DISCLAIMER: All respect to the show's writers for their pieces of dialogue - I have twisted some for my own SwanQueen-ish purposes. I don't own Regina or Emma or any of the OUAT characters. This makes me very, very sad.
SPOILERS: Specifically, 4x05 Breaking Glass, 4x07 The Snow Queen and 4x08-09 Smash The Mirror Parts 1&2 – but everything up to and including 4a should be considered fair game.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To syrensoul[at]gmail.com

Normal [Monsters]
By SyrenSoul_Red


11. [ I pour myself into you ]

There was no trace of Robin Hood, no note to say where he'd gone, just his wife frozen stiffly in a candlelit room of old statuary - the perfect, ghoulish addition.

Regina had not given up on thawing Marian out, though her motivations were purer now. But the task would have to wait until Emma's crisis was over.

They spent the first few hours actively searching; poured through weathered scrolls and old books, tested potions and each other's patience. Emma checked every hidden corner of every forgotten room, held up a succession of dusty objects, asked, "What about this?" – until finally, Regina snapped.

"Would you please stop touching everything you come across before one of us gets killed?" She crossed her arms over her chest, "Preferably you..."

Emma frowned, pouted; returned the hefty bronze – goblin, was it? Yoda? – to its place on the floor behind a heavy cabinet. "Regina…"

Regina sank onto a stepped section of the stone floor and folded her useless hands in her lap. "I'm sorry, but you have to face it – there is nothing here that can stop this woman's curse."


"Curse," she snapped.

"Whatever." Emma sighed and took a seat next to her; their shoulders touched, Emma's knees tucked up and forearms draped over them. She stared at the ribbon on her wrist, wriggled her outstretched fingers. "I could always cut off my hand."

"I think that's a bit melodramatic."

Emma shrugged, half-joked: "I'd look hot with a hook..."

"With a hook, or with the Hook?" Regina regretted it the second it was out of her mouth. She never had learned to keep jealousy to herself - a problem that became significantly worse when it had anything to do with Emma.

Emma turned to her, face drawn. "Do you really want to talk about this now?"

Every fibre of Regina screamed No, body tensed in silence.

"I mean, we probably should talk about it," Emma went on, eyes to the ground. "If there's even an it to talk about. Obviously there's-- I mean, there's something, right?" She glanced at Regina. "What is this?" Looked away again, "God I hate these conversations."

Regina commented wryly: "Had a lot of them in your time?"

"Haven't you?"

She shrugged. "Not really. It was always more--" The woman waved her hand regally at the space before them. "--I'll take that one."

"That's… dark."

"Well I wasn't the Queen of Puppies." Regina's eyes narrowed, hardened against hurt.

Emma conceded, shrugged – it was hardly her place to judge. God knew she had a library of stories she'd rather no one rifled through.

"My point was--" Regina dragged them back on track, "that I would rather you kept your hand."

Emma's mouth quirked, a sparkled glint in deep-sea eyes. "Oh yeah? You got plans for it?"

Regina arched an eyebrow, lips pursed -- but gently reached out and simply laced their fingers. She pulled Emma's hand back into her lap, rested her other hand on top and stroked Emma's wrist with her thumb; silently, absently, eyes fixed to the far wall.

Emma stared at the side of Regina's face for a long time; the whorl of her ear, the hammered pulse in her neck that belied her apparent calm. Emma felt it too; a painful thud in her sternum as though this was the moment more terrifying than any other. It was. She clutched Regina tighter, an anchor to being swept away.

"The last—" Emma cleared her fractured throat and tried again. "The last time I saw you, you were pretty pissed at me. Pretty determined Robin Hood was your Happy Ending."

"Yes I was." Regina half-shrugged, backlit a smile. "You never should trust Pixie Dust." She looked down at their hands, comfortable in her lap. "Robin Hood is…" A mistake? Married? Incapable of making me feel even a shadow of what you do? "… Not for me."

Tension that Emma didn't know she'd had, slipped away. She exhaled into easy silence, the occasional flicker and hiss of candlelight.

Regina couldn't help herself: "And Captain Making-Eyes?"

"I don't make eyes."

"So you said..."

"Not the doe-y kind, anyway." Emma turned, fingertips danced across the satin collar of Regina's shirt, unbuttoned to the heat of the room. She traced the curve of the woman's neck, followed the line of fabric down to collarbone and chest; nails trailed over the delicate ridges of bone there. Her lips brushed against Regina's ear, "I make eyes for this..." She slid her hand beneath satin to the rise of Regina's breast. At the edge of lace, she asked, "Do we have to keep talking?"

Regina breathed, "No...", throat broken, lungs on fire.

"Later then," Emma said, and pulled their faces together.

She kissed her with determination, hands lost in black silk; turned and threw her leg over Regina's lap and straddled her. It was a reversal of their position in that old hall and it never once broke contact between them, Emma's tongue insistent in Regina's mouth.

Her arms wrapped around Emma's waist, pulled the lithe woman tighter against herself; she searched hungrily for skin under clothes, fingernails in the dips and ridges of Emma's spine. Her hands over the clasp of Emma's bra, fingers dug into her shoulder blades and Emma moaned into her mouth; a slow, firm thrusting of her hips against Regina's body; and again, denim on leather.

Against Emma's mouth, Regina growled, "I can't do this here."

Emma agreed, she needed more space, more access to her body – she glanced around the room: "Where?"

Regina meant her vault. It felt wrong, illicit and tarnished and she didn't want that. So she wrapped an arm tightly around Emma, raised her hand in a flourish -- and then they were somewhere else entirely.

Emma fell forward against Regina, her hand grasped warm, dark leather – the back of a couch. Disoriented, she looked around, tried to figure out exactly where Regina had taken her. The furnishings looked familiar, or at least their style -- black, grey and beige with crimson splashes; heavy fabrics and opulence. It was pure Regina, and she suspected: "Are we at your mansion?"

Regina nodded, took advantage of the distracted tilt of Emma's head; trailed the tip of her tongue along her throat, kissed the underside of her jaw. Emma gripped the couch tighter and her hips moved again of their own accord.

"You couldn't have poofed us straight into bed?"

Regina's laugh billowed across wet marks and Emma shivered, caught Regina's face in her hands and tasted her smile fiercely. Hands on her ass, Regina encouraged each thrust, dug her boot-heels into the rug and moved with her.

Emma fumbled with Regina's open vest, her shirt; knuckles grazed her nipple and caught Regina's breath. Somewhere beyond her, Emma asked: "How attached are you to this?" and Regina, distracted, didn't understand. A second later, Emma grabbed two handfuls of satin and wrenched. There was a tearing sound, the pop of buttons and her shirt opened in tatters.

Regina stared at the damage, stunned; then at Emma with absolute fury. "Emma!"

"Buttons were too small," she mumbled without remorse against the curve of Regina's breast - and when her tongue slid along lace and into cleavage, Regina realised actually she hated this shirt, wanted it as far from her body as possible.

Emma's palm cupped her breast, tested its weight and Regina arched into her, used the moment to struggle free of her torn clothes, threw them far from this circle of heat and motion. Emma's mouth on her neck drew her murmur; she felt the scrape of teeth and the soft skin of her face – there would be no rash, no marks unless Emma chose to leave them. Regina almost wanted her to, if it wasn't for the questions they'd raise.

She slid back onto Regina's knees, pushed against her shoulders, Regina's body pitched against the back of the couch for full access to honeyed skin. Her mouth memorised the line of her collarbone, tasted the hollow of her clavicle, the ridge of her sternum, muscles of her chest when Regina's fingers slid into her hair and tangled there tightly. Emma kissed black lace, over taut stomach until she reached the band of leather.

Emma slipped away, sank onto the rug and Regina missed her mouth already; reeled when she looked down to see Emma supplicant to her askew limbs. Her bowed head, face hidden in blonde and shadow; the woman slowly unzipped Regina's boots and lay them to one side.

Then she halted. She touched Regina's bandaged knee gingerly, looked up at her, stricken.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not." She caught Emma's arms, pulled her back into friction and forgetting, captured her mouth and pushed her against the couch, supine and dishevelled. Regina lay over her, glad her furniture was oversized and expansive, bent her knee between Emma's thighs and thrust into her, laughed around the delicious taste of "Fuck" breathed into her mouth.

That's what Regina intended to do.

But Emma still wore too much. Regina angled herself, rested her hip on the couch but kept up the pressure of her knee; her left hand began finally to undo the zipper on the front of Emma's black shirt. It parted slowly; Regina took time to enjoy every revealed inch of skin, surprisingly sun-kissed for now in Maine, against the stark white of her bra, simple and understated and perfectly her.

"Are you gonna take all night?"

"Yes," Regina muttered archly, throaty and warm and didn't see Emma's smirk, fixated on the diagonal rent in clothing and time. She slipped back over her, kissed her mouth; the dimple in her chin, her throat; hands under Emma's back and released the clasp of her bra deftly.

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Done this before?"

"I don't think I should answer that," Regina remarked; then pushed aside the material and captured Emma's breast in her mouth and Emma didn't care anymore, fingers twisted in onyx hair.

Regina lathed her tongue across Emma's nipple, teeth grazed pink areola and pulled a groan from her open mouth. When her tongue flickered on the hardened nub, Emma arced like she'd been shot and Regina's smile curved wickedly in her task.

Emma struggled against useless sleeves and straps and Regina helped free her arms, admired for a second how astonishingly beautiful she was, flushed and naked from the waist up. Her hand found Emma's breast again, fingers rubbed and squeezed, pinched her nipple, rolled it between finger and thumb. It elicited her name, "Regina…" gravelled and breathy and she drank it from Emma's lips.

Regina kissed her deeply, thoroughly; used her free hand to brace herself against the couch and rocked her body forward; thigh pressed into the heat, the ache of Emma and her hips rose to meet it. Emma's hands were everywhere; her back, her hair; nails down her spine, fingers worked their way under her leather skirt, dug into her muscle. Black lace slid down her arms and Regina hadn't felt Emma flick the clasp – clearly she was not the only one with a certain set of skills. Then she heard the whine of a zipper and the leather started to gather with each thrust, loose against her hips.

She laughed then, into Emma's mouth, and the woman's lips curved in response - she looked so fucking pleased with herself. There was no fragile ego here, nothing to be wounded by Regina's expulsion of enjoyment, just shared. Regina nearly said something that would have destroyed her, destroyed this, destroyed them with its premature, impromptu honesty but she managed to trap it in her pharynx before damage was done.

I could love you, Emma Swan…

Instead she reached for Emma's jeans, spent far too long arguing with her belt buckle; the tight leather cinch-then-release of it made Emma grunt in a 'hurts, but not bad' way, and Regina filed that away for another time. She wrestled with the brass button, pulled the zip and then Emma was on top of her and she didn't know how it happened.

Emma flung away the scrap of black lace, mouth and hands crushed to Regina's breasts, the salt-spice taste of her, hardness and soft. She sucked forcefully on Regina's nipple, and when it dragged a moan from her, did it again; scraped with her teeth and flickered her tongue, a hard pinch with her fingers and Regina writhed beneath her, put her hand over Emma's and squeezed it harder against her.

Emma's mouth travelled down her ribs, played each bar like the keys of a piano, searched for more music in her, the breathless sounds, where it tickled – Emma thought she could listen to that forever, but the tune changed when her tongue and lips played on stomach muscles and belly, tone intensified as she crept down Regina's body and settled more weight on her legs.

When she kissed along the edge of her tights, Regina's voice hit its lowest register, a deep-seated need in her mouth when she said "Emma…", coarse and shaking, and Emma shook her head, wondered how she had ever convinced herself this wasn't what she wanted, this woman splayed out beneath her.

Regina thought there was no sexy way to remove tights. She had not planned for this eventuality when she'd dressed the previous evening. She hadn't planned for this to happen ever, outside of her own vivid imagination and darkened bedroom on long, lonely nights. But in the press and pull of her body, Emma found a way.

She traced her tongue along the curled bracket of Regina's obliques to her navel; the raised point of her hipbone and latched on, mouth sure to leave a mark and her fingers slid into the tight fabric. She rolled it over Regina's thighs, put her hands to Regina's knees and caressed down her calves until the fabric was gone.

Emma took a moment then to examine Regina's now-uncovered knee, welted and bruised and took a deep breath. She cracked her knuckles and Regina rose up on her elbows to find out what was going on, her sudden absence. Emma's palms crackled to life; she laid them on Regina's bone and skin, felt a rush of heat and Regina hissed through clenched teeth – and then it was done. Perfectly healed.

She knelt back, pleased with herself; looked up to see Regina slack-jawed and frozen.


Regina shook her head almost imperceptibly. "I… Very good, Miss Swan."

Emma rolled her eyes, then tugged Regina's hips towards her so the woman lost purchase on the couch. "Stop calling me that," she growled, though knew it was playful when Regina actually laughed with a kind of delight Emma had never expected to hear from her, and she buried her own smile in the scrap of lace at Regina's hipbones, so close to the place they both wanted her to be.

Regina's fingers slid against her scalp, gold tangled between them, twisted strands into a loose knot so she could still see Emma's face, wanted to see every part of her, body propped up again on her elbows. Emma was lost in this final poor excuse for panties, a matching black wisp of lace, the last barrier to her undoing of Regina.

She trailed the fingernails of both hands up from Regina's knees over the sensitive skin of her thighs and the woman shivered, until fingertips slid under the thin band that kept her underwear in place. She pulled it slowly away.

Regina, stripped bare before her; unabashed and unbridled; unbearably sexy.

She wanted to dive right in but Regina caught her face and pulled her up for her mouth, kissed her unrelentingly, arms wrapped tightly around her, crushed them together. Regina's breasts against hers, the feel of her skin; she rocked her hips and felt wetness even through the denim on her thigh and Emma swore into Regina's mouth, sweetly.

"You're still wearing pants."

"And I have my boots on," Emma added, cocky – the competitive streak between them alive and well. Regina tried to wrestle her over, get the upper hand but Emma leaned in with more of her weight and it was futile. Her lips curled, triumphant, a flash of victory. She thrust her hips again and the woman's strength faltered. "Just take it, Regina."

Burnt sienna and bronze flashed with a hint of violet; Regina's face darkened but Emma felt no fear. She moved against the woman again, fingers on the back of her neck and her thumb stroked her tensed jaw; Emma tongued her lower lip, the corner of her mouth. She trailed over her hot flushed cheek, suckled her earlobe, the curved shell of her ear and felt Regina's tension ebb away, the surrender of her.

At that, something warm and sharp constricted Emma's chest, prickled across her skin like electricity and she kissed Regina again, slowly and delicately. She knew she had not won here. This woman owned a piece of her. Maybe all of her pieces.

Emma slowly re-traced her steps down Regina's body, the rise and fall of her, hot skin and promises, until she settled herself between Regina's thighs. She breathed deeply; spice and tang, put her hand on Regina's belly with fingers splayed and Regina put hers over it, and then Emma lowered her mouth to heat and wetness and Regina's sharply gasped "Yes…."

Finally... Her tongue in the purest taste of her, so slick and wet; Emma tried to catch everything, rolled her in her mouth, made patterns across silk and the hard bundle of nerves, tested which parts made Regina's thighs shake. She found it, the flat of her tongue on Regina's clit, the section that made her groan "There.." and wrap her leg around her waist, open and needy, thrusting against her mouth.

Emma put an arm around her waist to hold her steady, licked and tongued her, muscle firm against Regina until her jaw ached, and above her sounds rose in volume, the unintelligible encouragement and begging of a woman who usually did neither.

Emma hummed and the woman jolted; she did it again and took her hand from Regina's belly, down beneath her chin until her fingers were against the wettest part of her. Emma circled the opening carefully, questioned – and Regina's hips rose to meet her, urged her in.

One finger and Regina moaned "More…"; two and the woman threaded her hands almost painfully in Emma's hair, her tongue struggled to do more than stay put as Regina writhed against her. She pushed, the muscle of her forearm tight and curled her fingers against the ridges she found there and the woman's voice became a broken string of curses as Emma thrust into her again and again.

She felt Regina clench, the muscles under her hand taut, the tension and upward bend of her like she was pulled on a string and Emma pushed deeper, faster, the firm stroke of her tongue as Regina came; a crashing tide of sound and hips and pulled hair.

Emma kept going, would not stop until Regina made her, weakly; a brushed cheek and raised hip all she could manage. Emma kissed the woman's thigh, her belly, distracted her as she gently removed her fingers and missed the wet heat of her already.

At Regina's urging, she made her way back up her body, and when she reached her mouth the woman was alive again. She took every damp piece of herself from Emma's lips, arms wrapped around her like she was the only steady ground while shudders coursed through her.

Emma couldn't help a smug smile but hid it in a sweetness of kisses along Regina's flushed cheek and wordless jaw. She was unkempt and beautiful.

Emma stretched out beside her against the arm of the couch, back propped on a wealth of overstuffed pillows. When Regina curled into her, put her head on her chest Emma thought she might flay open, burst apart with something she would not name. She put it down instead to the warm buzz of arousal. It was safer there.

They breathed together, quietly. Emma's nose itched. She couldn't bring herself to move to scratch it.

"Your clothes, Emma."

She raised an eyebrow over Regina's tusseled hair, looked down their bodies and remembered her jeans. She crossed her booted feet at the ankles. They scraped on the leather couch and Regina's hand tensed on her ribs. She wriggled away.

"Hey, it's not my fault. I said you should've poofed us straight into bed."

"I wouldn't want your boots on my bed either," Regina said archly.

Emma's eyebrow shot higher, and the hand wrapped around Regina's waist travelled across her bare hip, over the curve of her ass and down, until fingers curved into wetness. "I don't think you would've cared a minute ago..."

Regina's open mouth groaned against Emma's breast, found her nipple and bit a little harder on it than necessary. When Emma hissed, she smirked, but soothed the bite with a swirled tongue.

"Well I mind now," she said; then clambered over Emma's lanky form.

Regina grabbed the woman's hand and tugged her into a seated position on the edge of the couch, dropped to her knees in front of her. She had intended simply to remove her boots, but when she looked up, Emma's eyes were hooded, her chest fell erratically, fists clenched at her sides and it pulled the bow of Regina's mouth deliciously skyward.

She put her hands on Emma's knees and pushed them wide, slid her fingers slowly up denim thighs until she reached her hips and rested her palms there, thumbs pressed into the sensitive skin beside the jut of bone. Regina moved into the space between her legs, lowered her head and trailed the tip of her tongue across the open V of Emma's unzippered jeans.

The blonde whispered "Shit…", and while she would never admit it to Emma, Regina had started to enjoy her dirty mouth.

Her tongue over tensed abdominal muscles, wetly traced each rigid line and dip while her fingers did what they'd originally intended – pulled each boot zipper with a low hiss, a counterpoint to the breathy sounds that came from Emma.

When she was barefooted, Regina's hands were freed to touch hot skin; she cupped Emma's breasts, thumbs rubbed over puckered nipples and Emma's hands tangled in her hair, tugged her angled neck until she captured Regina's mouth. Hands pressed tightly into her chest, Regina rolled her thumbs and Emma arched into her, moaned onto her tongue.

One of Regina's hands purposefully wandered, nails scraped gently over sensitive ribs and the woman jolted, murmured "Tickles…", so Regina did it again. Emma was unimpressed, and Regina chuckled against her thinned lips, traced them with her tongue, made it up to her with kisses.

The blonde finally relented, and Regina's hand moved lower, across her stomach to rest against open jeans. Her fingers teased the edge of what felt like cotton panties – of course – and when Emma's hips rose she pushed her hand inside, into heat and unbelievable wetness.

Emma hissed "Fuck…" and Regina's head fell forward onto her shoulder, a low groan as she bit her own lip hard enough that it brought tears to her eyes. They stayed with the exquisite sensation; the slick slide of her, hot and smooth and hard, perfect.

Regina was up on her knees, shoulder locked awkwardly, wrist bent and she didn't care, she worked her fingers over Emma's clit, gently at first, then with pressure and insistence. The woman jerked, nails dug painfully into Regina's bent neck, thrust against her and Regina realised if she kept going, her arm would break.

She pulled back and Emma whimpered, a sound both desolate and needy and Regina shushed her, took her hand as she rose and pulled Emma up.

"Come with me."

On shaking legs, Emma followed.

The sitting room was attached to Regina's bedroom. Emma hadn't known that could happen, but then she had spent so much of her life in converted trailers and cheap hotel rooms, it wasn't saying much.

She let herself be led by the hand across a wide expanse of carpet, more space in those two rooms than the entire New York apartment she'd shared with Henry. The view was spectacular; Regina's naked body, determined sway to her hips and ass – Emma would have followed her for miles.

She was almost surprised by the bed, not just because she had been distracted, but because it was… simple. She didn't know why but a part of her had expected an elaborate four-post affair, all heavy wood and canopied darkness. This was just a bed. Large and luxurious, yes, with sheets that probably cost more than her car – but otherwise, just a bed.

A bed belonging to Regina Mills. A place she had never expected to be. Imagined, but never quite thought would actually happen.


Emma did, without thought; thighs at the edge of the mattress. Regina had slipped around behind her - she moved in now, pressed herself against Emma's back, breasts under her shoulder blades; wrapped an arm around Emma's waist and pulled her ass firmly against her hips. With her free hand, she moved aside the tangled mane of Emma's hair and lowered her mouth to the curve of her neck, tasted salt and cinnamon, tested it with her teeth.

Emma's breath caught, she leaned back into her, gave Regina easy access to her breasts, both cupped immediately in her hands. Regina squeezed the flesh, ran her hands down her long body, over ribs and tapered waist. Her mouth followed, marked each vertebrae of her spine; muscle danced when she blew across the wet trails, nails scraped oversensitive skin as she pushed her fingers into Emma's denim waistband.

Her jeans were always tight, a fact Regina appreciated but it took some force to push the material over her hips and down her thighs. Regina went with them, sank slowly to her knees; kissed the perfect curve of Emma's ass, dug her teeth in the muscle. Emma jumped, tilted towards the bed but Regina held her hips steady, bit and sucked until she had left a dark mark on paler skin and chuckled quietly, wickedly.

"Regina…" Emma's consternation was tempered by desire.

Regina squeezed her hips, kissed the possessive bruise; traced her fingertips delicately over Emma's thighs and watched as the skin puckered into gooseflesh. She helped Emma step free of jeans and underwear then sat back on her heels, looked up at the statuesque woman before her, all finely sculpted muscle and tanned limbs, and it left her momentarily breathless.

She murmured, "Exquisite…"; put her hand on Emma's inner thigh as she rose and rested her knuckles just a fraction from the wet burn of her. She pressed her lips against the place where shoulder became neck and when Emma tried to turn, she stopped her.


This time her name a breathless question, a need and Regina smiled against the tight muscle of her shoulder. She bent her knee between Emma's thighs, nudged them slightly wider and asked the woman lowly: "Do you trust me?"

Emma's breath hitched; she said nothing for a long time. It was against all reason to trust Regina, against her very nature – Emma had been burned so many times her flesh was raw and new; she rose a phoenix, more wary with each year.

But she did. She trusted her. Emma couldn't stop herself. "Yes..."

Rich chocolate eyes drowned in saltwater; Regina bit her lip against a flood of words, felt the vein in her forehead swell against the pressure of holding it back. Instead she occupied her mouth with Emma's shoulder, her back; a firm press of lips as she nudged Emma's legs wider.

She stroked her palm across the sensitive skin on Emma's inner thigh and the edge of her hand slid into wetness; she was all but dripping. Regina groaned into Emma's spine, other hand clutched her hip, held and reassured while she cupped the begging heat of her.

Emma inhaled sharply, moaned when Regina's palm moved, this time fingers slid through liquid heat on either side of her clit and held it, then again, back and forth the along the length of her. When Regina increased pressure and her fingers squeezed the bundle of nerves, Emma's body trembled. Her "Fuck…" was a creaked groan and she fell forward, hands on the bed, bent at the hips where Regina still held her tightly against her thighs.

Emma felt exposed, vulnerable but when Regina's fingers moved finally onto her clit she didn't care anymore; let her head hang, gold curls splayed over crimson and grey fabric. Regina circled slowly with the pads of her fingers, and again; then fractionally faster, harder until Emma's swearing became less intelligible, rasped from her throat.

She brought Emma closer to the edge, felt her thighs shake, wrapped her arm around her bent waist to hold her steady. Fingers tight and fast against the hard nub of flesh, her palm full of liquid and Regina wanted more of it, licked and bit at Emma's back, pressed her hand against the place that made the woman jerk and moan and lean heavily as her legs gave way.

Muscles tensed and shivered, her angled torso clenched and then Emma's thrusts against her fingers became wild and untempoed and she came; a choked cry, Regina's strangled name.

Emma collapsed onto the duvet, arms no longer able to hold her as she heaved and shook. The fabric was soft and cool on her flushed cheek and she just wanted to lay there - her limbs numbed, heart thundered in her chest.

But Regina could not stop; wanted, needed more; this exquisite woman, her magnificent body. She pulled her elbow back, circled Emma's opening with her wet hand, moaned against the woman's skin at the heat she found there. She thrust in with two fingers, heard Emma's muffled curse into the duvet, watched her fists twist fabric but the woman's body pushed against her, hips tilted and back arched and coaxed her further in.

Her fingers held tightly by Emma's inner walls, Regina purred over her back; nails scraped gently on her shivered skin, rested her hand on her crooked neck. She massaged the edge of curls, tight shoulder as she pulled her fingers out to the tips then pushed back in; and again; and again.

Emma moaned, jaggedly whispered "More…" and Regina thought she might die for the cyclone in her chest; her tattered lungs, ribcage rented and warped. She put a third finger against the wet fire of Emma's body and slowly, carefully pushed in.

Muscle danced in her back, light flickered across the sheen of sweat there and Regina tasted it, tidal-torn desire. She thrust into her, over and over, faster when she knew Emma could take it, begged her not to stop, never to stop; Regina promised with every atom in her body, fucked her like the world could end but this wouldn't, not ever, not while she had strength left to give.

When she started to buckle and bend, frenzied hips taut and twisted, Regina knew she was right at the cliff's-edge and reached again for the slick-hard nerves, touched her in time with hard thrusts until she found the point where Emma screamed and lost cohesion; tumbled against the bed. Regina slumped with her, damp skin on the length of her body, spent; fingers still trapped as Emma clenched in waves.

Regina wanted to build a home here, in this unbridled fury of sweat and shuddered breath and collapsed limbs. It felt so perfectly aligned. She never wanted to leave.

She pressed her lips to the thundered pulse point of Emma's jugular, buried her face in her hair. Emma's hand flurried, she caught it with her free fingers and the blonde crushed them almost painfully in hers, pulled Regina's arm tightly around her.

In that perfect moment of stillness, Regina closed her eyes. Emma's hair tickled her nose; the cello-case fit of their hips lulled her languid body, she felt sanguine and flushed against the throb of Emma's skin.

They were not comfortable on the bed. They were not necessarily comfortable in this new position in life. But Regina felt comfortable enough to twist her curled ankles into Emma's, wrap her body firmly over the woman's back, hold her as she was determinably held. She felt safe here.

If only for a moment, she felt warm.

12. [ There are no monsters here ]

Regina floated in that half-dream place between asleep and awake, until something tugged her like a kite string - Emma, her soft voice, the whispered sound of her name: "Regina…"

It caressed her sleepy mouth into a smile.


She nuzzled deeper into Emma's hair.


She jerked, bubble of contentment shattered; snapped, "What?"

"Your hand…"

Her fingers were still curled in Emma, tightly sheathed and Regina chuckled; a spark of wonder, rueful disbelief. She had never imagined waking this way. She hoped it became a habit. Slowly, carefully she pulled back, Emma's hissed breath bellowed the fire in her belly and it was all she could do not to push in again, along that knife edge of "Please" and "Stop". But she freed her.

Emma crawled up the duvet, collapsed on her belly, forearms beneath her; face pressed into the bed, hidden. Regina curled in beside her, planted an impetuous kiss on her shoulder before she stretched out and closed her eyes again.

"Should we talk about this?" Emma's voice muffled by blankets.

Regina folded her hands on her stomach. "What's there to talk about?"

She felt Emma lift her head and stare at her, sensed the raised eyebrow, refused to open her eyes.

"Are you serious?"

Regina didn't respond. Emma propped her chin on her elbow, angled toward her. "We just had… mindblowing sex—" Regina's lip curved smugly and Emma almost regretted saying it. "--It's gonna change something… There's a curse coming, my parents hate you – Henry…"

Regina's brow furrowed, she… pouted and Emma thought she might die. She felt something goofy take hold of her mouth, couldn't understand what was going on. She wasn't this person. This was the time when she usually searched for her clothes, pulled them on and scurried away - maybe sent a text the next day if the wine had been good. She didn't initiate conversations. She didn't believe in plans for the future. She didn't encourage any sort of 'Happy Ending' scenario.

And yet, here I am...

"We have to talk about this," she repeated.

Regina sighed, opened her eyes to the ceiling. "I suppose we do."

Now that she had gotten her way, Emma didn't want it anymore. She laid her cheek back on the mattress, trailed an absent finger between Regina's breasts down the line of her stomach, traced patterns there.

"That doesn't make me want to talk, Emma," Regina exhaled.

Emma smiled into her crooked elbow, said impishly, "Then maybe we don't have to."

Regina turned and rolled eyes at her. "No, you started this. Let's talk."

Emma's face scrunched; she had no idea what to say. She wondered where her pants had gone, how difficult it would be to learn to poof in the next thirty seconds.

"This will happen again." Regina said it plainly, in a voice that brooked no arguments, made no requests or demands, simply took the truth and laid it clearly, delicately on the table.

Emma agreed. Whatever this was, whatever it might become there was no stopping it now. They could deny it, ignore it, push it down into each other's chests but eventually, limbs would find limbs, the impossibility of silence would force their mouths together; a mad search for whispered promises on each other's tied tongues.

Her fingers tightened on Regina's skin, the comforting solidarity of her. "So what do we do?"

"Nothing." Regina placed her hand over Emma's, curled their fingers together. "We keep going like we always have. You'll be the hero Saviour, I'll be the somewhat reformed villain; we'll stop the Snow Witch, save the town, and then a party will be thrown by the ever-grateful villagers – which I won't be invited to." Regina sneered, but wasn't without humour. She shuffled onto her side, faced Emma's confusion.

"And then, when everything is quiet, and Henry is back in his routine of Friday night dinners and weeks on with me, weeks off with you - life will become oppressively normal. And you, Emma Swan, will find yourself at my door, late at night, restless."

Emma swallowed, knew every sentence was true, immediately denied it. "That won't happen."

"Of course it will," Regina said archly. She ran her hand over Emma's hip, fingers dug possessively into the curve of her ass; leaned in, lips against the shell of her ear. "Because if it doesn't," she whispered coarsely, "I will come to you."

Emma shivered, mouth opened, eyes slid shut.

"And that would be uncomfortable," Regina went on. "Because for some reason, you are a fully grown woman who still lives with her parents."

It took a second to register; then Emma's arm shot out and she punched Regina's shoulder as hard as she could. When the woman whooped laughter, she hit her again. "Evil bitch."

"So they say," Regina agreed, and Emma caught her burbled mouth, kissed the mirth from it furiously.

There was an overwhelming sense of happiness and something so like hope that it had no place in Emma - she buried it on Regina's tongue; easy and sweet, then insistent, demanding. Her hand moved from Regina's stomach to her hips; lower, sank into revived wetness and Regina shuddered, gasped into her mouth, bit her tongue.

Emma used three fingers on the length of her, slow and lazy; drew moisture up, painted her name over Regina's skin. It was teasing, unhurried, as though the wolf wasn't always just outside their door, like no curse would come despite being just a few scant hours away. Emma's world narrowed to Regina's breathy sounds, the lightness which seemed so out of place in her usually booming, determined mouth, as though the curve of her throat when Emma touched her here, or there, took the weight from her vocal cords, stripped the darkest years away.

Emma kissed that curve, the cartilage of her throat and it buzzed her lips, a low rumble as she drew small circles on Regina's nerves. The woman's hands knitted in her hair, she kissed the veins in the hollow of her collarbone, her chest; the rising flush, the beat and pound of her heart when Emma pressed more firmly against her clit.

The tip of her tongue on Regina's breast followed the rise of it, and when she reached the darker areola, puckered nipple she captured it in her mouth and drove her fingers into Regina. The woman bent and arced, head thrown back with an almost purred moan. Emma's breast crushed against Regina's lower ribs as she angled herself for full use of her shoulder, sucked forcefully on her nipple, worked it with her tongue and thrust into her, hard to the hilt of her hand then a slow pull release all the way to her fingertips, and then in again.

She learned that first push on Regina's tight, wet muscle caught her breath, and a hard, sharp thrust all the way into her released it with a ragged gasp. When she pushed deeper, faster, her sounds and breaths merged into grunts and curses. Emma curved her fingers inside Regina and found a higher-pitched, unintelligible pleading.

She used her thumb on Regina's clit as she fucked the noise and oxygen from her, felt her compact body rise in the vacuum, triceps burned but she would do this forever, would never stop touching this woman. When she felt her thumb pushed aside, Emma had just enough presence of mind not to stop moving her arm while every other part of her froze. She lifted her head from Regina's breast, took a second to appreciate her turned head and the open, jutted line of her jaw, then looked down her body.

Regina's own hand between her legs, fingers hard on her clit and Emma thought she might come just from watching, fought to support herself on a splayed, trembled hand. Her rhythm faltered and Regina keened, choked, "Don't stop", and "Please…" and Emma found it again, her place inside with sudden, renewed energy. She pushed and curled her fingers, leaned in with her hips to go deeper, found herself riding Regina's now raised and quivering thigh.

She groaned "Fuck" against Regina's tight stomach, head bent and hair tangled as she rode her, wild and bucking and knew she wouldn't need long, as Regina clenched tighter on her fingers, made moving her arm difficult. Just her hand now, fingers hard against ridges, the crushing pull inside her; Regina's hand like balled lightning over her clit.

Regina's final moan began as rumbled thunder, grew into a high-pitched wave of sound and when she came, it roared and crashed over Emma's taut body. She pressed herself harder into Regina's thigh, rode roughly until she cracked and broke open with a wrenching moan. She fell forward; slumped against her, shattered.

It all became silence but for their breathing, heavy and gasped. Regina put a tired hand on Emma's shoulder, Emma's cheek and ear on the pounding kick of her chest returning slowly to normal, nose on the underside of her breast with no intentions but to lie there and exist. Her thumb idly stroked Regina's side.

Their sweat dried slowly.

"This will happen again."

Regina's voice when she said it was different this time, her tone complex. There was something else there, something more.

Emma said nothing. She kissed the skin beneath her lips.

She held on a little tighter.

As dawn approached, Regina poofed them back to her vault - just in case. They had showered and dressed, fresh clothes and rested skin like tight new armour.

The phone call came just as the world turned electric blue; the eerie haze of sunrise through thick fog: They would meet everyone at the clock tower. Together they would find out exactly what kind of terror they faced.

Emma was tensed, withdrawn, her mind on the job ahead. Regina was now secretly terrified of what the curse meant. If it did as Belle said and turned them against each other, then this might be the last quiet moment with Emma she had.

She touched the blonde's arm; Emma clenched and pulled fractionally away.

Regina snapped darkly: "Hey."


An arched eyebrow, arms folded over her suited chest. Regina was in heels again, almost had the height advantage and used it to stare pointedly down at Emma. "What do you mean, 'what'?"

Emma said bleakly, distracted: "This thing is coming, Regina – I can feel it." The ribbon on her wrist had started to glow again; it burned, she felt the pull of magic and something else – two points like magnets tugged at her skin. "I don't like it. This bitch has to be stopped."

Regina wrapped her fingers around Emma's wrist, covered the ribbon, drew up her eyes. "So we'll stop her. I'll help you."

"I don't think it works like that."

Regina's face shuttered. She sniped, "And I think you're an idiot."

"Regina…" Emma stared; confused, annoyed – then realised what she'd said, how dismissive it was. "Sorry. I just meant… I think, Elsa and I -- I can feel her. I think—"

"—She has to be the one with you." Regina's voice was tight. She didn't like it. But then, she didn't have to. Magic mostly did as it pleased.

Emma carried the weight of this world on her shoulders so heavily that it stooped her – she was a hero; the Saviour – not by choice, responsible for everything and everyone, even the safety of her parents. As much as she was uncomfortable accepting that role, she was equally uncomfortable putting the burden on anyone else.

Except Regina.

Emma had always accepted that the fate of Storybrooke was equally on Regina Mills. They had not always fought on the same side or with the same goals, and more often than not the distribution of responsibility came in the form of blame – but things had changed.

Regina could still take a little of that burden.

She reminded her now: cupped Emma's face, stroked her tight jaw with her thumb. Emma was stubborn, thin-lipped so Regina pulled her off-balance and kissed her. Fingers in her hair, her mouth coaxed the rigidity from Emma's body; she melted into her, the comforting warmth and power.

When Emma's hands slipped under her jacket to her waist and simply held her, Regina pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against Emma's. A curtain of blonde shielded them from the outside world; a quiet room, private, theirs. Into this small space, Emma whispered, "What if I can't stop her?"

"Then I will hurt someone." Bluntness wrenched Regina's throat, bruised her deeply; stricken. "But I won't let that happen."

Emma couldn't see for saltwater. "Henry—"

"I will take him—"

"No, I should take him. He'll be safer—"

"That Ice Bitch has you in her sights. He'll be safer with me. I will lock him away where no one can ever touch him--" A hitched breath, tear-burnt eyes: "—Not even me."

Emma kissed Regina then like the world had ended already and all that was left was this: Her bitter cocoa mouth, black silk hair, temptress' skin. She growled into bruised lips, "I will stop this."

"Of course you will," Regina breathed. "We always do."

Regina smiled, and suddenly Emma believed it again. There was magic in her mouth. This was just another minor hindrance in a long line of fairy tale problems: Not even the worst; the Snow Queen hardly the most threatening – the witch didn't even wear shoes, for christsakes.

Emma chuckled into curved lips, kissed her lightly and stepped away.

She rolled her shoulders, shook her hands, jumped on the spot like a boxer prepared for the ring. "Right! Let's do this."

Regina watched with chagrin, shook her head; clearly communicated the word idiot with silence. But she's your idiot, that little voice whispered. This time Regina wholeheartedly agreed.


Regina shook herself from her reverie, nodded and followed. "Who knows - maybe Belle or your hero parents can pull something out at the last minute."

Emma stopped, head tilted, suspicion in her brow. "Regina – was that… hope I just heard?"

Regina sneered, face disgusted, "If it was, I caught it from you."

"I don't hope."

"Well that makes two of us."

Emma quirked a smile which Regina archly ignored. Then, on a more serious note, "If this thing does go down, where are you gonna be?"

"Here," Regina raised her hands in a flourish. "It's the safest place. Even if I get free – which I doubt - I'm so far from town that you and the cartoon blonde should have plenty of time to resolve this thing before I… wreak havoc."

Emma frowned. "What about poofing?"

"I—" Regina stopped. For some reason, she hadn't thought of that. She shrugged, arms wide. "I guess I'll… tie myself down."

A rakish smile, Emma stepped in, her hands on Regina's hips. "Maybe I should stay…"

Regina rolled her dark eyes and nudged her back, though the thought stuck firmly. Later…

It was time to go.

Emma held her hand and Regina led her up the stone steps of the vault, out into the freezing pre-dawn air. On leaf litter a series of stolen kisses threatened to drive them back underground – but this was Storybrooke: There were curses to fight and witches to defeat; peasants to protect and young princes to save. And a myriad other enchanted issues that Emma Swan still found mildly inconceivable.

When she reached her car - and took a very pleasant moment to watch Regina Mills strut back to her own – Emma was centred. She felt capable and somehow more prepared for this fight than any other. Regina coursed through her veins, pounded in her chest, whispered against her ear. Elsa would be the person physically by her side – she was great and all – but Regina would fuel her. She always had.

It was crazy but Emma felt it. When this was done, Regina would still be there. It was terrifying and exhilarating, and Emma still wasn't sure exactly what that meant – but she knew they would win this thing. Hopefully, no one would die - or at least no one she liked.

And then, Emma knew - when everything was quiet, and Henry was back in his routine, and life seemed relatively normal again…

She would find herself at Regina's door.

Late at night.


The End (for now)

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