War
Note: Editing the fourth and last chapter, it will be up soon :) This is a bit rushed, because I have other projects and well, that's all of my excuse.
Chapter Three: War made civil
"I liked it better when they were fighting." Leroy grumbled, as he, Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Granny looked on while Henry, Emma, and Regina shared Sunday breakfast.
Recently, Emma has become Super Sheriff, but Emma the person was disappearing. She practically lived at the station now, according to Mary Margaret, who has to readjust to an uncluttered apartment, what with the source of clutter missing. She prevented Leroy from starting fights while drunk in a brilliant way, by offering him all the drinks he could stand, at absolutely no cost, provided that he drink them in one of the cells. She talked some of Archie's neighbors into laying out bowls of dog food outside their yards to help stall Pongo on his way to unearned freedom. Rumor has it, or Ruby has it, that she rented an old cabin for a song and was fixing up the place. The rumor was confirmed by an excited Henry.
Everyone also noticed how civil, yet cold, the Sheriff started to act towards their feared leader. She refused to rise to the juiciest taunting that Regina dished out, calling her department inept and reading a litany of shortcomings, both actual and imagined during a town meeting. When it was Emma's turn, she merely stated that she would look into the issues raised by Madam Mayor and submit a report to her, a report that she would also post in public locations for Storybrooke residents to examine. She even ended her terse speech with a thank you for Regina. That was roughly three weeks ago, and all of Storybrooke was on tenterhooks, watching closely and waiting for an explosion from both warring parties.
At that point, Regina has constructed a rationalization that it was the sex she missed (certainly not the rest of Emma), and if she could find a suitable substitute then all thoughts of Emma would gradually revert back to their original state, one of regarding the other woman as a pest, another forgettable aspect of her realm. Emma, on the other hand, fought her impulse to run away from Storybrooke; she knew her disappearance would devastate Henry. The now defunct thing she and the mayor shared was the most important item on her "Fuck Off and Good Riddance, Storybrooke!" list, but damn if Regina hasn't somehow still managed to keep her libido tied to her rage. The madder she got at Regina, the harder it was to stop herself from remembering how exciting and energetic she was in the sack, and how she felt and sounded and tasted once those expensive suits were out of the way.
Emma was looking forward to a night with several beers and possibly a bout of self-love when she received a text from Regina. With a sigh, she steeled herself for another infuriating request that stretches the concept of what a small town sheriff is supposed to do, even on her day off.
Henry has asked me to invite you to lunch tomorrow. His theory is that you must be getting bored with the menu at Granny's which is why you spent lunch today spearing a salad.
Emma's initial instinct was to text the woman to let her know that she would rather eat dog poop than be anywhere in close quarters with her again. The truth though, is that given how they feel about one another and how they have historically expressed their loathing, she feared that they would end up back where they started, to the long bouts of naked attempts at homicide via orgasms.
If he's still awake, I could talk to him now and tell him that I'll be busy tomorrow. Or I'll just tell him tomorrow before lunch.
He's at Michael's for another sleepover.
"Fuckkkk..." Emma wished she couldn't remember what those words meant back when she and Regina were complicating their mutual dislike with sex. She clenched her jaw, feeling her anger welling up, and her mind drifted to what she would like to do to the other woman, especially with a harness and a dildo, and the determination to not let Regina in, in more ways than one.
Just as quickly, the possibility of her misreading Regina and being mercilessly humiliated about it sprang to mind. Her skin was becoming hyper-aware of her tank top and boxers, and a familiar warmth was starting to emerge from her cunt. She was searching her mind for a cutting dismissal for the mayor before turning off her phone and dealing with rousing matters herself. Finally, her misfiring neurons gave her something.
Good to know. Was that it?
Did you want it to be?
Naturally, Regina would try to find a way to sort of make her apologize to her own damn self then maybe grant her back the privilege of banging her. But a challenge has been issued and she was going to win it.
I want to get off and I want to get someone off. If that someone is going to be you, understand that I don't want conversation. Everything else is fair game.
Been growing balls, recently, have you?
No balls, but I intend to show up with something else. Unless you're scared.
The front door is unlocked. You're the last thing I would be scared of.