Chapter 1
So, okay, both Hook and Hood died and stayed dead, because well, dead is dead, you know? It's all Hades' fault, really. So one night, Emma and Regina decide fuck it, they're going to go out and get rip roaring drunk. They deserve it. Henry's old enough to put himself to bed, and Emma has this weird, creepy giant house that's basically empty, and reminds her of so many things she wishes she could forget, but knows she can't (and shouldn't).
So really, it's the perfect place for the two of them to drink their way through an entire handle of tequila (they've decided to try something different than their usual, this time). They’re about eight shots each in when Emma loses her balance trying to sit back down on the couch, and has to grip Regina's knee for support. They both dissolve into a fit of giggles, but somehow neither of them notice that Emma hasn't bothered to move her hand.
Instead, she's actually begun to absentmindedly trace patterns (gently even in her drunken clumsiness) on Regina's knee, inching slowly higher, before stopping at the hem of Regina's skirt. And Regina, well. It feels to her like someone has just unceremoniously thrust her heart back into her chest, like she's suddenly feeling again after the hollowness of the past two weeks.
And maybe it's the fact that she hasn't been truly drunk in ages, or the fact that she and Emma are finally, truly talking to each other again (and right now, she doesn't feel like wasting any brain space dissecting just why it is that they're more open with each other now that their former lovers are well and truly gone).
But either way, she can feel every single point where Emma's fingers are touching her leg, and it's like no other sensation could possibly even exist, right now. And Emma, she swears she can feel Regina's thumping pulse through her leg (even though she knows that's not exactly how the human body usually works), and this kind of tension? It makes her say stupid things.
Stupid things like "Wanna do another shot?" and "But, uh, off of me, this time?"
And maybe it's the fact that this will be shot number nine of the night, but Regina? She says yes.
And then everything happens somehow both quickly and in slow motion. One moment, Emma is looking up at Regina, asking her the question, and the next thing she knows, she's leaning her head to the side and Regina is licking salt off of her pulse point.
And fuck, it is without a doubt the most erotic thing Emma Swan has ever experienced (and she likes to think she's experienced a lot in her 30-odd years of life). She knows with absolute certainty that this is a moment she will be replaying frequently when she's alone at night.
And Regina? She has never seen anything quite as impossibly sexy as Emma's skin, flushed and warm. Regina can't hide how full of pride (and how turned on) she is, knowing Emma's reaction is because of her.
They’ve never, not ever, talked about this thing between them; this energy always hovering just out of reach. So in a way, it's something of a relief, to not have speeches and processing. To instead just let themselves finally, finally give in.
It’s why Regina doesn't stop to think about it, but just drops the squeezed piece of lime on Emma's coffee table, closes her eyes, and presses her lips fiercely to Emma's, quick and hard and hot.
And oh, oh fuck, it is the best thing either of them have ever done. Emma's hands are in Regina's hair, and Regina is gripping Emma's belt loops, pulling their hips flush against each other.
It’s an intoxicating (intoxicated), messy, hungry kiss, and it's everything. it's lips and tongues and teeth and sheer lust, years in the making, biding its time until this specific night.
When they pull apart for air, the pause lasts mere seconds, because Regina and Emma?
They’re finally here, and nothing will stop them now.