dracoslorean:

sinful-obsessions:

Swan Queen AU

OH DAMN WHAT IS THIS BLACK MAGIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:O

Defeat made her tired, her bones ached from lack of magic, lack of power, of mundane mortality and a life now out of her grasp.  Defeat tasted like Emma’s horrible taste in alcohol and it took effort not to wake up coughing as she struggled, futilely, to simply go back to sleep.  Regina sighed and grabbed at the pillow beside her, the sheets cheap and scratching against her skin as she shifted in bed, the mattress creaking in protest under her weight. 

“Good morning,” came a hesitant voice from across the room, and Regina stifled the urge to hurl the pillow at it.  

Emma had been awake for hours.  She crawled out of bed with the sunrise, wondering if she ought to slip out of the house with her life intact, or stay and face down Regina yet again—the evil queen, or what was left of her, and a half-remembered night of drinking and desperate sex.  Regina had been wounded, angry, resentful of Emma and sullen at what she’d been forced to leave behind (and what she’d been forced, wordlessly, to admit as the curse and all of its dark magic slowly dissipated to nothing). 

The urge to leave was fleeting and flimsy.  She was Emma’s responsibility now, and Emma had faced Regina’s sore temper down with equal parts stubbornness and cheap whiskey.  Enough of the latter to make her head throb, in fact, but her hangover was the least of her concerns.  “I made coffee,” she offered, hands on hips, shoulders stiffened as she drew in a sharp breathe and waited out Regina’s reaction.  It was as dramatic as she expected, and Emma tried not to roll her eyes.

Regina quickly slid back under the covers and cursed at her.  “Get out.”

The previous evening was a haze of raw memories for the mayor and she tried her best to dispel them.  Anger always got the better of her, and so too did Emma, the only thing thing that was allowed her now, and she had clung to the woman with desperate, greedy fingers, allowing Emma to touch the lingering scars of their battle and balm her aching pride.  The wounds would heal in time, she’d whispered against her skin, and Regina’s heart was still heavy with the hope of it.

Emma sat beside her after a few moments, prodding at the sheets until Regina cursed her again.  Suppressing her uncertainty with a well-worn and challenging smirk, Emma pulled at the covers until the two women were face to scowling face.  “By the way, Your Highness, I couldn’t find any of your clothes in our luggage.  I hope you like flannel.”

“I despise you,” Regina growled, clutching at the sheet and trying to discern whether or not Emma was lying.  She wouldn’t.

The smirk wore down into a tiny smile that threatened to be affectionate.  “Yeah, sure.”