A/N: A culmination of a few different prompts and way too much Santana these last few days. I don't usually play the characters quite like this, although if you like the structure of experienced/ innocent the way round it is for this fic, you might also like my short story ATTIC... that looks really weird written in caps XD
Thanks for reading, and please review! :)
It had been a curious thing to have happened. But then, if ever there were a place for curious things to happen, Storybrooke fit the bill like no other.
It had started when the blonde had come running up the path and argued with the crowd of shaking fists and raised voices to leave the Queen be. It shouldn't have been necessary- the brunette should have been back in possession of her powers- but Emma hadn't known that the darker woman was struggling to access her magic at the time, and she had come running anyway.
Idiotic, most definitely.
And then there had been the conversation between Mr and Mrs Moron concerning the benefits of locking up their little problem, and really, if one were to be pedantic, that was when it had truly started.
The Queen had sat on the hard cot bed- seething behind bars- all the while glaring at the young woman balancing rocked back in her chair, sporting a disconcerted frown as she had chewed on the end of a yellow no.2 pencil.
Regina had proposed the idea that it was really rather strange that the Savior should be sat at her desk in the company of her sworn enemy when she had so recently been reunited with her parents and should- by many accounts- be celebrating the fact. Emma had simply shrugged- sharp teeth sinking into the soft wood held between them- and told her to mind her own business. This calm order had then been followed by a sigh and the declaration of "it's complicated", and the brunette had yawned widely in accordance.
She'd then asked the blonde why she had taken it upon herself to protect her back at the mansion and had received much the same answer.
After that, they had simply made small-talk.
And that had been another curious thing, for in the months of anger and hate coursing poisonously between them, there had been little time for idle chatter.
As it turned out; the Queen could be alluringly interesting, and the Saviour surprisingly amusing.
Yet still, that old, familiar tension had thrived.
And, after only a couple of days of keeping the brunette locked up, the Sheriff had bored of her decision. Regina, it seemed, had little interest in more than getting her son back, and, while Emma had swiftly jumped in to set her straight on that account- at least, that was how it had been at the time- it hadn't seemed like a viable reason to keep the darker woman incarcerated.
Her parents had disagreed vehemently upon finding the Station empty but for Emma herself, but the blonde had proposed the naive argument of second chances and starting fresh from the chaos. With the town still standing, the Savior still breathing, and Henry yet to be taken captive- not to mention the discomfort of starting off their own fragile relationship with an argument- Snow and Charming had eventually left the Sheriff be on the matter, interfering only to offer her the ominous warning
"Just hope she doesn't come for you. We hope you're not going to regret this."
And, the brunette had done just that.
She had come for her.
But, whether Emma was forced to regret her decision or not was another matter.
It had been dark, going on for ten-thirty, when the blonde had slipped from the Station on the fourth night of their new lives, only to stop in her tracks at the low purr of the Queen's voice.
"I've got my magic back... I can command it now."
"Okay..."
"I thought you might like to know."
Regina had mused silkily from the shadows, before asking if this new development had the Sheriff regretting permitting her release.
"How's that?"
"I could finish you off right now... Doesn't that make you feel threatened?"
"I don't know... Should it?"
A baited answer, and by now Regina had made her way forward so that they had been standing unnaturally close; dark eyes glittering as she had studied the younger woman's sharp features intently. There had been a challenge to the blonde's tone, and the Queen had taken it. Pushing the sarcastic Princess roughly against the wall and laying claim to surprise-parted lips.
Before long, her assault had been aggressively matched.
All that tension. All those heated exchanges and smug smirks of power play... Regina would later muse that it could have gone one of two ways: sex or violence.
And, while she had long-ago been well-versed in the latter, the Queen had found herself thinking distractedly of the young woman running up her garden path to play Saviour. Of the surprisingly laid-back conversations shared while held captive at the Station thereafter; Emma unexpectedly companionable about the matter and providing unwanted- but not disregarded- frequent deposits of food and drink with a shrug of her shoulders, and even a few ghastly magazines warped with time. Hardly the treatment reserved for royalty, but nor had it been the treatment expected by an Evil Queen.
She had been intrigued.
And her curiosity- if you could call it that- had been sated in some ways that night by the Sheriff's choked cry as she had born down on the younger woman; one hand caught in unruly tresses, the other wedged deep within the tight confines of her jeans.
And that had been the beginning of this most curious thing.
The beginning... And it might also have been the end of it. After all; the brunette hadn't specifically planned on taking consequence for her actions, but it had turned out not to be quite that easy to escape them.
Life went on. With surprising ease, it went on.
There were festering hostilities to work out between many in town, and the great, formidable question of hierarchy. The Charmings took rule, and the Dark One occasionally seemed to plot silently.
But on the whole; life went on.
The blonde had blushed and excused herself for a couple of days following the events outside the Station, but in time she traded nervous fidgeting for the dry sarcasm that had once so irked the Queen, and had proceeded to remain one of the few people that deemed it courteous to greet her- albeit in that ever unintelligibly gruff fashion that had long predated the breaking of The Curse- when passing her in the street.
The second time they'd ended up alone together, the Queen had been almost as surprised as the younger woman herself; Emma bumping into her- quite literally- when leaving the Rabbit Hole late one night, and mumbling an apology. She hadn't sounded all that sorry, however, and the brunette had sent her down onto her knees with a swift flick of her wrist. Angry green had glittered up at her in return, but there had been an impish proposition flickering behind heavy kohl, and the darker woman had accepted it gladly.
In the alley.
Leaving a notable tear in the younger woman's underwear in her haste to pull aside cheap lace in the darkness.
She supposes she shouldn't have been surprised that Emma would eventually deem it time to even the score.
What had surprised her had been the way in which the younger woman had gone about it.
Finding the blonde waiting for her in her office with a sly grin. Waiting beneath her desk to be precise, and it hadn't been a flash of ghastly red leather or tumbling cornsilk tresses that had given her away, either.
No... The teasing sweep of a finger up the gentle swell of her calf- causing her to scream- had done that.
Yes... A scream which had served to herald the attention of King George, who had requested that day to discuss matters of little interest to Her Majesty, the Queen. Not that the arrival of the spiteful King had warranted any reprieve from wandering hands down below the cover of her desk.
By the time the brunette had managed to convince the long-ago ruler to take his leave, her thighs had been spread lewdly apart, while being tickled by silken curls. She had expressed her anger venomously, but not before allowing the little minx to finish what she'd started.
After that- after Emma had taken up her own sword in their little game- things had swiftly accelerated.
Late-night visits to the Station, and a stately white door pulled back to bathe a smug little smile in the mansion's porch lights.
At first, it had been an inarguably rough affair. Little love lost between the two of them, but a mutual understanding that their curious little arrangement served to offer relief from that ever-obscure tension, and even a curious shared, dark camaraderie.
Rough fucking against steel bars, and harsh cries while bathed in the schizophrenic shadows cast by the grand hearth centring the brunette's drawing-room.
But, of course, there had been those awkward moment's following The Act. When each of the young women had sought to swiftly make herself presentable and leave no trace of their sordid tryst on show.
And, during those moments, they had started to talk.
To converse with one another.
To share, and confide, and even to laugh occasionally.
And then, several months after the breaking of The Curse, the golden imp had struck the Queen with a cruel blast of power in the name of his beloved and the indignities she had suffered.
The brunette, as always, had been proud; getting back up onto her feet and leaving the scene with the declaration that such arguments were fodder from another time. By the civilians that witnessed the encounter, she was offered no word, but merely reproachful stares; the choice of taking up the side of either the Evil Queen or the Dark One not a decision any wished to make. But word had spread, the way that words do, and the blonde had come by before the night was over and had asked to be shown the shallow grazes marring the Mayor's knees.
Had knelt down herself in order to clean the broken flesh, before taking the darker woman by the hand and taking her to bed.
Thereafter, Regina had become increasingly indulgent when asked of her time spent in that other, better world. For the younger woman's questions were rarely ever baited, and she had received her tales with a sharp tongue and sarcastic mirth that would elicit a low chuckle more frequently than the Dark Queen would have believed she was capable of offering.
They grew close.
Never publicly, and never to the extent of patching up the deep wounds sustained between the starkly opposing sides of their unhappy family, but behind locked doors and carefully neutral public faces, they had grown close.
It was a curious thing, but it was an organic thing, it seemed, and its roots had taken a deep hold before all too long.
It simply worked for them.
For a time.
For a time, things seemed just perfect the way that they were, until another curious matter sparked the Queen's interest.
Her attention.
And that other thing had been the darkness.
The darkness that prevailed over their love-making like a silent shroud.
It had first occurred to her a week ago, while lying beneath a slow-moving waterfall of gold; her shirt splayed wide to reveal shucked up lace, and her soft flesh bare beneath the waist. Emma had moved over her clad in her bra and jeans... The lights were off. Much as they always seemed to be when visiting the younger woman late at night. Much as they always were when on her own turf, as pale fingers flicked the switch; a promising flash of teeth in the darkness stealing her attention away from such things.
Whether rough or tender, their shuddering and clenching has been done in darkness.
The thought had struck her as obscure, but she supposes, now, that it had been the blonde's low questioning once their lust had peaked its climax that really hammered the issue home.
"Back in the other land, would the Queen have been allowed to mess around with someone she wasn't... I don't know... Promised to?"
"Back in that other land, so long as such things were kept behind the castle walls, I could have anything I desired. Those who served me were mine to rule, and they worshipped me..."
Her reply had been muffled as she had whispered against soft flesh; by now having learned the subtle effects her proclamations of power and status could have on the young woman currently pinned beneath her. Memories of her rule had left her in a similar state of lingering arousal... For they had worshipped her.
They had hated her, though it had taken her several years to see it, but, in the bedroom- in the private aspect of her life left free from the mercy of Henry's book- they had fallen to their knees for the mere honour of gazing upon Her Majesty, the Evil Queen.
Gazing upon her and drinking in her perfections, before serving her as she had deemed fit.
Looking down at the hazy angles of the Saviour's sharp features; lost in shadow, but for the dull glow cast from the hearth behind them, she had frowned.
She had mused upon the fact that she had harboured both a lusting and a liking for the blonde for some time now, but that she had neither been worshipped, nor had she been offered the opportunity- should she wish for it, of course- to do the same.
"I have matters I need to see to over the next few days. As do you if Midas's requests are to be met... Come and pay me a visit on Friday after picking up Henry to mark the weekend."
And that was all she had offered on the matter.
"Leave the lights on."
The brunette purrs from the bed as the blonde raises her hand to the switch beside the door. Turning back to the darker woman lying elegantly against the pillow-laden headboard, Emma regards her curiously, before flashing a glance up at the crystal overheads.
"It's a little bright...?"
She replies with a frown. Regina smirks at the confusion that laces the Sheriff's tone, and casts her own gaze briefly up to the ceiling, before adopting a slow smile.
"It is. Is that a problem?"
She inquires sultrily; plucking at the silk tie to the robe she had donned to answer the door. She lets the robe fall open to reveal her entirely and tosses back glossy locks with practised arrogance.
"No..."
The blonde replies with a narrowing of her eyes; her attention captivated by the alluring brunette, while trying to grasp the tone the darker woman sets. She has grown used to Regina appropriating old mannerisms when the two of them are alone, and she supposes they don't differ all too greatly from the way the brunette had acted before The Curse had broken, but she has found a new and surprising liking for them behind closed doors.
"Good."
The Queen nods, laying her hand gently on the flat expanse of her stomach and eyeing Emma haughtily.
"Is it not more fun when you get to properly observe your prize? I told you before; those I allowed into my chambers in that other land worshipped me... What about you? Would you do the same? Do you wish to worship me?"
The younger woman raises a brow before smirking humorously and replying with a husky murmur.
"I think I might be able to do that..."
She stalks slowly towards the bed, but the darker woman raises her palm and commands her to halt.
"And what about what I want?"
Regina demands. The blonde stills and cocks her head to the side; studying the Mayor intently as she tries to figure out the rules of their game.
"What about it?... I thought you wanted me to worship you?"
"Want you to? I'm allowing you to."
"Riiiight..."
The younger woman laughs softly, but Regina ignores her childishness and simply waits.
"Well?"
"Well?... What do you want?"
"Strip. Princess."
And there is none of the brunette's Storybrooke self in those words; dark eyes roaming over the Sheriff hungrily as she watches the blonde respond to her proffered title with first distaste, then intrigue.
"I'm not a Princess."
"No? Well, then who are you? And what are you doing gazing upon a Queen... With- I might add- your jaw dropped and in danger of catching flies?"
Running her tongue over her bottom lip before catching it pointedly between her teeth, the younger woman raises her jaw defiantly, her own eyes blazing.
"I'm Emma. Emma Swan... That is who I am."
The brunette smiles at this, for- as much as it pleases her to call the blonde a princess in the full knowledge that it winds her up- she is in complete agreement with the Sheriff's seemingly obvious declaration.
"Well then, Emma Swan... Strip."
Holding the Mayor's gaze for a moment longer, the Sheriff eventually lowers her attention to her hands which come to rest at her waist before playing with the hem of her shirt. Looking back up to find dark coals boring into her as the Queen remains gracefully poised, Emma pulls soft cotton swiftly over her head and shakes out her curls. Holding the brunette's gaze steadily, she fiddles free the brass button of her jeans before running her hands slowly down her sides to edge rough denim gradually down.
Watching as the younger woman steps free of her clothes, Regina hisses impatiently.
"And the rest."
Keeping her attention trained on the brunette, Emma reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra with a quick tweak of her fingers. Lowering her eyes to where dark satin now hangs precariously, she slips her thumb beneath the left strap and pulls the meagre fabric from her body to dangle suspended over the heap of her clothes.
Glancing back up at the Queen, she lets the garment drop; smirking ever so slightly at the irritable pull to full lips as her long hair mars newly uncovered flesh.
Looking coyly to the floor, she tucks unruly curls slowly behind her ears, before hooking slender index fingers into scant cotton and allowing the remaining wisp of her clothing to flutter down amongst the rest.
"Very good."
Regina purrs; meaning what she says as she drinks in curves and angles felt but only glimpsed before now. The way the Sheriff's gaze flickers impatiently over her own lithe form has her imagining the feeling is mutual... Not that she would have considered any other response.
"Come here."
She points to the narrow patch of space to her right, rather than the empty expanse of mattress on her left, and the younger woman stalks forth and perches on the throw obediently.
"Your thigh... What happened there?"
The blonde asks as she runs her hand gently over a faint scar marring perfect flesh, before gliding her palm up to rest at the brunette's hip. Regina bites back her immediate words of anger at the very idea that her perfection should be questioned; instead, regarding the Saviour lazily.
"When my steed was still a foal, I brought him a couple of apples in the pockets of my riding smock. He ate the first right out of my palm, but he grew impatient when it came to being offered the second."
"You raised your horse yourself?"
The younger woman asks with genuine curiosity as she moves slowly up to straddle the Mayor at the gentle encouragement of surprisingly strong hands.
"Of course. What Queen would trust the value of her life on an animal raised by a mere stableboy?"
"But, I thought you had a thing for-"
"-Bite your tongue if you wish for me to answer your questions. I was nine, to put a stop to your inquisitive sleuthing, and Daniel simply the son of the horse-master favoured by my father. And before you ask any more on the matter of status, I will point out that it is also most unusual for a Princess to rut in the backseat of any vehicle; be it chariot or a gaudy-coloured scrap heap."
The blonde circles her hips and nips warningly at the soft flesh of the darker woman's shoulder in response; eliciting a low hiss, and the digging in of perfect nails to her sides.
"It was just a question, Regina..."
"Hmmm... And a rather belated one. Do you not deem it to be curious that you have most likely run your tongue over that very mark and never once noted its existence?... How come you never wanted a better look?"
Emma grins at this; hovering over the Queen so that her long tresses trail over the pert flesh of the older woman's breasts.
"You sound offended."
"Well..."
The brunette looks down at herself pointedly, before raising a brow expectantly.
"I... I guess I never really thought about it..."
The younger woman shrugs.
"You never thought about it?! You had no interest in-"
"-Oh, I had plenty of interest, Regina... But you were doing such a distracting job of sating it..."
Husky words spoken against the Queen's throat as the brunette tilts back her jaw to allow sweet torture at the mercy of the Sheriff's teeth and tongue.
"I see... Well, I was curious..."
And there is something almost petulant in the darker woman's tone that causes the blonde to chuckle darkly and sit up to regard her with a teasing smirk; their hips by now moving ceaselessly, and the first audible hitches in each woman's breath accenting her words.
"Oh?"
"You have freckles. I didn't know that."
Laughing, Emma looks down as the brunette walks her fingers over such marks lightly speckling her ribs.
"I do, but does that make you like me any more or less?"
"Everything is best enjoyed when all five senses can get involved..."
The Queen growls; tiring of the blonde's clear amusement. She knows that a lot of Emma's mirth is a cunning disguise for awkwardness, but is not so foolish as to believe that a fair amount of the Sheriff's grinning derives from nothing more than an impish desire to rile her up. True to her word, she pulls the blonde down and tastes her deeply; her hands lost in the thick gold of the younger woman's hair as the latter moves above her with the tellingly unsteady rhythm of one coming swiftly undone.
When the Mayor lets out a low cry and throws her head back with her teeth clenched and beared- the tendons of her throat taut and vulnerable- Emma supposes that her Queen has a point.
There is something to the visual aspect of their actions after all.
Smiling as she places a much softer kiss on pleasure-parted lips, she rolls lightly off of slender hips and slips beneath the blankets.
"You can probably turn the lights off now..."
Sighing theatrically, Regina props herself up onto one elbow and looks down at the blonde with carefully-honed disdain.
"It wouldn't kill you to allow simple enjoyment of the moment, you know."
"You don't know that... It very well might."
Emma replies airily; unclasping her necklaces and earrings and placing them in a small heap of silver on the brunette's nightstand. Rolling her eyes, the darker woman swipes her finger neatly through a small tin of lip balm before offering it to the Sheriff.
"I doubt I would be so lucky."
She hisses.
"Methinks thou dost protest too loudly, Your Highness."
The blonde yawns as the Mayor flicks her wrist and shrouds them in darkness.
Closing her eyes and awaiting the Sandman, the darker woman frowns when the Sheriff murmurs quietly beside her.
"Did you have many lovers then? 'Worshipping' you? Back in the other land, I mean?"
A small smile greets this question, and a playfully arrogant lilt colours the Queen's words.
"What other reaction might they have had?"
"Well, I suppose that all depends on whether any of them were blind or not..."
Emma grins.
"Hmm. Not so far as I was aware... But I will hasten to ask what you might be implying by many?... 'Many' is not how I would word it myself, but yes, I had a variety of lovers during my rule. I was the Queen, dear, and such were the ways of the throne. I could have any striking young man I desired, and, sometimes the fact that others desired him also would be reason enough, although I was much younger back then. Conceited."
Regina muses, fully expecting a teasing response to this admission, but Emma surprises her when she forgoes easy bait, and asks instead
"What about girls?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you, you know... Go after girls, too?"
"I didn't 'go after' anyone. They got down on their knees for me, and I summoned any lucky enough to catch my interest."
"You know what I mean."
"I do... Yes. Some girls, too. Mostly young women taken in for questioning... I never really understood the appeal of lying with one's maids, much unlike my old friend, the Dragon."
"Hmm."
Emma sighs with sleepy curiosity, turning onto her side to face the darker woman with heavy lashes.
"What about you, dear? Or is that why the lights were always so readily turned off?"
"Huh?"
"Girls. Women. Before myself?"
"Oh. No."
"But you wanted to."
"Yes... How did you know?"
"I didn't."
"Then-"
"-I simply presumed."
"Risky..."
"How so? I'm the Queen... And everyone worships a Queen."