#cscocktoberfest

[alexandralyman]

bedtime stories (beyond the horizon)

I missed my original posting date but it’s still October and this is my contribution for @cscocktoberfest! Another extra scene in the BtH-verse, where Princess Emma finds a very interesting (cough*dirty*cough) book on the shelf in the captain’s quarters and has some questions about some unfamiliar words that Killian is all too happy to answer ; )

Also on ff.net here

"Killian?"

"Aye, love?" he answered without looking up, grease pencil in hand as he marked a port on the map in front of him and measured the distance from their current position, doing sums in his head and somewhat distracted by a particularly tricky bit of calculation.

"What does it mean when a randy young lad is secretly polishing his knob?"

"It means...what?"

The figures he'd painstakingly laboured over for the better part of an hour all flew out of his mind and her words lodged there instead while his head jerked up and he met Emma's curious gaze across the cabin. She was sitting in her chair with a book in hand, skirts spilling over the sides and her ankles crossed, tucked away demurely underneath the seat and looking the very picture of a well-bred lady.

"After spying on the chambermaid in her bath, the randy young lad retires to his master's empty study to polish his knob with renewed vigour. I'm guessing from the context that the author did not mean the knob on the door? And when he finishes, he gives a loud groan that almost rouses the whole household and hides the evidence in a handkerchief. The evidence of what?"

Killian blinked at that, the pencil going as limp in his hand as presumably the randy young lad's knob did when he was done, slack-jawed and feeling that he probably bore more than a passing resemblance to a startled codfish at the moment. When he finally managed to find his voice it came out much higher than normal as he squeaked out, "What on earth are you reading?"

Emma held up the volume, it was slim, cloth-bound, a bit worn around the edges and entirely unassuming in appearance with no title visible on the cover or spine. She frequently read in the evenings while he updated the logbook or plotted out the ship's course for the following day, plucking one of his books from the shelves to occupy herself with as he worked. They were a jumbled lot collected piecemeal over the years, sailing lore, dry texts on navel regulations that he no longer followed but kept around for reasons he didn't think about too closely, old legends, tales, histories of lands he'd visited (and plundered, usually) and novels. He supposed Emma had chosen a novel, since he certainly didn't remember Uniform Code of the Royal Navy, Fifth Edition or Krakens, Great Squids and Whales: Hunting and Butchering Techniques to include any randy young lads polishing their knobs among the instructions for tying a cravat in the correct knot for an officer or detailing the best method for harvesting whale blubber.

"So what does it mean?" she repeated.

"It means…" Killian realized he had started to make the corresponding motion with his hand and he felt his cheeks colour, suddenly feeling more like a young lad himself than a man of almost thirty who was well-versed in the many pleasures of the flesh, both with a companion and without. Princess Emma was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for his answer. Sweet, gently-reared Princess Emma, unfamiliar with the more bawdy terms tossed about with ease in disreputable company like pirates and their usual bedmates of tavern wenches and ladies of the night. He tried to phrase it in as delicate a manner as he could, he was a pirate now but he had been a gentleman once.

"It's when a lad, or a man, um, er...gratifies himself by hand, to satisfy his lust when he doesn't have the company of a lass."

She glanced back down at the book and went, "Ah. I see." in a tone he couldn't decipher. Then she flipped the page and squinted, running a finger over something on the paper.

"There's illustrations."

Killian was up and across the room in a heartbeat, snatching the book from her hands and feeling his eyebrows rise nearly to his hair when he took his own look. There was an illustration of the scene in question that left no ambiguity as to just what type of knob the young man was polishing, although the anatomy was greatly exaggerated. It was nearly as long as the lad's thigh, for one. He recalled the first time he'd seen such a drawing, on a crude pamphlet passed around below deck and sniggered over by leering crewmen when he was just a lad who had barely sprouted whiskers and how scandalized he'd been at the sight of it when it was thrust into his hands with a knowing look by a soot-stained gunner. Scandalized...and titillated, by the smudged image of a woman with her skirts hiked to her waist and her blouse undone.

Emma was gazing up at him, her hands folded loosely in her lap and her cheeks tinged pink even in the yellow glow from the lantern. Killian glanced from the illustration in the innocuous-looking book to her face, meeting his eyes square on with one delicate blonde brow faintly arched. Perhaps princesses and pirates were not so different in some respects and she was also feeling that warmth pooling low in her belly, desire sparked by the unfamiliar words and deeds depicted in pen and ink. Somewhat unfamiliar at least, she was now rather well acquainted with his own "knob" and the thought of just how well acquainted she was with it sent a sharp throb right through his groin.

"He recalled the maid's Bountiful breasts, brown and Bonny and the very Sight of them floating atop the bathwater had nearly caused his Lust to spill right in his breeches as he crouched unseen in his Hidey-Hole behind the wall. Oh, to cup the Bouncing pair of them free of her Shift and Stays, heavy, round and full as a Wineskin, and to then Suckle upon such tender, Womanly flesh would be a Dream."

The rosy flush on her cheeks only grew deeper while he read aloud, her own breasts rising and falling against the lace-trimmed neckline of her gown in a manner that kindled Killian's lust to a burning flame. Firm, yet soft, like a ripe peach, an unimaginable luxury at sea, he could easily unlace her gown and take one in his mouth, or order the copper tub to be filled and watch at his leisure while she bathed, openly though, not hidden away in a cupboard, he was the captain, master of the ship and not a voyeuristic boot black like the lad in the story, polishing himself instead of his lordship's boots. Both were appealing prospects, but he had another idea.

"Shall we read the rest of this rather provocative tale together, Princess? So I might….clarify any other sections that you require?"

He held out his free hand and after a moment's hesitation Emma nodded and accepted it, letting him pull her to her feet. Killian brushed a kiss across the back of her knuckles and gave her a cheeky wink, gentleman and scoundrel in one (and hers, his love was the prize she had taken for her own even as he'd stolen her away) and led her to his chair instead. It was wide enough for him to sit back comfortably and settle Emma on his lap, round arse nestled between his leather-clad thighs and his arm snaking around her waist to pull her back to his chest while he rested his chin on her shoulder and opened the novel back to the page he'd been reading from.

"Now," he said, clearing his throat and forgetting about his maps and charts entirely. "Where were we?"

It wasn't just the one story, the book contained several short tales all of a similar nature. After the lusty young lad spied on the entire household in various states of en déshabillé, (the cook, the laundress, the butler, the cook and the butler, and finally, his master and mistress in their splendid bedchamber) the setting changed to a bucolic farm in the countryside where the farmer's daughter held secret assignations in the hayloft with the village farrier (who wielded his own fleshy tool as deftly as his hammer and heartily plowed the daughter's ripe and eager field, seeding it deep) and then to a story of a dashing masked highwayman who waylaid a highborn lady on a deserted road and found himself drawn to much more than just her fine jewels (imagining a different sort of pearl necklace around her creamy throat) while they traded remarks laden with innuendo and circled around their growing attraction. Killian continued to read aloud, pausing as he went to explain the various euphemisms. Like knob and tool, a lot of them were other words to describe a man's cock, and his strained even more against the confines of his leathers every time Emma shifted in his lap, turning her head so that his beard brushed the curve of her jaw while he spoke low into her ear and murmured words not fit for a lady (quim, tits, swive, member) rolling his tongue around them the way he wanted to roll his tongue around her hidden pearl and feel her writhe from the pleasure he could draw with his own intimate tales writ upon her skin. In the book, the handsome highwayman bowed to his intrigued captive and proclaimed himself to be, "A Linguist most Cunning, should your Ladyship wish for a demonstration of my Prowess, you have only to ask."

"Ah," Killian said, tapping a ringed finger against the page. "Now what you see here is an old play on words, for cunnalingus is term for when a man kisses a woman not on the mouth, but somewhat, ahem, lower down. So when he calls himself a cunning linguist and offers to demonstrate, he is, in fact proposing that he-"

"Kisses her...quim?" Emma finished.

The book fell shut as a shudder ripped through him and he answered in a rough voice, "Aye."

"And is there a word like that for when a woman...kisses...a man on his...cock?"

Killian could think of many words to describe the act she meant, the act he was now picturing much more vividly in his head than any woodcut, but he chose the one that matched as neat as the sun and the moon.

"Fellatio."

Emma made a 'hmm" noise low in her throat that only served to remind him even more of how it felt to be fellated by her, golden hair tangled in his fingers and all eloquence lost to the sheer bliss of her mouth, sliding over his cock and taking him past those pink lips, matching his thrusts with the bob of her head until the sensations completely overwhelmed him, warm and wet and perfect.

"The royal tutors never taught me those words," Emma mused. "This has been very educational indeed, Captain. Shall we continue?"

He left the book on the table when he lifted her up, carrying her the few steps to the bunk with her arms around his neck and her fingers toying with the hair at his nape.

"I think we'll continue with a more practical exercise now, Princess. If you're amenable, that is. After all, there's only so much one can glean from a book. Direct, hands-on experience is always best."

His sure hands made short work of her gown, leaving her in nothing but stockings and shift while she worked the little jet buttons on his waistcoat. It came off and she rested her fingers on his belt, just above the obvious bulge in his trousers. Emma glanced at it and then up at him, curiosity creasing her lovely face. "Do you ever do that? Er, polish your knob, I mean. Like the boy in the book?"

The question made him pause for a moment. He had, in fact, touched himself several times to thoughts of her after taking her hostage from her own ship, though he'd never stooped so low as to spy on her unaware in the brig or during the times when she bathed in his quarters, before he'd bedded her and pledged his ship and his sword into her service. He was still that much of a gentleman, at least. But the query reminded him suddenly of his own youth, when he would have traded what little he had for even a glimpse of a comely lass in nought but her skin and stole away from his duties to darkened corners whenever he could to stick his hand down his trousers and relieve that ache of unsatisfied lust.

"Aye," he said with a nod. "As a young lad, when I had some spare time and could find a bit of privacy, I would. Not the easiest thing to obtain aboard even a galleon, alas. And hardly satisfying, to have to tuck myself away again and quickly return to swabbing the deck or pumping the bilges before I was missed."

He peeled the shirt from his shoulders and let the belt drop to the floor in a heavy thump of leather, not missing the way Emma was eyeing his bare chest and feeling a surge of masculine pride at the way her gaze darkened with desire. He was no lowly cabin boy or underfed deckhand anymore, he had pillaged and plundered his way across the realm and his name was spoken with fear and awe in the dockside taverns and pubs, Captain Killian Jones, master of the Jolly Roger, the finest vessel to sail the seven seas. He didn't have to make do with a bawdy drawing or chase after a serving wench, an actual princess lounged on his bed in an utterly scandalous state of undress and she was more beautiful to him than any jewel, more valuable than any prize. Emma reached for his necklace and pulled him to her by the chain, falling back against the pillows as he braced himself above her on one arm. Her other hand slipped under the waist of his leathers to graze across the wiry hairs until she found her prize, where he was hard and aching and pride quickly gave way to need while his hips jerked and he twitched in her grasp, hot and firm and eager.

"Like this?" Emma asked, tongue poking out from between her teeth as she stroked him up and down. In one pump he swelled that last little bit, fully erect and the fearsome pirate was completely at the princess's tender mercy. Killian rutted shamelessly into her hand, closing the gap between them to cover her lips with his. The book had mainly described the baser acts and there was no ode to the pleasures of kissing on the mouth as there was to the many joys of fellatio and cunnalingus both. But it was somehow more intimate to share breath itself with his lover, to sweetly nip at her bottom lip until it was as red as a ripe cherry and to taste the wine she'd drunk at dinner still lingering on her tongue while he palmed her full breast through the thin silk and rocked his hips steadily into her touch. A quick study his princess was, she'd learned exactly how he liked the be stroked and polished and he was forced to still her movements with a hand on her wrist before he utterly embarrassed himself and spilled too soon.

"Have you ever gratified yourself, my darling?"

While he was more than ready to gratify the both of them with his cock aching to find the welcoming harbour between her thighs, Killian was curious. He'd lived almost his whole life among randy sailors, he knew men did, and do so as often as they could in most cases. But a highborn lady like his princess? He would had assumed no, it was completely absurd, but that was before he met Emma.

She didn't answer immediately, not with words at least, looking down with her lashes demurely touching her cheeks and finally giving a shy little nod that made his belly flip and his voice drop to a throaty growl.

"Show me."

Her stockings were tied with ribbon garters just above her knees, revealed as the shift was slowly hitched up. The little bows did something to him, he wanted to untie them with his teeth and suck a mark into her flesh, leave love bites all over her inner thighs and make her fall apart with his tongue, but he was completely transfixed by the sight of her slim hand, inching higher and higher up her leg. The pink of her cheeks was nothing compared to the dark rose of her cunny, exposed to his avid gaze when she spread her legs fully and already glistening in the lamplight. Her fingers twitched, hesitated, but at his encouraging nod they finally slid through the damp cleft with a touch that was soft and delicate, barely making contact for several torturous, slow passes until Emma finally reached the nub at the top and began to rub and circle it with firmer strokes. Killian felt an answering throb in his groin, a faint echo of the growing pleasure he could see in the catch of her lip between her teeth and the rock of her hips up into her exploring hand.

"Does it feel good, Princess?"

"Yes."

She looked at him with a heavy-lidded gaze while her hand continued to work between her thighs and he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his fingers around his shaft, pumping it in time to the movement and swiping his thumb over the swollen head whenever she touched her own sweet spot and a shudder rippled under her skin.

"Does it feel as good as when I touch you?" he asked, voice hoarse with desire.

Emma shook her head, golden hair spilling over the pillow. "No...it feels, it feels good, but when you touch me, when you're...inside me...it...it feels, it feels like nothing else ever has. I never want you to stop."

"Never," Killian promised, a dark chuckle escaping him. "You're my treasure now, my love, and I'll never stop. I could have you every night and never tire of your velvet quim, so snug and perfect around my cock when you wrap your legs around me and take me all the way to the hilt. I dreamt of it from the day you set foot on my ship, taking you to bed and touching you all over, these perfect breasts, your shapely arse, kissing your mouth and all along your white throat, down to part your thighs and sup to my heart's content on your sweetness."

He moved to kneel on the bed, between her spread legs and ducked down to kiss her, one hand braced to hold his weight and the other snaking down to grasp her wrist. "Don't stop," he warned, while she panted with her impending release and moaned quietly into his mouth. Killian placed his hand on top of her own and together they continued to stroke her towards the peak, when he sensed she was just about to fall over the edge as her free hand grasped his shoulder and her nails dug into his skin he abruptly thrust two fingers inside, curling them upwards and feeling her squeeze around them with a soft cry falling from her kiss-swollen lips. No buxom bathing beauty, nubile farmer's daughter or haughty duchess could compare to his swan princess, bright-eyed and pliant in his arms. They kissed with unhurried languor, his erection had not abated but the night was still young, there was no need for haste. It was worth it to delay his satisfaction to watch hers, as the lad in the book had watched the maid in her bath. Emma's nails trailed pleasantly through his chest hair and toyed with the charms on his necklace, thumbing over the skull and dagger.

"Does it feel as good as when I touch you?"

Her hand drifted down and brushed his flat stomach, the muscles quivering under the contact.

"Definitely not," Killian breathed, head tipping back a bit and his eyes closing. She drew nonsense patterns with her nails, moving lower down, a gentle caress that was so unlike whenever he felt the need to gratify himself and took his cock in hand. Her hand was much smaller, lacked the calluses formed from years of raising sails and playing out rope, and yet it had had him completely at her mercy from the moment he had first lifted it to his lips and brushed a kiss across the back of her knuckles.

"I wouldn't describe it as a knob, though," she said, sounding somewhat displeased by the term.

A ripple of mirth ran through him at that. "No?"

"Knob implies something rather squat, like a doorknob. Perhaps some men are shaped in such a manner, but you are most certainly not."

Killian had lived almost his whole life in the close quarters of ships populated almost entirely by men. Privacy was a luxury he'd not known until he became an officer, he'd seen plenty of sailors stripped down to the skin and more male appendages than he could count. Princess Emma had no such basis for comparison, and wouldn't, if he had any say in the matter.

"Is there another word you would prefer then?" he asked, propping a hand under his head and angling his hips back so that his groin was on full display for her. "Since 'knob' obviously displeases you, and we can't have that. Member? Tool?"

She shook her head with each one, thoughtfully eyeing the part of his anatomy in question. Never had a woman taken such time to peruse him so closely before the bedding, measuring him with thumb and index finger, examining his length and girth.

"Larger than I expected," she murmured, which made him smile (and feel more than a little satisfied to have exceeded her expectations thus). "I didn't see at first how it could possibly fit...and so warm to the touch. Not cold and blunt as a tool."

So he wasn't the village farrier come to plow the farmer's daughter. Just as well, straw itched something fierce. Emma traced along the shape of him with the pads of her fingers, still engrossed in her task. Killian didn't care how she decided to refer to his cock, she could call it his pecker, his phallus, his mast, anything she wanted so long as she kept doing that.

"But a fair amount of heft, when I handle it like this."

The "handling" made his eyes roll back and he thrust helplessly into her grip. "You can handle it whenever you please," he moaned, rolling them in the bunk so that he was on top. "Whatever you wish to call it, Princess."

Killian spread her thighs open with his knee and rested between them, feeling her hand guide him across that last bit of distance. He slid in with almost no resistance, just the voluptuous sensation of being wrapped in silken heat, a balls deep dive into waters uncharted to all but him. There was no word for this moment, no way to describe the feeling that seized him from head to toe as he started to move. All eloquence fled, there was only the slide of his body inside hers, the slick push and pull of the quickfire rhythm that matched the beat of his heart under where her palms lay braced on his bare chest, not to push him away, never that, but to welcome him home and home again. Whoever he was, Killian Jones, sailor, pirate, captain, he was hers, nameless in her arms, her lover, joined as they were in the most intimate of ways. The light from the lantern was am amber spill over their entwined limbs, turning her skin to honey that he tasted with his tongue, chasing her pulse as it fluttered in the hollow of her throat, rolling a pert nipple between his fingers when she arched up against him. The lines and edges were blurred in a haze of passion that left him unable to tell where he ended and she began. His downward strokes were matched by the upward tilt of her hips, a delicious drag of his rigid flesh along her inner walls that started to increase in pace as he felt the familiar tingle of impending release. Killian kissed a line down her throat and buried his face in her neck while Emma clutched at his arse, pulling him even closer with her thighs tightening around his hips. All the ways there was to describe the act that he'd ever heard from sniggering sailors, crude boasts of bedding, swiving, rogering, coupling, and the only one that came to mind now as he spilled with a groan and groped for her hand, lacing their fingers tight against the mattress, was lovemaking.

"Do you think they had a happy ending?"

The question pulled him from the lazy afterglow where they lay on the rumpled and well-used bed with Emma's head pillowed on his shoulder, still fully nude save for the single stocking that had somehow managed to cling to her leg throughout their exertions. The other was draped half on and half off the bunk while her shift lay in a tangled heap on the floor with his discarded trousers and he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Who, love?"

"The highwayman and the lady in the book. It was my favourite of all the tales and we didn't finish it. Do you think they had a happy ending?"

Killian stared up at the ceiling and felt his chest rise with a breath as he considered how to answer. He was certain that there had been a happy ending in the story of the dashing highwayman and the spirited noblewoman he waylaid on a deserted road, but not the kind that Emma probably meant….

"Do you think they did?" he asked carefully, tilting his head to look at her. He realized suddenly that perhaps there was some...similarities, in their situations, having waylaid his own noblewoman on the high seas and stolen her jewels, even though he had given them back (eventually). But the book Emma had found on his shelf was meant for titillation, fodder for a wank, a bawdy laugh and nothing more, and he very much doubted that there was any real happily ever after to be found in its salacious tales.

Her bare shoulder lifted in a shrug. "I don't know. We could read it tomorrow, and see for certain."

He could hear the note of hesitation in her voice and he tightened the arm he had wrapped around her while her hand spread flat on his chest, over his heart, the sea diamond resting on her finger. Gave her back her jewels and then some.

"They did," he said firmly, running his fingers over hers. "They ran off together and had all sorts of grand adventures, and they had a very happy ending."

Emma let out a pleased murmur, nose pressed to his neck. "Even though he threatened to pierce her with his dirk?" she mumbled.

"Darling, sure you know that was simply another witticism and that he wasn't actually referring to a knife."

Her hand drifted lower, resting just above where he was spent and soft against his belly. "Another word for this, then? Is that what I should call it? Your dirk? Or perhaps something a bit more...lengthy."

Killian felt his cock begin to stir as her voice turned sultry, the siren song of such words on her lips luring him in again.

"A dagger?" he offered.

"Mmm, too pointy. Not a rapier style of blade, more like a….cutlass, or your sabre. It's even curved just a tiny bit too."

Her lips curved in a smile that made his heart skip a beat even as he thought ruefully that their next sparring session was sure to result in some dreadfully tight leathers.

"More than the barest prick, I imagine."

The noblewoman of the tale had retorted to the highwayman's "threat" with a disdainful comment that she was sure to feel only the barest prick from his dirk. Killian laughed, taking Emma's hand and guiding it back down, down, down...

"Oh I think you're well aware, Princess, that when I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it."

[slow-smiles]

Killian sneaks out of the castle before he’s caught and waits for Emma to join him on his ship. Captain Duckling. A followup to My Princess, My Pirate. My first contribution to @cscocktoberfest (only like a week late, it’s fine.) ~3.9k words. No major trigger warnings apply.

Read on AO3.

almost six.

When Emma leaves him in her room, Killian briefly entertains the idea of laying out on her bed naked and waiting for her to return. Realistically, however, he knows this would only lead to disaster; despite it being her private chambers, it would hardly stay empty for the duration of the ball. There were always preparations to be made for the princess, preparing her bedclothes, turning down her bed, cleaning, and other such manner of domestic tasks done by hired help that Killian had never been privy to.

His usual entrance and exit routes had not been usable (Emma had given him a key to enter the servant passages, the ones she herself used to sneak in and out of the castle, but with a royal ball in full swing, they would hardly be a discreet way to travel this evening.)

He certainly didn’t fancy himself much of a climber, but the rough stone and thick vines across Emma’s wing of the palace certainly lent themselves well enough for the task.

(He makes a note to mention to her that they should do something about the vines--and really, about the castle protection in general. It would be entirely too easy for someone with nefarious intentions to sneak in.)

He makes his way carefully back to his ship. It’s still relatively early, the sun having not yet fully set, but towards the harbor district the sounds of revelry are already rising. He imagines his crew must already be among those out and about. He’d given them several days of shore leave, and they’d had some excellent hauls in the last few months, so their pockets were heavy and their spirits high.

The only man left aboard the Jolly is Smee, unsurprisingly. Never been a traditional pirate, Smee. Is always one to volunteer to stay with the ship when others want to go out and spend their winnings on wine and bed partners, and no one really knows what he does with his shore leave when Killian forces him off the ship.

“Captain!” his first mate calls out. “I didn’t expect you back so early.”

Killian says, “I already got exactly what I needed. The rest of the evening is entirely yours, Mr. Smee.”

“Are you sure? Do you need anything else?”

“I’m quite certain I’ll be able to handle my own ship by meself.”

“If--if you insist, Captain.”

Killian gives him a look. “I do. At least go get yourself some hot food and a bed at an inn.”

Nodding sharply, Smee doesn’t take long to vacate the ship, leaving Killian on his own in the blessed silence. Being alone has always been his natural state, and the quiet is a welcome part of that trait.

However, he would not complain if there was a certain raucous blonde stirring up trouble with him at the moment, silence be damned.

He tried to not think about all the probably handsome, witty, rich eligible bachelors that would be presented to her on a silver platter over the course of the evening.

It isn’t that Killian doubts Emma’s feelings for him. On the contrary, he knows exactly how selectively Emma gives her love, and he is a damned grateful recipient. ��The only thing Killian has doubts about is his worthiness of her, and that’s a subject he’d rather not dwell on when he’s alone with rum in easy reaching distance.

Instead, he retires to his cabin and undresses for the evening, removing his long coat and vest, shucking the pants and finally making his way through the series of buckles that secure his hook to his arm. The contraption runs up his arm and over his shoulder, making an X across his back and looping around his right shoulder. There are calloused lines left behind on his skin as he removes the hook and all its trappings, two-hundred something years in the making.

He intends to read and update his logs, perhaps knock out a few navigational equations he’d hit snags with earlier in the day, but not long after he settles back in his bunk with a logbook in hand, the pull of sleep becomes too much to resist.

Killian is a naturally light sleeper, but the sound of Emma’s loud swearing could’ve awoken even the dead. He sits up immediately and sees her bent over just at the base of the ladder.

“Son of a fucking bastard. Gods bloody damnation--”

“Emma?”

“I stubbed my toe,” she grinds out between clenched teeth. “Fucking hell, that hurt. I should’ve worn shoes, gods damn it.”

His drowsiness begins to wane as he smiles at her. “If only the common people could hear their great and powerful sovereign now.”

Emma finally stands fully, wiggling her foot around a bit. She’s clearly disguised, with an overcoat thrown over her nightgown and her hair hidden under one of those ridiculous bonnets she hates wearing. Even with the sour expression because of her toe and the outfit, she’s still the most beautiful woman in all the realms, and he tells her so.

She smiles softly in response. “It’s nice to hear someone genuinely say that to me.” She begins to undress herself, shrugging out of her overcoat with a slowness that looks more born of exhaustion than seduction.

“I don’t think anyone could say that to you and not be genuine about it, darling, because it’s more of a fact than an opinion.”

She laughs softly. “I know what you think,” she says, basically tearing the bonnet off her head and letting her hair spill free. “Ugh, burn this,” she says under her breath before throwing it on the floor. She then reaches down for the hem of her gown. “I just had to hear a lot of people say it without really meaning it tonight.”

No matter how many times he’s seen her without clothing over the years of their relationship, the sight of Emma’s naked body will always be at least a little arresting. The soft, pale skin so often hidden under gowns finally free to the air, the pink nipples stiffening in the slight chill of his cabin, the way her long hair brushes over her breasts and obscuring them like the mermaids of legend, the thatch of dark blonde curls between her legs where she was wet and wanting him mere hours ago.

“I know I promised you a dance,” she says, “but can it wait until morning? I’m exhausted and my brain is absolutely fried, and I just want to hold you for a while.”

He holds out a hand in invitation, nudging over on the narrow bed so that she has room to fit next to him. “I’d wait forever for you,” he says, purposefully dramatic to put another smile on her lips.

She crawls in next to him, and the feel of her skin against his is as reassuring as it is intoxicating; but Emma’s not the only one who’s knackered. She wordlessly nudges at his shoulder, encouraging him to turn his back to her. He follows her gentle, tired instruction, and her arm wraps around his waist under his arm. He takes her hand in his and brings it up to his lips for a kiss before letting himself relax.

He feels her breath at the base of his neck, and she presses a small kiss there. “I love you,” she says softly.

“And I, you.”

With Emma surrounding him, it’s a simple matter to fall back into sleep.

He awakens with the feeling of a hand on his cock. The light through the windows is soft, grey with the promise of dawn, and it’s just light enough for him to turn his head to look at Emma, still behind him. She’s risen up on one elbow, propping her up so that she has a better angle to stroke him and can look down on him. The blankets have been since kicked down to the end of the bed, but he doesn’t feel the chill with the heat of arousal skittering over his body.

“Morning,” she says casually.

“Morning,” he responds, not as casually.

He turns slightly so that he can more easily look up at her and reaches up to pull her down for a kiss. She obliges, running her tongue boldly along the seam of his lips before he opens for her.

Her strokes on his cock become more impatient, quicker and firmer, and he’s nearly rock hard already.

“How much time do we have?” he gasps out, starting to work his hips with the timing of her hand.

“I’m not needed at all this morning, and I gave instructions to not disturb me. One of my ladies’ maids is sleeping in my bed as a stand in just in case.” She twists her hand over the head of his cock just so, and his breath catches in his throat, and he lets it out a moment later through gritted teeth. “I have time to do whatever I want to you.”

He moans softly again. “To me?” He turned fully so that he lay on his back. “What about what I want to do to you?”

Emma quirks a brow before, quicker than a blink, she swoops down and settles herself between his legs. Both of her hands run up his thighs and she leans down, her mouth just above his cock. “You can wait your turn.”

With that she runs her tongue from base to tip, pulling an ungodly groan from his lips. “Emma,” he breathes, and he runs his hand through her hair before resting at the back of her head. She moans around him in response.

She takes him as deep as she can, the warm wet of her mouth moving up and down his shaft, and her hand comes up to stroke what she can’t fit in.

Pleasure sings across his skin and up his spine, and senseless words of praise tumble from his mouth. To have the Crown Princess of Misthaven with her hand and mouth on him is something truly bewildering and wonderful to behold, but it’s also Emma. It’s the witty, stunning, clever, stubborn woman who trusts him enough to do this with him, trusts him enough to let him into this intimacy, and wants him enough that she’ll do this for him. The idea that she could want and love him enough to devote herself to the task of pleasuring him is mind-boggling and more of a turn on than anything he’d experienced previous.

“Love you so much,” he stutters out, trying in vain to keep his hips still. He has enough control to prevent him from thrusting down her throat, but his hips still twitch upwards on each of her downstrokes.

He can’t take his eyes off her, and every so often she’ll look up and meet his gaze.

She’s perfection personified and he still doesn’t know how he got so lucky. How that night at the tavern when he simply wanted to make sure a woman was safe from drunken louts had turned into this. Had turned into one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

Emma pulls off of him, sitting up and shifting so that her sex is directly over his. Before he has a chance to say anything, she sinks down on him and sighs.

“Let me just--” she says and leans forward, resting her body against his. “Let me just enjoy this for a second.” She nuzzles her face into the side of his neck, arms coming under his shoulders to embrace him as much as she can whilst he’s on his back.

He shifts to return the favor, surprised but not disappointed at the sudden change in pace. With the way she woke him up, he’d imagined something quick and dirty; perhaps she’d have sucked him off to completion, swallowed his release down. He’d have returned the favor, tasting her exquisite cunt until she’d come so hard she couldn’t walk straight.

“Are you all right?” he whispers.

She shifts a little, but doesn’t lift her head. “Yeah.” She sighs. “No.”

He’d had a feeling there was something amiss. After he’d left her the night before, she’d been playful, joking. Light. When she came to bed later that evening, the earlier lightness was gone, replaced by something more somber.

“Did something else happen at the ball?”

Emma straightens so that she can rest her hands on his chest. “Are you really trying to have a serious conversation while you’re inside me?”

Killian runs his hand along her hip and down her flank. “I can tell something is bothering you, and it’s bothering you enough that you don’t want to tell me about it.”

Emma moves her hips a little bit, a gentle rocking motion that’s a tease of what’s to come. Her breath comes a little quicker, her eyes sliding shut a moment before opening again.

She seems to try to find a good start to a sentence, and frankly he’s proud that she can think at all when the little motions of her hips are making it hard for him to concentrate on anything except her.

“Before I tell you,” she says, seeming to come to a decision, “I want you to fuck me really, really hard, okay?”

His brow furrows, confusion clouding his arousal somewhat. “Emma--”

She seals off his lips with a deep kiss; he returns it, but it doesn’t erase his concern.

“I promise I’ll tell you,” she says a breath away from his mouth, “but I want to forget for a while.”

He searches her eyes, nothing but honesty burning there. So he obliges and grasps the back of her head and pulls her mouth down to his. Their kiss can’t be described as anything but aggressive, wide mouths and sweeping tongues, teeth clicking inelegantly but neither of them seem to care.

If she wants fast and hard, he can deliver.

He sits up against her, holding her backside in his hand. It’s a bit of a hassle to switch positions in the narrow bunk, but he manages it. He pushes his hips up, and leverages himself on his wrist and twists them. Emma lands on her back with a short huff of a laugh, and he regretfully slips out of her. He settles back between her thighs, reared back on his knees so he can look down at her. His eyes travel from her face down to her core, swollen, pink, and wet.

His fingers run through her folds, and she moans softly and further parts her legs for him. He focuses on her clit without much teasing, rubbing across it in short, quick motions that have her getting louder in moments.

He dips down further, feeling the moisture gathering at her entrance, spreading it up and back to her clit.

“Fuck,” she whispers, “Killian.”

“If you want it fast and hard,” he growls, “then we need to get you ready for me first.”

She groans deeply at that, a drawn out please escaping her, back arching upwards and pushing her breasts towards him. He continues swiping over her clit with his thumb and presses two fingers inside her.

He doesn’t give her much time to adjust, her wetness making it easy to begin thrusting with his hand in earnest. The slick sound of her pussy wrapped around his fingers makes him absolutely ache with the desire to be inside of her. He adds a third finger then, gets as deep as he can get them, and begins to move his hand up and down, pressing towards that one spot deep inside her that makes her scream.

Only a few pumps of his hand and he can tell he’s found it; her eyes snap open, her thighs tense, and her sounds become louder, more drawn out. “Gods, there,” she gasps.

His balls tighten at her words, his cock so hard it fucking hurts to not be inside of her.

She presses closer to him, and he bears down, moving his hand up and down as fast as he can muster. It’s hard to maintain pressure on her clit with his thumb when he fucks her like this, so he reaches underneath her undulating hips with his left arm, pulling her hips off the bed far enough so that he can bend down and take her clit in his mouth.

He doesn’t bother with licking and teasing, but fastens his lips to her like a man starved and sucks as hard as he can.

Emma’s orgasms are always a sight to behold. She doesn’t quite scream, but her cry is loud and hoarse, and her core clenches around his fingers like a vise. “That’s it love,” he praises against her core, “come all over my fingers.”

He lets her hips fall back to the bed, still working his fingers at a steady pace inside her, and realizes in that moment exactly how he wants to fuck her.

He withdraws his hand with a sound of protest from Emma, and steps off to the side of the bunk. (They’d learned early in their courtship that it was the exact right height for him to fuck her on.) He hooks an elbow around her knee, repositioning her so that her ass nearly hangs off the side, putting her in perfect position for him to sink into her.

He can barely hold back his groan at how wet and warm she is, how perfect and beautiful. “Gods, Emma. Nothing in this world compares to being inside you.”

“I love you,” she replies, and Killian is hit once more with how lucky he is.

Before he begins, he lifts one of her knees over his shoulder, spreading her wide open for him.

Then he goes. She’s so wet and relaxed from her orgasm that there’s no resistance as he pounds into her at a pace that would certainly leave bruises on both of them. The sounds of their coupling echo in his cabin, the slapping of skin and the wet suck of her welcoming him into her body again and again and their combined moans creating a lewd symphony.

“Fuck,” Emma cries, “don’t stop.”

“Not on your life, princess.”

He’s on the edge faster than he’d like, but he can tell Emma is too. She clenches sporadically around him, one of her hands grips the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, and the other has settled on his arm, her nails pressing none-too-gently into his skin.

“Are you close, love?” he still asks.

“Yes.”

“Touch yourself.”

Her hand that was fisted in the sheet immediately darts to her core; he can’t help but watch her fingers as they seek out her clit and rub quick, tight circles over it. He can feel her clamp down on him as she pleasures herself, and he was hoping to make sure she’d come again before he did, but he’s a hapless victim to her siren song.

His hips stutter, his hard rhythm faltering. “Fuck, love, I’m--” He comes inside her, pressing deep a handful more times before he comes back down. Emma drops her leg from his shoulder, boneless.

“Did you peak again?” he asks.

She nods. “Your face is gorgeous when you come,” she explains.

He pulls out of her with a slight wince and walks over on unsteady legs to the small pail of water and grabs a washcloth from the cabinet. He cleans himself briskly, and moves to do the same for Emma.

When they’re both as clean as they can be after vigorous lovemaking, they lie back down on the bunk, curled under the previously abandoned covers.

“What happened last night, Emma?”

Her head is resting on his chest, and she tilts her gaze up to look him in the eye. “It was…” She sighs and removes herself from his embrace, sitting up and leaning her back against the pillows, and Killian follows suit.

“I received no less than three marriage proposals and seven courtship proposals,” she says, and even though he knows she loves him, he knows exactly how painstaking it was for her to get to this point in their relationship, it still makes his breath catch, a brief flare of panic rise in his chest. “Hardly uncommon but… I don’t know. It was just different, yesterday.

“My parents are starting to push harder about me finding someone. And it’s not like they’re cruel about it. They want me to marry for love just as they did.”

“I gathered as much from what your father said last night,” Killian says.

Emma nods. “It’s not like I have difficulty rebuffing them. It was just something my mom said to me.

“I’d just turned down the last courtship proposal of the evening, and she pulled me off to the side and said something like love isn’t weakness, it’s strength, and wanting to be loved isn’t bad, opening myself up to the possibility is brave and so on and so forth. And I don’t know what it was about last night, because she’s given me that same talk dozens of times over my adult life, but I suddenly just wanted to scream at her I know! I’ve known for years how it feels to love and be loved because I’ve had you.”

Warmth flares in his heart.

Emma takes a breath. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of you being a secret. I don’t know how we’ll make it work, I don’t know what my parents will say when they find out I’ve been consorting with a pirate for the last five years--”

“Almost six,” he corrects, mostly absent-mindedly because his mind is now spinning.

She grins and rolls her eyes. “Almost six,” she agrees. “But I know I’m asking a lot. I’ve thought about getting you on contract as a privateer for the crown, and then delivering a naval commission so that our match would be less objectionable for the court, but--” she takes his hand in hers, staring into his eyes with as much seriousness as he’s ever seen on her. “I don’t want to push you into anything and honestly, I’d give up my status as heir and take up a life of piracy if it meant having you by my side.”

It isn’t easy to render Killian Jones speechless, but Emma’s managed to do just that.

“You want to tell your parents about us?” he finally manages.

“Yes. I don’t have a single clue what they’ll say or do, but I’m tired of living my life like I don’t love you with everything I have in me.”

He leans in and kisses her, trying to gather his thoughts. When he pulls away, he asks, “So we probably don’t tell them we’ve already consummated our relationship, correct?”

Emma snorts and flicks his ear. “Remember how I said last night there was a chance you get executed if you were caught?”

“You’d protect me,” he answers.

“Of course I would, but I get my stubbornness from somewhere and believe me, my father doesn’t take kindly to people he feels have taken advantage of me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh, taken advantage of the princess, have I?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“I’d say not, because as I recall, it’s been you taking advantage of me all these years.”

“I’m about to rescind my offer,” Emma says, tauntingly moving as though she’ll get out of bed.

“No need,” Killian says. “I’ll be on my absolute best behavior. And no matter what happens,” he tugs at her hand, “I’ll be right there with you.”

[gingerchangeling]

The Captain

Here is my second submission to @cscocktoberfest! Enjoy!! Check out their collection on Ao3 or here!

When Emma signed Henry up for a week long course for his birthday, she had no idea that it would lead her to meeting... The Captain.

Ao3 and FF and Tumblr

“I cannot believe you talked me into this.”

“I only suggested that you sign Henry up for the course! How was I supposed to know it was designed for two people?”

Emma wanted to argue with her best friend, but she knew Mary Margaret was right. It didn’t keep her from grumbling under her breath about it. Mary Margaret just chuckled over the rim of her coffee cup before she took a sip, turning back to face the bay, the sounds of her home surrounding her.

When Emma and Henry had first moved to the town more than a decade before, it had been a rough transition. Somehow, Neal had found her after she’d been released from the penitentiary, and when he’d found out about Henry, the dark side that had initially drawn her to him was suddenly to be feared. He became aggressive in a way he’d never been before, and on the night he raised a hand to her, though he never laid the blow, she knew it was only a matter of time. So she gathered up Henry and her meager belongings and fled.

She made it to the east coast, driving until the little Bug gave out and refused to drive any further, a tire blowing and sending her into road sign. She didn’t believe in fate or any god, but when she heard the rumble of a motorcycle not five minutes after her car had gone careening off the side of the road, she sent up a silent thank you.

The motorcyclist pulled up and quickly jumped off the bike. He pulled off his helmet, revealing a young man with blue eyes and a kind smile. He approached her quickly, making her jerk back, an innate fear she couldn’t suppress.

He immediately stilled, raising his hands, “Hi there. My name’s August. Are you alright? Do you need help?”

Emma had remained silent, too aware of being a woman alone in the middle of nowhere. But then Henry had made a noise from where she’d had him swaddled and sleeping in her arms.

As soon as August realized that she was holding a child, he jerked backward. Emma couldn’t help the wash of bitterness. Of course he wanted to help the damsel in distress, but as soon as he saw she had a child, then she wasn’t worth saving anymore. But in the first of many surprises the town had in store for her, he’d only stepped back to give himself space to take off the leather jacket he was wearing. Once he had it off, he surprised her again.

“Please take my jacket. No child or their mother should be standing out in this cold. Would you mind if I wrapped it around your shoulders?”

It was his sincere and honest respect of her boundaries, even though she was a stranger, that got her to speak.

“Yes please,” her voice was hoarse from disuse, and she didn’t realize just how cold she was until he carefully stepped forward and draped the thick leather over her, making sure to tuck it tightly around Henry as well. Once he had, he stepped back, a smile on his face.

Emma nodded, “Thank you... August. And it’s Emma.”

His grin widened, “Nice to meet you.” Then his smile fell. “I’m going to head into town and stop by the sheriff’s station. They’ll send the cruiser out to get you, and we can deal with your car in the morning.”

She knew that he was trying to be comforting, but the words “sheriff’s station” had her quickly shaking her head, “No, no it’s ok. I can just walk, it fine. There’s no need to get the police involved.”

Her quick refusal had his brows rising, and she could tell, as his eyes flicked over the whole scene, that he was assessing everything. And for the final time, that night at least, he surprised her.

“Alright. Let me call my boyfriend, Jefferson. I’ll see if he knows anyone who can come get you.”

She nodded, a small smile working its way across her face in relief. It took a hushed phone call and another twenty minutes before headlights appeared around the curve in the road. A few moments later an old mini van pulled up, and a tired but cheerful looking woman hopped out.

“Hey, I’m Mary Margaret!”

In short order, the woman had both her and Henry settled in the guest portion of her home, in an upper loft area, with nothing more than a gentle smile and no questions asked.

Over the next few weeks, Emma was introduced to the small town, and the small town’s kindness. She never paid for a meal, every person who came to see her insisting that they pay. And when she was introduced to the Sheriff, Graham, she found that she might actually enjoy the small town life.

She started out working at the bayside diner, Granny’s, but when the tourist season began to pick up Graham reached out to her and offered her a part time position in the Sheriff’s office doing paperwork and answering the phones. She’d been hesitant to accept at first, but after he made several remarks about the past being in the past, she accepted. He allowed her to have Henry there in the station and was extremely understanding when she needed to stay at the loft to care for him.

The months turned into years. She and Graham dated for a while, the mellow man managing to soothe the wounds Neal had left, but after a time they both agreed that they weren’t right for each other. When Graham became interested in the newly arrived Aussie who had decided to bring her father’s shipping business to the port, Emma was the first to high five him when he came in to his morning shift a half hour late and his shoes on the wrong feet.

With the flood of money that Tink’s father’s business brought in, suddenly there was a lot more traffic in the town and a lot more money in the budget. Henry was old enough to attend pre-school, and Mary Margaret was only too happy to play babysitter to him. So Graham offered her a full time deputy position at the station.

It took four full years for Neal to find them, and during that time, Emma found a peace and place for herself that she’d never known before. She was sitting in her usual spot at Granny’s counter, the morning crowd bustling around her, when he decided to confront her. Emma wasn’t chatty by nature, but enough people had pulled bits and pieces of her story from her, and because the town was essentially a hive mind, most of the town had knitted together a more or less complete picture of what had brought her to their little corner of paradise.

He had barged into the diner, “Ems! I finally found you!”

It was as if someone had poured ice down her back, and she’d turned to look at him, fear creeping down her spine. He came up, crowding her against the diner countertop and blocking her exit.

“What the hell are you doing in an old backwater like this? And where’s my son? I’ve humored your little game, now it’s time for you to come home.”

He had reached for her wrist.

But his words hit something in her. Home.

She yanked her hand away, sliding to standing. “Get the fuck away from me.”

Any light in his eyes went out, and his face stilled. “Don’t do this Ems. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to.”

She scoffed, “Oh you’re gonna do something Neal? Here? In public?”

Neal sneered at her, “These small town idiot don’t give a fuck about anyone else’s business. They won’t bother, especially not for some knocked up ex con whore like you.” Then he reached for her again.

She was a moment away from clocking him in the face when a metallic click echoed through the diner. The very still, very silent diner. At the sound Neal froze, his eyes sliding past her, widening as he stared.

“Now you best think about your next move very carefully boy. Because you are half a mistake away from ending up with a mouthful of lead.”

Neal slowly drew back from Emma, giving her the space she needed to slip out of her seat and into the open floor of the diner, taking in the scene. Every single person there was standing, all coiled tight. August and Jefferson in the corner booth, Jeff holding his daughter Grace to him and August’s hand tucked into his jacket, resting where Emma knew his switchblade to reside. The Dwarves, as the local trawler crew had been nicknamed, each were holding a piece of cutlery, forks and knives. Emma’s heart clenched in affection at Dopey, whose normally gentle face was scrunched up in a scowl, a spoon ready to be wielded in his hand.

The town librarian, Belle, was hidden behind her reformed thief boyfriend, Will, who’s hand was also hidden in his jacket, and Emma had an inkling that it probably wasn’t a switchblade he was fingering. David, the town’s most eligible bachelor, Mary Margaret’s life-long crush, and resident veterinarian was just finishing up rolling up his shirt sleeves. Others had their phones out, ready to call the police, and even the old crotchety pawn shop owner that she was constantly at odds with was holding his gold-capped cane less like a walking stick and more like a baseball bat.

But it was the indomitable Granny that had Neal’s undivided attention. Or more specifically, the beautifully polished and well-kept double barrel Winchester rifle that was currently cocked and aimed straight between Neal’s eyes.

“Now, let me explain something to you, boy.,” Granny barked out, the barrel of her rifle not wavering even as she spoke. “In this here ‘backwater,’ we have a code of sorts. It’s simple, so us ‘small town idiots’ can even remember it. Do you know what it is?”

She paused, obviously waiting for an answer. Neal remained silent, eyes flitting around the room, assessing the situation. This clearly did not please Granny, who’s thumb slid up to pull back the hammer on the second barrel, the loud click drawing Neal’s focus back to her face.

“I asked you a question, sonny boy.”

Emma felt a wash of satisfaction when she could hear his very audible gulp.

“No.” His voice shook.

An almost feral smile slid over Granny’s face, “I didn’t think you would. See the one rule we have here is this: We take care of our own. Above anything else. And if you threaten one of our own? Lets just say if someone finds pieces of a body up in the hills after the spring thaw, well…. Sheriff Graham understands that the wildlife around here can be vicious sometimes. Lots of...wolves and things.”

Emma could actually see the beads of sweat as they began to roll down Neal’s neck, and she felt a deep pleasure in the all consuming fear she knew he was feeling. The silence continued for several moments before she saw Neal’s self preservation kick in.

He whipped up that charming smile, the one that had won her so many years before, and he opened his mouth to try and oil his way out of the tight spot he had squeezed himself into.

But before he could get out a single syllable, the door banged open and Graham thundered across the threshold. Emma had never felt a threat from Graham, in the whole time she’d known him. But as he stepped into the diner, a sinister air emanated off of him. This was the man who had led the New York City’s homicide division for the four most successful years in the city’s history. He was terrifying.

Quickly he pulled out handcuffs, and before Neal had time to react, Graham was slamming him forward into the counter, reciting the Miranda rights in a voice so cold that Emma actually had to double check that it was the same man who had a hard time holding a conversation without smiling.

As the cuffs ratched around his wrists, Neal finally seemed to find his voice, “Hey what the hell man I haven’t done anything! What is this?”

In a move that shocked the whole diner, Graham slammed Neal’s face into the white formica countertop, “I did not say that you could speak. You are under arrest for stalking, disruption of the peace, and assault.”

“Assault? What the hell, I didn’t even touch the bitch!”

Graham yanked Neal around to face him, “I have a diner full of witnesses who will all testify that they saw you violently attack your ex-girlfriend in the middle of a public area, with the intent to kidnap her child. It was only through the intervention of several bystanders that you were able to be subdued enough to be arrested. So I think you’ll find that you did.”

And without further ado, Graham hauled Neal out of the diner and out of her life. He called her later and forced her to take the next week off, and when she came back to work, the holding cells were empty. She never asked what happened to him and no one ever told her, and the only thing that was ever said on the matter was when Graham came up to her on her first day back, put a hand on her shoulder, and said quietly, “He will never bother you or your son again.”

She had given him a nod, emotions running high. He pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her temple, allowing her to compose herself. Then it was over. She never heard from or about Neal again.

Life was simple for her after that. Henry grew up. Mary Margaret and David finally stopped dancing around each other and got together. The peridot ring that David gave her not six months later went really well with the smile on Mary Margaret’s face. Granny’s granddaughter, Ruby, came back from graduate school, her girlfriends Mulan and Dorothy in tow, happy as a perfectly balanced threesome that Granny adopted with the same gruff affection she showed all her unofficial family. The town and port prospered as Tink’s father’s business grew. August officially adopted Grace as his when he and Jefferson got married.

Life was good.

Except for…

Mary Margaret cleared her throat, “So….”

Emma sighed, already anticipating what was coming. That was Mary Margaret’s I know you don’t want to hear it but I’m going to say it anyway voice. Which could only mean that she was about to bring up a potential date idea.

It had seemed to be Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Belle’s mission as of late to find Emma someone to date. And it was starting to get on her nerves.

Yes, Henry was thirteen and starting as a freshman at the local high school. And yes, get dirty looks from all the soccer moms when they were finally able to do the math. But Emma didn’t need anything or anyone else but Henry. And Henry had more than enough male role models, or in the case of Victor Whale, the eccentric doctor and the occasional addition to Ruby, Mulan, and Dorothy, examples of how not to grow up to be.

“Ruby and I were talking, and she says that she has someone she wants you to meet.”

“Mary Margaret, I have told you again and again, I am not interested.”

Mary Margaret’s face fell, “Please just see him Emma. He sounds nice!”

Emma picked up on the word choice, “Sounds nice? Have you even met him?” Mary Margaret’s guilty face was answer enough. “No. I am not meeting some random dick donor that Ruby hunted out for me.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret scolded her, before something flashed across her face. Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“Mary Margaret….. “ the woman was suddenly very concerned with the dregs of coffee in her cup. “What did you do?”

Her shoulders slumped, before she gave in to Emma’s hard stare. “Ok but please don’t be mad. Ruby kind of already told him you’d meet him for drinks.”

Emma was shocked at how furious she was, and not wanting to say something she’d regret, she jerked back from the table to stand. Mary Margaret seemed equally as shocked, especially when she looked up into Emma’s face and saw her expression.

Emma took a deep breath, and managed to keep her fury from making her shout, but the result was a cold voice she only ever used for work. “I will meet with him once. And you will tell everyone else that I am done. Do you understand me?”

Mary Margaret gave a slow and cautious nod. Then Emma left, storming out towards the bay. She hated being mad at her friends, but she couldn’t help the anger coursing through her. She understood that Mary Margaret and the others just wanted her to be happy. But was it so hard to believe that she could be happy with just herself?

She ended up storming down to the docks, seeking solace in the smell of the sea and the lapping of the water against the piers. She passed the yachts that had started taking up residence there during the summer. Her eyes were drawn to a beautiful tall-masted ship at the end of the pier though. She wander over to it, eyes tracing the lines of the hull from the dock, squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun, before her mind returned to the issue that had brought her to the sea for solace.   

“Fucking interfering friends…. Fucking guilt tripping me…fucking date…..fucking men,” she muttered, finding a rock and hurling it into the ocean. It was pointless, but if felt good.

“Something on your mind lass?”

The low voice called from above her, and Emma jerked around to see the shadow of a man leaning against the rail of the tall masted ship. It was hard to tell but it seemed as if he was facing away from her.

“Its none of your fucking business mister,” she snapped out, irritated that her brooding had been interrupted.

“Aye, apologies, I didn’t mean to intrude,”came from above, and to her shock, the words were sincere and he started to move away from the railing. And immediately kindled regret in her gut. There was no need for her to take her frustrations out on a stranger.

“Hey wait, wait,” she called out, shoulders slumping. The man paused in his retreat. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m just a little bit…. frustrated with some of my friends right now.”

While she spoke, she was able to see his silhouette come back to the railing, and for some reason, that was heartening to her.

“No worries lass,” she was able to make out a flippant hand wave. “What is it that has you all riled up?”

She huffed out a breath, and for some reason found herself saying, “Eh it’s not much. Just….  a couple of my friends have been trying to set me up on blind dates, despite my telling them not too. And this morning, my friend told me that they’d already told the guy I would meet with him, without even asking me!” She realized she shouted the last part and reigned herself in. “I’m just…. I don’t like being mad at them, but how can I not be when they don’t respect my wishes. I don’t like being backed into a corner…..” her voice trailed off, realizing that she’d just dumped her emotional garbage onto a stranger she couldn’t even see clearly.

“I completely understand where you are coming from. My brother is a wonderful man, but sometimes he forgets that I have a mind of my own to think with, and makes decisions that directly affect me without my consent.”

Emma nodded, gesturing vaguely towards him, “Yeah exactly!” she paused, considering how personal the next question was. For some reason she got the feeling the man wouldn’t mind. “How do you deal with it?”

“I remind myself it’s because he loves me. He wouldn’t bother if he didn’t care. And those we love try to do what they think is best for us. Sometimes they’re right. And sometimes, they’re wrong.”

His words supported what Emma had been trying to convince herself of, and she realized that a large part of her anger had ebbed away while she’d conversed with the stranger. Small town life must be getting to her, because she probably would never have spoken to someone like this a few years ago. But sharing her troubles with someone and having them reaffirm what she knew was soothing.

She sighed, suddenly realizing how ridiculous she must look, shouting to a shadow of a stranger from the dock. She should really be making her way back to the house to check in on Henry. And apologize to Mary Margaret for losing her temper. And call Graham about a week off.

She gave another sigh, running a hand through her hair. She’d decided that for Henry’s birthday, she was going to give him a class. Specifically, a A Lesson in the Arts of Privateership Throughout the Ages or as she had taken to calling it in her head, Pirate Classes. But some fine print she’d somehow missed stipulated that anyone under the age of thirteen needed a parental guardian. And since the only opening she’d been able to find was the week before Henry’s birthday, when she’d received a call from a one William Smee verifying that Henry would be showing up on Monday with an escort.

David and Mary Margaret were both unavailable and while she loved Ruby and Belle, she didn’t trust them to resist Henry’s puppy eyes. So she had assured ….Mr. Smee… that Henry would be there bright and early, his mom in tow. Mr. Smee had been delighted to hear that her son was coming with a parent.

“That just never happens anymore Miss!”

And so Emma felt like she’d been backed into another corner. But she knew that the look on Henry’s face would be absolutely worth it.

“It seems as if there is still more that plagues your mind, love.”

The low voice drew her from her thoughts and she flushed slightly, looking back up at the shadow.

“Ahem,” she coughed slightly to cover her awkwardness, “yeah, sorry. I, umm, need to get going.” She started to walk away, when the voice called out to her.

“You are more than welcome aboard lass, if you need some time away from…. How was it you put it? Ah yes… fucking interfering friends and fucking men.”

Emma laughed awkwardly, “Something like that. And, um, thanks...for listening and the offer. But I do really need to get going.”

“Aye. It was my pleasure lass. I’m sure I’ll see you in the future. The next time the sea is calling to you, I’ll bet.”

Emma looked up at the railing in shock, because how could a stranger possible know that? But the shadow of the man had already vanished. So, with a sigh and one last glance over her shoulder, she made her way back home to Henry.

It took most of the afternoon, and Henry offering his support, for her to build up the nerve to call Mary Margaret to apologize. And it seemed like Mary Margaret was equally as nervous about calling to apologize to her, most specifically because Ruby refused to back down about the date and had appointed Mary Margaret as messenger of the date arrangements.

Emma managed to keep herself under control through the phone conversation, but once she hung up, she let out a growl.

“Still having you meet the dude huh?” came Henry’s amused voice from the doorway to the living room. Emma turned, her scowl turning into a rueful smile at the raised eyebrow on her son’s face.

“Yeah, and apparently, Ruby anticipated that I would be less than pleased about this, because she scheduled it for tonight.”

Henry laughed, “She knows you too well.”

Emma scoffed, “Yeah well, I guess you are gonna be on your own for tonight.” Henry’s eyes lit up. “But you need to make sure that you go to bed at a reasonable hour. We are going to be getting up early tomorrow, ok?”

Henry’s smile melted into a pout, “But Mom it’s Summer! I’m supposed to be able to sleep in and relax and …”

“Henry,” she cut him off sharply. He immediately looked contrite.

“Yeah, sorry Mom. I’ll be in bed at regular time.”

She looked at her son, knowing that he would absolutely do as he just promised and couldn’t help the soft mushy feeling that settled in her. Her son was just the best.

“Maybe not that early,” she amended. His eyes lit up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He dove forward to wrap his arms around her, and she savored the feel of his hug. She buried her nose in his hair, breathin in the smell that was unique to Henry. Ever since he was a baby, any time she was overwhelmed, she could breath him in and know that, wherever she was, she was home.

Henry allowed her several heartbeats to just hold him, before he gave her a tight squeeze and let her go. As he stepped back, he chuckled, “So how long before you have to be there?”

She snorted, “Not long enough.”

And when she found herself sitting across from her date, she couldn’t help but think that she’d been a little too on the nose.

Walsh was nice enough, but he was just so… average. He talked about his job, let his eyes wander past the cut of her blouse, ordered steak, mentioned his finances, talked vaguely about sports, and implied that he was well versed in stocks and investments.

There was nothing remarkable about him.

So when dessert was offered, she politely declined and made her excuses.

“Ah there’s no reason to play coy,” he tried for sultry but it came across as just awkward.

She gave an uncomfortable laugh, “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. But I really need to be getting home.I have an early morning tomorrow.”

So she bid him good night and headed home, relieved that the date was over and more convinced than ever that she and Henry were better off without anyone else. Then she set her alarm bright and early, ready to take Henry to Pirate Camp.

When her alarm went off, she decided it was way too early. She groaned as she fumbled for her phone, viciously attacking the silence button before she slowly sat upright. But she managed to get herself moving, and after practically chugging a cup of coffee, blessing her investment in an automatic coffee maker, she was almost mentally prepared for getting her kid out of bed.

It took the bribe of hot chocolate from Granny’s to get him up and going. So in short order, another cup of coffee, and one hot chocolate later, Emma and Henry ended up on the docks but the tall masted ship, bundled up against the morning breeze, several other pairs of kids and adults and some kids by themselves.

Emma check her watch as Henry turned from marvelling at the ship to look at her, “Mom….. what are we doing here?”

Emma gave him a smirk, “This, Henry, is your birthday present.”

His face scrunched up, “But what is-”

“Everyone on their feet for the Captain,” came a hard shout from above them, drawing everybody’s eyes up to the railing of the ship.

And Emma felt her mouth drop open.

Because standing above them, lit in the morning sun, was a man dress from head to toe in black leather, a dramatic leather duster, and a vest that accentuated the trimness of his body. With the leather collar popped up and his raven black hair dancing in the slight breeze, he looked as if he’d stepped straight out of a porn film.

Silence had fallen in the wake of the demanding pronouncement, and Emma watched as the man surveyed the crowd, every bit of him commanding the attention of those below him. Emma really didn’t mind the idea of being below him. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she shook it away.

Seriously? Hadn’t she decided the night before that was a no no?

“That’s better,” his voice echoed across the docks. “Now here’s how it works on my ship. I make the demands, you follow them. If you think you are worthy of sailing upon the finest ship upon seas, the Jolly Roger, then step aboard. But be warned, when learning about the pirates of the past, you may just find yourself getting lost among them along the way.”

With that pronouncement, he swept dramatically away from the rail. Henry turned to her with wide eyes, “Did you get me Pirate lessons for my birthday?”

The way his whole face glowed had her laughing, “Yes I did. Now come on!”

Henry took off, and Emma followed behind him laughing. This was the best idea she’d ever had.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This had been the worst idea Emma had ever had. It was the end of last day of Pirate camp and the whole thing had been the most vicious torture. And the mastermind to her agony was one Killian Jones, Captain of the Jolly Roger and the most attractive man she’s ever met. Day one, he’d strutted around the deck of his ship, winning over the kids with a few well placed tricks and his enthusiasm, while he won over the chaperones with witty banter, charming the women and laughing with the men.

He’d had the kids familiarize themselves with the ship, having them learn termanology while spinning tales of adventure on the high seas. Emma was as entranced as Henry, his mastery of storytelling, pausing in all the right places and fluctuating his tone.

But then, after the lunch break, he brought out an armful of wooden swords and it was all downhill from there. Because he slowly peeled off the leather duster and rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt, exposing his forearms. She could picture those hands sliding down her body, those forearms bracing her as she rode his lithe form into ecstasy.

“Fancy a duel lass?”

His question, warm in her ear, drew her from her day dream. She felt a flush rising up in her cheeks, but met his challenge head on, taking the proffered wooden sword and squaring up against him in the middle of the deck.

The match was not long, but she counted no less than seven innuendoes that had her underwear melting off her as they spared. In a final desperate move, she dove at him,and he flipped her easily, forcing her to her back on the deck, letting his weight fall heavily on her, pinning her to the wood. His face was only inches from hers and for a moment, time seemed to stop.

His eyes flicked down to her lips. She licked her own.

But then Henry shouted and the moment was broken. He slowly stood, a wicked grin in place and an eyebrow raised playfully on his face.

And that was how the week continued. It seemed every chance he had to get close to her, breathing double entendres in her ear, he took.

Emma’s dreams had been haunted by strong, rough hands and a quicksilver tongue. More than once, she’s woken to find her hand sliding down her body. And more often than not, she gave in to the throbbing in her body and picture that delicious peek of chest hair rubbing along her skin, the roughness of his against her legs, the stubble of his beard scratching against her neck.

And with Henry on his way to get ice cream with some of the other kids, she had decided that enough was enough. This ended. Today.

She was able to act busy until the last of the guests left, waiting silently out of sight, waiting for Killian to head below deck. He spent another several minutes cleaning up after the class before she heard him give a satisfied sigh and head below.

So she steeled herself, hesitating for half a moment before the image of him pulling up the bottom of his linen shirt to wipe his face presented itself to her, and she decided.

She quietly made her way down to the Captain’s Cabin, remembering its location from when Killian had given the introductory tour of the ship. When she heard movement inside, she gave a small smile, before stepping into the room.

He was standing with his back to her, still dressed in his captain's getup, looking at something resting on the shelves under the window, so she managed to get all the way into the room and managed to shut the door behind her.

It was only as she slid the lock into place, the deep thud of the wood reverberating around the room, that his spine snapped straight and he whirled around, an irritated look crossing his features.

But as soon as he registered that it was her standing before him, the irritation morphed into surprise and confusion.

“Did you need something Swan? Did your lad forget something?”

Emma bit her lip, enjoying when his eyes flicked downward before they darted back up to meet her own again.

“Swan?”

It was now or never.

“I was hoping that I might have a private word with the Captain….”

It took exactly eight seconds for him to understand what she was saying. But once he got there, the confusion melted off his face, a dark look taking its place. He somehow seemed to grow taller, taking up more space within the confines of the cabin.

“I see,” he spoke lowly, and Emma shivered. This was the voice of the Captain. “Well then, if its the Captain you want, the Captain is who you shall get.”

He paused, before an icy smile worked its way across his face. “Then kneel before your Captain.”

Another shiver worked its way up her spine as she slowly dropped to her knees.

“There’s a good lass,” he cooed. “Now let’s see then. What is it that brings you to me, wench? Did you come down in the hopes of being ravished? Perhaps that I wouldn’t even let you get all the way through the door, shoving you up against the wood and kissing you until you couldn’t breathe, a thigh between your legs so that you could hump me like a bitch in heat?” Emma’s thighs clenched. He began pacing around her, circling her like a predator ready to devour its prey.

“Or that I would bend you over the table and fuck you so hard that the entire bay would echo with your screams of ecstasy?” He stopped right behind her, and she could feel his eyes on her form like a physical touch.

“Or perhaps you’d hoped I’d map out every inch of your skin, laying you out like a goddess upon my bed, tracing every line of your form with my tongue while I worshiped your body, until I found the secret treasure that so many men are unable to find, that beautiful pearl that would just be pulsing and throbbing with arousal. Then using my hands to turn that throbbing into a wave of pleasure so deep that you drown in it.” She wasn’t sure when her eyes closed, but they jerked open when she felt his hot breath caressing her ear, “And then bring you back to the surface to make you drown again.”

The moan was almost silent. But it was enough to draw dark laughter from him.

“I asked you a question lass,” he purred in her ear.

“Yes,” she breathed out, “God yes.”

“Yes… what?”

She swallowed, “Yes… Captain…”

“Stand up.”

She winced as she got to her feet, the wood floor not kind to her joints, but when he strode around her, the pain in her knees was easily forgotten in aovr of watching him slowly remove the leather jacket, tossing it to the side with a cavalier carelessness that had a throb of arousal coursing through her as she watched his hands tart to toy with the hem of his shirt.

“You like my hands don’t you lass?” he chuckled, and her eyes flew back to his. “Is that how you’ve been satisfying yourself at night? Imagining my hands running across your skin? Pinching your nipples and rubbing your clit?”

“Oh yes Captain,” she whispered, fighting the urge to touch herself. She had never been so turned on in her entire life, and they were both still clothed. He gave a hum of pleasure before he closed the distance, slamming into her, his hands gripping her face as he crushed his lips into hers.

It was perfect, the scratch of his beard better than she imagined and his hands the perfect mix of hard and soft. He nipped at her lips before he slipped his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss and making her moan.

They broke apart, panting, and Emma was thrown back to that first day, during their spar. But then his hands were roughly reaching for the bottom of her shirt, yanking the fabric up over her head, before his clever fingers quested or her bra catch, the feel of his chest hair as he pressed her to him a delightful taste of what she knew would come.

In short order, he had her bra sliding off her body, exposing her breasts to his sight. She thought that he would immediately dive in, but instead he stared at them hard for a long moment before he stepped back.

“Get on the bed,” he barked, and she scrambled to obey. Once she was laid out, he came and stood over her, leering down at her. “Look at you. Nipples already flushed and aching and I haven’t even laid a hand on you. Oh this is going to be so much fun.”

Then he pulled his shirt up over his head, barking out, “Take those offending pants off. I need you bare.”

She quickly unbuttoned and shimmied out if her pants and underwear, tossing them off to the side, all while keeping her eyes locked on the beautiful expanse of skin that he had just revealed to her.

He looked her over, still in his now extremely tight leather trousers, “Just look at you. Divine.” She flushed. “Now, I want you to put your hands up above your head and keep them there. Can you do that?”

She swallowed hard, shivering at the husky tone his voice had taken on, but nodded, stretching her hands up above her head. Killian then paced over to her, standing above her, bringing a hand down to caress up her arm, sending a cascade of shivers across her skin.

“Imagine what it’s going to feel like. When I start to knead your breasts with one hand while the other traces patterns across your belly, just like this,” and he began trailing one fingertip across her taut skin, making her eyes roll up into her head as she clenched her thighs together against the fluttering of her muscles.

“Then I’d switch to your other breast while my hand travels lower, teasing you, your arms straining with the effort to keep still.” One hand continued to caress her belly and up her sides while the other began to trace featherlight patterns across the inside of her thighs. She could feel her cunt clenching, aching to be filled.

“And then finally, my fingers would slid home inside you, filling you and stretching you. Can you feel it? How I’d scissor my fingers to get you nice and stretched before slowly thrusting them in and out of you, arching them ever so slightly so that every pass send s sparks up your cunt and across your skin?”

She couldn’t control her hips as they sought the friction he was describing. She could almost feel it, the slow slide of his fingers within her as he brushed against her G-spot.

Then she felt a weight on the side of the bed and cracked her eyes open to see him sitting next to her, hands still tracing their patterns, while he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“And then I’d tell you how beautiful you look, flushed and panting for me. I’d tell you how erotic it is to watch you get lost in the pleasure I was giving you. And then I would speed up my fingers, thrust and thrusting until you couldn’t think with the pleasure pulsing through your veins, and then I’d add my tongue to the mix, licking at your clit until you were at the very edge of an orgasm. I’d hold you there, teetering until you were a sobbing mess, begging me to allow you release. And then I’d whisper…..”

He paused, and she was right there, the spell he was weaving with his words and his tracing fingertips inescapable.

“Come for me Emma.”

And she did, a shuddering release that rolled through her, making her whole body shake.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

It wasn’t intense, but rather whetted her appetite and left her unsatisfied. And she knew what she had to do.

“Please Captain, fuck me please,” she almost whimpered, her cunt still clenching in the hopes of finding something to fill it.

“With pleasure.”

She felt him stand and opened her eyes to see him practically rip his pants off. Once he was bare, she licked her lips, every inch of him as delicious as she had imagined. She expected a witty comment, but it was then she noticed the almost crazed look in his eyes.

He clambered onto the bed, and she went to grab for his shoulders. BUt he caught her hands with a growl, slamming them back above her head.

“No, love, I said to leave them there.”

He shifted her hands so he could press both wrists into the mattress at the same time, and without any further prompting, used his other to rub his rock hard member through her folds, making him grit his teeth.

And without warning, he slammed home. She screamed at the sensation, her whole body seizing up while above her, she could feel his whole body trembling.

“God your fucking cunt feels like heaven.” He pulled back and slid in again. “So hot, so tight, like it was fucking made for me to fuck. Like your body was made for me to worship, your pleasure mine to …” his breath stuttered as he slid in again, this time with Emma tilting her hips to let him slide in that tiny extra little bit.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed out.

She was able to feel the moment his control snapped, his whole body pulling taut as his hips rammed into hers again and again, driving her up the bed. His free hand came to roughly paw at her breast, the heat of his palm and the roughness of his callouses delightful against her skin.

It took no time at all for her body to return to the brink, and it seemed that he was close as well, his thrusts becoming rougher and more irregular.

Then he released her breast in favor of dragging it down her belly and rubbing at her clit.

“Come for me Emma,” he whispered.

And she did. Explosively, screaming out her pleasure into the room, her hips bucking wildly. As it began to pass, she felt him freeze up, body coiling tight as he groaned out his release.

Then his whole body went slack, pressing her into the mattress while they both tried to get a hold of her breathing. As she slowly came down from her orgasmic high, a thought occurred to her and she laughed slightly.

He drew back and she was able to appreciate just how gentle his eyes were, before he gave her a gentle smile.

“What is it, love?”

“I really have to thank Mary Margaret for talking me into this.”

[athenascarlet]

A Room at the Red Rose Inn

Summary: Emma Swan didn’t remember him, but Captain Hook remembered her -- intimately. Words: 750 Rating: M for self pleasure Notes: Set during season 3B in the Enchanted Forest. This is smutty for @cscocktoberfest and angsty just because. You can read my other CS Coctoberfest contribution here: Pictures of You on AO3. And if you like this, please check out my original novels on Amazon. They’re cheap -- less than a grande pumpkin spice latte for both of them!

Also on AO3

-------------------------------------------

Hook took off his heavy leather coat and threw it over the small chair in his room, thankful that he and his crew would be able to sleep in an inn. Their heist on the road meant they had enough riches to spare a night in an inn with actual beds. It wasn’t the same as his ship, but it was something -- at least for now.

But Hook was determined to get his ship back. Being in the Enchanted Forest again just reminded him that he was a captain, and a captain who needed his ship. This piracy on the road was amateur. He wasn’t just some common thief. He heard of a man that had become notorious for stealing from the rich, someone named Robin Hood. But those stories didn’t impress Hook for so many reasons.

He continued to undress, taking off all of his clothes before climbing under the heavy down blanket on the uncomfortable bed. At least he was able to get his own room. After all, even without the Jolly Roger, he was still their captain.

But he laid awake, staring at the ceiling. He missed the rocking of his ship at night. He missed his bed.

He missed Emma.

“There’s not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

The words rang in his head, words he couldn’t forget because he couldn’t forget her.

There were nights like tonight when Hook couldn’t sleep and he would think of her. He wondered where she was and what she was doing. What kind of life she had created with Henry by her side.

What kind of man she was with now.

That was the worst thought of them all because the man she should be with was him. She just couldn’t remember that. But he did, just like he remembered her silky blonde hair, her lips on his, her hands pulling at his collar, forcing him closer to her.

Hook’s hand drifted lower, making him thankful he had this room to himself. He hadn’t had much privacy since returning to the Enchanted Forest, which also meant he hadn’t had much privacy to think about Emma the way he had wanted to think about her.

He grabbed his cock, thick and hard in his hand. Memories of Emma had wound him up so much over the past few months that this wouldn’t take long. And he had a lot of memories he had stored up for a moment like this.

Seeing her standing on the deck of the Jolly Roger, her black sweater hugging the curves that he wished he could’ve caressed.

On the beach, her eyes fiery, her determination fierce. “Actually, I quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me.” He fancied her many more times than that.

His pace quickened, his hand speeding up as he bit his lower lip, trying to stop his moans. The boys saw him walk in alone. They knew he hadn’t been with a wench since they had returned to the forest, but they had never questioned why. He didn’t need them to start now, especially in an inn with thin walls.

But he kept going, thinking of her, of the way his feelings for her seemed to spill off his tongue in that cave, or the way his name sounded from her lips. She didn’t yell Baelfire’s name in the Dark Hallows. She yelled his.

“Hook!”

Desperate and wanting. Just as he felt now.

His hand sped up, his breathing erratic, his mind focused on his thoughts of Emma. Her hair, her skin, her strength and power.

He desperately stayed quiet as his body tensed and he finally sent himself over the edge in an explosion of passion for a woman that wasn’t there.

Hook laid there, sweaty and sticky, waiting for his breath to finally calm again, his heart to beat normally.

Although would it ever really beat normally without Emma?

He got up and poured some water from a pitcher into a small basin on a table in the corner, letting it wash over his hand before cleaning up the rest of his mess.

He couldn’t live like this forever, couldn’t be haunted by her ghost when she couldn’t even remember he existed. There had to be a way to get to her and make her remember. Hook was a pirate and a captain who was desperate to find what had been lost to him. First, he was going to find the Jolly Roger, and with his ship, he was going to find Emma Swan.

[punkimonki]

The First Time

My first submission for @cscocktoberfest. Set at the end of 4x03. You know the scene. ;)

Can also be found on ao3 and ff.net.

She's beyond angry, storming out of the diner and past Killian as he sits at one of the outdoor tables, a drink in his hand. He raises it to her as she passes, smiles and calls out jovially, "Swan! Don't make a man drink alone!"

She doesn't slow down, doesn't even look at him as he gets up to follow her, sensing her continued anger. "Not in the mood for a drink or a man," she responds sharply. She can hear his footsteps follow her off the sidewalk.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you today, all right? I know you feel like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. But at some point," his hook snags on her arm and pulls her around towards him, "Even though we're quite different, you've got to trust me." His eyes are beseeching and she feels her annoyance flare hard and fast.

"That's what you think this is about? That I don't trust you?" She shouts back. He has the decency to look a little ashamed before he covers it with a raised brow and set jaw.

"Is that not what it's about?"

"Of course I trust you." She wants to hit him he's being so stupid. And all of a sudden all the fight leaves her as he looks at her sadly, completely lost. He doesn't understand, he doesn't get it.

"Then why do you keep pulling away from me?" His voice is just as desperate as she feels.

"Because everyone I've ever been with is dead!" It's hard not to explain without the anger now, but she has to hold onto something other than the stinging at the corners of her eyes. "Neal and Graham. Even Walsh. I lost everyone. I..." Her vision blurs just a little and she feels a hot tear slide down her cheek and settle at the edge of her mouth. "I can't lose you, too," she finishes simply, staring into his eyes and willing him to understand the rest. She can't say it yet, she doesn't think she's brave enough, but she needs him to know somehow anyway.

Killian's gaze softens as he looks at her, as her words sink in and his heart grows. Lost girl, always a lost girl. He's determined to make sure she never feels that way again.

"Well, love, you don't have to worry about me," he responds with a comforting smile. "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's surviving."

She can feel the lump in her throat tighten even as she takes a deep breath, even as she tries to will herself to believe him. He keeps looking right at her and the intensity is helping, but she still feels like if she doesn't do something he'll slip away. She looks down at his lips quickly and it's enough for him to pull her into him by her belt loops, good hand burying itself into her hair and settling on the back of her neck, lips sliding sweetly across hers in a toe curling kiss.

Her breath rushes out as they break apart for a moment, her hands pulling him back in again by the lapels of his ridiculous jacket. His hand travels down her arm, pressing insistently against her hip and coming to squeeze her closer by her ass.

Emma can hear her blood rushing, can feel her heart pounding in her chest and she's sure he can too as he pulls away to stare at her, his blue eyes locked on hers. There's a question there, and she nods almost imperceptibly as she steps away, fingers curling around his hook as she leads him through the dark streets to the docks.

The Jolly Roger is docked proudly amongst the smaller vessels, her mast shooting into the sky, sails tied back as she rests. The gangplank is pulled up on the ship but with a flick of her wrist, it slides down towards them, allowing entrance. They hurry up to the deck, the wood creaking under their feet and the ship swaying softly as they slow in front of the captain's quarters.

Emma turns around to him, bites her lip just a little, and smiles. His eyes are soft, almost reverent. He looks at her like she's the night sky, holding up all the stars. To him, she is. This beautiful, brave, brilliant woman inspired him, pulled him, like the moon and the waves. The day he met her he knew he'd never be the same. He takes a slow step closer, hand coming to brush against her cheek, thumb caressing her chin, her lips, her dimple as she smiles at him. He had never dreamed that he would find someone like her, someone who made him want to be better. Her hazy green eyes flutter closed as he leans closer, the dark lashes dusting across her pale skin. He brushes his lips against hers, once, twice, and finally she has had enough and she's pulling him to her, fingers buried in his hair, mouth insistent and demanding.

The smoldering ashes in his gut burst into flame and he drags her towards him, closer and closer until it feels like they might just merge into one, but it's not enough. He pushes her back towards the door, opens it behind her as they stumble in, and kicks it closed behind them.

Her ass hits a table and she hops up, ankles locking around his hips and tugging him in. Her hands trail down his neck and undo his buttons, opening his scarred chest to her. Killian shucks off his jacket, kicks off his boots, tugs her leather jacket away and tosses it on the floor. Emma pulls her shoes off and opens her arms to him, the two coming together in a fury of teeth and lips and tongue, hands wandering and searching and inching under clothing. She feels the hard planes of his chest, the taught muscles of his abdomen leading into his trousers. He’s strong and solid and she wants every inch of him nearer to her. His good hand wanders under her shirt, pulling at it in need, sliding across her back and just under her bra, dipping into the hem of her jeans just above her ass.They continue like this, tongues battling for dominance, breath combining into one, backs arching into one another for a while. Her legs hooked over his waist pull him impossibly closer with every moment.

When they finally pull away, his shirt is entirely unbuttoned, slacks untied and hanging loosely over his hips, the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath them. His hair is disheveled, eyes bright with want, lips red and cheeks flushed. Her mouth goes dry at the sight. She, in turn, has already lost her shirt, jeans unbuttoned but still on.

"Shall we to the bed, milady?" He asks huskily near her ear, nipping lightly at the skin just underneath it. She shivers even as a laugh escapes her.

"Idiot," she murmurs back against his lips, sliding off the table and sauntering away from him towards the narrow bed. She slips her jeans off as she goes, unhooks her bra and hears him rush up behind her. His good hand moves over her hip and in between her legs, over her panties. She gasps, head falling back into his shoulder as he holds her there, fingers deftly searching her, nudging the cloth aside and burying themselves in her soft curls.

"My gods, Swan." His breathing is coming hard, tongue lapping against the pulse on her neck, biting and soothing in turn. She can feel his hardness against her ass and she presses back as best she can but she feels like she's strung tight, muscled tensed as his digits dip into her, wiggling and twisting and pumping about. She jerks in his arms, the tip of his hook accidentally grazing her stomach. She hardly feels the sting though, whimpering in disapproval as he steps away and removes the rest of his clothes. She sees his cock bob up proudly towards his stomach and feels the responding twist of the coil in her tighten just a little more. Fingers reaching up behind her, she unclasps her bra and lets it fall to the floor. His eyes snap to the movement, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

She lowers herself to the bed and he descends on her. She gives as good as she gets, a tangle of limbs and sweat. She rolls him over and leaves a trail of kisses down his abdomen, feeling his pulse quicken, his fingers tighten in her hair as she wraps her mouth around him and sucks hard. He nearly arches off the bed as she pulls him into her throat and out again, tongue swirling around the tip, cheeks hollowing. She looks up at him and sees his gaze locked on her, the veins in his neck throbbing along the tense muscles. He groans, his shaft twitching in her mouth when she fondles his balls softly, fingers creeping along the fragile skin, massaging soft enough to avoid injury.

He pulls her head away with a soft pop and she crawls on top of him, kissing him hungrily. He can taste himself, the muskiness and arousal, but he lets the thoughts slip away at the image of her around him, eyes bright and lips stretched. She is so much more than he deserves.

Rolling them over again, he grins at her wickedly, good hand moving down to enter her warmth again. What he meets is a cavern of incredible softness, leaking at the edges. He moves down to lap up the excess, feeling her shudder in return.

"You-you don't have to--" She gasps as he twists his fingers, the cool metal of his hook holding down her pelvis, the tip pointed strategically away. He doesn't want to hurt her again. He looks up at her and catches her eye. He's a sinful sight, he's sure, stubble dewed with evidence of her lust, hair mussed up.

"Now, darling, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't return the favor?"

She wants to laugh, but the sound is cut short in her throat as he bends forwards, sucking hard on her clit, fingers pushing in deeper and rubbing hard at the rough spot on her wall. Like an electric shock, she comes, tugging at his hair, back arching off the thin mattress, head rolling back. It was so sudden she couldn't even stop herself from the surprised shout she gives, thighs quivering and trembling, core pulsing around his hand. He milks every last second of pleasure from her and revels in it. Swan, his lovely Swan, coming undone at his hands.

He decides in that moment he wants to give her this feeling everyday, for as long as he lives. She deserves the ecstasy rolling through her spasming muscles. With some practice, he reckons he'll be even better at it.

Her hands weakly tug at him as she settles, breathing out in short gasps as though having just run a long distance. Her skin glistens with sweat, a bead of it gathered just on top of her upper lip that he kisses away languidly. He's keenly away of his own needs demanding his attention, but he pushes them away in favor of her, of watching her calm and relax, eyes opening to him. She smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"We're not done yet, Killian," and it's the last blow to his self control as he hikes her legs up around his waist and sinks into her. A long hiss escapes through his clenched teeth, his core tightening in bliss. She is so warm, so inviting, her arms coming to encircle his neck as she kisses up his jaw, the corners of his lips, urging him to move, to go faster, harder.

They rut against each other, skin slapping against skin, kisses dissolving into gasping mouths that breath each other in and out like one being. They heave and twist, shaking with the effort, moaning needily. They crest together, her nipples rubbing against his chest hair, lips locked together in passion. He pumps twice more, pulses, empties and settles, his weight a comfort on hers. She feels him soften in her and slip out and he shuffles to the side, pulling her naked body against his, nestling his chin into her hair and breathing her in as they both catch their breath.

"That was..." He says and she gives a breathy laugh.

"Not a one time thing," she finishes for him, fingers curling around the hook slung over her hip.

For the moment, the creeping dread in her is held back and she's able to enjoy this, the feel of him pressed against her, the soft kisses tickling her shoulders. Emma sighs.

The cold feeling is there still, hidden deep within her, and she knows it will show itself again the next day. In the meantime, however, she's determined to enjoy the moment.

[cscocktoberfest]

Oh loves, we’re sooooooo close. Just a few more.... Don’t stop now...

Ladies and gents. We’re so close to our goal of 100 pieces. In fact, we’re only eight good stokes (of creativity) away so please don’t leave us hanging without a good release. Don’t hold back on us!

Click here to sign up, remember we still need 8 pieces to contribute and sign-ups end on Saturday, September 15!

[laschatzi]

@cscocktoberfest are we doing another cocktoberfest this year?? Anyone down for it??

[phiralovesloki]

Self-Promo Sunday: Image/Gifset Collabs

It’s Self-Promo Sunday!

Over the years, I’ve had the pleasure and privilege of doing some collaborations with other members of the fandom. In particular, I wrote several short fics to go along with gifsets and imagesets created by other lovely shipmates. Here they are!

Passing Closely

@emmandhook is such a talented gif maker and I was so excited when she got in touch with me to write a fic to go with a gifset she wanted to make! This was early in season 4B, and she wanted a fic where Emma did more than just kiss past Hook on the Jolly Roger in 3x21, and ended up unexpectedly pregnant. Killian’s reaction isn’t initially a happy one.

Rated T, 3.5k words, Captain Swan

AO3 Tumblr: 1 - 2 Gifsets: 1 - 2

And She For You, I Take It?

This was a fic written for @laschatzi after her Gutterflower Secret Santa fell through during the holiday season 2015. We wanted to make it up to her, so I wrote this fic, and @ive-always-been-a-pirate and @optomisticgirl made a great gifset to go with it. This is a canon compliant one-shot where Emma overhears Charming and Killian talking by the fire during 3x22, and brings it up with her dad later on. It’s a little saucy at the beginning, given that this was written for the Gutterflower Secret Santa.

Rated M, 4k words, Captain Swan

AO3 / Tumblr

Operation Light Swan

Another collab with @emmandhook! Canon compliant, this is a very short fic about Henry and Killian as they come up with Operation Light Swan in season 5A. It was so awesome to get to work with her again!

Rated G, 1k words, Captain Cobra

AO3 / Tumblr / Gifset

Not So Drunken Texts

During @cscocktoberfest, I was not gonna participate, I wasn’t, I swore, and then @yayimallamaagain asked if anyone could handle a prompt she wanted to make imagesets for, and I just ... had to. Emma and Killian are friends and roommates, and there’s a bit of confusion regarding a drunk text she may or may not have sent. Thanks to Tumblr’s thoughtful and totally well-implemented ban on explicit content, the original post has been flagged and I haven’t been able to get in touch with @yayimallamaagain to appeal it, so you’ll have to check out both the imagesets and the story on AO3. I hope you do!

Rated M, imageset 1 rated G, imageset 2 rated E, 2k words, Captain Swan

AO3

[slow-smiles]

Canon-compliant post 6x07 smut (at least I’m pretty sure it’s canon compliant? I never watched s6.) Later that night, Emma’s hand won’t stop shaking. A bit of praise kink. My second entry for @cscocktoberfest​ (Only a little bit late this time! Yay!) ~4.7k words. No major trigger warnings apply.

Read on AO3.

give and take.

When they leave the Charming’s apartment that night, it’s not without copious complaining beforehand. Emma hadn’t wanted to leave the apartment where her father lay comatose in bed as Snow cuddled and tried to soothe a baby Neal whose crying had picked up when he realized his father wouldn’t respond to the pokes to the chest.

(Killian realized with a pang that it was a game Dave played with his son. Neal poking him would provoke a reaction, dramatic and giggle-inducing, that could entertain Neal for hours on end.)

(Now he just slept on, dead to the world.)

(All around, not a particularly banner day in Storybrooke.)

Regina and Emma had been trying to help, suggesting possible solutions or attempting to take Neal from Snow’s very resolute grasp, and Henry was buzzing about the kitchen trying to do something, but Killian could see Snow starting to fray at the edges. 

Their night had ended when Snow had finally set Neal down in his bassinet, and all but shouted, “None of you are doing anything useful!” The commotion in the apartment immediately ceased, save Neal’s heart-rending whimpers. “It is almost midnight, and I am exhausted. My son is not going to stop crying because you all are being too loud, and I am not going to get to sleep tonight knowing that my husband is under a sleeping curse. So please, all of you, just leave and come back tomorrow.”

Killian quietly suspected that she’d very much like to break down but was unwilling to do so in front of company, even if the company was family. He can certainly relate to that.

Emma murmured to Snow, “I can stay upstairs, in case...” but Snow was already shaking her head.

She took her daughter’s shoulders in hand and inhaled shakily before saying, “Go home with Killian. We will be all right.” Her eyes were watering, so it didn’t lend much credence to her words. She’d sniffled then before putting on a smile. “We’ll figure this out tomorrow, and at least some of us need to be well-rested for it.”

Killian looks down and notices that Emma’s hand is shaking, and she clearly wants to hide it from her mother as she quickly moves to hug Snow and keeps her shaking hand far away from her.

Soon, Henry and Regina are off to their home, and Emma and Killian are off to theirs.

He stops her before she gets into the bug, taking her shaking hand in his and bringing it up to his chest. He runs his thumb along hers, but it doesn’t stop the quaking.

She looks lost and broken and it hurts his heart to see her like this. His story time had apparently not been as effective as he’d hoped.

“I’m sorry, love, I thought today helped,” he offers.

She softens at that, but her hand is still shaking. “It did,” she says, “It really did, but that was...” She swallows. “That was before we failed and forced my parents to hand their hearts over to the Evil Queen.”

He sighs, “Emma, no one’s failed yet. They’re still alive, and that means they can be saved. I told you that you can overcome anything and I meant that.”

“I want to believe that too,” she says.

She leans into him, tucking her head beneath his chin and keeping her hands curled against his chest. He can still feel the one shaking, and he closes his eyes against his disappointment in himself. He should be able to help her.

“Let’s get you home, love.” He leans back enough to catch her eyes, “Do you think you can drive? We can walk if you can’t.”

She nods. “Yeah, I can drive.”

He holds her hand all the way home.

When they arrive home, she’s still shaking. “God, this is pretty freaking annoying when it doesn’t stop,” she says, trying to make a joke but her heart is clearly not in it.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” he suggests, only letting go of her hand as long as it takes him to get out of the car and back to her side.

They get inside and trudge straight up the stairs, not bothering to remove their shoes by the door.

Inside the room, Emma’s hand is still shaking. She pulls away from him and sits at the foot of the bed, her hands curled loosely in her lap. “I don’t know how to stop this.” She looks up at him, desperation and sadness in her eyes. “I don’t know how to stop anything.”

He kneels in front of her, not taking his eyes from hers. “I know you’re scared. I know we might not know how to save your parents right now, but we can figure it out. We always do.”

“But if I can’t stop the Evil Queen, then how am I supposed to stop the hooded figure in my visions? If I can’t save my parents, how am I going to save myself?”

He leans up to kiss her and disrupt her speech, and Emma leans into him, a move that makes his chest hurt in the best of ways.

He pulls away, but only just. His forehead still rests against hers, their noses brushing with every other breath. “This moment, Emma,” he says. “We don’t know what will happen tomorrow or the next day, so I want you to focus on right here, right now.” He stands fully, gently guiding her to lay back on the bed. “There’s nothing outside of this bedroom,” he continues as she settles back into the sheets. “Just us,” he finishes as he settles beside her, propping himself up on his left elbow so he can look down at her.

Her attention is rapt, but he wants to make the worry disappear from her eyes, wants to smooth the creases between them with kisses until the dimples from her smile light up her face.

“You deserve a moment of peace, yeah? Just a moment where you don’t have to worry about anything. Let this be that moment, love.”

His right hand plucks at the hem of her shirt, just barely grazing the smooth skin of her lower abdomen with the backs of his fingers.

“Will you let me help you?” he asks, aware of the grittiness in his voice. He knows she likes it, so he doesn’t hesitate to play it up for her, let the rasp of his voice wash across the skin of her neck just below her ear.

The breath she lets out is soft, a caress, a gentle statement of pleasure and desire, but he wants to hear her say it. Her hips cant upwards, pressing towards his gently questing fingers, but he refuses to press harder or push deeper beneath her shirt. A sharp breath now, one of frustration and wanting.

“Say it,” he prods, breaking eye contact to lay his lips against her pulse point. He care barely feel it beat against his lips and gives a teasing lick up her jaw before pulling back.

She’s staring up at the ceiling, her expression hard to decipher. She closes her eyes and nearly whispers, “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

That pulls a little laugh from her, prompting his own smile in turn.

He knows he’s being a little difficult, but he has a feeling being a little difficult is going to be the only way he can get through to her. Her hand is still shaking, and he needs to make it stop. This is the only way he knows how.

“Helping with the... the moment of peace,” she says, and finally tilts her head to look at him. “The here and now.”

“Anything for you, darling,” he says, and rewards her with a heavy stroke upwards with his palm, not bothering to tease before he takes one of her breasts in hand. They’re both still fully clothed, so the soft fabric denies him the skin to skin contact, but he presses the flesh up, cups her in his hand, draws his thumb across her hardening nipple.

Emma reaches for the back of his neck, and to his consternation he can still feel it shaking as she pulls him down to her lips. As their lips part and their tongues move in a wet slide, Emma shifts, pulling him fully on top of her and tangling their legs in such a way that puts one of his thighs between hers.

The way she starts to gently grind her hips into him sends a shot of such unfettered arousal through him he can’t help but moan into the kiss and then break away. His hand is still at her breast, plucking her nipple as he tells her, “That’s a good girl. Take what you need. I’m yours.”

Another sharp pant from Emma as she pulls back abruptly, flinging her shirt and bra off at a record-breaking pace. She disentangles their legs, depriving him of her delightful thrusts and reaches for the zippers for her boots. “You better be getting naked too, buddy.”

He chuckles, sneaking a quick look at her hand. No tremors. If his arousal was intoxicating, the sight of her still hand was impossibly immense relief. “Aye aye, Captain,” he answers.

He shucks his jacket, vest, and shirt in quick succession, ignoring the small voice of protest when he simply flings them to the floor, going to remove the brace that holds his hook in place, the contraption pulling away from the well-worn callouses across his shoulders and down his arm.

They hit the floor with a muted thud against the carpet, but they don’t drown out Emma’s quiet, “Damn it,” that he hears from behind him.

He quickly turns towards her. She’s laid back on the bed, boots now gone along with her shirt and bra. Shirtless Emma is a sight to behold, for certain, but his eyes are drawn away from her pale skin, coral-pink nipples, and down to where her hand rests over the button of her jeans.

It’s shaking again.

His heart falls.

“Oh, Emma.”

His heart falls even further when he sees her frustration pooling in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she croaks, her opposite hand coming up to cover her eyes.

He sighs. He lays back down and rolls across the bed. He nuzzles against the fingers across her face. “Let’s see that beautiful face, love. Come on.”

It takes a few moments for her to drag her hand from her face, revealing red-rimmed eyes but no tears have fallen.

“There she is,” he says softly.

That pulls a smile from her, watery, but brilliant. She gives him a short, choked laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he assures her, brushing her hair away from her face with gentle motions.

“Can we just--” She rolls onto her side to face him again. “Can we just do this?”

He strokes a hand through her hair. “We can do whatever you’d like--”

Emma surprises him with a kiss, aggressive, wet and fast and intense. She pushes him onto his back with ease, and he moans into her mouth. He quite likes it when she seizes control. She moves on from his lips, sloppily moving across his cheek and down his neck. “Gods, love,” he manages, “Love you. So much.”

She starts grinding down on him in earnest, seemingly trying to fuck him through the layers between them. His hand and wrist fall to her hips, encouraging and eager.

His cock is straining against the fabric, and he wants nothing between them--wants to tear their clothing off, throw her down on the bed and show her just how much she loves her. Truly fuck it into her, make her understand with each forceful thrust of his hips that he cherishes every piece of her, will cherish every piece of her as long as he can.

“Emma,” he says, “Emma, love, just let me--” He reaches down to where her hips still rock roughly against his, going for the button on his jeans.

She catches his hand in hers. “No, let me.” Her hand is completely steady. 

Killian grins. “By all means,” he replies, going so far as to tuck his hands behind his head to show her that she’s in control.

Emma gives him a small smile, rolling off him, but only just so that she can shuck her remaining clothing. Before Killian can make a move to remove the last of his garments, Emma is doing it for him, wordlessly encouraging his hips up and dragging his pants down in one motion. He’s already half hard, and Emma crawling back astride him means that it won’t take him long to get all the way there.

His hand and wrist find their way to her thighs, and he lets out a strangled sigh when she lowers her wet core against him. “Gods,” he gasps. “You’re so wet. So beautiful and wet for me.”

She begins to grind herself down on him, and Killian gasps, tilting his head back against the pillow at the feel of her against him.

“Gods, I wish you could see yourself,” he murmurs, running his hand up to a breast. He draws his finger along the underside, just barely brushing her nipple.

Despite her soft moans and the flood of arousal coating his length, Killian still notices something is not quite right. Her hand is still trembling (less now, at least) and her eyes are closed tightly, and her brow is furrowed, like she’s retreating into herself.

That just won’t do, because as strong as Emma is, he knows that she has a deep need that she rarely voices, or even acknowledges, that craves affection, craves adoration and love. And as rarely as she admits it to herself, she admits it even less often to others.

Killian sits up, startling her from her spiral into herself, and wraps his arms around her waist. “Don’t do that,” he says, kissing her softly once.

“Do what?”

“Hide yourself away like that.”

She pauses, confusion clouding her face a moment before it clears in understanding. When it does, her entire body relaxes into him, her chest pressing into his, allowing his arms to pull her closer. She leans her head down to her shoulder.

“It’s okay to want to let go for a little while,” he says.

She doesn’t answer for a moment, but her fingers tickling along the skin of his back and shoulders tells him she’s listening.

He turns his head so that his lips are in her hair, and he presses a small kiss to her scalp. “I’ll take care of you. You deserve it, love.” He pulls away from her a little, prompting her to lift her head away from his shoulder and meet his gaze. “Can I, Emma?”

Her cheeks go bright red as she nods, revealing one of her deepest, most intimate desires leaving her feeling exposed. raw.

Well that simply won’t do, and Killian leans in to kiss her, trying to pour every ounce of emotion he has into the kiss. It’s reminiscent of their second kiss outside Granny’s, years ago now, hundreds of kisses ago, but he remembers it like yesterday.

He urges her to the side and onto her back. She goes easily, opening her legs to let him settle between.

He’s completely hard for her, can feel the heat of her sex against his cock, but he holds himself back. There will be plenty of time for that in a moment. His lips venture away from her mouth, trailing across her jawline and down her neck. He devotes himself to reddening her collarbones, with lips and tongue and teeth, and she is positively writhing beneath him now, making small, impatient noises as her hips press up towards his.

“That’s it, love,” he says, “I love how much your body craves mine. It’s bloody incredible, that you want me as much as I want you.”

He travels down to her nipples, pinked up and stiffened in the cool air of their bedroom. He laves a tongue across one and lets his breath stiffen it further under his mouth. “Love your breasts,” he murmurs as he drags his lips sloppily in the valley between them. “The way you flush red all the way down,” he continues before covering the other nipple with his lips, sucking it firmly.

“Please,” Emma gasps, her hips moving a little more insistently.

His only response to her plea is to release her nipple and continue his lips’ path down her stomach.

When he reaches the place she’s wet and wanting, he looks up at her; her gaze is wild with lust, but under that there’s something else. There’s love and trust and no longer that guarded edge he’d seen earlier.

Her hands are both still. One moves to cover her own breast, kneading and tweaking slowly, and the other goes to Killian’s head, smoothing through his hair and scraping lightly along his scalp.

“What do you want, darling?” he asks, already knowing he answer and easing a thigh over his shoulder in preparation.

“I want your mouth on me,” she says, a bit breathless, and Killian is struck with a swell of pride in his chest because he remembers the early days in their relationship when it was so difficult for her to reveal her physical desires to him, let alone her emotional secrets that she’d barely begun to share.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and lowers his lips to her cunt.

He barely hears Emma’s moan over the sound of his own. Her salty slickness on his tongue is addictive, the sounds she makes as he begins to eat her out even more so.

Her thigh on his shoulder helps open her up, so he has free access to her clit to swipe across with his tongue a few teasing times as he makes a show of fully exploring her. He dips into her opening a few times before venturing back up to her clit.

He pushes her harder now, focusing his efforts on her clit and begins to suck and lick with more vigor. Her hand tightens in his hair, and he grins. “Love the way you hold tight when I taste you,” he murmurs. “I love the way your hips start to move against me when you’re getting close.”

“Killian,” she whines as he draws her clit into his mouth again. Her hips press up in time with the pulsating sucks, and he has to grind his hips down into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure building in his groin.

Her hand trails from his hair to his cheek, urging him to look up at her. He does so with a parting, firm suck to her clit that has Emma gasping.

“I want you inside me when I come,” she pants.

He grins. “Oh, gladly.”

He rises quicker than a blink and his mouth hovers over hers. “Do you want to know how you taste, Emma?” Her mouth chases his, but he backs off, keeping his lips just out of reach. “Imagine,” he rasps, “how I feel when I look at that pretty cunt of yours and I can see it’s positively dripping with how much you want me. Imagine it. Can you feel it love?” He dips his mouth closer to hers, teasing her before pulling away once more. “Can you feel how much I want you? How I ache to taste the heaven in your skin, how I yearn for the warmth of your body and your heart?”

Emma nods frantically. “I can feel it. God, I feel it.”

He dips down and kisses her then, sloppy and messy and soft, letting her steal the vestiges of her arousal from his lips. It’s a fair trade for the sensation of her moaning against him, for the feeling of her wrapping her legs around his waist and pushing her hips into his, grinding her core against his cock.

“Gods,” Killian gasps. “I love you so much. I want you to feel it when I fuck you into this bloody mattress.” He reaches for the head of the bed, grabbing one of their plumper pillows for the task he has in mind.

He taps on her hip, silently signaling her to lift up, and he positions the pillow under her hips.

“I want you to feel how much I love you,” he says again, “I want you to listen to every word I say when I’m inside you.” He gives her a last, parting kiss before he pushes back onto his knees. He takes one of her ankles in his hand and pushes it outward, using his wrist to do the same with the other, leaving her completely spread and vulnerable to him.

When he presses inside, he nearly comes when he feels how tight she is, her wet heat squeezing delightfully at this angle. He doesn’t move yet; he knows that once he does, much of his coherence will fly out the window, and he wants her to understand him.

“You’re not just the Savior, not just the product of True Love,” he tells her, leaning down to press a kiss to her sternum. “You’re Emma Swan. You’ve the most resilient heart I’ve ever known. You forgive, you see the best in those around you, no matter what they’ve done to wrong you.” He steals a glance up at her to find her watching him intently, her gaze following his every move. He trails his lips to the left and tenderly licks over her nipple. “You managed to bring a man who was a hundred shades of terrible back from the brink of self destruction just by virtue of being you.” He smooths his hand up and down her leg, relishing the trembling he feels there, and ventures over to her other breast, giving it the same treatment as the last before he looks up. “I didn’t fall in love with an infallible Savior, I fell in love with an amazing woman who keeps getting back up when she’s knocked down. She inspires greatness in others because she herself is great.”

He presses up to brush a kiss over her lips. He lets go of her ankle for a moment to brush an escaped tear off her cheek.

“You give so much of yourself to others,” he continues, and begins to move his hips. Small movements, but they make the suffused pleasure begin to spark. “I can at least try to give you back even a fraction of the love you give me.”

Emma looks shocked in the best of ways, her mouth slightly slack and tenderness in her eyes. No more tears fall, but it’s a near thing.

He leans back once more, gaining a firmer hold of her ankle with his hand, and balancing the other with his wrist. His pace increases, the next step in a steady build. Emma’s eyes fall closed, her mouth gaping wider in a silent gasp of pleasure. Her fingers grasp feebly against the sheets. Her chest rises and falls in rapid pants.

Gods, he feels like he has so much else to say to her, so many more words he could use to attempt to make her understand the depth of his feeling for her. It goes so much deeper than romantic love. Before he loved her, he respected her as an adversary. Then, he respected her as an ally. He admired her as a leader. Everything about her seemed worthy of note, worthy of attention and care and praise, and yet somehow she always seemed to be starved for those very things.

Killian was only too happy to fill that void.

He picks up his pace again incrementally, pulling out further and pushing in harder with each stroke. With this angle, he hits that place inside her that has her moaning for him in no time.

“Fuck, Killian,” Emma gasps when his strokes pass from steady into hard.

With her legs spread as they are, she cannot fuck her hips back into his. She has no choice but to lay back and take him. Despite her usual preference to be an active participant in their lovemaking, she’s certainly not complaining now.

Her moans are deeper now. He knows that she was close when he was eating her out before, so she’s only been climbing higher since then. She usually needs some stimulation on her clit before she can fall over that edge. One of her hands tweaks and massages a breast. The other begins its descent downwards.

Much as he likes to watch her touch herself, he lets go of her ankle to catch her hand before it reaches its destination.

“Let me,” he says. He quickly hooks his arm around her knee, drawing her leg in towards his chest so that he can maintain the deep penetration and still reach her clit.

He runs his fingers along her swollen labia before running down to feel where his cock pushes into her. It’s a self-indulgent moment, but it allows him to gather some wetness before he trails back up to her clit and starts rubbing over it in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck,” Emma says, high-pitched and breathy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“That’s it, beautiful,” he encourages. “Come for me. Let me take care of you.”

“I’m--” Emma cuts herself off, breath catching in her throat and hips twitching. He can feel her starting to clench within. Not long now, he knows.

He’s been staving off his own orgasm, wanting to watch her fall first, too focused on her pleasure to worry too much about his own. But with her little, high-pitched gasps and bitten off sentences signaling her impending orgasm, he can feel his own building.

“Come on, love,” he encourages, swiping against her clit harder with each pass.

She’s a treasure to behold in the throes of ecstasy. Her golden hair spread on a pillow and mussed from their motion. Her hands molding her breasts, pink nipples peeking out from between her fingers. A slight glimmer of sweat across her belly. The quivering thighs, protesting being held open for so long when he knows she wants to clamp down and ride out her orgasm with him held tight against her.

And he desperately wants to feel her skin against his. As much as this position allows him to go deep inside her, he misses her chest against his. Misses feeling connected at every point.

When she finally comes, she does so with a sharp wail, her eyes wide open and affixed to his face.

It’s her watching him that finally breaks his resolve. He drops her legs and collapses his torso against hers. He kisses her because he can’t help himself. She kisses him back fervently, and he does his best to maintain a steady enough rhythm to help her ride out her orgasm. His steady pace falters when she ruthlessly squeezes her internal muscles, and breaths in his ear, “Come for me, Killian,” in a voice that’s husky with sex. It finally does him in, and he comes, pressing as deeply into her as he can get.

He manages to thrust a handful more times as he rides out the last sparks of pleasure. They fall still. Emma wiggles and extracts the pillow from where it lay beneath her and wraps her arms around him, encouraging him to put his full weight on her. He obliges gratefully and relaxes into the cradle of her hips, resting his head against her collarbone.

There are a few seconds of quiet before Emma says, “I love you so much.” She twists so that she can kiss his forehead. “Thank you.”

He feels the pull of sleep starting to nibble at the edge of his awareness, so he pulls out of her. He rolls onto his back, but doesn’t look away from her.

“I love you, too,” he replies. “And we should rest while we can.”

Her answering smile is soft. “I think I’ll be able to now.”

Killian smiles back in kind. “Good.”

[gingerchangeling]

The Crown

My first Contribution to @cscocktoberfest. Check out their collection on Ao3 or here! Many many thanks to my perfect one @bluegraywilde and my wonderful beta @courtorderedcake.

Attending a Renaissance Faire is not Emma's Swan's idea of good time. But there may be someone who could change her mind.

On Ao3 and FF  and Tumblr

Of all the weird ways she had spent Saturdays during her adult life, Emma was certain that this one was the weirdest. And it was entirely Henry's fault. Well…. Henry and Mary Margaret's fault. …. And David wasn’t blameless in the whole thing, either.

Because somehow Henry had roped Mary Margaret and David into teaming up against her. And now here she was.

At the Renaissance Faire.

Henry had heard about it from someone in his class, and her kid, being the absolute nerd that he was, had come home that night and immediately informed her that going to the Faire was all he wanted for his birthday.

And while he presented a compelling argument on his own, she had hesitated, and he had called in the cavalry. Although she had to hand it to Henry. His nerdiness may have been learned from David. But his subtlety?

All her.

He had let it lay for a couple weeks until one night when Mary Margaret had one of her nesting swings and needed to be absolutely sure that both Emma and Henry were being fed proper home cooked meals fit to present at Thanksgiving dinner. She and David had invited themselves over, and they were sitting around the table eating obscenely delicious mac-n-cheese, mashed potatoes, turkey, and because both of her best friends were absolute freaks of nature, cranberry sauce.

Emma was in the midst of shovelling a second helping of mac-n-cheese onto her plate with her mouth still full of mash potatoes when Henry made his move.

“You know, I think that this is exactly what I want to eat for my birthday dinner, Mary Margaret.” First, move the pawn.

Mary Margaret looked at him surprised, “Birthday dinner?”

Henry nodded, “Yeah its a meal eaten on the day that celebrates my birth. You may have heard of it before.” A rook as a distraction.

David snorted. Emma managed to swallow her mouthful without choking, “Henry don’t be facetious. It’s rude.” Knight takes rook.

Henry bowed his head contritely, “Sorry Mary Margaret.” Move another pawn forward.

She smiled at him, “It’s fine Henry. Thank you for your apology. I accept. Going back to what you said. I was simply surprised that you were planning for your birthday already. Isn’t it still a month away?” His bishop.

Henry nodded, and said casually, “Yeah, but thirteen is an important number. I’m turning into a teenager. I got to make it count.” His queen.

But something about his casual tone seemed almost… too casual to Emma. She stopped eating to inspect her son, who was acting for all the world like nothing of interest was going on.

And then Mary Margaret had asked the question that made everything click.

“So do you have an idea of what you want to do on your birthday then?”

Checkmate.

Emma could actually feel Henry's smugness as he answered, “Oh well I did have one idea….”

“Oh? What was it?”

“I really wanted to go to the Renaissance Faire this year.”

Emma actually narrowed her eyes at Henry and her son had the audacity to look back with a knowing smile as Mary Margaret gasped.

“Oh how fun! I think that’s a great idea! Don’t you think so David?”

Emma turned away from her little shit of a son to look at her dearest and oldest friend.

Emma had met David while she was in prison. He had been a volunteer from the college nearby and for some reason, he was one of the few people she didn’t mind having around. So when she got out of jail, he was there to help her get herself back on her feet.

She ran at one point, the wounds too fresh and the pain too much, taking Henry and leaving without a word. She had made enough to buy a beat up old Bug, and she strapped Henry in and drove. A week and a half later, she’d found herself in a quiet town in Maine, being bullied by a young pixie-haired woman into her loft, and hot cocoa forced into her hands.

Three weeks later, David showed up at the door. Mary Margaret, once she had strong armed Emma into her home and into a real bed, had looked up Emma’s emergency contact and called him. He’d moved two days later, but kept to himself, giving Emma the space he knew she needed.

He was good at that. Waiting and watching. Reading the signs.  

After he thought she’d had enough time, he came to bring her to his apartment. And Emma got to witness the first time Mary Margaret and David met face to face. She still jokes that there is a stain on the floor just outside her door from where David melted into a puddle of goo.

Within a year, Emma and Henry were living by themselves in the apartment David had gotten as David had moved into Mary Margaret’s. And that was it. Emma stayed and David stayed and she found the family she always wanted.

And now the one that had given her the push she needed to have that family was eyeing her with a smirk on his face and a raised eyebrow. She knew that face. It was the patented David Nolan BBG- big brother grin. And it usually meant that he was about to do something that was really going to irritate her. Just because he could.

“The Renaissance Faire huh?” he asked, tilting his head towards Mary Margaret and Henry. Mary Margaret eagerly watched her husband’s face. “Yeah I think that might actually sound like a lot of fun.”

Henry let out a whoop, and Mary Margaret pulled his collar towards her to give him a big sloppy kiss. As he sat back from being accosted by his wife, David sent her a wink. He was lucky he didn’t live with her anymore.  

And here she was. Dressed in some ridiculous get up that Henry had guilted her into and staring at…. Well she wasn’t exactly sure how to describe it.

There were people dressed in jeans and tanks tops, laughing and taking selfies. And there were also people……

“Are those guys dressed as Vikings? In this heat?”

Henry was eyeing a group of guys wearing thick furs and thicker leather armor underneath. Emma could even see the glinting of ….. was that chainmail? Seriously?

Emma shook her head. It was close to a hundred degrees, the air was stifling, and Mary Margaret had insisted that wearing a corset would be such a great idea. She could actually feel her skin melting in the ridiculous outfit she was in. The green linen dress was airy enough, but the goddamn leather corset and shoulder pads were just ridiculous. The only concession that Mary Margaret had made was Emma was allowed to wear a sword she’d bought on a drunken whim missing Henery while he was at ‘Pirate Camp’ a few years before.

At least David looked equally as uncomfortable in the outfit he was in, his doublet and breeches were made of thick embroidered velvet. It had amused her endlessly when she had asked him why he had the outfit, he had muttered something about not being nosey and walked off. Henry had been gifted with a light linen tunic and pants.

But Emma couldn’t help but shake her her head at Mary Margaret’s outfit. A full flowing ball gown with intricate stitchwork seemed to float above the dirt as she walked. She really looked a queen. And Emma could not understand how the woman had not melted yet.

Henry didn’t seem to want an answer to his question about the identity of the furred and chainmailed men, because the next moment he was tugging Emma towards the entrance line.

In short order, their bags had been checked and their weapons zip-tied and they were in. Emma walked in amazement as they made their way into the Faire.

Tents lined the hard packed path. Most of the first ones were filled with people drinking, merily calling out compliments and comments to passersby. As they got a little deeper in, the tents intended to set the scene transitioned into market tents.

Henry was going to explode with excitement.

“MOM DO YOU SEE THIS OH MY GOD THIS IS SO COOL. AND THAT OVER THERE! DUDE THIS IS COOL!” He bobbed in and out of the crowd, dodging drunken characters on a pub crawl through the Faire, families meandering, and friends daring each other to try the samples at the Ye Old Garlic Fart bread dip booth.  

Emma couldn’t help but allow Henry’s absolute joy to fill her with enjoyment as well. And when David vanished then reappeared with a shot of something she immediately tossed back, she found herself actually starting to appreciate all the guys walking around in super tight outfits.

It was as Henry was standing enamoured with a falconry show that Emma saw it.

The crown.

A beautiful piece of bronze and silver, no jewels or extra ornamentation, that she could just picture sitting atop her head. She could almost feel the weight of it settling on her hair

Not wanting to attract the attention of the others so she didn’t have to deal with their questions, she casually made her way over to the booth. The wooden sign hanging above the tent said that the store was The Jolly Roger’s Hold.

There were numerous crowns and tiaras, all really well made. Some were set with jewels or pearls, while others had beads dangling down.

But she only had eyes for the simple bronze and silver one sitting in one of the displays off on the side of the tent. She stood there for several minutes, just studying the beautiful craftsmanship of the piece. She wanted to pick it up and try it on, but she couldn’t bring herself to. It wasn’t like she was going to buy it. She was only here for Henry.

She shook her head and was about to turn around, when a voice came from right behind her.

“You should try it on love.”

She stiffened in surprise, turning around, a scowl on her face, ready to berate the man for sneaking up on her and calling her love, but the words died in her mouth.

The man who stood before her was dressed in simple garb, black leather pants tucked into black leather boots, and a simple white linen tunic belted at his waist, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows and the neck hanging open. And the most handsome face she had ever seen in person.

Black hair flopped down into crystal blue eyes, and a well stubbled chin framed perfectly formed lips. Dark chest hair showed from his open collar, a tempting shine coating his skin from the summer heat. Strong forearms sat crossed over his chest. It was actually ridiculous how hot he was.

She cleared her throat, trying to recover herself. “Oh um, thank you, but I’m alright. It just caught my eye, that was all.”

His eyes twinkled as a gentle smile curved his lips and formed a dimple in his cheek. “It’s amazing how that happens sometimes. You can look at a thing and just...know that it was meant for you.”

Emma flushed at his words, but refused to let it get to her, “You use that line on all the customers?”

His eyebrow jumped up and his gentle smile took on a more dangerous edge, “Oh no love,” he murmured, stepping a little bit closer. “It takes a very special kind of person to get my personal...services.”

He leaned forward, and Emma stiffened, thinking that he might actually be daring enough to try and kiss her after a line like that. And then stiffened further when she realized she was looking at his lips, not entirely opposed to the idea.

When he was just a hair’s breadth away from her, he hesitated for just a moment before leaning back, leaving her flustered and confused. Then he held up the crown she’d been looking at, and she realized he had been reaching around her to grab it, and she flushed again this time in irritation. He was messing with her.

“What do you say love? Want to give it a try?”

But her resolve had returned and she could hear the applause from the ending of the show.

She took a step back, giving into her irritation and shooting him a glare, “No thanks. I need to go.” As she turned away though, she didn’t miss his face falling or the confusion pulling his brows low, the crown still sitting in his hands, as if waiting to crown her his queen.

She shook her head at herself. It was the heat, and the drink David had gotten her going to her head. He was probably just used to using his pretty face to sell his wares and was disappointed he wasn’t successful. She resolved to put both him and his crown out of her mind. She was here for Henry. That was it.

Emma managed to sneak back across the path to where the others were standing without them noticing her absence, and a moment later, Henry came bouncing over, regaling her with his plans for what he wanted to see next.

As they continued deeper into the Faire, Emma did manage to put the crown and the man holding it out of her mind, the people and the booths offering suitable distractions.

Mary Margaret wandered into a booth selling handmade jewelry, while David examined a coin press making custom stamped coins a little further on. Henry was staring at a small, hand-crafted, leather bound book with such longing she thought he might start drooling.

When one of the “town criers” announced a combat show, Henry gave one more mournful look at the book before he gathered his excitement again and dashed off to watch the show, David eagerly keeping step with him.

“You know, sometimes I wonder who is the child of the two of them,” muttered Mary Margaret as she joined Emma at the leather crafts booth. “You going to get it for him?” she nodded to the book Emma had picked up the moment Henry had vanished from sight.

Emma sighed, “Of course I am. He never asks for anything and it’s his birthday. He didn’t even get to unwrap anything this year.”

Mary Margaret laughed, before turning a look on Emma.

Emma caught her friend's expression, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you just disappearing?”

Emma’s eyes widened, “Um, yeah, kind of?”

Mary Margaret shook her head with an affectionate smile, “Emma, of course I would notice. You were standing over that crown for like five minutes, drooling.”

Emma turned pink as the memory of what happened rushed back to her, “And um…. Did you see anything…. Else?”

Maybe Henry hadn’t gotten his subtlety from her.

Mary Margaret raised an amused brow at her, “You mean did I see you eye fuck the guy running the booth while your underwear melted off?”

“Mary Margaret!” Emma was shocked at her friends coarseness. The woman was usually so demure about things like that, trying to euphemize or imply rather than outright state anything remotely sexual. It always made girls night entertaining. She and Ruby had a running tally sheet of all the ways Mary Margaret avoided saying the word sex outloud.

But her friend seemed unphased, “Was that not what happened?”

Emma had to drop her eyes from her friend, pretending to examine the book she was holding as she recalled his smell and the wash of heat when he had leaned inward.

“.... Kinda, Yeah. I guess,” she mumbled.

Mary Margaret gave a small tsk, “Then why didn’t you do what you wanted?”

Emma looked back up at her friend, the irritation from earlier returning in full force. “Because I’ve been there and done that. He was just using his looks to sell things. And besides, I have Henry to think about. I’m not gonna go galavanting off with some pretty boy because my hormones have decided that my dry spell has been too long.”

But Mary Margaret’s reaction was not what she was expecting. The woman just smirked at her, “I meant, why didn’t you buy the crown like you wanted?”

“Oh. Um, because I don’t need a crown. And it’s Henry’s birthday, not mine. I’m here for him.” She held up the book to remind Mary Margaret of the fact.  

Mary Margaret just scoffed, “When are you going to stop punishing yourself?”

Emma blinked, “What?”

“You use Henry as an excuse anytime you feel even remotely like you want something for yourself. It’s like you use him to remind yourself of what happened with Neal. You didn’t do anything wrong, then or now. You were underage. He wasn’t. He manipulated you from the moment you met. Stop using what he did to you as an excuse to believe that you don’t deserve to be happy. You DO deserve to be happy. You are just as-”

“Enough Mary Margaret.”

Emma’s tone was cool and level, but inside she was seething - Because she knew, deep down, that Mary Margaret was right, she just didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to be faced with that truth.

Mary Margaret's mouth snapped shut. Emma didn’t wait to see if her friend would say more, instead going to the teller at the back of the tent to purchase the book, only wincing a little bit at the price.

When she came out, she expected Mary Margaret to continue, but she just motioned across the the path towards the stage, “The boys are over there.”

Emma eyed her for a moment, but Mary Margaret just started walking, so Emma followed her. When they found the boys close to the stage, both cheering loudly, David looked at  them both curiously but didn’t say anything.

The show concluded and the group moved on, wandering through the Faire until they reached the very end, a large dirt packed area with fencing and some stands creating a small stadium like enclosure.

“What’s this for?” asked Henry, looking around. And almost as soon as the question lef this mouth, another town crier shouted from behind them.

“HEAR YE HEAR YE. ALL THOSE GENTLE LADIES AND LORDS ARE HEREBY INVITED TO WATCH THE GREAT TOURNAMENT TO BE HELD HEREIN. GREAT SPECTACLES OF STRENGTH AND COURAGE WILL BE SHOWN AS OUR CHAMPIONS JOUST AND ENGAGE IN HAND TO HAND COMBAT TO WIN THE HONOR OF CROWNING THEIR CHOSEN LIEGE. COME ONE, COME ALL.”

Henry let out a inhuman noise, “JOUSTING!!!!” before making a mad dash into the stands, joining a pack of other enthusiastic kids to the front seats. Emma shook her head with a smile but followed her son, planning on sitting in the back.

But Henry shouted, “Mom come on! I saved you a seat!!” patting the vacant spot next to him, eagerly.

“Oh I guess we aren’t that important are we?” muttered David, but Emma could tell he was smiling.

“I’ll meet you guys after, ok?” she called over her shoulder as she moved around to the front.

Settling herself next to Henry, she let his buzzing excitement and happy chatter wash over her. The seats were still filling so she just let her mind focus on the sensory input. Keeping her thoughts from wandering.

Until she heard Henry's tone change.

“Mom?”

She looked at him just as a loud trumpet blast announced the start of the show.

“You know that you are the best mom ever and I love you right?”

Her heart clenched and she pulled him into a hug.

“Happy birthday kid.”

She held him to her side, her head resting on his mop of brown hair as the two “knights” rode out on horses, raising a cheer as they galloped past the grandstand. Each knight had a massive jousting spear.

One knight was riding a molted brown horse, his armor glinting brightly in the sun. His shield was decorated with a black drawn bow on a white field. His clothes were also white, and he almost hurt to look at when he rode into the direct sunlight. The other knight was riding a pure black charger, his armor and clothing black. Upon his shield was a simple golden crown on a black field.

Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the contrivance- a white knight versus a black knight? Seriously?

But as the knight in black made his way around the pitch, Emma couldn’t help but let her eyes be drawn to him. He seemed to wear the armor like it was a part of him, shoulders back and broad, his body moving fluidly with the motions of the trotting horse, hips rolling in an easy glide that had her wondering if he rode everything that smoothly.

As he was riding past where she and Henry were sitting, his helmet turned to view the crowd. And for some reason, Emma felt like he was looking at her. But that was just silly.

Once the moment passed, the horses jockied up to their starting positions, and after anther fanfare of trumpets, the joust began. Henry pulled away to sit forward to eagerly watch the match.

Both riders urged their horses forward, leveling their lances at their opponent. Emma was amazed at how steady the Black rider held his spear, and she couldn’t help but wince internally at her mental innuendo.

The two horses thundered past each other, the White rider’s spear shattering on impact with the Black knights shield. The black Knight’s lance landed squarely in the other’s shield, throwing the man bodily from his horse, dirt covering the pristine white of his clothes.

The man tumbled before dramatically getting to his feet, tossing aside the splintered remains of his spear and drawing his sword. The Black rider had made it to the far end of the pitch and reeled his horse around.

The horse reared up as it turned, and Emma watched in awe as the man easily stayed astride the animal until it had dropped back to all four feet. Once the horse had settled, he swung his leg over the beast’s back and dropped to the ground, drawing his own sword as he did.

Emma could not help but shift slightly in her seat as she watched the Black Knight close in on his foe and engage. It was almost like watching a dance as the two men twirled around each other, swords clashing, the sharp contact of the metal ringing around the pitch.

Emma was aware that the whole combat was probably staged but she couldn’t help but lean forward, rooting silently for the Black Knight as the two men maneuvered around each to her. Her eyes traced the flowing lines of his body as he moved with grace and precision, her body telling her that he could clearly handle any sword that well.

The men traded blows for almost a full five minutes, both slowing as time passed, clearly worn down from the length of the fight until the two men were standing almost directly in front of them. Henry was falling out of his seat in wonder, and Emma was just as enthralled.They both watched, enraptured, as the Black Knight suddenly unleashed a flurry of wicked fast, powerful strokes that finally disarmed the other knight.

Emma couldn’t help but join Henry in letting out a whoop of victory as the Black Knight raised his sword to the crowd, acknowledging the cheers before giving a low bow. When he straightened, Emma could see his armor shifting with each panting breath he took.

“The champion will now name his leige!!!!” the announcer shouted. Immediately the crowd roared, everybody desperately shouting to the Black Knight to pick them. Emma was proud to say that she managed to restrain herself from shouting, but she couldn't help but get caught up in the crowd and lean forward trying to catch his eye, biting her lip at her own ridiculousness.

The Knight made a show of walking along the stands, looking over the crowd, before he began to pace back toward where she and Henry were sitting. Emma felt her heart flutter a bit, but she tried to hide her sudden nerves by resting her hands on Henry’s shoulders, keeping him from leaping to the fence to beg the knight to pick him.

Finally, the knight stopped before them, clearly looking at her, before he offered an armored hand to her over the fence. She turned pink but reached a shaky hand out towards him as well, resting her fingers in palm. He gently closed his fingers around hers and brough the back of her hand to his lips, or where his lips would be if he’d removed his helmet.

“My lady,” he spoke lowly, and Emma felt her insides quiver at the gravel in his voice, reluctantly bringing her hand back after he released it. But then she was awed when he turned to Henry and dropped down on one knee before him.

“My Liege.”

Henry looked like he was going to burst as he stared down at the kneeling man, turning to look up at Emma to figure out what to do. Emma just sent him a beaming smile, pride for her son welling up in her.

The the announcer shouted, “And the knight has chosen his liege.”

The Black Knight stood from where he knelt, bowing to Henry, turning and giving Emma a bow as well, before he went to fetch his horse, swinging back up into the saddle with ease. Emma licked her lips as she watched him ride into the hidden preparation area, and as she did she managed to catch him turning to glance back at her one more time.

And then it was over. The crowd began to clear and Emma and Henry found their way back to Mary Margaret and David.

When they got to David, he bowed lowly, “My Liege!”

Herny laughed and smacked David’s shoulder but Emma could tell that he really liked it. And then Mary Margaret had to open her mouth.

“Henry! You need a crown now!”

Henry’s eyes lit up, “You think!”

Mary Margaret nodded emphatically, “Yeah! David and I haven’t given you a gift yet! I saw a really nice crown shop when we were walking over here. It’ll be your birthday gift from us, my Liege.”

Henry threw his arms around Mary Margaret in a bear hug, saying, “THANK YOU SO MUCH!” before he dashed off.

“Henry, wait for us!” Emma called, before she turned to glare at Mary Margaret. “I hate you.”

Mary Margaret just nodded. “Yeah, I am sure you do.”

“Why do you hate my wife?” David asked as they made their way to where Henry was bouncing on his toes, willing them to walk more quickly.

“Because she cannot keep her sticky paws out of my business.”

“Ah ok,” he nodded, wisely letting the matter drop. “Well since we are headed out, what’s gonna be the plan for dinner? Did Henry want to go somewhere specific?”

Emma shrugged, “Honestly I don’t know. He hasn’t really been capable of thinking beyond coming to this thing.”

David nodded, “Ok, we’ll play it by ear then.” By then, they’d reached Henry, who immediately engaged David in conversation about the fight.

Mary Margaret hung back with Emma.

“Well, maybe not by ear but we’ll certainly play it by something won’t we, Emma?”

Emma almost tripped.

They managed to make good time back to the beginning of the Faire, and before Emma was entirely prepared for it, The Jolly Roger’s Hold was back in sight. Emma started to drag her feet, letting David and Henry get farther and farther ahead of her while next to her Mary Margaret let out a sigh.

“Really Emma? You are going to let one hot guy scare you away from spending the time with Henry? If it really wasn’t that big a deal, then you should be able to go in there and throw his flirting back in his face, right?”

Emma knew immediately what Mary Margaret was doing. She may as well have added “I double dog dare you” to the end of her statement. But damn if it didn’t brush at the chip on her shoulder. So Emma sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, nodding at Mary Margaret and marching the rest of the way to the tent. She could almost swear she heard Mary Margaret give a laugh behind her.

When she got to the entrance though she stopped up short again a the sight of Henry standing solemnly, facing in her direction, a black-haired figure adorned in black armor facing away from her, presenting her son with a magnificent golden crown set with green crystals.

She managed to whip out her phone and got a picture as she heard the figure say, “My Liege,” before standing to place the crown on her son’s head. Then Henry caught sight of Emma behind the man.

“MOM LOOK AT ME!”

Emma smiled widely at her son as she slipped her phone back in her pocket. Henry looked radiant. He even seemed to look taller, as if the crown had lent an air of majesty to him.

“You look very dashing, my prince,” she said as he bounced up to her. He was beaming and she reached out to cup his face, and they paused for a moment, before Henry caught sight of Mary Margaret.

“Mary Margaret, LOOK!”

He moved passed Emma and that’s when Emma remembered the Black Knight was standing there. She was suddenly overwhelmed with an almost school girl shyness, stepping forward towards him.

She cleared her throat, “Um, you may not remember me, but, um, I was the woman standing next to Henry. You um, you fought really well.”

The figure seemed to freeze up, standing silent for a moment, and Emma was worried she’d somehow embarrassed or offended him.

But then he sucked in a breath, and she watched his shoulder shift under the armor, “My thanks my lady. And of course I-”

“JONES WHAT IN BLEEDING HELL WAS THAT ALL ABOUT!”

The Black Knight flinched, the pointed ear she could see turning bright red, before the White Knight, carrying his helmet, stormed into the tent towards the Black Knight.

“YOU NEARLY KILLED ME!”

The Black Knight reached a hand up to scratch at his neck as he turned to face his accuser, and Emma was brought up short. It was the blue-eyed guy from the morning. The one who had tried to sell the crown to her.

His eyes flicked over to her but quickly refocused on the man before him, who came to a fuming stop a few feet away.

“Aye sorry Rob. I don’t know what came over me.”

“What the hell does that mean Jones? We practiced for days! And performed it perfectly yesterday!”

The Black knight, whose last name she gathered was Jones, made a shushing movement toward the man, “Hush up Rob. Not so loud.”

The man, Rob, opened his mouth, probably to shout again, when he seemed to realize the wisdom of Jones’s suggestion and tempered his voice. “Killian, I’m sorry for yelling, but why would you throw away all our practice?”

Killian just sighed, eyes flicking back over at Emma, “I’m sorry Robin.I guess I just really wanted to win for once, I guess.”

Robin looked at Killian with narrowed eyes, before he scoffed quietly. “Right, sure,” before he turned, shaking his head, leaving the tent. And Emma came to a sudden realization. Killian had known who she was before the battle had started. He had gone off script to win. And she had a suspicion that it was so he could impress her.

The man before her was still dressed in the imposing armor, but his face was flushed crimson as he looked anywhere but her. And she came to the clinching realization. He’d never intended her to find out who he was.

You DO deserve to be happy.

She decided. She turned abruptly, marching over to Mary Margaret, who took one look at her face, diverted Henry’s attention to David, and came over to her with a raised eyebrow.

Emma sucked in a breath, “Would it make me a horrible mother if I asked you-”

“No.”

Mary Margaret’s answer was firm and unyielding. Her gaze was steady as she put a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “I understand that you always want to put Henry first. But we are here. We can help. You aren’t being irresponsible or impulsive. Go. Let us take Henry. It’ll be ok. I promise.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes were so sincere that the guilt that had already begun welling up in her was dispelled. Emma nodded.

“I’ll leave David to you, then?”

Mary Margaret nodded. “I do expect all the details at girls night, though. So you and Ruby can put that stupid list away for once.”

With that, Mary Margaret turned and headed back toward the boys. David glanced up, and she could actually feel him pull the information he wanted out of her with his eyes, an eyebrow going up before he made a disgusted face. And like the mature person she was, Emma stuck out her tongue before she turned away, sucking in a deep breath.

She marched back into the tent. She found him gently pulling her crown out of a woman’s hands, even as she batted her eyes at him and simpered.

“I’m sorry lass, but I’m holding that for someone.”

He turned toward her, looking down at the crown with a mournful expression, not even paying attention to the woman who was clearly still trying to keep his attention. He kept moving, walking right past her without really noticing. She watched as he made his way towards the back of the tent, stepping behind a flap.

Emma waited to see if he’d reappear, but when he didn’t she decided. Making sure no one saw her, she ducked behind the flap as well. She was surprised to see that she was back outside and about fifteen feet from the back of the market tent was a second, much smaller tent.

She made her way to it and silently pulled the flap aside.

Killian was sitting on the edge of a cot, still in full armor, staring at the crown in his hands, his thumb lightly caressing the curve.

Her brain supplied her with a delightful image of that thumb caressing something else that had her suppressing a shiver. She took another steadying breath.

“Is it still possible to try it on?”

His back snapped straight at her voice jerking around to stare at her with disbelieving eyes. For a moment, he was silent. Then he licked his lips.

“Uh, aye lass. After all, ’twas clearly meant for you.”

Emma flushed but stepped completely into the tent as he stood. He walked toward her carefully, almost as if he didn’t believe that she was there.

But when he was only a few inches away, he stared at her, a hunger overtaking his amazement deep in his eyes.

“May I, my lady?” he asked quietly. Her heartbeat picked up as she dipped her head.

“You may.”

A tiny smile tilted his lips and made his eyes crinkle, before he licked his lips again and nodded slightly, as if to encourage himself. Then he stepped around her, taking up position behind her.

As his body moved, she caught sight herself reflected in a full length mirror in the corner. She watched as he stepped behind her, lifting the crown high above her head, before slowly lowering the crown onto her hair. As the weight settled on her head, she watched as his eyes sought out hers in the mirror.

“Perfect,” he breathed.

Then, keeping his eyes locked on hers in the mirror, he slowly began to slide his hands down her head, her neck, her shoulders. When she gave no sign that she wanted him to stop, he closed his eyes and leaned forward. Watching him bury his face in her neck as she felt him breathe deeply against her skin sent shivers down her spine.

His hands slid further, brushing down her arms, before they slowly moved around her front, beginning to brush back upward. She watch and felt him move his chin to clear some of her hair away from her neck before pressing a hot kiss just behind her ear.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips without her permission, but it seemed to be what he was looking for. Because a moment later, his fingers found the top of her corset, slipping under the fabric of her dress to lightly brush the exposed skin that was being supported by the wire frame.

His fingers were coarse but gentle and she didn’t even try to stop the near silent moan that escaped her throat at the feeling.

She felt, more than heard, a dark chuckle dance across her skin. He pulled his head back to meet her eye in the mirror again, before he slowly slid his hands to the first of the clasps on her corset. She swayed back, pressing herself into his armor as his hands slid to the next clasp.

She wasn’t a kinky person by any stretch. But watching Killian’s face and focus in the mirror was quickly working her up. She was practically panting by the time he had released the last clasp of her corset.

She sucked in a deep breath, her first since she put the damn thing on. He let it fall to her feet in favor of running his hands up her now only linen clad belly, before he started to palm her breast, moaning quietly as he began to knead them.

Her eyes closed for a moment as she let her head fall back to rest against his breastplate. But after a few moments, she got bored, so she brought her hands up to still his. His eyes met hers in the mirror, concern flashing in his eyes.

She couldn’t have that. She released his hands only long enough to spin around, catching them as they started to fall back to his sides, his head already lowered in despair. But when her hands found his again, his head jerked back up, disappointment replaced with wonder.

She studied his face for a moment, before she released his hand in favor of bringing it up to cup his face, his stubble prickling at her palm and tickling her thumb as she caressed his cheek.

His eyes flicked back and forth between her own, a tentative smile bringing that dimple back.

“May I help my champion remove his armor?”

She was actually able to watch his pupils dilate as he registered her question.

“It would be my greatest pleasure, my queen.” A smile tugged at one side of her lips as he stepped around her, keeping one hand as he tugged her over to the bed.

Quietly, he whispered where to find the clasps and buckles to remove the pieces of metal that shielded his body from her. Slowly, as each piece got placed gently on the fur covered floor, she was able to see his sweat soaked form. The white linen shirt he had been wearing earlier was soaked through, clinging to his skin. The semi-transparent fabric did nothing but accentuate his shoulders and sheer stomach.

It was as she was kneeling at his feet, removing his final piece of armor, that the slow simmer of tension finally gave way.... Because in her position, she was eye to eye with the laces on his pants.

She licked her lips before reaching to start to undo them. But before her fingers could make it to their intended destination, he caught her hands by the wrists. She felt a wash of rejection before she heard a quiet chuckle from above her, his thumbs rubbing her skin.

“I appreciate the sentiment love, but after half a day in armor, you might find that particular fruit a wee bit ripe.”

She looked up at him to see an warm, albeit embarrassed, smile gracing his features. He gave a tug on her wrists that she followed willingly, getting to her feet to stand in front of him. He dropped her wrists to bring his hands up to cup her face.

“May I kiss you, my queen?”

Emma’s eyes fluttered as his voice washed over her and she gave a weak nod. His fingers applied the lightest pressure to her jaw, drawing her lips to his.

The kiss was slow and tentative. Both of them were trying to figure out if the other was completely on board with what was obviously happening.

And as the kiss lengthened and they both found the answer in the sensation of the other person’s lips, the kiss deepened and began to heat up. Finally Emma had to pull back to suck in a few deep breaths.

“Holy shit.”

His laughter started out as  quiet huff but slowly built into a full bellied laugh. It was a delightful sound. His head was tossed back and his shoulders heaved in amusement, hands falling from her face to clutch at his chest. She couldn't help the giggle herself after a moment.

After a time, his laughter slowly subsided.

“Gods, but you are a wonder love.”

Emma blushed furiously as she muttered, “Yeah well you aren’t so bad yourself.”

His eyebrow popped up up. A slow smile crept up his face as his back seemed to straighten further, his hips and shoulders settling into a casual sort of power pose as a hand came up to hook into his belt.

“Is that so... my queen?”

The way the words rolled off his tongue sent a shiver up her spine and she couldn’t help but lick her lips again.

“Yeah,” she croaked out.

His smile deepened as he stepped forward with a swinging stride. Emma swallowed hard.

He leaned down, keeping his luscious lips just out of reach. “Is that all you can say about me?”

Another shiver rolled down Emma’s spine. She licked her lips again as her eyes flicked down to his.

“S-,” she stuttered. His smirk and eyes softened as his smile turned encouraging. He nodded for her to continue.

“Say it again,” she breathed.

He blinked in surprise, before a wicked smile crept across his face.

“My Queen.”

He imbued the words with such reverence and emotion that she had to close her eyes as the title slid down her spine and settled into her belly.

He took a step forward and she yielded, step by step, until her knees hit the edge of the cot.

“My Queen,” he whispered across her lips before he took one last step forward, forcing her to fall onto the cot.

Her quiet huff seemed to draw him out of his fog.

“Stay put for a moment, my Queen, I’ll be back momentarily,” he murmured.  Then he turned to the small stand and basin. He came back a moment later with a wet rag soaked with soapy water.

Understanding what he wanted, she sat up and held out her hand. He gave her the rag. Slowly, he reached for his laces and began undoing them. Once he had undone the laces, he stepped back to shimmy the leather pants down his hips to pool at the top of his boots.

As his pants dropped, he revealed his half hard cock to her hungry gaze. She licked her lips but headed his initial warning. Instead of reaching for him with her mouth, she carefully began to wipe down his groin and cock with the cloth.

As the cool fabric made contact with his skin, he gave a moan that reached all the way to her clit, making her shift where she was sitting.

She continued to wipe down his cock, savoring the heat she could feel even through the rag until his hand appeared out of nowhere, grabbing her wrist.

“My Queen…” his voice was wrecked.

She heeded his plea and let his cock fall from her hand. She looked up to his face, taking in his heaving chest and half hooded eyes. He looked good enough to eat.

He held her eyes for a long moment, before he clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head hard. When he opened his eyes, he immediately reached down to rip his belt off, hurriedly bending to yank his boots and pants off, then pulling his tunic off, exposing his whole glorious form to her gaze. His dick was just too perfectly positioned to not take advantage of.

He seemed to read her thoughts, because he immediately dropped to his knees, “Perhaps another time, my Queen.” Another shiver sent goose flesh across her skin.

He motioned for her boots, tugging them and her sock from her feet before reaching for the hem of her dress, gathering it up to pull it slowly above her waist. She braced herself on her palms to get the fabric from underneath her ass before raising her hands above her head to allow him to pull the garment completely over her head exposing her completely to his gaze, naked save for the crown on her head.

“Gods above.”

It came out on an exhale, like a knee jerk reaction, and she couldn’t help the warm glow of pride that fed her throbbing arousal at his assessment. Each heart beat heightened the sensation as she felt his eyes rake over her form like a caress.

He sat forward, forcing her slowly backward until she was completely reclined, his body hovering over hers. The intense warmth of the day was nothing compared to the heat that was rolling off of him.

He positioned his knees so he was sitting lightly on her thighs, freeing his hands up to return to their previous caressing. His hands were calloused and felt like heaven dragging across her nipples, his grip firm and sure as he kneaded.

Abruptly, he bent his head to suck one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue while his hand slid down her belly, finding her own heat.

His fingers dancing across her clit were as perfect as she imagined, the firm rhythm he found setting her hips rocking within moments.

It seemed like almost no time at all before a slow wave of absolute ecstasy washed over her and her back arched up from the cot, hips and breast pushing deeper as her orgasm overtook her.

As her body settled, Killian pulled back, the fingers that had been circling her clit slipping past his lips, the absolute enjoyment on his face making her moan quietly as his eyes slipped shut. She could tell that his tongue was trying to wring every last drop of flavor from his fingers.

His whole being seemed to slow, until it seems as if his body was frozen in place. Then his eyes opened as he yanked his fingers out of his mouth, a harsh breath slipping from his clenched teeth.

He lunged forward a moment later, forcing her body completely flat. His chest hair rubbed against her nipples and down her belly, a sensation so unfamiliar to her, that her cunt clenched in a small orgasm.

He didn’t seem to realize the wash of pleasure passing through her body through, for the next moment, his hand was guiding his now fully erect member between her soaking lips. When he maneuvered the tip of his cock inside her, a tiny tip of her hips as she rode out the orgasm had him sliding all the way into her as her muscles clenched around him.

“Oh god my Queen.” The words seemed as though they had been dragged out from the very depths of his soul, his jaw clenched shut and eyes fluttering as he tried to withstand the sensation of her orgasm washing over him.

Once her muscles settled, he relaxed slightly, his rigid member still throbbing within her.

“Please Killian move,” she whispered to him. She felt a shiver roll down his spine and his head dropped to the crook of her neck as his hips slowly began rolling into hers.

“My- uhhggg- my queen. I don’t- oh gods- I don’t know your- FUCK!- I your name,” he panted against her neck.

It took her a moment register his words, as he continued to roll his hips into her. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but notice that her assessment of the smoothness of his ride and his handling of his sword back on the jousting pitch had been correct. He damn well knew how to handle his sword.

“Hush, my Queen,” he whispered, making her pussy clench around him at his words. A groa slipped past his lips and his hips stuttered for just a moment before he slammed home with even greater force.

Another gasp slipped past her lips and he pressed his mouth to hers to catch the sound. The force of his kiss awakened her hunger tenfold, and she reached up to claw at his shoulders, the firm flesh giving her a perfect grip to yank his body closer to her own, her legs wrapping around his thighs to match his eager thrusts.

The slide of his cock within her seemed to brush and caress muscles she didn't know she had, and in practically no time at all, she felt the slow tide of her orgasm licking at her insides.

He seemed to feel the same way, because each snap of his hips carried more force than the one before it, setting every muscle trembling.

“Please, my Queen- oh bloody fucking hell- please, your name,” he gasped out. She could feel his whole body shake above her.

“Eh- eh- eh-” each snap of his hips seemed to drive all the air from her lungs. Then he slid his hand down to rub at her clit.

“EMMA!” she screamed the answer to his question into his lips, nails digging into his skin as she used anything that wasn’t melting in pleasure to pull him closer and pull her pleasure deeper.

“Oh fuck, Emma, my Queeeeeeeen,” he grunted out, his hot breath the only thing she could r

egister as one of the most intense orgasms of her life washed over her. A moment later, he gave one more violent thrust before she felt his release pulse within her.

He collapsed on top of her, the heat of the day nothing compared to the waves rolling off his body and his weight pressing her into the cot, grounding and steadying her.

As her thoughts slowly collected themselves, she was absolutely certain that this time ti would be different.

It took almost five minutes for Killian to take a deeper, more steady breath, pushing himself up. He looked down at her, shifting to reach a hand that she only just now noticed had scars tracing up his wrist , to reposition the crown on her head.

Once it was straightened upon her head, he brought his fingers down to caress her cheek, a quiet, “Oh my Queen,” escaping his lips.

And at his words she couldn’t help the quiet laugh, answering the question it kindled in his eyes.

“I’m definitely buying the crown.”

[let-it-raines]

Frozen Peas (1/2)

Summary: Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not coworkers. Okay, they kind of are. Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not friends either. Okay, maybe they kind of are. Honestly, Emma’s not sure what’s up and what’s down when it comes to Killian Jones...well, that’s also not true. She knows one thing that’s up.

Rating: Mature (it’s cocktoberfest peeps)

A/N: Hey all! Here’s part one of my contribution to @cscocktoberfest! I wrote this about a month ago before I’d really gotten into a good rhythm (pun always intended with me) with my smut writing, but I hope that it’s still a good time. I’m posting a bit early because I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to later since I have a late night at work. So have a very pleasurable time reading.

Read on ao3 | here |

Usual tag list (let me know if you want to be tagged for part two which will post a week from today): @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @profdanglaisstuff @mayquita @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91

“Can you pass the peas, love?”

 “Killian, they’re literally right in front of you.”

 He seems shocked by that, only to look down and see that the peas are, indeed, sitting in the serving dish right between the two of them on David and Mary Margaret’s dining room table. Mary Margaret makes these damn peas for every single one of these dinners, and Killian is the only person who likes them. What Emma would give for another vegetable to be served at one of these dinners. She doesn’t even like vegetables, but she’d learn to love them for anything other than these goddamn peas.

 She seems to be a little too passionate about the peas.

“So how is being coworkers treating the two of you lately?” David asks before shoveling an entire roll in his mouth. Classy.

 “We’re not coworkers.”

 “Bloody fantastic.”

 Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not coworkers. Not technically. Killian is a detective at the precinct where Emma likes to bring in the skips she catches as a bail bondsperson/ bounty hunter / whatever the hell you want to call her nobody ever gets it right anyways. They’re more efficient than any other precinct, and they have the best coffee. She would know. She’s tried them all out after her years of working in Boston, and even if her hours can be hectic, she wouldn’t trade the freedom the job gives her to make her own schedule. Plus, it’s not like she’s really qualified to do anything else – GED received in jail while serving time for a crime you didn’t commit doesn’t exactly scream hire me.

 So while Emma Swan and Killian Jones do, in a roundabout way, work together, they’re not coworkers. She only really knows Killian through her adoptive brother David because the two men were once roommates. And through these blasted weekly dinners at David and Mary Margaret’s that Mary Margaret insists upon as a way to make sure Emma eats a good meal every now and then without Emma knowing that her brother’s wife is coddling her. Emma totally knows, but sometimes you have to pretend to make the ones you love feel better about themselves by playing along.

 It’s always been the three of them. Well, four if you count Killian, and sometimes the occasional new person attending when Mary Margaret finds someone else who she thinks needs a little extra care. Mary Margaret is always insisting that Emma can bring someone if she’d like, but it’s definitely not the place to bring a date if you want them to go out with you again. Emma’s never brought anyone, and she definitely doesn’t plan on changing that. Not that she really dates, not anymore. Not after Neal and the frame job and the jail time and all the other crap she’s ever been through. It’s been a long time since she’s even thought of wanting anything serious, past scars still bright red against her skin, so it’s not like she’s going out and finding nice guys who wear khaki pants and call their mom at least twice a week just to chat.

 She prefers black leather.

 “I feel like,” David continues in his pleasant dinner conversational tone, “the two of you would be fantastic crime fighting partners.”

 “I feel like it’s a good thing that we’re not.”

 “Aye, Swan and I here never agree on anything. Did you know she doesn’t like peas, Dave? Preposterous.”

 And so goes almost every one of their dinners.

 Three days later Emma’s walking into one of her usual bars to catch this scumbag of a guy who skipped out on his bail, leaving his wife out of money and out of a husband. Of course, that last part is a blessing in a not so good disguise because if she’s got a husband who will commit a crime, skip out on bail, and then proceed to go on a Tinder date with Emma, the woman would catch a break leaving the guy.

 Catching him is easier than it should be, but that tends to happen when she slides into a skin-tight dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, boobs pushed up so that they’re almost unnaturally high as they practically spill out of the fabric. It’s sad, but men are simple. Give them something to look at, particularly a pair of tits, and they’ll practically be putty in your hands.

 When she walks into Killian’s precinct, he’s the only officer in the bullpen, and even if it’s not his job to process the guys she brings in, he’ll do it anyways if it’s a slow night.

 Tonight seems to be a slow night.

 After her guy is put away and Killian is back at his desk going through what looks like a stack of hella boring paperwork, she fixes both of them a cup of coffee before saddling over there to prop herself up on the corner of the wood of his desk.

 “You know, Swan,” Killian grins, not bothering to look up at her yet, smooth British accent practically rolling off his tongue as her coffee rolls down hers, “this is my favorite of your dresses. It fits you quite well.”

 She just rolls her eyes, used to his incessant flirting when she comes in. “Is it now?” she teases, knowing that he’s having a difficult time not perusing her body with his gaze. Like she said earlier, give a man something to look at, particularly a pair of tits, and they’ll practically be putty in your hands.

 “Mmmm,” he mumbles, hand finding its way to the bare skin of her calf, a shiver running through her entire body that she struggles to not make obvious because damn that feels good, “you know that I love a woman in red.”

 His hand continues to inch up her calf until it finds itself resting on the inside of her left thigh, fingers tracing a pattern that she can’t make out, but he might as well be burning the patterns of his fingertips into her skin. “I get off in an hour, darling,” he whispers against her skin, having leaned down to kiss her leg, tongue running against the twitching muscle there. She has to hold back a whimper. His breath is warm and soft against her thigh, and the heat she feels from it pools at the apex of her thighs without her permission. “Would you like to wait here or meet me at my place?”

 “What makes you think I’m going to go home with you?”

 Killian just raises an eyebrow, indignant look on his face like she could ever have any other plans than going home with him. She wasn’t lying earlier when she said this precinct had the best coffee and was the most efficient. Those are both truthful statements. But there were definitely some things that she left out. Most of all the fact that every time she comes in with someone who’s missed their trial, she leaves with a certain detective with unruly dark hair and blue eyes that fill your dreams.

 But not her. She doesn’t dream of his eyes. Definitely not.

 She might be a liar.

 It’s probably a good thing she’s not a cop.

 “The blush gracing your chest is a pretty good indicator.”

 He looks so smug, arms crossed in a way that make his muscles flex under his sweater and a cheeky grin on his face that just screams you’re coming home with me and we both know it.

 He’s always telling her he’s a gentleman. Gentleman, my ass, she thinks.

 “You’re too damn confident for your own good, Jones.”

 “I thought you liked that about me.”

 “Eh,” Emma shrugs, hopping down from her spot on the desk, heels clacking against the tile floor, before leaning down to whisper in his ear, pressing a kiss right behind his lobe before she speaks, “you’re okay, but you can feel free to take me home with you when you get off…and then maybe you’ll get off.”

 She tries to keep a straight face when she makes the joke, voice low as her lips brush against his skin, but he has a way of keeping her off-kilter, so she can’t help it when she giggles after making the joke. That giggle turns into a moan when he palms her ass, squeezing the firm skin there, before slapping it and pushing her on her way out the door.

 When she walks away, she turns back to see him sitting there with some kind of fuck-struck look on his face, tongue running across his bottom lip as he watches her sway her hips with her steps.

 He can do wonderful things with that tongue, and her heartbeat quickens at the thought of it. She’s sure the man can hear it from across the room.

 By the time the hour passes and Killian’s shift finishes, her body has calmed down a bit, the anticipation the only thing that’s kept her antsy as she scrolls through her phone in the precinct lobby. Before she knows it, Killian is walking through the glass double doors, leather jacket draped over the black of his sweater that she loves.

 Woah. That she loves? Even if she’s just talking about a sweater that may be taking it too far. No, definitely taking it too far…right?

 “You ready to go, love?”

 She doesn’t say anything, just gets up from her spot on the couch and leads him out the door, the night sky an inky black mixed in with the streetlights and neon signs of downtown, to where she knows his car is parked. He’s got his hand pressing against the small of her back, warmth permeating through the fabric of her dress as his fingers slowly reach down to cup the top of her ass.

 She thinks they’ll have a silent ride to his apartment, but as soon as they’re both in the car he’s on her, lips crashing against her so roughly that their teeth clang against each other, painful if not for the pang of desire that runs straight to her core when his tongue forces its way to the inside of her mouth.

 When he kisses her like this, she thinks she might melt. His tongue is hot against hers, a slick slide that has her practically writhing out her skin. Killian anchors his hand into her hair so that he can tilt her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging further into the depths of her mouth. It feels so fucking good, like pure liquid pleasure, that she thinks she never wants this to stop. She never wants him to stop.

 But they’re in public.

 “Killian,” she moans into his mouth, biting his bottom lip when his fingers run over her nipple through the fabric of her dress, frustration building in her at the lack of skin to skin contact until he pulls the fabric down, exposing her to him, another rush of desire already coursing through her before he even touches her. He just hums in appreciation, rolling the nipple between his thumb and his index finger as he kisses her jaw and down her neck, paying special attention to flick his tongue just behind her earlobe, a thing she’s relished ever since he figured that out.

 “Killian,” she repeats, rolling her head back to give him more access to her despite her protests. She can’t help but shiver at his ministrations, her body tingling with all of the attention it’s being paid. “We need to go to your apartment. We can’t –” she gasps, breath hitching when he sinks his teeth into her collarbone, “ – we can’t do this here.”

 She thinks that maybe he won’t stop, that he’ll risk being caught in the parking garage right next to the station, but then he pulls back from her, running his thumb across the apple of her cheek in a move that’s far too sweet for what he was just doing to her.

  “I’ve just missed you, darling.”

 His breath is deep and heavy, so much like in the aftermath of his orgasm, and just the thought of him spilling himself into her has her squeezing her thighs together in search of the friction he’s not giving her.

“You saw me three days ago.”

 “In which I sat a respectable distance away from you and refrained from ogling your ass in those delightful jeans because you don’t want your brother to know that sometimes we, how do you say, fuck each other’s brains out.”

 She slaps his chest, more forceful than she intends to, but he can handle it. He likes when she’s forceful. “Do you want him to know?”

 “If it means I can kiss you in public then yeah.”

 She doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. They’ve had it one or two times too many before, and she’s not in the mood to think about her emotions and feelings right now. She’s in the mood for him to take her up against the inside of his front door, thrusting inside of her with a force that’ll leave her sore for days, because it’s almost painful how much she wants him right now, and she doesn’t think she can even make it back to his bedroom.

 They’re not dating, not officially. It’s just sex. Well, that’s not entirely true. It started as just sex, but when does that ever work out?

 They’d known each other since Emma was nineteen and went to visit David in college. David had lived with random roommates for two years, but he met Killian in a United States History class, the irony not lost on the Brit, sophomore year and found an apartment with he and another guy their junior year of college. Every time Emma had some time off or was between jobs – she jumped around work frequently when she was younger, never really wanting to settle on anything after being literally confined – she’d make the hour drive to stay with David for a few days. Except staying with David also meant staying with Killian, and the man made her feel off balance, obvious innuendos and flirtations spilling from his lips without hesitation...at least, most of the time.

 “Swan,” he greets, mouth ticking up on one side as he leans against the door frame, not opening the door enough for her to see inside the apartment, “fancy seeing you here, lass.”

 “Jones,” she tries to peak around him, but he’s too tall for her to see past, “It’s fucking cold. Can I come in?”

 “What’s the magic word?”

 She is going to murder him and bury him in the snow.

 “Please,” she grits out, trying not to grind her teeth.

 “That wasn’t the word, but it’ll do.” He finally swings the door open, revealing the cleanest apartment ever inhabited by three guys in college in the history of the world.

 “Where’s David?”

 “He’s on a date. I imagine he won’t be back until the morning.”

 “Shit. I’m just going to go then and come back tomorrow.”

 She’s already walking out the door, bag thrown over her shoulder, when Killian grabs her wrist, pulling her back so that she doesn’t immediately walk out the door. With his free hand he reaches up to scratch behind his ear before speaking. “Stay.” A pause as he contemplates his next words. “Stay with me. I’ve got some episodes of The Office recorded and a pizza on the way. It’d be ridiculous for you to go home this late, especially with the weather being like it is. You can sleep in David’s room.”

 “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

 “Why ever not?”

 “David’s not here, and I barely know you.”

 “The name’s Killian Jones, age twenty one, criminal justice major. I have one older brother. I like comedy shows, the European kind of football, rum, and just regular old pepperoni pizza. That’s what we’re having tonight. But what’d I’d like most of all is to get to know Emma Swan.”

 He’s got a goofy grin on his face, and she refuses to think that he’s cute.

 “Emma Swan,” she says after dropping her backpack and putting out her hand to greet a man she’s sort of known for months now, “age nineteen, I practice actual criminal justice in a roundabout way. I have one older brother. I like comedy shows, no kind of football, rum but more often whiskey, and just regular old pepperoni pizza so I hope you have enough of it tonight.”

 “So you’re staying?”

 “I’ll stay.”

 The two of them end up watching those Office recordings while stuffing their mouths with pizza. Killian had ordered two boxes, and she can’t help but wonder how someone as fit as him was planning on eating all of that himself. She doesn’t ask him, though, not sure she really wants to know the answer, and focuses on watching Jim and Pam dance around each other.

 “Do you think you could do that?” she asks, waving her slice of pizza at the TV.

 “Do what?”

“Pine after someone you see all the time even though she’s kind of unavailable?”

 “I think I’d do anything to keep the girl I like around, even if it kills me.”

 But it wasn’t when they met that this whole thing started. If she had been sleeping with one man for almost ten years, she would expect it to be something a little different than fucking in bar bathrooms and late nights after they both get off of work, slipping away from the crowds and slipping into each other. No, that had only been going on for two years, so it was something else entirely. Because two years isn’t a big deal, right?

 And if it doesn’t just happen in bar bathrooms and late nights, that’s not a big deal either, right?

 It was David’s twenty-eighth birthday when it all happened for the first time, and Mary Margaret insisted that they all go out to celebrate. The woman was as pure as the driven snow, but she always sat around happily taking care of everyone else when they got a little too heavy handed with their poison of choice.

 “Fancy seeing you here, Swan.” Emma was at the bar getting a round of beer for David and the rest of the guys at the table, having offered to get away from one of David’s coworkers, Walsh, who was creeping her the fuck out with his wandering eyes and even more freely wandering hand. So she was happy to get some air, only to come in contact with the man who could out flirt any of the guys at the table.

 “Jones,” she begins, turning to see that he is right there, blue eyes only inches from her own. Talk about a lack of personal space. She could practically feel his chest against hers. “It’s my brother’s birthday. Where else would you expect me to be?”

 “Maybe with that boyfriend of yours.”

 Was he jealous? No, he couldn’t be. That was ridiculous. They were friends, and even that was pushing it, who only saw each other when around David. But the tone of his voice, harsher than normal, surprised her, as well as the clench of his jaw. Frankly, it was kind of hot the way the sharpness of his jaw intensified with the apparent irritation simmering below the surface.

 “Not that it’s any of your business,” the bartender placed the beers she’d asked for minutes ago in front of her, “but we broke up.”

 He studies her for a moment, eyes quickly flickering down to look at her dress before focusing his attention on her eyes. It was so quick most people wouldn’t notice, but Emma did.

 “Ah, you were too much woman for him then, love?”

 She laughs at that, bitterness that she’s tried to keep under wraps seeping through. “No, not enough apparently. Not enough that he had to go find another woman to fuck while I was busy working.”

 She knows that if she looks up at Killian, his face will show pity. They all do, and she’s stopped talking about her last boyfriend just to avoid seeing that face on people. She hates it almost as much as the fact that she’s been betrayed by men one too many times.

 Emma doesn’t get the chance to look up, though, because suddenly the lack of personal space between she and Killian has diminished further, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he whispers, “would you like to have a chance to show just how much of a woman you are?”

 She has to fight the shiver that threatens to run through her, heat pooling deep in her belly, because fuck. Killian has always flirted with her but never like that. That was direct and arousing, the heat of his breath causing the hairs of her neck to stand at attention, and suddenly she can’t help but think about what it would be like for him to have her pressed up against the storage room wall as he pounds into her with abandon.

 Except that’s her brother’s best friend she’s thinking about, and while David is a healthy man, that might make his heart give out.

 “Please,” Emma rolls her eyes, tilting her head back to get some space between the two of them so that she can breathe, “you couldn’t handle it.”

 Killian taps his finger against his lips, both in invitation and in contemplation. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

 She’s going to pounce on him then, the alcohol and the lust running through her veins at lightening speed, but as soon as her fingers are carding through his hair, a groan already rumbling through his chest at the contact, her lips a hairsbreadth away from his, she hears David talking to her.

 “Emma, what’s taking you so –” The two of them spring apart from each other, bodies crashing into the people around them to try to get some space. “ – what’s going on here? Killian, when did you get here?”

 Her breathing is too labored to answer, still trying to catch her breath as her mind whirls about what just happened – or what almost happened – so she’s thankful that Killian is quicker on his feet. “Just got here a few minutes ago, Dave.” He moves to put his arm around Emma’s waist, a move that is pushing his luck even if she was about to very willingly stick her tongue down his throat. “Saw our Emma here at the bar and figured I’d catch up on what’s new with her before joining everyone else.”

 David seems to be placated with the answer, both of them plastering smiles on their faces like the damn Cheshire Cat. Killian’s hand has managed to find its way to the bare skin exposed by the cut out of her dress, the light touch against her skin a sensation that’s in the torturous place between not enough and just right. He’s obviously decided that he’s going to drive her wild tonight, whether that be in his normal way or in a new way that she’s suddenly desperate for.

 Throughout the rest of the night, Walsh still continues to ogle her with his eyes, but his unwelcome hands stay far away. Instead replaced by Killian’s surprisingly more welcome ones. He’s constantly touching her, driving her insane in anticipation of something she’s not really sure is even happening yet. He makes it look friendly to the rest of the table, an arm over her shoulder, fingers playing with the tips of her hair as he tells a story about some idiot who he arrested, or whispering in her ear just because it’s difficult to hear over the music playing through the speakers. But under the table his hand finds its way to her bare thigh, slowly inching its way up so that it rests just under her skirt. But it never goes further, just a continuous repetition of his hand moving from the underside of her knee to the top of her thigh. On top of that, the things he’s whispering in her ear, while to those around them may seem friendly, are most definitely not. They’re dirty little things about what he’d like to do to her later, the explicitness rising with every glass of rum he consumes. By the time it’s two in the morning and everyone is getting ready to leave, she’s desperate to relive the tension that’s built up. She’s desperate to get some friction, and she’s desperate for her brother’s best friend to be the guy who does it.

 It’s not her brightest idea, far from it actually, but when Killian offers to share a cab with her, she doesn’t hesitate, sliding into the backseat and only telling the driver one address.

 Killian doesn’t make another move while they’re in the cab, and suddenly Emma’s rethinking everything that’s happened so far that night. There’s no way she could have misread the signs, she’s sure of it. The man literally told her that he wants her to ride him later, and he sure as hell didn’t mean just sharing a cab. But it’s like Killian is suddenly further away from her than he’s ever been before.

 “Calm down, Swan,” he speaks suddenly, reaching over to grab her knee, pad of his thumb moving back and forth over her skin. “I just don’t want to do anything untoward with the driver right there.” He leans toward her, lips against her ear again and spiced rum scented breath against her skin. “I still bloody want you.”

 The words may have been used to calm her, but her breath hitches before her heart begins beating at a rapid pace, almost like it’s going to beat right out of her chest.

 When they get to her apartment, Killian climbs out of the cab, grabbing her hand to pull her along with him as he leans forward to swipe his card through the reader. No further words are spoken between the two of them as Emma leads him up to her apartment, suddenly wishing there was an elevator instead of several flights of stairs. Killian just follows along, hands somehow always touching her, but never in the way that she wants them to.

 That changes when she unlocks her door, taking the key out of the knob and not even having both feet inside the threshold before Killian is pushing her inside and pushing her back into the front door, slamming it shut with the force of his body against hers. Killian swallows her gasp with his lips, mouth plundering her own with an intensity that she should have expected but never could have prepared for.

 Fuck, he’s a good kisser. He tastes like the rum she smelled on his breath earlier, and even though it’s not possible she feels like she could get drunk off of it, off of him.

 Emma wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her head to the side so that the kiss can grow deeper, her tongue edging into Killian’s mouth as his makes its way further into hers, hips pressing against each other in a slow grind as their mouths move quickly. She’s always thought he was attractive, there’s no way she couldn’t, but as his beard rubs marks into her skin while he kisses her, the roughness of it a welcome burn against the softness of his lips, she wonders how she was always so unaffected by the piercing eyes and stubble covered cheeks and the flirtatious come ons that accompanied him.

 Maybe she never was.

 “Gods, Emma, darling,” he groans, pulling back to run his lips down her neck as he pushes his hips further into hers, the feeling of how much he wants her pushing up against her stomach through the material of his jeans. It feels so goddamn good. If she wasn’t absolutely desperate for him before, just a touch of his hardness has her belly filling with a longing she almost can’t stomach.  “You,” kiss behind her earlobe, tongue wetly dragged around the shell, “are,” bite at her pulse point, “the,” tongue dragged painstaking slow along her throat, “most,” hot, open mouthed kisses at the juncture between her neck and her shoulder, “beautiful,” a kiss at her collarbone, “woman,” a kiss against her lips, mouth moving slowly before he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, “I’ve ever seen.”

 The way he’s working her up almost has her miss the compliment he’s paying her, but only almost, and she’s not here for emotions tonight. So she snakes her hand down between their bodies, the hard lines of him, quintessentially and wonderfully male, pressed up against the softer lines of her, until she can grab his cock through his jeans, making Killian release her lips as he tilts his head back in a guttural groan that almost has her come right there.

 That would possibly be the most disappointing orgasm of her life.

 “Would you,” Emma begins, running her hands up his torso to slip underneath his black jacket, pushing it off his shoulders as she runs her own set of open-mouthed kisses on the side of his jaw, “like to continue talking or move on to some more enjoyable activities?”

 “The enjoyable activities, definitely,” he tells her, crooked smile on his lips as he reaches around to find the zipper on the back of her dress, tugging it down until the straps fall off her shoulders, exposing the tops of her nipples to the coolness of the air conditioning and the heat of Killian’s gaze. “Though I must tell you that you should wear this dress more often. I quite fancy taking it off of you.”

 At that he leans down, taking one pink bud into his mouth, nosing down the material of her dress until it’s firmly in his mouth as he rubs her other nipple to its peak with his thumb and his pointer finger. It feels so damn good, the sensations traveling through her entire body. “Oh,” she gasps, shocked when he harshly clamps down, body moving back to rest against the wood of the door so that her legs don’t fall out beneath her.  He’s a mixture of pleasure and pain, and she’s not sure which she wants more.

  “You think you’ll be good enough for me to let you do this again?”

 He stops his ministrations then, his mouth making a popping noise when he releases her, so that he can raise a singular eyebrow at her, look of challenge evident on his face. “I know it, darling.”

 His mouth moves to her other breast, and she can do nothing but run her fingers through his hair and yank him further into her as she arches her back, his sucking becoming more insistent the harder she pulls at him. “Your breasts are fucking gorgeous, love,” he moans against her skin, the vibrations shooting heat to her core. She is almost uncomfortably wet. “I could stay buried in them all day.”

 “Fuck, Killian,” she gasps as his tongue circles her nipple, already so sensitive to the touch from the way he’s working her up, “I can think of somewhere else you’d much rather be buried in.”

 It sounds a bit like a joke about a funeral, but can you really blame her when she’s so turned on she’s surprised she can even remember the English language?  

 At that, her back is no longer against the door. Instead she’s being thrown over Killian’s shoulder, his strength surprising, as he carries her down the hallway like he knows where the bedroom is.

  He smacks her on the ass when she protests being carried, and she finally decides she wants both the pleasure and the pain.

 In minutes the rest of her dress is shed and his jeans are in the corner of her room, boxers and t-shirt following closely behind it. Killian’s mouth never leaves hers, only moving away for air or to maneuver them back against the mattress, his breath heavy as he kisses down her stomach, holding her down from pushing up into him by the weight of his forearm.

 For as impatient as he’s been, or maybe that was her, he sure is taking his sweet time teasing her, nipping at her thighs and her hips, close but nowhere near where she wants him. He’s trying to drive her fucking crazy. So like before, she reaches down between them, pulling him up until she can grab onto his rather impressive length, twisting it harshly until his eyes snap to hers, the usual blue now blown black with desire.

 “Killian Jones,” Emma grits out, now tracing along the vein on his underside with her forefinger, tampering down the sudden urge to lick a stripe up that same vein, “if you do not get a condom out of the drawer and fuck me within the next sixty seconds I’ll – ”

 “You’ll?” he interrupts, raising that damn eyebrow again as he crawls above her to grab the foil package, his rigid hardness brushing against her folds (fuck that feels good) as he leans over her, carefully ripping it open before rolling it down himself.

 “Just get inside me please.”

 She’s begging, and she doesn’t even care.

 “As you wish.”

 At that, he lines himself up to her, coating his tip with the wetness of her folds, a continual teasing despite her almost threat that has her back arching off the bed, before pushing into her in one quick motion, the shock of the sudden fullness causing all of the air to rush out of Emma.

 It feels fucking amazing.

 “You okay?” he asks, looking down at her with eyes full of more concern than he has any right to, completely still inside of her when all she wants is for him to move and fuck her into the mattress and into a state of oblivion.

 “I’d be better if you’d move,” she whines, lifting her hips up as she pulls his lips down to hers, needing him to shut up while also feeling something to soothe the ache that’s definitely painful now at being so close to getting what she wants.

 He’s a good listener, she’s always known that despite their casual friendship, and he’s a good listener here, pulling out slowly, her walls already fluttering at the movement, only to quickly thrust back in, a rapid pace that’s not quite rapid enough.

 “Faster,” she tells him, moving her legs to wrap around his ass, causing him to sink deeper inside, a pleasure that’s driving her insane in the most delicious of ways. He listens yet again, promptly pumping himself into her heat at a furious pace that she wants him to keep doing for as long as possible. He keeps going like that before lifting her right leg over his shoulder, and oh my god.

 “Oh fuck,” she moans at the same time Killian mumbles a “bloody hell,” moving to interlace the fingers of their left hands above her head as he continues thrusting into her, his pulsing cock dragging against her walls.

 He’s a bit of a talker during sex, moaning and grunting different versions “you feel so fucking good around me, darling” or “you like that, love” when he angles his hips a certain way and a gasp racks her entire body and her pulse echoes in her ears when he gets into a perfect rhythm.

 She thinks she might die, though, when he lets go of her hand and grabs onto her hips to steady himself, continuously bottoming out before slowly, torturously sliding out of her and then slamming back in. “You’re a bloody siren, Emma. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted you, but I’m sure you can feel it.” He slams into her then, changing the pace before slowly pulling out. “And then I saw you at the bar tonight, that sinful red painted on your lips while those glorious tits I’ve got a newfound appreciation for practically spilled out of the dress. You’re a marvel, really. A marvel who’s driven me to madness with how much I’ve wanted...ah fuck, that’s good.”

 Is she panting? Oh god, she’s panting. Killian runs his tongue across his bottom lip as he stares down at her, and it makes her squirm beneath him until his grip tightens on her hip and her thigh to hold her steady.

 She knows he must be verging on getting close when he slows down, releasing her right hip so that he can touch where they’re joined, rubbing at her clit in fast hard motions that have her heart beating faster than she thinks it ever has before. With her encouragement he begins to move more quickly, both his cock and his hand, and as her walls start to flutter, an orgasm fast approaching as her entire body turns into jelly, he just fucks her through it, not slowing down until he joins her in that bliss that blocks out all of your problems for just a moment of pure pleasure.

 Emma’s just lying in the bed, sated and ready to fall into a slumber when Killian pulls out of her, the sensation against her sensitive core causing her to whimper, making his way over to the trash bin to dispose of the condom. It’s only when he settles back down onto the bed, shifting the mattress, that she opens her eyes to the reality of what they’ve just done.

 “Oh fuck.”

 “I believe that’s what we just did, love.”

 “No, fuck, Killian,” she repeats, sitting up and getting out of the bed to pace back and forth, remembering to go pee in the middle of one of her strides. When she comes back to the bedroom, Killian’s still sitting in her bed, arms crossed and rested behind his head, not a stitch of clothing on. Now that she knows exactly where his chest hair leads she may never be able to look at it without thinking of how he feels inside of her. “We just, you know, did that, and we sure as hell shouldn’t have done that.”

 She’s freaking out, and he’s as calm as she’s ever seen him. The bastard has the audacity to smile. “Did you not have a good time? Because I was getting the impression that you –”

 She doesn’t let him finish, slapping him on the chest with every bit of force that she intended.

 “Killian,” Emma pleads, ruffling through a draw to find a t-shirt to wear after suddenly feeling modest, the realization that she’s still on full display to him coming to her as his eyes watch her breasts as she talks, “you and I cannot be a one-night stand. We see each other all the damn time. You’re David’s best friend, and even though it’s none of his business what you and I do, he’ll care that you fucked his sister.”

 “So we don’t tell him.”

 “We don’t tell anyone.”

 “Swan,” Killian placates, getting up from his spot on the bed to slip his boxers back on, finally covering himself up so that she doesn’t have to stare at…everything while they have this conversation, “calm down. No one has to know. And as much as I’d like a repeat performance because you are bloody wonderful, I assure you, I can go on pretending like this never happened if that’s what you want. I don’t want anything that you don’t.”

 So they go on pretending like it never happened, Killian sleeping on her couch that night because she couldn’t be rude enough to make him go home at four in the morning when he lives all the way across town, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him sleep in her bed. They go on pretending for two weeks until Emma comes into the precinct with one of her guys, scantily clad in one of her “fake date” dresses, and it takes no more than Killian running his tongue over his bottom lip when she leans over his desk to sign off on some paperwork, breasts spilling over the top of said dress, for her to find herself in his apartment riding him with abandon, elbows propped on his kitchen counter as he pounds into her from behind, his cock dragging against her walls while her stomach is pushed into marble and his lips trail down her back, his tongue tracing patterns that his hips follow into her swollen heat.

 That night was pretty much it for her, a downward spiral into her inability to resist Killian Jones. They never talked about it. It just kept happening. They’d end up at one of their apartments or in the backseat of a car or a bathroom stall if they were feeling particularly adventurous. But neither of them ever made a move for more, not until recently. No dates were planned, the most they did eating leftover pizza when one of their stomachs growled between rounds – that isn’t really true, but she’ll deny it until her face turns blue because apparently she’s a stupid, stubborn asshole.

 I quite like your ass, Swan.

 It’s almost like if they didn’t talk about it, it meant it wasn’t real, it wasn’t really happening. But it most definitely is happening, even if no one knows but them and possibly Killian’s neighbors.

 Sometimes the neighbors will bang on the wall (so will Emma and Killian but in a different way) when the two of them get particularly enthusiastic, and it always results in Killian’s grunting increasing in volume while he moves against her so that the slapping of their skin can be heard through the wall.

 It’s fucking hot.

 It started just as sex, but she hasn’t been with anyone else since it started two years ago and she knows he hasn’t either because they dropped the condoms to rely on just her birth control when they’d admitted to not sleeping with other people one night curled up under blankets on her living room floor as they ate Halloween candy and laughed about the time that David got so drunk that he started speaking in a British accent. So it’s sex with feelings buried in a shallow hole beneath the surface, denial of this completely on her part. Maybe another day she’ll own up and open up about any possible (definite) feelings that she has, but he’s got her all riled up now with at least a fifteen minute drive to his apartment, and that’s not something she’s about to let him quit before the job’s done.

 “Killian, I don’t want to talk about this tonight. I would rather you use your mouth for other purposes. Or maybe I’ll use mine.”

 She sees the flash of desire in his eyes, but she also sees the tenseness in his stance as he moves away from her, contact between the two of them completely gone. He doesn’t say anything else, putting the key into the ignition and making his way to his apartment in a silence that’s decidedly not filled with anticipation.

 The only comfort she has is when he places his right hand over her left as he takes them home.

 She knows she probably hurt him because she knows he wants more from them. He’s made his feelings clear on the matter, but she’s holding back. She’s okay having him when she labels it as “just sex” because then she knows there’s no reason for him to cut himself off from her, to leave her. If it’s more, it’s different. It’s scarier, and she knows that once he gets to know her, knows that she’s not worth this relationship he seems to want, and then she won’t have him in any way. She’ll have to stare at him across the dinner table at David’s and act like he’s just a guy who she sees on occasion and not a man she’s come to rely on every day of her life.

 That night is weird between the two of them. She knows he’s pissed, so she was expecting rough sex, her body to be used in a way that allows him to let out his frustrations while leaving her unable to walk normally the next day. But it’s not. It’s…slow. He kisses her languidly, at a slower pace than he ever has before, and instead of thrusting into her as soon as they get to the bedroom, he takes his time, kissing down her stomach before moving his tongue against her clit, slow flicks that have her moaning and arching off the bed in seconds. He presses his tongue flat as he swipes it through her folds before moving back to her clit, knowing just what to do to have her riled up after years of experience.

 This is torture, she thinks, attempting to move her hips closer to him to get more pleasure from the pressure, but he uses his arm to hold her down, not allowing her to do anything but let him lap at her. She could cry from the pleasure he is giving her, but they both know it isn’t enough.

 “Please,” she moans, trying to lift her hips again, but he presses his arm further into her to keep her down.

 He doesn’t respond, just hums against her clit before biting down, her body bucking up as much as it can because oh my god.

 “Kil – Killian. I – I need you to change something. I can’t…I can’t take it anymore.”

 He looks up at her momentarily, stopping his motions to fucking smile up at her before moving to slowly thrust two fingers inside of her, curling them so that he hits the spot he knows brings her the most pleasure.

 It feels so fucking good, and bless the man for doing this. For enjoying this. The sight of his black hair buried between her thighs is one of the most erotic things she’s ever seen, and she never wants it to stop.

 He bites her clit and curls his fingers simultaneously, and she’s gone, screaming out his name before everything goes black and she can feel nothing but ecstasy.

 When he’s done lapping at her, her essence covering his beard, he kisses back up her stomach before running his tongue against hers, the taste of herself a weird but not unfamiliar taste. This feels a little too much like what she imagines love making feels like, so she takes control, flipping them over so that she can straddle his lap as he leans against his headboard.

 When she sinks down onto him, the size of him a fullness that she craves, a fullness that’s only okay when he’s fully sheathed inside of her, bottoming out before she lifts her hips, setting a punishing pace that has Killian speaking for the first time since they’ve gotten to his apartment.

 “Fuck, Emma,” he groans, moving his hands to grab onto her hips, a firmness that will leave bruises if it continues, “just keeping moving like that. You’re a bloody siren, darling, always doing everything you can to suck me dry with that wonderful body of yours.”

 Fucking hell, she thinks, her walls absolutely dripping at the feel of him inside her and at the dulcet tone of his words. She could get off just by the way he speaks to her, the way his accent rolls of his tongue and straight to her core, deep and soothing and fucking hot.

 She can feel him pulsing inside of her, and she knows by the way his eyelids are hooded that he’s close, that he’s almost not in control of his body anymore, but then he’s reaching up to pull her down so that he can kiss her, burying his hands in her hair, the sensation reaching all the way down to her toes so much that her legs begin to quiver. His mouth is hot, needy, the way he’s kissing her like a man who hasn’t been kissed in years, and she can’t get enough. But she also knows the he’s about to finish, and she’s not quite there yet and she wants to come again, so she has to maneuver her hand off his chest to find its way to where they’re joined, fast hard circles that have her arching her back within seconds.

 Killian flips them over so that she’s on her back before spilling himself into her, his seed threatening to drip onto her thighs as he’s rolling off of her so that he doesn’t crush her with his weight. She’s still fingering at her clit, moving her hands down so that his essence coats her fingers before moving back to her clit, almost to that point of pleasure, but not quite yet. Killian usually makes sure she’s finished before him, but he’s very obviously a little off tonight. He must come back to his senses because without even realizing it, her eyes closed as she focuses on reaching her own peak, his mouth his on her breast, lapping at her sensitive bud as she works the sensitive bud that’s a bit lower. Together they help her reach her climax, the feelings of her orgasm rippling through her body like a small explosion that has her gasping for air before Killian kisses her again and rests his forehead against her shoulder, their heavy pants filling the room.

 When she wakes up the next morning, she’s pleasantly sore from where Killian frantically pounded into her again in the middle of the night, his hands grappling at her hips while her face was pressed into the mattress. She reaches over to pull Killian’s arm around her waist so that she can go back to sleep, but he’s not in bed, the sheets cool to the touch. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but it’s unusual for him to not be next to her, arm curled around her waist, the heavy weight of it one of her favorite things.

 But he’s not there.

[katie-dub]

The Devil's Doorbell

A while back @winterbythesea​ shared a post with this amazing description of the clitoris: “That's the devil's doorbell and if you keep pressing it, soon enough he will answer.” So Svenja shouted fic prompt, as is her wont, and came up with this:

Emma wanders into the path of a weird curse or eats something she shouldn't or picks up an artefact she wasn't supposed to touch (Regina did warn her!) and suddenly every time she settles in to, ahem, ring the devil's doorbell... he answers.

So I wrote the thing and am sharing it now for @cscocktoberfest​ - I hope I’ve done you proud Svenja. This is more banter and innuendo with a sprinkle of smut, but I hope you all like it. (And I’ve got another Cocktoberfest fic to come next Wednesday!) 

Thanks @initiala​ for organising this event, which gave me the nerve to actually post this. Cheers for reading this over for me @mahstatins​ and danke schön @distant-rose​ and @welllpthisishappening​ for chanting “post it!” at me ;)

Emma Swan was having a day. Or maybe a week. Possibly even a lifetime. It was one thing to discover after 28 years that she wasn't actually an orphan but a bona fide witch from outstanding magical pedigree, it was quite another to find herself expected to do something about it and take flipping magic lessons. Especially when her teacher was her sassy step grandmother who expected nothing less than total dedication at all times. Only today she had found her mind and her hands wandering resulting in such a sharp reprimand that she was almost glad that her entire family had been separated from her by a curse for her entire formative years.

(And, OK, maybe it was better not to touch strange magical artifacts that she had no knowledge or understanding of, but surely Regina didn't have anything actually dangerous in that vault of hers.. Right?)

Still though, the incident had left her feeling frustrated and full of pent-up nervous energy that she desperately needed to relieve. And what better way than with a little TLC?

She ran a deep bubble bath, downloaded the utterly ridiculous sounding trashy romance Manaconda to her kindle (figuring that if the erotica was subpar, it should at least be good for a laugh), and poured a glass of wine. She sank into the deliciously hot water and settled in for a night of fun.

It quickly became apparent that Manaconda, while hilarious, just wasn't going to do it for her. So she set her kindle to one side and closed her eyes, dreaming up a tall, dark and handsome man to help inspire her as her hands drifted down, stroking and teasing just as her fantasy partner did, before she moved to touch that one special spot...

“Well, well, well what do we have here?” Her eyes flew open and her hands shot away from her clit like she'd been burnt. She sloshed water out of the bath as she yelped, “holy shit!”

The intruder chuckled. “There's nothing holy about me, let me assure you.” She turned to look at him - god, he looked like her erotic fantasy come to life with his chiseled, stubble-covered jaw, lean but toned physique and perfectly mussed dark hair. He even had a perfect sultry voice with a British accent that really worked for her. Did her magical powers extend to wish fulfilment? Her cheeked burned at the thought. “Now why did you summon me - did you need a hand? Or perhaps there's another body part you'd prefer?”

She gaped at him. The man in her dreams was a lot less, well, annoying. “What the fuck?”

“Or do you simply need someone devilishly handsome to add a little spice to your fantasies?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and she felt inexplicably pissed. How dare her fantasy lover come to life and damn well mock her? She'd heard of kink shaming, but this was ridiculous, could you even be shamed by your own subconscious? She briefly considered Regina's face if she were to ask. Yeah, that was not going to happen.

She sighed deeply, totally exasperated by this experience. “Get out before I do something that you'll regret.”

(He was a manifestation of her deepest desires and she figured that meant she could justifiably murder him if he pissed her off too much.)

He gave a short bow, said, “as you wish,” and disappeared.

Emma wondered if she could discreetly find a book on magical mishaps before the next time she needed to show herself some love.

As it turned out she didn't have time to look up her particular problem before she felt the urge to touch herself again. All the day after she first saw her dreams come true (and honestly she never thought she'd think that was a bad thing) she felt on edge and needy.

So that night she went straight home after her magic lesson, stripped off her jeans and jumped into bed. There was no need for teasing or delicacy tonight, she was already wet and wanting. She stroked her fingers through the wetness and circled her clit. She groaned in blessed relief.

“Oh it's you again, Swan.”

Despite her embarrassment at her fantasy lover once again appearing when she had her hands in her panties, Emma was deeply puzzled by this. “You again?” she repeated, “you know, I'd have thought a physical manifestation of my desires would sound a bit more pleased to see me.”

“Is that what you think I am?” Her fantasy was positively smirking at her. It was infuriating.

“Yes, of course that's what you are,” she huffed, more than a little annoyed at the need to argue with her own subconscious. “It's like you stepped straight out of my brain. All the details are perfect. Except you're far less chatty in my fantasies - you focus on winding me up in the good way.”

He laughed at that - actually fucking laughed out loud. “I'm no fantasy darling, I'm a demon. I can understand the confusion, it must be hard to believe anyone this devilishly handsome could be real.” She narrowed her eyes at him, surely no one this maddeningly arrogant could be real? And yet, he was living and smirking in her bedroom. “But here I am, answering your summons, the name's Killian, feel free to scream it out when you get back to business.”

She reluctantly pulled her hand from her panties and finally sat up so that she could glare at him. “I didn't summon you.”

“Oh but you did, probably subconsciously from the sound of it. Do you have magic?”

She shrugged. “Um, yeah, I'm a witch or something.”

He nodded sagely. “That'll be it then, powerful witches don't require complicated rituals to call upon demons in their hour of need. So,” his voice dropped to a sultry murmur and he stepped closer to her, “what do you need from me?” He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

She pretended that it did nothing for her, even as she felt the need to press her legs together to dampen her desire. If anything, that made it worse. “I need you to get out.”

He quirked his head at her in disbelief, but nevertheless he said, “as you wish.” He vanished and Emma’s eyes closed. She deliberately focused on reliving a particularly excellent time with her ex Graham as her fingers got back to work.

“Ah. This is unfortunate. It seems you'll have to stop touching yourself if you want me to leave for good, Swan.”

Her eyes flew open at the sound of the British accent and she took in the unwelcome - and all too familiar - sight of Killian. “Why are you back?”

His eyebrows arched in amusement. “Well it would seem every time you - what do you Americans say - rub one out it summons me and I'm powerless to refuse the call. Now, how do you want me?”

“I don't!” she gasped, annoyed by the breathy quality to her voice. She tried to push herself upright, but her hand slipped and she ended up resting on her elbows awkwardly.

“I have strong evidence to the contrary. I can watch you if that's what you're into? Whisper sinful words into your ear? Provide manual assistance?”

Oh fuck a little hands on assistance would be incredible. She ignored the thought and hoped her body didn't betray its obvious delight at the idea. She feigned indifference instead. “Do you ever shut up?”

“I do find it's hard to talk when my tongue is engaged in more pleasurable activities.” His tone was matter of fact but the way he licked his lips and the look in his eyes was pure sin.

“Can you just leave?”

“And leave you wanting? That would be very bad form.”

“Yeah, I'm not in the mood anymore.”

“Shame. I'll see you next time, don't be shy about ringing the devil's doorbell if you feel the urge.”

“Did you just call my ...” Emma trailed off, lost for words in her disbelief.

“Well I answer every time you press it, seems fitting, don't you think?”

Emma's nose crinkled in disgust. “Just go.” It was going to be a long time before she even considered touching herself again. (Even if she did need a cold shower to help wash away the buzz of arousal and the tingle of disappointment.)

 The next day she was feeling more than a little desperate. She tried not to give into the urge to fuck herself stupid but it was starting to almost hurt. She couldn't quite believe that there were people who were actually into this whole orgasm denial thing.

She didn't even make it to her bedroom this time. She just stuck her hand down her pants the second her front door closed behind her. Her fingers touched her clit and for a brief second she it was sheer bliss.

"You rang?" Killian was leaning against her kitchen counter smirking at her with undisguised glee.

She hastily pulled her hand from her pants. "I did not"

"Oh, darling, you know I'm bound to come when you do." He sauntered over to her, moving in close and biting his lip with undisguised want.

She gritted her teeth. "Well, you're early."

"I do apologise. Bad form, that. It's not usually problem for me.”

“Is there really no way to stop this?” she whimpered.

He stepped back, his seductive demeanour gone and scratched behind his ear thoughtfully. "It's not an affliction I've encountered before. Perhaps you need to find other methods of loving yourself - there's a number of toys you can purchase?" His face was a picture of false innocence. She wanted to smack the look right off his face. Or maybe kiss it off. Or perhaps she could just sit on his face… but no, her thoughts were not going there.

"Shut up."

"No? Well how about less sexual methods? There's meditation, manicures, massage - avoiding the obvious erogenous zone, of course."

He thought he was so cute and it drove her mad. "Bite me."

"If you insist.”

“That wasn't an invitation!” Even though her whole body screamed at her that it really, really should be.

“Are you sure? I'd make it so good for you.”

“And you've just killed my buzz.”

“I don't believe that for a second.” His eyes swept across her body, no doubt her dilated pupils, full-body blush and stubbornly heaving bosom betrayed her lie.

Traitor, she hissed at her own body in her head, before fixing him with a bright grin. “I'm all good thanks. Begone demon!” He raised one eyebrow in amusement, but vanished, leaving Emma to once again climb into a cold shower.

 The next day she'd reached her limit. At the point where she seriously considered using a comfort break in her lessons to escape to the bathroom and make herself come she knew that she had to give into whatever weird curse she was under. She told Regina that she wasn't feeling well and wasn't surprised that she immediately suggested that she go home. She probably looked half crazed and she was damn sure it wasn't just her loins that were on fire, or whatever that stupid cliché was.

“Well hello.”

She was expecting him when she touched herself this time and she knew what she needed to do. “Turn around.”

“Pardon?” He looked genuinely affronted.

God, she didn't want to have to explain this. “I'm desperate, but that doesn't mean that I want you here, so just turn around and don't listen.”

He frowned at her. “It seems a shame to deny yourself the pleasure of my company.”

“And don't talk.”

“I can think of a better way for you to shut me up. If you would let me I would caress every inch of you with my lips and tongue. I would tease you, slowly licking my way closer and closer to that delicious bundle of nerves, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you couldn't take it and you forced -”

“Stop talking.” Killian fell silent and she could almost tell herself he wasn't there. And that's how she liked it, because his little speech was definitely not causing her to shiver and little waves of arousal to run through her. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and focused on making herself come. Except, nothing she did was quite doing it for her. She was doing everything right but since Killian had stopped his narration it wasn't enough. He was going to be insufferable. “.. Ok, I need it: tell me what comes next.”

His answering grin was wicked. “Darling, isn't it obvious? You do.”

 If Emma had thought that giving into her desires would break whatever spell she was under, she was wrong. If anything the desire and sheer need was worse now. Her head echoed with the rich and detailed fantasy that Killian had narrated for her. She could see them acting out his words, she could feel it, and she was in a near constant state of heightened arousal. She cancelled all her plans for the day and tried to take her mind off her throbbing clit. Several times she realised that she was on the verge of touching herself with no recollection of a conscious decision to do it. She was feverish with the need to give into temptation.

At last she admitted that her attempts to resist were falling flat. We need to resolve this for good, she told herself when she accepted the inevitable, I have to see him so we can make this stop.

(Even she wasn't entirely convinced by her logic, but this way meant orgasms and relief.)

“We really have got to stop meeting like this, love, I'll start to think that you're just using me - and you're more than welcome to.”

“What have you done to me?” she whined. “The need to rub one out is just overwhelming.”

“I tend to have that effect on people.”

“I'm serious. I just need to touch myself. Constantly.”

Killian looked unbearably smug as he replied. “They say the devil makes work for idle hands. You haven't upset my boss recently have you?”

She glared at him. “I don't believe we've met.”

“You angered an evil witch?” She shook her head. “Stepped on cursed soil?” She rolled her eyes. “Handled a magical artifact?”

“I - er - may have done that last one?”

“Good, we're getting somewhere, any idea what it was?”

Emma wracked her brain, what had Regina called it? “The horny afro ditty?”

“You mean the Horn of Aphrodite,” he said with a smirk.

Emma waved her hand dismissively though it was hard to deny the blush that had spread across her face. “Yeah, that's basically what I said. So you know how to fix this?”

“Do you want the good news or the great news?”

Her heart sank at his delight. “Why don't I like the sound of this?”

“The good news is I know the cure. The great news is you'll get to kiss me.” He bit his lip suggestively. She ignored the tingle of arousal she felt in response.

“That's it?” She had to admit she was expecting something a little more x-rated. After all the symptoms were hardly as innocent as a simple kiss.

“Were you hoping for more? Can't say I blame you, I know my way around a woman.”

She frowned at him, shaking her head at his ego. (Even if she fully believed that he would be excellent at kissing - and the rest.) “It's fine by me. Just seems a bit..”

“Chaste?”

“Well - yeah.” She shrugged, trying to convey that it was totally fine by her.

“Aye. Well, I can see that love has been all too rare in your life.” She opened her mouth to argue but he silenced her with a raised brow. “In those cases it's not uncommon for the effects to get.. Lost in translation. Your need for intimacy has been misinterpreted as physical desire.”

“You think I need you?”

“You said it, not me.”

She scoffed at him. “Please. You couldn't handle it.”

He cocked his head at her curiously - somehow that one tiny gesture felt like a challenge. “Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it,” he said, tapping his lips.

He was goading her, there was no other word for it. He was goading her and she was uncomfortably horny and he was talking to her about physical desire and she never could back down from a challenge. That's why she wrapped her hands around the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down to her.

Several things happened the moment their lips touched. There was a burst of magic that seemed to pulse out of their lips. The all-consuming need that she'd been feeling eased, replaced by a pleasant tingle of desire. Her theory that he would be an excellent kisser was proved right - and then some.

The kiss was both soft and powerful, tender and passionate. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and running his fingers through her hair. Somehow a simple press of his lips to hers felt more sensual and intimate and made her heart beat faster than all the teasing, innuendo, and dirty talk that they had traded. It felt more personal than all of that somehow, so much more than merely lips and tongues and teeth meeting.

When they broke apart to take a breath they stayed close. She hadn't let go of his coat, their foreheads were touching and they breathed in each other's air.

Until she remembered herself, then it was all too much. His cheeks were flushed and he was ghosting his lips over hers hoping for more. She pushed away and refused to look at him.

“That was -” he breathed.

“I think we broke the curse, or whatever that was,” she said brightly.

Her words seemed to snap him out of his haze. His eyes lost their sparkle and she felt bad immediately. “Unintended side effect - a magical mishap. ” His voice was flat.

“Like some kind of sexually transmitted demon?” she chuckled, feeling a little proud of the ridiculous joke, and hoping that it might bring back his mischievous demeanour, but he didn't react. She felt disappointed, but she decided not to dwell on it. This was just a magical mishap, as he said, one that she was happy to have resolved in such a pleasant manner. “Well, I feel nothing now, so that's good.” That wasn't strictly speaking true, but he didn't need to know that. “So, thanks for your help. Um. You can go now.”

“As you wish,” he said and vanished. She tried not to think about the fact that she probably wasn't going to see him again.

 It would be ridiculous to suggest that Emma missed Killian. She barely even met him a few times when she had needed to relieve some tension. It was true that he seemed to step right out of her fantasies, but that didn't mean that she actually knew him.

Still, the next time she needed to show herself some love, she summoned to mind his image to inspire her. And if she half hoped that she would summon him in the more literal sense, that was no one else's business.

It was two weeks to the day since she last saw Killian. She was lazily reading through a magical text, eyes glossing over slightly at all the descriptions of the Amulet of Something Significant and So-and-So’s Macguffin, when she saw it: The Horn of Aphrodite. Fitting name, she sniggered to herself, remembering its intense effect on her, it certainly gave me the horn.

And Killian, another voice whispered in her head.

The Horn of Aphrodite, she read. An ancient Greek artifact bestowed upon the hero Paris by the Goddess Aphrodite to unite him with his True Love. It is said that… It took Emma a moment to register what she'd just read. It united some dude with his True Love. Right. But that had to have been a one time thing she mused, feeling an uncomfortable prickly heat spreading throughout her body. It is said that all those who handle the horn, despite Emma's alarm at the implication of what she was reading, she still smirked at that particular description, will summon their own True Love to their side.

If this artifact summons a person's True Love and if touching it had summoned Killian, that meant… Well, fuck.

 “You're my True Love?” she blurted out the second he appeared.

“Believe me, I'm as surprised as you, my kind isn't exactly first in line for a happy ending. Well, not the fairytale kind at least.” He gave her with a lopsided wink and she rolled her eyes.

“Seriously? I'm having a crisis and you're making dodgy jokes?” She slumped into a chair in disgust. “Some True Love you are,” she muttered.

Killian sighed and pinched his brow. “What did you expect, love? I'm a bloody demon, not Prince Charming.” He looked at her earnestly. “I'm sorry that you have been landed with the likes of me, I'm sure you deserve better.”

Emma's heart went out to him - must be that whole True Love thing - and she patted the seat next to her. He sat down without a word. “Would it help if I told you that I always thought the prince was a bit of a dick?” He laughed out loud. “I'm serious! He's all romance and happy endings but how many princesses married Prince Charming?”

“You think it was the same Prince Charming in every tale?”

“All I'm saying is Charming is not a very common name.”

“You sound like a tough lass to woo.”

She shrugged. “Not really, just give me banging it out over a bouquet of flowers any day.”

“So shall we?” Killian turned to her, placing one arm on the back of the couch behind her head. He poked his tongue into his cheek and wiggled his eyebrows at her cheekily.

She twisted towards him. “What?”

“Bang it out?”

Emma answered him with a brief, bruising kiss. She pulled back and grinned. “I thought you'd never ask.”

 She had expected a good, hard fuck, not his tongue all over her, worshipping her, easing her into her orgasm. It was lazy and tender. She felt cherished and worshiped. Usually that would be enough to make her come and run, but it felt.. pretty nice actually.

 She felt a blissful calm running through her, she sleepily looked down at Killian between her legs. He was grinning at her, delighted at her obvious pleasure, it was a good look on him. She closed her eyes and relaxed back against the couch.

Dimly she was aware of him moving away from her, but it didn't fully register until he scooped her up into his arms. She squealed and flailed her arms, startled by the movement. He laughed and pulled her closer to him. “Relax, love, I'm just taking you to your room.”

“Hoping I'll return the favour?”

“I'm hoping to have you on your hands and knees while I shag you senseless and it seems like very bad form to allow my True Love to get carpet burn the first time we fuck.”

“How thoughtful.”

 “So what happens next?” They lay naked and sated in bed when Emma finally asked the question she’d been thinking about ever since she first read about the Horn of Aphrodite. Killian looked over at her and lazily quirked an eye at her. “With the whole True Love thing?”

“Oh, of course.” He turned on his side to look at her properly, licking his lips. “How does a lifetime of sexual bliss sound?”

She grinned in reply. “Perfect.”

[laschatzi]

Corruption and Consequences

Here’s my contribution to @cscocktoberfest! Thanks for organizing this spicy event! @snowbellewells and @thesschesthair, there’s your car hood!

summary: idk?? Driving lessons taking a turn? No, really, this is pwp.

words: ~4,9k

rating: oh man. teetering on the verge of E, probably? It’s a special occasion.

also on: ff.net and ao3 

“Can I offer you a ride, Deputy?”

Killian frowns and squints his eyes a little against the low, early autumnal sun, but no, his ears haven't deceived him: there's his wife casually leaning against the hood of her yellow bug, parked on its usual spot right in front of the sheriff's station.

“What are you doing here, Swan?” he asks and approaches her with a smile. “Weren't you supposed to assist your mother with the preparations for your brother's birthday celebrations?”

“Yeah, I did, until she said we were done.” Emma shrugs and pushes away from the car to greet him. “Maybe I wasn't very useful.”

“I can imagine,” he comments in an amused voice and kisses her smiling mouth. “Admit it, you only used that as an excuse for not having to help with the record filing.”

“Hey!” She whacks his arm playfully and chuckles as she opens the driver's door while Killian elegantly folds himself into the passenger seat. But then she admits a little sheepishly, “Well, I wouldn't have been useful with that either.”

He tilts his head. “I knew it!” While fastening his seat belt, he asks, “So, do you want to pick up something for dinner?”

She nods and starts the engine. “Later. First, I was thinking we could drive a bit to the outskirts and give you some driving lessons.”

“Driving lessons?” Killian isn't thrilled, to say the least. He's used to riding in the passenger seat of Emma's beloved bug by now, but trying his own hand at its helm? He doubts that such an endeavor would end well. Even though he's a fast learner, he's still in the process of getting used to driving a car, and he hasn't tried any other vehicle than David's truck so far. “No offense, Swan,” he says carefully, “but I think your father's car is much more suitable for me.”

She grins cheekily and challenges, “What, afraid you can't handle this one?”

He throws her an indignant look. “The vessel I'm inept to captain has yet to be built.”

“I thought you'd say that,” she replies in a satisfied sing-song voice and takes the road that leads out of town towards the direction of the troll bridge; the old, barely frequented road is ideal for her purposes.

As it turns out, Killian has indeed difficulties. The old Volkswagen of course doesn't have power-assisted steering like David's truck, and having to take his hand off the steering wheel every time he has to change gear, doesn't help either. Also, even if he puts the seat in the rearmost position, the footwell isn't really spacious enough for him to safely operate the pedals. The engine dies a few times, and the stubborn little car hops and stutters more than it actually drives, much to Killian's frustration. He really has no idea what got in his Swan's head to suggest this. After twenty minutes or so of struggling, he loses his concentration, and his boot gets stuck with the accelerator somehow.

He swears very colorfully, and Emma quickly interferes with a flick of her wrist, freeing his foot and letting the car come to a halt in a large parking bay beside the road, more of a clearing actually.

“Bloody hell!” he curses and runs his hand through his hair. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

“It's okay, Killian,” she tells him lightly and puts her hand on his leather-clad shoulder, “relax.”

“I nearly got us killed,” he huffs, “this vessel is more stubborn than its owner.”

Emma giggles. “Oh come on, don't be so dramatic,” she teases. “No harm was done. I had our back.”

“Hm.” He nods grumpily and tilts his head. “I just can't suffer the thought of you getting hurt.”

That melts her, and she feels little guilty for having fun with this. She throws him a tender, apologetic glance. “I know.” In a soothing move, she scratches her fingertips through the hair at the back of his head and says a little ruefully, “It's not your fault. I'm sorry I insisted.” She shifts a little closer and presses a kiss to the freckle right below his right earlobe before she whispers, “Can you feel the adrenaline?”

Killian frowns in question and turns his head to look at her. “I have heard the word before, but I don't recall what it is exactly I'm supposed to feel.”

“The thrill,” she tells him enthusiastically, “the excitement!” Placing her palm against his chest, right over his heart, she elaborates, “It's a substance in your body that fires up your heart rate and makes the blood boil and pump faster through your body... it's like a rush.”

He tilts his head and scrutinizes her thoughtfully through narrowed eyes. Even though she tried to calm him down a moment ago, she looks suspiciously flustered now herself. He senses an interesting vibe coming from her, and now indeed a rush of heat flows through his veins.

“Are you asking me if I'm libidinous?” he questions with a raised eyebrow.

Emma looks at him from underneath her eyelashes, and the vibe gets even more interesting when she asks back, “Does that mean horny?”

He chuckles. “Indeed, it does.”

She licks her lips, and just like that her demeanor impressively switches from playful bantering to... yes, definitely seductive. “Are you?” she challenges in a husky voice and brings her right hand up to palm her breast. His eyes wander to her fingers, and she lightly pinches her nipple through her tank top and underwear, causing it to stiffen visibly. Then she adds, “'Cause I sure am.”

Oh, she wants to play. And, as it seems, in the open. Killian narrows his eyes and gets a little lost in the moment when he watches her thumb and forefinger deftly and provocatively roll her nipple between them. Immediately, he feels his cock spring to life in his denims; Emma's reckless self never fails to have that effect on him, and who is he not to go with the flow?

“Did you really just inappropriately approach a law enforcer, lass?” he inquires sternly and notices her eyes light up with devilish pleasure in response to his tone. Her whimsical demeanor gives him more than an inkling as to what she's in the mood for, and her reply confirms his suspicion.

“Maybe,” she purrs and wraps a strand of her ponytail around her left index finger in an only seemingly innocent, girlish gesture that makes his fingers curl involuntarily... he can almost feel the cool silkiness as he imagines entangling his own fingers into her golden locks and... pull. Just a little.

“Are you planning to go all severe officer on me?” she asks back coyly, hopefully, and lets go of her nipple to slowly smooth her hand down her front, stopping short before getting to her... sensitive area.

Hmm, so that is her game, just like he thought. Far be it from him to not play along if she wishes so; a prickle at the base of his spine spurs him on. He raises an eyebrow and draws a deep breath, trying to calm himself down and keep his voice nonchalant. “Well, may I remind you that you corrupted me into the duty of being a law enforcer,” he retorts, “and whenever I accept a task, I aim to fulfill it,” he runs his tongue along his teeth, “thoroughly.”

She purses her lips in a pensive way, definitely approving of his reply. “And what does that mean?” she wants to know, a challenging sparkle in her eyes, and damn, his jeans feel very tight right now, too tight.

But he keeps his features under control. “Indecent behavior will have consequences,” he tells her firmly.

Emma pulls her lower lip between her teeth and sucks on it for a moment, damn well knowing what the gesture does to him. He shifts a little in his seat. “I like the sound of that,” she purrs and adds, “Well, and you corrupted me into” – she pauses for effect – “pillaging and plundering.” Sliding nearer, she puts her hand on his leg.

Without his head moving, his eyes flicker down to her fingers which are lightly wandering along his thigh towards his crotch. “Consider yourself warned,” he says darkly.

But she isn't impressed in the slightest, like he expected. “Define consequences,” she prompts instead in a breathy voice, as if she hasn't heard him, and brazenly cups him through his denims; his erection, if not fully grown yet, is already remarkable, and she smirks as it fills her hand.

Time to say the words Killian knows she's waiting for, and so he does and puts just the right amount of sternness in his voice while his eyes gleam in a steely blue. “Bad girls get punished.” If she wants him severe, then she'll bloody well get it.

She's thrilled that he's picked up her lead and, like she's used to by now, knows exactly where she's aiming at. That's one of the many reasons she loves this man so much: they're always on the same page, he reads her, he always intuits what she wants or needs (which is not necessarily the same), and he always provides it. Curling her fingers around his bulge, she carefully squeezes and is rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a twitch of his hardening cock. “Can you be more specific, officer?”

God, did she need to hear that low growl in his voice; it shoots a bolt of liquid heat right between her legs. So do his following words when he leans a little forward and bores his eyes into hers to point out, “I've found a proper spanking never fails to convey a lesson.”

Killian is excited to see his Swan's eyes light up with sinful delight, and the anticipation makes his cock twitch in her hand again. “I suppose you're right,” she replies coyly and plays with her hair. “And after that lesson...?”

He tilts his head. “Obedient students always get a reward.”

Emma smiles and licks her lips deliberately lewdly while her fingers expertly unbuckle and unbutton his denims, find his zipper, and start to pull it down. “Is that a promise?” she demands to know, her voice breathier than ever.

He doesn't take his eyes off her face. “Oh yes, young lady.”

She chuckles gleefully and reaches into his loosened jeans to free his erection from its confines. Her tone is almost apologetic when she asks, “How could I not get indecent when you have such a glorious cock in your pants?”

“Indecent and foul mouthed,” he comments severely, “seems like you do indeed need correction.”

In response, she grasps him firmly and pumps him a few times, enjoying the feverish heat of his smooth skin against her palm and the steely rigidity underneath; he's deliciously rock-hard by now. When she throws him a cheeky, challenging glance while her fist keeps slowly moving up and down his shaft, he returns her gaze seemingly unimpressed, and she can't help but admire his self-controlled game. She leans over and down and licks a slow, languid, wet stripe along his whole length which has him draw a deep breath.

“Last warning, lass,” he tells her severely, his voice only slightly strained from the pleasure rushing through his veins right into his throbbing cock. “If you stop now, you might get away with a slap on your wrist, and your pretty arse remains as untouched as it is.”

Emma chuckles throatily and swipes and swirls her tongue playfully over his swollen head, teasing the tender, shiny skin. “What fun would that be?” she murmurs and then finally takes him in her mouth, sucking him in deep right away.

“Damn,” he groans and looks down at her head in his lap, always a glorious sight, “you are for sure a wanton lass. I will enjoy teaching you your lesson.”

She just hums in agreement, the low vibrations of her voice shooting like a bolt of electricity through his entire body. Relaxing her throat, she swallows around him, then pulls back and almost releases him completely, only her lips holding him within right underneath his head.

“Fuck. Do that again,” he commands, and she obeys all too eagerly, hollowing her cheeks and adding more pressure. “Mhmmm. Faster.”

She all but chuckles against his flesh and follows his demand rather unhurriedly, setting a steady, but not too frenzied rhythm; she knows it's going to drive him insane and keep him on the edge for a bit without pushing him over if she continues like that, sucking his cock with relish and deadly accuracy, nice and slow.

Killian lets his head fall back and groans deep in his chest while the goddess he's married to downright destroys him with her mouth. Even though he's playing the dominant part in this thrilling little game, even though she's in a vulnerable position, right now she's the one in complete control, and she knows it. Heat and energy spread through his whole body, like she's charging him with every stroke of her tongue, every scrape of her teeth and every swallow. In disbelief, he looks down at her head again that's bobbing up and down in his lap while he's fully clothed on the driver's seat of her car by a public street in plain daylight. She's blowing him lazily but thoroughly, and it's wanton and dirty and utterly sinful. He feels a telltale prickle at the base of his spine and knows it's time to speed things up a bit. Thankfully, Emma seems to sense the urge and intensifies her ministrations: her rhythm becomes faster, she takes him in deeper with every move, and sucks even harder.

“Hmmm,” he hums, “what a bad, greedy girl.” He wraps her ponytail around his hand, guiding her firmly down on his cock while his hips buck upwards and thrust into her mouth. “Go ahead, Swan,” he growls, “earn your punishment.”

She moans in response, a truly wanton sound, and that sends him over the edge. His hips stutter, and he holds her head in place as he shoots his hot release into her waiting mouth with a groan and a lustful grimace. He doesn't release the grip on her hair until he's thrusted every last bit of his aftershocks into her, and she swallows every last drop.

Then he lets go of her hair, and for a few moments he just leans back with closed eyes, breathing heavily and listening to the rush of blood in his ears slowly ebb away. When his breathing has steadied again a bit, he turns to look at her, and she's an incredible sight. Her face flushed, her hair messy and her lips red and swollen, she throws him an almost triumphant smile. When she licks her lips lewdly, he knows it's time to get to the second act. Consequences.  

“Get out of the car,” he orders sternly and tucks himself away. “It's teaching time.”

Emma smiles to herself in eager anticipation and leaves the car unhurriedly, closing the door with a determined click, while he does the same. Her lips are still tingling, and she still has a faint trace of his taste on her tongue, and now her lady parts are tingling as well, in a very un-ladylike way. Giving your husband a blow job in a car on a public road in plain daylight will do that to you; expecting him to fuck your brains out in return – even more. She deliberately waits on the passenger side until Killian beckons her with an impatient flick of his hand.

“Over here,” he tells her gruffly, and she practically saunters around the hood of the bug, soaking up the stormy nuance of ocean blue his eyes have darkened to; it's that shade that promises dirty things and danger.

She steps between him and the car, raising her chin almost defiantly. “What now?” she asks.

He leans a little forward so that their noses are almost touching and lowers his voice. “You know what now,” he replies, “You are going to be a good girl and bend over, and I'm going to give you the proper spanking you seem to need.” He pops the 'd' a little, and she feels a wave of heat rush between her legs.

“And the reward you promised?”

“I said obedient students get one,” he points out, raising his eyebrows. “You'll have to earn it first. We'll see about that later. Understood?”

She bites her lip to control her knowing smile. “Understood,” she confirms.

“Good.” He tilts his head. “Now turn around and bend over the hood. I'm not going to ask again.”

When she turns around on her heels, already moving to bend forward, she hears Killian's protest, just like she expected.

“Uh-uh, what's this?” he reprimands, and when she throws him a mock-questioning look over her shoulder, he raises an eyebrow. “I'm afraid the pants have to go down. We want to do this properly, don't we?” He smirks. “You'll want to feel it.”

“Of course,” she murmurs.

“Oh, you will,” he promises darkly, and she shudders involuntarily, briefly squeezing her thighs together.

She unbuttons and unzips her jeans and pulls them down mid-thigh, making sure to wiggle her hips properly, but leaves her underwear in place – she's sure if anything, the (already slightly damp) black lace thong will spur him on even more. They have indulged in similar games on occasion, and the few times he's taken her over his knee, the sight of a scrap of lace between her cheeks has always... inspired him. She raises her eyebrows at him in question and is pleased to notice how his eyes are glued to her ass and his fingers are flexing at his side. When he tilts his head in a nod of approval, she braces her hands on the curved hood of the car and bends forward, leaning down low. She mightily enjoys the feeling of being exposed to him like that, because she knows she's absolutely safe with him, and smiles in eager anticipation as she awaits the first slap. When it comes, it's unexpectedly light, more of a benevolent tease.

“So, shall we begin?” he asks casually.

“Yes, please,” she replies huskily.

“Very well.” His voice is smooth as silk now as he goes on, “So, are you aware of what's going to happen here, Swan?”

“I'm being punished.”

Obviously, he's bent forward, because his hot breath fans over the side of her neck when she hears a raucous whisper right next to her left ear, “That's bloody right.” And then, with a loud smack!, a hard slap lands on her right ass cheek, and she gasps at the sudden pain. “And why is that, lass?”

“I've been bad,” she answers breathlessly, her heart thumping in her chest and hot arousal coursing through her veins.

Another slap, even harder than the previous one, lands on her left cheek. “Is that all?” he growls.

“Very bad,” she adds quickly, and he hums in agreement.

“Too right.” He slaps her on the right cheek again, and it begins to sting a little. She pictures the bright pink blooming on her bare skin where his palm has landed, and the image has her clit swell and the proof of her arousal slowly seep into the lacy material of her underwear. “And what did you do?” he demands to know.

“I pillaged a law enforcer.” She knows she sounds a little smug, and she knows it's going to heighten his enthusiasm to teach her.

“That's a little elusive, don't you think,” he scolds and slaps her hard on the left side. “You might want to elaborate?”

“I sucked him off!” she gasps, “And made him come, hard.”

“Such a filthy mouth,” Killian comments severely. The next slap lands on her right cheek and elicits a small whimper from her, it's the third one there, and the pain, like from a thousand needles, is just-so masterfully teetering on the edge – it's almost to the point of causing her discomfort, but the pleasure still outweighs it; her clit is throbbing almost painfully now. God, she thinks, that reward better be good after such a build-up. But then she really has no doubt about it.

Obviously pleased by the sound she made, he tells her in an almost appreciative tone, “That was indeed very indecent.” He slaps her left cheek again and asks, “And were you warned before?”

“Yes!” she gasps and receives another slap on the right cheek that brings a rush of wetness to her eyes and to her thong that's already soaked with her arousal by now.

“And yet you couldn't resist, could you?”

“No, I couldn't,” she pants and adds defiantly, “and I didn't want to!”

That earns her a slap on the left side again, and she lets out another little sob. “So insubordinate,” he says with only mild reproach, “looks like this little correction was sorely needed. Don't you think?” Then she feels his large palm glide almost soothingly over her raw and stinging skin, and she lets out a little breath of relief for the break she gets.

“Yes,” she replies breathlessly, and he hums in appreciation.

“And what do you say, love?” he prompts.

Emma licks her lips and smiles to herself. “Thank you for teaching me.”

He leans forward again, even closer than before, and murmurs into her ear almost nonchalantly, “And have you learned your lesson now, love?”

She swallows, her throat feeling very dry, and whispers, “Yes.”

He's kneading her butt carefully, which has her hiss with both pain and pleasure. “And what have you learned?” he questions.

“Being bad always pays off,” she pants almost triumphantly.

He chuckles. “That's my girl.”

“Can I have my reward now?”

She jumps a little when her ass is unexpectedly showered with a series of quick smacks, but it's little more than halfhearted this time. “Cocky, are we?” he grumbles and asks, “Haven't you learned that if you want something, you ask for it nicely?”

She's so riled up and aroused that it's almost unbearable, and she can't stand the teasing any longer. “Please,” she almost whimpers, “Will you give my reward now?”

“Much better,” he tells her in a satisfied voice. “And what do you wish for, love?”

Emma loves and hates how he always draws this moment out, and dear God, she loves it. “Please,” she repeats and rolls her hips back in a desperate move, “give it to me good. Fuck me. Hard.”

“Well, that can be arranged.”

Killian rubs his hand over his mouth, the surrounding scruff making a scratching sound against his palm, and takes a moment to compose himself. Despite his dominant demeanor in this game, he's just as wrecked as she is. The whole scenario with her arse exposed and bare safe for that flimsy excuse for knickers, the sounds she made and the blooming pink of her tender skin as he spanked her, had his cock growing hard again, and it's throbbing uncomfortably in his pants now. And worse, the raw need in her voice when she begged him to take her, hard, combined with seeing her in that vulnerable pose almost sent him over the edge. He takes a deep breath and straightens himself into an upright position again, having his control back more or less.

She hears his zipper being pulled down behind her, and the sound alone gets her thong soaked with fresh arousal. Finally, he pulls the fabric aside and chuckles gleefully when he notices the wetness of the lace.

“Oh my, looks like someone's really enjoyed their punishment,” he comments, and she can hear the smirk in his voice.

She can't scrape together her wits enough to give a coherent answer, but he doesn't even seem to expect one at this point. Positioning himself at her entrance, he drags the tip of his cock through her slickness, before slamming home mercilessly and without further preliminary, making her gasp.

“Oh God,” she calls out and hisses at the sudden stretch and the burn of his jeans-clad hips against the tender skin of her well and properly spanked ass.

“Officer will do,” he replies smoothly.

He doesn't give her time to adapt, and really it's not necessary; she's so slick that he easily slides all the way in and out before he thrusts back in again, and he quickly finds a satisfying rhythm that has them both pant. Emma's legs are barely spread, because the jeans around the middle of her thighs are a hindrance for that, and so she's particularly tight, and it feels amazing, spurring him on even more. He sets a delightfully brutal pace, snaps his hips forward forcefully and fucks into her roughly, with her pants and moans soon becoming louder.

“God, yes,” she cries, “oh please, more...”

He grasps her bare hip with his hand and the dull curve of his hook and obliges. She wants hard, and by God, hard is what she'll get.

She braces her hands against the cool metal of the car, trying to withstand his assault and to take his deep strokes in the most satisfying way, and very quickly she can feel her climax build up. He keeps hitting her magic spot with deadly accuracy, and suddenly her knees feel very weak, and she just wants to crumble.

“Killian,” she almost sobs, “I–”

“That's it,” he growls as he pounds into her again and again, “that's what you crave, don't you? Come on, lass, let go. You know you want to.”

And finally, a mighty shudder runs through her body when her climax wrecks her, and with a cry, she comes so hard that she bucks in spasms; but instead of bringing her down, he wraps her ponytail around his hand again, pulls hard, and picks up even more pace. Relentlessly, he fucks her through her orgasm and far beyond.

“Good girl,” he praises, “there she is.”

He continues to ride her hard, and the heavy drag of his cock along her continuously trembling, overly sensitized walls is almost unbearable, the pleasure too much, like an electric buzz.

“Oh please,” she whimpers, “stop, I can't–”

But he doesn't allow her to come down and keeps pumping into her mercilessly. “Oh yes, you can,” he tells her gruffly, “and you will. You will take it all. I know you have one more in you.”

“Oh God, I–”

“Come for me, now!” he orders, and his voice is what does her in, she breaks and comes again, the helpless, almost feeble twitch of her muscles finally sending him over the edge.

The same moment, she collapses on the hood of the car, completely spent and blissfully unable to lift herself into an upright position again. Killian wraps his hooked arm around her waist and gently pulls her up.

“Breathe, love,” he whispers into her ear, quite short of breath himself, “just breathe.”

She nods and tries to, and slowly her breathing changes from frantic to a calmer rhythm, and the pounding of her heart in her ears softens and quiets down. With a sigh, she drops her head back to rest on his shoulder, and he brings his hand up to her exposed throat and caresses upwards until his thumb rests on her chin, tenderly stroking the little dimple.

“Are you alright, Emma?” he asks and brushes a feather light kiss across her temple.

“More than alright,” she confirms and chuckles lightly.

The sound makes him smile into her hair, her disheveled pony tail tickling his nose. “What is it, love?”

Emma turns around in his embrace, causing him to slip out of her and make a bit of a mess she cleans up with a flick of her wrist, and the next flick readjusts their clothes so they look decent again and totally unsuspecting to any potential passerby. She faces him and delights in his slightly confused smile as he raises his eyebrows at her in question.

Laying both hands against his chest, she asks, “Can you feel the adrenaline now?”

He laughs, a pure and joyful sound bubbling up from deep in his throat. “Was that your plan all along when you picked me up for driving lessons?” he suspects.

She raises her chin proudly. “Finding a secluded spot and misbehave? Oh yeah, for sure.” She tilts her head. “Getting my ass spanked? No.” She shrugs. “But I knew I had it coming at some point.”

Killian frowns. “What do you mean?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Oh please, I know you've been wanting to pay me back for handcuffing you in the interrogation room last week.”

He nods almost solemnly. “Ah, that.” With a devilish smirk, he boops her nose with his ringed index finger. “Alas, I hate to disappoint, Swan, but that payback's yet to come.”

“Oh?” Her eyes light up and sparkle not less devilishly. “Well, I guess I'm not disappointed at all, then.”

[spartanguard]

(no) bigger on the inside

Summary: When there's only two Whovians in the bar on Halloween, it's inevitable that they'll meet. And flirt. And have sex in a closet. Unlike the TARDIS, it's actually not any bigger on the inside.

A/N: Just some Whovian fun in honor of @cscocktoberfest. And because I love Thirteen even if I’m way behind on watching. Lots of Doctor Who references lay ahead but It should be enjoyable even if you’re not a fan. Allons-y!

rated M | 4.4k words | AO3

Emma hadn’t planned for her night to go this way. It wasn’t at all what she thought would happen when she agreed to go out for Halloween, and honestly, she might not have if she’d known it would happen.

What was that saying, though? “We’re all stories in the end; just make it a good one.”

Well, this one—and the man she was presently making out with in a lonely hallway at the Rabbit’s Hole—was shaping up to be a great one.

She’d noticed him right away from across the bar. It was hard not to, really, when they both stood out from a crowd that was filled with bro-dudes being bro-dudes and girls dressed as all manner of sexy somethings. Even Emma’s friends fit the mold—Mary Margaret and David were a sexy Snow White and her equally attractive (and scantily clad) Prince Charming, and Elsa was a sexy...well, Elsa.

So the fact that he wasn’t topless, or dressed as something idiotic or offensive (like Skeleboner, ugh—she had to fend off one of those just to get a drink) stood out like a beacon. She hadn’t even seen his face, but she could already tell he wasn’t one of those guys.

And that was partly because she’d recognize his costume anywhere. While there were a lot of costumes that mandated a suit, there weren’t a whole lot of brown pinstriped ones in pop culture.

Then her friends called her back, and their drinks were up, and she lost sight of the man in the throngs of people. Damn.

She tried to cast aside her disappointment as she dodged the douchebags through the crowd. That wasn’t why she was here—she was just having some fun with her friends while her son was out trick-or-treating with his. (And maybe attempting to reclaim some of her lost youth, after spending the bulk of hers raising Henry, who had looked way too grown in his Ghostbusters getup tonight.)

But, damn, did his shoulders fill out that jacket well, and it hugged his trim form perfectly. And what she could tell from the back of his head, his hair looked like it would feel great between her fingers. Granted, she was still imagining his front as David Tennant, so he might be letdown there—few guys stood a chance next to him.

Still, she was curious. And, glancing down at her own trench coat, they kind of went together.

Once she got back to her friends, Mary Margaret and Elsa decided that they really just wanted to dance, so the dance floor it was; she and Elsa danced together to avoid having to look at the sloppy makeouts from Mary Margaret and David. Her eyes scanned the crowd to see if she catch a glimpse of that suit, or even a man with dark hair and the glasses she noticed propped on his ears, but her search came up empty.

At some point, the True Love couple headed home to get some “privacy”, but Emma and Elsa weren’t quite ready yet. Call her obsessed, but Emma really wanted to find this guy. They both needed some water first, so Elsa headed back to their table while Emma went to the bar.

Though it was later in the evening, the place was still packed, so she squeezed into an empty spot and waited for the overworked barkeep to make his way over. She cast a few glances around to see if her mystery man was nearby, but still no luck. So she pulled her lone prop out of her pocket and fiddled with it while she waited.

Another person came up to the bar and took the empty space next to her, but she was too busy playing with the sound effects on her toy to really notice—at least, not until he spoke.

“Well, it looks like I’m not the only 10 in the room.”

She rolled her eyes at the dumb pickup line, even if his British accent was a bit enticing. “Please,” she started. “I’m a 13,” she threw back as she turned to face him—but then anything else she could have said got caught in her throat.

It was him. Ten. And oh god, he was even more attractive than she could have imagined. Someone extend her apologies to David Tennant—she might have a new favorite Doctor. (Well, aside from her other new favorite Doctor.)

Her assessment of the fit of his suit had been spot on: it hugged him in all the right spots, but still left a fair bit to the imagination. His tie and collar, however, had been loosened, teasing at the bit of chest hair that lay underneath. There was a mechanical hook in place of his left hand, but hey, even the Doctor lost his hand at one point.

And his face—holy hell, his face: the thick-rimmed glasses did nothing to hide the sparkle of his bright blue-gray eyes, even in the dim light. His sharp jaw was a little scruffy—very un-Doctor in that regard—but damn did he rock it. And his hair was indeed the perfect amount of mussed; she could easily see him at the TARDIS’s helm, running his hands through it frustratedly, and she was suddenly aching to do the same.

“I can see that,” he said with a smirk.

Wait, what? Could he hear her thoughts? Oh, no—that would be mortifying. “See what?” she blurted, almost panicking.

“That you’re a Thirteen,” he said matter-of-factly as he nodded at her own costume.

Oh, duh—right; she was the Thirteenth Doctor. It was kind of thrown together at the last minute, but she had on the new Doctor’s trademark shirt under a borrowed pair of suspenders, David’s too-large trousers, and her own tan trenchcoat. Henry had bought her the Sonic Screwdriver she’d been fiddling with as a birthday present.

“Yeah, right; sorry. It’s just—you look—” she stammered, tripping over her words.

“I know,” he smirked.

What even was going on? Thankfully, she had a decent excuse. “Well, maybe I’m nervous, or just socially awkward. I’m still figuring myself out,” she offered, quoting Thirteen.

His smirk became a full-on grin as he recognized the line. “In that case, I have something to divulge,” he said, leaning against the worn wood of the bar and leaning in closer. His breath was hot on her ear and she had to suppress a shiver. He said, in a low voice, “You make both of my hearts skip a beat.”

She couldn’t help it: she snorted. “Has that worked yet, or had you been you saving it for the right moment?”

Adorably, he scratched behind his ear. “Uh, yeah; I’d been sitting on that one for a while,” he admitted, glancing away. But then he looked up through his (ridiculously long) eyelashes. “Did it work?”

“Maybe,” she answered, giggling.

He smirked again, and she noticed the dimple it cut into his beard. She didn’t even know this guy’s name but she could tell this was headed to crush territory very fast—possibly more. “Can I try another one?” he proposed.

She shrugged. “Give it a go.”

“Are you a Weeping Angel?” His face softened and his eyes bored into hers, nearly overwhelming in their sincerity. “Because I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

It was so effing cheesy, but she just let out a sigh; she was being swept right off of her nerdy butt. “Yeah, it worked,” she finally breathed.

“Would it be too forthright of me to tell you that I meant it?” His intense gaze hadn’t let up, and she could tell he was telling the truth; she could spot a lie a mile away, and this Doctor was being completely honest.

“Only if I can confess that I’ve been watching for you all night.” She wasn’t usually that forward, either, but something about him was bringing out that side of her. Maybe it was because they were the only Whovians here, but a gut feeling told her it was deeper than that (and had nothing to do with them technically being dressed as the same person).

He gave a small smile back that crinkled the corner of his eyes. “I’ve got one more line, but it doesn’t seem quite appropriate for this conversation.”

“Oh? What is it?” She was curious.

“You’ll really laugh at this one,” he prefaced. “Do you have any Gallifreyan in you?” Then, leaning in closer again, “Want some?”

“Mm, nope, doesn’t work here,” she decided, even if the low timbre of his voice was doing things to certain parts of her body. “Can I try one, though?”

“Of course.”

She shifted herself into his space as much as she dared. Then, standing on tiptoe and lightly placing her hands on his firm chest, she murmured into his ear, “Is that a Sonic screwdriver in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He threw his head back, a genuine laugh bursting forth—but she got distracted by the cords of his neck on full display. And the little constellation of freckles on the side that she wanted to trace (though with her fingers or tongue, she couldn’t decide). And the fact that he smelled divine.

His eyes were back on her a moment later. “Yes,” he quipped.

“Which one?”

“Both.”

She studied his face for another moment, seeing the challenge written all over it, and then did what was possibly the boldest—or dumbest—thing she’d ever done: she fisted her hands in the lapels of his jacket and hauled his lips to hers.

He froze at first, making her immediately doubt her actions, but a second later, he pulled her tight to him and responded just as fervently. The music and chatter from the bar around them disappeared as she got lost in the kiss; he tasted like rum and she wanted to get drunk on him—which wouldn’t take long with her already being tipsy. The buzz from her previous drinks sped up to a full-on vibrate as his lips and tongue pressed against hers, sparking through her body and settling deep within, making her a different kind of warm.

And, judging by the way things felt when he rutted into her, he was feeling the same.

“Oy! Not out here! I don’t want to see that!” The jarring, angry voice of the bartender made them jump apart, though Emma was still holding onto him—she couldn’t make herself let go that easily. The curly-haired man was staring at them with arms crossed and a disapproving glare, mainly aimed at the other Doctor (she should probably figure out his name at some point here).

He just sighed, threw a withering look at the bartender, and then faced her again. After taking another deep breath, he looked at her almost imploringly and asked, “Do you wanna come with me?”

She was taken aback a bit, and tempted to ask what he meant by “come,” but he continued.

“'Cos if you do, then I should warn you—you're gonna see all sorts of things. Ghosts from the past. Aliens from the future. The day the Earth died in a ball of flame.”

Now she was grinning as she recognized the quote; god, he was such a perfect nerd.

“It won't be quiet,” he assured her, “it won't be safe, and it won't be calm. But I'll tell you what it will be.” He leaned into her ear again and she did nothing to hide her shiver this time. “...The trip of a lifetime!”

How on earth—or space or time—could she say no to that?

“Well?” He had an eyebrow quirked in question and expectation.

“That was a Nine quote,” she tossed back.

“And?”

“You’re full of it.”

“Sort of, yeah.”

She just grinned and took his hand. “Lead the way.”

He beamed back, tossed a (frankly terrible) wink toward the bartender, and pulled her away from the bar towards the back hallway of the place. It looked like it led to the kitchens or an office—not the restrooms, thankfully—but she hardly got a decent look before he was pressing her against a door and picking up where they’d left off.

So, like she said: not where she planned tonight going at all. But who was she to complain? (“Who” indeed, if you pardon the pun.)

Interrupting her train of thought, his left arm wrapped around her while the right braced on the wood behind her. Her hands gripped his waist as he gently leaned his body against hers and found her lips again. There was no holding back this time, though—between the rum and the way he kissed, she wondered why he wasn’t dressed like a pirate. They wouldn’t be here right now if he had, though, would they?

Her hands drifted to the button on his coat and undid it, then worked their way to his tie to do to the same, untying the knot just enough to pull the thing apart and toss it aside. She pulled him closer, noting how much warmer he felt under her palms with fewer layers in the way.

“Does the lady get to have all the fun?” he grumbled playfully, pulling off his fogged-up glasses and sticking them in his coat pocket, then resting his forehead against hers as they took a moment to catch their breaths. If he hadn’t said anything, she might have asphyxiated—and unlike the actual Doctor, Emma had no regenerations.

“Nothing’s stopping you,” she panted back.

He replied with another kiss, but then his lips traveled down her chin to her neck, and his hand and hook slid into her jacket and up her sides, tracing the curve of her breasts as they went. When they found the collar, they started to slide the coat down her shoulders as he sucked a mark into her neck, making her arch away from the door and into him while also making it easier to get the coat off her body altogether.

She felt a small bit of relief at shedding the extra layer, but whatever coolness she felt quickly went away when she brushed against the bulge in his pants, drawing a stuttered groan from him. There was only one way for tonight to end, and she was starting to get anxious for it.

“What do you say, darling?” he breathed, then nodded at the door behind her. “Shall we see if this thing is bigger on the inside?”

She giggled and felt behind her for the knob, twisting it open when she found it. Thank god it wasn’t locked, but she did have to push herself into her Doctor again to step forward and open the door. He didn’t seem to protest the further closeness.

Quickly, he slipped through the doorway and she followed, closing it behind her. Of course, it was pitch dark in there and she felt immediately claustrophobic. So she pulled her Sonic Screwdriver out and turned it on; it cast a dim light over what was quite clearly a storage closet.

She was facing away from her Doctor and turned around to find him again—only to be met with the light from his own Sonic Screwdriver. “I guess it’s not,” he said, shrugging, but he didn’t sound upset at all; even in the dim light, she could see his smile.

“You’ve redecorated; I like it,” she glanced around and assessed in-character, drawing a snort from him. Then, wordlessly, he took both Screwdrivers and set them on a shelf, leaving them on to give some light—but otherwise, the tiny space was still pretty dark. At least they didn’t have to worry about any carnivorous shadows.

“Now where were we?” he wondered, but Emma knew they were both keenly aware of where they’d hit pause and promptly jumped right back in. Her fingers started to work on the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one and trying not to rip any off while he kissed her senseless once more, hand buried in her hair.

She managed to get it undone somehow and tugged it out of his trousers, then threw it open. His chest and abs were just as she’d expected based on touch: firm yet soft, covered in the perfect amount of body hair that dusted his pecs and drew a line down his stomach. Damn, he was gorgeous all over.

He wasted no time following that up by reaching for her waist, she thought to bring her close again, but instead his digits went right for the clasps of her suspenders. She wasn’t sure how he unclipped it with his hook but she wasn’t going to ask questions—and didn’t have a chance to when her pants were suddenly falling down to her ankles. Guess that was an unseen perk to wearing too-large men’s pants. (That and they were super comfy.)

He really did grab her this time, hand sliding up her side and bunching her shirt with it, his palm leaving a path of heat on her already flushed skin. He stopped when he got to her bra and she almost whined. “Are you sure about this, love?” he asked, suddenly sounding unsure. But she adored that he cared enough to ask.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Okay.” That was all he needed to hear to continue, thankfully, and she helped him make quick work of her top—actually noting where this garment landed, though, because that was totally her favorite shirt. (And probably her lucky shirt now.)

She stepped out of the pants as much as she could, not bothering to remove her ankle boots, and then gripped his shoulders and pressed him against the opposite wall. As much as she could, she straddled him, pressing her overheated core against his erection and drawing a gasp from both of them.

Then she reapplied her lips to his and borrowed a move from his book: she worked her way down his chin, enjoying the scratch of his scruff against her lips, until she found the soft skin of his neck. For a hot second, she just breathed him in; his scent was just as intoxicating as the rest of him. And in the dim light, she found that little line of freckles from earlier, and proceeded to suck and lick her way down it, one spot at a time. More than once, he shifted up into her as she worked, and she could feel the muscles of his sides as they moved under his warm skin. He tasted salty and sweet under her tongue and was just as delicious as she expected.

His grip on her tightened when at last, she nipped at the juncture of his neck and shoulder before coming up for air. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled. “You’re incredible.”

“So’re you,” she said quietly as she nuzzled the crook of his neck. His hand was gently brushing up and down her bare side, continuing to stoke her arousal, to the point that she found herself starting to grind against him, needing some sort of friction against the center of her arousal. His breath hitched with every press.

“I—are you—fuck,” he stuttered and cursed, but she knew what he was saying and moved to take off his pants. He didn’t protest, but did say, “I know I said earlier this wouldn’t be safe, but—“

“We’re good,” she told him, “assuming you’re clean.”

He nodded, then sighed as she unzipped his pants. She tucked her thumbs into both his pants and underwear and shoved them down, freeing his erection from its confines. She couldn’t help it—she reached out and carefully gripped his cock, stroking his generous velvety length until his breaths were staggered and her panties were soaked.

Enough was enough. She needed him inside her.

She released him and stepped back to tug her undies off, but he must not have been able to see what she was doing in the faint light. “I didn’t take you for a tease, darling,” he called out; she could hear his smirk in his voice.

She responded by shoving her panties in his hand. “I’m not.” And then she pressed herself against him once more. “There’s just one thing I need.”

“What’s that?”

She hitched her leg around his thigh, pressing her folds against his erection. “I need to know your name.” She could tell right away that this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing, like her lovers usually were; if they were gonna do this, they were gonna do it right.

“I’m the Doctor,” he answered cheekily, and she wanted to kiss that stupid adorable grin off his face.

“Really though.”

His smile softened. “I’m Killian.”

“I’m Emma.”

“Well, allons-y, Emma.” He grabbed her ass to pick her up and press her against the opposite wall, making her squeal in surprise, then grabbed his cock and stroked. “Forgive me, love, but I can’t see—“

“I’ve got it,” she cut in, then gently took his hand and lined his tip up with her entrance, circling it a few times in the evidence of her arousal. And he pressed in.

Oh god, he felt amazing, stretching and filling her so fully. “Brilliant,” she gasped.

“Darling, you’ve seen nothing yet.” He sounded just as wrecked as she was; how could things possibly get more intense?

And then he moved. Oh, that was how. Slowly, he pulled back and then pushed back in, dragging his cock against her inner walls so carefully that she felt every inch. “Lord,” she breathed, laying her head back on the wall.

“Aye—Time Lord,” he quipped as he did it again.

“Nerd,” she threw back; it was the only thing she had the mental coherence to come up with.

“Yeah,” he agreed, breathlessly. He didn’t say anything else then, focusing only on her, finding her lips again as he thrust in and out. She gripped his back tight for purchase, probably scratching him even though his shirt but he didn’t seem to mind. The leg she wrapped around him was digging into his firm ass for the same reason, and the other barely touched the ground, but she felt secure in his hold and matched him thrust for thrust as much as she could.

The familiar tingle of coming release started, low on her spine and spreading with every move. She ached to stroke her nipples, even if they were still encased in her lacy bra, but was afraid they’d fall if she tried it. So she pulled his chest to hers as tight as she could, gasping when they made contact and at the delicious extra friction his chest hair added to the whole thing.

Despite the change in angle, he didn’t slow his increasing pace and it was all she could do to keep up. Her lips found his constellation again as he rapidly shifted in and out, until she was teetering on the edge and it was all she could do to just breathe, pleasure threatening to take her away.

“I’m—I’m—” she stuttered, but couldn’t come up with any other words.

“Me too,” he breathed back. “Come for me, love; come—Emma—”

And with a shout, she did, throwing her head back as her orgasm peaked, all of time and space flying past behind her closed eyelids as it felt like stars exploding all over her body. (Appropriately, the strains of “Toxic” were coming through from the bar.) She was gripping his firm biceps for dear life, it felt like, but if he noticed, he didn’t say.

He followed quickly, his own loud moan accompanying his stuttered release; he had promised her it wouldn’t be quiet, after all.

Maybe this thing was actually a TARDIS, because she completely lost track of time as they stayed there, coming down from their shared high. It was probably only minutes, but could have been eons as she continued to breath him in, only moving so he could pull out of her.

Eventually, though, her legs began to shake from the strain of the awkward semi-stance she’d been in, so he gently helped her get steady on her feet, but stayed close.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered. “Bloody fantastic.”

“You too,” she replied, and placed a kiss on his defined collarbone. Whatever this was—or was turning out to be—she wanted more. And if the grin he gave her, and accompanying peck on the lips, said anything, it was that he did, too.

They cleaned up with some paper towel they found in there—not the softest thing in the universe but it would do—and redressed as best they could in the minimal light from their Screwdrivers. Once they were mostly decent again, Emma peeked her head out of the door; the coast was clear, so they slipped out and picked up their jackets from where they’d piled on the floor.

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to make love to myself,” Killian said, far too casually as he put his blazer back on.

“Oh my god, don’t be weird.”

“I’ve been called far worse.”

“What, like ‘nerd’?” she teased.

“Actually, I quite like that one,” he tossed back, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “Particularly when you say it.”

She turned in his arms to give him another kiss, then lamented. “I should probably get back to my friend; so much for getting her water.”

“Aye, I suppose I should do the same. And apologize to my brother.”

She tilted her head. “Apologize? Why?”

“Well, he’s the bartender, and this is his bar. It’s probably bad form for the younger brother to desecrate the storage closet.”

She chuckled. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Shall we?”

She tried to pull him towards the bar, but he didn’t move. “I don’t want to go.”

Oh, he didn’t. “No. You do not get to make me cry tonight!”

He smirked. “So, no burning up of suns, either?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Alright then. How about...to a new adventure?”

She smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

And arm-in-arm, they headed back out into whatever lay ahead.

(The first thing they saw was Elsa flirting with Killian’s brother. She’d gone up to find Emma when she hadn’t returned, and instead found Liam, and apparently they hit it off.)

(The next year, Killian repeated his Ten costume while Emma dressed as Rose Tyler. The year after that, they switched it up as Han and Leia—with Henry as Chewbacca—and Westley and Buttercup the next. Eventually, their daughter joined in on the cosplay fun, too.)

(One part of their tradition always stayed the same, though: finding their way into that closet at some point, because even if it wasn’t a TARDIS, it was still the start of their greatest adventure.)

thanks for reading! tagging some friends (but feel free to ignore)! @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @selfie-wench @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @initiala @distant-rose @flipperbrain @sherlockianwhovian @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich​ @killian-whump​ @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @jackieorioncat

[wistfulcynic]

All That We See Or Seem

To help @cscocktoberfest reach its goal of 100 smutty pieces in a month, I've thrown together this little follow-up to A Dream Together, which was what I had originally planned to submit for it. This picks up just where the other left off.

Summary: After realising that the dreams he's been having about Emma were both real and shared, and that she is in danger, Killian shows up at her door in New York. She doesn't recognise him... except his eyes, from her dreams. The kiss she lays on him returns her memories, but what happens next, and how do they deal with the reality of what they've been dreaming?

(Canon Divergent AU, set during the Missing Year.)

Rating: M/E for smutty smut

Also on: AO3

@wellhellotragic, @kmomof4, @resident-of-storybrooke, @rouhn, @let-it-raines, @deathbycaptainswan, @teamhook

Emma pulled back with a gasp, breaking the kiss. Waves of memories came flooding back, crashing over her, swirling wildly through her mind. She’d given Henry up… he’d found her, brought her to Storybrooke… the curse… her parents… the beanstalk… Hook… Neal’s return… Neverland… Hook… the Echo Caves… Hook… rescuing Henry… Pan’s curse… the town line… Hook…

Her eyes flew open, meeting his anxious gaze. “Hook…” she whispered, but no, the name felt wrong on her lips. “Killian.” 

His smile was radiant with relief and love. “Emma,” he breathed, “You remember.” 

“Yeah, I guess I do,” she replied, still in a daze, and when he pulled her into his arms she didn’t resist, wrapping her own around him under his coat and absorbing the comfort of his solid, warm presence, smiling a little as he nuzzled her hair. 

He’s got a real thing for my hair. She remembered that too, from the dreams. 

Oh, gods, the dreams…

“Mom! Mom!” Henry cried, running into the hallway. “I remember… oh. Uh, hi Hook.”

Killian released Emma reluctantly, then beamed at Henry. “Hello, lad.” 

Henry looked from the pirate to his mother, speculation lighting in his eyes. “Did you guys… break the curse?” he asked. 

He was way too perceptive for a twelve year old, thought Emma in exasperation. “Yeah, kid, it looks like we did,” she said, hoping he would leave it at that and not ask how. 

“So what does this mean?” asked Henry. “You shouldn’t have been able to break a curse here, this is the Land Without Magic. So does that mean that Storybrooke is back? Can we go check? Does this mean—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Henry. We don’t really know anything at this point, and I think…” She remembered Walsh in the dream, and the flying monkeys. “I think we need to pretend everything is normal for a while, at least until we know more about what’s going on. That means school for you, kid.” 

“But—” 

“School, Henry. Go get ready now.” 

Henry opened his mouth to argue, but she fixed him with her I-mean-business glare and he headed off, grumbling, in the direction of the bathroom. 

Killian chuckled. “I see he’s still a little spitfire.” 

Emma turned to look at him, her heart thumping painfully at the sight of the happy smile on his gorgeous face. 

How could I ever have forgotten his face?

“Killian, uh, I need to take Henry to school. Will you wait here? Then when I get back we can… talk.” 

His expression sobered. “Aye, love, we have much to discuss. You take care of the boy, I can amuse myself until you return.” 

He undoubtedly could, she thought, but she’d feel better if she knew exactly how he was keeping himself amused. “Do you want, I don’t know, a book or something?” It was a bit of a shot in the dark, but there were loads of books in his cabin on the Jolly Roger. 

He looked surprised by her offer, then pleased. “I’d like that, aye. Thank you.” 

She resisted the urge to squirm under the intensity of his gaze. 

“Okay, well, I have to go get changed, so you just sit on the sofa and I’ll find you something to read.” 

He nodded, following her into the living room. “As you wish.” 

Emma walked home slowly after dropping Henry off at school, her mind full of the pirate currently on her couch reading one of Henry’s adventure stories. She was still struggling to process it all: their dreams, his appearance at her door, the kiss… that kiss had broken the curse, or at least had brought her and Henry’s memories back, did that mean she and Killian were true love? How could she be in love with someone she’d spent the best part of a year not remembering? Was it possible to fall in love in a dream?

Those dreams, though, they had been… something. Not just the sex, though that had been incredible, but the emotion in them. She thought about the way he'd fucked her in their dreams, rough and demanding but still tender, like a pirate but also like a man in love. 

Who are you kidding, you knew how he felt when you left Storybrooke, you've known it since the Echo Caves. The question is, how do you feel, and what are you going to do about it? 

Her dream self had been free of her walls, of all the hang-ups and insecurities that had made her keep Killian at arm’s length, afraid of what he could make her feel. Dream Emma had let him in, had accepted his feelings and given him her own. 

Could she be that woman in reality? 

She was willing to find out. 

She opened her door and strode purposefully into the living room. He looked up from his book, smiling. “Hello, love. This book is really quite entertaining, though I have one or two notes about how the pirates are portrayed—” he broke off as she took the book from him, then took his hand and pulled him off the couch. She stared at him for a moment, deciding. 

His smile faded slightly. “Is everything all right, Swan?”

It was the concern in his eyes that did it. She knew what she wanted. 

Wrapping her arms around his neck she brought their lips together, feeling his surprise and then his fierce desire as he tilted his head and took her mouth with the same intensity she remembered from the dreams. She couldn’t suppress a low moan; the dreams had been amazing but reality was better. He tasted so good, of rum and spice, his hair was soft between her fingers, his lean muscles flexing beneath her arm as he slid his hand and hook down her body. She could have kissed him forever, but he broke away, chest heaving, his eyes blazing with emotion as they raked over her. 

“I thought you wanted to talk,” he said, his rough voice making her tremble with need. 

“I do,” she replied, pushing his heavy coat off his shoulders. He allowed it to fall to the floor, his eyes never leaving her face. “Later. Sex now, talk later. Do you have a problem with that?” 

Killian imagined that he should probably object, insist that they talk things through and be sure of their feelings before they took a rash step, but he really didn’t want to. Not when she was standing before him, challenge in her eyes, offering him what he had literally been dreaming of for weeks. For years. “No indeed, love,” he rasped.  

“Good.” She shrugged out of her own jacket and tossed it aside, then pulled off her blouse, barely bothering to undo the buttons. He swiftly undid the buckles on his vest —impressive with one hand, thought Emma, though she supposed he’d had a lot of practice— and when it was removed she stepped forward and pulled his shirt over his head then wrapped herself around him, pressing her breasts against his chest, her nipples pebbling through the lace of her bra as she dragged them through the thick hair on it. He growled as he brought his arms tightly around her, his hook digging into her hip, his hand plunging into her hair and curling around the back of her head as he brought their mouths together once again in a kiss that quickly grew frantic, sloppy and wet and desperate for more. 

“My bedroom’s through there,” Emma panted against his mouth, nodding towards a doorway to their left. He hoisted her up with his hook arm and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he headed for the door, stumbling and slamming her back against it when she licked the sensitive spot just below his ear. With his hips bracing her weight against the wood, he lifted his hook between her breasts and ripped her bra, yanking aside the tattered lace to reveal her breasts to his hungry gaze. Slowly, he dragged the curve of his hook across her nipple and she moaned, her eyes falling shut and head dropping back against the door. “Fuck, yes,” she said hoarsely. “I want your hook all over me.” 

Killian’s lust was now a snarling, snapping beast in his gut. He grasped frantically for the doorknob, finally opening it and stumbling through, landing them on her bed in a tangle of entwined limbs. He slid his hand between her legs, rubbing her through her jeans, almost wanting them back in their dreams so he could simply wish her clothes away. Instead he fumbled with the unfamiliar fastenings, urgency making him clumsy, until she batted his hand away and did it herself. “Get rid of yours,” she commanded, and he obeyed, tearing at the laces of his trousers and biting back a groan as he freed his throbbing cock from its constriction. Hastily, he removed his boots and kicked the trousers off, then rolled back to find Emma naked and waiting for him. 

How can she be even more beautiful in reality? he thought, almost angrily. There should be a limit to how bloody gorgeous one woman can be.

Catching her ankle with his hook he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, his hand stroking up the inner thigh of the other, spreading her wide. Her cunt was glistening, dripping wet, and he wanted to bury his face in it as he had in the dream, lick it clean and suck her clit between his teeth until she screamed. 

Later. There’ll be time for all that later. 

He had absolutely no intention of allowing this to be a one-time thing. 

Rising to his knees he rubbed his cock through her folds and was just about to thrust inside when she tensed beneath him, her half-closed eyes flying open in alarm. “Wait!” she cried. 

With a strength of will that Killian would never have imagined he possessed, he halted his forward motion, gritting his teeth as he clung to his control, desperately trying to focus on anything except how very close he was to heaven. 

“What is it?” He tried not to snarl the words. 

“I don’t have a condom.” 

“A what?”

“It’s a— a thing you wear, to prevent pregnancy and disease.” 

He closed his eyes, understanding. “A prophylactic.” 

“Er, yeah.” 

He drew several deep breaths before opening his eyes and attempting to mask his disappointment behind a saucy leer, or the best approximation of it he could muster given the circumstances. “Well, there are plenty of other things we can do, Swan,” he said, and took comfort from the fact that she seemed as put out as he felt.  

Emma’s face wore the same mutinous expression as Henry’s when she’d made him go to school that morning. “Just give me a minute, let me think,” she said.  

“Aye, love.” He nudged her leg off his shoulder and collapsed onto his back, running his hand over his face in frustration. In all his two centuries of life he’d never had his lust go unslaked before, and he found he did not care for it at all. His cock ached. 

“I’m okay on the pregnancy front,” Emma was saying, almost to herself. “I just… Killian,” she rolled onto her side to look at him. “When was the last time you… you know.” She waved her hand in a way he supposed she meant to be suggestive. 

“Enjoyed carnal relations?” He smirked at her. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” 

He stared up at the ceiling, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to look at her as he told the truth. “Not since before the curse. The first curse.” 

“But… that was years ago!” “Aye, near thirty of them. Of course, I was frozen in time for twenty-eight.” 

She was silent for so long that he turned to look at her, his eyebrows snapping together in a scowl at her comically astonished expression. 

“And just when do you imagine I would have had time for such things?” he demanded crossly. “Between beanstalks and crocodiles and Neverland and you locking me up and chaining me to things at every opportunity—”

“You had nearly a year in the Enchanted Forest—”

“The entirety of which I spent thinking about you!” The words exploded from him, before he could bite them back. 

She looked stunned, and his anger drained away. He hated that she should have cause to be so surprised that someone would miss her. 

“… you did?” she asked in a small voice that twisted his heart. 

“Aye, obviously I did. I told you that not a day would go by that I wouldn’t think of you, and it didn’t.” Might as well just lay it all on the table, mate. It’s not as though she doesn’t know. “I meant what I said in the dream, Emma. I love you. There is no one else for me but you.” 

He could have told her how he'd been lost and empty without her, how he'd tried to go back to his old life but had failed, how he'd struggled against the knowledge that he didn't want to live that way anymore. How he would have, and did, give up everything he had for a shot at having her back in his life. How even if she never let him touch her again, he would still feel that that sacrifice had been worth it.  

“Killian…” She wanted to say the words back to him, the words that she felt deep in her heart were true, but they stuck in her throat and refused to be forced out. Instead she rolled over onto him, straddling his hips and kissing him deeply. “Forget the condom,” she said against his lips. “I trust you. You don’t have any weird fairy tale STDs, do you? Diseases,” she clarified, at his puzzled look. 

“No. I have always made it a point to be careful.” 

“That’s good enough for me,” she said, lifting her hips and sinking down onto him, stealing his breath and very nearly his sanity. He groaned at the tight squeeze of her muscles around him, the wet slide along his cock as she began to move, the bliss of being inside her at long bloody last far better than anything their dreams had conjured. He brought his hand and hook up to grasp her hips, fingers digging into her soft skin as he thrust in time to her rocking motion. She braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed herself down to take him inside her to the hilt, the arch of her back bringing her breasts tantalisingly close. He ran his hook up her side and stroked it across her nipple, teasing her with the gentlest scratch of its sharp tip. Her moan was the most arousing thing he’d ever heard, the helpless bucking of her hips and the memory of their first dream all the encouragement he needed to slide the hook down her body and press it firmly against her clit. 

Emma came with a sharp scream, digging her fingernails into his chest as he rolled them over, continuing to thrust as she convulsed around him. He felt his control begin to slip, the look of euphoria on her face and the gentle fluttering of her body around him almost more than he could handle. She sighed and opened her eyes. Their green was soft and hazy, and full of an emotion he didn’t dare attempt to name. She reached up to touch his face, her thumb caressing the scar across his cheek. 

“I want you to come inside me, Killian,” she whispered, and he was gone, all vestiges of his self-control swept away as he pounded himself into her, fucking her with the abandon they had both dreamed of. 

When he came it was like nothing he’d ever known before, not even in the heady early days with Milah. He felt his world shatter, shift, and realign, and he knew that he would finally be able to shake off the shackles of his old life, to make amends and move forward. That he would never willingly leave Emma's side again, and that with her support he could do anything.

Killian had always been a man who loved even more fiercely than he hated, and he’d lived on hate for centuries. Now he was ready to live on his love, for as long as she’d have him. 

I will protect you with my life, Swan, he vowed silently as they wrapped themselves around each other and fell asleep. 

[thejollyroger-writer]

Captains & Corsets - A Cocktoberfest Fic

A/n: This story started out as something completely different, not even for this event, and then my muse told me that this was supposed to be my Cocktober story, and not the other one I had planned. It seemed to all work out in the end, though. Special thanks to the @cscocktoberfest mods of this event, and to my excellent beta, @littlescorpion  -- your attention to detail inspires me, and this fic would not be the same without you!

Summary: Emma Swan is the manager of Belle's bookstore, helping at the last minute for a Halloween party where her only costume choices involved corsets. Captain Killian Jones has moved to America, having lost everything in England he cares about and has returned to the care of a good friend. Neither of them may be searching for a relationship, but that doesn't mean that they won't hit it off, in more ways than one.

Rated E - it’s cocktober, guys. 

Read on AO3!

“You can’t be serious, Rubes,” Emma sighs, trying to pull Ruby’s tank-top up to cover at least a little of her chest. “I don’t know why I ever thought that any of your costumes would be… appropriate.” She lifts her eyes to meet her best friend’s through the mirror.

“Come on, Ems, you should know better than that.” Of all the times Emma has described her best friend’s smile as ‘wolfish,’ none of them described it just as well as right now, standing behind Emma in her little red riding hood costume. Or, what Ruby describes as a costume, but really turns out to be a bring red corset, black shorts, and a red velvet cape with a hood.

“You know this is a costume party at a bookstore and not a night at the world’s sluttiest club, right?”

“So what?”

Emma looks over herself in the mirror again, already embarrassed to be seen in Ruby’s rendition of “Robin Hood”: a green corset-slash-tank top with high-waisted khaki shorts, black knee-high boots, and a little green pointed hat, not to mention the hip quiver and longbow slung over her shoulder.

“I can’t go in this!” Emma finally tears her eyes away from her reflection and whips around to face her best friend, whose smile and eyes only widen seeing the front of her not through the mirror. “

Why not? You look excellent.”

“Ruby! I am the manager of the store, I can’t show up in a corset!” Ruby waves her hand between them, then rolls her eyes and turns back to her closet. “Fine, fine. I have…” She pages through the hangers, looking for something that might be more appropriate. Holding up a skirt that can’t be more than six inches long, Emma shakes her head again. “Since you’re the manager, why didn’t you find a costume before the night of this Halloween party ? ” Ruby pops her head out of the closet at the last bit of her question, accentuating her words with a raise of her eyebrows. Emma rolls her eyes before Ruby steps back into the closet.

“For your information, I was actually not supposed to even be at this party, so I didn’t think I was going to need a costume until this morning when Belle went into labor.”

“Fine, fine! But you can’t come to me for last-minute help and then berate me for my belongings.” Emma opens her mouth to speak, but before anything comes out, Ruby’s hand flies out of the closet, tossing something at her: a pair of pants. No, a pair of red leather pants , with laces in place of the regular zipper…

“Come on, ” Emma whines, but Ruby stops her again. “I feel like you’re trying to make sure I get laid tonight.”

“Listen, would getting some really be half bad? How long has it been since Neal left, anyway?”

Ruby gives Emma an opportunity to answer, but she stays silent. Too long .

When Emma’s eyes fall to the floor, Ruby leaves the subject untouched. “And I have closets full of shorts and skirts, and those are just about the only pants I own, unless you want the white pair?”

“No! No, these are… these are fine. But what costume are they a part of?” Pulling off her jeans, she begins the shimmy into the leather, and when Ruby pulls the rest of the costume out of the closet, Emma is surprised she missed it her first (and second) time through the closet: a black off-the-shoulder flowing shirt with a black and red corseted vest.

“I’ve had this pirate costume since college, and I don’t think I’ve worn it in just as long.” Emma pulls her t-shirt over her head, and Ruby hands her the black shirt, which falls perfectly off her shoulders (and reveals that damned swan tattoo on her shoulder, an alcohol-driven reclamation of the last name of her first foster family, but it’s the least of Emma’s worries for tonight), and as much as she hates to admit it, the corset cinched around her waist actually doesn’t look half-bad.

She’s almost looking forward to wearing it in public, getting laid or not. Especially once Ruby hands her the prop sword, though she thinks she might go without the hat.

She is most definitely not getting laid tonight, especially since she knows everyone in town. Tonight might not be nearly as bad as she originally expected it to be.

******************************************************************

“How in the seven hells did I let you talk me into this, Nolan?” Killian asks, eyeing his best friend out of the corner of his eye, finishing the bottle of beer in his hand.

Dave turns to face his old captain, a man he hadn't seen for almost ten years, the best friend from his younger years that showed up on his porch the day before, all of his belongings in a backpack slung over his shoulder and looking exactly as Dave had remembered, minus the twinge of reddish-grey in his dark hair and beard and the prosthetic left hand, the injury that sent him home the last time David saw him. “You're the one who showed up decked out in that pirate costume, when I was all ready to just come as myself.”

Killian turns to face him, one eyebrow raised high on his forehead. “We both know that your wife would not have allowed that, mate.” He follows Dave's eyes across the room, where he finds Dave's wife holding a tray of caramel apples — some of which Killian even helped her make the night before. Mary Margaret must feel their eyes on her, and she turns towards them with a wave and a warm smile.

“You're right, Jones,” Dave says, his eyes still set on his wife, even after she's turned away from them. “And that's why I'm here now, dressed in this Popeye costume, which I thought was outrageous until I saw yours.”

“Just admit it, Nolan. You're jealous of how dashingly handsome of a pirate I make.” As if to prove his point, he straightens the collar of his jacket, then runs his prosthetic hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead, a salacious grin spread across his face.

Of course, he's right. Dave is not an idiot and has never failed to recognize that his friend is beyond just handsome , but for some reason, the pirate costume accentuates all of his best features: the collar of his jacket parallels his sharp jawbone, and with the top few buttons of his shirt undone, lined up with the V of his vest, the sharp lines call the eyes down the muscles of his neck to where his dark chest hair just becomes visible. Not to mention his dark leather pants, which are tighter than Dave would ever feel comfortable wearing in public.

Seeing just how much lighter Killian's beard and hair has become, Dave thinks of a phrase Emma had brought up a few weeks ago and realizes that it describes his friend perfectly: a silver fox.   Killian Jones has become a silver fox.

“Want another?” Dave asks, taking the empty bottle from Killian's good hand before he can answer.

“Please, mate,” Killian answers, pushing himself off the wall they were holding up. “But let me come with you.”

It’s only been two days since Killian packed everything he didn't sell into a backpack and hopped on a plane, finding himself at David Nolan's door just the morning before in Storybrooke, Maine, and in those two days, he's met a good handful of people; but that in no way means he feels comfortable enough to be left alone at a party.

He follows Dave across the small bookstore to where they have temporarily converted the coffee shop to a small bar. Ordering them two more beers and adding them to his tab for the evening, he notices the tall brunette bartender dressed as what Killian believes to be Little Red Riding Hood, though he's never seen a rendition of a children's story character that utilizes a corset, and she smiles across the counter at him.

“Who’s your friend, David?” she purrs, making sure her fingers brush Killian's as she hands him his bottle.

Dave can't help but roll his eyes at the tone of her voice, but he still answers her question, introducing her to Killian—and noticing that Ruby's hand stays in his longer than necessary as she introduces herself.

“Well, thanks, Rubes,” Dave says bluntly, turning away from the bar and hoping that Killian follows as he walks away. Searching the crowd for his wife, Dave heads in her direction, hearing the clicking of the heels on Killian's boots behind him.

Mary Margaret’s eyes light up as she watches her husband approach her, and Killian can't help the smile that flashes across his face when he sees this, the obvious love that the two of them share. Something that he thought he had, until she changed her mind.

But that’s part of what he came here to forget.

“Emma and Belle did such an excellent job putting this whole thing together, didn't they?” Her smile grows with her question, scrunching up the tip of her nose, and Dave leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Definitely,” Dave replies, but Killian's mind is elsewhere.

“When will I get to meet this sister of yours, Dave?”

Killian's been hearing about Emma for almost as long as he's known David, remembers when he had to leave the base right after their graduation because she showed up in Storybrooke again after running away from their foster home years before. He's seen pictures of her, the ones Dave brought with him on their tours together, and then the newer ones that he has around his house now. The pictures showed him the most beautiful blonde woman he has ever seen, though he's never had the opportunity to meet her in person.

Until today.

“Actually, she's right here!” Mary Margaret waves her hand to grab her attention from across the room, and Killian watches in awe as the crowd parts to reveal her to him. He knows it’s an absolutely cheesy cliche, but damn if she is a million times more beautiful than the pictures that truly do her no justice. She is a goddess on land, the most ethereal angel he has ever seen, dressed as, of all things, a goddamned pirate , in sinfully tight, bright red leather pants with a corseted vest over a black off-the-shoulder shirt, a costume comparable to his own.

As soon as she locks eyes with him, after smiling at her brother and his wife, neither of them break away from the stare. Her eyes widen at first, seeing him for the first time, then narrow as she takes him in approaching him. The moments it takes her to cross the room stretch into hours, watching her watch him, and the corner of his lips pulls up into a half-smile when she stops in front of them. David wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer into the circle.

“Ems, this is Captain Killian Jones, a good friend of mine from the Navy.” She smiles at him, a wide smile that he can swear physically radiates light.

“Captain Jones, it’s a pleasure to meet you after all this time.”

A smile spreading across his face, Killian holds his hand out towards her. “Darling, please call me Killian. And I assure you, the pleasure truly is all mine.”

Taking his hand, she expects his to shake it, but instead, he pulls it to his lips, pressing them against her knuckles, a motion that causes her entire face to redden, a blush that brightens her jade eyes, and he is surprised to feel a warmth to stir in his chest.

Emma, on the other hand, has possibly never been more turned on in her life.

To say that she is attracted to Captain Jones is the understatement of the century, an understatement that grows larger when she notices the brightness of his eyes, a shade of cobalt blue that shouldn’t be possible on a living, breathing human. She’s never been one to have a thing for older men, but there’s something about the man standing before her, a mixture of the patches of silver in his hair and the bright red vest that reveals dark hair that she can only imagine trails down his entire body, that intrigues her in a way she has never been intrigued before, starts a fire in her chest that travels down her body and settles behind her stomach.

Fuck, she doesn’t want to admit that Ruby may have been right, but for what seems like the first time ever, she’s actually hoping that Ruby’s joke about getting laid from earlier becomes a reality.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches her brother roll his eyes, a motion that reminds her that her brother is standing right next to her , makes his arm slung over her shoulder suddenly weigh her down.

Pull yourself together, damnit.

“You did an excellent job putting this whole thing together, Emma,” Mary Margaret says finally, breaking the moment of silence that took over the group, and Emma finally tears her eyes away from his, turning instead to her sister-in-law.

“Thank you, really, but most of it was Belle. She planned everything, bought all the decorations, everything. I wasn’t even going to be here until she went into labor this morning.”

“Well, then it really is my lucky day, isn’t it?” Killian’s not sure what brings him to say it, and until David turns towards him, he’s not entirely sure he’s said it out loud.

Emma blushes again, and it does incredible things to him, stirring heat in parts of him that he wasn’t sure still worked. Thankfully, before he can say anything else just as embarrassing, someone across the room calls Emma, taking her attention from them for just long enough for David to reach out and hit his shoulder with the back of his hand.

When Emma turns back towards them, she says, “Excuse me, I’m sorry,” before smiling at them weakly and turning away.

Once Dave hopes she is far enough out of earshot, he turns to his friend. “I understand you have an inherent need to flirt with everyone, Jones, but does that have to include my sister?”

Killian flashes the same smile at David that he usually saves for the best of his conquests, which only causes him to roll his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” David concedes before Killian even gets the chance to respond. “Just… try not to do it where I can see you, okay? That’s just—it’s just weird.”

******************************************************************

Killian watches the party from afar, switching at some point from beer to rum, and after spending some time browsing the bookshelves in the small store, he decides on a rather sizable thriller that he remembers someone recommending to him—a book that he fully intends on purchasing before he leaves, especially after the condensation from his glass drips down onto one of the pages. Not paying for it would, of course, be bad form.

Every once in a while, he turns his eyes back to the room around him, most of which he can see from the seat he has chosen, and he usually finds David or Mary Margaret looking towards him, sometimes with rather somber expressions, sometimes smiling when he meets their eyes, but always leaving him alone.

A good book is exactly what he needs right now, after the year he’s had. After Milah leaving him, deciding nine months ago to go back to her husband and “give him another try,” that bloody bastard. Where was her husband for the four years they were together?  

And losing Milah hurt him, but not nearly as much as it hurt when he got the call from the police… damn, was it already a week ago? After his stint in the Royal Navy, shorter than Killian’s time in the American military, Liam turned to the police force, a decision that ended up being the one that took his life fifteen years later.

It was at Liam’s funeral two days later that Killian realized everything that he had returned to England for—namely his brother, but finding Milah along the way hadn’t hurt until the end—was gone. Liam was the only tie back to reality that Killian had.

So he sold everything he had, packed what was he needed into his backpack, and bought a ticket to America, thankful that he and David had kept correspondence since his injuries sent him home from deployment, including Christmas cards from Dave’s lovely wife that included his address.

Realizing that his eyes stopped taking the words in, Killian pulls his thoughts back to the pages in front of him, blinking the glaze away from his eyes. It works for another few pages, until he realizes that his thoughts have floated off the page and back to his brother once again.

Damn him.

Killian finishes the rest of the rum in his glass in a quick mouthful, then pushes himself away from the table, noting his page in the book before he closes it. Finding his way back to the bar, the one part of the room he cannot see from the table, the brunette bartender flashes him another smile when she passes the glass back to him over the bar.

“Thank you, love,” he drawls, smiling back at her before taking the first sip, and lets the liquid sit in his mouth for a moment before coating his throat with the sensation of it.

Turning his attention back to the party, he remembers David’s sister, though how she ever left his mind is beyond him.

But at the same time, he does have a lot on his mind, so he forgives himself for forgetting about the beautiful blonde for a little while. Though turning his attention towards her would definitely help him forget about Milah, which he realizes he desperately wants. He scans the room, trying to find her and those damn leather pants somewhere, but when he cannot, he drops his head, hitting his chest with his chin. Running his fingers through his hair then across his stubble, he sighs, then decides to return to his table, and to his book. Hopefully.

But as he turns the corner away from the bar and towards his table, he spots her, her back to the party, sitting at the very table he just left, her slender fingers carefully running over the book he left on the table.

For a moment, he wonders what it would be like for her to run those fingers over him, before he curses himself. He takes another careful sip of his rum as he fills the rest of the space between him and the table.

“I am planning on paying for it, just so you’re aware.”

He does not think he spoke loudly, but he still notices that he caused her to jump a little before she turns to him, watching him take a seat across the small wooden table.

“I never doubted that, actually.” Her smile is small, just the beginnings of the radiance she flashed him when they were introduced. He hopes he can get her back to that brilliance.

“Shouldn’t you be attending to your party?” He gestures around the room, but her eyes do not leave his face.

“You’re also at my party, aren’t you?” Her smile grows, but only a little. “It’s not like I’m being completely antisocial, sitting in the corner by myself.”

Her words tear a hole in his chest, but when her face reddens and she drops it to the table, hitting her forehead against her crossed forearms, he doesn’t think she meant it in the way he was taking it.

After a moment, she straightens back up, and she looks so absolutely devastated that he can’t help the laugh that rattles in his chest. “I promise I didn’t mean that like— as an insult, I just— ” Her eyes meet his, taking them off of the book sitting between them, and the softness of her features proves his thought is correct. “I’m sorry. You’re in a completely new town with people you’ve never met before. If I was in your place, I would be doing the same thing.”

He smiles gently at her, reaching across the table and covering her hand with his. “Truly, love, it’s alright. Though I hope you never find yourself in my place.” He doesn't know what calls him to say it; the last thing he wants to do is spew his tragic backstory to the gorgeous blonde sitting across the table from him. But, taking another careful sip of his drink, he watches her eyes turn up to him in question.

But her response doesn't force anything from him: "Well, whatever brought you here, Killian, I for one am thankful for it."

She smiles at him again, closer to the divine radiance from their meeting, and after a moment, he returns the smile. "Thank you, love," he says finally. "I appreciate that. Truly."

A beat passes between them, softened by both of their smiles, and when she turns her eyes back down to the book still on the table between them , he notices the twinge of red that takes over her cheeks, darkening further as she changes the subject.

"You know, Dean Koontz was one of my favorite authors in college. I haven't read this one in particular, but all of the reviews I've read or gotten about it make it sound interesting."

Killian nods. "I heard a few great things about him before, but this one in particular was mentioned in an article I read on the plane here from England. I was just perusing, searching for an activity to pass the time when I came across it on your shelves and decided to give it a try."

"You're from England then?"

For some reason, it is not a question he was expecting from her, and part of him believes that she's simply making small talk to be civil. But the genuine interest he finds in her jade eyes is just the push he heeds to convince himself that, maybe, not everyone views him as a sob story. He truly hopes that Emma does not.

"Aye, from a small town in the north."

"But weren't you in the Navy with my brother?"

"I was. My mother was American, so when she left my father and returned to America, I joined her. I was twelve, and my brother was nineteen and joined the Royal Navy at the same time that we left."

She nods, obviously intrigued by his story, most likely trying to fill in the gaps from what David had told her. "But you went back to England after you were injured?"

He attempts to smile, but it doesn't come. "Aye, by that time, sickness had taken my mother and Liam had gotten a job in England, so I went home to be with him."

"You and your brother are close, then?" Her question is harmless—she is genuinely interested. Even still, unknown to her, the words hit him like a blade to the heart and he has to swallow the lump that forms in his throat before he can answer her.

"We were." As much as he was trying to avoid the 'retelling of the tragic backstory' part of the night, he finds that he actually wants to tell her. "He passed a week ago. Killed in the line of duty."

For the second time—because yes, she was counting—she reaches out and covers his hand with her own.

"I'm so sorry, Killian. Is that—is that what brought you here, then?" Her voice is soft, a sort of real niceness that reminds him of the time he had spent with Dave's wife, Mary Margaret. He's incredibly thankful for it. For her.

"Aye. There was nothing left for me in England, and Dave was really the only person from my time in the military that I've stayed in touch with so coming here was the only sensible idea in my mind."

Her eyes fall back to the table, to where her hand is still resting on top of his. Neither of them make a move to change that.

"Well, I hope you find Storybrooke as healing as I have."

"I have a feeling it might be exactly what I need." He's fairly sure he's not talking about the town and, finally, when she looks at him again, he sees that he has succeeded in bringing her smile back.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, Killian’s attention back to the book as much as it can be with the gorgeous woman sitting across from him, Emma pulling her phone out of the pocket of the vest and staring down at it for the moment of silence she has before someone approaches her, a dark-haired woman in a simple black dress and a witch hat, and Killian raises his eyes to her before Emma notices her presence behind her.

“Emma,” the woman says, "I need you to look at something for me, if you're not busy?"

Smiling gently up at her, Emma turns back to Killian. "Captain Jones, this is Mayor Mills. He was in the Navy with David."

"Pleasure," she says, though the look on her face paints the opposite picture, so Killian simply raises his glass to her before turning his attention back to the pages.

"Excuse me," Emma mumbles as she pushes herself away from the table.

******************************************************************

Slowly, the party begins to come to a close. People leave, one by one or in groups, each thanking Emma before finding their way out of the building. Killian watches it all from his corner of the room, watches her intently even though he pretends to read any time someone turns towards him. It is almost midnight once Emma actually takes a moment to look at her phone, the screen filled with notifications, people tagging her in their Instagram pictures and their Facebook posts, plus pictures from Belle of her new daughter.

Even so, with all the work and clean up she knows is ahead of her, she somehow finds herself back at the table in the corner, glass of whiskey in hand as she stares across at Killian who has turned his eyes up to hers in an incredible staring contest.

"Can I help you, love?" he mumbles in a voice that Emma might even define as a growl, a sound that strikes Emma right to the core. She can't quite understand it, but she is suddenly overcome with a need , an incredibly physical desire, an attraction unlike anything Emma has ever felt.

And Killian feels it too, staring across the table at her. He never thought he would feel this way towards a other woman, thought he had wasted what was left of himself on Milah. But sitting here, across from his best friend's sister with the bright green eyes filled with desire, he feels it again.

"God, I hope so," she whispers, so quiet that Killian is not even sure that she meant to say it out loud. But after the night they have had during the course of this party, staring at each other across the room as if their eyes were magnets, drawn only to the other, he by no means is against what her words insinuate. Emma may have only had a few glasses of whiskey over the hours of the party, but Killian has been at it regularly all night—and though he has never had a problem holding his own, it continues to strengthen his innuendoes shared only with her the few times she found enough time to join him again.

Leaning across the table on his elbows, he reaches out to press the tips of his fingers against her arm, needing to feel some part of her against him.

"Just give me the chance, darling, and I promise you won't be disappointed."

The bright red that quickly rises to tint her cheeks assures him that what he assumed earlier was correct, that she didn't think she actually spoke the words that crossed her mind.

Staring across the table for a moment longer, Emma covers his hand against her arm with her own. Then, as quickly as it started, the moment's over.

Emma clears her throat. "I need to clean up."

"Do you need assistance?"

"Please, Killian," she laughs, squeezing his hand below hers. "You're a guest here. The last thing you need to do is help clean up after people you don't even know."

He returns her smile with his own. "If you change your mind, love, you know where to find me."

"Of course. Thank you," she whispers before getting up from the table once more.

But keeping away from him, keeping her attention anywhere but him as she and the few partygoers left stuff trash bags and wipe down tables, proves to be a much harder task than she anticipates. Every time she turns her eyes back to him, sitting alone at the table with the book before him, she finds his eyes trained on her, no matter where she is in the room.

Ruby must pick up on this as she cleans up her own bar stock, making her own eyes at Emma when she meets them.

"Remember what I told you earlier,” she whispers, sliding past Emma with a box of bottles. "It wouldn't hurt to get a little action tonight."

Emma huffs, rolling her eyes at the words of her friend. But, at the same time, Emma realizes that Ruby may be right, thinking of Killian in ways she has tried her hardest the whole night to avoid: trembling above her, holding her in his arms as she feels every muscle of him against her.  

Inside her.

It's been almost two years since she left Neal, learning that his trips to Boston for "work" were really for him to see his other woman. Two years since he had broken her heart, since she decided never to trust another man.

But letting Killian have his way with her, letting him roam her body with his hands, his tongue—that doesn't mean opening her heart up to him.

Not necessarily.

Suddenly, every moment begins to suffocate her. It is bubbling up inside her, threatening to take her over, this need for him. And so, she does what she can: she sends the remainder of the guests home, David and Mary Margaret and a small handful of others.

But not Killian.

Killian stays. Even when David tries to insist his friend leaves with him, then Killian joins the conversation.

"I've done nothing but sit on my hands all night, mate. The very least I can do is make sure she gets home safely."

"Fine, fine," Dave gives in, clapping his hand on his friends shoulder. The look they share in that moment recalls Dave's comment from earlier about flirting with everyone to his memory, but he hopes that Dave is not thinking of the same thing. "Just don't stay out too late," he adds with a smile, then wraps his arm around his wife, who looks like she could collapse from exhaustion at any moment and leads her out the door. He looks back at his sister one last time through the store window, and then they are gone.

Emma and Killian are alone. Before turning towards him—because when she does, she fears she may not be able to turn away—she locks the door behind her brother, then lowers the blinds over the windows.

Then, once she is sure that they are safe from any interruptions, she turns to face him, his bright eyes and sly smile peeking out from above the book in his hands.

For what feels like eternity, neither of them move as if the world has pressed the pause button, her hands set on her hips, and one of his eyebrows locked high on his forehead.

And then, finally, it gets to him, and he gets up from the table and fills the space between them, taking her face in his hand and resting his prosthetic against her hip.

"I was hoping you felt as I did," he says softly, but keeps the rest of the space between them for her to choose to fill herself. “Just two ships passing in the night,” he whispers, overwhelmed by the need to make some kind of joke about their costumes.

She takes a moment to stare up at him, to take in the details of his face that she had failed to see throughout the night: the small scar on his cheek, that she runs her thumb over; the flecks of light that twinge his dark beard, not just silver-grey but red; and, perhaps most prominently the streaks of white in his hair, hair that calls to her to run her fingers through. So she does.

It is much softer than she expected it to be, light as a feather and softer than she's known anyone's hair to be.

“Passing closely, I hope.”

Smiling up at him, she wraps her hand around the back of his neck and pulls his lips to hers. He lets her guide the kiss for a moment, not forcing her into anything she does not want— though, by the way she presses her body against him, he erases any doubt that they are not already on the same page; but when he feels the warm flick of her tongue against his bottom lip, he grants her entry, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her flush to him, to make sure that she feels every inch of him against her.  

“Killian,” she whispers, her lips still pressed against his, and he hums in response. “We can’t do this here.”

“Aye, love. I was thinking that, but Lord knows I wasn’t going to stop you.”

She laughs against him, running her hand against the stubble that covers his cheek, which earlier that day he cursed himself for not getting rid of, but feeling her fingers against it makes him glad that his laziness got the best of him. “My office is in the back” she says, pulling away from him just enough to look into his eyes.

“Lead the way,” he mumbles back, but not before he can grind against her, the leather of his pants failing to hide anything from her, showing him half-hard and growing beneath the fabric, a sign that he wants this just as much as she does.

Pulling away before she loses the ability to, she takes his hand in hers and pulls him through the store. But when she leans against the door into the back, pulling at the handle to push it open, she finds it locked— of course it’s locked, because why would it have been open?

She turns back towards the store, trying to figure out where her damn keys are, but Killian misinterprets the movements and presses his body against hers, needing to feel her again, trapping her between him and the door. His lips find hers again, hot and dominating in a way that she didn’t know she needed until he was on her, could feel the hardness of him against her own leather pants.

“Killian, wait ,” she pleads again, his lips on her neck, and when she begins to laugh, he stops his movements and stares up at her, his head still ducked below hers, blue eyes blown wide with both his desire and his confusion. “I need to find my keys. The door is locked.”

“And this is funny to you somehow?”

“The last thing I want you to do is stop, but I can’t find my damn keys to get into my own office. That’s what’s funny.”

A smile grows across his face, all the way from his dimples to the lines that form around his eyes. “Aye, that makes more sense. Have you any idea where they might be?”

Pinching her lips together, she raises her eyes to the ceiling, trying to remember what she did with them when she arrived here hours ago, after putting them in the pocket of her jacket like she always does. When her mind fails her, coming up blank, she tosses her head back even further, hitting the top of it against the door behind her.

“I’ll help you search for them, love,” Killian comments, his voice deep and hoarse, and she suddenly becomes immensely aware of all the places he is touching her: his left hand on her hip, the fingers of his right blushing softly against the back of her neck, partially tangled in her hair—not to mention the heat of his hips pressing her into the door, the hardness of him apparent even through both of their pants, fueling the fire that he has already started in her core.

God damn this fucking door.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, letting her head fall until her forehead is pressed against his, and the thumb of his right hand comes up to run gently across her cheek.

“I can assure you, Swan, there is nothing for you to apologize for. Nothing says foreplay like a scavenger hunt.” He is completely serious for a moment, and Emma is terrified that somehow, he’s not joking—until his facade breaks, and a smile grows across his face. “They have to be here somewhere.”

He pushes away from her, leaving her leaning back against the door, and her body is suddenly overcome with a chill, missing the heat that he was passing to her.

“They’re in my jacket— did I say that already? It’s leather. And, uh, red.” Her face begins to turn the same color, somehow realizing for the first time that her beloved jacket is the same color and material as these damned pants that have started to become too tight in the past few minutes.

“Bloody hell,” Killian mumbles, hopefully not loud enough for Emma to hear, but the blush that is already running across her face makes him believe she hasn’t.

After taking a moment to gather herself, she pushes herself off the door to her office, needing to find something to do to make up for the fact that she’s not doing Killian.

Damn, that’s cheesy.

But when he calls to her from the corner of the store, behind the checkout counter that Mary Margaret had turned into a candy bar, she suddenly doesn’t care how cheesy it was, because it’s true.

“Did you find it?”

“Unless someone else also has a red leather jacket that they left here with their keys in the pocket, then I’m fairly sure I found it, love.”

His smile does absolutely terrifying things to her insides, warming them up in a way that can’t be safe, and when he presses his lips to the back of her neck as she finally unlocks the door, she feels like she might just catch fire.

He closes the door with her body, pressing her against it faster than she can close it behind him, covering her with his own body as his lips find hers again. They pick up where they left off before, but it quickly becomes more, Emma's hands finding the buckle of his belt as his snake further up her thighs, landing finally on her leather-clad ass. She unsnaps the button on his pants, the zipper practically undoing itself, and he stops to pull his head away from her, just far enough to look her in the eye. His cheeks are flushed, his lips swollen from hers, but his eyes are so sincere, searching for any part of her that doesn't want this as much as he does.

She does, of course, and this is the answer that he finds behind the walls of the emeralds in her irises when she nods to him, and he smiles softly at her for just a moment before covering her mouth with his again. Wrapping his arms around her once more, she pulls her away from the door and leads her to the small couch against the windows, setting her down on it before reaching down to slide out of his boots, and she does the same.

As he stands back up, she tries to pull him back to her, but instead, he drops to his knees before her. Her eyes sparkle in the light of the office, never leaving his face, and when his hands slide up the inside of her thighs the palm of his hand pressing lightly on her core as he begins to untie them, she can’t stop the moan that escapes her lips. His fingers snake into the top of the material, slowly sliding it down her legs, followed closely by his lips. He struggles a little to remove them completely, the material tight against her skin, but when she is finally free of them, he tosses them aside, kneeling between her legs once more.

She sighs when his lips find the soft skin inside her knee. His lips trace up the inside of her thigh, and the moan that escapes her lips when he flicks his finger under the hem of her lace panties and across her folds is enough for him to feel his erection jerk in his jeans, and he wishes he would have let her finish removing them.

“Tell me what you want from me, love,” he growls, running his lips back up the inside of her thigh, the coarse hair on his chin tickling her just as she imagined it would.

“I --” she starts, but when he slides his finger between her folds, whatever she was trying to say is replaced by a sharp intake of breath, followed by a thick, mumbled, “Oh, fuck me.”

“Patience, darling,” he says, his lips pressed against the top of her thigh, then flicks his tongue out right above where his fingers have entered her. She moans again, this time softer, and he feels her stomach clench when he slides his fingers further into her as he presses his tongue against her clit. “Now, I'm going to ask you again, love: tell me what you want.”

It takes all the strength she has not to finish for him right then and there, with his fingers inside her and his lips against her, his mumbled words reverberating against her core.

In place of an answer, she lets out a groan. “Oh, Killian,” she breathes, and when he feels the way she is responding to him, he stops, sliding his fingers out of her almost all of the way, the tips remaining as a teasing whisper. “No, please,” she whispers, moving her hips towards him, trying to get him back, and when she opens her eyes, he is staring at her from between her legs, a sly smile spread across his face.

“All you have to do is tell me, love. Say to me what I want to hear, and I'll give it to you.” His voice is still just a growl, but hearing him turns her on more , which she wouldn't have thought possible if she hadn't felt the clenching of her thighs, felt the heat that came with it.

“Make me come, finish me with your fingers and your mouth before you let me ride your cock.” Her breathy words tumble out of her, but they are the most she can manage at the moment.

For just a second, he does not acknowledge them, and she is afraid that, somehow, that wasn't what he wanted to her.

And then he smiles at her, darting his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. “Aye, love, I think I could make that happen,” he whispers, then watches her intently as he fills her with his fingers again, focusing on just the right spot with his tongue to make her come apart for him after just a few more thrusts. When he feels her contract against his fingers, he moans, by far the sexiest sound she has ever heard, and when she finally opens her eyes to meet his again, he is smiling. “Attagirl, Emma. Give me all you got.” He doesn't stop, holding her in her high until she can't handle it anymore, finding his hand with hers.

“Killian,” she says, her voice no more than the breath she lets out, and he pulls away from her, though only for long enough to rid himself of his pants.

She wants to be surprised, learning that he had gone commando beneath the sinful leather, but she’s not . As much as she wants to pull him down to her, wants to taste his lips on hers again, there is something else that she suddenly wants more. Standing before him, she pushes his jacket off his shoulders, hearing it land with a thump against the floor, then undoes the buttons of his vest one by one, following her hands with her lips, soft against the dark hair on his chest, hair that leads all the way down to beneath his legs, and then further still.

When she is finished with the vest, he pulls it the rest of the way off, depositing it somewhere in the room, and her lips continue to trail downwards, stopping at the darkest patch of hair that his erection is jutting from as she wraps her hand around him, running her tongue over the tip of it to catch the fluid dripping from it.

“Emma, darling, you don't—” he starts when he realizes what she is beginning to do, but when she does take him in her mouth, one hand wrapped around the end of his shaft and the other gently cupping his balls, any words he was attempting to say are replaced with a deep groan, followed by a whispered, “ Bloody hell, you siren.”

She laughs around him, starting to pump him with both her hand and her mouth, and his hand tangles itself in her hair, needing an anchor to something before he loses control completely. When she feels him begin moving with her, rocking his hips in time with her hand, she stops, sliding her mouth off of him with a pop, and her sarcastic comment is on the tip of her tongue when he kneels down beside her, his fingers still in her hair as he guides her to the soft carpet of the floor and finds her mouth with his.

Their kiss is rough, all fire and passion and fury, tasting themselves on the other, and by the time he pulls himself away from her, anything she was planning on saying to him is gone.

Slowly, he begins to unlace the back of her vest, his fingers hot against her when she does feel them, and she snakes her arms free of it before he runs his hands across her stomach to her hips, finding their way beneath the black shirt, lowering himself so he can kiss his way up her stomach as he removes it, pushing it over the swell of her breasts to find nothing beneath the shirt but the perfect ivory of her skin, the peaks of her perfect pink nipples slowly hardening under his gaze, even as he pulls the shirt over her head and deposits it with the rest of their clothing.

He says nothing, his eyes locked with hers, and a soft smile spreads across his lips, one that she can't help but return. “What?” she whispers.

“You're just so bloody beautiful,” he whispers, and though from anyone else in his situation, the words would have scared her— feelings where there should only be action —she somehow does not feel the same hearing them from him. “Do you still want what you told me before?”

The question is endearing, assuring that she has not changed her mind, even as they both lay completely naked on the floor of her goddamned office.

“Yes.”

He smiles at her again. “Good.” He kisses her forehead, then her lips, then pulls his head back just far enough to watch her as he finally, slowly, slides his cock inside her.

“Oh, Killian,” she moans, meeting his hips with hers in hopes of filling her up more.

They find a rhythm that works, his mouth venturing between her nipples and her lips, her nails raking into his back, until she stops suddenly, her hands planted on his hips and her eyes finding his face, waiting for his to meet hers.

“What is it, love?” he asks, his face painted with concern, but she just smiles at him, wrapping her legs around his ass and pulling him to her.

“If I remember correctly, I already asked to be on top.”

He returns her smile, and she presses her palm against his cheek, raising her eyebrows in warning before they both try—and fail—to roll over. She begins to laugh first, and he joins in automatically as she finds her place above him, her knees straddling his hips. Taking his hand in hers, her other against his shoulder and his left on her hip, she rocks her hips against his erection, pressing her folds into him for a teasing moment before she positions him under her, lowering herself around him. At this angle, she finds he fills her better, more fully, and when he shakes his hand free of hers to tangle itself in her hair, he grabs as much of it as he can in a fist, trying (and succeeding) to find something that would bring her closer to a second orgasm. Her free hand finds her own breast, pinching the nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

“You're fucking perfect,” he growls from below her, releasing her hair from his fist only to use it to grab her hip, his fingers hard against her skin to leave marks, but she doesn't care, especially once he stretches his thumb out to find her clit, rubbing it in slow circles to match the pace she is setting with her hips. “Come again for me,” he demands, and it is only moments before she does, coming undone for him for the second time that night.

She is still riding her high on him when he mumbles, “I'm close, love, where do you want me to come?” and she rocks her hips hard against him as he thrusts, allowing him to be as deep inside her as he can, even if just for a moment.

“Right there, yes, fuck,” she says, rocking against him again, a movement doing wonders for her own orgasm.

“Are you sure, Emma?” he asks softly, slowing for just a moment, and she swears that she has never met anyone with enough simultaneous self-control and respect for her to make sure of that in the last moment, not allowing themselves their own release just to make sure she has taken care of everything.

“Killian, yes , I'm fine. Now, please,” she pleads, her hand against his cheek as she tries to help him return to the pace they were at before. “Give me what I want,” she whispers, and his fingers dig into her hip again.

“Okay, darling. Okay.” And he does just that, pumping himself into her until they are both, finally, spent.

Holding him inside her, she falls onto his chest, pressing a kiss into his forehead and his cheek before her lips find his neck, a movement that pulls a soft chuckle out of him before he asks, “Do you, uh, need to clean up, or something? I've never not used protection before, though I imagine it still has to go somewhere, right?”

She leans up again, her elbow on his chest to rest her chin on her hand as she raises her eyebrow at him. “You've really never not used a condom?”

“Aye, love, what's so hard to believe about that?”

Shrugging, she pulls a few tissues out of the box on the corner of her desk, thankfully within her reach, pressing them between her legs as she slides away from him, then searches for her underwear.

“I guess it's just been a while since I've used any that I forget it's some people's main source of protection.” She turns away from him, collecting as much of their fluid as she can before she finds her underwear, still tucked into those damned leather pants. She pulls them on, opting to allow her body to cool back down to a normal temperature before attempting to squeeze back into them. In place of the rest of the costume, she digs through the bottom drawer of her desk until she finds the plain black t-shirt that she’s stored there, though it never had a purpose before tonight.

Pulling it over her head, and though it covers her skin, it fails to provide the protection that the padding in the off-the-shoulder shirt had across her chest, as she notices when she turns back towards Killian.

When he realizes she is facing him once more, his hand slides up his neck to grasp the hair behind his ear, having managed to don his own pants again, but the dark hair that still covers his chest is still on full display.

“As much as I enjoyed that activity, Swan, I was really hoping to ask you to dinner sometime.”

Emma feels her eyes grow wide, astounded both at the question itself and at just how much of a gentleman Captain Jones had proven himself to be throughout the whole of the evening. This was not supposed to happen.

None of this was supposed to happen.

The worst part, though, is not the feelings attached to asking her out, but the fact that she completely, utterly, overwhelmingly wants to say yes.  To her brother’s best friend.

To her brother’s best friend.

“What will David think?”

It is, without a doubt, the last thing he expected to hear from her as a response, and he raises his eyebrows at her—though when he realizes his own answer, he can’t stop the smile that flashes across his face.

“I would assume that he would much rather I court you than learn that I’ve fucked you senseless in your office just hours after I met you for the first time.”

God, he’s good.

“Is that what you think you’ve done?” Now it’s her turn to smile at him, cocking her head with her question.

“Perhaps not senseless, though I would at least like the opportunity to try again.”

******************************************************************

That opportunity presented itself after their second date, exactly a week from the Halloween party. For the first time ever, and thankfully at the talented hands of Captain Killian Jones, Emma learned what it meant to be ‘fucked senseless’ after he had pleasured her with his fingers, then his mouth, and finally, his cock, laying beside him too drained to move, to think, to feel.

It’s definitely a feeling that she wouldn’t mind experiencing again.