III. Cola

"Come on baby, let's ride
We can escape to the great sunshine
We made it out to the other side"

Emma and Regina find their destination, eventually. They rode in the heat of the days, had sex in the shadows of the evening. Regina sometimes would earn them money by singing, and Emma would protect her, proud and earnest.

Regina felt her heart mend ever so slightly. She knew this part of her life to be like diamonds compared to the rest of it. Despite the greasy motels and unsavory food, there were no rules out on the road. She could come alive with Emma making her insane—but very human; the blonde was insatiable.

"C'mon," Emma held her close. "I just wanna party with my pretty baby."

"You're drunk, dear," Regina said without a hint of her usual sarcasm, being ever too appreciative that Emma had let her hair down for once, wearing grey slacks and a white button down. Tonight is Regina's night to sing jazz tunes in her black dress. They make a beautiful couple, and Regina feels her heart slowly softening, turning this infatuation into something that, in a rather irksome way, is closer to attachment.

The set goes well. Regina has a silky smooth voice, seductive against angst-ridden jazz tracks. Emma with her simple affinity for mechanics and motorcycles is not quite sure she sees the appeal for these 1950s-esque bars. But she drinks the wine all the same, willing to spend a lifetime with someone as alluring as Regina. Though they're constantly bantering, skirting topics of their childhood; Emma feels as if she knows a lot about Regina. Emma knows Regina's favorite type of flowers (gardenias), her preferred coffee order (cream, no sugar), and what side of the bed she always sleeps on (the right). And these small details are all that Emma needs to know that she wants to know everything. Which is scary, since she hasn't felt that way about anyone in a long time.

Later, when Regina receives her unexpected bouquet, Emma presses a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. Emma is blushing with her hair pulled back, and Regina kisses her back hard. They're seated in a corner booth of a restaurant, and for once it's upscale enough that Emma insists on covering the check.

"We can do it, Gene," Emma says with stars in her eyes, either too enamored or intoxicated to shield the emotion in her voice.

"What is it that we can do, Swan?" Regina practically husks her name, unapologetic. Almost everything Regina says can be taken as a sexual innuendo; or at least this is what Emma whines when she's seduced into giving up any sort of control.

"I could give you anything," Emma claims with pride. And she means it. She believes that she is capable of providing all of Regina's needs, and she knows that it's not the kind of commitment either of them can make, but Emma is drunk and she wants Regina to know.

"Oh, stop. You are being ludicrous," Regina scoffs at the implication.

"But c'mon, babe. We've made it." Emma doesn't quite finish her thought there. She's ushering Regina outside and across the street to their hotel. There's an actual concierge and elevator to remain PG for, as they heatedly kiss and nearly grope.

In the room, Emma immediately lets her restraint go. Each touch is with care and thought. Regina's skin is silky smooth on her fingertips. Every bit of her is kissed, doted on. Emma treats Regina as a queen; never rough, always nicely.

Emma kisses the valley between Regina's breasts. She puts one, then two fingers into the space between Regina's panties and her sex. She teases her there, feels the other woman's breath hitch at the touch.

"Miss Swan, why, you haven't even—fuck," Regina gasps before continuing, "—removed your button-down for me." She exerts physical effort to keep her voice as even as possible.

"Don't need to," Emma nearly growls, and Regina's arousal is heightened. "Just let me take care of you, at least for tonight."

And Emma gains dominance with those words. Regina's dark hair is let down, and Emma works on letter her tongue pleasure. Her mouth is on Regina's sex, swirling, sucking, tasting. Emma is never this precise, but tonight is a rarity.

When they finish, Emma's eyes burn brightly with passion and alertness. Regina has never felt so enlivened by another woman. (Even the older men that Regina had been with never quite brought sex to such a point of meaning and release.) It's this confidence Emma carries, that allows for Regina to feel as if she deserves to be with someone.

"What is it that brings you out here?" Emma asks innocently. She's drawing circles on Regina's hipbone, idle.

"What has caused you to take to the road so vehemently?" Regina quips back. "Can we make it to the other side?"

"Of what? The Earth isn't flat, Gene," The blonde grins, knowing how impish she's being. It annoys the older woman, to Emma's delight.

"I'm well aware of physics of this planet," Regina begins. "But I meant—will we ever make it to the other side of California? It seems we've been drifting in circles for weeks, out in the endless heat of the desert."

"I've never been to Los Angeles," Emma considers for a moment, lost in thought before replying. "Yeah sure, that's where we'll go."

The blonde continues to trace patterns on Regina, widening her scope and adding pressure. She suddenly stops when Regina moans. Although it earns her a light smack, Emma's grin is all teeth now that she has Regina's attention.

"And I don't do motorcycles, because of Daddy issues or something. I'd knock the bastard in his face if I ever knew him, and then sit down for a beer afterwards." She says this, empty and without conviction, clearly trying to hide any buried feelings. Emma always maintains her aloofness. A few moments of silence pass between them.

"To be more specific: I was a foster kid. Born and raised, property of the state." Emma drums this story out; sure that Regina has picked up at least this much. Her crew liked to talk about her with Regina. But now the other woman can confirm at least this much from the blonde herself.

"And I was quite the tyrant in my youth," Regina adds, not missing a single beat. She's still in the nude with only a cotton blanket beneath them, and though the sensation of the cheap fabric against her bare body seems crude, it is almost calming as she soaks in the heat emanating from the other woman.

"You're still young, babe—we're still young," Emma sighs without even looking up. "I've met some aged souls. You are certainly not one of them."

"Probably also the cleanest," The brunette wrinkles her nose, and though it's akin to a snob-like attitude, Emma finds that it doesn't irk her as much as it should. She loves Regina's wit. It's rare out on the road.

"I still don't know how you do it."

"Hm?" Regina sighs as Emma moves her fingers closer to her center, inviting them to start again.

"You smell like sandalwood and apples." Emma replies as if it's the most natural thing in the world to notice.

"I am, admittedly, the most civil woman you've ever met, to the thanks of my mother. But that, dear, was a lifetime ago," Regina laughs when Emma only rubs her thigh as if in disagreement.

"Did you know your pussy tastes like Pepsi cola?"

"Swan, I thought we were beyond such lecherous, inane comments," Regina blushes, even when Emma has already started again, placing wet kisses down her stomach.

A/N: I'm sorry, I had serious writer's block with the direction this story will take. But I really felt the need to post this chapter, so a shout out to anyone still following.