The things I do for the group chat. Hunting Queen in Storybrooke. Technically Graham consents to everything, but obviously that consent is dubious because he's cursed, Regina is not, she has his heart, etc.

A Ticket to Ride

Not even a decade into the curse, into the constant monotony and tedium of reliving a single day over and over again, and Regina thought she knew what madness felt like. Thought that she had plunged into the depths of insanity back in the Enchanted Forest, razing villages and doing whatever she could to hurt her stepdaughter, to try and find her so she could achieve her vengeance. Turns out that was only scratching the surface, that she had not yet reached the true capacity until she made it to this town. Nothing compared to the sheer boredom that Storybrooke inflicted upon her, on how living the same day over and over again while everyone else was unaware clawed at whatever remained of her mind.

Desperate to stave off the creep of ennui, Regina explored everything she could about this new realm. Learned how to cook, read the literature of the land, took up all sorts of hobbies until she had mastered them to her satisfaction and moved onto the next. It helped combat her listlessness, but sometimes she needed more. Needed connection.

Her relationship with Graham could hardly be called that. Hard to forge a real connection with someone when time keeps resetting itself. But she soldiered on with it, because he satisfied a need, scratched an itch (and he did it so well). Either because she had his heart locked away in her vault or because the curse made it so, he was also rather… pliant. Willing to take her suggestions.

All kinds of suggestions.

Such as the one night she greeted him at her bedroom door, having told him to let himself into her home and come find her. She wore a black, sheer teddy with the highest pair of stilettos she owned, completing the look with black stockings and a garter belt. She had smirked at the way his jaw dropped, holding back a chuckle when she drew his attention to the pair of soft leather cuffs that dangled from her index finger.

"What do you say, Sheriff?" she had murmured, knowing he would deny her nothing.

Not even when she stripped him, leaving him in just his boxers, and pushed him to the top of her bed. "Hands over your head," she had ordered, even as she straddled him, even as he groaned as her crotch brushed over where he was already half-hard for her. She cuffed him, making sure he was comfortable and they weren't too tight before she reached for the hidden straps beneath her bed, connecting them to the cuffs and leaving him to her mercy.

And oh, was she merciless that night. Teased him with the roll of her hips and her hands over his boxers, not even taking them off until he was begging for more. Begging for her to take off her clothes, too, and take him inside of her.

She didn't, not right away, made him suck her nipples through the negligee, and eat her out through the sodden silk of her panties until she couldn't stand it anymore, until she simply had to rip them off and force his mouth against her bare cunt, until she came crying out his name and shaking apart above him.

The night hadn't ended there, had really only just begun, and by the end of it, he was sobbing, aching for her, and she had felt… alive.

Connected.

Increasingly kinky and experimental sex slowly became Regina's favorite way of spicing up her day. Adding toys, trying out new positions, calling him to her office during lunch, even going to the sheriff station after hours to fuck him in the cells. Over time, she got more and more elaborate, more and more daring. Fucking him in a bathroom at Granny's, in her car parked at the town's makeout spot, in an alleyway after dark, even encouraging him to stick a hand beneath her skirt as he pressed her against the tree outside Town Hall at three in the morning.

Why not, since everyone else would just forget it if they got caught?

But it's why she's driving in her car right now, driving down a thankfully deserted road in the town, one almost no one uses because it's in desperate need of repaving. (She should probably look into that, being mayor and all, but nothing changes in the damn town anyway, and right now she's using it to her advantage.) Her pulse is thudding in her ears, it's the middle of the day, and this is risky, even for her.

Nonetheless, she doesn't turn around. She keeps going, keeps her eyes trained on the road as she drives down, and she misses the sheriff's car parked on the side. Doesn't even notice it until it pulls behind her, blue lights flashing, and her heart double knocks in her chest with anticipation.

Regina searches for a spot to pull over, finding one in short order on the side of the road. There's nothing along this patch of road for miles, it's heading out of town toward the west, and though it's out in the open, it's almost secluded in its abandoned little way.

Graham pulls behind her, gets out. "Hello, Madam Mayor," he says amicably when he reaches her door.

"Is there a problem, Sheriff?" she replies, looking at him with an arched eyebrow. He's wearing his uniform, of course, and she can't resist letting her eyes linger over it. He looks damn good in the uniform.

"You were going a little fast back there," he says, looking back in the direction they came from, as if he could still see the ghost of her car "speeding" down the road. "About ten miles over the limit, actually."

Regina schools her face into an expression of what she hopes is surprised disbelief. "Are you sure about that, Sheriff? I don't think I was going that fast…"

He bites his bottom lip a moment as he regards her, his eyes lingering over her features. "Unfortunately so, Madam Mayor," he murmurs, his accent thickening as his voice lowers. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you a ticket."

"Now, now, that sounds a little… hasty. This is all just a misunderstanding," she says, frowning up at him. She purses her lips into a sexy little pout. "I'm sure if we talked this over, we could come to a satisfying resolution for the both of us?" If the pout and lowered lashes didn't give away her meaning, then her suggestive tone certainly did.

It backfires though, as Graham bristles, taking a step back and raising a disapproving eyebrow at her. "Are you soliciting an officer, Ms. Mills?" he asks, deadly serious, and Regina can't even stumble out a denial before he's interrupting, "I'm going to need you to step out of the car, Madam Mayor."

"Sheriff, let's talk this out," she tries again, but he cuts her off once more with a curt Now, please. That has her scowling even as she complies, unclipping her seatbelt and throwing open her car door once she's cut the engine. She has a number of cutting remarks on the tip of her tongue, but she bites them down, not wanting to get into even more trouble if this is the mood he's in.

Graham studies her a moment, and she doesn't miss the way his eyes rove over her body. She's wearing a wine-colored blouse, unbuttoned enough that her lacy black camisole peeks out, and a tight black skirt. "Place your hands on the hood, please," he orders gruffly, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop a smirk from forming.

"Really, Sheriff, I think we could come to some sort of arrangement," she tries, even as she walks around to the front of her car. He advises her to spread her legs a bit, and she closes her eyes against the shiver that runs through her.

He's behind her then, his hands falling to her hips, fingers gripping there. "Now, Madam Mayor, were you really going to try and solicit your way out of a speeding ticket?" he murmurs, lips at her ear, and she swallows, focuses her eyes on the hood of her car beneath her.

"No, that wasn't my intention at all, Sheriff, really," she says breathily, his proximity and what they're about to do already affecting her. His hands are pulling at her blouse now, tugging it from the waistband of her skirt.

Once it's free, he runs his hands up her torso, lazily cupping her breasts through the material. He doesn't do much, just barely kneads them, thumbs circling her nipples over her camisole and blouse. "Are you sure?" he asks, and Regina Mm-hmms in response, a little too distracted for speech.

"It's not a good idea to lie to an officer, you know," he continues conversationally, and his hands are moving again, shifting away from her breasts to the buttons of her blouse. He pulls at them lazily, slowly, and it makes her breath catch. "Would you like to try one more time, Madam Mayor?"

He knows what it does to her when he calls her that. Madam Mayor. Especially when they're like this, doing naughty things in places they shouldn't. She's already slickening between her legs and he's barely touched her.

"I wasn't trying to solicit you, Sheriff," she repeats, trying to be firm, but it's hard to keep her voice level when his fingers are ghosting along her sides now, slipping down until they can take a hold of her skirt. He begins slowly tugging it up her thighs, and Regina inhales sharply as her ass is bared to his gaze. He groans, mutters her name in a rough voice that goes straight to her core.

She's not wearing any underwear, nothing at all covering her now that he's got her skirt pulled up to her hips, and she can't help but smirk as one of his hands gropes at her rear.

"I don't believe you, Ms. Mills," he says, and then he's slipping that hand from her rear to between her legs, where she's already wet for him. For a moment, he simply teases her, fingers sliding through her folds, gathering the slickness there and bringing it to her clit.

Regina's eyes flutter shut, her head hanging forward as he strokes her, and she almost forgets where they are. Almost, but not quite, because the hood of her Mercedes is hot beneath her palms, and the sun is bright even behind her closed eyelids. They're outside, and she's about to let him fuck her here. Against her car, on the side of the road.

"Graham," she murmurs, her hips pressing back toward him as one finger circles her entrance. It has the opposite effect, his hand withdrawing, and she bites her lip to keep in her protesting moan.

"I'm going to have to arrest you."

Fuck. She knew it was coming, of course, isn't surprised at all when his hands reach around and grasp her wrists, even as she shivers in desire. She can feel her wetness still on the fingers of one hand, and it sends another punch of arousal straight through her belly.

He brings them behind her back, urging her to lay down against the hood, and it's not until she feels cold metal around her wrists that she starts to struggle.

"Graham?" Her tone is less aroused now, more confused, because this was not part of the plan. She tries to look over her shoulder at him, craning her neck. "What are you doing?"

"Shh," he murmurs, a soothing hand pressed against her shoulder blades. Not holding her down, but resting there in what she supposes is a comforting manner. He leans closer so they can make eye contact, his brown eyes curious. "Don't you trust me?"

Does she?

He can't hurt her, she's almost certain. A remnant of her hold over his heart.

And she had agreed, even suggested he hold her wrists behind her like this. She shouldn't be surprised he took the logical leap and added handcuffs, especially after all the times she's used them on him.

Nonetheless, she's still frowning, still tense, as she says pointedly, "Handcuffs weren't a part of the plan."

He kisses her cheek, then her jaw, trailing languid affection back toward her ear. "I improvised," he admits, as if she didn't know, and she huffs in exasperation. "Can we leave them on for a little while? Just to see if you like it?"

She's not going to, she wants to insist, but she's done this to him enough. Restrained him, cuffed him to the straps set up beneath her bed and to her desk chair and to the bars of a cell, and he's never once complained. Never once said anything except to beg her for more.

So she swallows, and forces her muscles to relax, trying to remember how good everything felt before the handcuffs threw her out of the moment. Her hands were going to be trapped behind her anyway, it doesn't make a difference if there are cuffs.

"There's a good girl," he murmurs, nipping at her earlobe, and well, that has her running a bit hotter than she expected. "Now where were we, Madam Mayor?"

"You were arresting me," she replies, and he hums in her ear in affirmation, that hand slipping from her back, down, down, until it's between her thighs again. He touches lightly, has her squirming against him a bit at the ticklish sensation of fingertips brushing sensitive skin. She's not quite as wet, the handcuffs knocking down her arousal a bit.

"Before I take you into the station, I'm going to have to make sure you're not hiding any weapons," he says, breath ghosting along the sensitive skin of her neck as he plants warm, wet kisses there. He's still got one hand between her legs, his fingers teasing her folds, circling her clit as he dots kisses to her shoulders through the material of her blouse. His free hand slides around her, cups a breast until he can pinch her nipple lightly through her camisole.

She bites her lip, little frissons of pleasure bolting through her, working out that tension she's held since the cuffs. She can almost forget about them, until Graham's hand lifts her breasts out of the camisole, and she has the sudden realization that she's bare-assed and out of her top, her hands cuffed behind her, and anyone could drive by.

"Graham," she says, because maybe this wasn't a good idea, no matter how hot it seemed last night when she told him about it. Her hands shift restlessly behind her, the cuffs lightly biting into the skin of her wrists as she fidgets.

But he's still kissing down her back, kneeling behind her, his hands at her hips now. When he kisses the curve of her ass, she can't help but chuckle, and then she's moaning at the sharp nip he gives her. "I thought you'd like that," he mutters, tacking on, "Me kissing your ass."

The rebuke on the tip of her tongue dies there when he leans forward, dragging his tongue over her in a firm motion. Her muscles tense for a different reason, her body steeling itself as he licks at her. She can't see him like this, bent over with her front pressed to the hood of the car, unable to leverage herself with her arms behind her. That makes it hotter, has her passion flaring more acutely in her belly, bubbling inside of her with every pass of his tongue over her clit.

She scrunches her eyes shut, a moan spilling from her lips as he pleasures her. He's good with his mouth, good at this, and it's enough to make her forget the handcuffs keeping her hands locked behind her. Enough to forget the spike of anxiety about doing this on the side of the road, about her skirt pulled to her waist and her blouse undone, when his thumbs are spreading her folds, his tongue pressing into her.

For several moments, he pleasures her just like that, using his mouth to drive her higher and higher. It has her gasping, has her hands twisting behind her, trying uselessly to pull them apart so she can find something to hold onto as her knees tremble. "Grahamm," she moans, jaw falling slack, foot stopping in the dirt as a particularly hard suck has sparks shooting through her. He hums against her sex in response, the vibrations nearly short-circuiting her brain. She just barely manages to finish what she was trying to say, gasping out, "We don't have — oh fuck — have much time."

He hums again, but doesn't let up, just sucks at her again, hard enough and long enough to make her whine. When he releases her, he slides his fingers through her wetness, slips one inside her just to tease. "Seems like you're all clean, Madam Mayor," he murmurs, fucking her with that finger, slowly, steadily until he works in a second.

She should be hurrying him along. Not just because of the pleasure churning inside her, spreading throughout her body and making her nerves tingle, but because they don't have the time for slow and steady. She needs him to fuck her, now, she wants to come and she'd like to do it before some townsperson finds her bent over the hood of her car like a whore.

Just the thought has her moaning, a bolt of forbidden arousal lancing through her at the thought of being caught like this. Bent over, shirt undone, ass exposed with her hands cuffed behind her and two of Graham's fingers pressing inside of her, fucking her at a deliciously languid pace.

Regina's not sure of when she lost control of this encounter, but she kind of likes it. Kind of likes not knowing whether he's going to make her come just like this, with the push of his fingers, and oh yes, he's searching now, curling until he finds that spot inside of her. She lets him know when he finds it, can't contain the loud groan that escapes her when he thumps right against it.

"Mmm, fuck, Graham!" she gasps, trying to work her hips back into his hand despite her current position making it difficult to find the leverage.

And then he's gone, pulling his fingers free, leaving her clenching around nothing.

She'd be embarrassed by the frustrated cry that she makes, except she's too angry, too close to the brink and he just leaves her, empty and aching and desperate to come.

"Graham, what the f—ah!"

He's behind her, pressed against her, and she has no idea how he moved so fast but his pants are down around his ankles, his cock lined up and sinking into her with a steady thrust of his hips.

Fuck, that's more like it, she can forgive him for stopping if it's to do this instead. To fuck her properly. To take hold of her hips and pound into her, slowly at first but gaining speed with every push, and God it's good, has her biting down hard on her bottom lip to hold back her sound of pleasure.

It's not going to take long for her, not with the way he riled her up with his mouth and fingers, and he knows that. She knows he does, from the way he keeps his hands firmly on her hips, holding her in place as he ruts into her, his mouth nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck, his beard scratching her lightly. He's circling his hips a bit, swirling them until he hits just right, and she can't keep in her blissful cry when he presses right against the spot inside of her.

"Like that, Regina?" he murmurs smugly, and fuck, she'd make him pay for that if she could, if she wasn't trapped between him and the hood of her car, her hands tugging uselessly against the handcuffs. He slows down, the opposite of what she wants, God damn him, going slow but pressing deep, each leisurely drag of his cock inside her causing her eyelids to flutter, her eyes rolling at the pleasure sparking through her body.

"Faster, Graham," she tries to order, a bit breathlessly, her hips trying to roll back into him.

But he just grips her more firmly, adjusting her so that he can press deeper inside of her, and fuck, she balls her hands into fists, wishing she could hold onto something, wishing she could reach back and try to encourage him to take her faster. Instead, he keeps this slow and steady pace, thumping into that spot, stars bursting behind her tightly closed eyes with every push.

"God, right there," she gasps, head hanging as she focuses on the knot tightening in her lower belly, winding with every thrust of his cock. "Graham, faster, I need—" She's so close, but not yet, she needs more, needs a quicker rhythm, needs something on her clit, and if her hands were undone she'd do it herself, press her fingers between her legs and rub until she came. But she can't, can't get herself off, it's entirely up to him, and there's something so God damn alluring about that.

She almost wants to beg, but she's the Mayor, the Queen, she doesn't beg — especially not with him.

Fuck, she needs to come.

"Graham!" she whines, the closest she'll get to pleading for it. "Graham, go faster, God damn it!"

He chuckles, and she could scream in frustration, could wring his neck if only she could get her damn hands free. But he takes pity on her, muttering an almost dutiful Yes, Madam Mayor as a hand sneaks around her belly and slides down to her clit, and God yes, fucking finally. His speed increases, too, hips moving faster against her as his fingers press to her clit, rubbing in delightfully quick circles.

Pleasure radiates throughout her body, pulsing from her core, and she loses herself in the sound of skin meeting skin over and over, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She thinks she cries out, hopes she does not actually scream, but she doesn't really care because all that matters is the orgasm washing over her.

She comes back to herself, panting, her limbs still tingling, Graham's weight at her back. "God," she gasps, slowly becoming aware of the ache in her arms, and the sweat growing tacky on her skin. "Graham, we have to... " Talking is difficult still, her mouth a little dry, breath still trying to get back to normal as her heart thuds in her chest. "We have to move."

"Yeah," he concurs, but doesn't move, hasn't even slipped out of her yet. He's dotting surprisingly tender kisses to her shoulder blade where he's pressed against her.

Regina rattles her arms, trying to shake the strain out, and that mobilizes Graham, seems to bring him back to their situation enough to spur him into movement. He says a quick Shit, I'm sorry, and she hears the jingling of keys as he fumbles at her wrists. The moment the cuffs are released, she stretches out her arms, then uses them to push away from the car.

Her knees are shaky, so she shoves her skirt down around her thighs and turns around, practically collapsing back against the hood. She looks down at herself, and fuck, she looks completely debauched with her skirt wrinkled around her thighs, her breasts out of her shirt and camisole. She flicks her eyes to Graham, and he's already putting himself together, fastening his pants and tucking in his shirt. Aside from his sweat-sheened, reddened face, one wouldn't suspect he'd done anything like fucking the Mayor on her car.

Regina's not sure what it says about her when arousal stirs at the thought.

"You need some help there, Madam Mayor?" he teases, and she glares at him with as much force as she can muster post-coitally.

"You've been help enough, Sheriff," she bites back, finding the energy to pull her camisole back into place, fixing her breasts into the garment before working on buttoning up her blouse.

"Fuck, Regina, did I hurt you?" Graham asks suddenly, and when she looks up at him, confused, he's staring at her chest.

No, wait, he's staring at her hands as she works a button into its hole, and she glances down then to see what's gotten his attention.

Oh. Well then.

Her wrists are red from the cuffs, a little bruised in places from where she pulled against them. Hardly a big deal, but perhaps surprising. She didn't even feel it, and so when she looks back up at Graham, she assures him, "I'm fine. Didn't notice. But perhaps next time you'll listen when I say no handcuffs?"

She means it to be teasing, pitches her voice and arches an eyebrow at him, a tiny smirk on her lips. Graham doesn't take it as such, if his wide eyes are any indication. "Do you need to go get checked out?" he says, and well, that's definitely a no.

"Oh, yes, let me just go tell Dr. Whale how I got these marks on my wrists because my secret lover the sheriff got a little kinky with his cuffs," she scoffs, shaking her head. "Thank you, but no, I'd rather save myself from that embarrassing conversation if it's all the same to you."

He reaches for her then, lightly gripping her forearms and examining her bruised wrists. It shocks her, how gently he handles her (certainly a contrast to the way he fucked her not ten minutes ago), because this isn't what they do. They're not tender, at least not with each other — in fact, she often forgets it was her Huntsman's soft heart that got him into this position. But he seems legitimately concerned over the damage to her skin, his brow furrowed and mouth tipped down into a frown.

Not at all the look he should wear considering the spectacular sex they just had.

"They don't even hurt," she says, and it's not really a lie, because she barely notices it. A twinge when her skin pulls as her wrist twists, but hardly worth a fuss. She's endured worse. "But you know, if you feel really bad about it, I could probably come up with something to punish you." She smirks at him, her voice dropping into that flirtatious tone that always has him swallowing hard.

It works this time, too; he looks up at her with darkened eyes, lingering on her mouth. Then he raises his gaze to hers, his lips quirking up in interest. "Oh, could you?" he murmurs, his thumb drawing lightly along the skin of her wrist, careful to not press too hard against the bruise.

"Perhaps you should stop by the house later tonight and see what I can plan for you," Regina flirts, reclining back against the hood of the car seductively.

"I work the night shift tonight," Graham reminds her, and she chuckles.

"Well then," she murmurs, raising an eyebrow, "I suppose I'll have to come by the station instead."

She likes the way she can see the shiver of desire run over him, something she can so easily spot now because of how long they've been together.

"Isn't that a little… risky, Madam Mayor?" he teases, but he's stepped closer to her again, almost pressed against her where she's pressed against the car.

"Mmm," she hums, and loops her arms around his neck, urging him down into a kiss. She brushes her lips against his, light and barely there, her tongue flicking at his bottom lip. "What's a little reward without risk?"

He laughs, and kisses her fully, one hand cupping the back of her head as he slides his tongue against hers. "I'll see you tonight, then," he says once he's drawn back, smirking at her.

"Count on it," she says, lightly pushing him away. She's got to get back to the office, and, as she tells him, he needs to rest up for tonight. Already her mind is racing with the possibilities, what she can do to him, what she can wear.

She shows up late in the night, wearing a dark purple lace teddy, sheer and sexy, with a black trench coat her only other article of clothing. She discards that the moment she has his attention, of course, lets it puddle at her feet as she strides over to his desk, her hips swinging sinfully.

"Hello, Sheriff," she purrs once she's crossed around the desk. "Your handcuffs, please."

He dutifully hands them over, his eyes wide, roaming her body without shame, lust burning in his eyes.

Regina smirks at him, plays with the cuffs a moment as she considers. She knows what she's going to do to him, but she likes to build the tension, the anticipation for him. "Hands behind the chair, Sheriff," she orders, moving around him so she can encircle his wrists with the cuffs.

Bringing her mouth to his ear, she whispers, "You're under arrest."