A/N: I am sorry in advance.

When Emma established that the winner of their modification of 'the floor is lava' aptly nicknamed 'the skin is lava' could do whatever they wanted to the loser for three days, this was nowhere near what she had in mind. Certainly nowhere near what her thoughts were when she lost that round a little too quickly.

She looked over at Regina and the inconspicuous smirk tugging at the brunette's lips. Emma narrowed her eyes; that bitch so did it on purpose. Oh no no no, Regina Mills did not misunderstand. Regina Mills planned. And right now, her plan was clearly to drive Emma fucking nuts.

Now, Emma had two choices. Either she could suffer through three hours of a theatrical performance of One Hundred Years of Solitude - yeah, basically how it felt - in silence, or, or she could have her revenge for a spoiled evening. Given the circumstances and the fact that there was no way in hell she would submit to this mindless abuse so willingly, Emma's decision arrived within seconds of the initial idea.

"For the revolution!" exclaimed colonel Buendía on the stage, ripping a symbolic flag to shreds.

For the revolution indeed.

The darkness surrounding the balcony served as a shroud for Emma's hand as it made its way to Regina's hip, settling on the waistband of her skirt. Regina flinched and threw a suspicious glance at Emma, who suddenly seemed unnaturally interested in the play, her brows furrowed, her chin resting in her palm. Nothing but the mischievous twinkle in her eye gave the girl away. Emma waited until the hall fell into deadly silence during a dramatic scene when nothing but the shuffling of feet on wood could be heard - and sneaked her hand underneath Regina's shirt, up her abdomen.

"Emma," Regina growled, thankful that the only inhabitants of the row they were in were seated several seats away.

The woman in question drew a straight line the length of a thumb on Regina's belly, followed by a curve that would have resembled a crooked chair. Regina bit her lip to keep her ticklish self from squirming. Then she realized - Emma was... writing?


A series of languidly paced A's followed.


"Anything I want," Regina replied.




Regina grabbed Emma's wrist, stilling it in place. She was most certainly surer than the sun in the morning.


Emma retreated then, and for a minute Regina did think she had coerced her. She couldn't have been more wrong.

In a moment of distraction, Emma quickly resumed where she left off, slipping past the first bothersome layer to trace the outline of Regina's panties with the tip of her finger. Regina kicked her foot. This didn't correspond with the rules they'd set, and while those people weren't sitting right next to them, it was no secret to either of them that the other could get quite... vocal in their passion, so to speak. But to be frank, Regina would be lying if she were to imply that she had never fantasized about this, though perhaps in less dignified circumstances. Allowing this in a theatre seemed like overkill for Emma, and Regina realized that in their game, Emma would take no less than overkill.

"My son, you have returned!" rejoiced the woman on the stage.

"Swan," Regina snarled through clenched teeth one more time to no avail.

Emma leaned in to casually whisper into the brunette's ear while still keeping her eyes on the actors below. "Yeah, like Your Majesty doesn't want me to," she said, cupping Regina through her underwear. (Bless rubber bands! 8 out of 10 saviors recommend; the remaining two probably have glaring red marks on their forearms.) She stopped there, her hand like a warm shell on Regina's sex, and against her better judgement, Regina could feel her cheeks getting flushed out of sheer anticipation. Thinking Emma wouldn't resist the temptation for too long, she waited, but she failed to take into account the fact that time passes about 20 times more slowly when there's a mere millimeter of black lace separating one of the most prominent points of your nervous system from direct stimulation. About fifty out of those hundred years later, Regina trapped Emma's hand between her legs, willing her to move.

Emma smirked. She began moving her middle and ring fingers up and down, scratching at where Regina's clit would be. She turned to look at her companion - who was no doubt regretting her decision by now - and caught her biting her fingernail. Emma's smirk grew wider.

It was all Regina could do not to whimper like a starving, deprived bitch in heat. Even if she didn't want to, everything that was happening around was becoming blurry and all her mind could focus on was Emma's relentless touch. Emma was right; she did want this.

Regina clenched her teeth; she could feel herself getting wet for the other woman and you could bet Emma did too. But acknowledging that fact out loud would mean surrender, and Regina Mills never surrendered, certainly not to Emma fucking Swan, daughter of Snow fucking White and Prince fucking Charming, who just now in a crazy random happenstance happened to be, well, fucking her. She let out a low growl as Emma pushed the pad of her finger against Regina's clit and immediately regretted it, but when she checked for reactions among the audience, she saw none. Apparently a treacherous plot twist had just occurred. Who cared? Not Regina Mills, the crotch of whose panties was being tugged aside.

Emma pressed on either side of Regina's folds, spreading her out to the chilly air and getting a decent metaphorical taste of just how soaked the dreaded Evil Queen was for the lightest of touches from the one who was supposed to break her. A surge of pride welled up within her. What could she say; do things ever go the way you plan? As if to emphasize the wrongness of that assumption, Regina's hips bucked forward on their own accord, towards something that wasn't yet there. Deciding to comply - though on her own terms - Emma slid a single digit into Regina's entrance, earning herself a series of ragged breaths that made Emma's mouth run dry.

Just then, the room started to lit up, announcing the beginning of the recess. Emma pulled out in an instant, unceremoniously wiping her fingers on Regina's thigh along the way. One look from the blushing brunette told her exactly what she wanted to hear; restroom, against the wall, 10 minutes ago was too damn late and I will end your miserable existence if I can still walk afterwards or if you ever mention this (un)fortunate mishap again in your life, and don't even think that I didn't notice that maneuver you pulled on my leg. Okay, maybe Emma was imagining that last part, but ever the dutiful partner, she sure as hell would love to clean the mess she'd made. Her grin never fading, she silently praised her unmatched, er, skills (and maybe the lord as an afterthought, but hey, objectively speaking, the hell did he have to do with it?) for getting her out of there early. They wouldn't be returning for a long, long time.

Emma was also wrong; Regina wanted this long before Emma had even come up with it.