Author's Note: There are 1-2 short chapters to follow, but just a warning there will be a little angst. I have about half of the remaining story written, but I'd love feedback as I finish. Reviews are always appreciated!
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It's not like they had planned it. Not really. Emma buying flowers… that just happened.
She was walking by Game of Thorns and there was a bouquet in the window and she just couldn't resist. She'd never had someone to give flowers to before; well she picked a wildflower for Neal once, and he smiled and tied it to the mirror of the Bug and promptly forgot about it, but this was different. She wanted… god, she wanted so many things with Regina. She wanted to take care of her and make her smile and help her feel loved. And flowers, well, they were never exactly part of the game plan but she figured they couldn't hurt ya know?
Emma guessed Regina liked roses, but somehow that felt wrong for them—right for Regina maybe, but not right for who they were together. Instead she picked out every flower one by one; there was a lily and what she thought was a daffodil, and one rose of the deepest red she could find, but she couldn't have told you the names of the others even for a bear claw. She picked them for their colours; six shades of red, 3 purple, 2 blue, and one firey orange. She knew the mix was odd, the orange clashing with the purple and blue, and yet the colours just felt like them—in the way they clashed and blended and never quite mixed but somehow seemed to work. (Or maybe her taste really was as bad as Regina liked to tease.)
The flowers hadn't been a plan, and Emma hadn't known Regina was making a nice dinner. It had surprised them both when Henry called to say he was spending the night with Ava and Nicholas. There was no arranging, no careful set up to get the mansion to themselves for an evening.
But once Henry was gone for the night, and once Regina's eyes had lit up at Emma's awkward bouquet of flowers and she'd placed a soft lingering kiss to pale lips, once the wine was poured and Emma noticed the faint flush of Regina's golden skin when she complimented the exquisite meal, they both knew what was coming. It had been two weeks since their first passionate kiss and in the days that had followed they couldn't get enough of each other, soft hands exploring and tongues stroking, but never venturing below the waist. They both knew this night would be different, that clothes would fall away as easily as the last gaps between them.
Dinner was a quiet affair, words fading as stares lengthened. They pretended through the salad and the fish that it was a perfectly normal meal, but all pretense was lost when Regina took her first scoop of applesauce and for the first time in her life Emma Swan wished she were a spoon. Regina had barely finished her second bite when suddenly Emma's lips were upon hers with a thrilling ferocity. The utensil clattered to the floor as her hands pulled the blonde tightly against her, her mouth now occupied with something far more pleasant.
No words were needed as they stumbled to the stairs, bumping against walls and tables in their blind need to stay fused together until finally Emma's back collided with the banister with enough force to push the air from her lungs, and then suddenly she was laughing, and then Regina was laughing, and somehow they couldn't stop. Even as their chests continued to heave Emma's arms circled Regina's waist and brought the brunette back against her. Regina leaned her forehead against Emma's, causing her gaze to drift down to where her breasts now pressed against Emma's with each burst of laughter. The sight was intoxicating, and whatever had been so damn funny a moment before fled her mind in an instant; she wanted her breasts against Emma's, her everything against Emma's everything.
When Regina's gaze lifted and met hers, the open need swirling in her near-black eyes took Emma's breath away. Her hand reached up and tangled in dark locks as she pulled her almost-lover's mouth to hers. The word struck her—lover—and her whole body ached. She was going to touch and taste every inch of this magnificent woman; she was going to know every freckle that dappled her golden skin, every line that creased her perfect face, the rise and fall of her breasts, the way she looked when she came… She already knew Regina better than she'd known anyone, and soon—so soon she could taste it as surely as she could taste the wine on Regina's tongue—she would know all of her.