Black Lace, Chapter II: The Other Side of the Window
Title: Black Lace- The Other Side of the Window
Pairing: Swan Queen (sort of?), mostly self-love.
Rating: R for mentions of sexy things, though there's less of the sexy this time.
Summary: Regina's side of the encounter. Then a talk with Henry the next morning.
Disclaimer: Still don't own 'em. Still wish I did.
The first sign was a strange tingling sensation between her shoulder blades, moving right along the back of her neck. She was being watched. She felt the eyes long before she first heard the static hiss of the walkie talkie from upstairs. If she concentrated, of course she could hear- there was very little that went on in her house that Regina Mills did not know about, one way or the other. Much like Storybrooke itself.
A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it was long past Henry's bedtime. A red haze of anger began to beat in her pulse, and the pen she'd been holding suddenly snapped in her hand. This would not continue.
Not tonight. Not ever.
As Regina rose from her chair, the tiny mayoral part of her protested the waste of an evening of perfectly good work time, but she silenced it as easily as she'd have silenced an annoying underling. It hardly mattered; she was well ahead of schedule on all projects that warranted her immediate attention. And even those that didn't. Far better to foil the plans of those foolish enough to cross her.
She moved through her house as regally as the Queen she truly was, flicking off the lights almost absently as she went. She wanted to make damn sure that Miss Swan knew she was ascending the stairs and ruining 'her' stolen moments with Henry.
When she reached the landing, Regina glanced at the door to her son's room, and cracked it open. He lay facing away from her, lying on his side and pretending to be asleep. She hesitated, and for a moment forgot her anger, forgot her pain, and just watched him. He looked so peaceful.
And then she spotted the antennae of the walkie talkie peeking out from under his bed. A bubble of rage rose from her stomach. That... woman... had invaded her town, stolen her son from her by affection if not by physicality, and now, after being specifically forbidden from seeing him, she had the audacity to sneak around outside her house at this very second. Biting her lip to hide the snarl that was trying so desperately to consume her face, she came inches away from yanking the door open, striding over to her son's bed and snatching the damn device.
She did not. Quelling the rage that churned inside her took some doing, but she was well aware that stealing away Henry's only link to... that woman... would hardly make any headway in getting him to love her again. With a soundless sigh, she moved away from the room of her son, turned on her heel and walked to her own bedroom. The light snapped on imperiously. No doubt Miss Swan would notice and realize that her conversation was well and truly over. Unless the damn woman was lying in waiting and planning on resuming talking to her son once she thought Regina was asleep...
Practically flying to the window, she flung her curtains open with such force she was surprised they didn't rip. Sure enough, she caught a glimpse of the Sheriff ducking back down behind her hedges. Whirling, she came within seconds of storming down the stairs out of her house and having it out with the damn woman then and there.
But a tiny glimmer of what she'd actually seen flashed through her mind, and she paused. And glanced again. Miss Swan had been in motion when she'd opened the curtains. She'd been leaving.
Regina felt a very, very small portion of her irritation ebb away. Not all of it; never all of it. Gold had gotten that right, at least. Her rage took up a great deal of space. But she let enough of it go to keep her from forcing a confrontation this evening. Let it wait until morning, when she could properly plot out some fitting punishment for the Sheriff's offenses. She was a little too tightly wound for it tonight. She needed to relax. And she desperately needed a drink. Easily remedied by a trip to her sidebar.
The cider was fabulous, of course. It was hers. A few long sips, a few longer, deeper breaths, and she felt a little better. Her gaze rested on the closed door to her bedroom, and the hall leading to Henry's beyond it. The radio remained silent, the sheriff defeated, the battle was won for the night. She could relax, at least a little. Setting her glass down, her hand twisted around to her back, grasping the pull of the zipper to her dress.
As it slid down, she began to realize that the tingle between her shoulder blades had not diminished. She was still being watched. Out of habit, her eyes moved instantly to the mirror across from her. The Genie wasn't there, of course. Not in Storybrooke. But even so, she noticed a glint of reflected light from near the hedges outside.
A glint of light from the glass of binoculars, transferred through the reflection of her mirror. Miss Swan was still watching. Not watching Henry now, she knew. So the Sheriff had to be watching her. ...Interesting.
Now that she was disrobing, Regina found herself wondering if Emma would she be appalled or intrigued? If the former, no doubt the good Sheriff would quickly leave, and a dent in her hedges and another glint of the binoculars would betray it. But if the latter... well, this evening had suddenly gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.
Slowly, she slid the zipper further down, revealing the skin of her back to her audience an inch at a time. When she reached the end, she allowed the dress to cling to her for a long moment, and she kept her eyes glued to that glint in her mirror. Emma had not left yet.
She was fully aware of how good she looked. Her beauty had been renowned across the land, once. And twenty-eight years of being frozen in time had made certain that Regina's looks would never fade. Hell, if she had the chance, she'd watch herself undress, too. She had, actually, and more besides. There was far more than one reason that she had such an affinity for mirrors.
Beneath her breast, her heart began to hammer in a way it hadn't done in years. Not since before the curse. If Emma was watching her... did she like what she was seeing? Did she want to see more? The idea began forming in her mind, and Regina couldn't help but laugh to herself at its ridiculousness. It was impulsive, she knew. Had she not already had a few glasses of cider that evening, she probably never would have even entertained the notion. But after all, there was no reason not to do what she was considering.
And the reaction would well be worth it, if she played it right. If Emma got over her own embarrassment enough to stay and watch. And if she did...
With a slight smile on her lips, Regina made up her mind, and finished with the zipper. The air around her almost crackled from her mirth as the dress finally fell in a puddle at her feet. Making sure her audience was still there, slowly, methodically, she reached for the clasp to her bra. Best not take things too quickly. If Emma was going to watch, she was going to make sure she got a hell of a show.
Skin flushed and slightly breathless, Regina reclined on her bed after she'd finished. That had been... much more intense than normal, and she knew the added thrill had come from the fact that she'd been observed. It was a hell of a power kick, knowing someone was watching you when that same person was certain you didn't know.
But she would now.
She rose from the bed and headed towards the window. The game was over, now. Time to announce the fact that she'd won. Like hell she was going to give anyone, especially someone like Miss Swan, a show like that and not gloat afterward. She approached the window with all the liquid grace of a panther, keeping her eyes riveted to the spot she knew Emma was hiding. And she smirked.
With a pang of near-regret, Regina so wished she could have heard the shocked gasp and curse when the Sheriff realized she'd been discovered. It would have been so very, very sweet. The final little cap on a splendid little game. Ah well.
As Emma went darting by, trying to stay hidden behind her bushes, Regina frowned. Like hell the Sheriff was going to get off that easy. Not without a formal announcement of her victory. But she only had a few minutes before Emma would drive by her house.
Thinking quickly, she threw on her robe and raced out her bedroom door into the hall and to her son's room. Henry was long since asleep. With silence learned after decades of experience, she strode over to his bed as she'd wanted to do before this whole... episode had began, grabbed the walkie talkie from beneath it, and dashed back to her own room.
A little breathless now, both from her orgasm and the quick sprint, she opened the window. A hand pressed against its pane, centering her, calming her just a little as she she watched the patrol car drive by her home as if nothing at all had just happened. She almost laughed, and switched on the walkie, allowing only static to transfer through first, just to freak the hell out of her audience. A slight swerve of the car revealed that she'd done just that.
"Miss Swan," her voice was little more ragged than she'd have liked, but there was nothing she could do about it. She leaned against the glass of the window directly, the cold of it pressing into her chest even beneath the thin robe and sending a delicious shiver of sensation through her still-sensitive body. "I'll be sending you an invoice for the damage to my hedge." The fact that she could see that her hedges would need repair was both supremely irritating and highly amusing. And flattering, she supposed. It was nice to know she could still have such a profound... effect on someone. Even if that someone normally despised her. She smirked, and wished Emma could see it. She'd hear it in her tone, certainly. "Do enjoy the rest of your evening."
Her hand extended out the window, the walkie talkie hanging loosely in her grasp. Just a quick release of her fingers, and the damn machine would tumble from the second story and fall shattering to the brick walkway below. Her grip loosened.
She hesitated.
A flash in her mind- the look on Henry's face when he realized she'd taken the thing. He would be so angry. Such unadulterated hatred... Her son already despised her, favoring that blonde voyeur over the woman who'd nourished and cared for him every day for the last ten years. Her hand shook. Gone was that sense of power, of control. She no longer had an audience, and with Emma, so too had gone her confidence.
She so wanted to drop the stupid thing, as if destroying the plastic and metal would somehow also destroy the connection between Henry and... her. But nothing could destroy that, she knew. Though she'd only been in his life a short while, Emma was already more connected to her son than she had ever been. And that knowledge hurt her more than anything else had in twenty-eight years.
Her grip tightened. Inwardly cursing, she pulled her arm back inside and re-latched the window with her free hand, staring at the stupid walkie talkie as if it were an Agraban viper. Just as deadly, really. She flung it from her, the device making a clicking hiss of protest when it fell onto her bed.
Still shaking from nothing to do with her orgasm, the mayor gave a ragged sigh, hugging her abdomen as she normally did when upset. And only then became aware that she was still naked beneath the thin robe. She glanced down at the discarded puddle of her clothing, having almost forgotten what had happened... what she'd done while Emma watched.
A slow smirk spread across her lips at the memory. And as she bent down to collect the scattered pile of lace and silk, she gave a tiny laugh. And suddenly knew exactly what to do.
When Henry came down the stairs the next morning for breakfast, his mother handed him his cereal bowl with one hand. In the other was the walkie talkie.
His brow furrowed, and she could sense the argument rising in him over the fact that she'd stolen it. So she spoke first.
"After a great deal of deliberation, I've decided you can have this back," she began, and his eyes lit up in excitement, then confusion, and he looked at her with both mixed in his expression. "But there is to be no staying up past your bedtime. Understood?"
He nodded rapidly, and cradled the device in his hands as soon as she handed it back to him. He swallowed a little, and glanced back at her. "Why?"
Regina smiled, though there was more than just genuineness in it. A flash of memory traveled down her spine, and she flexed her shoulders at it, her smile widening. "Because whether you believe me or not, Henry, your happiness is very important to me."
He did not appear convinced. "So why can't I just see Emma?"
A slight smirk, and Regina rose again, her height commanding even without high heels. "Because hers isn't. Now eat your breakfast."
At the playground, Henry spotted the familiar yellow beetle parked its usual distance away. With a beaming smile and a wave, Henry dug in his backpack until he produced the walkie talkie, holding it up for his birth mother to see.
She did, and the first thing that ran through her mind was surprise. Then embarrassment. Then something far less appropriate. A shiver of remembrance shook down her spine. Taking a deep breath, she switched her own on. She'd been more than tempted to throw it out, after last night. But hadn't. "Your mom gave it back to you?" she blurted out in lieu of a normal hello.
Even from this distance, she could see the look of confusion cross her son's face. "Yeah, it was weird. But... how'd you know she took it?"
"Um... she kinda caught me outside your house last night. " Emma ran a hand through her hair, fidgeting awkwardly in her car as she held the walkie talkie, glad he was too far away to see her blushing. Or the fact that her hand was trembling, remembering exactly the way Regina had looked when her fingers had brought her just there, the look of abandon on her face when she came. And yes, even the smug breathlessness of her voice when she'd smirked at Emma through the walkie talkie.
Emma found herself breathless as well. She repressed a shiver, and had to ask Henry to repeat himself when he questioned his adoptive mother's motives. As if Emma knew.
She couldn't even explain her own. And she certainly couldn't explain the pulse of desire that raced through her every time she looked at the walkie talkie.
She really hoped she wouldn't get turned on every time she had to use the thing.
Pairing: Swan Queen (sort of?), mostly self-love.
Rating: R for mentions of sexy things, though there's less of the sexy this time.
Summary: Regina's side of the encounter. Then a talk with Henry the next morning.
Disclaimer: Still don't own 'em. Still wish I did.
The first sign was a strange tingling sensation between her shoulder blades, moving right along the back of her neck. She was being watched. She felt the eyes long before she first heard the static hiss of the walkie talkie from upstairs. If she concentrated, of course she could hear- there was very little that went on in her house that Regina Mills did not know about, one way or the other. Much like Storybrooke itself.
A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it was long past Henry's bedtime. A red haze of anger began to beat in her pulse, and the pen she'd been holding suddenly snapped in her hand. This would not continue.
Not tonight. Not ever.
As Regina rose from her chair, the tiny mayoral part of her protested the waste of an evening of perfectly good work time, but she silenced it as easily as she'd have silenced an annoying underling. It hardly mattered; she was well ahead of schedule on all projects that warranted her immediate attention. And even those that didn't. Far better to foil the plans of those foolish enough to cross her.
She moved through her house as regally as the Queen she truly was, flicking off the lights almost absently as she went. She wanted to make damn sure that Miss Swan knew she was ascending the stairs and ruining 'her' stolen moments with Henry.
When she reached the landing, Regina glanced at the door to her son's room, and cracked it open. He lay facing away from her, lying on his side and pretending to be asleep. She hesitated, and for a moment forgot her anger, forgot her pain, and just watched him. He looked so peaceful.
And then she spotted the antennae of the walkie talkie peeking out from under his bed. A bubble of rage rose from her stomach. That... woman... had invaded her town, stolen her son from her by affection if not by physicality, and now, after being specifically forbidden from seeing him, she had the audacity to sneak around outside her house at this very second. Biting her lip to hide the snarl that was trying so desperately to consume her face, she came inches away from yanking the door open, striding over to her son's bed and snatching the damn device.
She did not. Quelling the rage that churned inside her took some doing, but she was well aware that stealing away Henry's only link to... that woman... would hardly make any headway in getting him to love her again. With a soundless sigh, she moved away from the room of her son, turned on her heel and walked to her own bedroom. The light snapped on imperiously. No doubt Miss Swan would notice and realize that her conversation was well and truly over. Unless the damn woman was lying in waiting and planning on resuming talking to her son once she thought Regina was asleep...
Practically flying to the window, she flung her curtains open with such force she was surprised they didn't rip. Sure enough, she caught a glimpse of the Sheriff ducking back down behind her hedges. Whirling, she came within seconds of storming down the stairs out of her house and having it out with the damn woman then and there.
But a tiny glimmer of what she'd actually seen flashed through her mind, and she paused. And glanced again. Miss Swan had been in motion when she'd opened the curtains. She'd been leaving.
Regina felt a very, very small portion of her irritation ebb away. Not all of it; never all of it. Gold had gotten that right, at least. Her rage took up a great deal of space. But she let enough of it go to keep her from forcing a confrontation this evening. Let it wait until morning, when she could properly plot out some fitting punishment for the Sheriff's offenses. She was a little too tightly wound for it tonight. She needed to relax. And she desperately needed a drink. Easily remedied by a trip to her sidebar.
The cider was fabulous, of course. It was hers. A few long sips, a few longer, deeper breaths, and she felt a little better. Her gaze rested on the closed door to her bedroom, and the hall leading to Henry's beyond it. The radio remained silent, the sheriff defeated, the battle was won for the night. She could relax, at least a little. Setting her glass down, her hand twisted around to her back, grasping the pull of the zipper to her dress.
As it slid down, she began to realize that the tingle between her shoulder blades had not diminished. She was still being watched. Out of habit, her eyes moved instantly to the mirror across from her. The Genie wasn't there, of course. Not in Storybrooke. But even so, she noticed a glint of reflected light from near the hedges outside.
A glint of light from the glass of binoculars, transferred through the reflection of her mirror. Miss Swan was still watching. Not watching Henry now, she knew. So the Sheriff had to be watching her. ...Interesting.
Now that she was disrobing, Regina found herself wondering if Emma would she be appalled or intrigued? If the former, no doubt the good Sheriff would quickly leave, and a dent in her hedges and another glint of the binoculars would betray it. But if the latter... well, this evening had suddenly gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.
Slowly, she slid the zipper further down, revealing the skin of her back to her audience an inch at a time. When she reached the end, she allowed the dress to cling to her for a long moment, and she kept her eyes glued to that glint in her mirror. Emma had not left yet.
She was fully aware of how good she looked. Her beauty had been renowned across the land, once. And twenty-eight years of being frozen in time had made certain that Regina's looks would never fade. Hell, if she had the chance, she'd watch herself undress, too. She had, actually, and more besides. There was far more than one reason that she had such an affinity for mirrors.
Beneath her breast, her heart began to hammer in a way it hadn't done in years. Not since before the curse. If Emma was watching her... did she like what she was seeing? Did she want to see more? The idea began forming in her mind, and Regina couldn't help but laugh to herself at its ridiculousness. It was impulsive, she knew. Had she not already had a few glasses of cider that evening, she probably never would have even entertained the notion. But after all, there was no reason not to do what she was considering.
And the reaction would well be worth it, if she played it right. If Emma got over her own embarrassment enough to stay and watch. And if she did...
With a slight smile on her lips, Regina made up her mind, and finished with the zipper. The air around her almost crackled from her mirth as the dress finally fell in a puddle at her feet. Making sure her audience was still there, slowly, methodically, she reached for the clasp to her bra. Best not take things too quickly. If Emma was going to watch, she was going to make sure she got a hell of a show.
Skin flushed and slightly breathless, Regina reclined on her bed after she'd finished. That had been... much more intense than normal, and she knew the added thrill had come from the fact that she'd been observed. It was a hell of a power kick, knowing someone was watching you when that same person was certain you didn't know.
But she would now.
She rose from the bed and headed towards the window. The game was over, now. Time to announce the fact that she'd won. Like hell she was going to give anyone, especially someone like Miss Swan, a show like that and not gloat afterward. She approached the window with all the liquid grace of a panther, keeping her eyes riveted to the spot she knew Emma was hiding. And she smirked.
With a pang of near-regret, Regina so wished she could have heard the shocked gasp and curse when the Sheriff realized she'd been discovered. It would have been so very, very sweet. The final little cap on a splendid little game. Ah well.
As Emma went darting by, trying to stay hidden behind her bushes, Regina frowned. Like hell the Sheriff was going to get off that easy. Not without a formal announcement of her victory. But she only had a few minutes before Emma would drive by her house.
Thinking quickly, she threw on her robe and raced out her bedroom door into the hall and to her son's room. Henry was long since asleep. With silence learned after decades of experience, she strode over to his bed as she'd wanted to do before this whole... episode had began, grabbed the walkie talkie from beneath it, and dashed back to her own room.
A little breathless now, both from her orgasm and the quick sprint, she opened the window. A hand pressed against its pane, centering her, calming her just a little as she she watched the patrol car drive by her home as if nothing at all had just happened. She almost laughed, and switched on the walkie, allowing only static to transfer through first, just to freak the hell out of her audience. A slight swerve of the car revealed that she'd done just that.
"Miss Swan," her voice was little more ragged than she'd have liked, but there was nothing she could do about it. She leaned against the glass of the window directly, the cold of it pressing into her chest even beneath the thin robe and sending a delicious shiver of sensation through her still-sensitive body. "I'll be sending you an invoice for the damage to my hedge." The fact that she could see that her hedges would need repair was both supremely irritating and highly amusing. And flattering, she supposed. It was nice to know she could still have such a profound... effect on someone. Even if that someone normally despised her. She smirked, and wished Emma could see it. She'd hear it in her tone, certainly. "Do enjoy the rest of your evening."
Her hand extended out the window, the walkie talkie hanging loosely in her grasp. Just a quick release of her fingers, and the damn machine would tumble from the second story and fall shattering to the brick walkway below. Her grip loosened.
She hesitated.
A flash in her mind- the look on Henry's face when he realized she'd taken the thing. He would be so angry. Such unadulterated hatred... Her son already despised her, favoring that blonde voyeur over the woman who'd nourished and cared for him every day for the last ten years. Her hand shook. Gone was that sense of power, of control. She no longer had an audience, and with Emma, so too had gone her confidence.
She so wanted to drop the stupid thing, as if destroying the plastic and metal would somehow also destroy the connection between Henry and... her. But nothing could destroy that, she knew. Though she'd only been in his life a short while, Emma was already more connected to her son than she had ever been. And that knowledge hurt her more than anything else had in twenty-eight years.
Her grip tightened. Inwardly cursing, she pulled her arm back inside and re-latched the window with her free hand, staring at the stupid walkie talkie as if it were an Agraban viper. Just as deadly, really. She flung it from her, the device making a clicking hiss of protest when it fell onto her bed.
Still shaking from nothing to do with her orgasm, the mayor gave a ragged sigh, hugging her abdomen as she normally did when upset. And only then became aware that she was still naked beneath the thin robe. She glanced down at the discarded puddle of her clothing, having almost forgotten what had happened... what she'd done while Emma watched.
A slow smirk spread across her lips at the memory. And as she bent down to collect the scattered pile of lace and silk, she gave a tiny laugh. And suddenly knew exactly what to do.
When Henry came down the stairs the next morning for breakfast, his mother handed him his cereal bowl with one hand. In the other was the walkie talkie.
His brow furrowed, and she could sense the argument rising in him over the fact that she'd stolen it. So she spoke first.
"After a great deal of deliberation, I've decided you can have this back," she began, and his eyes lit up in excitement, then confusion, and he looked at her with both mixed in his expression. "But there is to be no staying up past your bedtime. Understood?"
He nodded rapidly, and cradled the device in his hands as soon as she handed it back to him. He swallowed a little, and glanced back at her. "Why?"
Regina smiled, though there was more than just genuineness in it. A flash of memory traveled down her spine, and she flexed her shoulders at it, her smile widening. "Because whether you believe me or not, Henry, your happiness is very important to me."
He did not appear convinced. "So why can't I just see Emma?"
A slight smirk, and Regina rose again, her height commanding even without high heels. "Because hers isn't. Now eat your breakfast."
At the playground, Henry spotted the familiar yellow beetle parked its usual distance away. With a beaming smile and a wave, Henry dug in his backpack until he produced the walkie talkie, holding it up for his birth mother to see.
She did, and the first thing that ran through her mind was surprise. Then embarrassment. Then something far less appropriate. A shiver of remembrance shook down her spine. Taking a deep breath, she switched her own on. She'd been more than tempted to throw it out, after last night. But hadn't. "Your mom gave it back to you?" she blurted out in lieu of a normal hello.
Even from this distance, she could see the look of confusion cross her son's face. "Yeah, it was weird. But... how'd you know she took it?"
"Um... she kinda caught me outside your house last night. " Emma ran a hand through her hair, fidgeting awkwardly in her car as she held the walkie talkie, glad he was too far away to see her blushing. Or the fact that her hand was trembling, remembering exactly the way Regina had looked when her fingers had brought her just there, the look of abandon on her face when she came. And yes, even the smug breathlessness of her voice when she'd smirked at Emma through the walkie talkie.
Emma found herself breathless as well. She repressed a shiver, and had to ask Henry to repeat himself when he questioned his adoptive mother's motives. As if Emma knew.
She couldn't even explain her own. And she certainly couldn't explain the pulse of desire that raced through her every time she looked at the walkie talkie.
She really hoped she wouldn't get turned on every time she had to use the thing.