"Isn't this exactly what you wanted?"
The Queen purrs as she allows her corset to fall open and drop to the floor. She takes a couple of slow steps closer to where Emma sits- bound in her chair- and regards her with feverish intensity. She maintains her glamour over the room; rendering it all but identical to the Mayor's office back in Storybrooke. Up above, the false light of the chandelier twinkles and adds a mirthful glint to dark eyes as she watches the younger woman struggle against her restraints helplessly.
"There's no use doing that."
She warns in a syrupy, sweet voice, and she chuckles as this advice earns her an angry glower and bitter murmur of irritation.
"Now, now, dear, play nicely for once. Answer me... Isn't this what you want?"
The Queen pushes demandingly, and she reaches up and tweaks her nipple gently with a quiet hum of pleasure, before allowing her teasing to become a little rougher as she maintains fiery eye-contact with the Saviour. Emma swallows and shifts uncomfortably in her chair; wanting nothing more than to close her legs and deny the darker woman evidence that her taunting is having the desired effect.
Well, no, that's not strictly true. I want nothing more than for her to get back down on her knees, use her teeth, and-
"-Saviour!"
The brunette interrupts, and Emma narrows her eyes but is unable to suppress a shudder as the curious new breed of magic the Queen tortures her with keeps her mercilessly on edge; feeling as though the slightest touch, the smallest relief would send her careening over into ecstasy.
She knows her wicked tormentor well enough to be certain such sweet relief isn't on the cards for her.
"It's not what I want..."
She growls angrily, and she can feel the potency of the veritae beginning to wear off, but rebellion is still a little out of her grasp as the truth remains easier for her to articulate.
It is true... I want her to fuck me or leave me the hell alone! I don't want a damned striptease.
Not really...
Do I?
She frowns, as with the way the Queen trails her fingers over her supple flesh to elicit small noises of delight, she isn't so sure. She is reminded of an incident not too long ago which had led to yet another bout of the mixed emotions and confusion the darker woman keeps teasing her about. She'd been sat with the Mayor and with Mary Margaret in the darker woman's kitchen when she'd complained about pain in her shoulders after biting at Henry's challenge the night before that she was no longer able to give him a piggyback down the stairs (fortunately, neither of them had been injured, and she'd not had to concede to his being correct, but her smugness had come at a price!). Snow had turned from making herself coffee to stand behind her and massage her shoulders briefly, in spite of her squirming and protesting as strong fingers had prodded ruthlessly at aching muscles. To her left, Regina had let out a low sigh; scolding her beneath her breath for the fuss she was putting up and lamenting the fact it hardly seemed fair she was being offered such generous treatment given her apparent inability to enjoy it. She'd offered the darker woman a smirk in response, and, when she'd gotten up to raid Regina's fridge in the hopes of something edible, she'd given slim shoulders a brief but pointed squeeze; purely in jest, but the noise that had escaped full lips had been one of appreciation as well as surprise, before the brunette had adopted an altogether more familiar tone and told her to desist fooling around.
She'd played back that small noise- that moan- in her head, though.
She'd played it back several times.
"What do you want, then?"
The Queen pulls her from her thoughts, and Emma shakes her head as the darker woman works her way out of her remaining garments until she stands bare on the stone floor. The blonde notes distractedly that at some point between banishing her violently upstairs and greeting her once more with anger, the brunette appears to have vanquished the room of the dust and deterioration that plagues the rest of the castle; most likely with a mere flick of her wrist.
"Tell me."
The Queen demands, perching back on the bed and studying her spoils intently. She marvels at the way the blonde's stomach clenches visibly now and then, but she keeps her amused admiration for the fact the Saviour has so far maintained her composure in spite of her relentless invisible teasing to herself. After all, Emma's poker face, while admirable, is tainted wonderfully by the telling glitter that paints her thighs, and the brunette licks her lips slowly as she catches another involuntary shiver.
"Nothing to share? Shame... I wonder, Saviour, if I might be able to guess..."
She smiles as though accepting silent bait, and Emma grits her teeth uncomfortably.
Great... Now you've let yourself think of this as a challenge, a game... Something you have a pretty unsubtle weakness for...
She doubts the Queen can read her mind, but can't help but entertain the idea as the brunette fixes her with a dark stare and parts her legs slowly; mimicking her own forced position in the chair.
Unlike the blonde, the Queen suffers no restraints, and she runs painted nails up the soft skin of her thigh, feather-light, before dipping her fingers down to cup her sex- all the while keeping blown, green eyes locked with her own.
"Am I getting warm? Am I getting red hot, dear? Hmmm?"
The darker woman teases slyly, moving up onto her knees with one hand going to her breast while the other slips further down as she enters herself slowly. She takes care to maintain her glamour; keeping her features soft and the room a dizzying haze of confusion between Storybrooke and reality. She feels wonderfully perverse acting as she does, but it's not the first time. She is no stranger to being lusted over, wanted, revered, and she'd once taken great delight in punishing others with what they couldn't have. She supposes her behaviour is a little childish, but while she is able to recognise this fact, she sees no reason to do anything about it; she's the Queen. She will act as she wishes.
She will do what makes her happy.
And right now- watching the Saviour squirm in her chair as she bites her bottom lip- she's very happy indeed.
She dips her fingers deeper with her attention trained on the wetness spreading between forcefully parted legs and smirks with amusement as Emma tries to avert her gaze; succeeding for only a couple of seconds before she feels compelled to treat herself to another glance.
Working against the blonde's failing attempts to deny her pure wantonness, the Queen meets each thrust of her fingers with a vocal display of pleasure, watching with mounting intrigue as the younger woman's cheeks rouge damningly.
"Isn't this what you want?"
She demands once more, and Emma meets her gaze with an unwilling nod of her head as her knuckles blanch around the chair's armrests.
"You can 'handle it' though, can't you, Saviour? That's what you assured me..."
The darker woman muses silkily, and when she is denied a response, she pushes herself off the bed and stalks back to where the blonde sits captive and barks at her sternly
"Can't you?!"
"Yes."
Emma hisses, although she's beginning to wonder, as the Queen's cruel spell has her feeling lightheaded with need, and as slim fingers- slick with the brunette's excitement- find her jaw to force her into meeting glittering coals, she lets out a low, guttural sound as the feel- the scent- of the Queen has her tensing up in her seat; willing desperate release.
Desperate relief.
"Hmmm... You're sure?"
The darker woman purrs, relishing that involuntary groan so recently forced from pretty, parted lips, and she smirks as Emma attempts to stare her down- pupils blown out and cheeks pink- and slips her index finger into the blonde's mouth; allowing the younger woman to taste her whether she wants to or not. She is aware that she's all but asking to be bitten, and wouldn't put such an ill-mannered response past the Sheriff. It seems Emma is thinking the same thing, as she battles her urge to snap at the Queen's bait with difficulty; not wanting to give her the satisfaction of meeting cruel seduction with unrefined retaliation. Instead, she remains perfectly still, and the darker woman raises a brow as she dips her finger a little deeper before pulling out a little; mimicking the slow act of fucking as she touches dangerous teeth experimentally; swallowing when the blonde teases back with a flicker of her tongue, before cleaning her off with intent.
"I'm beginning to have my doubts, Saviour..."
The brunette whispers into heavy curls as she adds another finger before moving behind the younger woman and wrapping her other hand around the blonde's throat; encouraging her to tilt her head back with a choked sound as she allows a crude thrust.
"You know... I'm willing to allow you your stubbornness; it suits you well. You do look so lovely sat here, helpless, wishing you could touch me..."
Another choked noise from the Sheriff, this time tinged with irritation, and the Queen chuckles quietly as she strokes the pale expanse of the blonde's throat.
"Shhh... I'm allowing you your pride... If, however, you're finding that you can't handle it as you've claimed, I want you to know something very interesting about those ropes holding you captive, dear..."
She forces Emma's head back further so that she can look her in the eye and she smirks.
"They are designed to keep one captive, unless unequivocally willing to bow down to their captor."
A stubborn shake of the blonde's head at this, impeded by the Queen's intrusive fingers and dangerous grasp, and the brunette laughs darkly.
"Oh fear not, dear, it's not literal... Well, not entirely. What is required is the desperate need to serve- to do as your captor wills of you with pure and unwavering intent. Only then, when your need is true, will you be released... As magic goes, it's an interesting little spell. So often power derives from loyalty, from blood, from a need to protect or attack. It requires some deep purpose to be put into effect, but not this, dear. This is purely a test of your resilience in a carnal fashion. A challenge to your word if you will... For you see, I refuse to believe that you can handle it- I can see how hard you're finding it just to sit still; I can see the mess you're making...- and I do so love to accept a challenge and push it to the limits... Especially a challenge such as yourself."
The brunette finally releases the younger woman's throat and withdraws glistening fingers as she stalks back towards the bed and takes a seat. Adopting a pose much like the blonde's once more with her legs spread and her own excitement displayed, she dips two fingers still warm from the Saviour's mouth between slick folds and closes her eyes.
"Watch, if it pleases you... If you can 'handle it'."
The Queen states huskily, thrusting her fingers in deep and falling back onto the bed. She has lost her grip on the glamour of the room; no longer maintaining a curious blend of office and boudoir. Her mask as the Mayor remains strong, however, and the noises she makes as she continues her debauched display- her wicked challenge- are laced with a soft and sensual undertone she'd rarely used during her years on the throne. She catches a sound from across the room somewhere between a groan and a growl and smirks as she amps up her game; allowing herself to react freely- and loudly- without inhibition as she moves her fingers and explores her body with her other hand.
Another noise of anguished desperation, and she opens her mouth with pleasure as she maintains her cruel spell on the blonde; keeping her so close to the edge she imagines it must be maddening.
No issue of mine...
She muses as she moves slick fingers to play momentarily over her most sensitive spot. Still, Emma seems to think this is a game- it's all a game- and she wants to win. The Queen wants to prove the younger woman wrong. She wants to remind the blonde just who's in control here.
Playing the hand she has found most effective thus far, she strives to concentrate and throws a glamour over the bed and its close surroundings; turning flagstone to cream carpet and heavy velvet and satin to a muted cotton/silk blend. She knows Regina has invited Emma up to her bedroom on two occasions- both innocuous and regretfully tame- and that the blonde will recognise the scene she proposes with ease.
The hissed expletive that greets this new dimension to her teasing has her certain the younger woman will be swift to fold, and she's proven right when a moment later as she feels a small infraction to her power and knows that the blonde is free from her restraints. She doesn't bother looking up as the ropes would have only released their bond if Emma's intent suits her own, and so the cry she gives as the younger woman pulls at her hips to drag her down the bed where she subsequently kneels is not one of surprise, but rather one of anticipation.
"Isn't this what you wanted?"
The Queen repeats her previous demand for the truth, and while she knows the veritae will have worn off by now, she expects the blonde will reply honestly as there's too much evidence to deny the fact. She runs her fingers gently into long curls as Emma nips at her thigh before tasting her hungrily; keeping up her facade of playing the blonde's Mayor, before the younger woman's touch gets the better of her, and she wraps the blonde's hair around her fist and desists playing so nicely.
"Is this something you imagined?"
She pants, striving to keep up appearances with their surroundings, but the floor flickers from rug to stone as her breathing becomes frantic and desperate and her hold on silvery tresses turns ruthless and demanding. In place of an answer, the Saviour bites her inner thigh crudely, and she retaliates by pulling Emma into her roughly with little care for if the blonde might be able to breathe. Taking the younger woman's answer as a 'no', the Queen chuckles throatily before she is forced to swallow a groan, and she looks down from beneath hooded lids and smirks
"Yes, I know, you said you'd not gotten that far, and I suppose I have to believe you... You'd like this though, wouldn't you, Saviour? If it were real? If it were her?"
This time she catches a flicker of the blonde's gaze as she glances up at her reproachfully, and she shows the younger woman the sly point of her tongue between dangerous teeth before throwing her head back and fisting silken curls as the Saviour reciprocates in kind.
"Ah! Don't you dare stop, you bitch!"
She warns as she struggles to speak, struggles to breathe, and she worries for a moment that in voicing such an order, she jeopardises her pleasure due to the blonde's seemingly innate need to do the opposite of what has been asked of her, but Emma doesn't defy her as she'd feared, and a couple of moments later, she lets out a cry as she goes over the edge with a jerk and her legs pulling the blonde into her instinctively.
"Bitch."
She repeats, panting hard, pushing herself up onto her elbows to survey the Saviour who remains knelt on the floor with her cheeks damningly wet. The floor is once more stone- the bed dressed in the heavy velvet favoured in this realm- and the Queen gathers her composure with her hand pressed to her chest and dark eyes never leaving green. Emma seems unfazed at her crude form of address and this doesn't surprise her. She's called the blonde a bitch countless time, both as herself, and as her better-half, and she is certain she's not alone. There are plenty of names she imagines Emma wouldtake offence to, but as it is, she simply glowers back at her trying to anticipate her next move.
"It's what you wanted."
The Queen muses to herself, and she catches a clench to the blonde's jaw which confuses her for a moment, before she feels the comforting warmth of the magic still at play in the back of her mind, and smirks evilly.
"But not all that you wanted... Are you uncomfortable, dear? Is that what spurred on that act of pathetic obedience?"
No answer, but she doesn't need Emma to speak; she can see the younger woman's begrudged discomfort in her eyes, and she dons a sweet, sly smile not to be trusted.
"Still feeling 'really good', Saviour?"
She asks, mimicking the blonde's uncertain stammering when she'd first squirmed under the influence of her spell, bound in the chair. Ordinarily cool, calculating eyes now blown and gleaming narrowly back at her, and she beckons for the younger woman to follow her back to the chair.
"Ah!"
She barks immediately as Emma goes to push herself up.
"Crawl."
She demands sternly, and she watches as the blonde hesitates; clearly at odds with going along with this demand, yet she can see in Emma's posture that she knows she currently holds all the cards. She has the blonde squirming at her mercy beneath her cruel but beautifully amusing spell, but also in a more general sense; she had been careful not to let go of her dominant position of power when descending into ecstasy, and so Emma remains unable to push back and stand a chance of flooring her as she would so clearly like to do.
"Come on, don't you want me to see to you?"
The Queen asks sweetly, and Emma grits her teeth as she complies; unsure what else to do. Smiling as she watches the younger woman do as she's been told, the brunette pats the seat of the chair invitingly, but swiftly places a hand on the blonde's shoulder when she moves to take a seat.
"No, dear. Kneel. Up, go on, up on your knees. Hands and elbows on the seat... Good."
She murmurs, moving her hand from the younger woman's pale shoulder to the tangled mess of her hair; wild and unruly by her own doing. Slipping her foot between the blonde's legs, she forces her knees further apart before taking a step back and admiring the view.
"Oh..."
She hums appreciatively, touching the tip of her tongue to her top lip.
"I've never considered the reality of the phrase 'dripping wet' before, it always seemed so crude, and yet, it's so fittingright now."
Emma closes her eyes as she struggles to keep a hold of her temper and block out the Queen's taunting, but she can feel evidence of the brunette's claim slick on her thighs, and she remains largely preoccupied with simply not begging for release as she's sure the darker woman wills of her.
"You're tempting, Saviour. Very tempting. Do you know that?"
The Queen muses, and when she trails off to leave them once more suspended in maddening silence, Emma agrees coolly
"I know. We covered that already..."
Laughter at this; cruel and conniving, and the blonde feels a curious sense of dread as she's suddenly not so sure that the darker woman means to fuck her, but rather to continue fucking with her. She's not altogether sure if she can take it; physically, as she's never felt so desperate for relief, nor mentally, as she's still reeling from the carnival of tricks the Queen has pulled on her since gatecrashing her life, and she doesn't dare imagine what more she might have in store.
"Please."
She utters before she can help herself, and it's little more than a whisper, but she feels as though she might as well have screamed the word as the darker woman laughs unkindly.
"Oh, my dear, sweet, Princess..."
The Queen coos, and suddenly the blonde feels hot breath on her shoulder and an iron grip on her hair as the brunette leans down and hisses at her; no longer playing
"How dare you use that word with me and expect mercy after what you did with the diary? How dare you come and seek me out thinking this would remain just a game... You continue to view this as some debauched version of live theatre, when I have spilt the blood of several men where you now kneel! What you did was reprehensible! You thought this was punishment? You believed my letting you fuck me as your dear Mayor was punishment?! No, sweetness, as you should know full well from the tales in Henry's book and my previous warnings; my need for vengeance- for retribution- knows no bounds. I cautioned you that you'd crossed the line, yet you honestly think I'm going to let it go so easily as to have you knelt, wet and pathetic before me?!"
Emma shivers as the fist around her hair tightens, and she searches for some form of response- derogatory, teasing or otherwise; anything!- but then she feels the Queen find a grip on the back of her neck and feels suddenly cold and unable to control her body.
"What... What are you doing?"
She asks, and her voice sounds slurred.
No. Not slurred. It sounds far away... Like I'm not really here.
The Queen laughs in response, and as she explains her intent, it becomes clear of its own accord, and the younger woman squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the scenes that follow.
"You played me with that damned diary; reading of my private experiences with no regard! You violated one of my few treasured memories! Well, you played your hand but without finesse; your form was sloppy and your ability laughable! You're either forgetful or just plain stupid if it never crossed your mind that while you take your foolish shots in the dark when it comes to power, I am trained! I am a student of the craft! You're powerful, yes, so they all kept reminding you back in that dratted town of yours, but you're naive with it... I can do so much more than you could hope to attempt, Saviour, and I don't need some old book to get my own back! You imposed on my good memories, crossing every line, and now I'm only too happy to repay the favour! You snooped on my best... I'll revel in your worst! Everything! Everything you've kept inside, everything that keeps you up at night! It's all right here in my grasp; your darkest secrets are merely my playground!"
What had started as an angry sermon has become a low and dangerous hiss against the younger woman's cheek, and the Queen's eyes glaze crystal white as she charges through the younger woman's tangled web of recollection searching for everything hidden and carefully stored away.
She's three, she's ten, she's twelve, she's seventeen, she's twenty-two, she's twenty-seven, she's twenty-eight.
She's cold, she's scared, she's hungry, she's crying, she's running- running away- she's being chased, she's lying on the pavement; pinned down receiving seemingly endless blows to her jaw.
She's in this home, that home, no home, homeless.
She's with him, her, her, him, Neal, and some faceless shadow looming over her telling her to shut up; dark face, dark eyes, wearing a guard's uniform.
She's covering her ears, covering her eyes, covering her mouth.
Laughing, coughing, screaming, crying, bleeding.
She's sitting in a car, out above the sea, her belly empty- of food, of baby- and looking down at- contemplating- the crashing waves below.
She's-
But the Queen's grip on the blonde breaks and the scenes and sensations shatter like glass as she falls forwards; her cruel hand on the younger woman's neck suddenly snatching at nothing but air, and she lands on her knees where Emma had been forced down moments ago.
"What..."
She whispers, eyes wide and utterly perplexed; touching a finger uncertainly to the curious black ash that surrounds her.
"Ah!"
She pulls back instantly, and watches- fearfully mesmerised- as that strange dark sediment eats into the chair and into the stone floor with a dangerous hiss as it smoulders.
"...Saviour...?"
She calls out, her brow furrowed and fists clenched apprehensively, but she receives no answer.
The silence is damning.