st_oriedqueen | [For Dyson] Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing

Her daughter running the stables meant Regina knew the horses from head to hock and beyond. She knew their temperaments, their quirks, their hearts... and it also meant that there was no one but Snow or the cowboy to bother her if she happened to slip out to the stables in the middle of the night.

Tonight, the moon had come up full and huge, and her memories likewise. Stolen kisses with Daniel, secret assignations with Mal or Tinkerbell, the clock in the tower stuck at 8:15 with the moon behind it, Neverland nights trying to find Henry, moonlit walks with Robin, and incongruously also moonlit rides with Graham and the wolf pack trying to find Snow. In an effort to banish them, she'd gone to the stall of her favorite, a pinto half-Arabian mare named Compass Rose who went by the barn name of Grace, with a grooming basket and carrots. The peaceful night, punctuated by the munching of hay, the whisk of Grace's tail or the soft whuffle when her muzzle looted Regina's pockets for treats, called to something in Regina, a deep, nameless yearning that ached and ached and ached.

At length, grooming the mare couldn't staunch the flow of grief, and Regina gave in to that yearning. She slipped a hackamore over Grace's head, transmuted her clothes to riding breeches and a loose-fitting top, and led the mare out of the barn. It had been half a century since the last time, but Regina leaped up to her bare back as nimbly as a rodeo acrobat, murmured praise to Grace and together they escaped into the night.

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He released her, dropping his mouth to her throat and his hands to her hips in an almost punishing grip that might leave marks later. He raked his teeth over her pulse, and increased the pace of his movements incrementally. Harder, deeper.

"Yes. This," she encouraged and hooked her hands up over his shoulders to pull him down or her up even harder. Her breath rasped, each thrust met with a short, sharp cry--until that switch flipped, her cunt tightened, and cries became the mindless mews and gasps of woman desperately close to the edge and wanting to stay there a little longer.

He growled as her body tightened around his, and pressed her thigh back looping it over his shoulder the next thrust a little deeper, a little higher his fingers taking advantage of the position to pluck at her clit.

Never one to need the extra stimulation, his fingers on her clit sent her skyrocketing, her body twisting and thrashing beneath his. Her hands skidded in the sweat on his skin, finger nails raising scratch-welts in their wake. And noisy as she'd been before this, she came breathlessly, a near silent sob of pleasure and a single, first-time use of his real name.

Right there, her uninhibited response, the arch of her body, maybe even his name on her lips tipped him over the edge and he followed her into climax with a roar.

Some small part urged Regina to shove him off of her, to grab her things and bolt. But her quivering thigh muscles said running anywhere wouldn't be happening for a good while yet, and the rest of her...didn't want to go.

She stretched beneath him and let her hand skim along his back to his ass. Sex, really good sex, made her honest and she caught his mouth between panting breaths for a kiss that didn't aim to devour him whole.

He met the kiss with equal fervor, rolling onto his back once he had control of his body again, his own legs were none too steady either, and pulled her over him. He didn't speak just looked up into her face not wanting to break the spell of this moment before kissing her gain.

Regina held his gaze a few seconds before she couldn't, lowered her head to his chest and turned her face to the side. In the moonlight, she watched her fingertips trace the vein over his bicep and his forearm. There was nothing to say, nothing she could or knew how to say, and if she tried, it would only come out wrong. As long as he was willing to have her close, she didn't want to risk it.

Probably for the best if neither of them said anything, they didn't have the best track record of talking to each other.

He stroked her back in a long smooth movement before letting his hand rest on her hip.

Not many minutes passed before laying atop him was more awkward than intimate, and again Regina felt the urge to flee. This time it was the upwelling of grief, longing, loss that provoked it, and her refusal to give in to them that made her stay.

So when she shifted, it was only to lay beside him and rest her head against his shoulder as she had when they'd danced. She'd never known how to ask for comfort because it had been punishable first, a weakness later, and a desire she couldn't admit later still. All she could do was make herself as soft as she knew how to be and hope that the wolf would stay with her a little longer.

"Cold?" He asked, using the question as an excuse to pull her close again. And she probably was cold, the night air held a chilly breeze and the grass was damp, but he wasn't ready to move.

"A little," she answered quietly and nestled closer. It wasn't in her nature to suffer the elements for long if she needn't, but it was a fair trade for the warmth of his skin against hers. Words crowded her mind, things she might want to say, and her tongue pressed behind her teeth to keep from spilling them, and she watched her hand move over his chest and belly, writing them in wordless scrolls instead.

He captured her hand, brought it to his lips to kiss her palm before tucking it against his chest with his fingers tangled with hers.

Finally, out of sheer awkwardness, words spilled out: "You don't have to act like this meant anything." Her tone was only a little defensive and not very sharp. "I don't expect it." If anything, it confused her. But she also didn't pull away or untangle her fingers from his. It had meant something to her, even if she wasn't sure what yet, but at least in the moonlit dark she didn't feel compelled to deny it.

He arched a brow that she probably couldn't see, "I'm not acting like anything."

He was just being, how he was. "It doesn't have to mean anything more than we both wanted it."

That didn't leave her any less confused. "It's not my experience that sex for it's own sake involves...much in the way of afterglow." She couldn't bring herself to say snuggling. Somehow it just seemed...perverse.

"I'm not opposed," she added after a moment. "Just surprised. Most people don't think of me as the...afterglow...sort."

"Sex for its own sake can involve as much or as little afterglow as the participants are comfortable with." He's done after glow, he's screwed a waitress on a table and went back to his drink.

There was a pause while he considered the wisdom of asking, but he did so anyway.

"Do you think of yourself as the afterglow sort?" Because wasn't that what mattered?

Did she?

"Being Queen in a world full of Kings doesn't leave a lot of space for afterglow," she reflected, but it was only a partial truth and the moment wanted honesty. "My mother ripped my boyfriend's heart out of his chest to teach me that lesson." None of that was really an answer, but vulnerability had never been her strongest suit. "I'd like to believe I can have afterglow, but it always gets torn away."

"No need to worry about it now. No one here but the two of us," a pause. "And the horse."

The smile was evident in his tone.

For a moment, hot anger flared in her chest at the feeling of being mocked. But the weight of his hand still resting on her hip, occasionally stroking her back, said otherwise.

She gave a soft, husky little laugh instead, nipped at his collarbone, and said, "In that case, hold the afterglow." Her eyes flashed and her mouth curved in a sultry, inviting smile. "For another, oh, half an hour, hm?"

"Half an hour it is," he bent to capture her mouth with his, arms tightening slightly as he pulled her closer to share body heat. "Unless you have some other ideas."

[For Dyson] Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing

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