The fic is dedicated to kyravalon because even if she is going to deny it time and time again this is here because she was the one who put the scene in my head. A beautful image I know I didn't do any justice but I still wanted to write. The scene is based in Beyonce's Halo song so... I hope you like it! And comments are, as always, very much appreciated! ^^
-Halo-
The buzzing of the Rabbit's Hole dying lights swallowed up the murmurs of the small groups of people that circled the tables that hadn't either been cleaned up already or emptied. The shadows, large and seeming to grow from behind ever chair and corner of the barely illuminated place, seemed to tremble as, second by second, the pub came closer to its inevitable closure. The nightly wind sneaked below the nicked door and every few minutes some drunken dwarf rose his turbid gaze from his even muddier drink while asking for the door to be closed every time the wind made it rattle.
In the middle of all of that, leaning on the worn out wood counter and with her green eyes lost in the smoke of cigarettes lighted up secretly and extinguished even more quicker in dirty glasses of wine, none other but Emma Swan hold a beer bottle between her hands. Her face was bathed in enough darkness that the curve of a faded smile, almost invisible, seemed to disappear in the shadows her own hair displayed around her neck and cheeks.
Dressed with her usual tank top and her even more worn out jeans the almost orange light of the place seemed to made her hair glint at the same time the old radio of the bar, probably magically fixed more than once, let the next son being heard in bar. A song that almost no one seemed to pay any mind than a few couple of seconds of recognition. Almost no one but Emma, who, inexplicably, listened to the song, a song almost unrecognizable from the corner Regina had been seated at the entire night and that seemed to dribble on the walls of the bar, leaving behind a slightest more open smile on the sleepy face of the blonde. Face that Regina had been completely unable to stop looking at.
The brunette was vaguely aware that the glass of her own drink was empty, that her hands, warm pressed against her thigs, felt uncomfortable on top of the wrinkles of her clothes, that her lips were parted as her eyes followed the movements of Emma once the blonde started to dance, moving with a music that seemed to come back now from those very same walls, an echo even more inaudible than before.
But she didn't care.
Her chest hurt, she realized with a vague feeling of surprise at the same time the long fingers of the blonde, circling the bottle, rose the glass, pulling with it enough of a shine green enough to not be in any way jealous of the hue of those half-closed eyes that seemed to not look at anything in particular in that moment, that seemed to not be asking for anyone even though Regina felt completely unable to move her own pupils away from Emma's figure, to look at any other place of this bar full of fog and whispers.
Unable to stop looking, to stop gazing as Emma moved her body, her shadow writhing in front of Regina's eyes, the liquid inside the bottle sloshing, slowly, perhaps even too slow, as the hand of the clock kept moving, ticking by.
Maybe, Regina said to herself as she stood from the little place she had fought for all night against teens way too young to drink and faces recognizable enough to transform them into strangers. Maybe if she kept looking for a second more, for an instant longer, for a mere moment, nothing would disappear.
Or maybe her knees trembled but kept moving, steady, steadier than what she would have pegged herself for.
Emma's hands were amazingly soft; warm near the wrist and ice-cold at the fingertips due to the drink Regina grabbed without a trace of the doubt that seemed to have been left in that dark corner from where nothing else but the empty glass of wine looked at them anymore. Regina didn't let herself smile, she didn't want to, but when Emma turned towards her, her body undulating to the sound of a song that, suddenly, seemed to make sense Regina slipped her hands into the now empty ones of the blonde. Her fingers coiled around the warmth that seemed to be growing below Emma's skin with every second it passed, with every movement of her legs. Legs that Regina found herself following soon enough, her own shadow seeming to laugh from the reflection of the half-full bottles that flanked the counter, from where the fog seemed to have grown; just around them.
Outside the wind whispered angrily and the hand of the clock glowed as it moved; a nervous eye that kept staring at the couple as Regina, unable to speak, limited herself to look at the blonde's eyes. In that bluish green that sometimes transformed into something way too dark to be considered blue and some other times was way to pale to be anything but the same sea Regina felt now inside her mind, dancing, swaying them both in every turn, soft, slow, that Emma wrote in Regina's palms with her fingers, the touch leaving a trail behind of letters Regina wasn't sure she would ever be able to repeat.
But her name, she said to herself as she released one of her hand from those caresses, as her fingers caressed one single lock of rebel hair that, sticky with sweat and that same smell of grey tobacco and unrecognizable alcohol that floated behind, seemed to glide between her fingers as she exposed that neck, the exact point in where the muscles tensed, in where they seemed to tremble, her name was something she could say.
"Emma." She murmured as she closed her eyes, her hand falling once again into the blonde's, one lonely and final caress answering her call, answering her voice as they, wrapped in shadows and far too old lights, kept dancing by.