Apples, Mainly Apples

[nike_ravus]

Title: Apples, Mainly Apples

Author: Alsike

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: EvilQueen(Regina)/WhiteKnight(Emma Swan)

Rating: R

Word Count: ~2100

Summary: A missing scene between episodes 2 & 3, after Mr. Gold drops by and drops a few terrifying hints to Regina.

Spoilers: I am caught up to episode 3!  I had written most of this before I watched it, but had to make sure it wouldn't totally fail to fit into canon.  But the way the evil queen carefully avoids looking her in the eye for most of that episode.  And seriously, the shirt thing?  That was like candy.

(Also, I suck at not being a tease.  I will write smut eventually, I promise.)

Emma Swan paced along the street outside the mayor’s house.  “You asked for me?” she practiced the words, the fake smile.  You asked for me again? Emma sighed to herself.  And I showed up?  Hadn’t she learned her lesson last time?  She had proven herself unscrupulous, stooping to emotional manipulation of a nine year old, blackmailing a psychologist.  Emma had managed to patch it up, but it had been a close thing, and she had had to sacrifice one of her last claims to sanity to do it.  Henry’s fairytales were tough, but it was this woman who was driving her nuts.

 

But she was there.  She might as well knock.

 

“You asked for me?”

 

Regina had opened the door and was leaning against the frame.  Her usual jacket was gone, her shirt unbuttoned… down and down and holy crap, that was a bra.  She smiled then, eyes scanning up from Emma’s boots to her hips and settling in her cleavage.  Emma shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, wishing she had worn a jacket and could zip it up.  “And you came,” Regina purred.  “That’s the sort of obedience I like.”

 

Emma cringed.  “Are you drunk?”

 

“Drunk?” Regina laughed, as if the word itself was amusingly déclassé.  “I told you it was the best apple cider you would ever taste.”

 

“Um, you press it yourself?”

 

“Mmm, press it, bottle it, ferment it.”  Regina sashayed off into the house and hesitantly Emma followed.  They ended up in the kitchen.  Regina leaned into the fridge, her skirt riding up to show a touch of lace garter.  Emma did her best not to stare, but honestly, what the hell was this?  Regina pulled out two dark bottles with smooth necks and lifted them in offering.  That stuff was clearly pretty strong, and Emma didn’t really want to risk it, but Regina ignored her mumbled protestations and turned to the opener built into the counter, cracking the top off the bottle. 

The light fizz that rose up from it was astonishingly professional for a home brew.  She cracked the second cap off and held them out.  “Pick one.  I’ll drink the other.  Not poisoned.”

 

“I… never actually thought you were trying to poison me.”

 

Regina scowled and tilted the bottles, offering them more firmly.  To keep her from pouring them all over the floor, Emma took one.  She took a sip.  It was good, a little sweet, but mostly dry, with sharp tiny bubbles similar to champagne.  “It is good.”

 

Regina rolled her eyes and took a swig.  “I know my fucking apples.”  She turned and glared.  “And you fucked up my tree.”  She wandered out of the kitchen. 

 

Emma followed into a room with sofas, maybe it was the foyer or the parlor, but it was clearly not a living room.  She considered taking off her shoes, but the boots took an age to get unlaced.  And it might be being a little too much of a doormat.  “You had me arrested.”

 

“I didn’t fucking fuck up your fucking tree.”

 

“I don’t have a tree.”

 

Regina glared and took another drink.  Emma reached out to take the cider from her.  “I think, maybe, you’ve had enough.”

 

Regina pouted and jerked the bottle out of her clasp.  “Why did it have to be you?” she snarled.  Taking a step forward, she jabbed the mouth of the bottle in the direction of Emma’s face.  “I knew it, when I saw you.  I knew something was wrong.  I knew you were…”  She took another step and made another jab.  “…going to change everything.”

 

Emma stepped back, trying to keep a safe distance between herself and the monologue of crazy.  Her foot hit something unexpected and she lost her balance.  Flailing out, she caught Regina’s arm and pulled her off her feet.  Together, they crashed onto the floor, cracking heads.  Cider spilled across the rug.  Regina gasped.  Emma’s knee was between her legs, where she lay sprawled half on top of her.  A bottle rolled over the floor until it hit the leg of the coffee table with a clink.

 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

 

Regina reached out and threaded her fingers through her hair.  She twisted the locks through her fingers, staring at them.  “Lucky, really.  You could have gotten terrible hair.”  She smiled, and Emma started to realize that she should be panicking.  Nothing good ever came of that sort of smile.  “You don’t have to apologize.  I can’t say I hate it when a girl’s all over me.”

 

Emma barked an unhappy laugh and tried to escape.  “Come on, let me clean…”

 

It was too late.  Lips brushed against hers, soft and slightly warm, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings against her mouth.

 

“God, you’re fucking hot.”  It was barely a murmur, breath against her neck.

 

Emma could smell the cider on her, smell her warm skin, the faint acid of worn off perfume.  Her hands stayed clasped around her shoulders, her head was tipped forward, her hair brushing against Emma’s face and neck.  “Oh no.  You so don’t want to do this.”

 

There was no way it could end well.    If Emma rejected her, she’d be pissed and take it out in vengeance.  And if well… if she let it go there was no way the mayor wouldn’t regret it in the morning and take it out on her just the same.  But the logic of this really wasn’t getting through.  Regina burrowed against her like a needy child.

 

“I want you,” she hissed, “almost as much as I want you gone.”

 

That made it easier.  “You sure know how to make a girl feel appreciated,” Emma said, trying to extract herself.  Regina’s fingers dug in, her nails cutting through Emma’s shirt and into her skin.

 

“You won’t leave!”  Regina struggled up, an accidental elbow connecting with her gut.  She caught her mouth again.  Emma gasped at the elbow, lips parting involuntarily, and the kiss went wet and hot.  She knew it shouldn’t.  She had known to watch out for this ever since that scene in her office earlier, watching her settling down on the sofa, stretching out her long legs, high-heeled shoe drooping just a little casually from her foot, like it might come off, like all of her clothing might just slip off.  She was apologizing for being a bitch?  For trying to get Emma run out of town on a rail?  No, she wasn’t apologizing.  It was a game, plain and simple, a seduction game.  Just like this was a game, even if she wasn’t quite at her full faculties for playing it.

 

“My pretty little princess,” Regina purred, combing her fingers through Emma’s hair.  “Your mother wouldn’t approve of the way you kiss.”

 

“I don’t have a mother.”

 

Regina grinned and jerked, pulling her down flat on the couch, knee riding up between her legs.  “God, I love to hear you say that.”  She ground up against her, biting at her ear.  “I love that bitterness in your tone.  It makes me so, so hot.”

 

Emma hissed in a breath.  “You’re a crazy bitch.”  Upsettingly, it came out sounding like a compliment.  Emma leaned down, pressing her mouth to the other woman’s throat, feeling the fluttering pulse under her lips, the tension in her body as she stayed still, vulnerable, waiting.

 

It was tempting, so, so tempting.  And Emma… she gave in.

 

There were only a few more buttons.  Emma settled on her hips, keeping her down, keeping her trapped, as she fumbled with them.  Regina watched her through lowered eyelids, lipstick smeared and worn away from her face.  The last button succumbed, and the shirt slid open, baring smooth skin and the soft underbelly of the beast.  Emma breathed slowly in and out through her nose, just another breath, just another moment of control.  Just as slowly, Regina shuffled her shoulders, adjusting her arms and reaching one hand, then the other, up above her head.

 

“Want it off?”  She arched her back.

 

In one motion, the shirt was off, and Emma was diving in, unlatching her bra and nosing her way into her cleavage, the slopes of her breasts.  Regina grabbed a handful of her beater and pulled, and Emma didn’t give a damn about the ripping sound, not now, not with hot flesh under her palms.  She could feel the woman under her struggling, trying to flip them, but not this time.  She caught her wrists and shoved her down.  “Stay still, I’m trying to fuck you.”

 

“Try harder.”

 

Regina twisted, somehow catching Emma in some sort of Judo leg-lock and flipping her, ending up crouched above her on hands and knees.  Fuck this, Emma thought, and shoved up her skirt, delivering a sharp smack to her exposed ass.

 

“What the hell do you think-”

 

Emma kissed her.  It was pretty much her turn, and Regina, sharp words nipped off, melted onto her.  She was fumbling with the fastenings of her pants, and Emma lifted her hips to make it easier.  Lord, she wanted to watch this woman taking off her boots.

 

And then she was going to fuck her senseless.

 

*          *            *

 

The morning light was vicious, and Emma was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have a hangover.  She winced, squinting into the light coming in from the towering bright windows that… weren’t anywhere she was supposed to be.

 

“Oh shit.”

 

She sat up swiftly, looking around.  She was alone on the thick white carpeting.  The remains of her beater were crumpled on the floor, but Regina’s shirt was over the arm of one of the couches and she quickly pulled it on to cover herself.  From upstairs she heard some swearing, banging cabinets, and then more swearing, and it was pretty clear it was time to get out.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Henry, in his uniform, backpack over his shoulder, stood on the bottom stair and looked at her, utterly confused.

 

“Hey,” Emma tried, holding down the bottom of the shirt and praying it was long enough to cover the strategic areas.  “Uh, I slept on the couch.”

 

Henry examined the couch and then the crumpled patch of rug.  “I see,” he said.  My mom let you sleep on the couch?”

 

Emma glanced at the scattered clothes and cider bottles and wished it didn’t look so much like an undergrad party.  At least the spilled cider had dried clear.  The rugs looked none the worse for wear.  “Yeah.  She did.  I think she’s regretting it now though, so probably the sooner I get going the better.”

 

“Oh definitely,” agreed Henry, pleased at the opportunity to take charge of the situation.  “The bathroom’s just around the corner if you want to wash up before you go.”

 

“Thanks.   Uh, if you could not remind her that I slept over, it would probably be the best for all of us, okay sport?”

 

“I’ve got it covered.  Operation Cobra, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Emma smiled weakly.  “Operation Cobra.”

 

Dressing quickly, Emma cursed herself.  Operation Cobra?  Operation Cobra did not involve banging the evil queen.  Rummaging for a spare toothbrush, she found a bottle of Advil in the bathroom cupboard.  That was probably what all the commotion upstairs was about.  She snagged it, buttoned up Regina’s shirt, tucked it in, and ducked out of the bathroom.  And… shit.

 

Regina looked shocked, blindsided at seeing her still here.  She also looked terrible, pale and red eyed, and in sweats only good to have a hangover in.  And… Emma may have gone to town on her neck, because holy crap that was a hickey.  Emma gaped.  The shock on Regina’s face was quickly being replaced by rage.  It was time to beat a retreat.

 

“Thanks for the cider,” she said with a weak grin.  “And the shirt.”  She tossed Regina the Advil bottle, which she fumbled for a moment with hangover-induced clumsiness.  “See you.”

 

And she blew past before Regina could call the cops on her.

 

Emma stepped out into the morning light, grateful to hear the door click shut behind her.  Then she turned.  The furry-faced sheriff was standing on the sidewalk outside the gate, staring.  Emma cringed and wished she had done more about the sex hair.

 

“Morning,” she said, awkwardly.

 

“And good morning to you.”  He stared at her and then at the house and then at her again, utterly stunned.  “So you and Regina are getting along better now?”

 

“Uh,” just then, the cop’s phone jingled with a text.  “I wouldn’t bet on it.  That’s probably a warrant for my arrest.”  Emma smiled and gave a wave as she started jogging down the street towards town.  “I’ll be at the library if you need to serve it.  Later!”

 

#

Comments

[nike-ravus.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I was considering my use of the f-word, but from the way Regina and Emma were both characterized they seemed like the kind of women who might not say it in front of Henry, but would totally be thinking it a lot. (Emma did say 'hell' once, I believe. It was quite surprising since it is such a clean show.) Mary Margaret, of course, would never ever say it. Snow though... the jury is still out on that.