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The Wicked Stepmother

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Strong and insistent hands pulled Emma close. Almost before she could feel their touch, warm lips were against her own, a tongue pushed into her mouth. It felt good, but so weird. The hands slid down to crush themselves against Emma's ass, pulling her further into their owner's reach. Her body was responding, but not in the right way. It felt like she was short-circuiting. This was wrong somehow. She tried to push the thought away; this couldn't be wrong. She touched back, her hands groping and massaging—not as forcefully as her lover, more experimentally. It all felt so… different.


But that was nonsense, right? What was she expecting? What else would Scott feel like?


"We should stop," Emma said, pulling away. She tried to catch her breath. It was far easier than when she'd left Regina's library the other day, wet panties rubbing against her every step of the way home.


Scott's hands kept running over her like he was looking for something. Regina's had been so nice, so gentle, fitting to her body like they were molded for it. And Scott's were just… rough. Like they were made of sandpaper.


"I said stop!" She gave him a shove and he broke off, immediately pouting.


"You said we 'should' stop, girls always say they should stop."


"How would you know!" His hand under her shirt had jammed it up over her belly. She pulled it down, straightening it until the band logo on the front was unwrinkled. Going over to Scott's place had been meant to make her forget about Regina, now all Emma could do was think of how perfect she was. If Regina were a guy… goddamn.


"We've been going out for four months," Scott said, consciously trying to keep his voice from a whine. "And I'm still on second base. I've gotten way too familiar with your tits, babe."


"Maybe you can go without them for a while, huh?" Grabbing her jacket, thinking of how Scott had taken it off so clumsily when Regina had been so sly just giving her a massage, Emma stomped her way to the door. She tried to make her boots loud enough for Scott's parents, off at a book club meeting, to hear her.


She stopped in her car to update her Facebook status. Scott didn't come after her to apologize. Why do boys think they have a backstage pass just because they bought a ticket? She considered changing her relationship status to It's Complicated, but didn't. It wasn't complicated at all.


Regina, reading Emma's Facebook from her laptop, decided to change it for her.



Going to the movies with Ruby had nothing to do with Regina. Emma told herself that until she half-believed it. It was just that they were sorta co-workers now. Co-workers spent time together after work. Ruby had asked if she wanted to go out, her treat, so… free movie. It had nothing to do with Ruby being Regina's friend, student, confidante. Emma had no interest in how they'd gotten so close, or how close they really were. None. Whatsoever.


The cinema was about the only cool thing about Storybrooke. It was an old-fashioned movie house, with a triangular marquee above the door and one guy with a hat in a booth selling tickets and popcorn that was popped in a cart and sold in cartons instead of by the tub. Totally vintage. It didn't show movies in 3D, but nobody liked 3D anyway.


"I don't know about you, but I've been waiting, like, forever to see Snow White And The Huntsman Part 2: The Evil King," Ruby babbled, looking stunning as usual in daisy dukes and a silk print shirt with a grand total of two buttons done up, right where the male population would most like them undone. "The first one just left me with so many questions. Does she end up with Prince Charmant or the Huntsman?"


"Probably the Huntsman. His name's in the title," Emma speculated. She wore jeans with the knees worn out and a similarly holey tee under her well-loved/battered leather jacket. I look like Ruby's bodyguard.


They paid the box office dude, who gave them the senior rate because Ruby was so willing to demonstrate she wasn't a senior. Tickets in hand, they got popcorn, Coke, and Milk Duds so expensive Emma wouldn't be surprised to find cocaine inside the box. Then it was just waiting in line to get their tickets torn. The guy behind the podium was trying to decide if three acne cases were old enough to see Final Destination: Skull Dump, so it was going to be a long line.


"Are you a big K-Stew fan?" Ruby asked.


"Nah, she's a bit slutty for my taste."


"Hey, that director thing was not her fault! He was a director."


"It's not even that, it's the RPatz thing too. They work together, they should keep it in their pants. I mean, who has sex with a co-star?" Her phone buzzed. Emma checked it and groaned. "It's my mom. I'm gonna text her a picture of you, just so she knows I'm not being penetrated. Smile."


Ruby struck a lapdance pose on a nearby standee of Tom Hanks on a bench advertising the 3D rerelease of Forrest Gump. Emma wasn't sure it would convince Mary-Margaret of anything.


Finally, they made it past the velvet rope and to their seats. Fortunately, it was a Kristen Stewart movie that didn't have Edward Cullen, so the theater wasn't at all crowded. They got there just in time for millionaires to tell them how much the Will Rogers Institute needed working-class charity. Ruby sent one last text and turned her phone off. Emma did as well, vindictively thinking that there was no way her mom could resent her not answering her phone in the middle of a movie.


The previews came on. New Tron movie—what hacks were doing that?—new Wolverine movie—even in the trailer he had his shirt off, so Emma's ticket was bought—new Spider-Man movie—Ruby would make a better Mary Jane than whoever they'd hired. They were even making another Alice In Wonderland movie. Good God, what kind of loser wanted to watch a purportedly sexy Mad Hatter prance around a green screen for two hours? Where was this whole dark fairy tale thing going to end, anyway? Porn?


Someone moaned. Amen, bro, Emma thought. Then he groaned, which seemed like a bit much for the trailer to Monsters Inc 2. Sure, it wasn't an Incredibles sequel, but what was?


"Is it just me, or is someone having a heart attack?" Emma asked Ruby.


"No, just a handjob."


"A what?"


"I know, right, handsies? What are we, twelve?"


"Who gets a handy during the trailers? Those are the best part!"


That last annoying 'turn off your cell phone, retard' message played and the movie started. Thor told them how, shockingly, everything wasn't beer and roses after Kristin Stewart was put in charge.


"Oh hell yeah," Rosie Palms' date muttered. Was he going to get tugged on through the whole movie? Wouldn't there be chafing?


Ruby read her mind. "That is taking a while. Isn't she throwing in some ball action?"


"Why don't you go ask?"


"Fuck!" Mr. Beaten Meat finally gasped. He almost sounded like…


"Scott?" Emma turned around and saw him there, just four rows back, revealed in the bright lake of a Kristen Stewart close-up. And the woman sitting next to him: "Mommy?" Of course it wasn't, just someone who looked like Mary-Margaret might've in the 90s, she didn't even have short hair. But it was just the kind of surreal detail you'd find in a nightmare.


"Emma, this isn't what it looks like!"


"Oh, she's just eating yogurt as a finger food?"


"I don't even know her, she just sat next to me on the bus this morning and started… I mean, she was all over me! I didn't even want to go see a movie!"


The girl wiped her hand on Scott's shirt. "This your prude girlfriend?"


Emma didn't know where to begin with that, so she skipped to the end. "I'm not his girlfriend."


She ran out. After a dumbfounded moment, Scott put his arm around the girl. "So where were we?"


She brushed his arm away like it was a spider web she'd walked through. "Bored."


Effortlessly untangling herself from Scott, the girl left the theater before Kristen Stewart could bite her lip anymore. She went directly to the restroom, where she scrupulously washed her hands clean. Only then did she take off the thimble she'd acquired, returning to her natural form. It'd been such a relief to find this world had magic of its own, meager as it was. Adjusting the clothes that had rumpled during her stint as a teenage girl, she left the restroom.


"Oh, hey there. I didn't know you were seeing a movie tonight," one of the ushers greeted her.


She held up her ticket. "I hope you don't think I would sneak in, Mr. Skeen. I am the Mayor, after all."