Intoxicating. She was intoxicating. Even more so than the sweet ciders you shared during those Sunday evenings you spent in each other's company after you dropped Henry off for the week. By the end of them, when walking home you were never sure of the sway in your step was due to the alcohol or because of her, her lingering perfume, the memory of her smile that still warmed your heart and her careful words which captivated you in a way you could never imagine.
You're not sure just how you both got to this point, being friendly with each other in private spaces but reverting right back to enemies in public. It's infuriating and it makes your blood boil when her face hardens and how she manages to drop an insult your way when someone interrupts a conversation. But your heart stops when you spot that unmistakable gleam in her eye and her lips that turn upwards as she stares at you.
She makes time to apologise later on, dropping by the station when she knows you're busy and on one occasion you recall her bringing lunch along with her, and to your surprise it isn't a salad, but a bear claw and a few sugared donuts. She doesn't scold you for having your legs extended to rest on your desk, but then again, she hasn't for a few weeks now. She sits down on the other side of the desk, slowly nibbling at a donut with one leg crossed over the other. Your eyes are drawn to the hem of her dress which has lifted slightly, revealing bare skin and suddenly you're thirsty.
For a few minutes you don't talk, you stare and she stares back.
Eyes. Lips. Eyes, then lips again.
It's not unusual though, well maybe it is but you've both been doing it for so long now you can't tell.
She stands but delays for a while after you're done eating, asking you short and seemingly pointless questions, but you've heard her use this tone before with Henry, it's not condescending though, you've come to realise over time that it's her way of showing that she cares.
"Will you eat later?"
"I don't know, maybe. I'm staying late tonight and I'll probably crash as soon as I get home"
"Taking a break won't kill you Emma"
"Wouldn't be so sure living in this town, but if you insist"
She studies your face closely, raising one eyebrow as if to say 'you better', and the message is received, loud and clear. You throw her a reassuring smile back and her body releases a sigh and her face relaxes. She picks up her bag and starts towards the exit, but as her body passes yours she extends a hand and ever so gently, almost unconsciously runs it along your leg all the way up to the middle of your thigh where it pauses for a moment before its quickly withdrawn and she's gone.
Skin burns painfully under your jeans, and the heat spreads like a wildfire all way up to your cheeks which you're sure resemble the colour of one of her deep red apples. But your heart aches at this simple touch and suddenly you find yourself craving something more than a light friendly touch.
You go home that night with mixed feelings and a heavy heart.
Nothing changes and neither of you mention it. Is it even worth mentioning? Maybe she considered it a small gesture between friends and nothing more. After all you always did read too much into things. She hasn't touched you like that since though, and it's become annoying how your relationship seems to have haltered. No backtracking but no progression either. It comes as a relief when one day, as you both walk together, arms almost pressed together and fingertips grazing, she spots a flyer on the Storybrooke notice board. You angle your head to the side in confusion as she practically leaps into the air.
"Oh Emma we have to take Henry to this!" She squeals as she rips the flyer from the board and thrusts it into your hands. The poster was simple, a beautifully hand painted helter skelter with the words 'Storybrooke fair' printed in bold along the top.
"A fairground? Since when did Storybrooke get fairgrounds?"
"We had a meeting a few months ago about it but I didn't think it would happen" She gasps gleefully and she grabs both your wrists and pulls you closer to her to grasp your attention and to force you to share in her delight. You don't have the heart to tell her you're absolutely petrified of rides, and even being in close proximity to dodgems makes you feel sick so you smile back at her.
"Yeah why not, it could be fun". Regina squeals again and moves in to press a kiss to your cheek, but you flinch a little and her lips end up closer to yours than you both expected. You feel that heat rising in your cheeks again, and you hope she doesn't notice but she does and you feel her press the back of her cold hand to your flushed skin.
She whispers 'Sorry' and invites you to walk with her again.
So, a couple of weekends later you find yourself wedged between your son and his other mother in the small carriage of the Ferris wheel that they finally persuaded you to go on.
"Look ma! I can see Grannys from up here!" He nudges you in the ribs and points out, not caring that you're about sixty feet in the air and every time one of you moves the carriage sways and squeaks in the wind.
"Cool Kid" You choke back. The nausea and constant flipping of your stomach isn't a good mix and you send up a prayer to any higher power than the ride ends soon otherwise the townsfolk below will be in for a sickly surprise. The ride has other plans and a groan escapes you as it decides to roll around once more.
You feel a hair tickling at your neck and all of a sudden Regina's lips are grazing against the skin below your ear and her hand has found its way to the top of your thigh. 'Relax', she sighs, her breath tickling your neck. 'Breathe', her hand squeezes your thigh. 'Look how beautiful it is', she turns her head to look out at the town below, she has her hand in yours now and your fingers are laced together.
The nausea in your stomach has been replaced with butterflies. Butterflies on acid. You ignore her last request, instead choosing to watch her instead. You've stared at her a thousand and one times before, but there's something about her eyes that are mesmerising, especially with the carnival lights dancing off of them. Your mind is spinning again, the butterflies start to descend upwards into your throat now and you're sure the carriage is swaying more violently than it has before.
"Yeah it's beautiful". God, you sound like you belong in a cheesy rom-com movie, and you realise you feel like a total fucking cliché and you're glad she doesn't realise you mean her.
She turns her head back to look at you, and god you realise how she managed to have so many loyal followers during her evil queen days. The smile that spreads across her face could bring any army to their knees.
Eventually the ride comes to a halt. She doesn't let go of your hand as she helps you out of the seat. She doesn't let go when you stagger around the rest of the rides. She doesn't let go when you walk back to the car. She's reluctant to let go as you get into the car, glancing at your face every few minutes and asking if you're okay. She doesn't take your hand when you arrive at her mansion and you miss her touch and the gentle circles she rubbed with the pad of her thumb but she ushers Henry to bed, and asks if you'd like to share a drink. You agree, but you already feel drunk just being around her.
She hands you your drink and you both sit on her sofa. Close but not close enough.
"Did you have fun?" She speaks, taking a sip of cider from her glass. You breathe.
"Yes"
"I'm sorry I didn't know you were so afraid of fairground rides'' Her tone is serious but her face screaming 'im mocking you'. You used to despise it when she would do that, but somehow, over time you've learned to love it. You nudge closer to slap her playfully on the arm anyway.
''I'm not'' You stick your bottom lip out and knit your eyebrows together. "Just heights". She chuckles, and you realise now that she's close to you, because you can feel the vibrations of her laugh rippling through your body.
"I'm still sorry". Regina reaches out to cup your cheek, her palm is cold from being pressed to her glass but somehow you feel warmer.
"Regina"
Her hand is gone but only for a second as she moves to place her glass down on the table and then brings both of her hands up to your face. You're staring again, but this time directly into her eyes, and her lips are getting ever so slowly closer to yours.
"Shh—I just have to try—just once" Gently, her parted lips press to yours. Experience has told you that there are many types of kisses, quick, passionate, romantic, but this one was different. This was experimental, but not the teenage sloppy kind. It was just good. Your lips move in harmony, slightly parted to deepen the kiss and allow your tongues to swirl and push together prompting a moan to be shared between the two of you. Regina's hands travel upwards, her fingers now tangling in your long blonde curls as she pulls you to straddle on top of her, her head resting on a cushion. Lungs burning, you pull your lips away from hers, pressing a couple more chaste kisses to her cheek and forehead and you rest your head against hers.
"How long have you been planning that?"
"Too long for you to stop kissing me now" She mumbles, the latter part of her sentence muffled by her lips crashing against yours again, and suddenly you find yourself sat up, with Regina in your lap, hungrily grasping at your shirt. You grasp at her thighs that are placed either side of your hips, running your hands up them to hook a finger around the hem of her skirt, pushing it up over her thighs. Regina's slowly grinding now, she's given up trying to unbutton your shirt and is now content with pawing at your chest. Your hand slips under her skirt, caressing her inner thigh and in response she grinds down harder onto your lap, and sucks your lower lip between her teeth and bites gently. You slide your hand up further, pressing your palm against her, you can feel the heat and how wet she is through her underwear and you mutter a quick 'fuck regina' under your breath. Regina whimpers against your lips, the barrier between her and you is so infuriatingly thin and she rolls herself against your palm for some relief. A groan escapes her and she wraps both her arms around your neck, her head resting against the side of yours. You're too busy missing the taste of her lips to notice that she's stopped moving all together.
"Regina?"
"We can't do this—" She begins to whisper in your ear, and god you should've known the rejection was coming and you open your mouth to cut her off but she presses a finger to your parted lips and shushes you.
"—Here" She continues. "We can't do this here, meaning, take me upstairs. Now".
Author's Note: I wrote this with the intention of it being a one-chapter thing, but it could easily be continued somewhat. If its requested enough I might continue it!