Anonymous asked for: Regina accidentally hurts Emma, “Did I hurt you?”
Author’s Note: I’m putting a warning on this just because it’s NC-17 for graphic sex and knife play (thank you damelola for putting THAT into my head). If this bothers you, PLEASE don’t read it. I don’t want to upset anyone. This probably doesn’t answer the prompt fully but it’s what sprang to mind. It also fulfils that OTHER prompt people were asking for. You know the one…
“Did I hurt you?”
Regina’s face looms up over Emma, eyes narrowed in enquiry and lips slightly parted.
Emma strains at the bonds on her arms, crossed at the wrist and tied quite firmly to the bedstead above her. Her shoulders lift from the bed, back arching towards the fingers that slide up her torso as Regina moves up and over her.
This had started out as a game between them: Emma cocky with her assumed nonchalance and Regina a little more predatory, eyes gleaming as she listened to Emma’s suggestion. Pushing one another towards their respective boundaries had become something of a sport; tipping over those boundaries and hurling themselves into whatever black abyss waited, an imperative neither one could resist. They didn’t even want to try anymore.
“We can stop,” Regina offers, but her eyes are hungry as they follow the curves and lines of Emma’s body, watching how muscles pulse and contract underneath the skin. She’s always loved Emma Swan best when she’s naked; never more so than now.
“Don’t stop,” Emma mutters, biting down on her lower lip as Regina’s breasts brush over her stomach. “I’m fine.”
She isn’t, but is determined to push through whatever reservations are whispering warnings in her head. Besides, the sensation of Regina’s limbs and hands and…oh god…her mouth on Emma’s skin is almost overwhelming. Squeezing her eyes shut, Emma tries to dispel the momentary fear that had clutched at her chest as Regina had tied her up and instead focuses on the path that the other woman’s fingers are taking up over her ribs.
Regina’s fingers are wet from where she swiped them between lips that were swollen and greedy for her touch; they slide easily over the defined ribcage underneath them. She enjoys seeing Emma like this: helpless and tied down. Regina imagines that that’s something Emma Swan hasn’t experienced much, always running and moving from place to place for fear that she might actually want to stay somewhere.
She’s stayed in Storybrooke, though. Longer than Regina ever imagined she might. Long enough to establish this strange, antagonistic affair that neither of them can fathom but give themselves over to completely.
“You’re shaking, dear,” Regina murmurs, fingertips brushing over a nipple that’s achingly hard. She pinches it, relishing the hiss of pained pleasure that escapes Emma’s lips and the way the blonde rises again, the leather belt that Regina’s wrapped around her wrists creaking a little.
“Don’t. Stop,” Emma demands and her gaze catches Regina’s, stormy green staring into near-black.
Regina smiles, a polite acquiescence. She slithers back down Emma’s body to rest between her legs, the silicon fastened around her hips and thighs trailing a line of intent down Emma’s belly. The blonde moans, closes her eyes, mutters something unintelligible.
Reaching to the side of the bed, Regina’s fingers close around the hard, metal handle of the knife Emma insisted they use. Insisted, Regina reminds herself, as she trails it up the inside of Emma’s leg, over bony ankle, up slender calf and further up, to where the tip of the knife begins to sink into the fuller, rounder flesh of Emma’s thigh.
Emma pulls in another gasp, just like the one that made Regina pause only minutes before. It’s a pliant sound of expectation, a sound of prescient fear. Regina looks up over the swell of Emma’s stomach and narrows her gaze again. Emma had been very clear about what she wanted, her request whispered in the dead of night when they’d been tangled up in one another, the remnants of their lovemaking barely dry on their skin.
Regina has always preferred the stab of magic to the whisper of steel on flesh, but here in Storybrooke she has no magic to speak of; nothing with which to tease out the tortured moans that she needs to hear from Emma with increasing alacrity. Even as the tip of the knife turns, the blade flattening against the inside of Emma’s thighs, spread wide apart, the wiry curls at their apex already dark and wet, Regina knows what Emma wants. It’s the same thing she wants too when they’re together like this: a lack of control, a battle unfairly lost and the chilling thrill of present danger.
Emma groans and lifts her hips, the knife’s blade scraping against flesh, scoring a white line where it touches skin. She has her eyes closed again, squeezing them shut and trying – failing – to master her breathing. Her chest rises and falls, the pink of her nipples darkening to blushing rose as the skin around them puckers, hardening in anticipation.
They’re a lot alike, Regina thinks. Except Emma wears her darkness on the inside. Regina dons hers daily, shaking it out over her skin like the expensive clothing she chooses to wear. Emma could see her desires in the crisp lines of her suits, the manicured nails and the perfectly applied makeup. Everything about Regina screams for someone to wrest control from her grasp.
Emma has done so, many times, each encounter assuaging her reticence to share what Regina can only assume is the secret longing that would repulse and distress any normal lover that the Sheriff might have taken.
It’s perhaps just as well that Regina is about as far from normal as it’s possible to get. That the hidden wants of each woman have found a home in the other’s desire to fulfill them.
“Do it,” Emma sighs, her voice rising and breaking over the syllables. She looks at Regina, leaning over her, the knife in her hand lifted in the air where it gleams in the half-light of the room. “Do it,” she says again, stronger now, her tone thickened with the very real possibility that, if Regina can’t maintain control, then the ensuing catastrophe would be hard to explain away. At the back of her mind, Emma can’t help wondering what the citizens of Storybrooke would think if they saw her like this, if they could even guess at what lurks inside her mind that she doesn’t share with anyone.
Not until now, that is.
Regina leans back a little, kneeling in between Emma’s legs. With her free hand, she curls her fingers around the shaft of the appendage attached to her with soft, fine, durable leather straps. A sound thrums in her throat as she feels its weight, as she considers how it might feel were it flesh and sinew. In an uncharacteristically generous gesture, Regina had let Emma pick it out. After all, she had reasoned, this was Emma’s choice.
It was the only one she would be allowed to make from hereon in.
The tip of it slides easily against Emma’s wetness, drawing a gratifying moan from the blonde and a smile of appreciation from Regina. She moves it up and down, pressing it against Emma’s clitoris, circling it round and bumping it over the most sensitive part just to see the woman beneath her jerk and push her hips forwards again.
“Oh,” Regina breathes as Emma’s ragged, uneven gasps fill the air. “You like that.” She’s not much of a talker when it comes to sex. Regina always says everything she needs to in the beginning stages, when seduction comes with the graveled tone of her voice and the sway of her hips, or a finger placed gently on the skin of her intended victim. She never needed to speak once she had her lovers in her bed; her limbs wrapped around theirs ensnared them much more than words ever could.
But it’s what Emma wants. What she asked for. And, despite her reservations, Regina feels the words burn in her chest before they rise up in her throat and trickle from her lips in a stream of uncontrollable want.
“Do you want it inside you?” she purrs, the corner of her mouth quirking up as Emma’s eyes fly open and she strains against the belt wrapped around her wrists. Regina chuckles, a long, slow, languorous sound. It’s sweet as honey to Emma’s ears, sharp as the knife that Regina still holds in one hand.
Emma can hear her heart beating in her ears, so loud and frantic that she wonders if the anticipation is what excites her the most. But as Regina pushes inside her, not all the way but just enough so that Emma can feel the cold, lubricated silicon stretch her skin, she knows that she wants more. Always. Because more had never been enough to drive her all the way to the edges of her life, to the places she had always occupied alone.
Her hips cant upwards again and she holds her breath as Regina slides a little further inside her, each millimeter pressing coldly against her burning, soaking flesh.
“I asked you a question.” Regina’s voice is lower now, rich and velveted. Cool steel pricks a heightened beat up between her breasts and Emma groans at the needling sensation as the knife’s tip toys with her nipple, advancing and retreating around its peak.
“Yes,” Emma hears herself saying, and she means it, too. “Yes, inside me. Please.”
There’s another chuckle as Regina considers the pleading tone of Emma’s voice. It rushes to the darkest recesses of her and unfolds like a storm cloud of purest, blackest magic. Regina had prepared to make Emma beg, to allow the pain inside her to burst with a thunderous crack and unleash the cruelty that she keeps at bay. She has to, or she would surely destroy this town and every soul in it with the anger that she pushes down inside her, so deep that sometimes she can fool herself that it doesn’t exist at all.
But when Emma pleads like this; when her light and strength are bound as securely as her wrists, Regina can’t help but feel the familiar prickle at the back of her neck, working its way down her body until it coils in her stomach like a viper waiting to strike.
“And what would you like me to do with it, hm?” she asks, knowing full well what Emma’s response will be. The only response the other woman can give. The only response that is remotely acceptable.
Emma sucks in a long, harsh breath and gulps it down, willing herself to remember that this is what she wanted, what she’d wanted since she’d looked into Regina’s eyes and seen echoes of her former self in their depths.
“Fuck me,” she says, but it’s barely a whisper and she licks her lips, swallowing, throat dry and scratchy.
One of Regina’s dark eyebrows lifts and she bends her head, adopting a concerned expression that speaks to her assumed guise of Mayor. “I’m sorry dear,” she says in a faintly mocking tone. “I’m afraid I can’t quite hear you.”
With a thrust of her hips, Regina shoves the dildo a little further inside Emma and the blonde grinds her back teeth together in a sudden rush of how much she wants this. Needs it.
“Fuck me,” she says again, her voice a little stronger now. “Fuck…Regina…I want you to fuck me. Please.”
The self-satisfied smile that spreads over Regina’s mouth is almost enough to make Emma want to break her bonds and remove it with her fist. Or her mouth. She’s never been entirely sure which desire is the greater and acknowledges the fact that she might not ever know, always falling somewhere between them in a place that they have created just for themselves.
Regina hooks her fingers around Emma’s knee, yanking it upwards before doing the same with the other leg. She inches closer on the bed until her thighs brush against the backs of Emma’s, the movement pushing the dildo in further. Emma’s hips rise to meet it and Regina leans forward, her shadow falling over Emma’s torso.
Without preamble, she thrusts forwards, pushing the dildo in all the way until her belly meets the patch of damp hair between Emma’s legs. She watches, fascinated, as Emma’s eyes widen, their color changing and becoming blurry, halfway between blue and green. One of Regina’s hands pushes down on the pillow beside Emma’s head, palm flat out, catching some strands of blonde underneath it.
The other lifts the knife and lays it against Emma’s throat, the blade fitting so neatly underneath the blonde’s jaw that Regina can’t take her eyes off it. In the end, it’s all about control. It’s all about the way they take it from one another; all about the way they give it each other, too.
Regina hasn’t felt this way since she ruled her kingdom with a hard, bitter hand. It roils in her belly, spreading a cold warmth inside her as she withdraws slowly, every inch an exercise in making Emma want this more than she’s ever wanted anything in her entire, sorry life. She picks up a leisurely pace, hips moving back and forth as she slides in and out of Emma, the base of the dildo pushing quite deliciously against her own wetness.
Emma is torn between fear and indulgence, between the slick friction inside her and the sharp blade at her throat. She swallows again, the movement of it bringing her flesh far too close to the knife’s edge, and she whimpers, knowing what it could do to her. What it might do, should Regina so wish it. Yes; she thinks, her shoulders beginning to ache as she tugs again at the restraints on her wrists. This is what she asked for. What she longed for: surrender. She’s spent her whole life resisting it, ever since the days when control was taken from her and she was too young, too innocent and naïve to stop it happening.
Her natural instinct is to stop it happening now, but Emma knows that if anyone can give her the blessed relief of not being in control, of not having to take charge of every situation and bleed it dry, then it’s Regina. Regina, who demands so much from her and will continue to do so until they are both spent and breathless. Regina, the one person whose secret desires match her own.
She looks up at Regina, moving a little faster now. The Mayor’s teeth catch at her bottom lip as she applies concentration and a measured control in equal amounts. There’s nobody else who could do this – nobody who could possibly understand why Emma wants it this way. And when Regina glances towards her, her eyes are black as pitch.
Emma right leg crooks; she lifts it from the bed and curls it around Regina’s back, heel bumping against the base of her spine in an attempt to get closer, never close enough. Regina laughs again, but this time it’s laced with a dangerous tremble that works its way through her body and shivers the knife’s blade across Emma’s throat.
“Is this what you wanted?” Regina punctuates her words with ever increasingly firm thrusts, driving the dildo deeper every time, filling Emma up, making her squirm on the bed and yank at the belt around her wrists, chafing a little and driving an interminable ache into the joints of her shoulders. “Is this it? The moment where you belong to me?”
Defiance flickers in Emma’s eyes and she knows she should stop. But she can’t stop. She never can where Regina is concerned. It feels inevitable that they should come to this, the sticking point where Emma is forced to relinquish everything she’s always held dear and give herself over to the shadows roaming in Regina’s eyes.
“Tell me.” Regina slams into her harder this time, the knife pressing a little more urgently against her skin, the fingers by her head digging into the pillow like crooked claws. A bead of sweat works its way from Emma’s hairline, trickling over her brow as she tries to suck in enough air to answer and finds her lungs uncooperative, empty, breathless.
“Poor Emma Swan,” Regina murmurs, her voice little more than a guttural snarl. And there’s cruelty now in her eyes, glittering as keenly as the edge of the blade that hovers against Emma’s skin. “Poor, lonely, unwanted Emma Swan.”
Emma’s back arches and Regina leans down over her, their bodies meeting in a play at embracing. But there’s no tenderness in Regina’s voice as she hisses against Emma’s ear, breath hot and fetid.
It was Emma’s final caveat; that Regina give vent to the echoes of rejection and loneliness that haunted them both. It was what she wanted. What she needed. What makes her throat constrict with tears that she swears she won’t shed. But Regina is inside her, moving in and out with such angry fervor that Emma knows she can’t stop now, the tension in her thighs making them tremble even as she curls her leg more firmly around Regina’s back.
Make it hurt, she’d said. Make me feel it. And Regina had smiled at her, stroking a hand down the planes of her face with an unusual, compliant affection. They don’t share things like a normal couple. They’re not a normal couple – not even a couple at all. It’s why Emma can do this, fooling herself that it’s just sex, that she feels nothing at all and that any tenderness Regina shows towards her is all part of the game they’re playing.
As Regina lifts her head and looks down at her, Emma’s almost pathetically grateful at the lack of emotion in the other woman’s eyes. It’s why she chose Regina for this. All that dwells in the other woman’s eyes is the sheen of victory and possession. It quickens Regina’s movements, makes them irregular, makes them teeter on the brink of a maddening, welcome loss of control that Emma knows will hurt more than anything else.
Regina looks down at the knife, lip curling in distaste. Removing it, she casts it to one side and replaces it with her hand, her blunt nails digging into Emma’s skin as she tightens her grip and feels a thrill at the strangled moan of desire that comes from Emma’s mouth. It makes her move faster now, in and out with such voracity that her back hurts and she knows she can’t keep this up much longer. She can tell that she’s hurting Emma, can hear the soft moan as she thrusts in and out of her, spreading her ever wider.
“I want you,” she says to Emma, and sees a glazed, dizzied look in the other woman’s eyes as Emma’s eyelids flicker, then begin to close.
“No,” Regina demands, and she’s panting now, her breath coming in uneven, grated bursts. “Open your eyes. Look at me.” She squeezes with her fingers as Emma’s eyes open and she can tell that if she tightens her hold any more Emma will simply pass out. And where, Regina thinks with a bitter, heartless smile, would be the fun in that?
“Look at me when I’m fucking you,” she hisses, ramming herself back inside Emma so hard that the blonde moves underneath her, a gurgling sigh coming from her mouth. Regina doesn’t like to curse, but when Emma is so very close to coming apart like this, she can barely suppress the vile epithets that spring to her lips. All the things she’s ever wanted to say and never quite been able to. Emma’s the one person who wants to hear them.
“I’m the only one who wants you, Emma,” she says, and the blonde’s eyes fill with unexpected tears. There’s a part of Regina that takes pleasure in it, the part of her that always did. “Even your own parents didn’t want you,” she adds. “They gave you away like you were nothing. Like you were meaningless.”
Perhaps she’s gone too far, she thinks, watching the way Emma’s mouth twists and how she blinks away the tears that swell in the corners of her eyes. Her grasp on Emma’s throat relaxes slightly, enough for the blonde to suck in a gasping breath. It hurts. Even in the midst of the delirious sensation that clutches at them both, it hurts.
“Yes,” she finally says, her heel scraping over Regina’s back. “More. Please, Regina. More.”
Regina doesn’t know how much more she has to give. She hears the slap of her flesh against Emma’s, feels the strain in her back and knows that she can’t…won’t give up. Not until she shatters those last pieces that Emma is trying so hard to hold together.
“Fuck you,” she snarls, angry and bitter and resentful. “Fuck you, Emma. How dare you.” She isn’t really sure where the rage comes from; she only knows that it’s what Emma needs right now. And maybe it’s what she needs too. She drives the dildo as deep as she can until their bodies crash against one another once more and Emma lets out a keening sound that Regina can feel vibrating under her fingertips.
She leans down again, pressing her mouth to Emma’s ear. “Come for me,” she urges, feeling the rising tide in her own body, the tension pulling inside her belly and the stiffening of her hips as she thrusts again, and again, harder and with less care for anything but sating the anger that burns hot and bright in her chest.
Emma says her name in a broken, pitiful way that drops Regina’s head onto her shoulder. The scrape of teeth over her skin and bone makes Emma wish she had her hands free so that she could score lines down Regina’s back, cutting through everything that keeps them apart. She’s been fucked this way before, distancing herself from the rough hands that grasped and squeezed at her body, detaching herself from the sweating, masculine bodies that strained above and inside her. It’s why she wanted Regina to do this. Because where there’s no emotion, there’s no sting of regret to follow this; in the pit of her stomach Emma feels thankful, gratitude burgeoning in her throat and almost making her want to believe that the years of pain she’s felt can simply slip away.
“Come for me,” Regina says, her voice muffled where her mouth is pressed against sweat-soaked skin. “Come for me, you worthless piece of – “
She’s cut short by the way Emma crests against her, thrashing and pulling on the bonds that keep her restrained. Emma is still for an infinitesimal moment before she begins to tremble, her body jerking as she’s mewling and crying out, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. Regina releases her throat, reaching down between their bodies and finding her own clitoris, squeezing and pinching and drawing an orgasm out of it that silences her in a flurry of color and sound roaring in her ears.
She pulls out of Emma as the blonde starts to shake uncontrollably, turning her head to one side as though she can hide her face. Regina’s back curves and she rides out the storm until it releases her, limp and spent, to collapse on the body underneath her. Her lips find Emma’s neck, brushing a kiss up into damp tendrils of blonde hair and she clenches her teeth against the terrifying thudding of her heart, fit to break out of her chest.
They lie like that for a little while, the quiet broken only by the muted sobs that lift Emma’s chest and then let it fall in broken, shuddering movements.
Finally, Regina lifts her head and gazes down at Emma, one of her fingers following the tracks of tears and coming away wet.
It’s strange, Regina thinks, that the object of such hatred can be the only thing that makes her feel like herself. And her eyes soften to something approaching tenderness and apology as she shifts slightly, legs tangling with Emma’s.
“Did I hurt you?” she asks, knowing that she did, understanding why Emma wanted this, why pain is the only constant in the blonde’s life – the only thing on which she can rely. It keeps her safe; it keeps them both wrapped in the perpetuation that happiness and contentment is something other people feel. People who are not like them.
Emma turns her head and looks away, across the room. Her shoulders are burning now and she’ll probably be in agony tomorrow. Between her legs, a throbbing, aching hurt reminds her that she’ll feel this for hours, will remember this for days. Better that, though, than the open wound that she demanded Regina slice open, bleeding everything she deserves in rich, red pain.
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- damelola said: Ooh I missed this earlier! Guilty as charged ;)
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