everything in moderation.
i. drugs.
Emma doesn't usually partake. A little weed here and there, maybe, but not often.
Regina definitely doesn't.
It's something from wonderland, and it's Zelena who supplies it, because of course it is. It had been her idea to rent the cabin in the first place, and now Emma kind of wonders if it had all been a ploy just to get them in a room together and get them fucked up for the fun of it.
It would certainly fit her particular brand of chaos.
"I baked it into brownies," Zelena says, sounding way too proud of herself. "Like people do with weed. Honestly, this world is lovely," She drawls, and then deposits an entire plate of brownies onto the counter. She picks one up and holds it out to each of them in turn. "Who's first?"
To Emma's – and everyone else's, she thinks – utter shock, Mary Margaret snatches it and then asks, "The whole thing? Or just a piece?"
Zelena narrows her eyes, assessing Mary Margaret's tiny form. "Start with a quarter," she says eventually, and Mary Margaret's eyes go a bit wide. Emma's match as she processes just how strong Zelena must have made them.
Emma watches as Zelena picks one up absentmindedly and begins to chew.
"Come on, sis," She says, and holds the half-eaten brownie in front of Regina's mouth. "They're delicious."
"I'm not eating that," Regina says, wrinkling her nose. Emma doesn't think she's ever seen disgust look so cute as it does on Regina. And maybe she shouldn't be thinking that, be entertaining those kinds of thoughts – but.
Fuck it, Emma thinks.
At this point she may as well just indulge in them.
"Why not?"
Regina stares at her sister as if the answer is obvious. "Henry's here! I'm not – I'm not getting high with my son under the same roof."
"He's asleep! And he's nineteen, Regina. I'm more than sure he's had his fair share of the devil's lettuce. Even Storybrooke high has a dealer."
"And you know this how, exactly?" Regina asks, raising a brow.
Zelena rolls her eyes. "Because I've bought from him, obviously. Awful quality. Worked my way up the chain," She says, gesturing dramatically to the brownie platter with the one in her hand, "And now I get the good stuff."
"Answer's no, Zelena."
"Oh, come on," Zelena repeats, the words more than a little whiny. "It'll make you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. Gods know you could stand to loosen up." Regina only continues to stare at it distastefully, and Zelena rolls her eyes with a little huff as she retracts her hands and tears off a much smaller piece instead. "Start with this, please? Open up."
Regina's scowl deepens into a frown, but she does open her mouth. Zelena pops the piece of brownie directly onto her tongue, pushes Regina's jaw closed by her chin, and then gives her cheek a couple of quick pats. "There you go, darling. Live a little."
Regina just glares at her, chewing deliberately.
Mary Margaret squeals, giving an excited little bounce as she carefully divides her own brownie into equal fourths. She hands one to David, a grin at her lips, and then takes a bite of her own with her hand beneath her chin to catch the crumbs. David studies his for a moment and then finally shrugs and stuffs the whole thing into his mouth.
"Manners, David," Zelena tsks, as if she's not the one who's just offered them drugs. "Eesh." And then she turns those icy blue eyes on Emma, a smile creeping over her lips that's almost predatory as she says, "Well, Emma? You've been awfully quiet."
All eyes turn to her.
Uncomfortable, Emma shrugs, and plucks one off the tray. She breaks it in half, and takes a bite that's probably a little too large. Zelena's brows go up, and she says, "Well then."
It takes a while for them to kick in, but…yeah. Warm and fuzzy. Floaty, Emma thinks. Like her body is made of helium.
Somehow she's made it onto the floor.
She blinks, and the room comes back into focus – a hazy focus, not so much of a snap as a slow draw of awareness, and she sees the others around her, each sitting in various places that are definitely not intended for sitting. Mary Margaret's cross-legged on the coffee table.
There's a movie playing in the background, but Emma can't quite lock onto it enough o determine what it is. She doesn't really care, anyway.
Regina sinks down beside her, back against the couch, and tips her head against the cushions.
Emma swallows, suddenly faced with the smooth column of her throat. She watches as Regina gives a soft little hum and licks her lips, and suddenly Emma's warm.
"Comfy?" Emma asks – whispers, she thinks, though she's not entirely sure she's got control over her volume right now – and Regina's eyes flutter open as she turns to look at her.
"Almost." She sinks a little farther, and it's almost comical at this point, the couch forcing her chin to tuck. "Floor's hard."
"Couch?"
Regina gives a dissenting grunt.
And then Emma has a brilliant idea. She laughs – laughs at her own thought, and ignores the look that her mother shoots her. "Hold on. Hold on." She pushes herself up, using the arm of the couch (and maybe Regina's shoulder, too, though she doesn't complain) to steady her wobbly legs, and then begins tearing the cushions off one by one. She makes a pile beside Regina, and then, with one wicked grin, drops to her knees, shoves one arm beneath Regina's thighs and the other behind her back, and tosses her on top of them.
"Emma –" Regina yelps, eyes wide, but she bounces harmlessly against the cushions. Her fingers curl around them for a moment while she finds her balance, and then –
"Woah –"
Emma feels fingers curl in her shirt and tug, and then suddenly she's toppling right over Regina, clumsy elbows in Regina's ribs and her chin nearly missing the corner of the loveseat that Zelena's reclining in sideways. And then she's laughing, and so's Regina, and she thinks she hears David laughing in the background, too. And yeah, this is good.
She pushes herself up a little bit, one palm flat against the carpet, just enough so that she can turn and fix Regina with a playful glare. Regina's fingers are still curled into her shirt, and there's this gleam in her eyes, and so Emma can't say it's a surprise when she feels another tug –
And then Regina's lips are on hers.
There are several oooooohs from the peanut gallery. Emma's not sure who from. Probably all of them.
It's a fairly chaste kiss. No tongue, just Regina's fist in her shirt and Emma's free hand cupped around Regina's cheek and both of them swaying a little bit. Emma jumps back when Zelena bends down and hits them with a pillow.
"Hey!" She says, indignant. Zelena smirks.
"Normally I'm grateful for live action lesbians," Zelena says, slurring her words a little, "But that's my sister."
"And I'm your parents," Mary Margaret says, and Emma cranes her neck just enough to see that she's still on the table, one hand splayed across her chest and the other cupped over the top of David's head. He's sitting on the floor next to her, nodding fervently.
"We're," Regina corrects her. Mary Margaret just blinks, her hand still on David's head.
"What?"
"We're your parents. Not I'm."
Mary Margaret furrows her brow, clearly not following. "You're my stepmother."
"No," Regina says, and Emma bites back a laugh.
"No?" Mary Margaret echoes, a little indignant this time. "I was at the wedding –"
Emma drowns out their bickering, pushing herself off Regina. She pays her no mind, too absorbed in her back and forth with Mary Margaret. Emma catches David's eye instead, and he offers her a grin that's a bit goofy before he just tips back, landing on the ground with his legs splayed out in front of him and his arms over his chest. Mary Margaret's hand falls limp to her side, unnoticed.
"You need a nest," Emma comments, and takes David's grunt as assent. Bleary-eyed, she stumbles into her bedroom, and begins stripping blanket after blanket, pillow after pillow from her bed. Zelena appears to 'help' her, stealing the plush dark green microfiber straight from her hands and carting it away with a gleam in her eyes like she's won some sort of prize.
Emma half-spreads, half-dumps the blankets over her father when she makes it back out to the living room (she only walks into one wall on the way, thank you very much) and then Regina's roping an arm around her waist, tugging her back on to the couch, and the feathering edges of Emma's consciousness finally unravel.
Until, that is:
ii. sex.
It's messy, it's sloppy, and it's heated.
Emma's not entirely sure how it starts, only that they're in her bed, the door is closed – and Regina's mouth is on her neck, tongue hot and wet against her skin as she sucks – and fuck, Emma's going to have a bruise, but she doesn't care. Not like this.
She realizes vaguely that Regina's between her legs. She rolls her hips down hard, and Regina's hands fly to them, locking her there. Her fingertips dig into Emma's skin, and Regina's eyes lock to hers as she shifts forward, pushing her thigh between Emma's legs. One of her hands comes up to support her weight against the bed, the other still at Emma's hip, encouraging her to rock.
It feels like only a few moments pass and then she's naked, Regina's fingers rolling at her nipples and her thigh hitched around her waist, her arousal leaving a slick trail against Regina's stomach. Regina's naked too, Emma realizes with a start – she's sitting back now, affording Emma a full view of her breasts, and god, she's fucking beautiful.
"So are you," Regina breathes, and Emma realizes she's said it out loud. "I've thought about this so many times, Emma. You're exquisite. More so than I ever imagined." She drags a hand down Emma's torso as she speaks, palm flat against her, and Emma cants her hips up as Regina's fingers drift down, down, lower until she's brushing through the thin patch of hair, skimming over her clit, feather-light –
And then there's morning sun and birds and an empty bed, her skin stale and sticky with hours-old sweat.
Emma doesn't remember much, and she hates herself for it. No – she hates Zelena for it, and whatever the fuck she'd put in those brownies.
How many had Emma had, again?
What she does remember is at least three of the most earth-shattering orgasms she's ever experienced, Regina's fingers deep inside of her, maybe even her tongue at some point – Emma's tongue on Regina, for sure: she has a vague, half-formed memory of Regina's thighs around her face.
God, she hopes for a repeat. One that she can remember.
She sits up and rubs her eyes. There's a texture imprinted on her cheek from whatever she'd been laying on, and the blanket against her skin is scratchy – she realizes with a start that the bed is dressed only in its sheets, and through her post-high haze she sees that she's slept with nothing but a throw blanket from the living room and a stolen couch cushion as her pillow.
Emma picks up her discarded pajamas from the floor, immediately realizes that she'd spilled something sticky and unidentifiable down the front, and drops them just as quickly. Instead, she fishes the first set of something comfortable she can find from her duffel bag and tugs it on. When she enters the common area the first thing that she sees is the carnage of her bed, strewn about the carpet: top sheet, pillows, even the dust ruffle, for whatever fucking reason. She spots a few more blankets and thinks foggily that maybe they're from her parent's.
Mary Margaret and David are hunched over the table, chewing quietly on their waffles. Regina's slumped with one elbow on the bar, head propped in her hand as she sips at her coffee. Her eyes glint as soon as she spots Emma, and she offers her a small, sly smile that lets Emma know she at least doesn't regret the events of the previous night.
"Morning," Regina says, and the rasp of her voice sends a thrill straight through Emma's chest.
"Morning," She echoes.
"Emma, darling!" Zelena greets her, bright and cheery and entirely too awake for the amount of cotton that is currently stuffed inside of Emma's skull. "How are you feeling?"
Emma grunts. "Like shit." She peers around at the others – Henry's fine, of course, but her parents don't seem to be doing much better than she is. "I need some coffee."
Regina gestures to the full pot as Zelena shakes her head and mumbles something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like pussies. Regina's brows shoot up, her eyes wide as she fixes Zelena with a look of disbelief and says, "Really?"
"Yes, really," Zelena mocks. "You all need to build up a tolerance."
"Okay, but p–" Regina blinks, cutting herself off. "That's not even a common word back home. Where did you even learn it?"
"I do have access to the internet, dear sister," Zelena drawls, resuming her chopping. "Although I learned that particular one from my favorite nephew."
Henry sputters on his juice as Regina rounds that gaze on him. "Not cool, Aunt Z," He says, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand.
"Napkin, Henry," Regina says, her voice taking on the stern edge that Emma's come to know well. "If I hear you using language like that –"
"You all got high off your asses last night, and you're going to lecture me about saying the word pussy?"
Regina looks stunned. Her parents are both staring now, eyes darting between the mother and son duo. Emma holds her breath.
Zelena looks positively thrilled.
"I…" Regina flushes, and then purses her lips in a thin line. "Well, you have a point, I suppose. But you were supposed to be asleep." She takes a sip of her coffee and then adds, "And don't say ass."
"I came out for water and you didn't even notice," Henry says, a little amusement in his words now that he knows that he's not actually in trouble. "Nobody even acknowledged me except for Grandma, and she just asked me to pass her the nilla wafers. You were all laying on the floor."
"Well," Mary Margaret finally pipes up. "That explains all the crumbs in my shirt."
iii. gin.
Somehow, they go most of the day before their tryst is brought up outright.
They all know, of course, and Emma knows that they know, because nobody in this entire fucking family is good at hiding a single damn thing. David won't look her in the eyes. Zelena actually winks at her, a gesture that Emma finds more terrifying than anything else. Mary Margaret makes eye contact with Regina at one point and turns such a bright shade of red that Zelena delightedly asks her if she's developed a rash.
It's Zelena who finally says something – because, again, of course it is.
They'd spent the day lazing around, nixing their plans of shopping in favor of the couch and comfort movies. Zelena does some more moaning about how they all need to indulge more, but in the end, she does provide everyone with glass after glass of water. She's the one to cook dinner too, prefacing the serving with "Don't worry, it's not spiked."
Which, really, does nothing for Emma's confidence.
Still, by the time the evening rolls around, they're all feeling miles better, and when Zelena claps her hands together and says, "Drinks?" a murmur of agreement rolls around the room.
"It's like a Tom Collins," Regina says, sliding the drink she's just prepared over to Mary Margaret.
It glides effortlessly over the marble, leaving a trail of condensation in its wake, and Regina only rolls her eyes when Mary Margaret asks, "who?"
"It's got sprite," Regina says flatly, and Mary Margaret takes it with a smile.
"I hope you made this extra strong," Zelena says when Regina hands her one, too. "I need it after last night."
Regina's cheeks color, but she gives no other indication that she's even heard. She just turns back to her work, and wordlessly hands Emma a glass as she raises her own. Emma clinks it, and they take their first sips in tandem.
It's a simple gesture, hardly intimate – but it makes Emma feel a little fuzzy inside all the same. She ducks her eyes.
"You two aren't going to fuck again after this, are you?" Zelena asks, and Emma practically spits her drink out on the counter. Regina coughs, choking on her own. "Yeah, the walls are thin. Thank you for keeping it down," She deadpans, playful sarcasm dripping from every word. Disgust filters in when she adds, "Who doesn't want to be rocked to sleep by the sound of her own sister's moans?"
"Zelena!" Regina scolds through her sputtering.
Emma remembers, suddenly, that her mother is in the room: Mary Margaret is staring deliberately into her drink, seemingly fixated on the bubbles rising in the soda. And then she remembers, even more mortifyingly, that their son is in the room, too.
Henry's got his nose wrinkled, mouth twisted in disgust and horror and all those other things that teenagers feel when they learn that their parents do, in fact, have sex.
Nevermind the fact that his parents aren't even together.
Emma actually feels a bit of sympathy for him as she watches him frown down into his shirley temple, remembering her own parents rolling around in Mary Margaret's bed on taco night shortly after the curse had broken.
And then she remembers that she'd had sex with Regina, and she doesn't feel so bad anymore. Not at all.
She just wishes she could fucking remember.
"What?" Zelena asks. She brings her drink to her lip and sips, eyes locked on her sister. "If you wanted me to be discreet about it, you shouldn't have screamed her name like that."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Emma mumbles, and slides out of her bar stool. "I'm leaving. Anybody wanna sit on the deck with me?"
"Yes," Henry says immediately, and hops up with his shirley temple in tow.
"Oh, come on," Zelena says. "I was only joking. Regina – tell them I was only joking!"
Regina says something in response, but it's muffled by the hiss of the screen door as it shuts behind them, and then there's just the hum of the crickets and the thud that Henry makes as he plops down into one of the chairs.
They sit there in silence for a little while, Emma staring off at the lake. It's beautiful out here, if nothing else.
"I don't want to hear about…that," Henry says eventually, sounding nauseous, "But I'm happy for you guys." Emma blinks, and meets his eyes. He offers her a small smile. "Really, Ma. It's about time the two of you started dating."
Emma smiles and opts not to bring up the difference between fucking under the influence and actually dating. It's nice to have his blessing, distinction aside.
"Thanks, kid."
The others eventually filter out after them, starting with her parents and then the sisters. Regina sits next to her on her bench, thigh to thigh, and Emma hopes that if anybody sees the flush rising in her cheeks that they'll just attribute it to the alcohol. Regina does pour heavy.
It's a pipe dream, she knows.
iv. masturbation.
They do not, in fact, fuck after that.
Emma kind of hopes that they will despite everything, despite the flush rising in Mary Margaret's cheeks and Zelena's eye rolls and Regina's glaring – but when the clock strikes eleven, Regina announces that she's going to bed and she heads for her own room. Emma checks her phone a few times throughout the next half hour, hoping against hope to find a message from Regina on her screen. Nothing comes, and eventually she steals away to her own room, only moping a little bit.
She'd reconstructed her bed somewhere between lunch and dinner, when the fog had eased up a bit, and she's grateful for the foresight now that the alcohol is buzzing in her blood. She's nowhere near as plastered as last night, but she's had enough that her limbs feel heavy, and so she strips bare, slips between the sheets, and genuinely makes an effort to fall asleep.
The memory of the previous night is still fresh in her head, though, and she can't help it. Before she knows it there's a throbbing between her thighs, accompanied by a sticky slick wetness that's actually dripping down to the mattress and fuck, when had she gotten this desperate to be touched?
When had she gotten this desperate to be touched by Regina?
She knows that answer, and it's embarrassing to acknowledge just how long it's been, and so she files that one away.
It should feel a little bit weird to do this with her entire family under the same roof, but still – she's not going to get any sleep like this. It's not that strange. It's not like she'd brought her vibrator or anything. She didn't plan this.
There's nothing wrong with a little…acoustic relief when one needs it.
Emma flips over onto her back with a little huff and props her pillow beneath her neck. She's hot – she pulls the covers off of her and lets her legs fall apart, savoring the feeling of the cool air against her bare skin. She doesn't waste any time. This isn't a midnight session back in her own bed in her own apartment – this is utilitarian. A quick orgasm to get her head on straight.
She dips her fingers through her own arousal, parts herself – and is suddenly caught in images of Regina doing the same.
Memories.
"Fuck." The word escapes before she can stop it, low and breathy, and she hopes desperately that it'd been quiet.
Emma pushes two fingers inside of herself. She's soaked. There's no need for pretense, she thinks – and so she allows herself to gasp, to press her head back against the pillow and pretend that it's Regina who's touching her.
Memories, she thinks. If only she could grasp them.
v. sex. [...again. it's better than the former.]
…Okay. Maybe they do fuck again. Zelena can suck it.
In Emma's defense, it's Regina who doesn't know how to knock.
In Regina's defense, Emma had started moaning her name, and it's not like she'd locked the fucking door.
Joint custody of the blame, Emma decides. She'd thought she was being quiet, really – apparently, that's not either of their strong suits. She should really work on that, she thinks.
And then she decides that she doesn't fucking care.
Regina's just standing in the doorway, slack-jawed with her eyes a little wide, the hand around the doorknob tight enough that her knuckles are turning white.
Emma swallows. She'd pulled her fingers from herself the moment she'd heard the knob start to rattle, but she's fully aware of the fact that she's sitting naked with her hand glistening and her legs parted. She closes them slowly and says, "You wanna close the door, Regina?"
Regina starts, glances back out into the hallway, and pulls the door shut behind her as she steps inside quickly. "Right. Sorry," She says, and then catches her lower lip between her teeth. Her eyes are roaming over Emma unabashed, until she finally meets her gaze and adds, "I…heard my name."
Emma just nods. "Yeah," She says, and Regina takes a step forward. Emma nods, encouraging, not even sure that Regina needs it – and when she climbs up onto the bed, Emma almost chokes with relief.
Fuck, she wants this.
Emma lays back again. Regina follows.
"God, Emma," Regina murmurs as she settles against her. Her skin is hot against Emma's, flushed, and Emma gasps as she splays a hand over her stomach. "You couldn't even wait one day?"
Emma shakes her head, as humiliating as it is. "I keep thinking about last night."
"Me too," Regina admits as she presses a kiss to her shoulder, her fingers dipping lower. "Is this okay?" She asks, voice husky. Emma nods fervently.
"Yes. Please. God, I want you to touch me."
Regina hums at that. She skims her fingers over Emma's hip bones, one after the other, and then over her inner thighs. Emma spreads her legs, angles her hips, practically begging with her body. Regina doesn't oblige. Instead she asks, "What do you remember?"
"Not much," Emma admits, regret evident in her voice. "It's hazy."
"I know," Regina agrees. "For me, too." Her hand leaves Emma's legs then and Emma gives a frustrated whimper, but then Regina brings it up to cup around her jaw, tilt her chin down so that she can kiss her, and then all Emma can think about is the soft touch of Regina's lips against her own. She threads her hand back through Emma's hair, tugs it back as she drops to Emma's throat instead, and adds with a bite, "I like what I remember."
With that she swings her legs around Emma's hips, catches Emma's hands in her own, and pins them above her head.
"Stay there," Regina orders, breathy, "Or I'll stop."
Emma only nods, stunned.
"Good," Regina says, and then she sinks lower.
She starts with Emma's clavicle. Her tongue is hot against her skin, her teeth sharp – and she makes sure that every inch of Emma's skin in her path gets the same treatment, a laving and then a nip, sucking here and there, drawing Emma's skin between her teeth and creating a bruise. She sinks over Emma's breasts, a line down her stomach – until she's settled directly between her legs, pushing them apart with her palms with eyes so full of lust that Emma can't fucking breathe.
Regina's a fucking tease, and Emma thinks she should have known.
She takes her sweet time. She presses kisses to Emma's inner thighs, sucks there too, until Emma's entire body is a map of Regina's path, her seduction – purple and blue and red and heady, and fuck, it's all Emma can do to keep her hands above her head. She wants to grab her. Wants to push her mouth where she needs it most, over her throbbing clit – fuck, she can just barely grasp the memory, slippery, elusive from last night –
She needs to know how that feels.
When Regina's mouth finally nears her center, Emma can barely hold back the urge to buck her hips forward. Thankfully, Regina doesn't waste her time here, doesn't hold back – she leads in with her tongue, and the moan that tears out of Emma's throat is entirely too loud for their current situation.
She doesn't fucking care.
Regina slips her tongue over the entirely of Emma's core, starting at her entrance and drawing up and then back down again, several times until she finally settles her lips over Emma's clit. Emma rolls her hips down, savoring the feeling of Regina's tongue laving over her, and then her fingers join, pressing inside of her without resistance and –
Emma can't hold back.
Her hands fly down, fingers threading through Regina's hair as she nears her orgasm. She comes with her fist screwed tight in Regina's locks, fucking thankful that Regina's threat had so clearly been empty.
Regina looks entirely too smug when she pulls back, wiping at her chin with the back of her hand.
Emma can't have that.
"Sit on my face," She demands, already tugging Regina up by her hair.
vi. humiliation.
It's so worth it in the end, Emma thinks, though she could do without this part. It's the natural progression of things, but that doesn't mean she has to like it.
She'd awoken with Regina in her arms, and that more than makes up for anything that their family can throw at them. They'd wandered out of her room together, and that had definitely given Zelena some extra ammunition, but Emma can't bring herself to care. She leans into Regina as she swirls her bite of waffle through her syrup.
"So," Zelena begins, and Emma just knows it's going to be something ridiculous. Regina heaves a sigh, and Emma knows she's thinking the same. "How willing are you to share her, sis?" Zelena asks, and Regina draws in a sharp breath. Zelena's eyes flash with a gleam that Emma can only describe as wicked. "Because I could really use a good lay. I can only assume she'd fantastic with those hands, the way you were screaming her name last night. It was really quite disturbing, but –"
"Zelena," Regina bites out, setting her fork and knife down on her plate and folding her hands on the counter instead. Her voice is positively icy when she speaks. "I'm not sharing. Find someone else, and stop talking about her like she's a toy."
And, okay. Emma knows they've just slept together – twice now, but hey, who's counting – but that makes her feel a little warm and fuzzy on the inside all the same.
Regina's not willing to share, and that has to mean something. Zelena opens her mouth to speak, but –
"God, you guys are disgusting," Henry says, and Emma's actually grateful for it, because whatever Zelena had been about to say was bound to be worse. Henry drops his toast dramatically onto his plate, and Emma claps an apologetic hand over his back.
"Sorry kid," She says, rubbing his back as he wrinkles his nose. "You'll be gross too one day."
Silence reigns for more than a few moments until Mary Margaret finally clears her throat and says, "Well. On that note, would everyone still like to go kayaking today?"
Zelena is no longer allowed to bring drugs on family vacations, per Mary Margaret's request. Zelena is also no longer allowed to plan family vacations, per Henry's – she balks at both of these, of course, but David backs them up wholeheartedly. Emma's parents look at Regina expectantly, a silent question of reason with your sister, but Regina only shrugs, crosses her arms over her chest and with a wicked glint in her eye says, "I dunno. It's worked out pretty well for me."
Henry looks nauseous.
Emma thinks they've finally lived the whole thing down about a month later. She's been staying at the mansion more often than not, and the rest of Storybrooke seems to have accepted their status as a couple pretty readily.
That is, until Henry presents them with a pamphlet on soundproofing services over breakfast. Emma snatches it from him, takes one look at it, and drops it back on the counter.
"Ha ha. Very funny, kid."
He shakes his head, picks it up, and shoves it back at them. "Not a joke. It could be my christmas present."
Regina only rolls her eyes and resumes scrubbing the pan she'd used to make pancakes. Emma, on the other hand, crumples the pamphlet and says, "You leave for college in three weeks, you little shit."
Henry laughs, though he tries his best to cover it as he puts a hand over his chest and says dramatically, "And I'll suffer for each and every one of those twenty-three days."
"Sometimes twice a day," Regina pipes up.
"Oh, come on," Henry groans.
Emma grins. "Three if we're feeling –"
"You know what? Nevermind." Henry cuts her off, holds up his hands, and backs out of the kitchen. "Bye. You can be disgusting on your own."
Regina chuckles from her spot at the sink. "I'm going to miss him."
Emma comes to stand behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist and resting her chin against her shoulder. "Yeah, me too," She says. "But we'll have this place all to ourselves. Think how loud you can scream with nobody to hear."
"I'm still within earshot!" Henry calls. "I'm going to Violet's! Bye!" The front door thuds shut behind him, and Emma laughs.
It's worth it. It was all worth it, Emma thinks. Drugs, sex, gin, and all.
