A/N: Trying to bring this to where I want it to go. I'm aware that I write Emma in a bind more often, and I want to take this to an eventual rebellion, but she needs to get pushed hard enough first. This will eventually be quite a dark/ more sex and dominance-based fic as I've not done a longer one in this style. Any feedback on this as an idea would be great. I'm fairly certain that's where I want to go with it, but I'm also aware that it will be quite different from my other work (besides BLOOD). Just curious to know what you think before I unleash the darkness! :) That said, I need to get there first, and hope these interim chapters work :) Reviews would be lovely!
"I'm going to do whatever I want..."
The Queen's words linger between them like an omen, and Emma frowns but refuses to lower her eyes as the darker woman seems to expect of her.
"Regina. Don't do this."
The blonde tries one final time, dismayed just as much by the threat of losing a friendship that has taken blood, sweat and tears to build as she is by her current fate. Standing face-to-face with the brunette now, her mind reels with a thousand things she has never discussed with the Mayor. She wonders if this would be happening if she'd only opened up a little and talked to the woman rather than shoving everything beneath the surface. They haven't discussed Robin in any great detail since his death for fear that doing so might be too painful for Regina. They've not discussed Hook for similar reasons. They haven't discussed many of the strange situations faced together- as enemies or as friends- and they certainly haven't discussed the strange tension that has never quite died between them.
If we had, would this be different? If we had, would we-
"-What I want right now is to be sated."
The Queen grins; scarlet and terrible.
"... Sated?"
Emma asks, not sure she really wants to take a stab at what her long-ago nemesis might mean.
"Fed, Miss Swan."
Regina elaborates with a cruel flicker of her tongue, and she looks the younger woman up and down- the Saviour clad in denim and leather; so gutsy and defiant by nature- and smiles. It's about time the girl was put in her place.
"Come on."
She orders, taking hold of Emma's arm and pushing her towards the kitchen. Unlike when she'd forced her into the basement, this time the blonde fights back, and her tangible fury only adds to the Queen's enjoyment of their situation. Emitting just a touch of her power, she renders the Sheriff's rebellious attempts futile and offers a wide smirk when green eyes flash at her with accusing fire.
My, my...
Letting go of the younger woman and helping herself to a seat at the latter's kitchen table, she regards her ward expectantly.
"I'm hungry."
She states again, and Emma swallows down a cacophony of sarcastic barbs in favour of standing with her arms moodily crossed and her expression arctic.
"And?"
She goads eventually; ignoring the fact that she's pretty hungry herself.
"Do something about it."
Regina demands, and the blonde considers her options for a moment longer before adopting a small grin of her own.
"I can offer you either instant noodles or bread. If you're really nice, I might even toast it for you."
"Ugh, no thank you."
The Queen wrinkles her nose, before giving a small flick of her wrist which sends the blonde's fridge opening up to display its contents.
"You have shallots, vegetables, fish..."
"I do."
Emma agrees.
"Then you will prepare me something proper. Edible."
The Queen replies simply, and the younger woman opens her mouth to argue, before the brunette leans across the table and addresses her silkily.
"You best get your head around our little situation, Miss Swan. You have no magic here. No say. No importance. Nothing. You are here because I find your fury at the fact amusing. I'd say that works in your favour, as, once that amusement falters, my qualms become once more with your mother, and I don't need a fancy little bracelet to toy with her... So I suggest you strive to keep my attention."
"... Hook cooks when he's here."
Emma replies eventually, losing a little of the defiance to her stance but none of the grit to her tone.
"Sweet."
"If you say so. You haven't tasted my cooking."
The younger woman points out, and Regina smirks, before confiding softly
"My dear... This has very little to do with cooking. This has to do with me telling you what to do, and you doing it. So nicely. So sweetly. So-"
"-Get fucked."
Emma growls, before her eyes widen much as the Mayor's do in surprise at her foolish insubordination. Squaring her shoulders and trying to appear aloof, she dares the darker woman to do something about it, although the Queen notes a tic to the blonde's jaw that speaks of nervousness.
"Perhaps later."
She muses, and any hardness in the Sheriff crumbles as the latter takes a physical step back and licks her lips.
"Regina..."
She's messing with you. Toying with you, of course she is.
Emma tells herself, but she can't help but glance at full, dangerous lips, nor remember several moments shared between the two of them in the past that had spoken of something, well, suggestive. Most recent had been on the way back from New York. Their fear had been verbalised and real while on their way to find Henry, but on their way home, things had been a little different. Still tainted with the knowledge that everything remained uncertain in their little town, but the boy had been safe, and he and Violet had been sat inside a diner on their way back to Storybrooke sharing an ice cream while his mothers had shared some fresh air outside. There'd been quiet discussion over the way things had gone down, impossibly even broken up with a small chuckle here and there. They'd been stood against iron railings, looking out onto the road, and slowly- helplessly- they'd somehow ended up hip to hip. Nose to nose. There'd been a moment- a silent, heavy moment- where one had studied the other; glittering eyes drinking in everything on offer. When Henry had come out yelling at them that they should be getting on, that moment had snapped, and Emma remembers now how both she and Regina had blinked as though slapped and moved hastily away from each other; her throat rippling as she'd swallowed, and she'd seen the Mayor's do just the same.
"Do as you're told."
The Queen hisses, and she smiles as Emma grits her teeth and turns to the fridge.
"Ah! Aren't you forgetting something?"
She asks sweetly, and the blonde turns back to her with a frown, before flashing her teeth when the brunette points to something hideous and heavy hanging from the back of the door.
Of course, there is no plausible way that one of the aprons worn by the servants in her palace should be here, but then, none of this is plausible. It's just what she wants; what she can conjure. And there is nothing she wants more right now than to see Snow's little Princess act as her maid- her subordinate- dressing the part.
"Well... Go on."
She prompts.
"Go to hell."
Emma snarls back, and scarlet lips stretch into a terrible smile as the Queen steeples her fingers and muses thoughtfully,
"My, how lovely..."
"Huh?"
"How lovely. That picture of you and your mother over there. Of darling Snow."
She points to a small frame on a shelf beside the cooker depicting the blonde and Mary Margaret, and as she does so, the picture behind the glass blackens and burns; Snow's face becoming a hollow, black void.
"Oops."
Sickly. Sweet. And the darker woman smiles as Emma throws her a hateful look before stalking over to the apron hung at the back of the door.
"Good girl."