Disclaimer: All characters belong to ABC's Once Upon a Time.

Pairing: Regina Mills/Emma Swan

Rating: T – Romance and let's say Humor

Summary: Of all the things that could annoy you, her not testing the water temperature before getting under the spray is that makes the fine hair on your neck raise.

Note: Ten points for those who guess where I had the idea for this story. Oh, and think of it in Season One dynamic – all the unresolved sexual tension and the Ms. Swanscharged with fuck me. Hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think if you've got time. Thanks!

SHOWER

She doesn't test the water temperature before getting under the sometimes boiling hot, sometimes absurdly cold spray of water.

Of all the things that could – and, let's be honest, should – annoy you, this little fact is what makes the fine hair on your neck raise, and goose bumps creep up all over your skin when she so bluntly turns on the shower only when she is already halfway in.

It always takes you a little longer than usually to recompose yourself after being so delightfully undone by her touches – and you attribute this to your lack of passionate physical contact over the years, definitely not because only the sight of her makes you feel boneless –, and she ends up always getting in the shower before you can stand on your shaky legs and follow her.

At first, you didn't even bother to come around so soon.

You would wait until your mind could focus again on something else than the throbbing ache between your legs, and once your breathing was in a more dignifying rhythm, you would get up, put on a robe and smooth down your hair – trying not to smile when you remember how much she had pulled on it, and failing every time –, only then allowing yourself to step into the bathroom.

You would never join her; never stand naked in front of her. You would only wait for her to be done with it so you could escort her outside the mayoral mansion before anyone saw her – not that anyone would, not at two in the morning.

But eventually, the noises she made right after turning on your shower began to intrigue you. You wouldn't hear a scream as if she had found a snake curling onto the toilet. You would hear sighs – pleasant ones, surprised ones, painful ones. Sometimes she would gasp but then moan and everything you could think was "what the hell is she doing in there?"

When it got to a point where hearing her reenacting the noises you had heard not long before would dissipate the blissful after sex haze and turn your peaceful expression into a frown, you decided you had enough of it.

Taking the last turn of what some people would consider a real marathon, you had plenty of time to put yourself together before she could stop panting. In a poor attempt to disguise your curiosity, you put on your robe and headed to the bathroom to "look into the mirror while smoothing your hair," despite the enormous mirror you had on your room. You were just grabbing a brush when the blonde enters the room wearing nothing but a pleased grin and made her way towards you, touching the silky material of your robe that was pooling around your waist.

"Want to go first?" she asked you in a hoarse voice – she is quite a screamer when she doesn't have to keep it down because of Henry sleeping down the hall – and you were all but surprised when you manage to say "No" with a steady voice. She shrugged and you turned on your side, resting your hips against the cabinet and watching as she made her way towards the shower.

And you see it – she steps entirely under the shower head, and then turns it on with a full twist of her wrist. You see as she cringes under what you supposed is freezing cold water given it's barely February and lets out a painful cry before twisting the shower valve again and letting a deep moan come out of her throat when the water gets hot enough to have steam coming out of it.

Before you realized you are wide eyed, gaping and slightly aroused, you shouted at her, "What the hell, Emma?"

It was your turn to cringe. You don't call her 'Emma'. You call her Ms. Swan, you call her Sheriff, you come up with pet names that drip disgust when they come out of your mouth – you do not call her Emma.

Surprise made its way underneath her skin, but what came to surface was a questioning expression. She tilted her head and you took a deep breath, still not believing what your eyes saw moments before, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Taking a… shower?" Emma's surprise was all over her face before she closed her eyes and let the water fall down on her hair.

You narrowed her eyes, unable to tell if she was mocking you or really didn't know what she had done to make you this annoyed, "I have no idea why someone would, in their right mind, step into the shower without testing the water first".

When she opened her eyes again, spitting the water that pooled in her mouth, she gazed at you with a smirk playing in her mouth – and you didn't know if you liked that or wanted to slap that off –, "No time for that when you live with another fifty kids."

And that was about as much explanation you got after she stepped off the shower and before you dropped the thought that maybe she wasn't in her right mind after all at the same time she dropped to her knees in front of you.

But since then, you have grown fond of watching her stepping into the shower, or at least hearing her and trying to figure out if the water was too hot or too cold. It hasn't ceased to annoy the living hell out of you – "it only takes two seconds to check the temperature; you don't have to cringe and shiver every time" –, but you cannot say you don't enjoy her little moans and sighs.

You have been seeing each other – in secret, no one needs to know the Mayor has the Sheriff in her bed – for one or two couple of months now, and you had gone from fucking whenever the sexual tension reached its tipping point to a full eating-dinner-watching-movie-helping-Henry-with-homework-and-putting-him-on-bed-doing-the-dishes-having-casual-conversation-over-late-night-coffee-having-sex-cuddling-showering-and-letting-Emma-sleep-over-every-now-and-then routine. But still, you haven't convinced her to start putting her hand under the spray of water before soaking herself.

"That is it, Swan, put your damn hand under that water or so help me!" you vociferate after a call from the Sheriff department interrupts your afternoon quickie and Emma still thinks she can take a shower before you two heading out to the broken into flower shop.

You are all worked up and if you can't get off the way you want to, you are going to be a bitch about something else.

"Oh well, then make me!" she snaps back, and it takes everything you've got to just narrow your eyes instead of pulling her against the nearest wall and kiss that smirk off her face. This thing going on between you two is not a relationship – you have started calling each other by the first name just a few weeks ago – but it doesn't stop you from bickering like a married-for-fifty-years kind of couple.

You march behind her into the bathroom, willing to do anything if it leads to her testing the water temperature first. You have a love and hate relationship with this little habit of hers by now, and this obsession gets the better of you when, in the middle of your plotting a plan, she wraps her arm around you and pulls you under the shower with her, turning the water on before you can brace yourself for what is coming.

Cold water pours on you, and you grip her shoulders and your teeth, shivering from head to toe.

"Why?" you manage to strangle out in a shriek, right before the water starting to get warmer. You look at your nails digging into Emma's skin and you feel a dull ache in your temple – because all you need when dealing with town issues is a headache.

Emma takes her time to answer you. She runs a hand down your back and rubs your spine, spreading the warmth through your whole quivering body, and when you take your eyes off the half-moon marks on her shoulder and looks at her, she is smiling, "I like the thrill."

You roll your eyes and snort a bit, deciding that really, no one could do something like this in a daily basis and be in their right mind. Before you can engage in a rant about how insane she is, Emma smiles and mimes your rolling your eyes, "I never really know what to expect – I can end up shivering like you are, or with a slightly burned skin," she is embracing you now, the spray of water falling right beside your head, "In Boston, most of my days were boring. Before I get to the being a bail bondsperson thing, at least. So I would get home and step into the shower, then I would turn it on – and it was the most exciting thing in my day. I kind of got used to doing it. Now you tell me you didn't like the excitement not even a bit."

This is the most she had shared with you so far, and for a moment you wonder if this is a relationship. But you just shake your head and turn your lips into a pout to make a point, "I got enough of it when you decide to kiss me in our workplaces or in some semipublic place, like the backroom on Granny's. I do not need to be surprised by the temperature of the water," you say with disdain and you aren't lying when you say it is not a fun thing to do at all.

"Hm, good to know I'm not the only one who feels thrilled with our kissing in public," she smirks at you, and somehow you know you are going to kiss in the flower shop – if you ever make it there, this is.

And your politician mind works overtime with the breach to negotiate, "I tell you what. You start testing the temperature before getting in, and I start kissing you outdoors more often."

She doesn't even need to answer you after you seeing the grin on her lips, "I don't know… Old habits are hard to let go of."

"I'll fuck you in my office, but please, Emma, please, stop doing it!" if you can hear the pleading in your voice, so can she. And her even wider smile assures you of it.

When her smile turns into laughter, and she throws her head back, you think it wouldn't be so hard to keep your promise – your office walls are really thick, so. "Oh dear, this is really getting to you, isn't it?"

Her using one of the pet names you had given her makes you think that yes, you are definitely fucking her in your office in a near future, "You have no idea. It is irrational how annoyed it makes me."

Emma laughs again – oh, you could get used to hearing that sound –, turns off the shower and gives you a pointed look when you give her a questioning one. Oh, right, the breaking in thing. She grabs a towel and hands you another, you both heading to the room at the same time in a silent agreement, and she goes in a clothes search while you pick new ones from your closet. She never answered you, and you need to know she is going to stop this madness.

"Regina, I'm not stopping doing this just because it annoys you, you know that, right?" she casually says, leaning against the door frame of your room while you finish applying your lipstick. Anger boils in your chest, and you are sure that if you had any magic, Emma Swan would be flying to the living room right now.

You take a deep breath, grabs your handbag and smiles at her as feignedly as you can manage, "Guess I'll be starting all of our showers from now on."

She replies with a smile, like she wouldn't mind if that was really a thing. You hold the front door open to her, and she opens the bug door for you, rolling her eyes when you stare at it for quite a while before getting in and letting her drive you both to the crime scene.

And you make a mental note to make an extra effort to get on the shower first, just so you can test the water for her before she joins you.

Fin.