(Once Upon A Time) True Lust

[salmon_pink]

Title: True Lust
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Pairing: Emma/Mary Margaret
Rating: NC-17
Words: 778
Timeline: Pre-curse breaking
Notes: BDSM. Bondage. Fisting. Incest. Orgasm denial. Public sex. Spanking. Toys. For a prompt at ouatkinkmeme.
Summary: What they have may not be the stuff of fairy tales, but that doesn't make it any less addictive.



Emma isn’t in love with Mary Margaret. She told herself a long time ago that she’d never fall in love with anyone ever again, that she’s no longer capable of it.

Sure, Mary Margaret makes her feel warm and happy. She makes Emma feel safe, an experience that makes Emma’s gut churn, because it’s so damn unfamiliar. She makes Emma smile, even on the worst of days, and just having their fingers laced together can leave Emma feeling content.

But she isn’t in love. She can’t be.

That doesn’t change the fact that she’s grown possessive of Mary Margaret.

That doesn’t change the fact that she can’t get enough of the other woman’s skin.

So pale, creamiest white beneath Emma’s fingers, and the scratch of her nails leaves the prettiest pink marks down her chest. Small, tight little nipples, and Mary Margaret croons so beautifully for her when Emma worries at them with her teeth. Sucking love-bites along her ribs, along her collarbone, knowing they’ll be throbbing beneath the fabric of Mary Margaret’s clothes, even when they’re apart. Marks of ownership, ones nobody else can see, Mary Margaret’s cardigans always buttoned to the top, but Emma knows where every hickey lies beneath that respectable exterior.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough. Even knowing Mary Margaret is wearing the bite-marks of Emma’s lust, she still wants more. Sending texts, sending photos, never when Mary Margaret is at school, but during the evenings when Emma’s at work and her cunt feels empty without Mary Margaret’s fingers thrusting deep.

Sneaking to the bathroom, unbuttoning her shirt or jeans, taking pictures, writing captions, all the ways she can’t wait to fuck once she’s home. Knowing Mary Margaret will be waiting for her at door, eyes dark and pussy wet, ready to pounce with a needy whimper.

Emma’s addicted to Mary Margaret’s sex noises. The breathy little sighs when Emma licks at her neck, the harsher sounds when Emma’s hand twists in her hair and holds her facedown on the bed. The hoarse cries when Emma licks her open, the grunts when she fucks the tightness of her ass with a strap-on, the scream when she sucks at Mary Margaret’s clit until she’s clawing at Emma’s scalp and trembling for how many times she’s come.

Dragging those orgasms from her body is heaven, but sometimes Emma likes the opposite. Sometimes she likes to get lost in the picture Mary Margaret makes when she’s twisting in the sheets, wrists bound to the headboard, cunt soaked and flushed a deep red, begging for Emma’s touch. She can keep her on edge for hours like that, feather-light touches and teasing kisses, until Mary Margaret is crying and promising Emma the stars in the sky.

They’ve fucked everywhere in the apartment, so many times Emma’s lost count. In their beds, of course, but in the bathroom too. On their knees in the shower, sprawled across the tiled floor. Against the sink, Mary Margaret’s fingers gripping the rim, Emma’s hand around her throat holding her head up and forcing her to watch herself in the mirror. They’ve fucked in the kitchen, on the countertop and against the fridge, eaten food off each other’s bodies. In the living area, on the table, laying on the stairs, the edge of the steps digging into Emma’s back.

The sex has followed them outside of their home too. She’s eaten Mary Margaret out at the Sheriff’s office, stripped her from the waist down and pushed her across her desk. They’ve fingered each other in the bathroom at Granny’s, hands over their mouths to keep their voices in check, and she’s even bought Mary Margaret off sat in the booth, side by side with her hand in Mary Margaret’s lap, thumb rubbing her through the white cotton of her panties.

They’ve had sex in the woods so many times that Emma’s jeans have permanent grass stains.

Mary Margaret is so eager for her, so ready to do anything Emma suggests, so trusting and so hungry. Letting herself be bent over Emma’s knee, ass reddening beneath the slap of Emma’s palm. Opening herself, spreading wide, until Emma’s whole hand can push inside her, eyes rolling up in her head. Seemingly so innocent, with her demure gaze and her knee-length skirts, and Emma likes it that way. Likes that nobody knows just how Mary Margaret wants it, likes that it’s Emma’s knowledge alone, the only one who knows the way Mary Margaret groans for Emma’s tongue, the way she bucks her hips for more.

It isn’t love. Emma isn’t capable of that.

But with Mary Margaret, it’s as close as Emma thinks she can get.