Inspired by this tweet:
"Hypnosis via headpat! Rub your sub's head until they drop into trance. They'll enjoy being petted so much that the drool pours from their parted lips on its own. Then you can use their mouths for your pleasure at will, keeping them submerged in sunspace with gentle strokes"
(From ScribbledSmut, status #1104228438053924864)
This is another word sprint fic, I think it took 4 or 5 sprints this time, so about two to two and a half hours.
The movie was over, the TV turned off, but they continued to relax on the couch, Henry sitting upright and Regina curled on her side, her head resting on his thigh. They didn't speak, just basked in the quiet and each other's presence. Storybrooke had been calm lately, a novelty, and they were enjoying it while they could.
After a while, Henry brought his hand up to Regina's head, stroking his fingers through her hair. She hummed, closed her eyes, and nestled closer. They didn't often cuddle, Henry was much too big for that now, but sometimes they did this, got close while watching a movie and just... didn't move away. It wasn't inappropriate, not really, but Regina wasn't sure that the rest of the family would feel the same way. She knew that her perceptions of affection could be a little skewed, but Henry didn't seem uncomfortable, and she never pushed any further.
And now, Henry's fingers in her hair felt so good that she could feel the tension draining out of her. Every worry about the town, their family, this thing that seemed to be building between them that they never talked about, it all faded away, leaving her mind blissfully blank. Her breathing slowed, lulled into a calm she'd rarely felt, and she hovered in comforting darkness.
"Are you asleep?" Henry asked quietly, his fingers not faltering in their rhythm, his voice almost seeming to blend into the quiet.
Regina hummed and meant to shake her head, but her muscles felt heavy and sluggish and she wasn't sure if she'd been successful. It took another second to find her voice, and she breathed out, "No," almost inaudibly.
Henry acknowledged her answer with his own hum, and then they fell into silence again.
After a while, he changed from running his fingers through her hair to petting her head, his fingertips brushing her scalp in the same slow rhythm. And she floated, carried and soothed by his touch. Slowly, his fingers expanded their territory, brushing the side of her face, her forehead, down the edge of her jaw to her chin. A feather-soft brush over her eyelids and the line of her lashes, down her nose, over her lips.
That was a line, probably, that they shouldn't cross. Sons don't caress their mothers' lips. But it was soft and soothing and she was so relaxed. The touch itself was fleeting, so she accepted it. She wasn't sure she would've been able to rouse herself to protest, anyway.
The touches continued, Henry's fingers following the same path several times, never lingering. Until he began to slow down even further, to take his time touching her, exploring her features. Including her lips.
The tip of his index finger slid along her bottom lip, then back along the top, and in the haze her mind had been soothed into, she thought he would move on then. But he didn't, and his finger continued to brush back and forth, until they traced the line where her lips met, and she moved for the first time, almost unconsciously parting her lips with a quiet sigh. Her breath felt warm and damp when she exhaled, and Henry's finger paused, curled against her lower lip, pulling it down just slightly. Reflex had her pursing her lips around his fingertip, an almost kiss.
She could hear his breathing then, and wondered if it had been that heavy before and she just hadn't noticed.
Before she could think to ask, his other hand stroked through her hair, and she sighed again, her lips relaxing around his finger, her thoughts again evaporating like mist.
And he slipped his finger further past her lips.
It was comforting, in an odd sort of way, as she sucked lightly on his fingertip in the same slow rhythm as he stroked her hair. It probably should have felt infantilizing, and may even feel that way after the fact, but in the moment, Regina simply accepted it.
Time passed in an ethereal sort of way, but Regina was unaware of it, simply existing within the moment, conscious only of the things that changed in that moment. The brush of Henry's hand against her head leading into the slow stroke through her hair, and the brief instant when his touch was gone before it started again. The gentle flexing of his finger in her mouth, a press and release to the rhythm of her sucking, the rhythm of his stroking of her hair. Slowly, more of his finger slid past her lips and curled, brushing her tongue in a way that sent tingles down her spine.
But she didn't protest, couldn't even think to do so. She just accepted and enjoyed.
Then there was a discordant moment, a break in the rhythm. His hand left her hair and didn't return, then his body shifted beneath her. She let out a sound, a moan of discontent.
"Shh," Henry breathed, "it's okay." His words were soothing, but he didn't stop the jostling, and he shifted out from under her head entirely, replacing his leg with a pillow.
It wasn't the same. It wasn't the same and she didn't like it, and her brow furrowed.
Henry's finger in her mouth twisted as he moved, straightened so it was no longer curled against her tongue, and then the couch shifted again and her body rolled forward slightly, into where he'd sat on the edge. With his other hand, he slid his fingers into her hair at the top of her head, and his thumb stroked between her brows, soothing the bunched muscles, calming her disquiet,
"There," he whispered, and even with her eyes closed, she could feel him moving closer. His lips replaced his thumb, kissing away her frown. "Is this better?" he asked.
He nuzzled her face with his and she relaxed further, hummed again, and fell back into the rhythm of sucking on his finger. He began to whisper to her then, but the words failed to register through the haze, his voice wrapping around her. It was safe. She rubbed her tongue against his finger.
After she did, he pulled away again, and she might have thought she'd done something wrong, but his soft words never ceased, and this time she didn't protest when he shifted position, replacing his finger with the thumb of the opposite hand, his fingers splayed across her jaw.
Then he resumed petting her hair and nuzzling her face, whispering his soft words against her skin, kissing her closed eyes, her nose, her mouth next to his thumb. He didn't linger, yet. His kisses were gentle and fleeting, brushing over her cheekbone, her nose from bridge to tip. Back to her lips.
His tongue ghosted over her lip, wet the seam of her mouth where it closed around his thumb, and her lips relaxed, parting for him. His thumb slid out, replaced by his tongue, and she sucked on that, too.
His breath was hot against her cheek when he exhaled through his nose, and his words were silent, but his hands still touched her, brushing her face, her hair, moving down to caress her shoulders and arms.
When he pulled back, her mouth was left empty, her lips wet and parted, and a needy whimper escaped them.
"Do you want something to suck?" he asked, but the words muddled in her head. She tilted her chin, releasing another sound, then another, much more distressed, when he pulled away entirely. Both hands left her, and her body rolled back slightly when he stood, his weight no longer pulling her toward him.
"Shhhh," he soothed. "I'm right here, I'll be right back." He continued speaking, the words blending together into just the sound of his voice, and underneath that, a rough rasp of sound, followed by a rustle.
And then his hand was in her hair again, and he was at her lips, bigger than his thumb, harder than his tongue. And she opened her mouth for him, sucking at the salt taste.
"That's so good," he whispered, petting her hair, brushing his fingers across her cheek, her shoulder. She felt warmth blooming within her, starting in her chest and moving outward to flush her skin and draw her nipples into firm peaks, the only parts of her body with any tension in them.
His hand slid from her arm to her breast, and his touch against her nipple made her blow out a harsh breath through her nose. She wanted to arch into the touch, but her body was too heavy, too relaxed, to move. It didn't matter, as he seemed to know what she wanted and continued to touch her.
Slowly, her fingers moved, and magic is emotion, and purple bloomed around her. When it cleared, his fingers circled her bare nipple, and she sighed again, happily, and sucked a little harder, a little deeper when he gave her more.
The warmth expanded further, flowing downward, centering between her thighs into a tingling ache, hot and wet.
She couldn't tell him, didn't have the words, didn't have the ability to do anything but accept what he'd given her so far, but somehow he knew, because he was drawing away again, and this time she didn't complain. Good things happened after he pulled away.
But her mouth was empty again, and she didn't like that, so she sucked on her own lower lip as she waited, his voice soothing in her ear as he told her what he was going to do, words that her fuzzy mind couldn't quite grasp.
His hands returned to her, not to soothingly lull her into the relaxed, empty state she'd been enjoying, but to roll her onto her back, and the movement began to force her back to consciousness. Before she could fully return, before she could even get further than releasing her lip, wet and swollen from her sucking, Henry was stroking her again, her hair and face with one hand, her thigh with the other,
And she relaxed once more, waiting, floating, letting him shift her legs apart and settle between them, his body pressing full-length to hers, bringing back that feeling of safety as he pressed her into the couch.
His voice continued to whisper to her, his mouth brushing hers as he spoke, and she breathed in his words as his hand ran along her thigh from hip to knee. His other hand had left her when he settled his weight over her and didn't return, but that was okay, because she was in no danger of leaving the warm place her mind floated.
Even the ache between her thighs was assuaged by him, by the stretching slide of being filled, and she inhaled deeply as he groaned into her mouth.
And then the rhythm began again, slow and steady, like the way he'd stroked her hair and the way she'd sucked at him. Only this time, she felt the rhythm through her entire body, not limited to just one or two places where he touched her. This rhythm centered in her core and radiated through the rest of her, and slowly built as it continued.
And when it came to a crest, she was carried along with it, body shuddering and breath catching, Henry's groaning cry echoing through her mind, pulling her back to him.
It calmed, and when their breath was quiet again, she slowly blinked her eyes open for the first time since Henry had started stroking her hair. His words whispered against her bare shoulder turned from soothing sound into formed thoughts, processed by her awakening mind.
"That was so good, thank you so much, you're amazing..."
Regina's muscles were slow to respond, but she lifted her hand to the back of Henry's neck, flexing her fingers there as the world continued to form around her.
He was naked, the thought occurred to her, in the way things do when you know but you hadn't realized. She was naked, too, and a slight shift of her body reminded her, made her aware, that he was inside her, joined deeply together.
"We had sex," she whispered, the words not yet carrying the weight that she knew they should. Knew they would, once she was completely present in her body again.
"It was perfect," Henry replied, kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, lifted his head to kiss her lips.
She let him. How could she protest now? She'd already kissed him. She'd done much more than that with her mouth, and what point was there in denying him when he was still within her?
In fact, now that she thought about it (now that she could think), she realized that perhaps they'd been heading to this for a while, anyway. Perhaps every movie night gone too long, every hug held too tight, everything that she didn't mention to Emma or Snow because she was sure they would find it odd, perhaps it was all leading to this: the moment where they laid naked together, Henry softening within her as she idly played with the ends of his hair.
And perhaps she didn't have to protest or deny him. Perhaps they could just... be. Just enjoy this.
They would have to talk about it, to be sure. And she would have to tell him that she didn't really remember what had happened, because she wasn't truly conscious for it. But they didn't have to talk now, and she would much rather make new memories to replace the ones she didn't have.
So she leaned up and took his lips with hers, and clenched her muscles around him, smiling at the twitch of interest she received.
"Again?" Henry asked, a little breathless against her mouth.
Regina gave him a slow smirk and confirmed, "Again," before kissing him once more.