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Coming home from work to a quiet house, Regina moves through the foyer, dropping her keys into the bowl by the door as she kicks off her heels. Entering the kitchen, she stops at what she finds within. Emma stands at the stove, spatula in hand, hips swaying to the soft sound of music coming from the other side of the room. She stares for a minute, wondering if she’s dreaming as her mind boggles at the thought of Emma cooking, of all things. “What are you doing?”
Emma starts but relaxes instantly, recognizing her voice and glancing over a shoulder as she answers with a question of her own. “What’s it look like?”
Regina glides closer, eyes roaming from counter to counter before landing on the stove where pots are boiling and what looks like steak sits in the pan that Emma hovers over. “You,” she says, slipping her arms around the blonde and pressing against her back, “destroying my kitchen.”
“Rude,” Emma grins.
“But accurate,” Regina retorts, peering over her shoulder and humming as the smell of onions rises to greet her. She doesn’t comment, but can’t deny that her mouth waters at the scent, regardless of the surprise she still hasn’t quite shaken off.
“You always cook for us,” Emma explains, turning her head and pressing a loving kiss to her cheek. “I wanted to return the favour.”
Regina smiles, warmth suffusing her chest as she begins tugging the blonde’s shirt from the waistband of her jeans, suddenly amorous. “How very domestic of you,” she murmurs, nuzzling her jaw.
“Stop that,” Emma chides with a playful roll of her eyes.
“Don’t blame me,” Regina purrs, fingers gliding beneath the hem of her shirt. “My hands have a mind of their own; they’re very grateful for how thoughtful you’re being, Miss Swan.”
“Regina,” Emma laughs, stomach clenching beneath the warm touch as she feels the light caress of familiar, plump lips ghosting over her pulse point.
“I love cooking, especially for you and Henry,” Regina reminds, taking the spatula from her hand and tucking it beneath the lip of the frying pan as she turns the blonde in her arms and adds, “If you really want to thank me, however, I know a rather more pleasurable way you can show your appreciation.”
“I’ve already started,” Emma protests, ignoring the sudden heat in her veins and laughing softly as Regina’s lower lip juts out. “Don’t pout, you look ridiculous.”
“Rude.”
Emma grins and shakes her head, pecking her on the lips before she turns back around and says, “But accurate.”
Resigned to letting her cook, Regina sighs and pulls back, retreating to the center island. She sits, eyes lighting up as she’s hit with an idea. “I’ll handle dessert,” she announces, smirking when she hears the fond sigh in return.
“Yes dear.”