A/N: Well, I hate to sound like an unabashed, self-promoting asshole - and I hadn't originally planned on linking the two stories at all - but this chapter again contains references to my one-shot OBSERVATIONS. They're a little more in-depth this time, but you still don't have to have read the story to understand this one, it's just that when Regina is referring to the time she has seen Emma without her jeans on - and several further comments she makes in reference to this - they pertain to that previous scene. Enjoy!
Regina kneels at the far end of the sofa; sharp heels digging gently into the soft round of her backside. Although several of her words twist harshly towards her companion, most of what she has to say could be considered normal conversation; not quite friendly, perhaps, but getting there. The glass she holds in her hand wavers as she becomes slightly more animated; the liquid within tipping perilously high up crystal sides, but never spilling.
Emma slouches with the armrest digging softly into her back, but she pays this little mind. At some point in their unlikely back and forth, she has kicked the quilt down her body so that it covers just her feet, and she sits with her knees up between them, facing Regina. She pours some of the dwindling amber liquid from the carafe into her glass before reaching out to place the decanter back on the table. It's an awkward stretch from her current position, and she falls into the last few inches, tensing her stomach in an attempt to control the movement and avoid smashing the glass jug onto the table.
"Careful, dear. Perhaps that should be your last."
Regina points to the brimming glass in the blonde's hand and Emma scowls at her.
"I'm not drunk."
"Of course not."
"I just underestimated the distance."
"Or rather, overestimated your abilities; a trend I have long since associated with yourself."
"Oh please, you couldn't handle some of my abilities..."
Emma chuckles.
Okay, so maybe she's a little drunk...
Not surprising, as for each glass the Mayor sips at daintily, the Sheriff finds herself working through twice the amount.
Well, if the damn woman would shut up for a second, perhaps we'd be more evenly matched!
True, but she says nothing on the matter. Instead, she allows Regina's words to continue to wash over her; something about Archie and his credentials and what she makes of sparks between him and the promiscuous little tramp at the diner. Emma opens her mouth to object to such words being used against Ruby, but then decides against it. She hasn't really been paying attention, and the last thing she needs is for the Mayor to call her on it. Instead, she gives a small nod - indicating that the brunette should go on - and pokes out her tongue to lap childishly at the cider in her glass. This earns her a disapproving frown, which in turn has her repeating the act; green eyes comically focused on the drink in front of her. Regina loses her train of thought and her story comes to a halt.
"Stop that."
"Stop what?"
Wide doe-eyes convey complete innocence, and Regina merely glares at her but doesn't elaborate, so Emma feigns ignorance. Holding the Mayor's gaze intently, she slips her tongue back out and touches the tip delicately to the amber liquid; never once breaking eye contact.
The brunette's cheeks flush an angry scarlet as she clears her throat.
"Miss Swan, put your tongue away before I chop it off!"
She shoots a pointed glance at the scissors in the corner, and Emma snaps her tongue swiftly back behind her teeth and grins at the Mayor sharkishly.
Gosh, but she has pretty teeth.
The Mayor sighs. Emma eventually stops grinning quite so psychopathically, but a smile remains as she tips her drink properly to her mouth and lets it glide down her throat. Regina lets her finish most of it before lunging forward and plucking the glass from unsuspecting fingers.
"Hey!"
The younger woman protests, and the brunette lets out a throaty chuckle; dark eyes gleaming as she leans so close to Emma that her breath tickles her cheek. She flashes her own smile as the blonde shrinks back slightly; leaning away from that hot, distracting breath, and unintentionally exposing a tantalisingly long swatch of bare flesh at her throat. This elicits another titter as Regina finishes the last of the liquid in her requisitioned glass and places it on the table to their side.
"What was that?"
The younger woman breathes.
"You're showing several signs of having had quite enough to drink, dear. I'm merely saving you from any potential embarrassment."
Regina smirks, and Emma frowns, regarding the Mayor cooly as the darker woman remains lent in much too close; her weight carried on strong, slender arms that end in a tight grip of the Sheriff's knees. The brunette glares at her guest a moment longer, before looking down at where her hands rest on blue denim with distaste.
"Your clothes are still damp. You'll catch a cold."
She muses, and Emma shrugs; the wet fabric slightly uncomfortable, but she has warmed up considerably since entering the drawing room and isn't particularly bothered.
"I'm ok. And anyway, the last time you were threatened with me taking off my jeans, it was terribly traumatic for you, if you remember. I'd hate to put you through that again."
She grins, and Regina regards her levelly; more than happy to beat the younger woman at her own game.
"Nonsense, dear, I'll go fetch you something to borrow."
She pushes herself up from Emma's legs and feigns intent to get off the couch. Strong fingers circle her wrist swiftly and force her to remain put.
"To hell, you will. I had bruised hips for a week where those damn slacks cut in!"
The blonde grumbles and the brunette smiles unsympathetically.
"I apologise, that must have called for quite some explanation to whichever gentlemen you were friendly with that particular week."
She goads, and Emma rolls her eyes dramatically at the barbed comment.
"Oh shut up, Regina."
"Or what?"
The Mayor demands. Impulsively, the blonde grins and pushes herself up so that she kneels high up on the couch. She makes a show of working at the belt circling her hips; teasing the buckle open and pulling it slowly through the loops of her jeans.
She waits for a cry of disgust or anger.
She waits for Regina to call her bluff.
But the brunette simply raises a brow and leans back against the armrest to observe.
With the belt completely free, Emma holds it out over the floor and lets it drop; the dark leather curling up into a serpentine shape below them. Still, the darker woman's perfectly plucked brow remains raised and expectant, and the Sheriff comes to the slow realisation that she doesn't have much of a plan from here on out. Testing the water, she pops open the button of her Levi's and drags down the zipper, but still no protest comes from the other end of the couch. Cheeks pinkening a little, she hooks a finger through the belt loops on either side of her hips in preparation to pull down dark denim.
Keyword: preparation.
Regina smirks, and green eyes flicker up at her haughtily.
"Don't like to be kept waiting?"
Bold words to cover hesitant actions, and the Mayor bites back easily
"Just waiting to see if you're a woman true to her word."
She shrugs, and Emma studies her quizzically; her hips still up in the air, with her fingers ready to peel away the wet denim stuck slick against her thighs. Sexual, but for her expression of incomprehension. The Mayor smirks and lets her gaze wander down the taut flesh at her eye-line; teasingly visible through translucent cotton.
"What word is that?"
The younger woman asks uncertainly.
"The last time I saw quite so... Much... Of you, Miss Swan, you were wearing some absolutely delightful little shorties depicting some adorable little cartoon characters, and, when I called you on it, do you remember what you told me?"
Emma struggles to recollect her words; the answer hazy as her blood thrums with the heat of the cider. Everything is apples and her face feels a little too warm, but her hooded study of the Mayor offers her similar tell-tale signs of tipsy. Slowly, the answer dawns on her, and she feels the blush at her cheeks bloom brighter.
"...That my crotchless leathers were in the wash..."
She whispers.
Scarlet lips stretch into a salacious smile.
"Indeed. And, if I remember correctly, you boldly promised to show me 'next time'... Which, I would say, this is."
The blonde hesitates; unsure whether she's playing or being played. The fire burns brightly behind her; casting her features with dusky shadow as the flames halo her hair white. Regina bores into her with eyes that appear almost black in the current light; waiting to see what move she'll make.
"...Your hesitation is making me think you're all talk, Miss Swan... That if you were to remove your jeans as you threaten, I would have firm confirmation that you're nothing but a dirty liar..."
Pale fingers tremble tellingly - still hooked in the loops of time-battered Levi's - and Regina's eyes flash with victory.
"So you are a liar?... Naughty girl... So, who would I see this time? Mickey Mouse? Or are you secretly a Mini girl?"
The Mayor smirks, and her lips are curled too wide; too sure she holds the winning hand. Emma decides to play her own; delivering a Royal Flush. She pulls at her belt loops - sideways rather than downward - slowly splaying the denim out from the zip; exposing a small wedge of what lies beneath her jeans in a tantalising V.
She was, of course, lying about the crotchless leathers.
However, the triangle of fabric that holds the Mayor's attention is neither cotton, nor does it depict the face of any wholesomely beloved cartoon character.
No. The red lace is simple, and minimal in more ways than one. It clashes with the blue of the blonde's visible bra straps, but Regina decides she's willing to forgive this much, and after all, it's not as though she's surprised by the mismatch. Her eyes linger on the red swatch of the younger woman's lingerie a moment longer, before travelling slowly up the blonde's body and drilling into Emma's own. The Sheriff remains carefully expressionless as she holds Regina's gaze; still poised, her fingers still hooked into her jeans. The brunette flashes her attention down to the slender fingers entwined within coarse denim, and when she speaks, her voice is hoarse.
"Take them off."