In regards to shipping questions: I won't be stating categorically what ship this story will end up being because I am trying to show respect and do justice to all three ships listed on this fic (also, I see answering questions of that nature like reading the last page of a book before you start and I won't ever do that). I love Hooked Queen, Evil Charming and Outlaw Queen and I wanted to do a story where each of those ships is given it's proper weight, importance and respect. It is not a love triangle and not a single one of these men will be discarded without care. Please, if you're enjoying this story, enjoy it on it's merits and I hope you can stick with it and appreciate the story I'm telling.
Side note: I've also never written smut before. So here we go with this little social experiment.
"David, I'm ready to go." Mary-Margaret called through the open door. David was sitting across from Regina, doing his best to snatch the bottle of vodka from her vice-like grip but she wouldn't budge, instead, pressing the sole of her boot to his chest and pushing back against the sofa.
Mary rolled her eyes. "Seriously?"
David looked up at her. "I'll just be a sec."
"Well, I'm leaving so if you want to stay with Regina tonight, be my guest, but the door will be locked when you get home."
"Mary!" He whined and Regina made kissy faces from her spot, reclining so far back in the sofa her chin was on her chest and a broad grin had spread on her face.
"Better run David, or you'll be sleeping with Pongo." She mocked and David made another grab for the bottle as Regina raised it to her lips. The mention of his neighbour's dog earning her an eyeroll.
"Come on, Regina, give it to me."
"Bye David, night Succubus." Mary waved over her head, disappearing out the door.
"Night," Regina struggled for an appropriate comeback, opening and closing her mouth with indignation before settling for taking yet another swig of straight vodka.
"Mary, wait!" David called but she kept walking, her floral skater dress clashing against the dingy walls with the peeling wallpaper.
"I'll be fine, David." Regina spoke gently, her voice far more serious than he often heard her, especially when she was in this state. He turned to look in her eyes, sucking in his bottom lip with worry before he quickly stood up.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, go on," She waved her hand nonchalantly. "I'll be fine."
"You'll go straight home, no detours?"
Regina fluttered her eyelashes innocently as she nodded her head. "I promise." Her voice sounded far too saccharinely sweet to be genuine and David paused, watching her out of the corner of his eye before he patted her knee affectionately, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead.
"Just be good, okay."
"Yes, Daddy." She mocked and David sighed before grabbing his coat and chasing after Mary-Margaret.
Killian sat on the front stoop of the kitsch building, emblazoned with the lop-sided insignia of 'Granny's B&B'. The same girl he'd met, doused from head to toe in Ruby Red, had greeted him at the door with a broad smile and a wink of her eye. He'd established her name as Ruby - apt, he thought, considering her attire - who was the granddaughter of the landlady; a harsh-faced older woman with a stiff bun on the back of her head and a long gold chain fastening her reading glasses around her neck.
He was given a room facing the train-tracks that rattled for five minutes when a twenty-four car cargo train barrelled by. But, with a genuine smile, Ruby insisted the room had the most reliable shower and so he took it - and the offer of holding the room on credit until he could find work - with a nod of his head and genuine thanks.
He swiped his lighter up and down the palm of his hand, flicking it open and igniting the flame before slapping it shut again. A cigarette hung from his lip but he hadn't yet lit it, too busy lost in his thoughts of the dark-haired beauty he'd seen on the stage.
The world was quieter there, sitting on the stoop with his heavy boots set wide apart on the lower step. He raised the lighter to his lips, finally about to light up his cigarette when he heard the screech of breaks just a few metres down the road. Obscured by the high, unkept hedges, he couldn't see what the commotion was about but with the bright yellow fender poking through the thick foliage, he could deduce it was a taxi prematurely offloading an obnoxious fare.
Killian stuffed his unlit cigarette and his lighter in the pocket of his leather jacket as he jogged down the steps, heading straight down the garden path to the street. What he saw when he rounded the hedge made him chuckle, smirking as he rolled on the balls of his feet.
"I didn't light it in your taxi, you bastard, it's not even lit!" She shrieked at the driver who sat, eyes ahead and unwilling to hear her complaints. "God damnit!" She cried, tossing her handbag out the open door as Killian slowly strolled towards her, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.
He watched her struggling to light up a smoke, missing the mark entirely on the first few attempts and nearly searing the deep black polish straight off her fingernail. "Fuck," She grumbled under her breath with one heeled boot securely on the pavement, the other still inside the taxi and her eyes set on the contents of her bag, spilled across the concrete.
"Don't think I'm paying you, you prejudiced asshole." The scathing remark had Killian's eyes jump to the driver for a moment before looking back to her. She was clearly drunk and quite possibly high - on what, he couldn't know - but she wasn't so far gone that she was being entirely unreasonable; obnoxious perhaps, but he could see the driver wasn't in the mood to be patient for someone like her.
"Regina, wasn't it?" Killian moved to stand in front of her, ensuring his boots were in her line of sight as she dropped from the taxi and started gathering her things together.
"Maybe," She mumbled as she checked her phone screen was still intact, took a drag of her cigarette and continued stuffing makeup and various things back into her bag.
Killian pulled a few notes from his pocket - his last twenty dollars - and tossed it on the front seat of the cab. "I suggest you head off, mate." He gestured with his thumb and the taxi driver gave him a brief look of contempt before he peeled away from the curb.
"What'd you do?" Killian asked, as he attempted to help her pick up her things.
"Nothing," She spat. "The bastard called me a stupid, drunk, spic and you expect that I did something?"
"No," Killian said gently as he watched her so near to tears, shoving CDs, jewellery and a thick, well-loved, purple diary back into her bag. "I'm sorry, I was just making conversation."
"Wrong tact," She grumbled, still avoiding looking up at him at all. "I'm Latina, anyway, that ignorant dick."
Killian frowned. "Where do you live?"
"Wouldn't you like to know."
"I'm just wondering if I should call you another cab."
"I can walk, thank you." She struggled to her feet, stumbling on her heels for a moment and dropping the cigarette from her lips "Fuck". It hit the concrete with a spark, tumbling away from her. Killian watched it roll for a moment before turning back to her to see she was already digging through her bag for another.
"Do you want to sit with me for a bit to calm down?" For the first time since she tumbled out of the cab, she looked up at him. She studied him for a moment, with her dark brown eyes set on the ocean blue of his own as she blinked.
"What do you care?"
"Irish hospitality, love." He winked. She hesitated for a moment before nodding her head lightly and following him back to the stoop. She gingerly sat down, smiling nervously around her cigarette as he offered her his lighter.
"Thanks," She spoke softly, dragging a half-empty bottle of vodka from what seemed to be an entirely bottomless handbag. "Want some?"
"It's not Rum, but what the hell." He took the bottle and took a long swig before handing it back to her.
"So what is a fresh-off-the-boat irishman doing camped out on Granny's lawn?" Regina questioned, raising the bottle back to her own lips. He couldn't help but notice the long, black lashes framing beautiful, dark chestnut eyes or the way her full, burgundy lips caressed the mouth of the bottle. Her nose was rounded but delicate and the line of her jaw was square but not sharp. She had a gentle profile, when she was calm like this; quietly looking straight out towards the empty street.
"You know Mrs Lucas?" He frowned.
Regina nodded. "It's a small town," Killian gave her a look and for a moment he thought she was actually going to chuckle; they both knew Los Angeles was anything but a small town. "She's also Ruby's gran and she's probably one of the few people in this town that doesn't think I'm a lost cause."
"Your friends seemed pretty adamant about that guy appreciating your qualities."
"David?" She eyed him and Killian shrugged.
"He's biased."
"Ex-boyfriend?" Killian smirked but it fell away when her eyes dropped to her toes and her voice fell quiet.
"Ex-husband."
The pair fell silent; nothing could be heard but the faint sound of traffic and a siren where the quiet street they were sitting on, met with the boulevard. Regina continued to study her toes and Killian found a fascination in the studded boots as well, if only to wait patiently on her to breech the tension. When he realised that a continuation of the conversation was not forthcoming on her end, he cleared his throat.
"I wanted a change," He shrugged, looking away. "Things aren't great back home, in more ways than one."
"That's fair enough."
They fell into silence again, sharing the bottle and staring up at the stars. Killian tried to avoid gazing at her because he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. But the night was balmy and when she slipped off her leather jacket, he found it hard to look away.
Her arms were toned but not muscly; for a rocker with identity issues, she had quite the profile. He curled his fingers in on themselves down by his hip, repressing the compulsion to pull the strap of her tank-top aside so that he could study the detail of the tattoo he could barely make out. He was sure that just by the underwire of her bra there was a rose, but he could also see the stem of an apple and he found himself curious to learn how far down her ribs the artwork went.
He found himself cataloging her tattoos, wanting desperately to touch his fingertips to the dark red rose on the inside of her left forearm or the delicate feather on the inside of her right wrist.
He glanced down at his own forearm, seeing the edges of his own regrets poking out from beneath his rolled up sleeve. He didn't regret the artwork, like he'd never regretted any of his tattoos; they were footprints on his life. What he did regret was how things had ended with him and the woman who's face and name were forever imprinted on his flesh.
He loved her and he probably always would. But that love would never be enough to forget what she'd done to him. So he wore it with pride to remember, that he'd loved and lost and that he was strong enough to do it again were he to be given the chance.
"Do they have stories?" He questioned and Regina flinched, looking up into his eyes. She blinked for a moment, unsure of the question before she realised he was looking down at her wrist.
"They do."
"Will you tell me?"
"No." Regina cleared her throat, pressing her palm to the step to raise herself to her feet. "I should go."
"Stay." He said suddenly and quietly, looking up at her from where he continued to sit. Regina stopped moving and studied him closely, shaking her head before looking out to the street. "You don't want that."
"Maybe I do."
"Right now, I'm nothing but Vodka."
"Then stay with me until you're not."
Regina sighed, tilting her head up to the stars. "You don't want that either."
"Has anyone seen her, lately? The woman without the vodka." He enquired softly and watched as her shoulders raised and lowered with a deep sigh.
"No."
Regina flinched when she felt gentle hands against the cool skin of her shoulders, shivering under the callouses of a drummer. Her shoulders sagged, dropping her back against his chest as she closed her eyes, letting his face morph behind her eyes to that of a man she'd tried to forget. A man who had those same callouses in the same places, who touched her with that same tenderness.
"Stay." He breathed into her ear and she was just drunk enough to imagine the voice without the irish lilt. He smelled of Rum and cigarettes, but she blocked that out in favour of remembering Daniel's eyes.
"Okay," Her voice shuddered as his hands drifted down her arms; his fingers curling around her hand before dragging her back towards the door into Granny's. He held his finger to his lips as he lead her through the back door, tripped on the stairs without realising just how much vodka they'd consumed before the pair staggered through the squeaking door to his room.
He flicked the lock as she stumbled over her own foot, tripping against him and dragging her nails up his stomach in the dark, pulling his shirt up as a result. She grinned with her tongue sticking out between her teeth, tugging him towards her with fistfuls of his shirt. "Bed's over there..." He gestured.
"So," She smirked mischievously, gripping the back of his head through his thick raven hair and silencing him with a bruising kiss as she backed up to the rickety desk that sat against the window. With nimble hands he grasped her thighs, lifting her to sit on the desk. Regina didn't waste any time depriving him of his shirt; before he'd even tossed it over his head her lips were forming a ragged path across his toned chest and down the valley between the muscles of his stomach.
Killian gripped her head in both hands without concern for the state of her hair, ravishing her mouth before biting down on her lip; her small hands worked at his belt and then, in turn, the zipper on his jeans.
The small desk bumped against the window frame but neither cared. Regina's stretched and oversized tank-top tumbled out the open window and for a moment she paused, watching it tumble all the way to the grass below before she turned around frantically tugging at the buttons on her jeans. "Let me." He spoke calmly, resting his hands atop hers. She looked up, meeting his gentle eyes and for a moment, her mind was clear and she knew it wasn't him.
He seemed to see the moment, stilling his hands and waiting for her to make a decision. Regina's mind was foggy, her eyes drifted in and out of focus as she looked up at him. Their hands remained motionless as she looked deep into his blue eyes, feeling the pain well up inside her at the truth that the man within who's arms she sat, was not her Daniel.
With nails digging into his flesh, Killian hissed as she pulled him towards her, gripping his biceps and clawing her way back up to steal his breath with her full lips. He took that as his cue, pulling her to her feet he helped her tug her jeans off, letting her kick them aside along with her boots before he gripped her thighs again. His strong, rough fingers dug into supple, tan skin as he pulled her legs to wrap around his waist. Regina's arms went around his shoulder, clinging to him and he could feel the heel of her bare foot digging into the back of his thigh.
"Don't speak," She rasped with her nose bent against his cheek and her lips, pulling across his with teeth bared. She was breathless, feeling his deft fingers with those maddening callouses, tugging at the hem of her panties. "Get them off, but don't speak."
He knew the look in her eyes, that same longing he felt in his own heart; that the hands that touched her belonged to someone else. He knew what she was doing because he'd tried it before. She was trapped in there with him - whoever he was - and his heart, no matter how fogged from the alcohol, broke for her. "I can be him, if you need that."
"Shut up!" She growled, smothering his mouth in a feverish kiss, bumping her teeth against his. She clawed at his arms, pulling her slight frame closer to him as he unclasped her bra with one hand.
She threw her head back, resting her crown against the window frame as he left a trail of hot, wet kisses down her throat. He followed the line of her collar-bone with his lips and tongue, biting and soothing the red welts he was sure to leave with gentle kisses as he pulled the thin straps of her lilac bra down her arms and tossed it aside.
Regina hissed through gritted teeth, arching her back as he took her pert nipple into his mouth; sucking on it hard he let it go with a pop and the cool night air from the open window, hitting her taut, wet flesh, sent a chill right down to her core.
She was bare beneath him, her back arched and one hand pressed firmly to the wobbly old desk and the other holding tight to his neck. His strong arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her stomach firmly to his. She had one leg pulled up to his hip, her knee tucked in tight against his waist whilst the toes of her other foot struggled to touch the floor with each rock the desk took on it's unsteady foundations.
Killian still had his jeans on, un-zipped and hanging open with the elastic of his boxers peering up over his open fly. Regina slipped herself forward on the desk, the toes of both feet just barely touching the hideous floral carpet, rocking her hips to get closer to him as she tugged at his jeans and boxers in one.
He stole a kiss, tilting her head up to meet him with his hand at the back of her head, gripping a fistful of her hair; momentarily stealing her attention as he kicked his jeans and boxers away. On instinct, her small hands raised to his chest; dark nails drew eight red lines down across his muscles until they tangled in the course hairs that started at his belly-button.
Her breath hitched as his nails dug into her hips. He held on tight as she reached down between them, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as her small, strong hands, wrapped around him.
This wasn't a game to her, he knew; she wasn't in the mood to play or smile or let him bring her to tears of laughter into his shoulder. It was to be hard and fast and dare he think it, painful. It was to remember and to forget and he knew he should have stopped a million times over. But she held his cock in the palm of her hand; her cheek was pressed to his chin and her eyes hidden from him as she stroked him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he could feel the skin of his cheeks heating up with each stroke.
"Don't talk, please." Her voice was a whisper but he heard it all the same. She didn't want him to ask her if she was okay, she didn't want him to tell her she could stop if she wanted. She didn't want him to let her know that he was caring, more and more with every touch.
So he didn't talk. He dipped his head to press his lips to hers once more, smothering her gasp for breath as he pressed his thumb to her clit. Her hips bucked, thrusting into his hand and she let go of him, throwing her hands back to grip the window frame.
Their kisses became frantic and messy; he missed her mouth more than once as one hand played with her nipple and the other thrust two fingers inside her and caused her to squirm and thrash beneath him. "Now," She breathed against his earlobe, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. "Now, please."
He held her in his broad hands, suspended over the small desk with a palm at her hip and one between her shoulder-blades as she guided him into her. She let out a long, shaky breath, biting down on his shoulder as he stilled inside her. "I'm okay," She shuddered. "I'm okay." She dug her teeth in harder as he started to move, licking her lips as he increased their pace and she threw her head back again.
The knocking of the desk against the window frame became almost rhythmic, banging in perfect contrast to the slap of hot, wet flesh. She could feel the heat burning beneath her skin, the friction of their bodies; of coarse hair against olive flesh igniting the fire low in her belly.
Killian tried to stifle her cries with kisses, but with each breath another escaped, muffled against his neck, his jaw, the undulating muscles of his broad bicep.
She raked her nails down his forearms before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself closer to him. The angle of his thrust changed with the movement and she gasped into his mouth; her legs shook and her toes curled and he grunted into her shoulder.
Regina buried her face in the crook of his neck as he rocked them; the heavy thumping hidden by the fortuitous passing of a cargo-train. He could feel the soft tendrils of her hair tickling his sweat dampened shoulder as her cries became more frequent and he could feel her walls tightening around him.
She was finding it harder and harder to control her legs; her knees twitching at his hips and her back, arching in his hands. Suddenly and without warning she cried out, gripping his biceps with iron talons as she rode out the wave of ecstasy intended to dampen the ache in her heart.
Her eyes glazed over for a moment; her tongue groggily running across her upper lip as she sunk back into the desk, sated and breathing heavily. He didn't let her go, though. Clinging to her desperately, he held her small frame tightly in his hands.
He could feel her fingers against the line of his hips, drawing absent circles across the prominent line of his muscles.
"Stay," He breathed, speaking for the first time since she'd begged him not to. Regina turned her eyes away, letting her hair fall in her face and fighting the hitch in her breath at the feeling of him slipping free of her. "Stay."
She didn't answer, but she let him hold her, keeping the warmth between them as a cool breeze broke through the window and the sheer, white curtains brushed against her shoulders.
To Be Continued.