Evil Charming Week - Day Three: Dreams

It was something that happened every time he slept. Something he felt deeply ashamed of, but would never truly complain about. And it was something he would never tell a living soul. Ever since Emma and Mary Margaret had fallen through that portal to their world, David had been having dreams of dark hair, pink lips, and wondrous curves. Though they did not belong to his wife. No. They belonged to the woman he'd spent years before the curse trying to kill.

Regina.

Since the moment the curse had broken, he felt guilty that he had slept with Regina that one night she'd made dinner for him. The thought lingered in his mind when he'd kissed his wife in realization of who she was. But he hadn't told her of that night, hadn't thought it necessary to cause her pain. And more anger.

But now… now Regina was trying to change, and she was doing her best for Henry. From the moment she'd sent him back home to stay with David, he couldn't get his mind off of her, awake or asleep. And his dreams insisted on reminding him of how her tiny body had felt beneath his, her breasts pressed to his chest, and her tongue gliding hungrily against his.

It was torture. Every time he had to see her, David's thoughts drifted to his dreams. His mind would run over every scenario his nighttime visions had created as his eyes accidentally wandered over her body while she spoke to him, asking how Henry was. And it was always his grandson's name that snapped him out of it.

If she noticed how his gaze drifted, she never said a thing. But he couldn't handle how closely she stood to him when they were watching Henry as he dreamed, or how her chair managed to be practically on top of his as they waited for the boy to wake up. It was too much, and her scent followed him when he went under the sleeping curse.

It wasn't faint. It was strong, as though he'd slept beside her an entire night and hadn't had time to shower. He wondered if she was watching him under the curse, if maybe that was why it was there, hovering on his skin and his clothes.

But when he saw Snow, nothing seemed off to her, so he knew it must've just been his body dreaming while his mind worked out a way to wake up. And his wife's kiss hadn't worked in this dreamland. So he was stuck to deal with the scent of the mayor, and the unerring visions of her body beneath his.

He could almost feel her. And he knew he was supposed to be reliving everything he regretted, but the longer he was under, the more he started to believe he didn't regret it. His night with Regina. No. No, he far from regretted it. With every too real dream of her skin against his and her hips rolling beneath him, David realized he wanted more. More of her, more of those dark tresses covering her pillow in a halo around her head.

And when his wife kissed him awake, and his fingers weaved into dark hair, it was too short. Too coarse. The lips that had brought him back from the world of his dreams were the wrong lips. They weren't full enough, they weren't hungry and eager with the revenge he knew the right pair had been.

No. He wanted the wrong brunette.