Sloth
A/N. I’ve been struck by the sin too and got too lazy to find a proper title. Just random Swan Mills family fluff (with a tinge of Swan Queen smut at the end).
All hail the horse nerds.
There’s something almost exciting, terribly new in a day without strain, efforts or responsibilities. She’s never just sat there in front of her bed without purpose, without the nagging thought of chores to do and urging matters to attend to.
It’s disconcerting at first, and she had a moment of anxious restlessness where Emma almost had to physically pin her down to stop her from going to do last night’s dishes, but now, it’s… nice.
This might be due to Emma’s fingers kneading her scalp, flowing through her hair, and Henry very intently focusing on braiding the left side of her head, carefully following Emma’s instructions. She would be purring if not for the indignity of it.
She still has a hard time believing she’s been convinced to build a pillow fort and conjure the television up to her bedroom. Not to mention she’s allowed her son and the Savior to have pancakes in her bed. In her bed. She still doesn’t know what madness has possessed her. But an enduring head massage is remarkably effective to quiet her nerves about crumbs left between the sheets.
“Jesus, this movie is such a little girl’s wet dream.”
Regina lets out a disgruntled groan, blearily opening her eyes again.
“First of all, Miss Swan, little girls don’t have wet dreams…”
“Yeah, right.”
“Secondly, I would appreciate if you refrained from using unsuitable terms for minors while Henry’s in the room.”
“Er, Mom…”
“No, Henry, now is not the time to remind me that you’re a teenage boy and quite grown-up, thank you.”
He laughs and Emma whines.
“Come on, Regina, it’s all horses and racing and freaking ribbons! I can’t believe you’re making me watch this.”
“It stars Elizabeth Taylor, Miss Swan, I thought that would be sufficient to catch your interest.”
“I’m definitely not into twelve year-old girls, thank you very much.”
“Guys, you’re ruining the movie,” Henry sighs, resting is head on top of his brunette mother’s, the braid now completed, slightly sagging but it’s not bad for a first-time braider, Emma has assured him quietly. “Velvet’s about to have her hair cut, it’s an important scene!”
“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re a horse nerd too, kid.”
“Miss Swan, I am not a horse nerd!”
“You are, Mom,” Henry says with an affectionate chuckle and a quick peck to the top of her head. “And yeah, I like that movie. We used to watch it every Christmas.”
“God, the torture this kid’s been put through…”
“He just said he enjoys the movie, Miss Swan, now please do shut up and watch.”
It doesn’t take long after that for Emma to start cheering along with Henry while Velvet rides The Pie during the big race, Regina smirking and drumming her fingers in rhythm with the hooves on her thigh. By the end of the movie, Emma and Henry high five each other and the blonde starts rambling about how they need to buy a horse so Regina can wear fancy jockey outfits and kick everyone’s ass at the races. Regina, for her part, is nervously looking out of the window, where howling and sickening laughters can be heard from time to time, her fingers now pounding on her thigh.
“Do you really think they can handle those blood-sucking hyenas on their own?”
Emma tugs gently at her braid in reproach.
“They have it handled, okay? You promised not to worry about it. Today’s Regina-no-worry day. You’ve literally been chewed and spat out by the last monster, I think those cracked ribs deserve a bit more rest.”
“Emma, I’ve healed it -”
“Hush, shhh, don’t speak, Henry, quick, put the Star War movie in before she wakes up!”
“I am awake.”
Henry rolls off the bed with a groan of inhuman effort and crawls on all fours to the pile of DVDs that have been carefully selected this morning by our three authorities, while Emma covers Regina’s eyes in earnest, pressing her cheek against her temple.
“Nope, it’s night, see, you have to rest at night, it’s the law.”
“Must you be so childish?”
“Well, I have to compensate for our son’s boring maturity.”
“Hey!” Henry calls off lazily as he slips the disc in.
“Serves you right from that time you dared call me off on my linguistic inventions.”
“Well, ‘bear-clawed’ is not a verb, Emma.”
“And supercalifragilisticexpialidocious isn’t even a word, yet that doesn’t stop you from knowing the song by heart, now, does it?”
“Emma, please stop antagonizing our son and kindly remove your hands from my eyes.”
“Oh, sorry,” she says with a sheepish grimace. “I forgot.”