The door shuts with a resounding click, and Emma breathes for what feels like the first time that day. She dumps her keys on the little end table, and starts the process of locking up her gun, unloading the clip before fumbling with the key to the drawer. Finally. Finally the day is over, she's home, Henry's at his grandparents for the night, and she can finally call Regina to begin their-
"You're late, Ms. Swan."
She freezes for only a second before remembering that right she'd texted Regina earlier to just let herself in the Cottage–the nickname Snow gave to her little one-bedroom-with-a-patio starter home that unfortunately stuck–and to help herself to any food or drink. With the gun safely put away, her boots stashed by the front door, Emma steps into the archway of her living room and sees that Regina definitely has made herself comfortable, and feels a soft smile start to form, even with the surge of anxiety over her tardiness.
Madam Mayor has shed her armor of pencil skirts and starch-stiff button downs in favor of a fleecy sweater that's bunched up in certain places because the arms are too long, and a favored pair of Emma's sweatpants. Her feet are tucked under her, and glasses are perched on her nose. She's reading a book in one hand, swirls red wine in one of Emma's new glasses in the other; sharp and pungent in the warm, sleepy air blowing from the heating system. Emma has a pang of something entirely sappy; that this was home, not the Cottage, but Regina comfortable around her enough to let her see a woman who at the end of the day prefers fleece sweaters to blazers. She pushes the thought away, if only to push through the sudden lump in her throat, untwist the knot in her stomach into something warm and pleasant.
Regina only looks up when she finally crosses the threshold. Her eyes are hard at first, her lips set in a tight line and oh. Right, Emma's late. She reaches up and holds the back of her neck, feeling a crick wanting to work itself out.
"Yeah. Longer day than I thought. We got a call from the Rabbit Hole. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum got into a brawl over who won a pool game, and I totally thought they were using insulting nicknames, but nope it was Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. I know, I shouldn't be surprised by now."
Regina still has an eyebrow raised, but her lips are starting to twitch up.
"Anyway, I had to break it up. And those two are vicious when it comes to pool, Jesus Christ. They almost socked me right in the stomach, but luckily their motion was seriously impaired."
She takes off her jacket, drapes it over the armchair before fixing Regina with an inquisitive stare. Regina shifts her position on the couch before placing the wine glass down on the coffee table with a decisive clack of glass on wood, deposits the book next to her and crosses her arms so that her hands are buried in layers of fleece. There is a bit of a terrifying pause, in which a lump starts to lodge somewhere in Emma's throat.
"I assume all is well with Henry?" She finally asks, maddeningly neutral.
Emma nods. "I called on the way. Mary Margaret says he's doing homework, but he's getting sneakier and sneakier about calling Grace after hours."
"Of course. We'll have to have a serious talk with him about matters of safe sex soon."
Emma blanches, and clears her throat. "Uh. Yeah. I guess we do."
Regina nods back, and she looks away, her eyes drawn to some force ahead, barely even blinking.
"You're late." She repeats, her tone slipping into degrees much harsher.
Emma breathes out. "I know. I'm sorry, I-"
"You should have called. I had to put our dinner in the refrigerator." Regina fixes her with a glare.
"I know, it's just. It all happened before I knew it, and I thought it'd be over quickly, and it wasn't. We can heat it up?"
She shifts again. "You'll have to deal with half-warm chicken breast. Your microwave doesn't know how to spread heat evenly; much like its owner who steals all the sheets in bed."
"Seriously, Regina?"
"Just." Regina has that look again. "Call next time if you're going to be late." Her eyes are bright and wide, not quite grief filled, but speak of a life well acquainted with loneliness, with waiting, and all at once Emma feels that twinge in her heart, thinking of Regina waiting all night with wine and a book, wondering if that's how she used to spend her days. Regina perhaps thinking that this is the day when Emma decides to up and leave, because Emma knows, because Emma knows her, that Regina thinks about that in the spaces between day and night, when she thinks Emma doesn't see the fear in her eyes.
"I will." She promises with a softer voice, and Regina nods in affirmation, closes her eyes and tries to will whatever she's feeling out of her system.
"Were you worried about me?" Emma finds herself asking.
A scowl settles in her brow. "I just don't want to be kept up wondering what moronic activities you could be engaged in that would possibly keep you from a date you'd planned a week in advance, as I have much better things to do, Sheriff Swan, I assure you."
Which is means, basically, that she was. Because Emma knows that Regina won't ever say the words I was worried about you willingly without a lot of struggle, just as Emma wouldn't have, but the sentiments are laced with her still widened eyes, with the pursing of her lips.
She laughs, and Regina cracks a small smile and the room starts to feel lighter. She walks over to the fire, just starting to dwindle into charred wood and small sparks, and taps the wood a few times with the poker. The fire crackles to life, and shades the room in the color of crunchy autumn leaves, creates dancing shadows on the wall, illuminates on Regina, casting her in a warm glow that makes Emma want to curl into her side for the rest of the night, damn dinner.
She saunters over to Regina, keeping her expression a careful smirk with an arched eyebrow, and crosses her arms.
"So will Her Majesty allow me to join her on her couch? Even though technically, it's my couch."
Regina rolls her eyes, and scoots over. "Sit down, you idiot."
Emma flops down beside her, overdramatically just to earn another affectionate eye-roll, and they're knee to knee, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, and Emma feels that warmth in her belly spread until it tingles her fingertips, lands somewhere blushed on her collarbones. She lets out a long exhalation, and then she drops her head on Regina's shoulder, in the crook of her neck. Regina lets out an exhalation of her own, and the contours of her face visibly soften. She plucks Emma's hand from her lap, caresses it, twines their fingers together.
For a moment there is nothing but the simplicity of a quiet moment shared after a long, long day. The fire crackles, again the word home flits again between the conscious and subconscious parts of Emma's mind. She watches the fire mirrored in the glass table, flickering and growing and shrinking. She turns her head and presses a soft kiss underneath Regina's ear, and she hums in response.
"Your wine is rancid, by the way."
Emma looks at the discarded wine bottle, carefully placed on a coaster, and a chuckle breaks from her, although that's probably the exact wrong reaction. Indeed, this was the wine, cheap and thin, from a tiny liquor store, that was the first purchase she made with her hard-earned money, some time after she left prison. Her first sip–nearly thrown up, as she hadn't have liquor in more than a year–had been an act of retribution; against the system for never giving her a chance, Neal for making false promises and fucking her over, for a life that's always persisted alone when all she ever wanted was somebody to want her, choose her. She earned that bottle. She'd be her own savior, her own armor. She kept a bottle of that shitty liquor with her throughout those ten years of trying to find contentment before her kid knocked on her door, and every time she needed reminding of what she's trying to find, who she's trying to be, she'd have a glass. And then, Storybrooke. And then, her parents. Henry. Regina. The bottle, she'd bought two weeks into her stay out of habit and she keeps it around now out of that too. It's not nostalgia no, there's something too hollow for it to be that.
She didn't need the wine now. To reaffirm who she is. Even though she took damn good care of herself, these years surrounded by a family, by love, have led her down the road of believing in herself more than wine ever did.
"Yeah." She says hoarsely, and presses another kiss to Regina's neck. "It's pretty bad."
Regina turns her head and gives her a curious look, and Emma smiles as if to say we'll talk about it later, and sees the opportunity for a hello kiss they still haven't had, and presses her lips soundly to Regina's, reaching to take her glasses off in one fell swoop. The hum of contentment is all she needs, and Regina's hand begins to ball fabric from the bottom of her tank top into a fist, and Emma cups her cheek, deepening the kiss with a probing tongue. Regina pushes at Emma's stomach, and they break the kiss, although not without effort, as she starts to place smaller kisses to the corner of Emma's mouth, her hand creeping underneath her tank top.
"I've definitely missed this all day." She groans, and the tension melts from her body.
"I hope your thoughts were at least somewhat PG during your meeting with your mother, dear. She's still mortified by that time she caught us in the bathroom."
Emma closes her eyes and leans back against the cushions. "Oh my god, don't remind me." She gives a warning look. "Or her. I want Thanksgiving to not end up in homicide."
Regina reaches out for another sip of wine, and grimaces after two sips. She smiles that sly, sardonic smile Emma used to take as a warning of all bad things to come and takes another sip. "I'll be on my best behavior, dear. Only, however, if she will."
Emma sighs and leans in to nip at her lower lip, and Regina resumes her exploration underneath her shirt, hiking it up to reveal feverish skin, and Emma hisses as Regina flattens her palm against her stomach, inching torturously slow up between the valley of her breasts, the other hand following soon to finally dispose of Emma's tanktop, the straps of her bra falling down her shoulders. Regina leans in and pressing warm, wet lips to Emma's neck, dragging them up to her ear and tugging on it. Holy hell. Emma groans, the sound pulled from her throat, her chest heaving.
"As much as I-" Regina whispers in her ear. "-Would love to continue, I think you're in need of a shower, my dear."
At the sudden lack of contact, Emma opens her eyes to Regina's arched brow and pointed stare, blows a puff of air to get a blond curl out of her face. "Seriously? I can't be that sweaty."
Regina taps Emma's chin and holds it before she leans forward to peck her lips again. "Perhaps I should rephrase. I think we're in need of a shower, my dear."
Emma blinks and takes in Regina's slowly widening grin as realization dawns on her. "Oh."
"After all, the night isn't over quite yet."
As Regina leads her upstairs by the hand, the warmth in Emma's stomach spreads to different and exciting places, and she thinks home indeed.
As Emma's back hits the tile, she's suddenly very, very grateful for the roominess of Regina's shower.
Her body presses against Emma's, her soft curves melting into Emma's own as her lips start that descent down her neck. Emma gasps as Regina lips suck on a particularly sensitive spot on her collarbone before she reaches up to a nipple, rolling it expertly between two fingers.
"Jesus, fuck." Emma groans. She grasps the back of Regina's neck and pulls her in for another kiss, stroking the ends of her slicked back hair, god her cheeks are flushed, her lips are swelled and red with all those kisses, and her eyes have that deep darkness only associated with moments like this, and she may not have ultimately fallen in love with Regina because of this and her amazing, beautiful body, but holy fuck. She could drown in her, and she probably already has. Probably already did even when she didn't realize it.
"Wait." She breathes, and catches Regina's eyes.
"Do you want to….?"
Regina curves her hand down Emma's back and it lands somewhere on her ass, pulling her forward, and pressing them together again. Emma lets out a gasp at the contact; their breasts' pressed together, slick skin meeting slick skin.
"You're going to have to be more articulate." Her voice is husky and her eyes flicker between Emma's eyes and her lips.
Instead of voicing it, because Emma's never been too great with words anyway, she maintains eye contact as she kneels down, ignores the slight discomfort in her knees, and twines their fingers together. She begins to stroke Regina's thigh, pushing it upwards, watches the water trace a path around her hand.
Regina only blinks once before she understands Emma's intent, and she leans her head back against the wall, eyelids fluttering shut in anticipation. "Although if I fall-"
"You're not going to fall."
"-Because we've decided to try this instead of a more practical alternative-"
Emma leans forward and swipes her tongue down and up the length of Regina's slit, starting from the bottom and ending just as she reaches her clit. She gasps, squeezes Emma's hand, and her sentence is lost in the sensation. She's about to continue her ministrations, when her penchant for being cheeky as hell wins out.
She leans up and gives a grin. "You were saying something?
Regina's chest rises and falls, and she glares at her.
"Emma." She warns.
And this time Emma smiles–a bright real smile that is lifted from her heart to lips–and after a moment, Regina smiles back, just the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, but her eyes bright and shining.
Emma kisses the inside of her thighs, and Regina hums in response, her breathing labored. She presses another kiss to her sex, before delving a tongue into her folds, long strokes that are causing Regina to dip her head back against the tile, exposing her slender, beautiful neck, her eyelids to flutter shut, her mouth to part open ever so slightly. Emma swipes tongue along that one spot, the she knows just drives her mad. Regina lets out a small gasp and reaches up to find purchase on the showerhead.
Emma takes that moment to look up from her ministrations, lightly strokes her thighs and reaching up to land on her ass. Regina's chest heaves and she lets out a puff of breath before looking down, her eyes boring into Emma's, dark and luminous in the steam.
"You stopped." Regina breathed.
Emma doesn't say anything and just grabs the hand splayed out against the wall, and presses a gentle kiss to the back of it. She looks up into Regina's eyes, filled with so much soul that she wonders just how she missed it for a year, and smiles that tiny half-smile back. It's their smile, and she can't help but feel kind of gooey inside about that. They have a smile. All their own. Regina puts that same hand on a shower-soaked cheek, stroking it, up and down, curling around her jaw.
Then Regina's eyes grow impatient again and Emma grins before lowering her head once more, and her hand settles lightly on top of Emma's head. She grins against her inner thigh, pressing a kiss to it before she returns to the apex, hearing Regina's appreciative sigh and moan, that sears through Emma's stomach down to her own center, when Emma finds that spot again, circling her tongue around it.
It takes Emma finding her entrance with two fingers, pushing in and curling up, and a few more swipes of her tongue before Regina freezes, her mouth slightly open, her eyes half-lidded, and a loud breathy gasp escapes her lips. In the quiet moments after, her limbs go slightly limp and loose, and she takes a few breaths as Emma presses more kisses to her inner thighs.
And then it happens really, really quickly.
Regina hoists Emma up in order to give her a presumably really hot kiss, intending to press her back against the bathroom wall, but Emma slips on her feet, slides back to her knees, and unfortunately having her hands on Regina's shoulders at the time means they both fall to the shower floor in a tangle of limbs, both of them slamming against the glass of the shower door several times on the way down.
"Fuck, Regina-"
"Emma I swear to-"
"Wait, just hold on and move your foot I'm-"
"That just caused us to slip again!"
"Just move your right leg and then I can-"
"I am moving my right leg!"
And then somehow they're face-to-face, a little bit less tangled up in each other, Regina's cheeks are still red and her chest is still heaving from their previous doings and a smile unintentionally cracks the corners of Emma's mouth. And then a laugh burbles up, and then another, and finally Regina's nostrils stop flaring, her expression of anger melts into mirth and they're both laughing because if anything is absolutely fucking ridiculous-
"Well that killed the mood." Regina deadpans.
Emma leans in and presses a kiss to her lips. "Can anything truly?"
Regina taps her chin. "Hook in Christmas boxers. Dancing the Macarena, while drunk on that rum of his." She grins devilishly. "Or your father."
Emma balks in horror and moves to stand up, of course, slipping a little along the way. Regina grabs the shower head and together manage to stand upright once more. Emma shakes her head and reaches for the soap. "Evil, you are simply evil."
"That's what they say." Regina murmurs, and even though mirth dances in her eyes, a smirk settling on her lips, there's that ever present darkening of her eyes, and runs fingertips along her wrist. No, not quite evil. Not anymore, just as Emma isn't quite the Savior everyone hoped for. People they are, people who like to be as close to each other as possible after a hard day of just existing.
Emma holds up the soap and raises a brow. "We never got to the actual showering part."
Regina chuckles and steps behind Emma before raising her lips to ear, biting the lobe enticingly. "Then let's get to it, my dear."
They wash quickly, themselves and each other, never quite a hair's breadth away. Emma feels a little bit like her body is warming up, not just because she's incredibly aroused, because, well yeah, but in those places within her that have always been so cold. Where Regina is pressing a gentle hand and caressing and loving, and always those eyes watching her with something like reverence. When they put the soap down, and without words Regina moves to get the shampoo.
They have an unspoken ritual wherein Regina washes Emma's hair. Regina loves her hair, and often absentmindedly plays with it when they're cuddling in bed, or Emma has her head in Regina's lap and they're watching television. Regina washes it slowly, thoroughly, taking her time to thread her fingers through the soapy strands and massage her scalp. And also taking the time to press small kisses to the back of Emma's neck, and she sighs as she's filled with that warmth all over, tingling in her fingertips and down to her stomach.
"And you still haven't gotten your turn." Regina whispers.
"Well, we were rudely interrupted."
"By your clumsiness."
"Yeah, who was it that tried to pull me up?"
She can practically feel the eye-roll against her back, and but she's already is shivering in anticipation of more searing kisses and this time in a warm bed surrounded by pillows instead of a hot shower.
It's that word again that flits in her mind. Home. Like Regina's kiss in a hot shower, like Henry wanting hot chocolate after a long day of school, like the three of them watching a Marvel movie and Emma and Regina trying to out-snark each other with commentary while Henry groans, falling asleep pressed against each other on the couch, how Regina's hand finds hers underneath tables, falling into bed with each other. All that sweetness where bitterness used to breathe.
Regina pulls her out of the shower to meet the cool air, but she's still warm.