Table of Contents

damelola - Hips Don’t Lie

ONCE UPON A TIME - EMMA SWAN/REGINA MILLS

Hips Don’t Lie

damelola

Title: Hips Don’t Lie

Pairing: Emma/Regina

Rating: PG13

Spoilers: Nothing too specific, but say anything up to 1x13 just in case.

Disclaimer: Not mine! No profit. If I did own them, Storybrooke would be like a boozy late night at Lilith Fair. Written for my beloved girlie_girl_23, who deserves all the most wonderful things!

Summary: Having struck a tentative truce with Regina, Emma decides that somebody has to make the Mayor relax a little. She has no idea what she just got herself into…

On Livejournal: http://fictorium.livejournal.com/64637.html

Hips Don’t Lie

damelola

“Regina, you need to get drunk worse than pretty much anyone I’ve ever met. Or get laid. Or both,” Emma is aware that she just crossed so far over the line that she’s already homesick for the line. But hell, she’s in it now. Her bright ideas are always more trouble than they’re worth, and still they keep on coming.

Since deciding that Regina just needed to have her human side unearthed in order to make Henry happier, Emma has been on a mission to do exactly that. It’s meant ducking a lot of verbal abuse (and the occasional thrown ornament) but the breakthroughs have been coming, one by one. In another life, Emma might even have considered Regina a friend, but right now she’ll settle for ‘the person Regina practices being human with’.

“I beg your pardon?” Regina splutters, her face flushing with what could be anger or embarrassment. It’s been a revelation to Emma that Regina even feels embarrassment, but with a crack in her facade all kinds of things are newly visible. Emma can’t help looking for more and more information about this woman who’s fascinated her since that first glass of Scotch almost a year ago.

“You should get drunk,” Emma repeats the sentiment. “Not some weakass alcoholic cider by the glass or two. I mean, Girls Gone Wild, Spring Break in Tijuana, I just got my first fake ID drunk.”

“Ah, there’s the role model my son so clearly needs,” Regina says with a pout. But there’s a glimmer in her eyes that suggests she’s not completely against the idea. “But drinking alone is just sad. Not to mention the early start I have tomorrow.”

“Oh, not tonight,” Emma assures Regina. “But it is kind of, um, girls’ night tomorrow? A few of us were going––”

“I don’t socialize with the citizens of Storybrooke,” Regina points out. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Appropriate is boring, Madam Mayor. I’ll be at the Rabbit Hole from 7 tomorrow, right after my shift. You should come and join us.”

“Whoever named that dive should be shot,” Regina grouses. “And I could be busy. But we’ll see.”

“Yes, we will,” Emma promises, standing up to leave Regina’s office. “Trust me, it’s gonna do you a world of good. Can you get a babysitter for Henry?”

Regina’s glare says quite plainly that of course she can, and that Emma had maybe better start heading back towards that line she sailed past a little while ago. Emma, a lifelong expert in taking the damn hint, does exactly that.

* * * * *

Emma’s phone has been blowing up with texts for the past half hour, but she’s only just managed to get Leroy wrestled into his usual cell (or his ‘suite’ as he likes to call it when he sobers up) and the clock is saying it’s almost eight. She finally locks him in and starts scrolling through the flurry of texts from Mary Margaret and Ashley.

It starts calmly enough, with a simple working late? and see you soon? from each woman respectively. But a few minutes later Mary Margaret sends a not–that–cryptic–really you will NEVER guess who just walked into The Rabbit!!!!. Ashley follows up with OMG OMG Mayor is here!. Emma feels her blood run cold. It’s bad enough that she forgot about her plans to get Regina hammered (which honestly, might be the dumbest idea she’s had in a long time) but now she’s effectively standing Regina up? Dead woman walking, Emma thinks as she shoves her badge into her pocket and her gun into her purse. She’s never technically off–duty in a town this size, after all.

She runs the whole six blocks to the bar, a little out of breath by the time she arrives. Emma scans the milling crowd for familiar faces, her eyes falling on Ruby first. Ruby, as ever, has a drink in her hand and a wicked smile on her face––so Regina can’t have derailed things too badly. At least the music is still playing, and nobody appears to be hiding under tables to escape their fearless leader, so Emma counts that as an early victory.

“Is Regina here?” Emma yells over the music. Ruby doesn’t hear her the first time, but after a repeat she gets the idea.

“Yeah!” Ruby confirms. “I had to look after her. Everyone else is way too scared.”

Emma gulps. Hard. This is a less than ideal turn of events. Although, if the mission really is to get Regina plastered, at least she’ll be on target; Ruby is like a one–way pass to oblivion if you ask her nicely.

“What did you do?” Emma shouts, trying not to groan at the news.

“Oh, I introduced her to rum cocktails and stole her blazer. She came to a bar in a blazer,” Ruby confirms with a super–dramatic eye roll. “She’s looking for you, though.”

“Great,” Emma says, only to feel Mary Margaret tugging at her arm.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret pulls her into a hug. She’s clearly had the grand total of two watery cocktails that get her drunk already. Emma tries to relax, but really she just can’t get the hang of this touchy–feely crap. At the first possible opportunity she stirs Mary Margaret towards their regular booth in the corner, and at least there it’s quiet enough to actually hear each other.

“Where’s Regina?” Emma demands, shrugging out of her jacket.

“Can you believe she’s here?” Mary Margaret asks, wide–eyed in surprise. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a bar before. Although, I guess she’s a single mother with no friends, so––”

“Mary Margaret!” Emma snaps a little, to get the focus back on her original question. “Where is she?”

“She was over by the bar,” Mary Margaret says with a shrug. “I’m gonna dance – you coming?”

“Not right now,” Emma hedges, feeling more comfortable in her tank top and tight black jeans. She knows that plenty of guys are already giving her the once over, ready to ply her with drinks if she drops the tough gal act and bats her eyelashes a little. Tonight though, that doesn’t interest Emma in the slightest. She wants to find Regina, and get her hands on some vodka––not necessarily in that order.

The bar, it turns out, is where Emma completes both of her missions. The harassed–looking bartender fetches Emma a double vodka cranberry, and when she takes the first sip (well, gulp) Regina appears at her elbow as if by magic.

“You’re late, Sheriff,” Regina says with a noticeable pout. Her hair is mussed and her lipstick not the deep plum she usually wears, but even in a simple black shift dress she looks good. Emma envies the woman her endless wardrobe and constant ability to look put together, even if some of those skirts and shoes look more like instruments of torture sometimes. Searching Regina’s face quickly, Emma adds the flushed cheeks and slightly glassy eyes to the faded lipstick in her mental dossier on Regina’s state of drunkenness. It would seem the Mayor is already past her first fancy pink drink.

“I’m off–duty,” Emma reminds her. “So call me Emma. And you’re right, I am late. That means you have to let me buy you a drink.”

“Don’t be silly, dear,” Regina says as she leans over Emma to get the bartender’s attention. The man scurries to fill the silver shaker next to him on the counter. “I haven’t paid for a drink in years.”

“Your job has some nice perks,” Emma points out, raising her voice to compensate for the fact that the music volume just got jacked up again.

“Drink up, Emma,” Regina warns. “You’re already way off the pace.” And with a flick of her wrist, Regina sends the bartender into a panic again, until moments later Emma has a second double vodka resting next to Regina’s waiting cocktail on the bar.

“You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?” Emma says once she’s done with draining her first glass.

“You have no idea,” Regina says with an actual, honest–to–God wink. Emma feels herself tense up in fear for just a moment, before reaching for the next drink. When she turns back to Regina, the mayor and her drink have disappeared into the growing crowd.

Emma thinks about taking off in search again, but figures that this time she’ll let Regina come to her. Right now, the music is pulsing up from the floorboards and Emma wants to let her hair out of the messy ponytail her workday required and dance like it’s Friday night and she doesn’t have a single care in the world. Luckily, at least one of those things is true.

It isn’t hard to find Ruby and Ashley on the dancefloor (well, it’s a vague square of floor not occupied by tables, so close enough). Emma leaves her empty second glass on someone else’s table and jumps in to join the other girls in shaking off the stresses of the week. The song is familiar, even if Emma couldn’t pick the singer out of a line–up, and soon they fall into their favorite habit of trying to crack each other up with faux–sexy bumping and grinding that has the men whistling and the women who don’t know them glaring. It only picks up when the song gives way to Madonna, whose voice Emma definitely does recognize, and it’s one of those club remixes that make a fun song even easier to dance to.

She’s singing along (well, most of the words) and shaking her hair out of her face, so when someone starts grinding against Emma’s ass she just assumes it’s Ruby. But Ruby and Ashley are both right in front of her, which raises the improbable idea that it’s Mary Margaret. The teacher will dance, sure, but not like this. So Emma turns round to find Regina dancing right there in Emma’s personal space, and before Emma can say anything, Regina’s hands grip on to Emma’s shoulders.

“Am I doing this right?” Regina hisses against Emma’s ear, leaning in.

“Yes?” Emma yells back, not quite sure what parallel universe she stumbled into. Hell, maybe she really is down the goddamned rabbithole after all. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to…”

“I want to!” Regina yells, smiling in that shark–like way of hers. If sharks were, well, hot. And capable of keeping perfect rhythm against Emma’s body.

Ruby and Ashley, the traitorous wusses, peel away from their little group area and keep their distance from the Mayor. Emma decides to stop thinking quite so damn much about it, because Regina is really a lot of fun to dance with. Their bodies roll in time to the beat, sometimes touching, sometimes drifting apart. Every so often, Regina will grab hold of Emma again, and maybe she just finds it hard to keep balance in those S&M heels.

Two songs, maybe three, fly by as Emma dances away her tension. The tension coming from Regina is a very different kind, and it feels like in the semi–darkness punctuated by flashes of colored light, that electricity might actually be crackling in the air around them. Eventually their luck runs out, and the DJ selects a total dud that tells Emma it’s time for another drink.

“Come on,” she says, almost as an afterthought. Emma reaches for Regina’s hand and tugs her from the dancefloor towards the bar. It’s as surprising to Regina as it is to Emma that Regina actually allows the contact. Maybe anything is fair game after you’ve been dance partners.

Emma barely tastes the next drink – the exertion and the new nervousness around Regina having left her mouth completely dry. She waves for another, before Regina can drain her rum and fruit concoction, and this time Emma slaps down cash to pay for them both. There’s something in the gesture of pulling a banknote from her pocket and taking charge that Emma likes, and it sort of feels like a date in that moment. Oh, she’s never had any trouble sleeping with women, but dating is a whole other minefield that she usually avoids. Not to mention that even the idea would probably make Regina’s head explode.

“Having fun?” Emma asks, leaning in to speak against Regina’s ear. Emma tries not to shiver as a strand of Regina’s hair brushes her face.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Regina admits, staring too intently at her next drink. “Maybe this is exactly what I needed.”

“Great!” Emma says, surprised that she actually means it. It’s kind of fun to see Regina looking happy, and not in that evil way she has of looking happy––the way that generally means something really terrible just happened to someone else. Emma feels pretty good about helping to put that smile on Regina’s face.

“I’m just going to the ladies room,” Emma says, feeling flushed from all the pressing in close and accidental contact to make themselves heard. “See you on the dancefloor?”

Regina nods, lifting her glass to her lips once more. Emma takes off and fights her way through the line in the ladies room. Since she only wants to splash some water on her face, she pushes past the assortment of tipsy women all waiting their turn.

There’s barely time to turn on the faucet before Ruby pounces with a squeal.

“Why were you dancing with the Mayor?” she asks, that glint in her eye that says Ruby is just dying for a little bit of scandal.

“She needs to let off some steam,” Emma explains with what she hopes is an indifferent shrug. “I thought it might make all our lives easier if she lightens up a bit.”

“Uh huh,” Ruby says, folding her arms. She’s not buying it. “And when you were getting all butch up by the bar?”

“I was not!” Emma protests, blushing at how that was exactly what she felt. Dammit.

“Be careful, Emma Swan,” Ruby looks deadly serious for the first time since Emma’s met her.

“I’m a big girl, Ruby,” Emma shoots back. “And anyway, I gotta go––I love this song.”

That much isn’t a lie, at least. Emma has always had a soft spot for Shakira songs, especially on long drives or those grudging Sunday mornings spent cleaning her apartment. And for ‘Hips Don’t Lie?’? Well, like hell is Emma missing her chance to dance to that.

She’s scanning the dancefloor for Regina when Emma hears the commotion from the bar. A bunch of guys are closing in around the long wooden counter like a pack of wolves, and a second later Emma sees why – Regina just got to her feet. On top of the bar.

“Goddammit,” Emma mutters to herself. Four cocktails (that Emma knows of, anyway) and Regina the Stepford Mayor has gone full Coyote Ugly on her. This is so coming back to bite Emma on the ass as soon as Regina sobers up.

She pushes into the throng of guys, hating every single one of them for their totally predictable response. But somewhere in the pushing and shoving, Emma looks up, and the sight is enough to stop her in her tracks.

Regina, not content to just get up on the bar in the first place, is now striding along it, spilling drinks and getting wolf–whistles with every step. The bartender looks like he wants to kill her, but he still knows better than to question the actions of the Mayor.

The crowd are going nuts––some of them laughing, but most are cheering and whistling like this is some low–budget strip club. And the thought of Regina stripping both thrills and chills Emma in roughly equal measure. It would definitely be one hell of a show, maybe even good enough to make Emma’s inevitable murder worth it.

As Regina raises her arms above her head and surrenders her body to the pulsing music, Emma finds herself pushing forward again. This time though, she has no intention of stopping Regina. Part of Emma actually wants to be up there, dancing with her. It takes a lot of strength, but Emma finally levers herself into position, and gets up on her knees on the surface of the bar. Thankfully, most people have seen sense now and actually removed their drinks.

Regina looks thrilled by this development, stopping her dance long enough to step in and pull Emma up to standing. Though Emma’s head is pleasantly reeling and the faces on the floor are indistinct, she still feels just a little self–conscious at her latest impulsive decision. All that evaporates the minute Regina grabs Emma’s hips, though, pulling her close and starting up quite the little show.

At some point, one of Regina’s thighs ends up between Emma’s own, and it’s really a bump and a grind away from Emma getting herself busted for public indecency (although she’s honestly not sure her Deputy would have the guts to arrest her). The hoots and hollers fade into so much background as Emma moves in time to Regina, watching Regina’s face and the way she bites down on her bottom lip as she feels the dance, step by step.

Too damn soon, the song comes to an end, and Emma finds herself wishing for some kind of extended remix instead. That’s when the goons on the floor think it’s okay to get handsy though, so Emma has to kick and threaten her way down off the bar. It’s almost funny how quickly each moron remembers that she’s the Sheriff and can actually bust them all.

Emma turns back to help Regina down, as another cheesy pop song starts blaring. Instead of taking Emma’s hand and climbing down, though, Regina sits on the bar and lets Emma lift her off. Somehow, Regina doesn’t end up standing on the floor, but instead she has her legs wrapped around Emma’s waist and her hands in Emma’s hair.

“I thought the show was over,” Emma gasps.

“Who said it was a show?” Regina smirks, cocking one eyebrow in challenge. “Let’s get some fresh air.”

This time she does untangle her legs, standing upright with a gymnast’s poise. Emma isn’t really sure what in the hell is going on, but outside sounds a lot more promising than all the eyes she can feel on them from every side of the room.

They detour via Emma’s booth for her to grab both jacket and purse, before heading to the back and the fire exit that’s supposed to be closed and alarmed, but in reality is neither. As the door swings open, Emma feels Regina’s hand on her ass, and there’s really no dancing related reason in this abandoned alleyway where the music is more of a distant thump–thump.

“Uh, Regina?” Emma asks, finding herself backed against the brick wall of the bar. Which, admittedly, has made Regina take her hand off Emma’s ass. “Is this––”

Regina cuts her off with a kiss, firm and direct and not waiting for a signal. Emma knows she has to protest right now, but something is firing in her brain that feels a lot like a rocket taking off. Trust Regina, with her perfect clothes and her perfect hair, to also be a knee–shakingly good kisser. Eventually, Emma gets her shit together and gently pushes Regina away.

“Are you rejecting me, Miss Swan?” Regina looks insulted and amused at the same time. She tilts her head in that slightly scary way that suggests she’s about to pounce, and Emma isn’t sure that’s good news at all.

“No!” Emma jumps in to correct. “No, no, I’m not! But I don’t want this to be because you’re drunk.”

“Awwww,” Regina mocks. “You don’t want to take advantage of me?”

“Right,” Emma agrees, nodding her head to emphasize the point. (Even if taking advantage of Regina sounds like an incredible idea right now). “I just wanted you to have some fun, let your hair down.”

“But this was your plan, wasn’t it? Get me drunk and get me laid? Are you going to quit halfway though?” Regina is bracing herself with palms against the wall either side of Emma.

“I didn’t…” Emma scrunches up her face in confusion. “I meant get drunk or get laid. And I wasn’t volunteering.” There’s no denying that her voice has suddenly gone very high.

“What a pity,” Regina mutters, leaning in like she might just steal another kiss. “And for the record, there’s no way in hell that four watery cocktails could get me drunk.”

“You’re not drunk?” Emma is confused. And there’s that slow, dawning realization that sweeps over her––and not for the first time in her short time of knowing Regina. “Madam Mayor, are you playing me?”

“Not at all,” Regina fires back. “But as an excuse to act on your obvious attraction to me, this is quite brilliant, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You were dancing. On a bar,” Emma blurts. “A bar, Regina. In front of people!”

“I am capable of having fun, dear,” Regina is pouting again, apparently Emma is hurting her feelings with all the shock and indignation.

“But––” Emma starts to stutter again.

“Emma,” Regina cuts her off, taking one hand from the wall and tangling it in Emma’s blonde curls. “We can analyze this for the next hour, or we can just get back to the fun part.”

“The kissing?” Emma squeaks.

“Mmmhmmm,” Regina says, her lips suddenly an inch away from Emma’s own. “To start with.”

“Oh,” Emma breathes, before seizing the initiative with a kiss of her own. Regina’s mouth is warm and insistent as she kisses back, and Emma finds herself reluctant to stop even when she’s light–headed and struggling to breathe properly.

“Wow,” Emma says when they do finally part. Regina just preens a little, because she’s a little bit competitive even about this, apparently.

“Take me home,” Regina whispers against Emma’s ear, before pressing a trail of kisses along Emma’s jaw.

And that, Emma has to admit, is absolutely the best idea she’s ever heard.

~ ~ ~