The boat itself is a caricature. Emma looks through the window from the narrow space that serves as dining room and convinces herself that everything is a macabre comedy devised by a drunk scriptwriter with a twisted sense of humour.
Her parents, those two young lovebirds who are almost her age, and from whose cabin came noises she prefers not think about, sleep and eat with her arch enemy, Regina. An Evil Queen who could be considered retired from the position, given recent events. And who also is the stepmother of her son's grandmother, and step-grandmother of Emma herself, Henry's biological mother. Henry... the reason for being all together in a somewhat unstable ship and "lost" in the seas of Neverland...
Because, naturally, the land of Peter Pan and Disney do exist, of course. And Hook directs the helm of the ship while, beside him, the other Henry’s grandfather, a melancholic Gold, try to find the approximate whereabouts of the child. And practically there is no trade of insults and threats, despite being mortal enemies and all.
Emma takes a deep breath, looking for some water. Although she ends with a jug of rum, for lack of any H2O that isn’t salty nor surrounding the vessel. It has been two days of travelling and calm before the storm. They are villains and heroes sharing the same quest, and the last days have blurred the boundaries even further between the good and bad ones. Every one of them seems to be pondering whether is their new role and how to now fit the pieces of a puzzle that for years remained doomed and immovable. Emma takes a drink to the health of a Dark One who is mourning his dead son, whose grandson is kidnapped and has a girlfriend who had to be left behind; of a Captain who ask politely the murderer of his true love which course he thinks they should follow; of two Monarchs without a kingdom that speak of battles, plans and strategies with the woman whose raison d’être was to destroy their lives; of a cruel, twisted and powerful Mayor who remains relegated into a wandering shadow, tight in words and gestures, grim and with such calm demeanour that simulates a false docility. She takes another swing because that trip well worths that and more. Cheers.
If Hook is who most keeps his essence, the one who looks less like a fish out of water, Regina is the polar opposite. To her crestfallen silence is added the almost green her face takes when the sea is most heavy. The advantage is that she is absolved from her shift at the helm. The downside is that she occasionally makes extra hours leaning over the railing, giving back to nature what nature had given her for lunch, dinner or sometimes even for breakfast.
But despite everything, despite the heaving and unsteady steps, she continues to be the Mayor. Quiet, dull and the colour of grass, but Emma knows she is still there, only different. Even Mary Margaret has perceived it. Her parents expected her to fall back on magic to avoid the tossing, sleeping on a mattress as thick as a pencil or for not having to eat only fish, bread and rum. But none of this has led her to move any tiny bit of magic. Among the few words she has said since they have embarked, is that things work differently and she doesn’t want to risk a spell and something going out of control. However, Emma does not need her power to detect she is lying: Gold has not stopped using magic since they got on board for small and medium matters.
Emma admits that every time she watches him, she feels less uncomfortable and more intrigued about everything around the magic. Her defensive instincts are rapidly giving way to an almost childlike curiosity. Also, if she knew how to handle that hint of power within her, she could turn that mild warm rum into a refreshing gin and tonic. Resigned, she heaves a sigh leaning against the table to have an anchor point while she draws the rum to her lips. She has watched Mr Gold drink several of these, and all the drinks were engraved on his eyes with the name of Neal.
She cannot imagine what he must be suffering by the loss of his son for the second time. She has tried to comfort him, to share his sorrow. But Gold would rather focus on finding his grandson and simply smiles joylessly at her and murmurs: "Thank you dearie, I do not think anyone understands me better than you."
Emma resumes drinking to remove taste of guilt from her mouth. It’s fair to say that she misses Neal painfully and does not want to imagine Henry’s life without his father again. But she doubts her sadness reaches anywhere near Gold’s, or resembles the one you feel about a loved one. She drinks again. She is aware of what she said before releasing his hand, but questions why she said it. Swallows another sip of rum. Guilt, sadness, habit... When did she stop loving him?
"Have you left something for others, Miss Swan?"
She doesn’t even hear her arriving.
When that voice reaches her ears, she staggers with the table and her ass almost hits the ground.
"I thought everyone was asleep," she answers to Regina with what little dignity she has left.
"And that's why you thought of raiding the alcohol supplies?"
"I did not..." she replies, leaving her glass on the table. The imperceptible and sneaky smile warns her that the Mayor is teasing her. She doesn’t know if she is responding worse to Regina’s first joke in days or to the longer phrase which she has delivered. She decides to start from scratch, afraid of driving her back to the silence that has prevailed during this trip. "Here, who does not sleep, drinks, Madam Mayor"
The brunette, dressed in her suit pants and silk shirt rolled up because of the heat from the constant good weather in Neverland, studies the proposal two seconds.
"Sounds good." Emma offers her a second glass and they toast out of habit before taking a sip, the two standing face to face. The blonde looks for something to say although is still strange to see this woman as an ally and not as her eternal rival, but she could get used to this rarity and to life being a little more 'simple'.
"How are you doing? Dizziness and nausea..."
"As if my whole body were partying... and had not asked my permission," she replies without a trace of humour, even though her partner finds it hilarious. "I'm getting used to it, but it’s worse at night"
"So that’s why you're awake..."
"Cheers," ratifies Regina, taking a long sip and grimacing at the taste. "And you?"
"Too many things to think about, I can not close my eyes without worries appear jumping fences instead of little sheep," she sighs, leaning back on the table. Regina follows suit and chooses one of the mouldy walls. "But maybe with a couple of drinks and the worries will get drunk and let me sleep..."
"If it works, let me know"
"It isn’t going very well so far..." she confesses, resigned, stirring the contents of her drink, "I think if I did not feel so silly it would be easier." The sigh and the words escape her mouth with an easiness that prevents her to meditate them first. There is something in the alcohol, the situation or the new Regina that causes a calmness that perhaps should worry her. But she doesn’t think about it and continues, "Why did I not see it coming?"
"You are not the only one who can martyr herself with that, Miss Swan. I... should have recognized that damned rugged outsider from day one," she mutters, drinking up the rum like a true pirate.
"What did he have against you to...?" The question, without formalisms, shoots out of her lips but Regina does not seem to notice.
"... Savagely electrocuted? He thinks I killed his father..." she hisses, devoid of any feeling. Emma both eyebrows rise and doesn’t answer, although her gesture says it all. "Believe me, this time, I had nothing to do with it," she adds, seeing only one of the two eyebrows descending. "Oh, for the love of God, father and son showed up in the village four days after Storybrooke was born, excuse me for not wanting to stain my hands with blood so soon." Emma's eyebrows return to their place and the mayor is satisfied.
"Then what happened?"
"I took a fancy to the kid and his tenderness. I wanted them to stay here and it didn’t go well," she summed, leaving the details aside. "They discovered that ‘something was wrong' in the village. On their scape, the son made it out and the father got trapped inside the border" Regina takes a breath and ponder why is she telling a story she hates. Curious and aware, sheriff’s eyes (sometimes reminding her to Henry’s) remind her why. "I tried to find a way to erase their memories to reunite them, but without my magic, fairy dust or anything like that, it took me longer than it should. One night the stupid Ben tried to escape and Graham, along with two other agents, tried to stop him. He was a good climber but, when he reached the border’s line, the new magic barrier repelled him throwing him into the air. They found his body at the end of a small cliff, right where he was buried. Dammed impatient..." Her last words are sputtered with a bad mood that covers up the sadness. "And his son, Owen or Greg, whatever he calls himself, is just as smart... I do not know how I did not recognize him before"
"You weren’t the only one. None of us suspected anything and we let him free way to destroy Storybrooke," she sighs, peering at Regina. "I knew that Tamara was not to be trusted and still I couldn’t anticipate what she would do. We are tied"
"And you didn’t go after her?" she questions, refilling her glass since at the moment she has no intention of sleeping. "I can hardly believe that"
"I mugged her room..." Regina's smile returns triumphant behind the glass of rum. "But I found nothing."
"That should have not stopped you," she huffs with more chastise than intended. Basically she is the Saviour. That was her job, to protect all the characters in story tales from the bad ones, right? Had she not made her own life miserable from day one? That this stuck-up brunette was Neal's fiancée should not make her an exception.
"Excuse me?" Emma's stand loses all trace of calm for a lot more defensive attitude. "I did what I could, but no one believed me. Henry and I sneaked into Neal’s room and..."
Regina follows suit, tensing her body and lip twisted while answering. "Did you take Henry with you? That woman is a murderer! She could have endangered my child!!" she interrupts with a volume close to screaming.
"Our son," she points out, gulping after this strange combination of words. Luckily, Regina takes them puzzled and silent, giving her the chance to keep talking. "And I did not put him in danger. I would never do such a thing." Now is Emma who is about to roar and she does not understand how they have ended this way. None of them do.
"Never? Then what are we doing in this boat, Miss Swan?" The blaming words come out full of anger and the Mayor is unable to stop them, even though she knows they are not true. That she doesn’t blame anyone but herself.
"You dare to blame me for this? You put them on the trail of Storybrooke. You and your hobby of controlling everything and everyone. If you had left them alone, we would not be here!"
"That man is a maniac and he doesn’t work alone. Had it not been him, it’d have been another," she snarls, straightening up and facing her. "Don’t you have that great super power to detect who is lying?" she strikes again between irony and anger. Emma listens, feeling that her blood is dangerously starting to boil while the Mayor keeps shooting. "You should have done something, you ought had gone after them regardless your personal affairs." Her voice low. There is no need to shout while using such a personal tone full of poison.
"Personal affairs?" Emma bristles, closing on her undaunted and in response to Regina’s defiant attitude, "What personal affairs are you talking about? I tried to find out more, but no one believed me, no one was willing to help me except Henry!"
"Why didn’t you come to me?!" Regina answers, now definitely screaming.
"Because I wanted to see what was going on, not end up with a pile of bodies for dinner time!" exclaims angrily. Regina closes her mouth and takes half step back. Both of them breathing rough and troubled, they size each other, evaluating who will strike the next blow. The glasses of rum, on top of the table, have been as forgotten as the comfortable conversation they had begun holding.
"That’s all you think I can do? To kill, right?"
"You had several chances to prove the contrary… And you wasted them all.”
"Chances? Like when you accused me of killing Archie?" she asks, pointing at the woman who is riling her up and unleashing the whirlwind, which has been feasting within her from days.
"I believed in your innocence!" she growls, facing the conceited and obnoxious woman who always seems to be one step ahead and play in a league where she is not even an amateur.
"For how long? Five minutes?!" exclaims sarcastically, cutting the distance between them with an angry stomp.
"Your mother manipulated us. She manipulated everything, Regina. What could we have done?!"
"That's the problem, Miss Swan. The good guys always have excuses and never do anything wrong on purpose. But we, the evil ones, are bad forever, no matter what. You would not have anyone else to blame otherwise."
"It does not work that way, Mayor, that's not true..."
"No? Snow killed my fiancé and my mother, your parents abandoned you and you gave up Henry for adoption. But nothing is your fault." She scowls, assessing the effect of her words. But that vexing sheriff, worthy daughter of her loathsome parents, doesn’t respond. She just purses her lips and holds back, what pisses Regina off even more. "All the pain you cause, all you destroy is for the greater good. I do not know if you are stupid or the smartest, but your actions never do have consequences." Emma burns off the last drops of self-control, blow after blow from the Mayor. What Regina confuses with passive-aggressiveness is, actually, a volcano seconds from exploding. "Always with your happy endings you do not deserve... If you had left town as I suggested, if you had not even appeared at all, everything would be alright. Henry's life would have been much safer and happier. You destroy everything you touch, Miss Swan, including your own so... "
Regina never gets to finish the sentence. The air is removed from her lungs when her back hits violently against the dining room wall. The dull pain and Emma’s forearm against her windpipe take her breath away. The blonde’s eyes, a few millimetres from hers, are ramming with the most dangerous look she has ever addressed her with.
"SHUT UP!" There is no room for formalities, just to fury. She is out of her wits and doesn’t think, just acts. She wants her to stop talking. She wants to cause the same pain the other is causing, to wreck her and, at the same time, she wants to flee… she doesn’t know what she wants. "Shut the hell up if you don’t want..."
"If I don’t want to what, Sheriff?" she asks with the thread of voice that escapes her constricted throat. She tries to resist, but Emma's other hand twists the arm to keep her very still. A technique worthy of a professional. Regina smiles with her most saucy pose and hiss without dropping her gaze. She feels more alive than in all the lasts days. Years, even. "Come on, we've been here before. Don’t hold back, show me what you are capable of," she orders in a bark that sparks the blonde’s insides.
And Emma obeys.
There, within millimetres away from her archenemy and out of control, she just obeys and acts. She assaults the Mayor's mouth with an aggressiveness that exceeds the violent shove. That hurts even more than the forearm still stuck in the throat. Emma bites more than kiss, and does not stop until she notices the metallic taste of blood. She licks brazenly the mayor’s lip but, before been able to claim victory, is the brunette who bites her tongue. She pulls it to her, marking it with her teeth and forcing her to get closer.
Only then Regina releases her prisoner and marks Emma's mouth with her own saliva. A kiss (a real one now) which plays naughty on the border between pleasure and pain. The blonde lets herself go for a second, time enough for Regina to get Emma off her and turn tables. The clash between the blonde’s back and the wood of the boat sounds painful, but she utters no groan. The mouth of the Evil Queen stops them. As a reflex, she grabs Regina’s nape. When her fingers sink into short dark locks, she doesn’t try to pull her away, but forces more closeness instead. Teeth collide clumsily and they fall apart. Languages found each other and carry that war, concealed as kiss, to another level. Another crazier, more aggravating, more furious and, by force, more passionate kiss.
Emma feels the bends of the wood digging into her back and she knows that tomorrow it will hurt, but she is unable to stop. Regina tugs on Emma’s hair, which forces her mouth to open further, and seeks surrender to the wills of her tongue.
Something that doesn’t happen because the queen is a natural-born fighter, a survivor. She confronts her, exploring every corner of that unknown mouth while trying to convey some oxygen to her brain cells. She is kissing (kissing!) Emma Swan-Charming and struggles to stop, to want to stop her, to find out how the hell to stop this and do it right damn now. But her hands remained by either side of her enemy’s face, and she tries to not move them from there. Maybe if she relies on them, if she uses all her strength and concentrates she could get away...
In that gleam of hesitation she lets her guard down, and Emma saucily bites her mouth, daring her. That brainless, insolent woman plays with fire without knowing she is facing a dragon. She grabs her waist and pulls her by the shoulder until they close distances. She rams her body nailing it once again against the wall, where it belongs. And that's when she listens. She moans, a mix between gasp and moan and if Regina had to specify the tipping point where everything went haywire, that would be the one.
She tries to submit her again, to wrest more sounds so similar to a plea, and she tries in a more creative way. She kisses her neck, if it is tolerable to call that use of lips, tongue and teeth in particular, kissing. A slow, wet and intoxicating torture Regina knows she has to stop. There are a thousand reasons to do so, but Emma's hands slipping under his shirt sweep half of them away, and the other five hundred disappear when she notices the roaring pulse of the blonde while licking her jugular.
She is levitating. Literally. They are not romantic or corny metaphors. Emma barely holds herself against her body and moves onward recklessly until the dinner table becomes a painful reality against Regina’s legs. The Queen addresses it with a painful bite to the base of the neck, which raises back again her precious moan.
"Careful," growls Emma in such a hoarse tone that makes her lose all credibility.
"That’s what I say," she gibbers, facing blue eyes, now almost grey. Anger is still there, eye to eye, but to deny sex its starring role right now is ridiculous. That haze which clouds all logic, igniting the senses, and sends all sanity going suicidal overboard.
If she could think, Regina would not be digging her nails into those shoulders, nor kissing the bruised lips of Emma. She would be wondering what is she doing, panting in the arms of a woman. If Emma would remain lucid, she would be arguing with the ruthless Mayor slash "Evil Queen" and not surrounding her waist. If they could reason, they would not be stumbling down the dark hallway of the cabins, but politely wishing each other good night and disappearing behind each of their room doors. But who cares about "would"?
Emma tries to keep going down the hall but is dragged by a meddling hand that wanders down her jeans and pulls her towards the first door. She knows it connects with Regina’s dorm, if those dwellings without windows and half-a-bed can be considered such a thing, and let’s herself be carried away. She agrees to play downfield but in return retains the Mayor against the door when she tries to turn the knob. She sneaks her leg between hers and presses deliberately. The back of the brunette arches towards that rubbing pressure and Emma is rewarded with the first and guttural sound from Regina, who forgets even about turning the knob.
"Your Highness," she mocks, licking her lobe and opening the door, she slips a hand behind Regina’s body. Before the door is closed with the two women inside, the brunette’s voice has already replied.
"Let me make an educated guess… this is not your first encounter with a woman." She succeeds in making something so proper to sound irresistibly dirty and Emma does not repress a lopsided smile.
"Even in this situation, Mayor, you're the last person on the face of the earth that I would explain my sexual history to" she ironizes, moving her hips against Regina.
"There is a good girl..." she groans haughty but imitating her thrusts "... when you do not forget good manners and mind your place"
"Always..." she growls fiddling with the small buttons of Regina’s shirt and covering the impertinent mouth which seems to be waiting for her. She keeps up her sleeve a slow, deep and almost suffocating kiss that distracts the attention from her trembling fingers and their struggle to vanish the damn garment.
The fabric slips down to the floor with a calm that collides with the sudden and curious movements of the two women. Emma disposes of her pants’ button with a not so gentle tug that increases the pace of the kiss and Regina traces her index finger along the sheriff’s chest. Following the path of the Queen’s finger, she watches how the fabric burns in its path, warming her skin and splitting unceremoniously her shirt. She wants to snarl annoyed but the audacity of Regina alters something inside of her, well below her belly, and she decides to close the mouth and sighs tightly.
"Using magic?" she rumbles against her chin, nibbling the soft skin.
"Sure, Miss Swan. Now I'm one of the good guys, I just use it against whoever misbehaves," she answers cheekily, searching her lips. The coarse whining made by the blonde rumbles in Regina, who grabs her waist smiling delighted.
Emma does not know what the hell she will dress in the next day, but what does it matter? Regina fingers are travelling her hips, ripping and clawing her pants and she has never wanted so badly to be bad to the bone. Her legs, bare now, want to be dressed again, but with Regina’s skin. She devours her arch enemy lips one last time, paying special attention to the luscious scar, and down her throat, her collarbone and cleavage. She evades the Mayor’s tantalizing, black bra, promising herself that she’ll take care of it soon enough, and bites firmly the belly in front of her.
"Oh, yes...!" Regina pants, swinging her hips involuntarily and trying to hold back when the moan has already resonated throughout the room. The almost pleasant silence of the boat is now turning against them and both take notice of it. Emma gets rid of her pants carelessly and drags Regina’s underwear down with them. She returns to the heated face, panting with her and dropping her panties, which she was still holding.
"We’ll have to be very quiet," she moans cunningly, licking the long neck of the brunette until she gets lost behind her ear. Regina moves her hands, but does land them on her although every inch of Emma’s skin demands to be touched. The blonde bites the fleshy lobe and watches as a faint purple haze, following the brunette’s hands, traces the room until disappearing.
"Now you can make all the noise you desire, Miss Swan"
"I leave it to your hands" She mutters mischievous, running her fingers over the firm backside of Regina to explain herself better. The brunette moans freely at her words and decides to get to work pulling at the waistband of Emma’s underwear, roughly, until it snaps her. The way of moving, of touching, of talking, of provoking her... Every time she’s more certain bout the fact that, what for her is an exciting novelty, for Emma is something she is far from a novice at.
Despite the annoying barrier both their bras are, the first contact of both without clothes is almost devastating. Regina pants against Emma’s diligent mouth and the two bodies merge in unbearable heat. No, this cannot be provoked by an inexperienced newbe she mentally moans, shuddering and feeling an uncomfortable tingle wandering her gut. Before she can even consider what is it, Emma's hands pull from her nape and butt, erasing any worries from her mind that isn’t her body joined to hers. She wants all of it, naked and only for her. There's something about that intimacy, in that unprecedented vulnerability in Emma that makes everything irresistible. Her fingers are lost along the sinuous back, looking for the hook of the last cloth standing. She pulls once at the piece, and a second time, but Emma's tongue is caressing each corner of her mouth and she can’t focus. She tries a third time, without really expecting it to work if the body in front of her keeps swaying against her. Pulling apart ,for air, she sees a playful smile on Emma’s lips.
"Are you laughing at me?" she answers with all the pride she’s able of, being semi naked in front of her great enemy "I know how to unzip mine, I'm not the one who has prior experience with other’s" she adds sharply, making Emma's smile to wide in a laughter oh, so sexy.
"Experience doesn’t matter..." she whispers on Regina’s sensitive lips. She is so lost in the wet and slow way she lets the words out, that she does not notice Emma’s hand sliding in just a second against the hook "... it’s a matter of skill" Before finishing the sentence, the air of the room grazes her breasts and her bra falls abruptly on the floor. Emma regards shamelessly her naked figure until she reaches her lips and then gazes intently into her eyes. "I dare you to do it without magic" She growls, grining, with the huskiest of tones and assaulting her mouth using only her lips. Emma is messing with her, is making fun of her attempts, and yet the blonde’s voice is the most exciting thing she has ever heard. And until she loses all reason, she does not want to stop listening to it... though that may be very soon.
She accepts the implicit mockery and enjoys the kiss, walking backwards, until her trembling knees collide with the mattress. She carelessly draws Emma to her, stepping aside at the last moment and making her to fall not too gracefully face down on the bed.
"What the...?" Her arms are hold over her head and the Queen’s smooth and firm body lays down over hers. She feels her hips and a more than suggestive heat is given off on her butt. She wants to squirm and to face this dangerous and treacherous woman, but Regina kisses against her nape, as she pulls her hair aside, turn the submissive and exposed posture in pleasure. And she doesn’t think about moving an inch. "What are you doing...?" She pants against the pillow, in the wake of a delicate tongue tracing her spine. All her skin shudders with every lick and she moans when Regina’s fingers finally get rid of the damn hook of the bra. The Queen hears a faint laughter against the bed and punishes the smug sheriff by ramming her tempting hips into Emma's backside with a thrust. "Oh God... Remember me to laugh at you more often."
"Always so insolent," she growls with hoarseness roughing her voice and bristling Emma’s hair. The feeling of Regina’s mouth on her kidneys makes her squirm on the sheets and bite her lower lip. The Queen touches the limit of what is tolerable with her teeth and breaks Emma submissive patience. Releasing from her grip, she shoves her body and jolts to come face to face with her. Regina’s flushed cheeks, swollen lips and the twinkle in her eyes put an end to the blonde’s temperance.
She ravishes her adversary's mouth and wraps her in her arms. Their bodies lock and rock, forcing them to moan into each other mouths and Emma strives to caress every curve, crease and corner of Regina. She defends her position, settling on top of her, cornering her body, what leaves her at their mercy. Now it’s she who directs and strolls her tongue in the irresistible hollow of Regina’s clavicle. Also over her shoulders and cleavage. And of course by those perky breasts which welcome her proud and erect.
Surrounding the succulent skin, she licks, kisses and bites the hard dark tip. Regina's neck curves to the harsh attentions and buries her hand in the blond locks, pressing against her. A violent lash shakes her growing excitement and the noises in the bedroom increase. The blonde’s hands dart recklessly to Regina’s centre and her exploring mouth follows the wake of her fingers through the blatant moisture of the mayor. Lips draw abstract shapes on her heaving breasts and her hand opens way unobstructed.
"Ohogodyesss..." she groans out loud, barely pronouncing, but the next pray gets clear in to Emma’s ears "Don’t stop..."
Emma licks her lips and looks defiant at her. It is impossible not to enjoy this. "... Don’t give me ideas…" she breathes, getting back to her mouth and kissing her with all the intensity, saliva and passion she is capable of. Her fingers move to rub her swollen clit and Regina’s hips set the pace. She wants to play and enjoy every moan and spasm she rips from her. But she forgets who she’s talking with. Nails trace her belly scratching softly until they sink between her legs, all the palm down, with a devastating friction. "Hmmmmm... do not stop."
The outburst slips out of control and it sounds like a pray. Regina, between gasps, smirks. She prefers to play with advantage, but to even the score is not a bad idea either.
"I see we understand each other," she replies authoritarian, taking her first steps along Emma’s heat. An irresistible, liquid fire which forces her to close her eyes. The sway of Emma’s body on her hand, seeking every brush, accelerates her own breathing and brusque movements. She has no respite to realize that she is rubbing and getting carried away with a fierce passion more fitting for an inexperienced teenager than in a respectable Mayor.
Emma's fingers slide once again over her soaked folds and she cannot avoid saying her name when she probes her opening. Two fingers go through it slowly, just a little, gauging her reaction. Regina stops her own hand and her face twists, trying to stifle a devastating cry against the fabric of the pillow. By the time Emma’s fingers sink into her, Regina has already forgotten to lavish with caresses the centre of her aggressor, and her hands are reduced to grasp tightly the forearms of the sheriff, regardless of whether the strength is too much or if she will leave her mark as five elongated bruises.
Her body enjoys its particular 4th of July and her skin threatens to turn around where Emma touches. Her neck, exposed to the designs of the mischievous lips, shudders with every bite. Her breasts, served alternately by Emma’s long fingers, are asking for more. And the fingers in her collapse her perception, triggering an orgasm that shuts down any conscious thought and enhance her senses. She shuts her eyes tightly, but could swear she sees lights. The fireworks of Fourth of July...
The only reason her body doesn’t curls, or her hips raises forming an almost right angle, has a name, blonde hair and a most satisfied smile. Emma's body, covering hers, holds her against the mattress and prolongs the spasms that still echo in their anatomy. But the conceit in her smirk does not hide the wheeze that has become her breathing or the crazed rhythm of her heartbeats; Regina does not need to read between the lines.
She swallows heavily, her mouth dry and forces herself to recover, to regain her pretence of being in control. But Emma keeps smiling.
"Is there any problem, Miss Swan?" she challenges, confronting the face millimetres from hers. Her arms, whose force is being recovered gradually, take on Emma’s back, seeking an exact location. Green eyes close when the fingertips of the Mayor reach their destination and keeping her cheeky smile becomes impossible.
"N... none" she moans, losing all her arrogance with barely a sigh, "What... what are you doing to me?"
"You may know about women... but I know about magic" she replies, biting her earlobe. Any nook in her body where Regina wanders, throbs against the mayor's hand and increase her temperature with a delicious heat.
"Regina..." Emma press her lips closed until they turn white, but does her best in looking doubtful. It is this lack of cockiness, that almost helpless question in her eyes and her submissive wait, the Evil Queen’s downfall.
She holds her chin, bites those irresistible lips forcing the blood to run back and pulls back, moving her chin until both are looking at Emma's arm. There, proudly, is resting the silhouette of what undoubtedly are Regina’s fingerprints branded by fire.
"We don’t want any prying questions, do we?" she questions with her characteristic smirk as if that would make everything clear. For Emma’s comfort, the explanation continues: the Mayor caresses her skin and the burning sensation returns, accelerating her breathing and burning her sensitive skin. She moans again, but forces herself to look, trying to ignore her shaken bloodstream, concentrated on right this moment focussed between that lucky arm and her centre. In the wake of Regina's hand, marks disappear, leaving in its place an extremely tender skin but free from red and purple marks.
"Prying questions..." she repeats, looking stunned at her skin. Regina’s soft, steamy laughter reverberates against her neck, where she deposits full, wet kisses.
"Yes, your back looks like a map..."
"And why would that be?" Emma chokes back, voiceless, reserving her strength to avoid collapsing on the brunette while the exploring magic continues. Regina's right hand wanders over her jugular and warm feeling is repeated once again, testing the resilience of such a sensitive spot. "Hmmmmm... That’s not a blow," she pants impishly, imagining the hands of Regina erasing all traces caused by her teeth and lips.
"No, it was not..." she recognizes, stroking Emma playfully, inch by inch, and compelling her to moan and squirm with every new erased bruise. By the time the sheriff begins to arch against her body for more contact, more touching, more of everything, there is only one brand to erase. The path of Regina’s nails over Emma's belly. She wants to move down tortuously but the hand of the blonde, bossy and demanding, grabs her wrist and pushes her hand boldly to where touch is needed most.
"There are still marks..." she whispers, studying green eyes, their foreheads almost touching.
"Those, anyone will not see them..." she growls, trying to move the other’s wrist again.
"Just in case..." she replies, deliberately flying over her belly and giving off more energy than in any other piece of skin. Her hand charges with electricity by how Emma's body responds instinctively, inviting her magic to bond with hers and to flow as a single stream. So powerful and so innocent, Miss Swan. She leaves the blonde’s firm belly, licking her lips while she sinks her fingers into the tantalizing wetness, but without getting too deep. The blonde opens her legs, forcing an almost uncomfortable posture, but does not remove her eyes from Regina’s hazel ones.
"What are you waiting for...?" Emma asks, blonde locks caught in sweat on her cheek and her voice two octaves lower, but without losing the provocative touch that invites to take up the challenge.
"Don’t you ever shut up?"
"Make me..." she utters with a daring smile. Regina's tongue ensures a moment of silence by touring Emma's mouth with an almost invasive slowness. It doesn’t find resistance but surrender. Now, without the blonde’s annoying voice in the background, her focus turns back to the dripping issue at hand. Without further ado, she introduces two fingers. She gladly swallows the moan that comes from Emma’s depths, the same place where queen’s fingers carry an irresistible dance.
A third finger follows and thumb slides carefully with every thrust over the bulging clit. Emma's body practically dances on Regina’s and there are fewer kisses and more moans. The brunette digs her nails into her smooth derriere until both hips collide, aware that her libido is catching up with her nemesis’. She raises her leg to increase the contact of her thigh against the Emma’s centre while thrusting faster and deeper, fearful of being betrayed by her own arousal. She lifts a hand to Emma’s nape ready to give the final blow.
She devours her mouth and twists her fingers to touch that spot that triggers the flood on her hand and jolts Emma, forcing the hard and tough sheriff to groan against her lips and collapse like a rag doll with her orgasm.
She wraps her arms around Emma’s warm trembling figure, and discards the idea of seeking a blanket to cover themselves with, or could catch fire...
"I have kept quiet..." Emma exhales softly against a nearby ear. Regina stops a guffaw just in time, but her voice lets out a tiny bit of that repressed humour.
"All too brief" she responds sharply, sniffing Emma's hair and distinguishing the characteristic subtle hint between musky and fresh that the sheriff usually leaves in her wake. Before she fills up her lungs with ' Emma eau de toilette ', the blonde head turns towards her. "What?" she asks, feeling uncomfortable and berating herself about that absurd sniffing.
"My magic... Well, could I learn to do... that?" she questions, holding Regina's hand between hers, remembering how the power shoot through her skin and healed every blow.... and every 'non blow’.
"I do not know. Have you already received the letter from Hogwarts, little one?"
"No, Dumbledore" she gush with a lopsided grin "But accept private lessons"
"You have just compared me to a bearded man of about three hundred years old. What makes you believe I will teach you?" She questions recovering her mayor’s sceptical and pedantic voice.
"That I'm dying to try it on you..." she whispers, stroking the neck of Regina and following the mark of the bruise that she caused. The bluntness and security she answers with hits directly the underbelly of the queen.
"You, wanting to learn magic? What would your parents think?" she asks, trying to control her voice, as the rest of her body relish in exciting anarchy.
"Honestly..." she bestows sweet little kisses over the tender lobe before descending down her neck "If my parents see me right now, I don’t think my magical curiosity were their worst concern..."
"Hmm-mmm..." she retorts bluntly, biting her lower lip and turning her face, leaving way to Emma’s journey.
"Regina..." she purrs against her ear and the brunette admits that, to hear her name pronounced in that way, it is very well worth becoming Dumbledore. She seizes the damned hand that grazes the valley between her breasts, teases bristling her skin. She places it on her shoulder, where she feels the throbbing of one of the punches.
"I won’t tell it twice..." she grunts while her outstanding student is distracted biting a tantalizing arm "Your hand... my hand... are mere catalysts. The magic is within you and it’s instinctive, primal... it’s desire. Want something healed? Order it," she groans, lacing her long fingers with Emma’s and letting her magic act as a guide to focus the energy of the other woman. The blonde is a wild whirlwind of power, a hurricane scratching the surface and looking forward to eventually burst. If Emma's hand were not anchored on her shoulder, searing pleasantly her skin and taking any conscious thought from her body, Regina would be overwhelmed by such power.
"Are you doing this or it’s me?" Emma's voice girds the movement of their joined hands that slide tantalizingly towards Regina’s chest.
"Let's say it’s the two of us..." she groans, looking at blond curls that slide licking close to both of their hands on a bulging breast.
"Hmmmm... And without your help I wouldn’t be able to do it?" she asks, lifting her gaze and moving away from the skin she was nibbling.
"Yes, damn impatient sheriff..." she answers, her free hand tangling between the yellow tresses to force her close and back to the task. "However, this is like learning to ride a bicycle, if I let go of you too fast, you won’t walk even two inches alone..." she gasps when Emma understands her demands and bites near the skin of her chest, concentrating at the same time on the powerful feeling of her hand on Regina’s "Hmmmm... like that, easy there... Do you feel it?" Yeah, she does. Emma knows what she is doing, that this intense heat is magic, her magic, and that the tender skin under her hand allows her to heal and mold it. And it's the most amazing feeling she can remember. "And... and there you're on your own... oh yes..." Regina groans, untangling her fingers from the other’s who does not need further guidance or help to leave an almost tangible magic trail. And what magic... She writhes under her attentions, trying to get a hold of herself, but she has forgotten the last time she wasn’t the one licking her own wounds and the addition of Emma’s hand and her kissing is devastating. Healing is infinitely better when another does it.
Her mind recalls the time when her mother did something similar and repaired scratches on a little Regina. But she had usually been the cause, sometimes intentionally frightening the horse the girl was riding, others the punishment of cleaning the kitchen floor for hours because of dirt in any of her stupid dresses. No, this has nothing to do with that... The black and treacherous magic of her mother is a annoying tingling when compared with the electrifying touch of Emma’s innocent white magic.
Regina does not want to think, doesn’t want to remember. What for? She draws Emma’s body close, who caresses her neck and clears the last of the red marks on her skin and kisses her until the taste of the blonde goes to her mouth with an almost narcotic effect.
"You are... a quick learner..." she pants without opening her eyes.
"And I have not finished reciting the lesson yet" she mutters down her throat, kissing her chest and along the fine line of her belly.
"Emma..." It's the first time she says her name with that timber in her voice, with that uneven breath and that arousing huskiness, "I think there are no marks"
"Just in case..." she purrs, mimicking the words of the mayor with the smuggest of smiles and continuing its downward path.
"Oh yesss... Oh, god, Emma, yes!"
Twenty minutes later everything is confusing. Regina’s limbers surround Emma, exhausted. And the blonde, still on top of her, fits snugly skin to skin. The disjointed and violent gasps from before are now deep and quiet breaths, which are slowing down the beating of two women’s hearts. The mayor, with the last remnants of consciousness, believes making out Emma’s voice in the mist of the newly satisfied passion and the fog of sleep calling to them.
"Hogwart does exist?"
Silence... and more silence. "I’ll do as if I haven’t heard that, Miss Swan"
"Why?" she yawns almost done settling down her face between the brunete’s shoulder and neck. Without opening her eyes, she can imagine Regina’s sceptical expression. "I get it. Neverland, yes. Harry Potter, no".
To be continue…