A/N: Well... This is not at all what I thought it was going to be! It was supposed to be a smutty one-shot, but... Apparently it's now a beefed-out short story! I promise this will get to the request in the next chapter! This is my first piece taken from a request on my Fanfic tumblr (go take a look and leave me one if you want! It's the same handle as on here, and there's a link on my profile... I'm also working on a nekkid picture, so go follow me *wiggles eyebrows seductively* so that you dont miss out on my terrible grasp of human anatomy!)
So... Oh yes! The prompt! : "I was hoping to request a story about Emma and Regina, wherein Regina is obsessed with Emma's abdominal muscles"
As I said... We will get to that point, I promise! :) Please review and hope you enjoy! :)
"More coffee, Madame Mayor?"
"Hmm?... Oh. No, I don't think so."
Regina shakes her head dismissively; sliding the mug that rests before her towards Ruby who glances down at its tepid contents a little nervously. Keeping her feelings as to the quality- or rather, the lack of it- of Granny's supposedly 'fresh brew' to herself, the brunette simply waves her hand in a gesture that the young waitress should make herself scarce.
She is in no mood for idle argument, whether at Ruby's expense or not.
The reason behind her rather sour mood is currently stood no more than a stone's throw away; the town's newly appointed Sheriff leant against the fence outside the Diner with her arms folded across her chest in that ever hostile manner that only serves to aggravate the Mayor further as she has yet to figure out just what it is about Emma Swan that others seem to find even remotely likeable.
As if on cue, Ashley appears from around the corner and strolls over to share a little heart-to-heart with the blonde; grinning at her all the while- and tickling her little one beneath the chin to elicit much the same expression- as though conversation with the Sheriff were a folly-fueled delight.
Having been on the receiving end of the blonde's frustratingly dry drawl more times than she'd like to remember, Regina knows this to be anything but the truth.
Especially just recently.
What with the blonde moping around town in a manner even more sullen than usual.
One wouldn't have believed such a thing were possible...
No, and yet, it appears to be so.
Ever since she'd tried to step in and have her way when it had come to the twins- in many ways a test for the young Sheriff, and one the blonde had failed miserably- Emma's mood has seemed to deteriorate dangerously and threaten permanently for thunder.
Not that that's stopped Henry from trying to find ways to spend as much time as possible with the irksome blonde.
Pursing her lips and pushing herself up from the table, Regina stalks briskly towards the door; cordially ignoring the waitress's hesitant chirping telling her to have a nice day, and letting the glass rattle in its frame on her way out.
Marching up the path back towards her office, she slows down as she nears the Sheriff and her rather weary-eyed companion and nods curtly when Ashley seems to sense her cue to hurry on up the path towards the warmth of the Diner with a brief 'good morning' muttered in her direction.
Emma offers no such pleasantries.
"Gold was looking for you."
"Was he? Did he say why?"
"Dunno. Didn't ask."
The blonde shrugs, and Regina fights to control the overwhelming urge to shake the younger woman roughly by the shoulders.
Instead, she simply sighs; eyeing the Sheriff up and down and finding herself no less irritated by what she sees.
Black.
Black sweater, black pants, black boots; bloodied vibrantly by the garish swatch of her jacket.
This seems to be becoming a bit of theme.
... Ever since Graham... Well...
Ever since Graham's accident.
And it frustrates the brunette. The younger woman has no right to be mourning over what was never hers.
It's just not in good taste.
Not to mention the rather awkward situation following the fallen Sheriff's funeral... A ghastly gathering of false friends within the dimmed lights of the Diner- the Mayor showing face for no other reason than her political duty to do so- as the fools of her town had shed their final tears without a single ounce of understanding as to how badly she hadn't wanted to be there.
Still, she had thought herself lucky on one count at least; Emma Swan had seemed to have the decency to stay away.
At least, so she had thought, before her brow had furrowed contemplatively as her gaze had fallen on the fine silhouette of a young woman clad in a low-backed dress which had made it very clear she hadn't been wearing a bra. Still, the garment had been pretty and demurely fitting, as well as being rather delectably fitted to its owner.
What had been a frown of confusion and lack of recognition had swiftly become a snarl of distaste when the woman in question had turned around to address the waitress, and the brunette had come to the unwelcome realisation that the svelte limbs she had been admiring- the way one does after a couple of glasses of wine- hadn't been unfamiliar at all, but rather simply the way Emma had pinned up her hair.
Did you fuck him?
She had thought then as she does now, regarding the younger woman cooly.
She recalls thinking much the same when the Pawnbroker had jumped in to come to the blonde's aid when running for Sheriff, though with a little less jealousy tainting the idea.
She just imagines Emma to be the type.
After all, one tends to use their assets to their advantage... And there is something uncomfortably, well, fuckable, about the moody young woman who seems to thrive off causing her grief.
Not that she's given the notion much thought, of course...
Shaking away confused thoughts, she sighs and addresses the Sheriff shortly.
"Very well, I will go and see what he wants... Shouldn't you be behind a desk?"
"... I'm pretty sure it's not against any law for me to buy myself a coffee on the way to work... Though I'm sure you'll let me know if you do find one."
"Well, you're not going to come any closer to your caffeine fix stood loitering around out here, dear."
Green eyes narrow as Emma eyes her reproachfully, and she remains certain that the way the blonde looks at her has changed ever so slightly since the business with Ava and Nicholas.
After all, her manner of dealing with the matter and reprimanding the ingénue young Sheriff had been cruelly calculated, and the blonde had taken it decidedly personally, as had- of course- been her intention.
A savage dig of her nails beneath the surface in an attempt to find a way to force the younger woman crack and yield.
And, she believes, she had succeeded in creating the beginnings of a small fissure in Emma's carefully honed stony exterior.
That... And she has managed to royally piss the younger woman off.
Maple, maple, conifer, maple, oak, conifer, maple... Bush... Hmm... Hawthorn, maple...
The Sheriff chants in her head as her sneakers pound down upon the compacted dirt of the forest floor. In all honesty, she hasn't the faintest clue as to the flora surrounding her, and merely guesses inexpertly as she flies by- occasionally ducking to avoid being blinded by an errant twig here and there- for sake of something to keep her mind off of the task at hand.
Once upon a time, she had actually enjoyed running; had actually missed the gym after moving to Storybrooke, and had ended up feeling a little lethargic due to its absence in her daily routine.
Still, she will be the first to admit that she is apathetic by nature, and she hadn't found herself bothered by such a thing to the extent of actually doing anything about it... Until Graham had passed away.
That was when the running had started up again.
That first time, storming around her small apartment in a monosyllabic hunt for her sneakers while Mary Margaret had watched on nervously, the raven-headed woman had asked her if perhaps she should wait until daylight before running off into the woods, despite expressing her cautious understanding that she might wish to clear her head.
She had snapped back that she simply wished to be left alone, but had left her housemate uncorrected as to the reasoning behind her sudden need to throw herself back into exercise. It had seemed like a much more logical reason than the one plaguing her own mind to say the least, and so, she had left it at that.
Not wishing to discuss reality with the schoolteacher, however close they might have become over the last couple of months.
After all... How exactly would that conversation even start?!
Mary Margaret... I don't think Graham's death was natural, or even an accident... And I'm pretty sure the town's Mayor means to kill me when she first has the chance.
Not exactly the way to go when trying to convince her housemate that all is well with her upstairs.
She imagines it would only be an hour or so before Archie showed up on their doorstep claiming to just be 'dropping by'.
No... Not really a conversation that should leave the confines of her mind.
But in there- rattling around with all the rest of her crap- the thought swims vaguely; tinged lightly red.
She has tried to stamp it out several times; understanding deep down that- however much of a bitch she might be- Regina isn't about to come after her wielding a weapon and seeking her fatal demise.
The thought is ridiculous.
Almost as ridiculous as Henry's whole faiytale thing...
It's just...
Well... It's just that ever since the kid had spoken to her so glumly and full of foreboding out by the castle, she has found herself silently reprimanding her imagination... Telling herself that of course she doesn't believe Henry about Graham's death being really rather suspect...
That of course she hadn't spent a fair few hours trawling the net searching for symptoms, timings, facts, anything to put her mind at ease over the abruptness of it all.
Telling herself not to be ridiculous, as some stubborn part of her refuses to believe Regina hadn't been at fault, much like Henry has suggested.
"Fuck!"
She doubles over and massages her side as she takes in rasping gulps of air, and tells herself for what feels like the hundredth time that she is simply training.
Getting back into shape.
That she is in now way, shape or form preparing herself for fight or flight in the face of a well-dressed, five-foot-something woman with killer heels and a nasty attitude.
"Because that would be crazy..."
She reminds herself, straightening up and stretching her left hamstring with a wince.
She sighs as she tries to find a glimmer of motivation to push herself into carrying on in her masochistic task.
Sure, she had enjoyed running, but a couple of months of doing little more than chasing a wayward ten-year old around town has taken its toll, and it has only been the last three times running the five mile track through the woods that she hasn't wondered at some point or other if she might be about to pass out.
Not to mention having christened her first attempt by unceremoniously puking behind a bush while trying to coax shaking legs into remaining compliant in keeping her up.
She supposes she could have started out with jogging instead of hitting cruel mud head-on, but, that's simply not her style.
"All or nothing..."
She gasps; rolling her eyes irritably as her mind throws her up the image of Regina sat comfortably at her kitchen table with a glass of wine and sparing her ongoing existence no thought at all.
"Yeah... This is totally the most sensible, absolutely not in the slightest bit crazy reaction you've had to... Shit!"
Thunder claps loudly up ahead, and the Sheriff skids to a halt and stands with her hands on her hips, panting up at the gunmetal sky moodily.
A second low rumble, and rain begins pouring down with biblical intent.
"... Fantastic..."
And, while we're on the thought-train to crazy, I'm just going to go ahead and give Regina a point for this shit too... Someway, Somehow... She did this.
Smirking and shaking her head as her pale flesh gleams with moisture and her ponytail sends an uncomfortable stream of water trickling between her shoulder blades, she begins running with a little more purpose in the direction of the Station; relieved as she breaks out from heavy wood to sprint the final stretch of open field towards dull, sandy brick.
From behind the wheel of her Benz, Regina watches as a familiar figure comes hurtling down the barren field between the Station and the woods with a frown. Running her finger over her bottom lip thoughtfully, she hesitates for just a moment, before she deploys her turn signal and cruises into the tarmac lot to pull up beside the younger woman's bug slowly.