Just a little piece designed to keep me out of trouble whilst I recover from a chest infection.
Please don't take it too seriously. I've had a clean-up off my account and decided to post this before it became lost forever...
It's going to consist of three chapters and the rating will change to M for future chapters. Sorry for any mistakes in advance as this hasn't yet been proof-read - sorry!
Reviews are always wonderful to get! Let me know if you think I should continue. Thanks!
~{*}~
FLASHBACK:
Emma would have been hard-pressed to find another student who didn't feel the same way, but her stubbornly blinding sense of pride prevented her from admitting that she often felt way out of her depth treading through the halls of TEP at the tender age of eighteen. With a tricky schedule of daily ridicule and over-inflated egos to contend with as well as a giant, great, big target sign taped to her back, the cracks in her carefully sculpted ego were finally beginning to show. It had been easy for her to feel special in high school, surrounded by the likes of Ruby and Belle. They messed around, kept her on her toes and challenged her with a friendly side note. They were brilliant, but she'd strived to be better, learning the hard way that success didn't always follow suit. Arriving in New York City riding upon the coat-tails of a small town success only set her up to fail. At TEP, it was going to take much, much more than an emotive solo and a good pair of stilettos to make her stand out from the crowd. Emma Swan knew she should have been loving every second of her new life in New York - surrounded by performers who shared her passion for the spotlight and eating cold pizza at 3am in the morning - but as she watched her classmates excel in ways she could not, it dawned her that perhaps her talent was not one-of-a-kind after all.
It didn't help that her teacher, Ms Mills, seemed determined to crush her self-belief beneath the curve of her four-foot cane with deafening precision. Every morning, the formidable stature strutted across the room as if she were a skyscraper and her newest student were a mere crack in the wall, regarding her with a look that balanced precariously between amusement and disdain. Ruby, who was only faring slightly better against the wrath of Ms Mills herself, tried her best to assure Emma that Ms Mills was only trying to hinder her progress because she was jealous of her potential; that her antipathy didn't stem from Emma's inadequacies, but her own. And, they wholeheartedly agreed that whilst all Ms Mills had ever had to cling to was a fleeting moment of notoriety, each girl had the ability to achieve all that their teacher never could. Pitying Regina Mills made withstanding her scrutiny a little easier; however, Emma still had to pirouette her way through a constant barrage of insults each morning whether she liked it or not. She vowed to continue pirouetting with a shit-eating smile, safe in the precious knowledge that her teacher couldn't make it through the day without drowning her sorrows in a bubbling vat of alcohol.
By the time the month of November rolled around, bringing all of its musical festivities along for the ride, the teacher's fiery brown eyes honed in on Emma like a heat-seeking missile hell-bent on delivering a deathly blow. With her gym bag hastily dumped in the corner of the room, Emma slipped into rehearsals with her head bowed, content with intention of slipping right under Ms Mill's scathing radar. She begins her stretches with Ruby chattering away excitedly, seemingly thrilled at the prospect of celebrating Bonfire Night in Central Park with some of Ms Mills' more senior students in tow. Emma's hushed tone attracts no more attention than usual as she sinks downwards, feeling the familiar groan of aching muscles pulling at her groin. Warming her tense muscles under the watchful gaze of Ms Mills is painful enough, but when she closes the distance between them, Emma's stomach begins somersaulting in ways her body would never be physically capable off.
"Miss Swan, it's hardly a split when there's a gigantic, god-damn gap between your pelvis and the floor." Ms Mills barks, illustrating her point perfectly well with a polished shoe wedged in-between Emma's crutch and the floor. "You need to loosen up a little, otherwise you know where the door is."
Emma presses her hips down painfully, feeling the unnecessary burn tingle it's way upwards, towards her spine. Then, with a huff, she wretches herself off the floor and reaches for the barre, standing shoulder to shoulder with a smirking Ruby. "Shut up." she mumbles under her breath, pushing Ruby further along the barre. With a face like thunder, Emma slides into the third position, tensing with Ms Mills reaches for her hips, tugging her into the correct position with careful force.
"Class has barely started and you seem awfully...hot and bothered, Miss Swan. Is there a problem?"
With her back to her teacher, Emma blows the hair from her eyes and tries to think of an equally biting response. Instead, she settles for a quick "I'm fine," through gritted teeth. She eases her leg down from the barre, which is set just above waist level, and then makes a deliberate show of wrapping her hand around her calf and extending her leg until her toes are almost touching her forehead.
"Better." Ms Mills concedes, although she appears to find the grimace on Emma's face more than just a little satisfying. "But perhaps you should consider investing in some cod-liver oil for those decrepit joints of yours. It's like WD-40 for the more flexibly-challenged."
Emma denies the pull in her stomach which tells her to twirl around and square up to the bitchy brunette, settling with balling her hands into tight, shaking fists instead. Ms Mills is standing so close, she can feel the warmth of her teacher's breath swirl against the back of her neck, and even the faint lace of rum cursing through her veins can't quite eclipse the scent of her heavy perfume. Regina Mills, just as insatiable in the classroom as she was in life, radiates sensuality with infuriating ease; from the way she saunters across the room wielding her cane like a whip, to her choice of risqué leotards, or the way she compels the rooms attention with a bored flick of her wrist. She had the upper hand and Emma knew it.
That's why, when she begins circling Emma with the feral grace of a cougar toying with it's prey, Emma finds it impossible to concentrate in class. It's why she forgets the steps to routines she knows inside out, and why her legs tremble with the weight of her trepidation before she launches into the next movement. Ms Mills' proximity is unnerving, and exhilarating, and Emma doesn't know if she's terrified or turned on.
The lesson drags over, falling into lunch period, and whilst most of Ms Mills' student's are happy to finally be released, Emma takes her time collecting her belongings together. Ruby, covered in a slick layer of sweat, promises to wait outside with a roll of her eyes, wincing at the ache already working it's way back into her joints. Ms Mills worked them hard, harder than she had in weeks, only relenting in her quest to break Emma down when the blonde did the exact opposite and came out swinging instead. She stood watching as Ms Mills slid over to her desk, mounted two foot above floor-level, and dabbed her chest with a gym towel. Emma pulled a tank top over the top of her sports bra, only glancing back when she reached the door. Ms Mills is drinking from a canteen, hidden in her desk, and the small way she grimaces as the liquid melts upon her tongue is not lost on Emma. It doesn't take another addict to deduce that it's not water in her canteen, and Emma forces herself to look away when Ms Mills casts a surreptitious scowl in her direction, clearly not expecting to find Emma staring at her. Their eyes lock, and for a moment, Regina's devil-may-care attitude lurks in the way her lips pull upwards, as if daring the blonde to say something, but then she looks away, and Emma is forced to wonder if she imagined the brief look of shame and self-loathing that clouds over her teacher's frustratingly beautiful face often. She opens the door silently, resting her hand against the wood for a moment. "Push me as hard as you want Ms Mills," she says, levelling her teacher with a defiant smile. "I can take it."
With a quirk of her brow, Ms Mills lets out a sharp bark of laughter before offering her a tight smile. "Be careful what you wish for, Miss Swan."
Leaving the door to swing shut quietly behind her, Emma threw her gym bag over her shoulder and walked away, smiling internally. She could sense that her resilience was finally beginning to unsettle her teacher and so, for the first time in months, Emma slept soundly that night. Ms Mills wasn't used to her students standing in line with her, matching her blow-for-blow, and the blonde wondered if she was just imagining the burgeoning sense of respect seeping into her teacher's scornful bravado. Their feud transgressed throughout the month-long period of November with both women refusing to relish control. The blonde did all she could to worm her way beneath the smooth panes of Regina's skin, be it with a smug smile, snug leotards or a wink in the right direction. She transformed herself into a powerful hybrid – one that could withstand the wrath of Ms Mills – whilst secretly enjoying every moment that her teacher squirmed uncomfortably or stormed out of the classroom in a fit of rage. Emma's seemingly impervious reactions to the insults slung her way quickly irritated the life out of Ms Mills and the newly-formed diva watched with delight as her teacher huffed, puffed and almost exploded with indignation.
The blonde's lifelong habit of harbouring inappropriate crushes had caught up with her once again. She had always had a bit of a thing for bitchy brunettes – women that is – and goading her best friend, Ruby, throughout her high-school career had been one of her major sources of entertainment. Now though, it seemed the taste lingering on her tongue belonged to a different women entirely, one that needed to be defused like a World War II bomb. She recognised that there was the merest hint of unresolved tension between them and she'd started with a little bit of eye-contact and innocent grazes as a means of frustrating the brunette, only to discover that her wanton advances didn't go entirely unrewarded, resulting in Emma wishing that her teacher would just give in and kiss her. It didn't happen, though. For all of the blonde's subtle advances, each one designed to entice her teacher into as many inappropriate positions and innuendos as possible, Ms Mills never missed a trick. The blonde was mischievous in her attempts to wage a war on Regina's libido, but she wasn't cunning enough to succeed. She had seriously underestimated the teacher's restraint, overestimated her own, and then totally forgot ten to factor in the fact that Ms Mills was an old-hand when it came to the art of seduction.
Just when their tepid relationship settled into a comfortable rivalry, TEP's Headmistress, Marian Wells, added fuel to the fire by handing the blonde one of several coveted Golden Tickets. It gave Emma a much-needed boost, and she couldn't help but feel a little smug as she entered the dance studio one snowy December morning with the Golden Ticket clasped firmly in her hand. The boost it provided meant she felt smug enough to walk away from her teacher when she sidled over to her, sporting her all-too-familiar sneer; smug enough to answer back when Ms Mills tried to make an example out of her in front of the class. She knew she was on probation - the result of upstaging her teacher in a war of the rages - but then, when Ms Mills riled her feathers with the lure of a dance-off – clearly expecting her to back away from the challenge – Emma decided to step up to the plate and come out swinging once again. Her nerves settled in her stomach like a breeze block when Ms Mills cocked an eyebrow in her direction, publically questioning her ability to keep up. With a grind of her teeth & a clap of her hands, Emma Swan readily stepped into the middle of the circle, boldly declaring her readiness to dance a Tango with Regina Mills to the rest of the class.
They began by rehearsing in the most secluded corner of the room together, but what was meant to be a quick rehearsal transgressed quickly into a battle of the egos. Emma listened carefully to the track Ms Mills had chosen for them, and realised that when she listened closely, the music possessed a unique ability to match her mood. When she wanted to find it gloomy she did, but it could just as easily be soulful, passionate and uplifting. For Emma, on that snowy morning, the music wasn't beautiful at all, though. It nagged her, reminded her that time was passing; it set her on edge; it was relentless. She allowed her teacher to railroad her into submission, waited for the pain of defeat to strike and felt nothing but disappointment as her shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. With a smile only less smug than usual, Ms Mills told her to close her eyes, to picture herself dancing with someone she trusted implicitly, and the blonde suddenly realised that the list of people she trusted was woefully short. Shockingly, Ms Mills name was actually settled right at the bottom, amongst a list of names Emma knew would always forgo sympathy in favour of brandishing her with the truth. Slowly, she became aware of her teacher's firm hand on her back, and although the slip of Ms Mills' finger's across her thigh made her face flush, it was bettered once more by the chest to chest hold that she instigated with some blasé comment about Argentinian versus American tango.
Dancing with the blonde was definitely Regina's idea of bitter sweet torture. She allowed herself a brief moment, simply to enjoy the intimacy of another woman in her arms, and then began to increase the difficulty of their choreographer, easing Emma into the routine she had mapped out for them. She grabbled with the desire to smile against Emma's neck, as she couldn't really focus on the movements with all of her nerve ends jangling and her pulse thudding loudly in her ears anyway. The rest of the room was just background noise and Ms Mills decided that if she was going to maintain her upper hand then it was time to up her game - spectacularly - she was done toying with the blonde's emotions; it was time to play Emma at her own game and wreak havoc with her libido instead.
Class ended with a bang; Ms Mills waited for the orchestral symphony to heat up, sweeping the blonde into a strong, fearless embrace. Then, with achingly slow tension, she wrapped her leg around Emma's waist and dipped into a sensual pose. From there, it was the self-proclaimed diva who relished control, pretending Ms Mills was hers for the taking and no one else's. She sensed her teacher's surprise as she leapt into the lead, but kept her expression impassive as they marched across the floor. She flirted with the boundaries of proper teacher/student conduct, turning Regina away from her whenever the teacher trained to regain her position of control. They each rose to the challenge admirably, performing with bated breath and coloured cheeks. The warmth of Regina's hands seeped through Emma's leotard, raking her nails over exposed skin with an air of warning. Stormy brown eyes narrow in warning & Emma flicks her leg delicately between her teacher's thighs, holding her breath. She can't help but feel a little flustered, secretly enjoying the frustrated growl emitted through gritted teeth. They dance flawlessly together though, matching each other point for point. Ms Mills makes a valiant effort to breathe when the blonde's hand brushes against the underside of her breast, but then she realises the alternative means crashing to the floor, so she lets the diva grope her with the traces of a light snarl on her lips. The crushing crescendo built against them with unstoppable force. They span across the vast expanse of Ms Mills' studio, then came to a mind-blowing halt with the teacher's leg wrapped firmly around her student's waist. When the music finally dies down, the blonde realises her teacher is panting and the look on her face is so far beyond propriety, Emma actually finds herself rooted to the spot, torn between apprehension and arousal. For a moment, she actually thinks Ms Mills is going to kiss her right there in front of the entire Musical Performance group. Instead, the brunette dismisses the mass of overly perplexed student's with a flick of her wrist and Emma's classmates leave, sniggering over their teacher's apparent defeat.
"You're just so fucking perfect, aren't you?" she snaps, finally breaking away from Emma's uncomprehending gaze. She sounds more anguished than angry though, and the blonde finds herself storming after Ms Mills, only stopping when the teacher slammed a pedicured hand down on her desk. She notices, and not for the first time, that unlike the other teachers, Ms Mills doesn't have any personal effects. Her desk is achingly bare, devoid of anything the could be considered remotely sentimental. Her phone is the only item she has on display, and that's only because it provides the soundtracks to their lessons.
"I wasn't trying to undermine you." she says, worrying her lip. Ms Mills reaches for her gym bag and pulls out a flask, hastily unscrewing the cap. "Don't," Emma beseeches, gently placing her hand over the teacher's to stop her from lifting the flask to her lips. "It's not worth it."
Her teacher's shoulders slump forward and she raises her head slowly, her face contorted with angry disbelief and a fleetingly curiosity. Her eyes are sharp as they fall into Emma's and she notices that the diva almost appears to be waging a silent war with her. Sucking in a heavy breath, she leans forward hesitantly and then folds her arms around her, pulling the former Broadway star into a tight embrace - the slight weight of Regina against her chest, the smell of her freshly washed hair suddenly seems worth admitting defeat for, and so she hugs her teacher a little tighter, until she feels Ms Mills relax against her arms. She glides her hands hesitantly over the warm dip in her teachers spine, feeling her shiver in response, and dares to press closer. She could never get enough of this. Spurred on by this fleeting moment of vulnerability, Emma dares to do the one thing she promised herself she'd never have the guts to actually do and closes the distant between them, pressing her lips against Regina's in a kiss that's a little too desperate and a little too insistent. For one heart-stopping moment, Ms Mills kisses her back, and Emma can feel the longing behind her touch. It's enough to make her feel invincible and Emma could have sworn she was floating, but when she moves to thread a gentle hand through her teacher's hair, Ms Mills abruptly shoots backwards.
"You need to leave.
The blonde is just about to interject when Ms Mills holds up a silencing hand and shakes her head sternly. "Just go. Trust me, Miss Swan, I'm more baggage than even you can handle. Leave. Now!"