While Thining of Angelina Jolie

Regina knew she should put out the candles. Not let them burn down. And she should probably eat the food instead of letting it cool. She should definitely put the wine back in an ice bucket, it wasn't supposed to be served room temperature.

But honestly, it wasn't like this was anywhere near close to being the most dramatic she'd ever been.

Emma had

promised.

A nice, romantic evening. Just the two of them. No Henry. No Charmings. No Storybrooke craziness. Just fine food and discourse, like civilized people. Eating something other than Granny's cooking and talking about something other than how to stop... the whale from Pinocchio with... Alice in Wonderland's tampon!

But no. Noooooooooooooo. Emma hadn't shown. Hadn't called. She was two hours

late

and Regina just knew, she

knew,

Emma had a great reason, a fine reason, a

fantastic

reason, she was oh so noble and self-sacrificing and just

had

to get a kitten out of a tree and save the town and make her parents proud.

God, Regina's butt was getting sore, sitting in this chair. She really hadn't thought that someone would sit for

this

long when she'd bought the dining set. They were sturdy, handsome chairs—teak—but overly comfortable, they were not.

The flames started guttering. They'd just about burnt out their candles. Regina stared at them. If Emma was dead, Regina was going to the underworld and killing her all over again. It would be just like her to pull

that shit

on date night.

Emma barged through the door. "I know I'm late—"

Regina was instantly on her feet, taking in the state of Emma. Clothes torn, face bloodied, and she didn't like the way Emma's arm hung loosely at her side. "Ms. Swan!" she exclaimed, more of a rictus-statement of sudden emotional violence than any kind of conscious thought.

"Hydra," Emma explained. She sounded woozy. In fact, if blood weren't streaming from either nostril, Regina would've said she sounded black-out drunk. "Had to kill it... kept growing back heads..."

So you should've called me,

Regina thought, kicking off her heels to rush to the cabinet and get the first aid kit. For once, she was unable to voice a criticism of Emma, not when she was suddenly panicking over the thought that it could be the last thing Emma ever heard.

"Know I should've called you," Emma said as Regina came and looked her over. "But the first head was really easy to cut off... thought I'd handle it... get here in time... the food looks really nice..."

"Shut up, Emma." Her injuries weren't so bad; Regina could be angry with her. Most of it she could heal with magic, but there'd have to be stitches. And Emma definitely wouldn't be in a fit state for slow-dancing and cocktails anytime soon.

"You look really nice too," Emma said. "Is that a Vera Wang?"

"Alexander McQueen," Regina corrected. She ripped at Emma's shirt, tracing her magic along a claw mark. It formed into ugly, knotted scar tissue. Later, Regina would pretty it up. For now, she just wanted Emma to stop losing blood.

Speaking of—

Regina muttered a spell under her breath. Instantly, a few quarts of O Negative replaced what Emma had let pool on Regina's floor, and probably painted half of Storybrooke with.

"I swear I had a cocktail dress—in my car," Emma heaved. "Just picked it up from the dry cleaner's. I was gonna change..."

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted dead away, improving the conversation considerably. Now Regina felt free to tell her what an idiot she'd been.

***

Emma woke—such as it was—about an hour later. Sewn up, bandaged, washed clean. She laid in Regina's bed, most of her clothes cut away so that Regina could heal her, an icepack banded around her black eye.

"So," she said, noting Regina in the room with her. "The sex was good?"

"Go back to sleep," Regina told her. "You're an idiot."

"It was going to eat half the town, Gina."

Regina made a show of thinking it over. "Which half?"

"You don't mean that. Come to bed."

"Bed? Emma, your arm's broken. You're lucky it's even

attached..."

"We can still cuddle. Well..." Emma regarded the cast Regina had put her right arm in. "You can cuddle."

"What makes you think I even want to cuddle with you? You ruined a perfectly good evening. I could've been watching House Hunters all this time and made a better night of it."

Emma just smiled at her.

Giving Emma a scowl for effort, Regina began to strip. She did want Emma in her arms. She wanted to be absolutely sure she knew where Emma was, absolutely sure Emma wasn't doing anything stupid like taking on a hydra with her half-trained magic and her useless pistol or, God help them,

a sword

like dear old dad. She wanted to double-check her work and make sure she really had healed Emma, that the woman hadn't just

slipped away

like she'd so desperately worried about.

And Emma let her. It still seemed a little impossible.

But less and less impossible every day.

***

The thing was, it was date night. Emma had been working late all week—apparently she

did

have a work ethic, it had just taken actually having

coitus

with her for Regina to be able to see it—and Regina had been somewhat looking forward to some tension relief. She lived in Storybrooke. There was tension.

And anticipation. Because she worked

with

Emma. Had to see her walking around in those tight jeans. Her tanktops. God help her, when she took off her jacket and was wearing a racerback underneath... and Emma knew it, too. Paid Regina back for all the teasing, which she'd done in good fun—rubbing Emma's foot under the table during a town meeting, that was being affectionate, everyone kept telling her to be more affectionate. But no,

Emma

had to leeeean over her desk, jutting her ass out like a ripe apple. Jeans tight enough that Regina could tell how much change she had on her. And that hair. And those eyes.

And, when they had time, the sex was good. They were raising one boy together and also the entire town, man-children all, especially August, who was literally a man-child. And it seemed like Rumpelstiltskin was always pulling some kind of shit. That didn't leave a lot of time for tension relief. To say nothing of how often they weren't even in the same realm.

Then there was the anticipation. She'd been planning date night all week and, call her Type A, but that extended to the sex. She'd thought of what she'd do to Emma. What Emma would do to thank her. More of what she'd do to Emma.

Her girlfriend wore handcuffs on her belt, for God's sake.

That was more tension. The good kind. But instead of releasing all that tension—many times, preferably—it had just built and built and built. It'd passed from Regina's mind, of course, when she'd had to save Emma, but now it was back full force. Something about being on the covers with a half-naked,

very grateful

Emma Swan.

Obviously, she couldn't

actually

have sex with Emma. Even if Emma were stupid enough to go for it—and she was, which was actually a bit of a turn-on at the moment—Regina had to be the mature one, the responsible one, and insist that they not do

anything

that would tear her stitches, aggravate her wounds, or otherwise drain her energy from healing.

Which left masturbation. Because Regina couldn't sleep. And Emma could, right next to her, pure as the driven snow. So she could go to the bathroom to do it—or the guest bedroom—hell, she could even go into the backyard and hump her apple tree.

But she could also do it right there.

Right under Emma's nose.

Now

that

was a turn-on. Just wicked enough to be fun, but not actively dark. If Emma didn't like it, she shouldn't have agreed to a date with the Evil Queen.

And while Regina would never be unfaithful to her lover—it just wasn't

done

—she was still a little teed off at Emma. She didn't want to imagine the kind of gentle lovemaking which was so paradoxically satisfying between the two of them. The rough stuff was fun, real or imagined, but having the real thing there and being unable to touch her would really put a damper on things. But imagining someone else... being loyal in body, but amorous in mind...

Just wicked enough to be fun.

With a gesture and a puff of purple smoke, Regina summoned an appropriate implement. Not too big, not too small. Vibrating in her hand so she barely had to move it. The perfect scepter for a queen.

Another wave of her hand and her nightgown disappeared into smoke. Just being naked with Emma unaware was deliciously exciting—the slight worry of being caught—having Emma see her getting to play and knowing she hadn't been invited—she was just mad enough at Swan for it to be a very enjoyable thought.

She recalled a movie she watched with Henry recently. A sort of busman's holiday—enjoying someone else's fairy tale instead of her own. That Maleficent one. Regina was frenemy enough with the real thing to enjoy it on an ironic level: the shoddy storytelling, the spotty special effects, the aggressive mediocrity.

And Maleficent herself, of course. She didn't quite have Mal's fire—very whitewashed, very edited-for-TV. But she'd liked Jolie, ever since the internet had come to town and certain clips from certain movies had made their way across Regina's modem. Hell, watching those scenes in Gia between Jolie and that woman who looked like the Snow Queen had kept Regina so satisfied that she'd probably put off her adoption a few years because of it. That'd worked out well for everyone.

Of course, looks will fade—all but Regina's, and she knew not everyone could cast a Curse to keep them at the height of MILF perfection. So when she imagined Maleficent—the weak-willed, clearly submissive Maleficent—naked, she imagined the lushly,

gloriously

curved body she'd so

enjoyed.

Regina's beauty standard was simple. She was perfect. Thus, the more someone looked like her, the more perfect they were. And though her ego was loath to admit it... those hips, those curves... short of doing as she had frequently been instructed and fucking herself (and she'd frequently sought a way to do so), Jolie's Maleficent was actually on par with her.

Oh yes. Regina imagined the so-called Queen coming to her for help. Poor little thing would definitely need it. She'd actually given up on hating a baby just because the thing had turned blonde. Well, admittedly, that could be a pretty good reason, but you at least had to make them work for it. This 'Aurora' didn't even have magic. Mal would've loved that.

"Oh, I'll help you alright," Regina imagined herself saying.

There was another modern-day invention she had greatly enjoyed. The strap-on. Emma had really enjoyed that too. She imagined herself wearing one as she approached 'Maleficent'. As she stripped her naked. Seeing every curve. Every drop of sweat. Every goosebump.

Maleficent would be wet for her too. Why wouldn't she be? Her cunt would be nearly steaming with heat, the flesh of her thighs damply glistening. Her clit straining from beneath its hood, eager to catch Regina's eye, darker in color than the rest of her sex, like a fruit just waiting to be plucked (or like Emma's, if Regina was being honest, which she wasn't). Regina could just picture the slight resistance as she eased the dildo into that narrow, needing cunt.

Then she moaned as she ran the vibrations of her real dildo over the lips of her labia. Maybe not needing, per se, but definitely appreciative. And sure, she knew the two sensations weren't exactly the same—not without some expert magic, at least—but it was her fantasy and if she wanted some additional stimulation as she dildo-fucked Angelina Jolie, that was her right.

"You're beautiful!" Maleficent would gasp, shocked by Regina at the height of her beauty, in the magnificence of her power, Regina's expression sneeringly invincible as she dominated her effortlessly. Maleficent would be even more surprised to discovered just how lustful her own ravishment was making her. Surely, she'd never had as good a fuck as Regina Mills.

And Regina would prove it. She'd reward Maleficent for her honesty with hard, driving thrusts. The same kind Emma liked. She'd watch Maleficent's entire body shake, those exquisite breasts jiggle, all of her being nothing more than pleasured receiving of whatever effort Regina deigned to expend on her.

"You're power and fire and beauty!" Maleficent would exclaim. "And much more sexy than me! You're so good, your highness! So good!"

"You dirty slut," Regina would reply (and here Regina dug the vibrator in, the

vrrrrrrrttttttt

of vibration seeming to intensify once it dipped into her cunt—as she imagined Maleficent's sex would tighten on her dildo as she heard Regina name her with such painful accuracy). "You really thought you were queen? You really thought you knew what power was?" Then Regina would really let her have it—right to the hilt—watching those famous lips part in a gasping pitch. The only fit tribute to what Regina was doing to her. "All those years playing nursemaid and flirting with your raven. Well, you're going to get more

cock

from me than you could ever get from him."

And Maleficent would moan in pleasure, knowing how brutally Regina would use her body, picturing it in her mind like a treasured memory. She would rub her thighs together; her pussy would clench. She would be more submissive than ever, knowing how pleasurable it could be to serve a true queen. There would be nothing she could do to stop the desperate, shameless need rising within her body.

Fuck,

Regina hadn't known how excited this would get her. She really had needed this. And Emma (stupid,

stupid

Emma!) had missed out on it. Regina wanted to scream in her face:

everything I'm doing to some goddamn fictional character, I could be doing to you!

But Emma just laid there. Snoring a little.

Regina forced her mind away from Emma's idiocy, imagining Maleficent beneath her, taking pulse after pulse of satisfaction from Regina's punishing dildo. Those lips gasping, begging for more. Those big, black-rimmed eyes wide open with surprise at her own submissiveness, at how much she was enjoying being Regina's

bitch.

Just like Emma had been, the first time Regina's taken her. Had she really thought it would all be sweet kisses and two fingers?

Regina clenched the vibrator between her thighs, letting go of it for the moment. Its vibrations purred into her inner thighs, pooling at her groin but not quite penetrating. It was actually a little relaxing—she'd been in danger of making herself too sensitive, giving herself an orgasm that was fast but not satisfying. Or if it was satisfying, not

exquisite.

She deserved exquisite. It was her fantasy, her kingdom, and she would go slow, take her time, and

completely

get

everything

she wanted.

Smiling at Emma—

wouldn't you like to be doing this?—

she stroked her breasts. Felt her nipples harden, the muscles of her thighs tighten up, the moan in her own throat as her desire renewed itself. She gyrated her hips, a nice slow dance along the mattress, letting the vibrations of her dildo

just

reach her cunt.

Regina thought she would enjoy watching Maleficent orgasm most. She certainly did with Emma. As much fun as it was to trib with her, to taste her, her absolute favorite position was to lie beside Emma and bring her to climax with no more than her fingers. She didn't even care if Emma reciprocated. She loved being able to focus all her energy, all her attention, squarely on this one lucky bitch. To enjoy every facet, every little nuance of Emma's pleasure. To see that captivating moment when Emma was in her power. No, when Emma

gave herself over

to Regina. No fear. No recrimination. Nothing but accepting the ecstasy Regina gave to her with love and gratitude and a desperate,

desperate

need for more.

Then again, there was something to be said for the flash of fear in Maleficent's eyes. As she worried that it was over. That this was all the time she would ever have with the splendor that was the Evil Queen.

Regina clutched her nipples between her thumbs, her forefingers—so soft, so light, not callused like Emma's at all. They just meant she had to pinch them harder. Until they hurt. She didn't mind the pain. She wanted it. She wanted to feel everything, every ripple of pleasure that rolled up and down her body, that flooded her pussy and filled her mouth with moans.

Regina would fuck Maleficent again. Just when she wasn't expecting it, when she'd barely begun to catch her breath and her cunt was still too hot, too stimulated, too sensitive. She would lean over the woman, her breasts hanging low, nipples tight, throbbing, aimed at those luscious lips. Shoved in-between them. Maleficent would take it without question. And oh, how she'd

suck...

Regina pulled on her nipples until the flesh all around them was taut. Then she released her grip, letting her breasts bounce back into place, the feeling overwhelmingly

hers.

This was all for her pleasure, her benefit. She loved the utterly indulgent selfishness of it.

Enough strap-on business. Regina had been generous, giving Maleficent an orgasm while she hadn't proved her worth at all, but that wasn't the case anymore. She would pull away, take the dildo off, leaving Maleficent panting, begging.

"That was... perfection!" Maleficent would say, abject admiration in her voice. "You conquered me—ruled me! My body was yours! You used me exactly as you saw fit!"

"And now it's time to thank me for it," Regina would say, turning around. Letting Maleficent see her ass, and if all of her was perfect,

that

was possibly the most perfect part of her. The succulent cheeks jostling slightly, expectantly awaiting Maleficent's presence. Maleficent would be apprehensive—of course she would be—but too submissive not to do what Regina so obviously wanted. Not when it could get her the strap-on again.

Maleficent would drop that lovely, angular face to Regina's plump ass and she would kiss it, she would devour it, she would taste it, even more eager to please than Emma was. And Regina would plant her hands on her hips, stand legs akimbo, and laugh as this pathetic upstart realized her place.

Regina placed her hands on her breasts, nipples throbbing against the heels of her hands, fingers spread wide, pressing down hard—her breasts too firm to flatten much, she realized with a gratified smile. Gripping tightly, she moved her hands in slow, sensual circles, up toward her neck, down toward her tummy, grinding her nipples into her palms, gripping, tightening, everything sensitive, everything

feeling.

Regina pressed her breasts together, purring to herself like a kitten as she felt the pressure mount far beyond what her hands could do. Her clit pulsed insistently, needing attention. Time to give it. She reached down to the vibrator and dragged it through her tightly drawn thighs, feeling the vibrations reach further, further...

As Maleficent's queen, Regina would be a just ruler. She'd teach her all the joys of lovemaking. The uses of various toys, various positions, various pains. There were so many sensations to experience; no way of knowing which were best for you unless they'd been tried. Regina had a feeling Maleficent would've liked quite a lot of them. She would writhe and moan for just about anything Regina did to her, but Regina would love best the ones that made her come wetly.

She'd enjoy tormenting Maleficent with those—a finger in her ass, a well-placed slap, a hand in her hair. And Maleficent would learn quickly. Regina was an excellent teacher. She would pick up how Regina liked to be kissed, and where, and when. They would moan and sigh and whimper with passion as they taught each other the secrets of their bodies. Numerous times. Delighting and exciting one another. Maleficent was a born bottom, but there was hope for her. Perhaps Regina would enjoy teaching her how to punish still more submissive lovers. While she watched, of course.