A/N: This is a babysitter au written for Swan Queen Secret Santa 2018, for BlueHoneyBee. Happy New Year to everyone!

Emma was fifteen when she first laid eyes on Regina Mills. There was the distinct feeling of dying, that Emma remembers, when she had stopped breathing and her heart had begun to pound in her ears. She didn't exactly know what it was at the time, but Emma knows now that it was merely her body's response to immediate danger (… and maybe a little bit of love).

Mary Margaret Blanchard, nicknamed Snow for her irritatingly sunny disposition, had too many trust issues to count. It wasn't so much that Emma's father had been secretly harbouring another family across town that was the matter, oh no, but rather that the world was a vast and dangerous place filled with adulterous bastards. Emma didn't care much for her mother's simmering anger behind fake smiles, but she did care when those trust issues had started to turn on her.

Being a teenager meant three things:

1. That she craved freedom,

2. That she yearned for time to figure out the changes in her life and body,

3. And that her mother's company no longer satisfied any of these things.

Mary Margaret was hurt, of course, that Emma could find her a bit stifling, but Emma needed space to think—preferably alone, away from friends who had begun to change and fawned over unattractive boys. Small things seemed to make her mother sigh in disappointment; of how Emma wanted to go to the mall with her friends alone, or how she wished to purchase clothing that did not look girly enough for her mother's tastes. Things had begun to shift, and arguments in the house ran rampant.

I need a life, Emma had yelled, and you need one too!

Perhaps, that had been the last straw.

Two days later and Mary Margaret was introducing Emma to Regina—"A good role model," she had said. Regina was snobby looking, with long dark hair, and even darker eyes. She was from the other school across town where Emma's half-brother attended, where only the rich mingled together.

Emma's breathing had stopped, and her heart had pounded in her ears. Regina was beautiful.

Mary Margaret's idea of getting back at Emma for that argument resulted in Tuesday nights out, with Regina babysitting a more than capable teenager. Being left alone and having time to laze around with the music at blasting, unfortunately, did not come to pass. Instead, her one night without her mother's company had the spot filled by Regina.

At the time, Emma had hated her; but a year of this had passed, and Regina hadn't done anything other than help her with whatever homework she struggled with, and make her ridiculously good snacks.

Now, sitting at the dining room table together, with the artificial light casting Regina's shadow onto her book, Emma sighs.

"Something the matter?" Regina asks, peering over her thick calculus textbook. Emma's thoughts stick to the roof of her mouth, a question she's been wanting to ask for weeks trapped between her teeth.

Shaking her head, Emma looks back down at her book. The words blur together, her eyes tired and stomach full from the grilled cheese she had eaten earlier. Something about not being able to cook had solidified her mother's argument about Emma needing a babysitter when the topic had been brought up during the first week of Regina's entry into their lives—Emma cringes at the thought of all the other reasons her mother had listed, all of them too valid to contest. "Did you…" biting down onto her bottom lip, she chances a glance up at Regina who looks at Emma with such rapt attention, it's as if there's nothing more important than her. Swallowing, Emma continues, "like boys?"

"Did I like boys?" Regina asks, frowning.

Emma rushes to explain. "No, I meant… did you ever like a boy, before?" Before what, she doesn't know, and she doesn't care to find out either.

A quirk of her eyebrow and Regina folds her hands across her textbook, calculus forgotten. "I suppose," she answers easily, still frowning, although there is a hint of amusement on her lips, a small smile that threatens to break free.

Still desperate to find out more, Emma takes in a breath to ask another question. "Have you kissed one?" It comes out in a whisper, shy despite a valid question, out of place despite knowing Regina for more than a year.

"Ah," Regina says from besides her, looking down at her textbook again to find the equation she had been previously working on. "Did you want to kiss someone? At school, maybe?" She asks the question so causally, the frown between her eyes disappearing.

Emma swallows thickly, clutching the book between her fingers a little tighter. She doesn't know why she asked the question— only that she had wanted to know if Regina… if Regina…

"Maybe," Emma answers cryptically, setting her book down to look at Regina whose pencil doesn't move across her notebook, whose shoulders seem tense and eyes darker than usual. She likes to think a year with Regina every Tuesday makes her somewhat of an expert on the girl, but there are things sometimes that makes Emma wonder if she really knows Regina at all. Silence greets her from the other end of the table, Emma returning to her book. Her throat is dry when she asks the next question, the hoarse, "do you know how to kiss?" escaping her before she can stop herself.

"What?" Regina breathes, turning to Emma with something flashing across her eyes. There's a flush to her cheeks that could be mistaken for embarrassment. "Why are you asking me these questions?" she snaps, irritated.

Emma shrugs her shoulders, humiliated. She tries to read again, to delve into her book and forget Regina who sits in the chair next to her, but every breath Regina takes makes her shadow dance across the text, and it's impossible to forget anything about the older girl. "All you had to say was that you don't know how to kiss," she mumbles under her breath, defiant and challenging.

Regina takes the bait, her shoulders straightening and grip tightening on her pencil. "I know how to kiss," she says confidently, meeting Emma's gaze when she looks up at her. The shift between them is palpable, no longer babysitter and child, but friends who have the audacity to dare each other to do unspeakable things. Emma likes it better this way, and if it weren't for proving her mother right, she would admit to looking forward to spending time with Regina every Tuesday.

Shrugging her shoulders, gaze tracking down to the book again, Emma harrumphs in response. "So you say," she goads, knowing too well that Regina is getting worked up, that she will probably do something to prove Emma wrong.

Huffing, ineligible muttering, and the slamming closed of her textbook is done before Regina finally turns to Emma with a glare. "You're insufferable, you know that?" Emma's answering grin doesn't help matters. "I've kissed boys before you know. Daniel from equestrian class, and Robin from archery, and Graham from—"

Emma cuts her off with a sigh. "You like athletic types, then?" the rhetorical question stumps Regina, whose glare deepens when Emma's grin only widens. Emma's school doesn't have equestrian class, or archery or whatever—the best they have is a large ground and a storeroom with mismatched sports equipment that they keep themselves entertained with after school sometimes. Neither of them really bring up the wealth difference, not when there's another more important matter on the table.

"You act as if you've kissed hundreds of boys— and I do not have a type."

Smirking, Emma sets down her book and leans forward on her elbows. Regina's arm brushes against hers, warmth spreading through her belly at the touch alone. "I never said I kissed anyone," Emma amends, "I just asked if you knew how to kiss." The confidence she oozes about this particular subject is out of character for her, but then again, she's never really spoken so openly about such things before. Maybe, the company is what makes her at ease with the entire topic.

Regina rolls her eyes, shifting to turn toward Emma who lazily rests her head against her open palm. There's a retort ready on Regina's tongue, something scatting and hurtful that will cause Emma to retreat, but so far, Emma has been the only friend she's kept in her senior year, not when everyone else in her circle seems to have different priorities than her. Partying when she should be studying does not sit well with Regina, nor Cora Mills, thank you very much. Deciding to take a different approach, one that might have the girl stuttering and returning to her task of reading, Regina curls her fingers under chin and considers Emma in front of her. "Why do you want to know, anyways?"

The responding blush makes a smile pick Regina's lips up, Emma turning pinker the longer Regina stares at her. "Just," Emma lamely says, shrugging her shoulders as if that's supposed to be an adequate excuse. The task achieved, Regina turns back to her calculus, thinking the matter closed. She only gets halfway through an equation before she hears Emma shift beside her, a nervous tick that means she's either hungry or thinking to hard.

Embarrassed, her sweaty fingers making the edges of her book curl, Emma closes her eyes to get rid of the nausea that threatens to humiliate her further. Leave the topic to escape them, and Emma is sure she will never be able to broach it again, not when Regina will go off to college, and Emma will pine after her babysitter who will always look at her like a child. "I wanted to know how," rushes out of her before she can lose courage, Regina stilling beside her.

There's only two ways to know how to kiss— Regina doesn't know whether she should shrug the topic off or broach it bravely like she would for a child. "You just… kiss," she says lamely, darting her gaze toward Emma who looks at her expectantly. There's something about Emma's expression that looks part curious and part longing, one that makes Regina sigh. The exasperation in her tone is palpable when she huffs out a, "fine." The first thing she does is make a fist with her own hand, thumb tucked into her palm to create a makeshift mouth. "This is your boyfriend, or a boy you want to kiss, alright?" her hand is displayed to Emma who nods slowly, watching as Regina brings her lips down onto her own hand, pecking it gently. "There."

The frown on Emma's face signals confusion and too many questions that Regina is sure she doesn't have the answers to. "There's different types of kissing," she says quickly, Emma sitting back into her chair where her questions are shelved for later. "There's a chaste peck, like what I've showed you, and then there's French kissing, and… I don't know. Kissing with tongue, and kissing without tongue, and sometimes you don't kiss on the lips at all." She's out of breath by the time she finishes, Emma looking more alarmed by the minute.

"I'm sorry I asked," she whispers, "I'm never kissing anyone in my life."

"No, no!" Regina exclaims, reaching out for Emma to pull her back into their intimate bubble. "It's not as bad am I'm making it sound, it's just…" she's out of any appropriate explanations, deflating when she realises that she might have put Emma off of kissing entirely. "It's quite nice," Regina finishes, fidgeting with the end of her textbook.

Emma licks her lips, more confused as ever. "Okay," she says uncertainly, "but what if it isn't a boy?" Shocked, Regina turns to Emma with raised eyebrows. "I mean, you said that's how you'd kiss a boy, then how would you kiss … I don't know… a girl?"

Regina doesn't know how to answer that, but she swallows thickly regardless, like the answer is on the tip of her tongue, and like she's been noticing how pretty Emma has been looking lately. "The same," she rasps, not meeting Emma's eyes.

"The same?" Emma asks, shifting closer to Regina, the volume of their conversation dropping down into a whisper.

Turning, finding Emma closer than she expects her to be, Regina startles. She can see the freckles dotting Emma's nose, the way her teeth sink into her lower lip as she bites down in anticipation of something. "The same," she confirms, sitting very still, her gaze fixed on Emma's lips.

Maybe it's because she's always thought that Regina is beautiful, the year passing with each season that strengthened the feelings that built within, but Emma thinks this is her opening—a foolish, naïve notion. The air is thick, heavy with something unnameable when she leans forward, her lips a hairsbreadth away from Regina's. There's an opportunity for them both to pull away, for the line between babysitter and something more to remain where they have always been. It surprises her then, when Regina crosses the small distance, pressing her lips delicately to Emma's.

It doesn't feel nice—it feels like she's dying; heart pounding, breath stopping, her lips tingling with nerves.

When they pull back, Regina licks her lips, a glint in her eyes that contains a smidgen of guilt, and a whole lot of desire. It sets Emma ablaze, a feeling curling around her stomach with an intensity she hasn't felt before. "Is that it?" she asks quietly.

Shaking her head, Regina hesitantly shifts forward again, Emma not wasting any time as she attaches her lips to Regina's. They start off slow, Regina opening her mouth to take in Emma's bottom lip, repeating the action to start a build-up that they both moan at.

Emma doesn't know whether making these sounds are a good thing, but she finds that she can't stop, not when her fingers have tangled themselves in Regina's hair, pulling her close enough that she can taste every moan from the other girl. Eventually, through Regina's husked reminders to breathe, there's a swipe of tongue against her lips and she opens her mouth automatically. It's awkward at first, Emma not knowing where to put her tongue, but gentle strokes from Regina has her learning quickly enough to feel light headed.

None of this is nice, not when she's practically in Regina's lap and pawing at her, trying to get closer despite being fused by the lips. Regina is enthusiastically urging her forward, the chair groaning under the weight of them as they rock into each other with desperation. Perhaps it's instinct when her lips drop to Regina's jaw, kissing along down to her neck until she's roughly pushed backwards. "Stop," Regina rasps, her lipgloss gone and hair askew.

"I'm—I'm sorry." There's a mild panic that begins to brew in her chest; thoughts of losing Regina forever make her choke, of Regina rushing to her mother with complaints about the kiss that she most definitely wants to experience again, of… of—

Cupping her cheeks, Regina pulls Emma to her once more, placing a soft kiss to her lips that makes them both flutter their eyes closed. "You only asked about kissing," Regina husks, "if you kiss lower, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop there."

Blushing, Emma hides her face in Regina's neck, effectively calmed. Her lips are pleasantly swollen, tingling with the use of them. The question of what happens after kissing is ready on her tongue, quick to tease Regina, but when the sound of the front door opening reaches her ears, she's all too quick to scramble from Regina's lap. "I liked it," she whispers quickly, running her fingers through her hair and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Regina mirrors her, smiling shyly. "Me too," she whispers back.

Fearing that Regina might not come back, that she hadn't kissed well enough—that Regina might not find her as beautiful as she finds Regina, Emma asks, "If I have more questions?"

Regina says, "I'll be happy to show you," her textbooks closed and put away as she stands to greet Mary Margaret. There's a permanent blush to her cheeks, her eyes sparkling as she sneaks glances at Emma who insists on walking her to the front door.

"Next Tuesday?" Emma asks, too hopeful.

Regina leans forward, pressing her lips to Emma's. "Next Tuesday," she confirms, stealing Emma's breath away and making her heart pound in her ears—a feeling not of dying, Emma realises, touching her fingers to her lips, but maybe a little love.