Disclaimer: I do not own the show or these characters.
Trigger: Brief mention of abuse.
Cupcakes, The Other Forbidden Fruit
"Gold, why are we dining on fish again?"
"This is not just any fish. You cannot purchase it at your local Storybrooke grocer, nor find it anywhere on the east coast. This, Miss Blanchard, is a rare salmon. And it is a delicacy."
"Alright, but what was the fish we had last night?"
Preparing his work station for lunch, Gold nodded definitively. "That was takoyaki, a Japanese dish made from battered and baked octopus."
"Oh my god. That was octopus?" Emma's face went white as David's laundered sheets. Her head met the table as she proceeded to take deep breaths. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"But…" Mary Margaret worried at her lip and shuffled her feet, "don't you think it's… inhumane?"
"Honey, remember what we talked about? Not every animal you hear is in need of saving. They're just fish, after all."
Face turning a nice shade of green Emma's hand rose in the air before asking, "How do we know we didn't eat Ursula last night?"
Regina leaned over the table with a sly smirk. "Because I would know if I was eating my friend, dear."
Leaving Emma to figure out the context of her words, Regina went back to cutting vegetables.
"I swear, I heard one scream out in pain once," Mary Margaret confessed and lent back into the patting hand of her husband.
"Surely if you can hear their screams you could hear their remarks about how dreadful that sweater is."
Mary Margaret didn't hear the jest, nor did she catch the high five Regina gave to the humble Dark One. No, she was too busy planting teary eyes on the bulging, dead ones staring up at her from the chopping block (all while absently plucking at the angora hairs of a sweater).
"Do calm yourself," Gold grated. He selected the reddest tomatoes and passed them to his culinary companion. "There are plenty of fish in the sea."
"Aye, those are words to live by."
Halting her work on the tomatoes, Regina cocked her head in Hook's direction. "I don't think Gold was referring to dating."
"I know. I was talking about mermaids – the other fish of the sea and let me tell you there are plenty of them."
Everyone rolled their eyes simultaneously while Mary Margaret slapped the pirate's shoulder in reprimand.
"Oi!" he cried, rubbing the injury. "Those are some beautiful lassies, I might point out. Take for example, my ex-biotch Ariel from the North Atlantic hood…"
Mary Margaret's eyes rose to the ceiling as she shook her head and mumbled, "I can't believe I ever called you a feminist."
"… That woman can wear some sea shells if you know what I mean. Eh?" He elbowed Emma and winked. "Am I right?"
The blonde frowned and turned away only to get a steely glare from Regina. What a time to be silently interrogated by your sort-of girlfriend.
"Aw, come on. Don't tell me you've never messed around with merfolk."
Though Emma had never 'messed around' with anyone but the two legged kind, Regina's expression sure made it seem like she did. Her glare widened at Hook's implication and then subsequently narrowed to slits. Her once beautiful luscious lips pursed as if she were plotting something sinister which meant the blonde was surely not getting anything that night and by 'not getting anything'… well, that visual was left up to the victim. But who was Emma kidding? The mouth was still beautiful and luscious – they were just attached to one scorned, albeit once evil woman.
There was a resonate banging of fish to cutting board as Gold confirmed that the thing was indeed dead. That and he may have just wanted to see Mary Margaret's winces every time the limp body came down with a dull thwack.
"I'd swear on my hook," Hook went on after finishing his rum, "your walk alone is a membership card to Friends of Ariel." His dark lined eyes narrowed and he started rubbing his chin with greasy fingers. "Or was it Friends of Dorothy?"
"Hey hey, guys," Emma piped up with an overzealous smile, and a shaky laugh, "let's change the subject. What about them fish?"
"Those," Mary Margaret corrected, "and they were in pain."
"Whatever."
"Emma, how do you know Dorothy? I never recall your mother mentioning you two saw her when you were in the Enchanted Forest, and as far as I know she didn't come to Storybrooke with the curse."
"Oh, actually she did," amended Regina. "You might not have met her yet, but she was a very good friend of mine back in the day." She finished by inserting a tomato juiced thumb into her mouth, slowly sucking for Emma's benefit and releasing it with an audible pop.
Emma choked a bit on her luncheon rum. "You know Dorothy?!"
"Why yes. Didn't you read her story in Henry's book? She was a lovely girl. Beautiful as a field of poppies and as kind as the Tinman when he got his heart back."
"You ripped out his heart?"
Offended by such an outlandish accusation Regina shot back at David in anger. "No, that was my mother's doing. I didn't start ripping out hearts until later. Dorothy had a solution to a particularly sensitive problem and I returned the favor by stealing the Tinman's heart back."
"What a lovely business transaction."
"That's ironic coming from you, Rumple." She sighed and let go of the tension. Resuming her slicing of vegetables, a slow smile spread to her lips as she reminisced. "Dorothy was a dear. Taught me a great many things."
"Aye, I bet she skipped that yellow brick road all the way up your –"
Emma cut him off. "I think you've had enough rum for one lifetime, Hook."
Hook snagged at empty air as Emma downed the glass herself in one gulp. She cringed against the burning liquid and slammed the empty cup to the table. Her face grew flushed not from the alcohol but from the glint in brown eyes and the shrewd smirk across the table.
It wasn't so much jealousy as sheer amazement that Emma was feeling. If Regina was suggesting what seemed blatantly obvious to Emma and Hook, then the Evil Queen was more adventurous than she was made out to be. It was clear that Henry's story book was discriminatory in recounting Regina's past and celebrating the power love, leaving Emma to believe True Love of the same-sex variety was anything but customary. Such a constraint would have posed a problem to a young woman like Regina who had been brought up by a heartless mother and watched like a hawk within the walls of her king husband. Despite a growing jealousy over this Dorothy chick, Emma couldn't help but feel pride in Regina for breaking her chains and possessing the courage to engage in activities that were not exactly kosher in those times. Like any budding evil queen and witch in training she fought the status quo and went after what she wanted, and Emma loved her for that.
Liked her. Liked her for that.
"Gold, you should tell everyone how you prepare your soup du jour." David leaned towards his daughter whispering with a vigorous nod, "It's a really intricate process. Fabulous."
"I thought the soup thing was a joke." Emma finished glumly, "at my expense."
"No, Miss Swan, the… soup thing is not a joke. The art of soup du jour is quite a simple thing, but could mean disaster if one doesn't prepare with the adequate respect. Something your father would understand."
"It's true," David admitted, puffing out his chest. "Gold allowed me to cook soup one time. Even let me use his steel blade."
With half her body leaning across the table Emma gasped with fake astonishment. "Gold let you touch his knife?"
Regina rolled her eyes and took away the woman's rum.
"It's a simple matter of knowing what ingredients go well together. It's about using what you have and throwing in a little extra. You can really make a soup from anything, whatever is lying around."
"Sounds kind of lazy to me," Emma threw out.
Regina pursed her lips. "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"
"I can make… stuff."
Gold and Mary Margaret shot her scolding looks.
Gold proceeded to gut the fish, his knife slicing through the belly. The sickening squelch of guts leaking out caused one of the crew to emit a high pitched whining. Unlike the others, the sound of spurting entrails and razor sharp teeth cutting through scales translated as a wail of anguish to this particular crew member. Emma let out a heavy sigh beside her fidgeting mother.
"Can't we just magic ourselves to the nearest Red Lobster?" Emma asked like it was the most obvious solution. Slouching in her chair, she propped her head up with one hand while the other was dragging a finger across the table and drawing an image of the food she really wanted. She explained, "Gold gets a break from cooking, Hook and Regina can over tip the waitresses, Mary Margaret doesn't have to hear screaming fish, and I can get my cheesy biscuits." After a pregnant silence and no calls for agreement Emma looked up from her inedible drawings. "What?"
Above deck Emma was going about her chores. The sun was high in the midday sky and beating down on the ship, heating every piece of metal in sight. If it were not for the tunes emanating from the stereo (retained from one Friday night's disco party), Emma would have called it quits. On that particularly sunny afternoon her duties consisted of polishing all metal on the ship to prevent corrosion. Hair tied up into a messy bun and sweat pouring down her face and exposed arms, Emma went about the furious scrubbing. Regina helped.
Correction: Regina watched.
"So, ah… when were you going to tell me about this dear friend of yours?"
In an effort to better reach the rusted portion of the chain Emma was bent over, ass in the air and groaning to reach further. The visual was more than satisfactory in getting Regina's heart pumping. She watched with baited breath as Emma's body bobbed in and out of the small crawl space to her polishing routine. With every motion of a jean-clad behind, Regina's mouth grew drier (which explained the need to repetitively wet them with an anxious tongue). And Regina stood there, half slumping against the mast, head tilted for a better view and watched. Because that was all she could do, watch.
It occurred to Regina's hazy brain that her confidence in the 'hands off' rule was losing credibility. She had stayed strong, though as time progressed was beginning to feel the awful effects of her own rule's downside which presented in flushed cheeks, a racing pulse, wild eyes, and an insatiable throbbing between her legs.
But the physical effects were nothing compared to the sheer number of fantasies that had taken hold of her mind. There had been so many embarrassing moments that had Emma's parents interrupting her thoughts of bending their daughter over and fucking her into next week. Oh, and the things she would imagine Emma doing to her when the woman was sleeping right beside her… Considering all the talks her own mother gave her about how undignified it was to 'merrymake' with women, dear old Cora would be rolling in her grave.
Regina may not yet have given in to those fantasies, but she never once considered them immoral or degrading. Not when they were concerning Emma. As much as Regina wanted to be the reason for Emma currently grunting on all fours, she still trusted in their agreement. Every inch of her body, inside and out, was aching to cross that line, but Regina knew once they did an explanation had to follow. Stripped and vulnerable to the emerald of Emma's eyes, Regina would be seen for whom she really was, and she didn't want to disappoint Emma and she did not want to be pitied.
"Regina?" Emma spoke over the unmistakable voice of Freddie while Under Pressure played in the distance.
Startled out of gloomy thoughts, Regina tore her gaze from the rear end. "Hm?"
"You know what? Never mind."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Emma snapped. She wiped the sweat from her brow and squinted in the sunlight. "It's just me and my tendency to think something means more than it is."
"Emma, you're not making any sense. What do you think means more?"
The blonde shook her head came out with it. "Were you going to tell me about your lesbian lover? Or the fact that she is the singing, skipping, ruby slippered girl from Oz? And how old were you? How old was she?"
The exasperated look on Emma was utterly ridiculous and cute, but Regina felt compelled to set one story straight. "Not to dwell on technicalities," she began seriously, "but Dorothy was not from Oz. She resided in the real world – the one without magic – until an evil witch (not me) cast her to the land of Oz by tornado."
"Oh, let's talk about technicalities! Like how little you think about us and this arrangement we have yet to define. You care so little that you deem it unnecessary to inform me about your previous relationships."
"Mm," Regina smiled and scoffed lightly, "like you tell me of your former lovers? Miss Swan, let me remind you we are not having sex."
"Because of your stupid rule!" Emma cried. The brunette glared. Her mouth opened in rebuttal, but Emma wasn't done. Not by a long shot. "We may not have had sex, but what we have – whatever it's called – is sexual. Or don't you remember how your hand was down my pants a few days ago?"
"That doesn't count!" retorted Regina, hands firmly on her hips. "I wasn't even myself then and neither were you."
"But it wouldn't have happened if even a small part of you didn't want it to. It only takes one singular thought, Regina."
She snorted, folding her arms. "This coming from a master sorceress?"
"We're getting off track." Emma waved her hand. "Were you or were you not going to tell me about your lady friend?"
There was a sigh and then a smile that had every intention of breaking, but lost steam midway through. Emma was the possessive type, Regina knew this from the few times she'd chummed it up with Hook in front of her (all intentional and in good fun, of course). Then again, her record as a seductress and master manipulator demonstrated her possessive tendencies, too. But what puzzled Regina most was not her almost lover's suspicions, but her suspicions toward a woman Regina had a fling with decades ago.
And then it hit her.
Jealousy was traditionally brought on by latent feelings, feelings Emma was starting to show for her (or, rather, chuck at her in an innocent attempt at honesty) when she had no business doing so from the start. What they had wasn't serious. What they had was fun, so why dull the party by inviting jealousy?
Still unsure how the revelation affected her own budding emotional state, Regina let it be for the moment.
"Her name is Dorothy," Regina corrected decisively, "and no, I was not going to reveal my history with her. Would you care to know why?"
Emma waved a hand in perfect Vanna White fashion for Regina to continue.
"Dorothy was a fling. Nothing more."
Emma gaped at the shrug and simple explanation (if one could call it that). If there was ever a time the woman could prove her ability to explain herself without attitude or the need to rip a heart out afterwards than that was it.
"I'm really a fool to believe you actually would have been truthful with me," she argued. Her chin as well as her spirit fell like a ship's anchor to water. "Apparently I don't deserve it."
"Emma –"
"No, don't do that!" Emma shouted, leaping forward and pointing an accusing finger at Regina's chest. "Don't you dare pity me when it's you who's the broken one. I'm the comfortable one here. I had no problem talking about my past relationships. It may not be something I wanted broadcasted in the Daily Mirror, but I would have told you, and all you had to do was ask." Emma sucked in a breath and straightened. It wasn't her intention to attack Regina, but the rant had been building up within her for days. And Emma had to admit the wounded expression was restitution for the smear campaign courtesy of one journalist in the pocket of one former mayor.
"And don't tell me it's not my concern. It is every bit my concern when we're sharing a bed every night and making out every chance we get. Dorothy was probably your first lesbian experience and it was apparently so mind blowing that you brought her over with the others when the curse was cast. So yeah," Emma's voice chafed with bitterness, her shoulder dipping towards Regina allowing her glare to turn sidelong, "I should be worried, especially if I have to return home to my competition."
Nothing and no one stirred on the main deck, striking both women speechless. Silence fell suddenly without mercy. Regina's wounded features turned to a frown, yet the sagging shoulders spoke of something more than confusion and less than having escaped unscathed. Noticing the change, Emma backed away from the woman and the words she had slung at her. She turned and started walking away. Then, as if thinking better of it, boots pivoted and Emma was returning back to her original spot. Hands planted themselves on hips while a tortured sigh left her lips.
Regina's frown deepened at the strange behavior, but she spoke nothing of it. She also didn't mention the fact that there was no guarantee that they could return home, and that what was spoken in whispers against bare skin and kissed away in lust and maybe something more shouldn't bleed over into their real lives in Storybrooke. And that if it did, Emma wouldn't have anything to worry about because Regina wasn't interested in Dorothy anymore. Not since a rusted yellow car came barreling into her town (and its sign) and not since the car's owner had wormed her way into her family. Dorothy was a fling of the past and nowhere near rival material. Emma was her present, the one who challenged her, fought with her, laughed, cried, and kissed with her. She hugged her through the night, whispering promises and assurances that they would find their son and bring him home.
But Regina didn't speak of those things.
"Who is she? Her Storybrooke counterpart, I mean." Emma's eyes fell to the deck and the boot toeing into it. "Have I ah… have I met her?" she stammered.
"I should think not. She works as a nurse in the psych ward." She shrugged and explained in simplest terms, "I gave her roses."
A brow arched. "In exchange for…"
"Nothing that is your business."
Because, really, there was no reason to explain why she had kept Belle tucked away in a padded cell or divulge the intimate details of how she gained cooperation in keeping it quiet. There was no reason to reveal such activities when Emma wasn't the one being cheated on during that time.
Nodding obediently, Emma took it as an end to the conversation and went back to her polishing. Regina, ever the observer, went back to her favorite pastime.
"If I may say so, you look very strapping this afternoon."
It sounded like an apology, but Emma was far too deep in the crawl space to hear the tone. However, she did happen to catch what mattered and let out a cackle. "You may say so."
Regina smiled. Her eyes clung to the beads of perspiration leaking rivers over skin. With ever swipe made to corrosive steel, a muscle contracted. Such a motion repeated had the muscles stretching and contracting under the sheen of salty sweat in a most lovely fashion. The visual had Regina's hands itching to touch and a mouth salivating to taste.
Regina let out a hum of approval. "Mm, this work suits you well, dear."
A laugh echoed from the depths of the crawl space. There was a muffled reply.
"What was that?"
"I said, I'm not hard on the eyes either."
Regina smirked.
"Who's not hard on the eyes?"
Their heads turned to the voice of a prince. David shifted his hold on the crate and looked from Regina to Emma, waiting for a reply.
"Uh… the uh, the sunset!"
Regina rolled her eyes at the romantic streak of her bedmate.
His face scrunched (a signature expression he passed on to his daughter) and then lit up with a cheery glow. "Oh, right. Gotta love those ocean sunsets."
"Ha, ha… ouch!"
Emma rubbed her shin and glared up at the hostile brunette. She then caught her father standing off to the side. After putting down the crate, he seemed to stand still as if in deep thought. Emma could have sworn she heard him talking to himself. With a brief nod (in no one's direction) David went for the pile of rope lying in a haphazard pile on the deck. He started coiling the line.
"You can kiss up to him as much as you want, but he's never going to give you an inch."
David jumped in surprise as if he had been caught tying a noose for someone's imminent death. "I was just…" he glanced at the rope and gave a bashful grin.
"Impressing him?" Emma offered. "Try as hard as you like. Hook will never notice how much overtime you put in. All he cares about is rum, women, and a well kept ship."
"But that's why I'm working above and beyond! I know how much he values hard work. He treats this ship like it's his child, and he wouldn't stand anyone disgracing her. He may not see how much I care about his child…" David looked down at his fingers picking at the line and mumbled, "Maybe he will one day."
Regina rolled her eyes at yet another sentimental Charming. How she got involved with these people she will never know.
"I just don't want you to get your hopes up," Emma gave her father a sympathetic smile, "Dad."
David beamed. "You know, your mother said the same thing to me. I think we know where you got your common sense from. Mary Margaret has always been a kind, sensible woman."
There was a choking sound in the background as Regina started gagging.
Emma laughed, throwing down her greasy rag and rising to her feet. "Okay, we better cut this out. Regina looks like she's going to throw herself overboard if we don't put an end to the chummy family stuff."
It was David's turn to roll eyes.
"No, really," Regina insisted airily, waving her hand, "I could use a good swim."
Then it was time for Emma to roll her eyes.
"I'm hungry." Emma stated out of the blue. "You wanna grab a bite?"
"We ate an hour ago."
"Yeah…"
"So…?"
"So… I guess you don't want to eat with me," Emma finished her own question.
A finger went to her head and scratched while a mouth and forehead bunched in concentration. The woman was clearly absorbed in some dilemma, and if Regina knew Emma at all it could be anything from one extreme to another. Considering her current appetite, Regina had an idea of what the woman was furiously mulling over.
"I could really go for a bear claw."
"What's new?"
"I'm with Regina on this one," David said. "What's with the obsession with bear claws?"
"I. Like. Bear claws. So sue me!"
"Just might have to if Granny keeps selling out of them," Regina quipped smartly. "The People vs. Emma Swan. I can see the headlines now… Storybrooke Citizens Want Their Bear Claws Back. Sheriff Hurts Small Town Diner With Her Ravenous Stomach."
David snorted with laughter.
Head in the clouds and dreaming of pastry heaven (where bear claw eaters were free of prejudice), Emma was mumbling distantly. "What about cupcakes? I could go for one of those right now. Light, whipped frosting… chocolaty, moist cake that melts on the tongue… Mmm."
"If you have a desperate need for sugar, you should go to the galley. I'm sure Gold can magic something up for you."
"Aw, yes!" Emma cried, bouncing up and down excitedly. She lunged into her father's arms. "Brilliant! And you thought Mary Margaret was the sensible one!"
When Emma was out of sight Regina turned on David (still stunned by the hug). "Why do you put such thoughts in her head?" she scolded. "Now she's going to be on a sugar high till 3 am!"
"Gold!"
The pawnbroker paused at his magically powered fridge and sighed when he heard the heavy clogging of boots.
"Gold, Gold, Gold!"
"That is my name, dearie. I would request that you don't wear it out, but I do miss the old days of weak, helpless individuals calling me for their services."
"That's me!" Emma shouted, breathlessly. She came to a screeching halt at his work table, slamming her hands hard enough on it to make the man wince. Having no patience for his bullshit, Emma came out with it. "I'm weak, I'm helpless, and I'm HUNGRY. Now where is my bear claw?"
"Excuse me? A bear what?"
"Beeeear claaaaaw. Bear claw. And if you can't give me that I can settle for a cupcake." Fingers drummed manically on the table and lips were wet in anticipation. "Please," Emma finished as an afterthought. Because it was just polite.
He stared at her for a moment, and froze in thought. All aspects of the request were considered, all consequences weighed. Even the price of such magic was measured, which would have a devastating penalty of an already wired savior running on a sugar rush. Dire consequences indeed.
"I am afraid I cannot grant what you seek."
"Gold," she whined, "I'll do anything."
He paused, thinking on it. "No."
"Grrrrr!"
And an unsatisfied, yet determined Emma Swan exited.
"Regina!"
Sitting at a table below deck, the former Evil Queen looked up from her nautical charts.
"Regina, Regina, Regina!"
"No."
"But I didn't even ask you yet."
"No."
"Just let me ask the question, Regina."
"No."
"Will you quit saying 'No' when what you really want to say is 'Yes, Emma. It would be my pleasure to magic up a cupcake for my bestest pal in the whole wide world!' Or 'worlds,' if you want to include those other realms."
"Miss Swan," Regina began calmly, folding her hands on the table primly, "you need to take a deep breath. Sit down…" She pulled out the chair beside her and patted. Emma sat obediently. Butterflies filled her with an anxiety she hadn't felt since her days pacing outside the family stables. Regina bit her lip before deciding to push on. "We have been on this ship for two weeks with few creature comforts, sharing a cabin next to your parents, and having a very… close sleeping arrangement. Now tell me, what is it that you want?"
"A cupcake."
She threw up her hands and sank back in her chair. "You missed the point completely." She frowned, asking, "And what made you change your mind? What happened to the bear claw fiasco?"
"That was so 30 minutes ago. I can't help it. My appetite wants what it wants."
Regina smirked and leaned in close to Emma. A dark hand laid itself within millimeters of a pale one. Mahogany eyes darkened. "I am beginning to understand that, now," she purred.
"A dark chocolate cupcake. Yeah," Emma pronounced dreamily. She was completely oblivious to the slighted brunette who had fallen back into her chair with a huff. "A dark chocolate cupcake with vanilla cream cheese frosting and those star shaped sprinkles."
Regina shook her head, staring up at the ceiling like she could burn through it and escape that wretched ship.
"Come on, Regina. I've gone a whole two weeks without sweets. Can't you conjure something up for me?"
"Emma, I'm not Rumplestiltskin. I can't create something from nothing, especially food. I need a source."
Regina could do it, of course. She was holding out on Emma. She wanted her woman to work for it.
"Uh-uh, don't give me that 'I'm abstaining from personal gain magic' bull because Henry told me."
Regina gasped, clearly affronted. Rising abruptly, she asked in a hushed tone, "Henry told you what?"
"Our kid informed me that you conjured up a cupcake – sprinkles and all. You sly witch, you thought you'd get away Scott free, didn't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Regina," huffed the blonde, a dangerous sugar craving in her eyes, "you are withholding cupcakes from me! Cupcakes! That in itself is cruel and unusual punishment, even for you."
With an apathetic roll of the eyes Regina crossed her arms. "I have better things to do than hold bakery hostage, dear."
Emma crossed her arms as well. "Give me my cupcake by oh nine hundred or there will be severe consequences."
Just what those severe consequences entailed Regina was all too giddy to find out. Emma scared about as easily as a mouse scared a wolf. Knowing this, Regina was prepared to give the woman a scare herself. If a cupcake was what Emma wanted, a cupcake was what she would have. But not just any cupcake. Innuendos were always a hobby of the former queen, but to use them on Emma was a treat and (she liked to think) her god given right.
Grinning from ear to ear, she plucked the garment from the bed and slipped it on. A hand roved over her abdomen and stayed for a fleeting moment. Her breath came in a quivered gasp and her grin cowered. Fingers lingered. She closed her eyes and made a wish.
At precisely nine o'clock there was a sharp knock at the door. That Emma even bothered with formalities made Regina smile. She even arrived on time. For once.
"Come in."
"I have been waiting all day for this." Emma closed the door behind her. Though her voice was rough, her eyes shined with desperation. "You better have something to show for it."
"Emma, you have not been waiting all day. It's only been six hours."
"Stalling," she shot back pointedly. Her hand moved in a come hither motion. "Come on. Let's see some magic."
There was a low, pleasing hum before Regina stepped from the shadowed corner and into the moonlight filling in from the porthole. Emma's breath caught as her eyes fell on the figure previously hidden by the darkness and her cupcake hazed mind. The edges of a black silk robe teased the floorboards with every step. Its sleeves ended at her forearms where there was nothing but smooth, radiant skin, and the center edges crossed over her chest to reveal an exposed neck and a partial chest Emma's hands begged to touch.
It was teasing. It was her way of one-uping the sheriff in their usual games. But as the robe slinked to and fro on a positively bare body Emma realized it was a different game entirely. Regina would never follow through, she was sure of it. Maybe.
"Y-you don't have my cupcake," the blonde stammered, "do you?"
"What I have is better than a cupcake. What I'm offering is… sweeter."
Emma's mouth hung open of its own accord. The silky smooth and impossibly traitorous voice swirled around her, dispelling any thoughts of dark chocolate cake, vanilla cream cheese frosting, and those star shaped sprinkles. For there was nothing sweeter than honeyed vocals, creamy skin, and chocolate darkened eyes.
Eyes locked with Emma's, Regina shed her wardrobe. It took mere seconds for the robe to fall, but to Emma if felt like hours. In the end, the material slipped over naked flesh and pooled in a puddle at her feet.
Emma had to hold back a gasp. It would have been impolite, considering, but then she never had to deal with such an occasion. Her eyes wandered over a shoulder, down the valley between breasts, around a hip, and came to a complete halt at her thighs. Regina was remained stark still, waiting with open eyes and a temporarily closed heart.
"This is why…?" Emma swallowed, immensely focused on the tops of a thigh.
Regina nodded at the floor.
"I have scars, too."
She recoiled slightly. Whether it was because of the acknowledgment of the lines (something that she herself had never given voice to), or because Emma admitted to the same punitive fate, neither woman knew. What Regina did know was that the confession held no contempt. Emma was not one-uping her former enemy, nor was she pitying. And it made the cage around her heart ease open. Just a little.
"I never worried with… Graham. He'd forget the next day," Regina looked away sadly. She added as an afterthought, "because of the curse."
Emma couldn't resist looking. She couldn't imagine not running her fingertips along the deep grooves and faint burns. She couldn't imagine being Graham and not noticing, not touching or kissing, or revering the scars. She couldn't imagine forgetting – even under the effects of a spell.
"Can I show you mine?"
It was like they were children, curious and shy in exploring the gifts that god gave them, the parts of themselves that parents (or foster parents) taught them never to touch. Emma almost laughed because it was ridiculous. And because it felt so very right. With Regina.
After a gesturing nod, Emma stripped slowly, heart pounding.
Regina smiled, but it wasn't directed at the nakedness she would worship later that night. Her hand took Emma's and squeezed. No introductions were to be made. Not every single mark had to be explained and no stories had to be articulated. That was for another time. For then, it was a simple act of show, not tell. Regina saw Emma, and Emma saw Regina.
Their mouths came together softly, tentatively as if for the first time. Breaths came in sighs, blowing down the cages around both their hearts.
"I'm sorry," Emma said, her lips still against Regina's. She drew back with a face contorted in remorse. "Earlier today I called you broken. You're not the broken one, you're the strong one."
Emma's hand found itself on a hip, fingertips tingling on the surface of flesh. She glided it down to the top of a thigh, the one that held her fascination after the robe fell. There were smooth and rough areas alike, and both felt good just the same. A wandering hand came to four long ridges across a belly and Emma shivered. Wounds that would never heal. It made her sad to know the woman had suffered the marks, but it also caused her extreme joy that that same woman marred by vivid memories and lingering wounds had survived through it all and so much more.
So no, Emma didn't mind the scars as much as Regina thought she would. To Emma, she was her perfect, prissy Regina, who pissed her off and turned her on just as fast as one could say 'enjoy my shirt.' For one guarded person to show her scars off to another guarded person was a sign of trust. Together, naked, and mirroring their scared and glamorous bodies they had never felt so relieved. Bearing the wounds was just as hard as bearing their souls. The former achieved, for the latter it was a simple matter of letting go and tumbling into bed.
She kissed her hard then with a desperation that rivaled that of wanting a mere sugar high. What Emma urgently desired more than words was not sugary pastry but the woman laughing under her fearless lips. She wanted Regina.
"Still impatient, I see." Regina chuckled deeply.
"Well, you did make an offering."
"Perhaps I should make you wait a little longer. Mm?"
"Nu-uh, absolutely n –"
"I was just kidding, dear. Now," Regina purred, stroking the lengths of Emma's arms, "let me serve you up something sweet."
After a very sensible talking to David finally accepted the fact that Hook would never notice his attempts to impress. Mary Margaret was right, if the pirate overlooked him so persistently than he didn't deserve the love of his ship. David worked tirelessly day and night to scrub the floorboards, polish the compass, and sweep down the wrinkles in the sails. It was all done with more love and devotion than Hook ever boasted to his ship.
That did not mean there were no traces of hope left. There at the bottom of his heart, like the errant dregs of rum in a glass was faith in the man a lonely shepherd idolized from youth to adulthood.
David was nothing if not optimistic.
Sighing out his frustrations for the day, he slipped into bed and waiting for his wife. It was then, hands folded behind his head and watching Mary Margaret remove her earrings that he heard it.
"Oh, I knew it would be chocolate!"
David turned an ear to the wall and smirked. "Sounds like someone finally got their cupcake."
"At least we don't have to hear her constant complaining," Mary Margaret said, settling down beside her husband. "Honestly, sometimes I think she gets more of a sugar craving than her 11-year-old."
"Emma, stop stalling and lick it up."
"Patience, your Majesty. I'm admiring the symmetry."
David chuckled darkly and wrapped an arm around his wife. "And Regina accused me of enabling our daughter."
"I tell you, the look in Emma's eyes when she sees her bear claws… she scarfs it down within seconds." Mary Margaret cocked her head at the silence, and raised a brow. "At least she has some patience."
"Mm, tastes good. Velvety smooth center."
A thump sounded from the other side of their wall. With every word Regina's voice rose by a decibel.
"Run it along the side. Yeeeeeah. A little more around the top… there! Good god, yes. Use the tip… swirls… tight circles now… FUCKING CIRCLES!"
"Our own daughter needs instruction on how to eat a cupcake." David shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "I thought she was smarter than that."
