AN: Just a warning, this story is very dark and contains some explicit descriptions at the end. The lyrics in the story are from 'Sort Of' by Ingrid Michaelson. She's lovely and brilliant and quite possibly my emotional twin :P Anyway, if you haven't heard her sing you must look up some of her music and experience her amazingness. I never would have thought of writing this pairing if it weren't for Ayoshen, so I want to thank her for her inspiration :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters or any of Ingrid Michaelson's songs. Why do I have such horrible luck? ;)

Baby, you've got the sort of eyes that tell me tales

That your sort of mouth just will not say…

Every time I see her, every time she opens her mouth in my presence, she makes me feel like the worst possible version of me that I could be. She fills me with guilt and sorrow and a completely debilitating anger, but I don't know who I'm angry at: her, or Henry, or just myself – it's a complete mystery to me. When I'm around her, I'm forced to question everything that I thought was real and true; nothing is definite and nothing makes sense, while I'm surrounded by a cloud of confusion. The look in her eyes, the tone of her voice, the words she says, so full of malicious intent: they all send messages that clash with my head which clashes with my intuition and leaves me feeling like I've been impaled. All I'm certain of is that I can't stand to be near her, but I can't be close to Henry without being close to her. If I don't escape her sphere soon, something in me is going to snap and I'm afraid that I won't be able to control the consequences.

Baby, you've got the sort of laugh that waters me

And makes me grow tall and strong and proud and flattens me.

I try not to look at her, but sometimes I can't help it. Her smile, her laugh, stirs something in me. I lie to myself and call it hate. When I come across her in town, I hope that she'll take off her ridiculous see-through sweater or move close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from her body. These thoughts make me want to tear my hair out and I wish with all my heart that I could influence my own desires, or at least understand them. All I'm certain of is that I can't stay away from her. I rationalize this to myself by pointing out that she poses a threat to Henry and I need to keep an eye on her, but I know that isn't the whole story; there's something innate drawing us together that I'm just not able to resist. I'm aware of this weakness every moment that I'm with her and it terrifies me.

I find you stunning, but you are running me down.

There's something undeniably sexy about her, but it kills me to admit it. She utters something in her low, assertive voice and my stomach instantly flips like she's given a command. I don't even want to think about what happens between my thighs. I've never been the sort of person to be turned on by dominant behaviour, so I can't quite come to grips with this attraction. Is it wrong? Can I do anything about it? I have my doubts, but I'll try. I have to. She's slowly destroying me, attacking one part of me at a time until she conquers my entire being and can do with me as she pleases. I'm not going to let that happen; I can't let that happen. I have more pride than that.

You don't need me, but you won't leave me.

I know that she's perfectly capable of surviving on her own. I tried to use that fact to convince her to leave Storybrooke and find a new temporary home, but for whatever reason, she's determined to stay here. I can only pray that I'm able to survive until she takes off again. Every moment I'm with her serves as a reminder of what I want, but can't have, which causes a pain in my chest that's slowly consuming me. Just as I'm about to lose the ability to breathe, I find myself at the door to Mary Margaret's apartment and I know that it's over. I no longer have any say in the matter.

Baby, you've got the sort of hands to rip me apart

And baby, you've got the sort of face to start this old heart

But your eyes are warning me this early morning

That my love's too big for you my love.

I open the door and my heart stops for a moment when I see that it's her on the other side. I'm anticipating torment, anxiety, frustration, but not even a little prepared for what actually transpires. She takes two swift steps forward and sets my heart racing at twice the speed it was before she appeared in front of me. My skin burns where it comes into contact with hers and I draw back into Mary's apartment, striving to evade her touch. She follows me, though, and I don't have the strength to push her away. I don't have the strength to quell my desire. Her disparaging remarks have me nipping at her earlobes with my teeth, but that only spurs her on.

"Do you really believe that you're tough? You can't even bring yourself to leave a child who's a complete stranger to you in order to escape the pain that I dole out mercilessly."

"Maybe I like the pain," I reply, my voice husky with unshed tears and arousal.

"Are you saying that you're a masochist?" There's a glint in her eye and I'm both scared and thrilled at the thought of what my answer might set in motion.

"There's only one way to find out." I look directly at her as I utter these words and an electric current flies through my body when I see the shift in her expression. I know now that it's over and I no longer have any say in the matter.

Tell me what to do, to take away the you.

One of my hands slides under her shirt to cup a perfect breast and she exudes a quiet moan. "My God, you are weak." I couldn't resist, but as soon as I see the ire in her eyes I know that I shouldn't have pressed any further.

"Do you really believe that you're powerful? You've come here because you need me to fuck you."

It takes me a while, but eventually I manage to string some words together. "I don't need anything from you." My voice is uneven and I hope that by some miracle she can't detect the fear that is holding me captive.

"Really?" It only takes that one word to stun me and before I know what's happening, she's brought her lips to mine and is pulling me towards the couch. She lets herself fall backwards when her legs touch the cushions and I collapse on top of her, dragged down by her weight. I feel her fingers brush against my leg as she lifts up the hem of my dress and I press my knee to her core in retaliation. She holds it together much better than I do, though, rolling down my pantyhose and getting her fingers inside my panties, all while my leg is grinding against her clit. I gasp as two of her slender fingers slide into me and my hands clench around her shoulders. My mouth closes around hers to steal her breath before I lose track of our bodies entirely, enveloped by sensation. Everything is lost in our ecstasy and our determination to outdo each other. As we both climax, I cannot separate my own scream from hers. I try not to hear the despair in either of them. I clamber off the couch and watch her sit up, addicted to her image through everything. She turns away from me and I see four gouges on each of her shoulders with trails of blood slowly dripping down from them. The red seems to be a sign of our surrender and a warning of the devastation to come.

And if I was stronger then I would tell you no.

And if I was stronger then I will leave this show

And if I was stronger then I would up and go

But here I am and here we go again.