AN: Passing the blame to: askandiwilllie, secretsillnevertell and thisisyourfaultiblameyou... and also eviltaste for giving me an affinity for arsehole!Henry. First time writing smut. Still unsure as to whether this will be continued.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Seconds turn to minutes and minutes turn to hours as Regina's sight burns with the image of the clock she's been staring at as she waits for Henry to arrive home. Fingers tap sporadically against the marble of her desk and nostrils flare as an endless list of possibilities run through her mind as to why Henry isn't back yet.
A loud bang from the hall interrupts her thoughts and causes her to jump up, moving quickly to the front of the house where cold and unapologetic green eyes greet hers. She returns his gaze with her own stoned glare, challenging him to break the deafening silence enveloping the front of the house.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
As they both stubbornly stand their ground, there is no denying that he is her child and for a fleeting moment Regina lets herself wonder where she had gone wrong.
Letting out a huff of air from his nostrils, Henry is the first to break contact as he strides towards the staircase, but Regina beats him there and blocks his path, eyes boring into his again as if she expects an explanation for his breaking curfew. "Well?" she questions in a demanding tone. Henry rolls his eyes and forcefully pushes her aside to begin his ascent up the stairs. Regina lets a noise of anger escape her throat as one hand clenches into a fist at her side and the other tightly grips the railing as she spins herself towards him.
"Where have you been?" she exclaims, rage easily brought to the surface after hours of slowly brewing earlier when she had been waiting for him.
Henry clenches his jaw and pauses with both feet on one step before turning to look down at his mother. If he lets himself search her eyes for too long, he would have to confront the fact that amidst the fire was a tinge of concern, so he chooses to look her over from head to toe instead.
When he was little this might have frightened him, put him in his place and he'd be telling her how apologetic he was and promising never to disobey her again, but he wasn't a child anymore. He was eighteen, an adult, and her curfews were not above him and from this position on the stairwell, she wasn't either.
From this angle it dawns on him just how small she is. What has become of the infamous Evil Queen? What cheap imitation now stood in her place, face stern and expectant? A part of him wants to grab her shoulders and shake her, provoke her to bite back harder, draw the magic out of her, let him see any reason as to why the woman in the stories he's read was so feared because this – whoever she pretended she could be here – was merely an act. Mothers don't let their sons believe they're crazy, don't lie to them their entire lives, don't trap them in cursed towns where every day loops and nobody ages until his mother – his real mother – comes along to change things.
He doesn't realise how long he's been thinking for until he looks back up to her face, fallen in what he might misinterpret as worry if he didn't know any better. He can feel his own face burning along with his eyes and there's an infuriating ticking in his head and all he wants to do is grab the clock from the wall and hurl it across the foyer.
"What does it matter?" he steadies his voice almost calmly and it makes Regina shiver at the contrast to his expression.
Her tone decreases in volume, cautious not to aggravate him further. "It matters because you have a curfew, which you broke."
"Rules are made to be broken," he retorts simply.
"Rules are put in place to protect you, honey." She bites out the last word with more strength than she intended, her impatience never far away from rearing its ugly head. "That's what mothers do for their children."
Henry can't help but laugh at that. "Some mother you've been, then."
Regina's mouth falls open briefly before she shuts it quickly, renewed anger causing her to take a step up the stairs. She thinks for a moment about what she should say next before, "You know that's no way to speak to your mother, Henry." A long pause passes and she takes another threatening step towards him. "Perhaps I should have disciplined you more."
And maybe it's because she's getting closer now, but suddenly Henry doesn't think she looks so small anymore and he swallows thickly, frozen in place.
The persistent sound of ticking punctuates Regina's next two steps and there's a menacing twinkle in her eyes now and Henry feels like prey as his breathing becomes heavy and his leg wobbles unsurely as he goes to take a step back.
It seems the Evil Queen would like to take back her throne now.
About time.
The two continue ascending the staircase this way, stepping simultaneously until Henry's hand begins to shake as he runs out of railing and he stumbles onto the first floor landing before bolting towards his bedroom.
Once inside, he slams the door shut behind him and rests his back on it, letting out a heavy sigh in the false safety of his room. Before his mind can register what's happening, purple swirls are forming and his mother appears standing in front of him with a terrifyingly wide smile lining her features that doesn't meet her eyes. Maybe he had pushed too far this time.
Fear grips his heart and squeezes and for a second he wonders what that would feel like – if she were to reach into his chest and tighten her hand around his heart – but the thought washes away when he remembers that she enchanted his heart so that nobody could take it after she saved him from Peter Pan.
It dawns on him suddenly how, that's right, she did save him, more than once, and he feels another pulling at his heart now, one akin to what might be guilt.
"I'm sorry." It's a pained whisper and he feels so much like the child he's always been, the baby boy always screwing things up and hurting his mother for kicks. He feels like telling her what he's sorry for – both everything and nothing at once – but this isn't the time or place for it, and he has finally overstepped the line.
He's taller than she is even in her heels as she paces agonisingly slow towards him, but he still gulps when she reaches her destination and leans into him, voice low and breath hot against his ear as she hums, "Oh, but you will be, sweetheart."
With that she yanks him from the door, making him cry out as they awkwardly trip backwards and onto Henry's bed that looks far too young and tiny for him. It seems fitting for what's to come.
In one swift motion Regina has a resistant Henry pushed over her lap, fingers working at the waistband of his jeans and pulling them down just enough to expose pale cheeks.
"Mum! What are you do-" his question is cut off as he yelps in surprise as his mother's hand connects with his arse for the first time.
"Shhh." She hushes him quietly. "I'm disciplining you, dear."
Another slap comes down on his bare flesh, hardly enough to hurt, but tears sting his eyes regardless from the pure humiliation of it.
Regina's hand is reared back further as she increases the level of punishment dealt to her son. Henry's skin takes on a light pink hue now, paling in comparison to his face and his jaw hurts from how desperately he's been trying to contain his cries.
"I'm sorry!" Henry tries again more desperately, but is ignored as another smack resounds in his ears.
After several more spanks collide against his heated flesh in quick succession, Regina's hand stills for a moment on one of his cheeks and she begins rubbing there, soothing the inflamed skin. Against his better judgment, Henry relaxes into the touch, wiggling his arse higher into the air.
Mother and son's eyes widen in unison and Regina stops her ministrations as they both feel a bulge sprouting in Henry's pants.
After her initial shock, Regina's lips start to curl in a cruel smirk as her gaze falls back to rounded buttocks.
"Are you hard?" She laughs in amusement as she asks the question, and Henry's silence is affirming enough for her. Her tone becomes more serious now, purring to him, "Does mummy punishing you make the blood rush to your cock?"
To that, Henry groans in both arousal and discomfort as he wriggles slightly under her hand and Regina licks her lips. He's thankful that she can't see his face from this position, shame washing over him like a tsunami.
"Well, at least now I know why you've been acting out against me all these years." Another sharp slap lands on him and his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he hisses. "It's because you want me to punish you, don't you? You like it."
"No!" Henry immediately argues despite hard evidence that would appear to suggest otherwise.
She brings her hand back again, hitting him harder than the previous times and relishing in the way he whimpers.
"Good little boys don't tell lies, dear."
The clock in the room ticks in a tempo shared with the next few blows Regina delivers to her son's backside and Henry is starting to tremble and trying to convince himself that it's from the torture of the building pain and nothing to do with a need to have his mother's hand move further around his waist and down his boxers.
Regina can feel his frustration and in some ironic motherly instinct to help him when he's distressed, she tugs his jeans down further, causing him to sigh in relief as his erection springs free and rests over her legs. In her short dress she can feel his length pressing against the smooth skin of her thighs and she shudders involuntarily, a warm feeling in her lower stomach beginning to stir that she pretends not to notice.
Henry starts to rub himself against his mother, rocking his hips back and forth to alleviate some of the pressure. She squeezes both of his cheeks harshly in reprimand and it has him groaning again.
Raking her nails over his arse causes temporary white lines to run through angry red skin and Henry's hips jerk in response to the action. He almost begs for her to just grip him and put him out of his misery already, cross that line and deal with the repercussions of it later, but before he can degrade his dignity any further Regina rears her hand back and it lands with a final punishing blow over both his cheeks, fresh tears springing to his eyes as a shrill scream is pulled from his throat.
It's over more quickly than it begun and Regina hums above him as she gently rubs a hand over scorching cheeks and the dip in his back, looking down and satisfied with her work until she feels Henry's manhood twitch against her and sticky pre-cum dribbling over her leg.
Her body stills and becomes rigid and neither of them dare to make a sound. The only indication either one has that time hasn't completely stopped around them is the infernal noise of ticking.
When Regina regains movement, she gently rolls Henry off of her and onto his back, his body flushed and his erection standing at full attention. A stunned silence sweeps over her as she is pulled back to reality and stands on legs that feel too weak to be hers, facing away from her son.
She looks down at her hands in shock, slowly studying them one after the other, shaking as she rushes out of her son's room.
Henry stares at the ceiling and waits to hear the door shut before he strokes himself to climax, and all he can think about in his daze is how his mother – the queen – had just spanked him for his misbehaviour and left him aching and sore.
Regina kicks off her shoes and lunges into her bed, not bothering to change out of her clothes, and pulls the covers up to her chin, mind too numb as she speaks softly to the night, "I'm sorry too."
The clock on her bedside table blurs her vision after she's been staring at it for too long.
Seconds turn to minutes and minutes turn to hours, but what happened tonight will last a lifetime.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.