They were fighting, and that was happening more and more lately. Fighting over stupid things that teenagers fight over, in their constant need to rebel, and it had nothing to do with her, it was just hormones and he was just sixteen, and all the other things that Emma tried to tell her. The fight wasn't even a fight, not really—it didn't start out as one, but his Homecoming dance was coming up, and they were both in the living room while her innocent questioning that was appropriate for any kind of mother turned into him not wanting to talk, and Regina just wanted to know—that was all—if there was someone he was taking.
His maybe only irritated her, because she had a right to know, didn't she? Was it so wrong?
"What's her name?" There was a bitter sort of tone in her voice that she really didn't expect to be so obvious.
"Why? So you can tell me that she's not good enough?"
"I wouldn't—" She tried to argue defensively, but he interrupted her.
"You always do. You always make up some excuse, or reason, and you wonder why I never talk about the girls I date?"
"Girls? As in plural?" She asked, only able to focus on that, completely shocked and angry, and how many girls had he seen? Is that where he would go when he said he was at the library, or over visiting the Charmings? There was such a strong feeling of betrayal at the thought, as if he was living a double life behind her back, like he was this completely different person that didn't have anything to do her—
"My life; as in singular." He snapped as if he wasn't even talking to his mother, like he didn't need her, and she was losing him, over and over. Again and again. Every time she thought she found a way to keep him with her, he always pushed back twice as hard, always tested boundaries and limits, and it was so frustrating.
"What's her name?" Regina asked again, full of anger this time.
"Stop pretending that you care, and just ask me what you really want to ask."
"I don't—"
"Ask me if I'm fucking her." And the way he said that made her pause, never hearing that word come from his mouth, and it sounded so dirty, and she hated how it made her just clench for him. It put the images in her head, the ones that were always so vague before, but now they turned into bright burning thoughts of him between some girl's legs as she cried out for him and he moved harder and faster—
"Watch your language." She whispered without strength, causing him to step closer to her, close enough to feel the heat and the arousal coming off of him.
"Tell me you want to know." Regina looked anywhere else, because she knew he was hard and it was because of her. "Say it and I'll tell you…I'll show—"
"Henry!" She said sharp and scared, because she knew exactly what was happening, but felt so lost and confused. He was confusing everything, and she couldn't catch her breath as he watched her like that, so she turned around, and wrapped her arms around her stomach defensively, muttering out a small "Stop."
And she flinched when his hands gently rested on her hips, her eyes shut tight against his low and quiet voice.
"I think about it…" She gripped her stomach a little tighter, trying to quell the knots rising in it. "Mom, I think about it all the time." Henry pushed his hips against her and she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her when she felt his need resting on her lower back. This was wrong. "I think about fucking," And that word again and the way he said it, with his finger digging a little into her sides. "And I think about…" The words died out, in lieu of a whimper, pressing against her a little more, hands moving slowly over her ribs. "You're so pretty." Henry practically moaned in her ear.
She felt trapped. She felt like walls were closing around her, and she hated the feeling. Because she was just so powerless right now, and she needed to get some control over this—over her son.
A defensive sort of anger rose up in her as she pushed his hands away and turned around sharply, red in her eyes that made him take a step back. Fear flashed on his face, along with rejection, afraid that he pushed too far. And of course he did. He always did.
All she wanted was for him to just be her little boy again, and listen to her, and behave, but he was just so damned stubborn. She felt like she was losing him, and she couldn't. Not again. Just the thought of it made her want to do anything to get him to stay, and it was a frightening and horrible thing to think. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen, but this was the way it did.
"I'm sorry—" He started a shaky apology, but her hand quickly reached between his legs, gripping the still hard erection, and used the leverage to pull him closer. She flexed her fingers, squeezed slightly, causing him to gasp and buck his hips in her hand. He stopped arguing with her, stopped looking at her like she was horrible and wrong and—…and then he moaned. Deep and raw, so she squeezed again before thinking better of it, for the power of it alone, and the act in itself shifted her demeanor into something sexual.
He bit his bottom lip and arched his back slightly, hands gripped at her hips again as he started to rock his hips gently but desperately.
It almost made her stop, because there was so much shame in the air that Regina could practically see it and literally nothing else. Henry's eyes were shut tight, his face turning red, and this was so wrong—
"Don't stop." He gasped at her, his hand grabbed her wrist when she was about to pull away. "Please."
She should have been a mother, and not crossed those lines that were painted so clearly in front of them, but lines faded and blurred in her fear of losing him. Right now he didn't want a mother, so she leaned into him, her lips on his ear and moved on instinct that was never forgotten to her. Her hand started to stroke him through his jeans, squeezing and raking her nails against him, as he pushed his hips harder against the sensation.
"Are you going to be good?" She whispered in a voice she never used on him, deep and rough, making him grunt and breath heavy.
"Yes. I will—oh God…"
One of his hands moved between them, cupping her breast, and caused her to suck in a sharp breath, keeping her lips pressed against his ear. This was affecting her as well, even though it shouldn't, but he was so desperate for her as he squeezed her through the cup of her bra.
"Mom—" She moved her hand faster against him at that, her mind blurring and getting light headed.
"Are you going to come for me?"
He moaned and pleaded, and the sounds were loud against the walls, sounding broken and foreign.
For a moment she thought that he wouldn't be able to finish, not over the thick denim, but the notion of actually touching him—she couldn't do that. That was a line that would take more rationalizing than she had at the moment to cross. But he was young and more inexperienced than he had led on, so only a moment later his body tensed, and shook slightly with a grunt, he went limp, grabbing at her hips for support. She was about to pull away, until his arms went around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug. She didn't hug him back though, not until his breath was whispering in her hair; "I love you." Even though it didn't sound the same, the words were still there. Love.
And for a moment, he was hers again, so she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pretending that this was the way it was supposed to be, instead of the way it was.