Love happens quietly, sometimes. Such is the case for Emma Swan.
Their first kiss is like a hush.
It's late at night. They've got the overhead lights turned off, the only light warm from the lamp in the corner, and the soft flickering glow of the movie that they'd put on. It hums in the background. Emma's not really paying attention.
Henry had fallen asleep about a half hour in. He'd spent the hour leading up to the movie insisting that he wasn't tired, even though it had been past his bedtime. He's sprawled out in a loveseat, and Emma's at one end of the long couch, definitely not hyper aware of Regina at the other end.
Henry snores, and Regina scoots a little closer to her, and tucks her blanket around the both of them. Emma feels her heart in her throat, blood rushing to her cheeks as Regina leans over to press her fingers between Emma's leg and the cushions. When she's done she gives Emma a small smile, soft – and then returns her attention to the television. Emma puts her arm on the back of the couch.
Around the hour mark, Regina leans into her.
Softly, you see: in little leaps and bounds. Emma holds her breath, prepares to jump – and settles for a tiny hop, instead. She brings her arm down from the back of the sofa, and wraps it around Regina's shoulders.
Regina smiles, and lets her head rest on Emma's chest. Emma runs her thumb over her shoulder absentmindedly, and wonders if maybe, this is something that she could have.
These family nights are her favorite. They're few and far between. Emma wonders if maybe Regina would be open to changing that, and moves her hand to slip through her dark hair instead.
Regina hums softly at the contact, contentedly – and so Emma doesn't stop.
It's not until the movie ends that they make the jump.
The room is silent, the only sound that of their breathing, and Henry's soft little snores in the background that let them both know he's still asleep. That he's not awake to witness.
Emma's still threading her fingers through Regina's hair. She thinks that maybe Regina has fallen asleep on her, too, until she feels Regina shift, turn until she can face her. Emma's hand stills.
She's not sure who leans in first, only that they're a lot closer than they were a moment ago.
Regina's eyes are wide. They're shining. Her nose brushes Emma's as she leans forward, and Emma lets her eyes flutter closed as she bridges the gap.
Regina's lips are soft. She brings her free hand up to cup her jaw, tightens her grip around Regina's shoulders and pulls her into herself – draws her back against the armrest of the couch as she kisses her. Regina falls with her, one arm out to catch herself, and they stay like that if only for a minute – Henry is still there, after all.
And so they're quiet.
When Regina pulls back, it's with a soft smile at those kiss-reddened lips, and Emma feels her heart swell. She brushes some of Regina's loose dark hair behind her ear, and Regina leans into the palm at her cheek.
And that's it.
They wake Henry soon after and cart him off to bed. Emma spends the night in the guest bedroom. Regina lingers at the door as Emma's saying goodnight, and she catches Emma's hand in her own with a comforting squeeze and a soft smile at her lips before ducking back towards the hall and whispering, "Goodnight, Emma."
They don't mention it again – at least, not using their voices.
Instead, they speak of the kiss in subtle glances shared over pancakes the next morning, little flushes of cheeks and fluttering lashes, and Regina's hands, tucking her hair behind her ear so that she's got an excuse to tilt her face away and hide the way she's beaming. Fingertips, too, after breakfast. They acknowledge their shared moment in the way their hands brush one another at Mary Margaret's dinners, at Henry's soccer practice – and once, in the station, when Regina poofs over to deliver paperwork in person that could have been faxed just as easily. Emailed, even – Emma's been trying desperately to bring the rest of Storybrooke up to date on modern technology and has, so far, failed miserably. For once, she doesn't bring it up.
Regina reaches out and lays her hand on Emma's shoulder as she passes, trails her fingertips over Emma's jacket for several moments longer than necessary, and Emma actually bites her lip like a lovesick schoolgirl.
David catches it, glances between them, and says not a word to Emma before he turns back to his own laptop.
He says a word to Mary Margaret, of course. Many, in fact.
She's waiting for Emma when she returns from work. She's at the bar, with her hands folded on the counter and a mischievous, knowing look on her face. She raises a brow, just one, the motion thick with implication – and for a sweet couple of moments, Emma sees a woman who is maybe more Mary Margaret than she is Snow White. Having her mother is nice – but Emma's missed her roommate, and these little flashes of the woman she used to know are precious.
Less so when she's being teased, if only by a fraction.
Emma stops in her tracks and Mary Margaret breaks into a grin, and Emma says, "Uh."
Mary Margaret responds to that by breaking open a bottle of wine: the nice one, of course, that she's been saving for a momentous occasion. Her words, not Emma's. She doesn't grill her further, though, just keeps shooting her these giddy little glances, and so Emma sips at her wine and allows her her amusement.
The next morning Emma notices that she's not-so-subtly hung a rainbow flag on the fridge. It's cute. Maybe Emma will find a magnet, instead. Again, technology: Mary Margaret's printer is an elderly beast of a thing, and the flag has little streaks through it where the ink didn't quite lie down properly.
"Do you love it?" Mary Margaret asks, and Emma can't help her smile.
Quietly, and then it's not.
The second time is loud. Boisterous, framed and divided with laughter and interruption and bright red lipstick smeared across Emma's mouth like a spotlight.
Somehow, family night alone with Regina and Henry has gotten away from her, and now half of Storybrooke is in Regina's home.
Well — okay. That's an exaggeration, but still.
Their little family is here, of course: Henry and Emma's parents are here by default. But Mary Margaret had gotten wind of the dinner that they were planning, and suddenly it had expanded. She'd invited – with Regina's (baffling) permission, of course – Granny and Ruby, and Belle, too, presumably dragged along at Ruby's request. There's something going on there, Emma thinks, but she's opted not to call them on it for now. Belle and Gold have only been split for about six months, and this thing she's got going with Ruby seems new. She's caught them brushing fingertips more than once, like they want to hold hands but aren't quite certain if they can take the leap. It's cute.
Most everyone is in the living room at this point. Regina's cooking, because as the hostess she'd insisted – "It's my kitchen, Emma," – and as the woman currently head over heels for the hostess, Emma had volunteered herself as assistant. Regina had only offered her a smile, a slight blush creeping over her cheeks. The interaction had been had in front of their family, and had earned an absolutely humiliated groan from Henry.
Emma thinks he's secretly ecstatic. She's caught him smiling after them more than once, today alone.
They work in tandem, surprisingly in sync for two women who have spent so much of their relationship at one another's throats. Emma's never much liked cooking with somebody else in the kitchen – there's always stepping on one another's toes, a bumping of shoulders that leads to nothing but frustration — but with Regina, it's different. She doesn't know what it is that makes them like this, but they dance around one another with ease, and Emma thinks that she likes this. Likes it in the same way she'd liked sitting on the couch with Regina tucking that heavy knit throw blanket around them, popcorn on the table and Henry snoring away beside them, and really, maybe the proper word isn't like, but love.
She decides to keep that one to herself for now, but she cradles it in her heart like glass.
Regina's done much of the prep work in advance, and so Emma's mainly tasked with throwing ingredients together — "For everyone's safety," Regina comments. Emma shoots her a glare and replies, "I'll have you know that I'm an excellent cook." And it's true. Emma's had to fend for herself most of her life, and despite Regina's ideas about microwave hot pockets and poptarts, more than anything it's resulted in Emma having an ability to make just about anything taste good. Edible, at least.
But here and now, Regina just raises one sharp brow, hand on her hip, and Emma forgets every argument she has in her arsenal to defend her skill. Instead, she just has to turn back to her mixing before she gets too lost in inappropriate thoughts.
Regina laughs, dark and hearty and low, and it does absolutely nothing to help.
Emma — on impulse, because what isn't for her these days — pinches a little bit of flour between her fingers and puffs it right over Regina's head. Retribution. Payback, she thinks, for the jab at her cooking. The powder flies in every direction, much of it collecting on Regina's nose, and Emma waits with bated breath.
Time stands still for a moment, at least for Emma. She's standing there with her heart in her throat, hoping desperately that she hasn't misjudged this. For several heartbeats she's terrified that Regina's going to get angry. Throw her out, even – but then Regina's lips pull up in a grin, and she laughs out, "You ass."
Emma bites her lip as Regina rushes forward, taking her own pinch of flour from the bowl — more like a handful, Emma will argue later — and throwing it directly in Emma's face. She laughs as Emma sputters on it, and Emma can't help but laugh, too, despite the powder tickling at her nose. She scrubs a hand over her face, and sneezes into the corner of her elbow, but she manages to get the worst of it off with a napkin, and then she's just left looking into Regina's dark eyes, glowing with the heat of amusement and laughter and maybe even love, too.
Emma lets herself think it, just in the privacy of her mind, the safety of it – there's no harm if nobody else can hear the word.
The way that Regina's looking at her, it might be true, anyway.
"You've got something on your face," Regina says eventually, with a shit-eating grin that up until now, Emma had thought Henry had inherited from her. Now she sees its true origins, and wonders what else he's gotten from Regina. His penchant for chocolate hadn't come from her, after all, and Emma makes a mental note to pick up some of the real fancy ones the next time she's at the grocery store.
"Wow, I wonder why that is," Emma deadpans, and Regina laughs again. God, how Emma loves that laugh.
"No clue," She replies, and then bites her lip as she reaches out. "You started it."
Emma stills as Regina's fingers make contact with her face. Regina passes her thumb over the corner of her mouth, rubbing away a patch of flour and leaving a trail of heat in her wake instead.
They're close. Really close. Emma hadn't quite realized, what with everything else.
Emma reaches up and catches her hand. It's an impulse, she can't help it. Something's drawing her, she thinks, and it just might be that warmth that she sees shining in Regina's eyes, the flush at her cheeks, the way she licks her lips. Emma holds Regina's gaze as she weaves their fingers together. And when she turns and presses a kiss to Regina's open palm, she hears Regina draw in an audible gasp.
When she turns back, Regina's watching her with wide eyes. She takes a step forward – tiny, but then again, they're already close. Personal space has never quite been a thing with them.
It's like a magnet.
Emma's never felt a pull quite like this before. It's…well. It's everything.
They meet in the middle this time.
It's lazy, at first: a hush, just like the first time. The world around them is reduced to a low buzz for Emma, dampened by the pressure of Regina's lips on her own. There is nothing but the gentle pass of Regina's thumb over Emma's cheek, whispering over the clinging layer of the flour that she'd tossed there herself, and the soft way that Regina's hand comes up to rest on her hip. Quiet.
And then it's not.
Regina parts her lips first. Emma thinks she should've expected that: In all the time that Emma's known her, Regina's never been a stranger to announcing exactly what she wants, and she supposes that this is no exception. Emma responds in kind, pushes her tongue against Regina's and then slips it over her teeth, draws it back and sucks Regina's lower lip into her mouth instead – and then Regina's moaning against her, and the hand that's still at her cheek unweaves from her own and loops around her neck and tugs.
Regina pulls her towards her with the motion, draws her with her, unfazed – she stumbles back against the countertop and Emma brings her hand down so that she can grip at Regina's hips. She tugs her against herself, seeking something, anything, any contact that Regina will yield – Regina takes the invitation gladly, slipping her own hand around Emma's waist and clutching at the small of her back. Emma grins against her lips as Regina's leg lifts, ever so slightly parting her thighs against her own, and Regina murmurs, "Shut up."
"You got it," Emma says, and then bends down to lift Regina onto the counter instead.
She gasps at the sudden movement, a little surprised, but when Emma pulls back and meets her eyes she sees nothing but affection and maybe something that's closer to lust. Emma kisses her again, this time with her hands drawing Regina's knees apart so that she can step between them, and Regina sinks into the kiss. Regina's hands find her hair, drawing her as close as she can get, and god, Emma thinks that she could do this forever. She'd very much like to do this forever, please and thank you.
Something falls then, clattering to the floor, and Regina laughs and says, "There goes the salad tongs."
"We can do without them," Emma replies, kissing her again, and Regina grins against her lips. "Forks work great."
Regina wraps her legs around her hips and then everything is forgotten.
There are several blissful minutes in which they remain like that, with Emma's hands inching further up Regina's thighs and Regina all too happy to let her.
But, remember, if you will: this is no longer hushed, this thing between them.
It's the sound of a cork being pulled from a wine bottle that finally makes them pull apart.
Emma jumps back, hands lifting from Regina's legs immediately and instead flying up in front of her chest to cross there, and Regina clutches at her necklace.
"Sorry to interrupt," Granny says, and removes the cork from the screw. She eyes them both, and Emma at least has the decency to look sheepish as she asks, "You kids want a glass of wine?" She glances between them, eyes lingering at the lipstick smeared around Emma's lips, and then adds, "...Or maybe a room?"
Regina clears her throat, and then hops down from her perch on the counter. She goes back to her cutting board, picks up the knife she'd left behind, and says, "Wine would be lovely." There's a flush at her cheeks, a deep embarrassed red that Emma can't help but find endearing, and the corners of her lips are pulled up despite the way she's obviously trying to hide the smile.
"Right," Granny says, and then pours a heavy glass for Regina. She hands it to her, and then turns towards Emma with brows raised as Regina takes a substantial sip and actually returns to cutting carrots for the salad.
Emma shakes her head. "Uh, no, thanks. I'll just. Grab a beer," She says, and then gestures towards the fridge.
"Right," Granny echoes, and then gathers the wine glasses that she'd apparently taken down out of Regina's cabinets when they'd been kissing and, really – how in the hell had neither of them heard anything? Granny carries them off back to the living room, and as soon as she's cleared the room, Emma turns back to Regina with her hands stuffed into her back pockets and her cheeks hot.
"So…" Emma begins, and Regina's smile grows. "That was awkward."
Regina laughs. Actually laughs, and the tension that's been growing in Emma's chest releases. Emma grins, and Regina looks up, finally meets her eyes – and Emma finds nothing but affection there. Warmth. Amusement. Embarrassment, maybe, but that's okay.
"Yes," She says, and puts the knife down. "Yes, it was."
Somehow, they manage to get through the rest of dinner preparations without further issue. Emma wipes off the smeared lipstick with a napkin, but some of it still sticks, because it's the brightest red Emma's every seen her wear, and really – "You just had to pick today for fire engine red, huh?"
"It's garnet," Regina replies, and bumps her shoulder as she passes. "It's not your color."
Emma snorts. "Thanks."
Ruby and Mary Margaret have taken it upon themselves to set the table. This is nice, Emma thinks, because they don't have to do it. This is horrible, Emma also thinks, because they're in the room when they finally bring the food out.
"You're wearing lipstick," Ruby says, eyes narrowed as she squints at Emma's lips like they hold the secrets to the universe.
"You're not," Emma replies, and Belle snickers from her position in the doorway.
"It's weird," Ruby continues, as Henry pushes past Belle, drawn into the room by the scent of food. "You don't usually wear any."
"I'm reinventing myself," Emma says lightly, and Regina snickers beside her. Emma's heart soars at the sound. "Thought I'd try out the high femme look for awhile."
"Uh-huh," Ruby says, and Mary Margaret clears her throat.
"And the fact that it's the exact same shade Regina's wearing right now is just a coincidence," Mary Margaret chimes in, eyes on the table as she lays down the last bit of silverware.
"It was her idea to let me try it on," Emma says, rolling with the joke. "Obviously."
"That's not quite how I remember it," Regina contests, and Emma grins. Regina's cheeks are burning, but there's a smile at her lips, and god, Emma could do this forever, this easy banter.
Henry plops down into one of the chairs, wrinkling his nose – and there, Emma thinks, is another expression inherited from Regina. She catalogs that one for later. "Come on guys, I wanna be able to eat."
"Make sure you get some vegetables," Is all Regina says to that, and Henry groans.
And that's it, again.
Quietly, until it's loud.
And loud it is. Emma would shout it from the rooftops, if she didn't think Regina might kill her for it.
Except, maybe Regina will do it first.
Dinner passes normally in the beginning – sure, there's a bit of teasing, but when doesn't that happen with their family? David eyes them through the whole thing, brows raising and eyes flickering towards Mary Margarets each time Emma and Regina so much as exchange words. Ruby keeps snickering, Henry rolls his eyes – and so halfway through the dinner, Regina stands.
All eyes fly to her as her chair scrapes across the floor.
She strides directly over to Emma – they'd been seated a couple chairs apart, just by virtue of how everyone fell. She hovers over Emma, reaches down, cups her hands around Emma's face and just – kisses her.
Without pretense. Hard, with every ounce of that affection that Emma's seen flash in Regina's dark eyes poured into it. Emma's dizzy, and she leans into it with a surprised little hum.
She vaguely registers Belle gasping, and Ruby makes a whooping noise that has Emma grinning against Regina's lips. Granny mutters something under her breath, and Mary Margaret actually squeals.
Henry throws a dinner roll at them.
It bounces off Emma's cheek and they break apart, laughter at each of their lips. Emma picks the roll up off of the table and sends it right back in Henry's direction. He catches it and meets her eyes, his gaze communicating every bit of his good nature across – he's happy for them after all, Emma can tell.
Everyone's staring at them at this point. Emma can't blame them.
Regina's eyes dart around to each of them, lingering at each person until she's satisfied that – well, Emma doesn't really know, until Regina finally says, "Any questions?"
Emma snickers. She can't help it.
David holds up his hands, shrugs – Mary Margaret, on the other hand, claps her hands together and squeaks out, "Oh my god, I'm so happy for you two! It's about time!"
Regina rolls her eyes at that, but then she leans down to press one quick peck to Emma's lips, and returns to her seat like nothing's happened.
Love happens loudly, sometimes. Bold, boisterous, and insistent: such is the case for Regina Mills, and by extension, for Emma Swan, too.