Emma considered leaving the door open so that she could hear more clearly what was going on in the hallway, but then decided, if she fell asleep, the intruder would be able to sneak into her room without making a sound, so at least she would wake up to the sound of the door opening. Needless to say, she didn't sleep well. And not just because she seemed to hear rustles and other sounds everywhere. The fact that Regina was sleeping behind the wall didn't make it any easier. Was she asleep? Her night must have been just as hectic.
The sound insulation in the house was good, and Emma couldn't hear what was going on in the next room. A couple of times, she wanted to go out and check on Regina, but each time she changed her mind. She doubted the lunatic wanted to kill or harm her in any way, otherwise, he would have done it right away. No, he wanted to play, make the victim nervous, to have a hold over her.
She chickened out and never called Lily, telling herself that she would probably be asleep by now. So Emma sent her girlfriend a text message informing her that she was working late. Lily puts her mobile phone on silent mode and will read it when she wakes up.
In the morning, Emma slips noiselessly out of her room. The white, wood-paneled corridor looks ridiculously harmless in the first morning light. She can't believe that last night it looked like a scene from a horror movie starring a maniac. She decided to get up early so she could get home before work and talk to Lily. She doesn't expect an easy conversation, but something tells her it's a talk that shouldn't be had over the phone or in a text message. As she walks down the stairs, she finds that the clatter of her boots isn't the only thing that wrecks the quiet of the morning. There is someone in the kitchen, and for a second, her racing heart slows as she peeks through the half-open door to find Regina standing at the stove, fully dressed, her hair perfectly coiffed and with makeup on. Did she ever go to bed?
With her apron on, she calmly works with a spatula, and something in the frying pan sizzles happily, teasing Emma's nostrils with obscenely enticing aromas. If it weren't for the familiar garish writing on the tile, it would have seemed that the events of the previous evening had simply been a dream. But then she wouldn't have been here.
Sensing her presence, or perhaps hearing the footsteps on the stairs, Regina glances at Emma over her shoulder.
"Good morning," a soft smile. "You're in time. Breakfast's almost ready," and she turns back to the stove, leaving Emma staring at the mass of smooth black hair.
Almost groping her way to the counter, Emma sits down on a high stool, staring at the woman in shock, feeling something strange going on inside her.
Her mind generously offers her an old dusty picture that had been stubbornly stored in the attic of her memory all along. A picture that fifteen-year-ago-Emma liked to savor in her mind.
Regina in her housecoat, or even better, in Emma's oversized T-shirt, is making them breakfast, coffee steaming in mugs, and gentle morning rays are licking Emma's bare heels, caressing Regina's tanned, smooth legs. Emma gives up and comes up behind her, presses her chest against her back, hears a faint moan of protest, and inhales her scent – a mixture of shampoo, last night's perfume, and something else that is originally hers, and that makes it feel even more like home. She holds Regina's soft, supple, still slightly sleepy body close to her, pushes dark hair back to expose her neck, presses her lips to the warm skin, hears the woman in her arms exhale sharply, and Emma grins to herself. Regina turns off the stove and spins around in her embrace, wrapping her arms around Emma's neck and asking with a sly smile.
"What about breakfast?"
"I'm not too hungry yet, are you?" Emma mumbles, her voice a little hoarse from sleep.
Breakfast cools down, but it doesn't matter at all.
Almost idyllic picture, Swan thinks bitterly. Could she have considered the circumstances under which she would recall her old favorite fantasy?..
Regina sets a plate of steaming breakfast in front of her, and it's so unbearably homey that Emma's chest aches with viscid longing. Longing for something that is never meant to be.
She gives a bitter grin as she looks down at her plate, and Regina asks.
"You want some coffee?"
Emma shakes her head.
"No, thanks. I'll have a cup at home." Regina sends her a distant look and goes to the coffee machine to pour herself a cup. Emma sighs heavily, crossing her legs at the ankles. For a moment, it seemed as if the tension between them gradually began to ease, but now it's like every word they say pushes them even further apart.
Regina leans against the counter, sipping her coffee with one arm wrapped around her body and her legs crossed, but Emma thinks she looks more lonely than displeased. For some reason, silence becomes unbearable.
She chews on what she managed to pass into her mouth thoughtlessly, and only now she gets a taste of it.
"Delicious, really," Emma says, trying to sound sincere but not too hearty. "What is it?"
"Huevos rancheros. Family recipe," the voice is a little softer than could be expected.
"It's Mexican food, isn't it? And you're Puerto Rican," Swan says, flashing her knowledge.
"My maternal grandmother lived in Mexico."
"Aren't you going to eat?" Emma points her fork at her.
"I don't usually have breakfast," Mills says. But Emma reads something else into it –Regina got up early to make her breakfast. There's an awkward pause.
"Well, that's really good stuff," she says, feeling an inexplicable urge to talk and talk rather than listen to the silence, which is broken only by the clink of a fork on a plate. "I haven't eaten anything homemade in ages. I don't really know how to cook. That's why people who can do it are some kind of super humans to me," she gives Regina a small smile.
"What about your girlfriend?" Regina raises her coffee mug to her lips as if hiding behind it.
"Lily doesn't cook either. According to her, everyone should do what they can. And she'd rather pay the person who cooks something for her than suffer and then choke on her own cooking," Emma flashes a lopsided grin. Regina's lips twitch in a polite half-smile, but it's enough for Emma. "If you only knew how much I miss homemade pancakes. Sometimes mom cooks when she knows I'll drop by, but a pile of freshly fried pancakes for breakfast is a special kind of beauty if you ask me."
God, why is she saying all this? Like Regina cares. She sips her coffee, glancing at Emma, who looks down at her plate, pissed at herself.
She finishes her breakfast in deafening silence, and when she empties her plate, she gets up a little more abruptly than she intended. She goes to the sink to wash the dishes, feeling a pair of brown eyes watching her every move. After wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she turns to face the hostess, putting on her most professional expression.
"Thanks for breakfast. I should get going, though."
Regina sets her mug down on the counter and asks in surprise.
"Already? It's not even seven o'clock yet."
Emma shrugs. "I want to nip home first. I need to talk to Lily," she adds in a lower voice, and Regina nods knowingly, looking down at the floor for a moment.
"Good luck, then."
"I'll come tonight. Call me if anything comes up, okay?" she says, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible, and after seeing Regina nod in confirmation, she leaves the kitchen.
The keys land on the table with an obscenely loud clink, and Emma almost sneaks around her own apartment, afraid that Lily would come around the corner and burn a hole in her head with her disapproving gaze. But nothing happens. The apartment seems dangerously empty, but then the sound of running shower comes from the bathroom, and the feeling of unreality is gone. She goes to the kitchen to make coffee, but mostly it's just something to do. The sound of the water stops, and Emma tenses, anticipating for her less-than-friendly girlfriend to show up.
The footsteps in the hallway grow louder, then fade, and Emma spins around, trying to show how happy she is to see her. Lily stands by the door, wrapped in a towel, her shoulders and arms still glisten with moisture, and the look in her eyes doesn't bode well, but it doesn't bode ill either.
"Emma, where the hell have you been?"
"Lil, don't be mad. There was an urgent call. Nothing super serious," she assures, seeing the startled look in brown eyes, "but I had to take precautions."
"Are you all right?" There is more concern than resentment in her voice, and Emma relaxes a little. She shrugs her jacket off her shoulders and places it over the back of a nearby chair.
"Yeah, like I said, it's nothing serious. You want coffee?" she shakes her empty mug in the air. Lily waves it away.
"So, are you going to tell me what happened?"
"It's confidential, actually," Swan says weakly, but then sighs as Lily tilts her head in disbelief. "The Mayor's been harassed by a stalker, so we... couldn't leave her alone. He can be aggressive. We are just watching for now."
It seems safer to refer about the investigators in plural, as if there were a bunch of other cops sleeping in Regina's house with her.
"So you spent the night at Regina Mills'?" Lily's voice and face are unreadable, but Emma gets wary just in case.
"That does sound creepy," she says, holding up her index finger. She adds quickly, pursing her lips. "I had to watch the house, yes."
"So, how did it go? Have you watched? Did you sleep well there?" intones Lily in a sweet, sweet voice, but Emma thinks she is going to start spitting poison any second.
"Don't be ridiculous," Swan pulls out a chair a little more abruptly than necessary and sits down on it violently. "I'll have to stay there for some time," spurred on by her anger, she doesn't even try to sweeten the pill anymore and stares defiantly into the brown eyes, but all she seems to see is a concrete wall that instantly grew between them.
Lily leans her hip against the counter and crosses her arms over her chest. Her features seem to sharpen, and Emma feels uneasy seeing her like this.
"Because you're the only one left, aren't you?" she twitches her shoulder. "Why can't Jones keep watch over her? Why does it have to be you?"
Swan lets out a tired sigh and says softly, rubbing her eyes.
"She only trusts me," she doesn't know why she said it, but as the words are out of her mouth, she knows she meant it.
"Of course, she does," Lily's lip curls and her eyes glitter dangerously.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Emma scowls at her, her hands slamming down on the table in front of her.
"How convenient for her, don't you think?" Lily walks over to the coffee machine, puts a mug on the tray, and starts pressing buttons with her back to Emma. Her shoulder blades still glisten wetly, but right now, Emma doesn't want to go up behind her and wrap her arms around her. "Some fishy stalker has shown up. It's time to catch up, to get to know your ex-best friend. What a great way to hit on you. I give her my due."
"Bullshit!" Emma barks out a laugh and shakes her head in disbelief. "You're acting like a child." She adds in a lower voice. "Regina Mills doesn't give a shit about me."
Lily whirls around, a gleam of triumph in her eyes. Emma braces herself.
"Let me guess – she turned you down, didn't she? Not now, earlier," clarifies her loving girlfriend. "Gave you the boot, that's why you're both on pins and needles when you have to be in the same room," she sips her coffee and tells her all this as calmly as if she was talking about the rising prices for period pads.
"Well, look at you!" Emma slams her hand on the table in mock admiration, but her smile is forced. "Good for you, knowing all the angles! Want a gold star?" moving back in her seat so abruptly that the legs of the chair creak bitterly on the floor, she gives her girlfriend a scorching look and, grabbing her jacket, quickly leaves the kitchen. She was afraid that she would throw the first thing that came to mind at the wall if she stayed in the same room with her for even a second longer.
Once she is alone with a cup of coffee, Emma finally feels like she can relax. All she wants is to be left alone and get all the confusion of the day out of her head. And most importantly, she has to decide what to do with this ubiquitous stalker. Her Deputy, who arrives at lunchtime after having a good night's sleep, has the same question.
"I dunno, KJ," Swan sighs, absently tapping a plastic stirrer over the rim of the empty cup that she didn't put in the trash. "I'd rather lie low and watch him. If he thinks he's unstoppable, he may let his guard down."
"Why don't we go through the potential suspects?"
"And then what, we'll take them by the scruff of the neck and ask what their relationship is with Regina Mills? Regina will kill me if this story gets out. And besides, this guy might lie low, but that won't solve our problem – he might show up again at any time. I think we need to wait until he relaxes and makes a mistake..."
"Are you sure it's a man?" hums Jones.
"Are you implying something, or...?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.
"I'm not implying anything, but it would be wiser not to discount anyone," he plops down in the chair in front of her. "Not even your girlfriend, who's mad with jealousy. For example," the man holds up his hand just as Swan opens her mouth to protest.
As if startled by the mention, the Sheriff's phone comes to life on the table, and as Emma reaches for it, she finds it's a text from Lily.
'Coming home for dinner?'
It seems she has already cooled down and wants to make up. Emma feels a little relieved. But just a little. Somehow, in this whole situation, Emma can't shake off the guilt she feels about her girlfriend. As if Emma's being an asshole, even though she's just doing her job. Intellectually, she knows that, but she feels a little sick at heart nonetheless. And it would be nice if Lily finally got that, too. Her completely baseless suspicions and accusations don't make it any easier. Their relationship has taken a turn for the worse lately, but Emma didn't really try to fix anything or dispel Lily's doubts. She sends a 'yes' and puts the phone down before she buries her face in her hands.
The room would be pitch-black if it wasn't for the television screen, which casts colorful reflections on Lily's face. She was waiting for Emma on the sofa in the living room, staring blankly straight ahead. Her face is calm, if a little tired. She looks up at Emma, and her eyes aren't prickly anymore. Swan sits down next to her on the couch, one leg tucked under her.
"Have you eaten yet?" she begins subtly, her eyes fixed on the screen where a macaroni commercial is playing.
"I thought we would eat together," Lily says softly, and her voice is a little cracked as if she wasn't used to using it.
"Well, let's go."
"Listen, Em," Lily turns her face to her without making eye contact, instead, she fiddles with the sleeve of the leather jacket that Emma hasn't taken off yet. "I really... I was being hysterical," she says with a bitter laugh. "It's your job, and you get it done," she finally looks up at her with uncertainty, and Emma smiles with her lips closed.
She takes the hand that is tugging at her sleeve in hers and squeezes. Lily continues, more confident now. "I said a lot of shit to you that I shouldn't have said, and you were right to get mad at me," she says, her eyes glistening wetly, and for some reason, Emma feels uneasy. The feeling of guilt returned, and now she has a feeling like she owes Lily. Because of her, Lily now has these unpleasant feelings, these pangs of jealousy, and it's her job to make it easier for her. Make her feel loved. The only one for Emma.
"C'mere," Swan pulls her close, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and burying her face in the crook of her neck. Holds tight to her girlfriend. Who she loves. Because they've been together for so long. Certainly longer than with anyone else in Emma's life. Not counting Regina, but they'd never had anything but friendship with Regina, so that was different.
Lily is fun to be with, they have a similar sense of humor. She loves Emma, supports her, they match in routine stuff, and the sex is pretty good. And Emma loves her, too. She thinks she does. Because love doesn't have to be an endless flutter of butterflies, right? Sometimes it's something so calm that you can lean on. When you simply feel snug that someone is there for you. Someone who needs you.
She thought she'd finally found the right person, so she can stop her searching. But now, for some reason, she can't shake off the acrid feeling that she is fooling both of them. As if trying to prove something to herself, Swan's hand tightens on the dark hair, forcing the woman to tilt her head back and let Emma's mouth rest on her neck. And then she feels soft moan next to her ear, and the familiar warm hands pull her jacket off her shoulders with a sharp movement. Obediently, she pulls her hands out of the sleeves and lets Lily send the jacket away to the floor. She slides one hand under the elastic of her sweatpants and squeezes her buttock. Stroking her back with the other hand, she feels Lily's hot breath on her collarbone. Then the woman hurriedly fumbles with the buttons on Emma's shirt, covering her throat with kisses, and Swan closes her eyes in pleasure. And then Emma is on top of her, and Lily presses her body against hers, and just as she reaches up to pull off Emma's bra, the jacket on the floor rings out shrilly, scaring the hell out of them both.
Cursing out loud, Emma darts to the pile of clothes on the floor and frantically searches for the right pocket, where the ill-fated phone is hidden.
The screen glows with the painfully familiar words 'Mayor Mills'. 'Painfully' – because every call she makes is accompanied by the need to run somewhere and solve some problems, of course. And that's the only reason. A conditioned fucking reflex.
"Yeah?" Swan almost barks into the phone, out of breath.
"He was here... Inside the house," even over the phone, it's obvious that Regina's on the verge of panic, and Emma's heart sinks in an instant.
"Fuck," she swears, and begins to dress frantically, then remembers that she hasn't hung up and says, bringing the phone to her ear again. "I'll be right there. Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"Good. Wait for me, don't touch anything there," and drops the call.
Lily props herself up on her elbows and starts to straighten up her T-shirt, which Emma pulled up to her chin. In the dim light of the TV, it's impossible to read her face, which looks more like a frozen mask now. Only her eyes twinkle.
"Shit, Lil, I'm sorry," Emma forces herself to sit on the edge of the couch next to her, even though everything inside her is rushing towards the Mayor's house on Mifflin Street. "I have to run."
"Okay," Lily says quietly, her throat twitching. "Just go."
Emma presses her mouth to her tightly closed lips as she buttons up her shirt, picks up her jacket from the floor. She pauses in the doorway to smile at her before she runs out into the hallway. All the while, Lily was sitting motionless on the couch, hugging herself as if against the cold.
She will make it up to her later, Emma thinks as she starts the engine of her car. They'll have plenty of time for that. Definitely.
There is no time to call Jones, and – if Emma understands this stalker correctly – he is hardly expected to be openly aggressive. Two members of the forces of law and order visiting the Mayor on a regular basis are likely to attract neighbors' attention, and they don't want that.
Regina sits on the porch of the house in her black coat, hugging herself as if trying to keep warm, but Emma knows it isn't the cold that makes her shiver. Even in the dim light of the streetlamp, she can see how unnaturally pale her face is. Her head snaps up as Emma approaches. Flared nostrils, lips pressed tight, and teeth clenched. Swan comes over, and she keeps sitting there as if she was going to spend the whole night in that position.
Emma holds out her hand silently, and Regina just stares at it for a few moments, then puts her cool fingers in the Sheriff's palm and lets her help her up. Only then she seems to snap out of her daze.
"What happened?" Emma asks, her voice deliberately calm because she wants Regina to feel she has everything under control.
"He was in my room," Mills says, her voice breaking. "The bedroom window was wide open."
"Let's go. Will you show me?" Emma leads the way into the house, Regina follows. It's deadly quiet, except for the sound of the kitchen clock.
"Do you think he's still here?" Regina whispers as they ascend the stairs. Emma pulls out her gun and cocks it, just in case. Regina swallows hard.
"I don't think so," Swan reassures, glancing over her shoulder. "I think today is nothing new. He's just trying to intimidate you. It's his perverse way of feeling his power over you. But it is better, of course, to double-check."
The bedroom door is ajar. Emma can imagine the panic attack Regina must have felt when she returned alone to the dark, empty house that someone else had just visited.
She wants to touch her and put her at ease, but she doesn't.
The room feels very fresh. The window is open, gaping at them, letting in the cool autumn air. A few dry fallen leaves are scattered around the floor below. They crunch beneath the soles of the Sheriff's boots as she walks over the window to look out of it. There is a branch poking into the window, which the intruder probably used to get inside. She doesn't see any other options.
"Did you check if anyone was here when you came in?" closing the window with some effort, Emma turns to the woman.
"I called you right away and ran outside. Do you think I wanted to look under the bed and see him there?!" her voice is inches away from screaming. It's the first time Emma has ever seen her like this, losing her temper. And something once-familiar stirs inside.
"Okay, you did right. I'll check everything now, stay here."
She checks the bathroom and the dressing room, then all the other rooms. When she returns to the bedroom, Regina stands with her hands in her coat pockets, shaking slightly. Emma comes up to her, watching her anxiously.
"How are you?" she asks gingerly, reaching for her elbow.
"How can I be, Emma?" Mills exclaims, throwing up her hands. "I just had a pervert in my house, probably even touching my personal belongings, and God knows what else he was doing here! How can I possibly feel, pray tell?!"
She shivers violently, and by some unaccountable impulse of tenderness and heightened desire to protect this woman, Emma pulls her close, scoops her up in her arms, and holds her tight, feeling her tremble against her. It's ridiculous, she thinks, how the upset Regina still affects her.
"It's okay," she reassures, pressing her cheek to the black hair and feeling very strange. After a few moments, Regina begins to calm down, her ragged breathing steadying, and Emma stands there, still stroking her back. Regina allows to be hugged, and because of the stress, she probably fails to realize what's happening. And then, unbidden, a picture which goes as far back as fifteen years' flashes through Emma's mind, where she'd been almost like this, hugging Regina, stroking her back, and then...
She staggers away as if she's been scalded, and for a moment, Regina just stares at her, gasping for air. Swan licks her dry lips nervously, feeling her pulse pounding in her ears and breathing hard.
After a few moments, Regina clears her throat:
"Could you... stay here?"
It takes Emma a moment to make sense of what she's just said. Blinking in confusion, she's about to say that she's already staying in the house with her when she sees that Regina points at her bed.
"I... okay," she nods and regains control of herself as she heads out of the room.
"Where are you going?" the woman asks, following her out into the hallway and watches with an expression of extreme confusion as Emma carries her bedclothes out of the guest room.
"What do you think I'll sleep on?" Swan says gruffly, getting down on her knees and feeling a wave of embarrassment come over her. She busies herself arranging the blankets on the floor to the left of the huge bed, carefully avoiding Mills' gaze.
"We could easily fit together on my bed," Regina says, genuinely puzzled.
"No, thanks," Emma retorts. "I'd rather avoid any further accusations that I tried to seduce someone."
"What?" Regina gasps.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Why the hell is she talking like an eighteen-year-old? Emma bites her lip, fighting the urge to bang her head against the wall. She gets to her feet, taking stock of her work.
"Nothing," she says matter-of-factly. "It's getting late. I'll go give the garden a look-over again."
Regina stares at her, then shrugs indifferently and goes into the bathroom, closing the door a little too loudly behind her. She returns when Emma is already in her own makeshift bed, lying down with her back to Regina.
Swan lies, looking at the yellow squares of the streetlight on the floor. She can hear the woman's soft footsteps on the carpet, the creak of the mattress beneath her as she makes herself comfortable. And then silence. Emma lies there, breathless, listening to Mills' breathing, wondering if she's already asleep or not. Never before has she been so acutely aware of her presence. Then suddenly.
"I never said you tried to seduce me," Regina utters softly, but Emma can make out every single word.
"I know," she murmurs. Then she adds wearily. "It doesn't matter anymore." Regina takes a shaky breath as if she wanted to add something else, but at the last moment changed her mind. "It's been fifteen years," Emma says, her voice devoid of any emotion.
Regina is silent. Emma can hear her turning to the side – probably moving to the far side of the bed, away from her.
Fifteen years ago
Regina is shivering in her knitted cardigan, and Emma briefly considers offering her a denim jacket. But then they come to Chris' house, which is almost shaking from the music tearing at it from the inside. Weirdly, the neighbors haven't called the cops yet, but the night is still young, and the party's just begun.
"Thank you for coming with me. I know you don't like partying very much."
"It's okay," Regina assures, not too convincingly. Swan presses the doorbell, although she doubts the need in doing so. Regina pushes the door open. The music gets even louder. Chris pops out to meet her and throws her arms around her neck. Swan slaps her on the back awkwardly.
"Hey, Emma! It's great that you came! And... uh..." she nods at Regina. Then she hands Emma the first beer cup that comes to hand, grabs the wrist of her other hand, and pulls her along. "Come on, I'll introduce you to someone."
They disappear into one of the rooms, and Emma soon loses sight of Regina's black-haired head.
Chris introduces Emma to her cousin, who is also a drummer, and his friends. A little later, KJ with his guitar joins them, and the crowd demands that they perform something. Chris announces, "'The Dark Ones', people!" and the audience comes to life; pretty soon they find themselves in the middle of an improvised circle.
They perform a couple of songs and an encore, the crowd cheers and dances, and Emma, in her element, and intoxicated by the general applause and a little beer, allows Chris to lead her away from prying eyes.
"I'll show you my room," Chris says, and Emma obediently follows, looking forward to something particularly exciting. She already knows why Chris is so eager to show her room, but she's still lost when the door slams shut behind them and the girl is suddenly very close to her. She licks her lips and looks into her eyes, and Emma feels her breath catch in her throat.
The girl is slightly shorter than her, and her shoulder-length blonde hair is slightly tousled, but it was meant to be. She has a pretty elf-like face. In short, Chris is adorable, and maybe in other circumstances, Emma might even have fallen in love with her if she hadn't...
"I like you, Emma," she says, smiling a little shyly, and Emma wants to say something back, but she can't think of anything that isn't a lie. And then she decides that she's done being stupid, after all, and leans towards the girl's lips.
Chris wraps her arms around her neck and pulls her closer, and Emma is surprised by her vim, but also by the fact that she actually likes it.
This is not her first kiss – she already kissed one of the guys once when they were playing spin the bottle at a party. But now it's for real.
After a few seconds, Chris loosens his grip, and Emma can finally pull back a little and let her lips move more freely on hers, which open wider and wider, and Emma soon feels the taste of some fruity, low-alcohol drink on her tongue, and it's somehow not disgusting at all. Chris presses her body against hers, and Emma lets her hands fall awkwardly to her waist.
When they finally pull away – and it's at this point that Emma is acutely aware of the way the girl's chest is heaving against hers – Chris looks into her eyes as if waiting for Emma to make a move. And Swan feels like she is supposed to say something, so she says the first thing that comes to mind.
"You're pretty," she mutters awkwardly.
Chris grins and reaches for the door behind Emma, warning her for some reason. "I'll lock the door, okay?"
Emma is sure there's more to it than that, and she feels a rush of heat. She takes an awkward half-step backward when Chris comes up to her and pulls her by the tie with a predatory smile as if she wants to kiss her again, but then starts pushing Emma towards the bed, which somehow ends up right behind her.
Emma falls back on the bed, and Chris straddles her hips, takes Emma's hand in hers, and puts it on her breast. Emma lets out a puff of air and licks her lips involuntarily. There's still a bra and a T-shirt under her fingers, but the fact that she's squeezing a girl's breasts is enough to turn her on. Emboldened, she slides her other hand up her thigh and under the short skirt, one of those that Japanese schoolgirls wear in anime.
Chris shifts impatiently on top of her, and the blood from Emma's head seems to rush into her pants in an instant. Her wooden fingers touch the front of the cotton panties and she hears Chris inhale sharply. Finally convinced that no one is going to stop her, Emma lets her fingers slip into her panties, and the answer is a half-moan, half-sob. Fumbling in someone else's panties in this position is uncomfortable, she has to twist her hand, the movements are stiff and awkward, and Emma wants to remove the girl from herself and get her on her back, but she starts rubbing against Emma's fingers, and apparently, she's totally cool with everything. While Emma thinks about sliding her hand under her T-shirt, Chris is already arching her body and hissing something, eyes closed, and then leans down to Emma and kisses her again. This time it's urgent, hurried.
Emma's hand, which has been in her panties, is now stroking her back, brave enough to now get under the T-shirt. Emma feels Chris' hand undoing the buttons of her plaid shirt before the girl kisses her neck, moving down, and Emma acutely feels the tension in her pants growing to a level she's never known before.
And then Chris' hands hurriedly fumble with her belt, and then with the buttons, pulling Emma's pants down to her ankles, and the girl is suddenly on her knees, settled between Swan's legs. Emma's eyes widen in surprise and horror, and her whole body goes rigid, she clutches the girl's shoulders and manages to get out, looking flushed.
"Whoa, whoa...let's... not go there just yet."
Chris shrugs, puts her hand on Emma's crotch and gives her a sly grin as she watches her reaction. Swan blushes, even more, feeling her own wet panties cling uncomfortably to her heated flesh.
Chris hooks her fingers around Emma's underwear and drags them down. Swan gasps with embarrassment and then arousal when a finger starts massaging her clit, and she thanks the maker that she went to the trouble of shaving her bikini area the day before.
By the time she and Chris leave the room, holding hands and trying to look a little less disheveled, drunken teenagers are already scattered around the house, and no one seems to care that Emma Swan has just lost her virginity. The world hasn't moved off its axis, and no one else seems to care, except Mike Newman, who saw them leave the room conspiratorially, and raises his middle and index fingers to his mouth and, making a snide face, moves his tongue between them. Emma grimaces and walks past, looking for a black-haired head in the crowd out of habit. But Regina is nowhere to be seen.