"Hey, what's up?"
"Nothing, I'm just calling to check in."
"To 'check in'?"
"Yeah. Don't get your panties in a twist, it's just an expression."
"Oh, they're not twisted."
"Probably a good thing."
"Mm. Sounds painful."
"Depends what you're into I guess."
"If you say so."
"What are you up to?"
"Just having dinner."
"Ugh, jealous, I'm still at work. What are you having?"
"Uh... Fruit salad."
"Fruit salad? Really?"
"Yeah."
"You? You're eating fruit salad?"
"Well, it's more just grapes really."
"Just grapes?"
"Yeah."
"... Are they fermented by any chance?"
"Maybe."
"You're having wine for dinner, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
"Emma!"
The blonde chuckles as she sips at her glass, pulling her feet up underneath her on the sofa. She reaches to her side to pinch a few M&Ms from the bowl on the side table - the idea of a snack bowl an odd concept revered by her housemate, and one which she suspects has been racking up a serious grocery bill since she moved in - and tosses them into her mouth; her words muffled by the colourful chocolate.
"I've got candy too, so it's all good."
"That's not a meal, you idiot!"
"Says who?"
"Me. I'm coming over."
"No, you're not."
"Am too! I have a fridge-load of quiche that needs to be eaten. It's stilton and broccoli; probably the closest you're going get to eating any sort of greenery."
"Shut up, I eat vegetables all the time."
"Fries don't count."
"Shit, what are you, my mother?"
"Nope. Your concerned friend, armed with quiche and a movie."
"Oh god, please tell me we're not watching more Bridget Jones-type crap."
"Oh, you mean a movie that was nominated for an Oscar? Or are we only watching movies vouched for by Billy Hammer or whatever his name is?"
"Billy Chainsaw, and no, I just don't want to watch some girl bawling her eyes out about her pathetic love life."
"You should be a counsellor, Emma, you really should."
"Oh, bite me."
"I think I'll pass. Besides, you already have someone to do that for you."
"Ruby!"
"What? Am I wrong?"
"I am not discussing that with you-"
"-Over the phone? Right, got it. I'll be over in an hour or so and you can tell me all about it then."
"You know I'll leave you standing outside my building, right? I'll do it."
"Yeah, but I also know that Mary Margaret gets in around the same time and she won't."
"You think?"
"No, she's too nice."
"And that would make me?"
"A bitch."
"Charming!"
"Ah, you know I love you really."
"Ugh..."
"And from that heartfelt response, I can tell you're just head over heels for me, too."
"Why do I put up with you?"
"I just told you. I'm irresistible. Now go put some wine on ice and I'll see you in a bit."
Rolling her eyes and chucking the house phone back in its cradle, the Sheriff grins and stretches cattily. She pads into the kitchen to check the fridge; already having worked her way through the majority of the wine bottle on the coffee table and hoping that Mary Margaret has thought to buy more. After rummaging around various shelves with growing doubt, she has a cunning epiphany; checking the salad drawer and finding a bottle of chardonnay hidden amongst the carrots.
Clever, but not quite clever enough...
She smirks, feeling rather pleased with herself. Pulling herself up onto the counter, she snatches down two more glasses with the intent to place them in the fridge to chill. Swinging herself back down, she winces at a sharp ache low at her hip. The pain is not entirely unpleasant, but a quick inspection of the area confirms that her acrobatics have served to open up the shallow graze left by the Mayor that afternoon.
"Ah well, badge of honour."
She grabs some kitchen towel and blots it on the bar of soap beside the sink, rubbing at the graze indifferently in an attempt to save her shirt from becoming stained. A sharp rap at the door has her jerking back in surprise, and she swears loudly as she hits her elbow on the countertop and drops the bloody tissue.
Making her way over to the door, she wishes - not for the first time - that they were in the possession of a peephole; not all too fond of surprise visits. Opening the door just enough to peer through, she raises a brow in surprise.
"Regina?"
"Good evening, dear."
The brunette breezes past her without waiting for an invitation, and the Sheriff follows her distractedly, feeling suddenly like a guest in her own apartment.
"Were you... Were you wanting something?"
She asks curiously.
"That, Miss Swan, is an interesting question, don't you think?"
"Uh. I guess... Look, not that I don't want you here or anything, but-"
"-Miss Blanchard is due home soon."
"Yeah."
Emma shrugs apologetically, before carrying on in a strangely timid voice.
"Actually, Ruby just called to say she was coming over, and I think the three of us are going to watch a movie..."
She's not sure what brings her to make this little confession, but there's a small part of her that's intuitive enough to know that the Mayor might be upset should she find out about such a gathering of her own accord. Smiling tentatively, the blonde pulls her hair back into a loose ponytail, her eyes bright behind her glasses; an item of attire saved only for wearing when inside her apartment and one which the brunette loathes to admit she finds strangely sexy.
"I'd ask you if you wanted to join, but..."
"I would rather choke down a mouthful of dirt, Miss Swan."
"I'll take that as a 'no, thank you', shall I?"
Emma grins, her teeth flashing as her cheeks dimple, and the darker woman doesn't hesitate to wipe the expression off her face as she steps authoritatively forwards and claims the blonde's lips with her own.
She has found herself distracted since the Sheriff left her office that afternoon; overwhelmed by the uncharacteristic good humour that had been shared, untainted, between them, and she has not let it go forgotten that she never did get around to finishing what she'd started when nipping playfully at pale skin. Speaking quietly against parted lips, she keeps her hands firmly laced around the younger woman's waist, her breath heavy and her gaze deep.
"How long before your merry band of assholes shows up?"
"Forty-five minutes, give or take?"
"You're sure?"
"I- I think so..."
"Best play it safe."
And with that she pushes the blonde forcefully against the kitchen island, delighting in the look of surprise that alights the Sheriff's face. She moves quickly - roughly - and has the younger woman's jeans and underwear halfway down her thighs before the latter can even contemplate what's happening. Pressing Emma firmly against the counter, she enters her with two fingers, causing the blonde to cry out in shock.
There are elements to the brunette's current savagery that bring back thoughts of their barely consensual tryst in the station, but these memories only serve to highlight the difference in the Mayor's actions in the here and now to back then. It doesn't go unnoticed by the blonde that Regina wets her fingers before her attack; an unnecessary precaution, but a precaution just the same. Nor does she miss the way the brunette rests her hand on the hard surface of the kitchen island, creating a buffer between the wood and her tailbone as she slams into her forcefully.
"R-Regina! Fuck!"
The Sheriff's hands dance between clawing behind her at the island's countertop to keep herself steady and clinging desperately to the Mayor as the darker woman maintains her relentless pace.
"Fuck! Stop! No, wait, actually don't..."
Regina chuckles huskily, doing her best to brush at soft lips, but with the way the younger woman squirms against her, this is no easy feat. Sensing the Sheriff is close to peaking, she slams her weight roughly against the blonde; acting as a support as the Sheriff comes undone.
As with the darker woman's style of ministration, the blonde's climax is violent almost to the brink of pain, and the Mayor removes her fingers quickly, folding the Sheriff into an embrace as the latter shakes weakly. Stroking sweat-dampened curls, Regina smirks against the flushed flesh of Emma's cheek, holding her tight as the younger woman's tortured breath tickles her throat.
"I do hate to leave things uneven..."
She muses lightly.
"That... That was so far from settling the score, Regina..."
The Sheriff pants, and the brunette smiles; the blonde's hoarse muttering heavy with exertion but free from any signs of irritation or anger.
"Then it looks like you'll just have to think of a way to repay me, dear..."
"Oh, god, not this again!"
But Emma's words are light with laughter as she pulls her jeans up shakily.
"I suggest you hop in the shower, Miss Swan; you have a very rosy just fucked look about you."
"You're pure evil, you know that?"
"It has been said."
Regina agrees, and her dark eyes glitter with surprise as the blonde claims a decidedly soft kiss before she steps back with a smile.
"Enjoy your evening, dear. I know I will."
She purrs, and the Sheriff's eyes widen at this rather ambiguous statement as she clears her throat shyly. Accompanying her guest to the door, she bids her a passionate goodnight, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright.
Regina makes her way down the apartment building's shabby staircase, her manner purely business-like. She's a little surprised by herself and her willingness to allow Emma to enjoy her evening's proposed activities without a little more fuss. She could put this down to the fact that she's logically aware that what the Sheriff does in her own time isn't any of her business, but she knows her own heart well enough to recognise that she is a woman to whom envy comes with painful ease.
No, however twisted the idea may be - and she'd be the first to admit it - she appropriates a sly smirk as she knows for a fact that the blonde isn't going to be thinking about anybody else for a while.
Least of all the promiscuous little waitress.
Possessiveness is a risky business, dearest. Particularly where the Sheriff is concerned. You would do well to keep such thoughts from becoming obvious to the woman herself... She's made it clear she views Ruby with no carnal intent. Best to keep any form of jealousy hidden if it can't be disposed of. Emma is not the sort to see envy as flattering...
Yes, she supposes such precautions would be wise. She doesn't want to argue over something she's aware exists mostly in her own head, as it's not as though she can explain her deeper reasoning to the Sheriff. Can't explain that what has been good in her life has so often been ripped away. Can't explain that her jealousy is rooted in unease as much as it is in possessiveness; having spent so long suffering a hateful breed of loneliness born out of experiences no one else remembers. Can't explain that she's nervous; that she just doesn't want to get hurt again.
She can't deny, however, the sensation of pure elation that spreads through her body in light of what has been a day of simple enjoyment with the younger woman, even with Emma's ominous request to 'talk'. The fact that they've ended this evening on such good terms despite that... Well...
Smiling, she makes her way to her Benz parked a block and a half away, oblivious to the dark coals that follow her every movement.