Morning sex, she decides, is the best sex. Lazy and hazy and soft sounds and easy, comfortable, drowsily familiar.
And maybe a little dumb.
"C'mon, answer the question," Emma murmurs, drags her mouth across Regina's clavicle, down to that spot on the inner curve of her breast.
More than a little dumb.
"It's a stupid question," she retorts, no bite to it, and presses her lips along Emma's jawline, lets the easy rocking of their hips intensify for a beat or two. Her jaw is still a little tired, and her kisses are sloppy, unfocused. "When would the fate of the world ever—"
Emma's fingers jerk and she loses her thought. Deliberate sabotage, and they both know it. "Shh, no logic. Just choose." That sweet frowning mouth returns to her breast, covers her nipple and there's teeth and tongue and wet wet warmth. "Ass or tits. What would you sacrifice."
She wants to laugh as much as she wants Emma to just shut up. "My own?"
Emma snorts, and shakes her head, kisses her sternum. "Yes, your own, smartass."
Grinning wide, Regina cups Emma's jaw both hands, kisses her slow and deep. "And I can't say, 'Screw you, world,' can I?"
"Even though I'm the—"
"Cut the shit, you bleeding heart do-gooder," Emma grumbles, and her hand scrapes up Regina's back to tug at the ends of her hair. She has to bite down on her lip to keep the moan in, sees Emma watching her with eyes that know exactly how much she likes that. "Ass or tits."
Bull-headed little— "And if," Regina says carefully, runs the edge of her nail down that particular line of Emma's neck, leans in and scrapes up with her bottom teeth, "if I ask the Savior to choose? With all her… experience with these things."
Emma's breathing hitches and shallows but she's grinning back anyway. "Choose between these tits and this ass?" she asks, nipping at Regina's breast and letting her free hand drop to squeeze her ass.
That stupid, stupid grin gets bigger and then there's pressure to her clit again and everything gets brighter, blurrier. "Screw the world," Emma murmurs, and kisses the laughter right out of her lungs.
Breakfast is a little less chaotic than usual, because Henry's been back from his run for a while and sets the table for three in a more systematic way than Emma ever can manage. They're both still blurs of movement, though, shuffling between the pantry and the fridge and the dining room to set out three types of cereal and jelly and Nutella and this year's apple butter, and Regina just turns her back and focuses on the eggs, making sure they don't get burned while the chorizo cooks thoroughly.
Henry appears at her elbow, hair still damp from the shower, and watches quietly. "There was ham in the fridge," he says, but he's grinning.
"Your mother likes chorizo," she says, even though he already knows. "Everything set?" A flash of uncertainty in his eyes and smile, and she puts down the wooden spatula, grasps his chin lightly. He looks directly into her eyes now, and she wishes he were still small enough to believe that she can fix the whole world to his liking. "No matter what, we will be okay, sweetheart. You know that, right?"
He nods slightly, and he's trying so hard to believe. "Do you think—"
"I do," she whispers, and kisses his forehead.
A pop from the skillet startles them both; with a laugh, he steps back and gets a serving bowl from the cabinet for her. "I'm gonna go print—" and he gestures towards the study while she transfers the eggs to the bowl.
Emma's already at the table, distributing toast to each plate, and when she sees Regina she winks in that completely ridiculous way of hers. "Henry! Food!" she hollers, and reaches over to clear a trivet for the eggs. "Is that chorizo?"
"Don't say I never do anything for you," Regina replies, shooting Emma a warning look when she feels a hand on her ass.
The grin she receives is downright obscene. "If I ever say that, feel free to spank me."
"Ugh, seriously, I'm about to eat," Henry whines, rushing in from the kitchen with steady, steady steps.
"If you'd been at the table already, there wouldn't have been anything to hear," Emma counters, and serves him first.
Everything is normal for a while, intermittent silence mixed with planning for the day, reminders of tasks, and then she feels Henry's foot—boot free, brace free, ordinary if still just a little weak—push tentatively against her heel. His plate is only half empty, and she smiles, just for him, and nods.
"Ma," he says, mouth full of toast, "can you get the tabasco sauce?"
Emma, sitting closest to the kitchen, looks at him in disbelief. "You want to poison your mother's cooking with tabasco?"
Henry's eyes are wide and nervous and neither of them saw this reaction coming. "Emma, it's fine," Regina soothes, and reaches over to pat Henry's hand. "He's used to eggs with a little more kick, that's all. Would you?"
Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, Emma gets up. "Are you saying you water things down for me? Because listen, I can handle a little spice, okay." She pushes the kitchen door open just as Henry snickers. "I heard that, you little gremlin," Emma hollers through the door.
For the way Henry's relaxing, for the way Emma's abrasive humor always takes the edge off, Regina is so, so grateful.
When Emma pushes back through the door, she's got the tabasco in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other, cellophane tape shimmering at the top. "Chore chart?" she asks, and frowns. "What—look, I know I'm here a lot and if I'm not pulling my weight, I'll do better—"
There's something darker and frightened behind that frown, and it's making Henry's nervousness worse, so Regina slides out of her chair, moves to stand behind him with her hands on his shoulders, steady and reassuring. "That's more for Henry's use," she says calmly, ignoring the tightness in her lungs, "and your benefit. So he can't con you into doing his chores again."
"One time," they say together, and grin at each other, and her whole ribcage flutters open.
"But, um," and Emma's shifting her weight nervously, and the way she's almost hopeful and staunchly not makes Regina ache for her. "There's things every day. And I'm not here every day. I mean, a lot of days, but I don't want either of you to have to pick up my slack…"
She trails off because she's looking up now, and she's not almost hopeful, she's there.
And Henry, nervous and sensitive Henry, Henry takes a deep breath, and Regina squeezes his shoulders lightly, because—
Because this is happiness and they can have it.
Henry takes a deep breath. "Ma, will you move in with us?"
And there, slowly, there's that smile. Soft and slanted and sweet, sweet, sweet.