A/N: This started out as me just wanting to write a little, thinking it might be a PWP. And then it turned into something else. Even I didn't realise how much I appreciated Emma until I wrote this.
Trigger warning for reference to possible child abuse, nothing overt but it is there.
The first time Regina Mills slept with Emma Swan, she changed the world.
There may have been no rainbow light show, there may have been no curse broken, nobody may have changed at all - Emma notwithstanding - but the world was different nonetheless. Different in minute, sometimes unfathomable ways that Emma didn't realise until later.
Some of the differences were immediate. For example, Emma cried afterwards. Shattered into a thousand jagged sobs that felt like they were going to tear her apart with their ferocity. And Regina had clasped her tight in her arms, had rocked her, soothed her. Apologised to her. Emma couldn't have her thinking it was her fault. Nor could she speak through a throat so constricted with crying. So instead she held fast. Held on for dear life, hoping that Regina would understand. And miraculously, she did. Had whispered comforting nonsense into damp blonde curls until the body in her arms finally stopped trembling.
Didn't push her. Didn't force her to explain. Just held Emma in her arms, unwavering, and Emma fell asleep in all that security. In all that peace.
She'd woken up curled into the smaller woman's body - head on her shoulder, arm clutched possessively across Regina's midriff, legs entangled. The body under her arm rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, so Emma allowed herself to bask. To appreciate the warmth of another's body, the simple human connection of being held. It had been a precious commodity in her life, a luxury item she had rarely been able to indulge in, even less rarely without a price.
And yet here was Regina, offering it to her freely.
Sometimes... Sometimes it was so hard to reconcile the stories of the Evil Queen with the woman she had come to know. Incomprehensible to accept the vision that her parents conveyed of a selfish, driven, heartless creature with an unslakeable lust for vengeance.
Which was frankly ridiculous, because Emma had seen it for herself. Had experienced Regina at her worst in Storybrooke when they were fighting over Henry, had even encountered the Evil Queen incarnate in the Enchanted Forest that one time. She knew what Regina had done. But it still caused a dissonance. It felt like another life, someone else.
This Regina - her Regina - was warm and generous and giving and nurturing and fierce and amazing and terrifying. Terrifying not because Emma was scared of her, but because Emma was afraid of what would become of her without Regina.
Especially now.
Her body still tingled.
Emma hadn't know quite what to expect from Regina. The Queen had this reputation for using sex as a weapon, for pleasing herself with whomever she selected, and it always seemed that would entail something quite forceful. She'd never expected aggression of course, but nor had she expected the gentleness. The delicate purposefulness.
Emma had never experienced it before.
Sex had been something of a chore more often than not. Something that you did when you were with someone. Something you did to earn favours. Some of her experiences were darker still. Her last foster home, the man there had eyed her newly developed body with far too much proprietary interest. Had breathed heavily through his nose whenever he'd brushed past her in the hallway, or sat close to her at the dinner table. It got to the point where she had kept her meagre belongings stuffed into her backpack each night and slept in her clothes - and so she was ready when she finally heard the rattling door handle.
Not that the group homes were much better. But at least the boys were her own age and they were taking risks too. And more often than not they were all just looking for a little comfort.
Even later though, when she had relationships as an adult, there was still something missing. Most men, she found, were content to be lied to. Content to find their own pleasure and take her word for it that it was good for her too.
It rarely was.
To be fair, some had tried. Tried valiantly even, to please her. And sometimes, with her constant input, they were successful. And sometimes that was worse. Success meant an expectation, that they should be successful again and again. And again. Generally success meant they'd be dumping her soon. Success meant she'd be moving on.
So it became easier to fake it. And to find time for her own pleasure privately.
Eventually it became easier to just stay alone.
And alone she'd been, until her brief dalliance with Graham, and her too long entanglement with Hook. She'd barely had time to fall into the same patterns with Graham - and in her heart she suspected he would have been different if they'd had a chance. But Hook had just been another guy in the end, another guy who thought he was god's gift to women but really couldn't see past his own needs. She'd been with him because he wanted her, because he'd persisted, because everybody expected it. And for just a little while it was nice to be wanted. To feel special. For a little while.
It didn't last long.
Her inevitable break up with Hook, however, hadn't been as painful as her estrangement from Regina had been. It had taken Regina so long, so achingly, painfully long to forgive her. For bringing Marian back, for ruining things with Robin, for being so exhaustingly, thoughtlessly noble.
And in the very end inevitable meant being here with Regina.
That had been a revelation. When they'd finally talked, really connected, let go of the acrimony and belligerence and spite and honestly listened to each other. When they got over those preconceived notions and really began to understand. They had so much more in common than either of them ever suspected. And damn it if Emma didn't actually like Regina. She was sassy and funny and snarky and that was hardly new, but it was tempered now with a wry self-deprecation and the barbs were blunted. To a point.
Henry had been so ecstatic when they'd sorted out their differences. When Emma would come over for dinner he'd practically vibrate in his seat, not quite able to contain his enjoyment with teenaged disinterest. He'd settled down when occasional became routine, when Emma started staying to help with dishes and homework and leaving only after Henry had gone to bed.
And then staying until long after he'd gone to bed. A coffee in the kitchen slowly morphed into a nightcap in the den. Opposite chairs became sharing the sofa. Separate cushions became Emma relaxing back on the couch, Regina's head resting delicately against her shoulder.
It had taken months, but then one day, somehow, they'd ended up kissing. Emma had bolted.
Of course she had.
But Regina - her Regina - had been patient and understanding. Even though Emma had been more skittish than a newborn foal, and about as coordinated. And slowly, day by day, Emma surrendered her fear of rejection and inadequacy and embraced this new aspect of their relationship.
Embraced it, yet even so it had taken a long time to get to tonight. When the long languid kisses became unbearably not enough, when smooth skin under a silk shirt begged for more, when a dark skirt had ridden up just so over perfect legs. And it had felt right.
And they had wound up inside Regina's bedroom, on sheets so soft they felt blissful. Yet not as soft as Regina's skin. Which was soon gloriously exposed, and Emma tried not to let that perfection make her feel inadequate. It didn't matter though, because Regina saw and Regina understood and Regina knew.
Every newly exposed piece of skin was blessed with a kiss, sometimes a whispered benediction. The tiny, faint stretch marks around her belly were thanked even, for providing room for Henry and Emma couldn't hold back the laugh. And then she lost her breath entirely because Regina just looked up at her with her dark eyes sparkling with mirth and passion and love and just understanding.
And then Regina proceeded to tear Emma apart and recreate her anew.
Every kiss, every caress, every single motion of Regina's body was designed with no other purpose in mind than to bring pleasure to Emma. There was nothing rough, nothing abrasive, nothing hurried. Nothing lacking. Nothing but pure need as Regina slowly and gently and delicately made her come undone.
In more ways than one.
And lying here, curled up against Regina's naked form, Emma felt the stirrings of hope. That this time, maybe things could be different.
A deep breath, loud in the darkness. A cleared throat. "Emma?"
"Yeah?"
"Stop thinking so much. I can hear it from here."
"Yeah, well maybe I'm thinking I was wrong about guys all along. I should have tried it with a woman before."
The blonde shifted, peeked up to find warm brown eyes peering at her with fond exasperation. The grin that rose to her features in response was heartfelt and immediate. "I can't believe you just told me to stop thinking Regina! I'll remember that next time you tell me to read a book instead of playing with my phone."
Even in the darkness she could see the eyeroll. And it was perfect. Then she was responding to the gentle, undemanding tug and her lips met Regina's and it was even more perfect. And different. And better. Somehow better. And Emma knew that she would never be the same again.