that were beginning to encase her body. She pushed Emma's expression from her sight, ignoring the tinge of something that might just be regret, and latched on to the blind panic that this woman was so brutally capable of provoking within her.
"In no universe, Ms. Swan, would I desire to act on such vulgar whims. Now, if you don't mind, my son needs picking up and you need to leave. Now."
Only after Emma had gone - and she really could not get out of that office fast enough - did Regina allow her knees to buckle and her desk to hold her weight while she attempted to reign in her composure.
"Stupid… fuck, so, so stupid…" Emma let out a winded breath and dug her fingernails into each palm until, she was sure, tiny crescent moons marred the skin there. The pain, for now, quenched the urge inside her to put a fist through the window of her harmless little Bug.
When she thought to have enough breath back in her, or, at least, enough to satiate the burning desire to break something, she pushed herself away from where she was leaning against the car door and pulled it open, dropping inside.
Only once she was inside her yellow, metal beast did Emma feel at all safe from the humiliation threatening to suffocate her. With a loud groan, she allowed the peculiar, stale smell that lingered in the worn seats to sooth her as she dropped her head over the steering wheel. Palms pressed to her face, she willed the tears to stay at bay.
"God… what had I expected?" She asked the car, as though hoping for a well-wishing response. Eventually, the gruff rumbling of its engine overwhelmed the hammering in her chest and she peeled out of the car park, insanely thankful that, for some reason, Regina had not rushed out before she had had the time to leave.
With a frustrated puff of air, intended only to blow mutinous strands of blonde from her eyes, Emma left the Mayor's Office behind her and prayed that Mary Margaret was in the mood for hot chocolate. Something told her this giant mess might just look less life-threatening should she get home, safe, with a cinnamon-laced cocoa blistering her stomach.
She held onto the imagine, hoping to sooth the burn, of Mary Margaret and chocolate beverages, and berated herself once again for allowing that damn pulsating mess inside her chest to feel.
# # # #
The next time that she saw her, Emma could barely contain her blush, but Regina's own distracted, fumbling fingers - papers falling, shuffling, scratching beneath her perfectly manicured nails - were enough to spark a brave streak of curious confidence within her.
It was almost impossible to avoid each other in such a small town, and so Emma reasoned that she should not have been half as surprised as she was to find herself, once again, alone in the mayor's office with her.
"Move." Regina not-so-discreetly rolled her eyes, shoving at Emma's arm, however gently, so as to move her from her way. With her back turned, she proceeded to pore over the documents inside her filing cabinet, attempting to ignore the other presence in the room.
Emma's eyes, as though still unsatisfied with the current burn, dropped almost subconsciously to the mayor's backside, admiring the swell there with the slight bend of her lean body. She sighed, frustrated, and looked away as soon as her mind caught up with just what she was looking at - and on who.
When Regina turned, a file in hand, she was surprised to find Emma still standing so close. For a moment, Emma thought she saw a desperate struggle within her eyes.
This newfound confidence, she was sure, would be her undoing. She raised an eyebrow, stepped sideways, and allowed Regina to slip stiffly past her, towards the desk dominating the office. She caught the shift of Regina's throat - a thick swallow, clearly - and the glassiness that sheathed her eyes for perhaps a moment too long, before the woman was walking away, rigid back to her.
A soft frown creased Emma's brow in thought.
She ran her tongue over her teeth and, determined as she was foolish, stepped towards the desk. Attempting to retain all casualness, she leant over, her head inches from Regina's dark hair. As she had hoped, a hitched breath gave Regina away and, heart thrumming, a small smile eased over Emma's pink lips.
Last time, Emma surmised, she had been too forward. Now, she pretended to be just as surprised as Regina when her fingers brushed against olive-toned digits on top of the desk. She cleared her throat as an indirect means of apology, and stuffed her hands in her pockets, leaning with her hip against the desk. She did not miss Regina's prolonged regard of her indiscreet intrusion.
"Right, deputy," Her voice caused her to inwardly cringe, the volume so stark against the silence of her office, "I believe this is for you." She shuffled the report together, handing it back to her, and was instantly suspicious of Emma's smile.
"Thank you, Madame Mayor," She took the file, "I just need to sign it… mind if I borrow a pen?"
Without answer, she leant across Regina's desk, unmoving save for her lean bend into the other woman's chest, their faces inches apart - eyes locked in some continuous battle that might have started when she first arrived in Storybrooke, and never ceased since. Her fingers fumbled around blindly, reaching for the pen that she knew was just within reach.
Her incapability to see made her rooting seem infinite and Emma was well aware that Regina was not breathing, if only by the striking absence of air against her face. When she found the pen, she shifted back, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and used Regina's desk to quickly scribble a signature over the appropriate dotted line, followed by the current date.
Regina was uncharacteristically quiet and, if nothing else, it allowed a silent confidence to steel Emma's bones as she stepped back into her personal space and offered her back the fountain pen. "Thanks."
Dark eyes fell, but not far enough to include the fountain pen in Regina's direct gaze. Emma was only sure of what she had been looking at when her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip. Realising she'd been caught, Regina's eyes widened at Emma's knowing smile. The openness of possibility there made Emma's decision of what to do next for her.
Regina had insistent lips on her mouth and a hard surface beneath her backside before she could comprehend what, exactly, was happening. The tongue in her mouth was as welcome as sunlight and, gasping at that revelation, her fingers gripped tighter in loose, blonde curls with a fear of shattering the moment.
Emma was between her legs, warm and solid, and Regina's thighs squeezed around her with such a want, it half terrified her.
Emma let up only for air, though her lips were soon returning, this time to a smooth jugular, nipping, soothing, open and scorching, and it was this burn that reminded Regina who she was. Who she had to be.
"St-op…" It came out weaker than she had expected and, after clearing her throat - with much difficulty, what with the town's deputy latched onto it with lips, tongue and teeth - she tried again. "Stop…" Emma, only partially registering the word, tilted her head up, eyes searching for Regina's.
But then tense fingers were lost from her curls and a forceful shove had her staggering back, shocked and annoyed and more turned on than she thought possible without yet having reached second base. Regina was still on her desk, skirt rumpled over her thighs, her breasts heaving with each ragged breath.
The clattering of heels falling back to tiled flooring had Emma snapping out of her daze and, as Regina turned her back on her and attempted to compose herself, she ground out a desperate, "Why?"
Regina's shock seemed to suddenly overwhelm all other emotions and she reeled around, eyes glaring, at the question. There was a blush painting her neck and cheeks, and her lipstick was smudged and disorderly; Emma tried to muster confidence from the sight.
"I know you want me, Madame Mayor," She ground, angry at Regina for stopping them when she knew - damnit, she knew - that this is what they needed. Only with Regina's appalled frown did she doubt herself.
"I don't know what you're-" She began to say, but the lie was so blatant, she might as well have been proclaiming she was Santy Claus for all Emma would believe her.
"I know," It was an easy intrusion, the truth to her words startling Regina into silence. "So why this?" A hand wildly gestured between them, at the distance Regina was relentlessly attempting to gain.
She was never one to take pity on the vulnerable, but seeing Emma standing before her, eyes glazing with a fierce knowledge that couldn't quite aid her body in straightening, Regina suddenly wanted to second-guess everything she thought she knew about herself. Because Regina Mills did not do feelings, and she most certainly did not do feelings for obnoxious, blonde deputies that posed a threat to her precarious grasp on her son.
And yet Emma's truth inspired her own, and the words were leaving her mouth as though Emma might forget, as though they might scare her away and Storybrooke would return to its own set void of non-time and unhappiness, where no one needed to remember.
"This," Her own fingers, much more hesitant, stroked the distance between them, brimming with possibility, "this is almost unbearable."
It wasn't working. It hadn't been working for some time, now. Having Emma at a distance and holding such want inside of her was cracking more walls than Regina thought anyone to be capable of. Though had learned, already, just what trouble could come from underestimating Emma Swan.
"But that," and her mouth contorted around the memories of dreams, where she would lie with Emma in that separate, secluded world of translucent colour without consequence, "would be too much to walk away from."
And, just like that, Emma felt her fingers sliding the last puzzle piece into place. She gazed at the completed figure with awe and just a little pride at her accomplishment, for here before her stood Regina Mills, and she wanted her.
Vulnerable and angry, feeling the burn of humiliation dragging at her heels, Regina took infinite care in straightening her skirt before she turned, took a breath, and made for the door. She couldn't even think of why she shouldn't be leaving Emma alone in her office.
"Then don't."
A heeled foot paused in its ascent, fell with hesitancy, and finally twisted to allow dark eyes to greet blinding green. "What?"
"Don't walk away from it."