madame_denna (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madame_denna) wrote2012-07-05 07:40 pm
madame_denna) wrote2012-07-05 07:40 pm
Entry tags:
All had started with a box
Pairing: Regina/Emma
Rating: M
Warnings: none
Word count: ~1000
Spoilers: season 1 (to be safe)
Prompt: 'drugs'
Written for: The [Totally Not] Annual![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
femslash_today Porn Battle
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. They are not mine and - of course - no money is made.
Yes, it had been her idea.
She herself had told Sydney to do it.
And he always did what he was told. At least, if it was her giving the orders.
It was just an unfortunate series of events, nothing more.
It just happened.
But shouldn't she have noticed that something was off, right as the Sheriff was bursting through her door? No, how could she have known? The Sheriff had always been rude and without sense for decency, without style and without manners. That simply was Emma Swan. Nobody could blame her for expecting no less.
But what had happened?
It had started with a box. All had started with the fucking blue tiny box and it's poisoned fruit inside.
And she? The Mayor of the town? Had failed to notice her own scheme.
~~~
A simple box right in front of her desk.
“What is that?” The Mayor asks, pointing with her finger at the offending object, but refrains from touching it.
“A piece offering?!”
A reluctant sigh, then fingers opening a paper box. A look inside. Apple pie.
“I'm not hungry.”
"Come on. I just got it." A smile, two hands defensively waving in the air. "I didn't touch it! And I ate one myself!"
“What do you want?”
“Jesus, Regina, nothing. It's just a piece of cake!”
Another sigh. A minute where nothing happens, then one single bite.
“It's delicious Ms. Swan. Thank you. If you'll now excuse me, I have to-”
“We need to talk. Or more I talk, you, just listen.” A frown. “We need to stop bitching around. I know why you're treating me like crap.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said listen. No talking.”
“Miss Swan I think you're way out of-”
The Sheriff is leaning over the Mayor's desk, before Regina can even blink. A finger pressing against ruby lips, “Pshhh.”
A tingling sensation where skin presses against skin. The demanding urge to lean more into the faint touch. The Mayor stands quickly, breaking contact. Her head is spinning, she grabs her desk.
It's not quite a minute before she regains her senses, but when she looks up again, green eyes are sparkling back at her and the Sheriff has her in a tight embrace.
“Are you okay? You swayed.”
The words seem to be miles away, her head is still spinning but in an addictive kind of way. Skin arches to be touched and the lips that are right in kissing distance are taunting her to be silenced. The sudden urge to feel, taste and touch the warm skin is slowly overwhelming her.
Deep inside her she knows something is wrong. She knows something is not the way it should be. She knows she feels things she shouldn't or more, she shouldn't show. But for the first time in years she doesn't care about the consequences and just wants to feel again.
Her eyes flutter close as soon as their lips make contact, Emma's gasp of surprise changes halfway to a quiet moan of pleasure. For a moment she expects resistance and waits for the Sheriff to step back. For the fraction of a second she expects herself to do the same. But nothing of it happens.
The Sheriff's hands are on her thighs, pushing the soft material of her pencil shirt up until it's bunched at her waist. Their kiss gets urgent and soft flesh bruises under the intensity of their mutual need. Her hands rip at the Sheriff's clothes without thought, in the distance of her haze she hears faintly the tearing of material but neither of them seem to care.
She hisses through her teeth, as the Sheriff traces the shell of her ear with her tongue, while her fingers have reached their destination and graze over the thin material of expensive black lace. Fingers brush teasingly all the way over the Mayor's sex, feeling that the thin material is already slick and utterly soaked. The hand slides beneath the barrier and the Mayor tries to force the moans back in her throat, but can't help it anymore, when the Sheriff is pinching her clit with two fingers, massaging the throbbing knot with delicious pressure, and she hears herself panting, "please." It only then, when the Sheriff kisses her again in the same rhythm as two of her slender fingers thrust forcefully inside her, that the Mayor begins to see white stars behind her eyes that seem to blossom with each thrust of the Sheriff's hand.
It is hard, it's rough and not one bit gentle. It's exactly what she needs.
~~~
It's almost midnight as she wakes on her couch in her office, her head is hurting. What happened? Henry. Oh god Henry. She has forgotten Henry. But then, Henry is at a friends house, the first time in a long time and she lets herself fall back against the soft cushions.
What the hell happened? Why is she still here? There is this nagging feeling right beneath the surface, taunting her with the knowledge that there is something she doesn't remember. She hates it.
Her phone goes off, but she ignores it. Who can it be? She isn't in the mood for either Gold's demands or Sydney's lovesick whining. Not today.
Her phone beeps again, only once.
She rolls her eyes, but takes it anyway. A text. From Sydney. Only a short glimpse at the words that seal her fate in a time-frame of a long, painful heartbeat. It's exactly this moment, when everything comes rushing back to her.
'It's done. It's in the cake.'
Rating: M
Warnings: none
Word count: ~1000
Spoilers: season 1 (to be safe)
Prompt: 'drugs'
Written for: The [Totally Not] Annual
femslash_today Porn BattleDisclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. They are not mine and - of course - no money is made.
Yes, it had been her idea.
She herself had told Sydney to do it.
And he always did what he was told. At least, if it was her giving the orders.
It was just an unfortunate series of events, nothing more.
It just happened.
But shouldn't she have noticed that something was off, right as the Sheriff was bursting through her door? No, how could she have known? The Sheriff had always been rude and without sense for decency, without style and without manners. That simply was Emma Swan. Nobody could blame her for expecting no less.
But what had happened?
It had started with a box. All had started with the fucking blue tiny box and it's poisoned fruit inside.
And she? The Mayor of the town? Had failed to notice her own scheme.
~~~
A simple box right in front of her desk.
“What is that?” The Mayor asks, pointing with her finger at the offending object, but refrains from touching it.
“A piece offering?!”
A reluctant sigh, then fingers opening a paper box. A look inside. Apple pie.
“I'm not hungry.”
"Come on. I just got it." A smile, two hands defensively waving in the air. "I didn't touch it! And I ate one myself!"
“What do you want?”
“Jesus, Regina, nothing. It's just a piece of cake!”
Another sigh. A minute where nothing happens, then one single bite.
“It's delicious Ms. Swan. Thank you. If you'll now excuse me, I have to-”
“We need to talk. Or more I talk, you, just listen.” A frown. “We need to stop bitching around. I know why you're treating me like crap.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said listen. No talking.”
“Miss Swan I think you're way out of-”
The Sheriff is leaning over the Mayor's desk, before Regina can even blink. A finger pressing against ruby lips, “Pshhh.”
A tingling sensation where skin presses against skin. The demanding urge to lean more into the faint touch. The Mayor stands quickly, breaking contact. Her head is spinning, she grabs her desk.
It's not quite a minute before she regains her senses, but when she looks up again, green eyes are sparkling back at her and the Sheriff has her in a tight embrace.
“Are you okay? You swayed.”
The words seem to be miles away, her head is still spinning but in an addictive kind of way. Skin arches to be touched and the lips that are right in kissing distance are taunting her to be silenced. The sudden urge to feel, taste and touch the warm skin is slowly overwhelming her.
Deep inside her she knows something is wrong. She knows something is not the way it should be. She knows she feels things she shouldn't or more, she shouldn't show. But for the first time in years she doesn't care about the consequences and just wants to feel again.
Her eyes flutter close as soon as their lips make contact, Emma's gasp of surprise changes halfway to a quiet moan of pleasure. For a moment she expects resistance and waits for the Sheriff to step back. For the fraction of a second she expects herself to do the same. But nothing of it happens.
The Sheriff's hands are on her thighs, pushing the soft material of her pencil shirt up until it's bunched at her waist. Their kiss gets urgent and soft flesh bruises under the intensity of their mutual need. Her hands rip at the Sheriff's clothes without thought, in the distance of her haze she hears faintly the tearing of material but neither of them seem to care.
She hisses through her teeth, as the Sheriff traces the shell of her ear with her tongue, while her fingers have reached their destination and graze over the thin material of expensive black lace. Fingers brush teasingly all the way over the Mayor's sex, feeling that the thin material is already slick and utterly soaked. The hand slides beneath the barrier and the Mayor tries to force the moans back in her throat, but can't help it anymore, when the Sheriff is pinching her clit with two fingers, massaging the throbbing knot with delicious pressure, and she hears herself panting, "please." It only then, when the Sheriff kisses her again in the same rhythm as two of her slender fingers thrust forcefully inside her, that the Mayor begins to see white stars behind her eyes that seem to blossom with each thrust of the Sheriff's hand.
It is hard, it's rough and not one bit gentle. It's exactly what she needs.
~~~
It's almost midnight as she wakes on her couch in her office, her head is hurting. What happened? Henry. Oh god Henry. She has forgotten Henry. But then, Henry is at a friends house, the first time in a long time and she lets herself fall back against the soft cushions.
What the hell happened? Why is she still here? There is this nagging feeling right beneath the surface, taunting her with the knowledge that there is something she doesn't remember. She hates it.
Her phone goes off, but she ignores it. Who can it be? She isn't in the mood for either Gold's demands or Sydney's lovesick whining. Not today.
Her phone beeps again, only once.
She rolls her eyes, but takes it anyway. A text. From Sydney. Only a short glimpse at the words that seal her fate in a time-frame of a long, painful heartbeat. It's exactly this moment, when everything comes rushing back to her.
'It's done. It's in the cake.'