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thebigqueer · 4 years ago

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Solangelo - "Lethal Enemies" - One-Shot

Summary: Nico and Will are venturing through Tartarus, and there they meet a familar god: Eros.

Word Count: 2905

SPOILERS: Tower of Nero, Burning Maze; TW: Homophobia/Internalized Homophobia, some violence (and blood but it's not too descriptive), outing mentions

Read on AO3

Heat pulses in the air, scorching Nico’s skin as he and Will stumble through the darkness. He isn’t sure how long they’ve been down here, but his body is already aching and screaming from all the effort of fighting monsters and trying to survive.

Will’s arm brushes against Nico’s, and the child of Hades almost jumps back at the touch. His skin feels feverishly hot, bursting with unnatural heat. When Nico looks up at him, he realizes that Will’s face is severed with scratches, gashes, sweat, and an overall pale wash. Small holes smoke in his CHB T-shirt, and his jeans are ripped at the sides from where a monster clawed him.

At the sight of him, Nico’s chest constricts with sympathy and guilt. As much as he loves Will for coming with him, he knows the kind of pressures that would put on both of them. Will looks so out of place in such a dark, gloomy world, where only terror and misery reside.

To Nico, Will is the complete opposite of terror and misery. He’s the sunshine after a terrible rain storm; he’s the sweetness after the sourness. But here, in the raging darkness, Will looks washed out. He doesn’t belong here.

Tartarus is Nico’s terrifying, unspeakable past; Will is his bright future. The two should not be clashing.

This hell was made to ruin. And it seems like it’s doing its job on Will, too.

Nico slips his fingers into the blond’s and squeezes, pushing his own feverish warmth into his boyfriend. Will turns his face to Nico’s and, for the first time, Nico sees a crack in his eyes - usually so sky blue, they’ve turned almost gray with fear. He’s breaking.

Nico leans into Will’s side, trying to find solace in the overbearing darkness. “It’s only going to get worse,” he mutters.

“Then I’m glad I’m not doing it alone.”

Nico offers a wavering smile, and they continue walking. For the most part, it seems like they’re safe from any monsters, but Nico knows from past experience that he can never be too careful. His eyes swerve all around them, watching out for any new monsters, and his Stygian sword pulses in the darkness.

After a few moments, there’s a shift in the air. It’s still warm and unbearable, but there’s a new scent - like a faint waft of the outside world, the breath of a fresh summer day. It smells almost like Will.

The blood in Nico’s veins buzzes and he stops immediately. Fear courses through his body. Will staggers as the child of Hades grips his wrist and pulls him back. At the sight of Nico’s ashen face, Will leans in. “Everything good?” he asks.

“That smell,” he whispers. “What does it smell like to you?”

“Well,” Will says, eyebrows knitting together as he thinks, “it kind of smells like you, weirdly? Like, the earth after a rainy day.”

That’s all Nico needs to know before panic settles in his chest. His mind crawls with memories and the pain of humiliation he faced just a year ago. Jason, Croatia, Diocletian’s spectre.

“No,” he mutters. “Will, we need to leave.”

Without waiting for a response, Nico tightens his fingers over Will’s wrist and starts to pull him away. But a voice murmurs, “Oh, leaving so soon, child of Hades?” and Nico knows right then and there that he and Will are trapped.

The voice pours over the heat like melted chocolate, smooth and deep, but a dagger of betrayal resides in it. Nico’s heart thuds on overtime and his nerves flair with anxiety, but he knows he can’t go anywhere. This meeting was bound to happen.

“Eros,” Nico hisses.

“Ah,” the voice murmurs. “So you recognize me.”

The god isn’t visible, but Nico can feel his cold presence anyway. “Who would forget such a jackass?”

A low, rumbling laugh echoes around them. Will’s hand releases its hold on Nico’s and lingers over the gun at his side. Nico raises his sword.

“Well, well, well,” the god says, “it looks like you’ve got a new friend here with you. How sweet.”

“Show yourself,” Will demands. “Face us like the hot-headed deity you are.”

Though he can’t see it, Nico still senses the raised eyebrow over the god’s eye. “Oh, he’s feisty, too. You sure have won with him.”

“Stop talking about him like he’s some kind of object,” says Nico. “You heard him. Show yourself.”

The same laughter crashes over them, and after another moment, a being appears. His long, black hair gleams despite the absence of light, and his red eyes glimmer maliciously in the darkness. They stare right through Nico, stabbing him in the face, and suddenly Nico’s hurtling to the past, to the misery. He scowls at the god.

Eros’ wings spread around him, the feathers fluttering a little as he shifts. He crosses his arms and offers a sharp smirk to Will and Nico. “Aw, look at you two,” he purrs. “So young and in love. Ready to fight together in Tartarus.”

“What do you want?” Nico asks, brandishing his sword. “Why are you bothering us?”

Eros’ shoulders rise and fall gracefully in an innocent shrug. “Oh, nothing, really. I was really just hoping to see how you were. I heard you were traveling down here, and I thought I would check on your progress.”

“Well, great. You’ve checked. You can leave.”

He laughs again, a low, tumbling laugh that heightens Nico’s rage. “Ever the sarcastic, child of Hades. No, listen. I can help you.”

“And how will you do that?” Will asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re nothing more than a love god.”

“Have the Aphrodite children taught you nothing, pitiful child?” Eros hisses. “Love plays an important role in life.”

“I don’t see how love is helpful here,” Nico says, spreading his arms to gesture to the rest of Tartarus. “All I see is pain and misery. You can leave.”

“Oh, but I see where love can become important.” Eros raises a brow and tips his head to the boys. “Are you two not in love?”

Nico blushes. “That is not of your concern.”

“I can influence a lot,” he promises. “Especially the way you two act together. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase - the two you were oh-so-jealous of only some time ago - came here together. They got away safely. I can influence a lot between you and Will Solace.” He steps forward, and against his lips, a dagger-like smile beams at Nico.

The son of Hades crosses his arms. “I happen to remember that I got through here on my own. Love does not solve all problems.”

Eros raises an eyebrow. “Does it not?” He begins to circle around Will and Nico, glaring at them with his ruby-red eyes. “Tell me, Nico, does Will not make you feel special? Does he not help you feel better?”

Rage billows up in Nico’s chest, pushing against his sternum. “I am happy with Will. But he does not solve my problems, just the way I do not solve his.”

“But you are happier with him, is that right?” Another smile flashes across his mouth. “And who are you to thank for him, hmm? If it were not for me, you would not be here today with him. You would not be happy accepting who you are.”

Nico’s anger rises up to this throat, hot waves of rage crashing against the back of his neck. He surges forward, but Will pulls him back. “No,” he whispers. “He’s a god, Nico. Don’t try.”

Nico glares at Will, but deep down, he knows Will is right. So he sighs and stands still.

“I would not be happy?” he growls. Nico's muscles tighten with rage. “You humiliated me. I wasn’t ready to admit who I was; I wasn’t ready for any of that.” This time, despite Will’s insistence, Nico rushes forward, his anger pulling him toward the god. “It was my choice, and you stole it from me! And you’re congratulating yourself?”

“It’s not like there were many people there,” the god scoffs. “Only Grace.” He pouts. “I heard about the demigod’s untimely death, however. Terribly sorry.”

Nico shakes his head. He knows Eros is just trying to get under his skin by mentioning Jason. He can’t let himself get distracted.

“Your outing of me was not something to celebrate,” hisses Nico. “I spent so much time hating myself, hating Percy because of who I was. When you forced me to blatantly admit that I was gay” - a burst of confidence blooms in Nico’s chest as he says the last word - “I had never felt so violated. I only hated myself more, because I was terrified of who I was. The entire experience was humiliating. You ruined me.”

“Did I?” Eros asks. “The first step in accepting yourself was to admit you were gay in the first place. I pushed you to accept yourself.” He gestures to Will. “Now look where you are! Happy and in love with a boyfriend! Is there anything better?”

Nico’s chest heaves as another wave of rage suffocates him. His body shakes with anger. He feels like a detonating bomb; in just a few seconds, he will explode and destroy everything in the area.

“You only made things worse,” mutters Nico. “I spent days worrying about who was watching me, worrying about how much people knew. I hated myself every moment, every second afterwards, even more so than before you forced me to admit that I was gay.” Nico takes a deep breath, his chest expanding as he does so. “Maybe you’re right - maybe I did need to admit to myself who I was. But it should have been on my own terms. You did not help me accept myself; all you did was make me tell myself what I already knew. You made the entire process of accepting myself more difficult than it needed to be. When I spat out that I liked Percy, I felt… I felt violated. I felt like someone had stabbed me right through the back. I… I hated myself more than I ever did at that moment. I thought it was the end; I thought right then and there, I would die. Not from embarrassment, but from someone else’s hands. My own hands. I thought there was nothing more humiliating than to be forced to tell someone I didn’t know that I was some kind of disgusting creature. I felt so dehumanized.” Nico glares at Eros. “Don’t feel happy that you did that. You did not improve my life; only I did that. Not Will, not you, not any of my friends. Me. Do not take credit for my accomplishments.” Hot fury seethes in Nico’s core, washes up over his chest, crashes against his throat, trickles down his arms and legs. His lungs expand and exhale as he breathes hard, each breath like acid burning down his sinuses. “My work has been looked over too much, ever since I first learned of demigods. Do not take the credit for my self-improvement, because you are one of the many reasons I was destroyed in the first place.”

For a moment, no one speaks. An eerie silence lingers in the air, holding Nico in a chokehold. Eros simply watches him, his eyebrows lowered and a fierce, judgmental, angry look glowing in his red eyes. Will tilts his head at Nico and offers the ghost of a smile. I'm proud of you, he seems to be saying.

Nico doesn’t return it, but even then, a little flower of confidence blooms in his chest.

Eros crosses his arms once more, airing his defiance out into the open. Arrogance sparks along his wings. He raises a brow at Nico. “You have become more bold in yourself. Self-assured.” A sharp smile grates against his mouth. “And that would not have happened had you not admitted you were gay at all. I may have humiliated you, but in the end, you have become stronger through your pain. You have become sturdy, grounded into the world. I have led you to your happiness.” He offers a secretive smile to Will. “And your happiness is your boyfriend. You’re welcome.”

Nico watches Eros, glaring at his over-confident face, at his casual posture, at the pride in his eyes. He is too assured in himself, too hot-headed.

The sword in Nico’s hand grows heavier, a hum buzzing through the metal. Irritation and anger swirl in his chest, creating a tornado in his body, and he’s drowning, drowning in his rage, in his memories, in his untamed emotions.

He knows what he has to do.

Nico raises his sword, and, without even thinking, he slashes the god’s shoulder.

“Nico!” Will cries, but it’s too late. Eros cries out and hisses through his teeth, holding his arm in his hand. His angry red eyes gleam right at the child of Hades, projecting all his rage and pain right to Nico’s core. The demigod merely stands still, waiting for the god’s next move.

“Oh, you arrogant hero!” Eros cries. Golden ichor slips past his fingers, dripping onto the ground, and for a strange, fleeting moment, Nico finds that it looks beautiful in the darkness, sparkling where it should not be.

Only pain belongs in Tartarus. Nico wants to hurt Eros the way he hurt him.

Nico knows the act was stupid, but he can’t help the grin that takes over his face. Laughter bubbles out of his chest, sprinkled with something maniacal, something angry. “What’s wrong, my lord?” Nico purrs, leaning against his sword. “You said love fixes pain. Can it fix you?”

Eros snarls at Nico, but the son of Hades doesn’t care. Nothing beats the thrill that thrums in his body at the sight of the god being so frustrated.

Eros pants through the pain, his face turning red. “You think you are something special, don’t you, child?”

Nico laughs, the sound of it ironic in such a painful place. The laugh overflows with repressed pain, with hot anger.

That laugh belongs here in Tartarus, with its madness and rage.

“Oh, Eros,” Nico mutters. “I spent so long thinking I deserved nothing. I spent so long thinking everywhere I went, misery followed me. I have never felt special.” He glances up and down at the god. “You asked me if even Will makes me feel special. Well, no. He makes me… feel good. But you know what makes me feel actually special?”

Despite his rage, curiosity strangles Eros’ eyes. He waits for a response, hissing as more ichor spills out of his godly being.

“What makes me feel good, what makes me feel like I have a worth in this world,” Nico says as a smile creeps over his face, offering him a maniacal glow, “is when I provide justice to those who have done wrong. Originally I always believed Death has no mercy, only justice.” He slashes again at Eros, who cries louder and falls to his knees. He pants through the pain. “Well, I suppose there are other ways to provide justice.”

Nico runs his finger through the golden ichor that gleams over his sword. Touching it, Nico’s finger tingles with power. He looks at Eros again. “What makes me feel special is when I defeat entitled assholes like you, my lord.”

“You have not defeated me,” the god growls.

“No, not physically,” Nico agrees. “But I have defeated the pain you have caused me.” He touches the tip to Eros’ chin, balancing it mere millimeters from his skin. The point gleams red as it reflects the glow of Eros’ eyes. “Begone, you pitiful asshole.”

Eros snarls and throws Nico’s sword away, but the demigod only smiles. This is exactly the reaction he wanted.

“You cannot kill me, arrogant hero,” Eros reminds him.

“No, but I can scare you.” Raising an eyebrow at him, Nico says, “Many have been scared of me. I am a child of Hades. You may be a god, but you have no idea of what I am capable of.”

Eros regards Nico with a sharp glare, but the sight of it no longer grates against Nico’s conscience. He’s only bursting with energy, with confidence. He hasn’t felt so alive in years. Power hums in his core, billows over his chest, courses through his veins. He feels almost invincible.

“You have made an enemy, Nico di Angelo,” Eros promises. “And love is no enemy you want. Especially not with someone in your situation.”

Nico falters. What does Eros mean? Does he mean his being gay? Does he mean with society in general? Then Nico turns to his boyfriend, who’s shivering with fear and adrenaline at his side, and it clicks. He means Will.

Nico scowls at Eros. “You say I have made an enemy, Eros, but the truth of the matter is that you made me an enemy long ago. When you first stabbed me in the shoulder with your weapon.” Nico glances at the wound on Eros’ left arm and shakes his head. “You made a mistake long ago. You are only now realizing it.”

Silence lingers around them, floating tensely in the hot air. Then Eros says, “I can influence a lot.” A glimmer of confidence returns in his eyes. “Be warned, child of Hades.”

With that, Eros disappears. And Will and Nico are left alone once more, staring ahead to whatever terrors lie ahead.

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holylulusworld · 5 years ago

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Winchesters x 4

Summary: Coming back to the bunker you want nothing else but to relax with your boyfriends…

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader, AU Dean x Reader, AU Sam x Reader, Castiel, Jack Kline

Warnings: angst, language, arguments, tension, dirty talk, horny reader, smut, unprotected sex, oral (male receiving), degrading (consensual), double penetration (p in v + p in a), anal sex, anal play, sex with 4 Winchesters (come on – you all want it!), jealousy, sharing is caring, fivesome (it’s an orgy folks), sex tapes

A/N: Here’s the requested one-shot to episode 15x13. (I do not follow the exact plot.)

Hips swaying, a dirty grin on your lips you walk out of the garage. The Impala is parked so you know your boys are home and ready to scratch the itch.

“Boys! I am at home!” Squealing you yell through the bunker as you make your way through the huge building.

You love taking your time to reach the rooms, just drinking in the atmosphere of the building you call your home but today you don’t take your time. Racing through the building you squeal seeing Dean standing in the library.

He doesn’t see you coming until you jump into his arms to pepper kisses all over his face.

“Dean, you smell good!” Smirking you crush your lips onto Dean’s wrap your legs around his waist to shamelessly grind against your boyfriend's growing erection.

“Missed you, Baby.” Looking at Dean you cock a brow. “Something wrong with you? Sammy? Has Dean eaten the wrong food or why does he look at me like I am a …”

Giggling you look at Sam who stares at you like you are one of those rare books he loves so much.”

“Y/N?” Sam gasps but you barely recognize anything but the man-bun as you let go of Dean to walk toward Sam.

“Dude…” Chortling you stand on tiptoes to inspect Sam’s new hairstyle. “What’s with that man-bun, Baby? And why don’t you kiss your girl, Winchester?”

Sam blinks a few times, not knowing how to react to your suggestion he let the seconds pass by, and you take matters in your hands. Jumping into his arms your wrap one hand around the back of his neck to kiss Sam fiercely.

“You taste odd, Baby, just like Dean.” Eyes narrowed you lick over Sam’s lips. “What have you done to your hair, Sammy?” Whining you tug at the ugly man-bun and Sam tries to get rid of you.

“Sam…” Dean moves closer, sniffing at your hair as you let go of Sam. “She’s alive…”

“Dean?” Confused you turn around to search Dean’s face. His hair is different, too. Patting his head, you hum to yourself. “Why is your hair flat? Did you two have an accident or shit?”

“Y/N…” Sam wraps his arms around you, and you groan as you feel his breath in your neck. “I’ve missed you so much – we missed you so much.”

“I was away for like five days, Baby. Now tell me why you and Dean decided to ruin your hair.” Smirking you fist Dean’s flannel to bring him close to your face.

“I want to know if you tried to look better for me before I take care of…” Patting Dean’s cock you lick your lips. “Your big problem, Deano…”

“Sam?” Looking at his brother Dean cocks a brow. “Can we…I mean?”

“Can you what, Dean? Rip my clothes off and take me like the dirty girl I am?” Squeezing his twitching length, you give Dean a dirty look. “Come on! Don’t make me beg to get fucked by my boyfriends…”

Grabbing Dean’s wrist, you lead him toward the room you share with the boys for the last six years.

“Gosh, what’s wrong with you and Sam today? Usually, you would have me bend over the library table the moment I enter the bunker…”

While Dean and Sam stare at you – mouth agape, you strip your clothes off. You don’t know what’s wrong with your men, but you will make sure Sam loses his man-bun right now.

“Come on! Did you forget how to strip your clothes off?” Only wearing lace panties and a bra barely covering your stiff nipples you smirk as you unbuckle Dean’s belt. “Momma wants to play Baby. Give her the goods…”

“Y/N…I mean…ahem…” Dean tries to shove you away but your hand slips into his open pants and he groans loudly. “Oh…fuck me…”

“DEAN!” Sam looks offended by his brother’s outburst and you knit your brows together. “You can’t…we can’t…”

“Sam…I…” Stroking Dean you don’t stop staring at Sam who looks aroused and troubled at the same time.

“Okay…” Letting go of Dean’s twitching length you stalk toward Sam. Fisting his plaid you force him to bend to meet your angry eyes.

“I want to fuck you and Dean right now. Get out of your clothes or I swear you won’t get any for months.”

“Listen…we can’t do this…” Sam stammers but one hand gropes your tit.

“Why?”

“Maybe as they are not your men…” Dean barks and you gasp as Dean steps into the room, wearing the flannel you bought him last month. “Hands off our girl…” Sam adds, and you step backward.

“What the…?” Your eyes dart from the men you just shamelessly touched to the pair of brothers standing in the doorframe. “Holy fucking shit! What’s going on here? Wait…did I die and end up in heaven…?”

Pacing around the room you recall the hunt, the drive back toward the bunker and everything in between. “Maybe I knocked my head or something…”

“Sweetheart.” The Dean who just entered the room says and you realize his hair looks like it used to do. The Sam next to him doesn’t wear a man bun.

“Calm and come over here.” Dean clenches his jaw as you are in your underwear and tried to have sex with his ‘double’.

“Explain…?” Gaping at Dean you shake your head. “What is going on? I just wanted hot sex with my men and now…” Pointing toward man-bun Sam you groan. “There are four of you…”

“We are the men you are on love with – not those imitations. Cheap ones if I may add!” Dean is angrily clenching his jaw. “How could you have mistaken them with us?”

“How could I…?” Furiously waving your hands you grunt. “These two look exactly like you and Sam. They are wearing your clothes and smell like you! How should I have known they are not you?”

“Instinct?” Sam carefully tries and you grab your shoe to throw it at your boyfriend.

“Instinct my ass! You could’ve called me, asshole! None of you will touch me for the next months…” Storming out of your shared room you shove Dean aside as he tries to stop you. “Fuck you – both. No - all four of you!”

“Sweetheart…” Glaring at his alternative version Dean raises his fists. “This is all your fault! Crashing into our lives, wearing our clothes and now you tried to touch our girl!”

“To clarify things – she tried to touch us.” Man-bun Sam interjects, and your Sam rolls his eyes. “I tried to resist her but it’s hard to not touch her.”

“She’s ours…” Dean grits his teeth, ready to attack the alternative version of his baby brother. “No one touches our girl!”

“She was our girl too.” Stammering the alternative Dean glares at your Dean. “I mean she could’ve been, but we didn’t get that far. Chuck he…”

“Ripped her away from us…” Glancing at his ‘man-bun’ version Sam swallows hard. “All that was left to do was keep on hunting. She died six years, two months and five days ago. It was a shock to see her here…”

“We never…I mean there were longing looks and little touches but we never…”

While your Dean listens to the other Dean’s words he sighs. The alternative version tells him about his feelings and how much he’s missing you – or rather your alternative version.

“I need to talk to Y/N. I messed up and hurt our girl…” Running out of the room, your Sam hot on his heels Dean curses himself for not being more sensitive sometimes.

“Dean, calm. Y/N will forgive you for sure. She loves you and your grumpy personality.” Snickering Sam opens the door to your room only to watch you throw things at his brother.

“Get out of my room you insensitive asshole!” Furiously throwing things at Dean you won’t stop yelling at your boyfriend.

“Sweetheart. Calm down or I have to tie you to my bed.” Stopping in your tracks you lick your lips. “Oh—that’s what you want, dirty girl. I bet you just got wet imagine me pounding you while Sam fucks your throat…”

“Hmpf…” Throwing your lamp at Dean you squeal as he dodges your attack, pouncing on you. He’s holding you in a tight grip, smirking as you shiver at his touch.

“My girl wants it rough today?”

“Asshole…”

“Watch your tongue or…” Glancing at the doorframe Dean knits his brows. “I will make sure 4 Winchesters make you obedient.”

“Four…” Gasping you wiggle in Dean’s grip. “Four…” Repeating the word you glance at the three Winchesters in the doorframe. “Four Winchesters…”

“Fuck, you little slut…” Dean groans pressing his erection against your thigh. “You want all of us to fuck you?”

“Hmmm…” Your heart races at the thought to have two Sam’s and Dean’s to take turns. “Only if he loses the ugly man-bun.”

“Damn, Baby Girl…” Sam groans while the alternative versions of your boyfriends stand useless in the doorframe. “We will split you open, fill you with cum and take turns till you beg us to stop but you know what…”

Smirking Dean nods at his brother. “We won’t stop at all. Not before you are our good girl.”

“We don’t have a saying in this?” Man-bun Sam mutters and his brother rams his elbow into his ribs. “Dude. We could…”

“Fuck before Chuck destroys your world?” Your Dean chuckles. “I promise she will let your dick explode. Our girl is such a naughty little slut for us. Right, Sweetheart?”

“Yes…” Panting you wrap your arms around Dean’s neck. “Such a dirty whore for your cocks…”

“I am all in.” Alternative Dean grunts. His brother still hesitates as the other Dean slides his hands over your ass to squeeze it tightly. “Two Dean’s will fuck you raw, Baby Girl. Daddy will make you scream his name…”

“Daddy?” Smirking your Dean tilts his head to wrap his lips around one nipple. Biting you through your bra.

“Yeah. She will go down on her knees and suck my dick till she chokes on my cum…” Surprised by alternative Dean’s dirty mouth you moan.

While your Dean suckles at your nipple the other Dean captures your lips in a dirty kiss.

“I am all in as always. What about you?” Glancing at man-bun Sam your version smirks. “She’s so good at taking my cock. You will never feel anything better than coming inside her pussy.”

“Where did you learn to speak like that?” Alternative Sam rubs his hand over his erection, watching you getting sandwiched by his brother and your Dean. “Fuck…”

“That’s our girl. Always so cock-hungry.” Sam pushes off the doorframe to join ‘the party’. “Let’s lead this to our room. The bed is bigger for four guys and our whore…”

“Sammy…” Whimpering you spread your legs as Sam slips his hand into your panties to rub you roughly. “I need you…”

“I know, Baby…” Nodding eagerly you grind against Sam’s long fingers. “I am here, pretty girl.”

“Okay…” All dams break and alternative Sam walks toward you, the Dean’s and Sam rubbing your clit. “I want to fuck her too…”

“About time, man-bun Sam. But…” Licking your lips you look up at the other Sam. “I changed my mind. Leave the man-bun. I want to ruin it while riding your dick…”

Groaning four Winchesters look at you before all men grab a part of your body to carry you toward your ‘playroom’.

You’re a mess as four Winchesters round the bed. All in their naked glory stare at you kneel on the bed.

“Look at you, Baby. All wet and ready to get fucked by four guys. I bet we will ruin this pussy tonight.” Your Sam smirks, letting the dirty beast he is out once again.

“I want Dean to fuck you from behind while the other Dean takes your mouth. Man-bun Sam, film it…”

“Why are you in charge?” Alternative Sam grunts but his cock twitches every time Sam orders you around.

“I am in charge as I am in charge now use the phone and film our girl getting fucked by our brothers…” Your Sam sits on a chair, smirking at you as he slowly fists his massive cock. “Later you will writhe on my dick.”

“Why can’t I fuck her pussy?” Grumbling alternative Dean dips one knee onto the mattress and you greedily start to stroke him.

“You are guest roles. Now shut up and take what you get, or you can jerk off while my brother and I make our girl scream.” Sam darts his tongue out, glaring at alternative Dean as you go on hands knees, sticking your tongue out.

“Good girl.” Your Dean praises as his fingers slide over your slit, teasing your entrance. “Always so eager for our cocks. I will give you what you always dreamed of. Me and I fucking you…” Dean slips his fingers inside as the other Dean places his dick on your tongue.

“Take it, Sweetheart.” The alternative Dean mimics your lover and you give him an approving grunt before you tease his length, pressing your tongue against the velvet skin.

“Good?” Sam strokes his cock faster. “Does he taste like my brother or all vanilla?”

“Shut up.” Snickering at alternative Dean’s outburst you open your throat to slowly swallow his length. “Fuck me, she’s taking me so deeply…”

“Best mouth I ever had. Pity you can’t…” Removing is fingers your Dean smirks as the other Dean grunts as you start to bob your head. “…fuck her pussy…” Full a second later you cry out around the dick in your mouth.

“I love her mouth…” Patting your head the other Dean nods at his brother. He’s filming the whole scene, gulping every time his brother shoves his cock further down your throat.

“Fist her hair and fuck her as you mean it. Our girl loves it when your cum drips down her chin and she looks like a whore…” Dean bottoms out with a grunt, stilling his movement to watch his alternative version for a while. “Damn, I never thought watching me fucking you could be that sexy…”

“Fuck her, brother…” Sam warns. “Or I’ll take over…”

“Shut up, Sammy. Let me enjoy this crazy orgy.” Dean grips your thighs roughly, snickering as you tighten around him. “Getting fucked by Dean’s makes her even more of a slut.”

The first drag makes you moan loudly around the other Dean. At first, he was shy, held back but now he fists your hair as he roughly shoves his cock as far down your throat as possible.

“Such a good girl for me and the other Dean.” Man-bun Sam is frantically fisting his cock. Almost dropping the phone, he grunts loudly, matching the noises your Dean makes.

“God, you feel so good, Sweetheart.” Your fingers grip the sheets hard enough to turn your knuckles white. You try anything to not fall over the edge before Sam allows you to do so.

“Fuck her harder, angle your hips.” Sam orders and you groan around Dean. “She is close, and I want her pretty face to contort in pleasure but…” Smirking he gives his brother a wink. “I want her to feel the edge…”

“I know how to fuck our girl…” Dean follows his brother's orders, angles his cock to hit the sweet spot making you squirm.

The other Dean is close to the edge, looking down at you. His dream came true. You filled with his cock looking up at him with doe eyes makes it impossible to not lose it.

“I am…Jesus…fuck me…” He shoots salty cum down your throat and you grin around his cock as he pats your head. “I love to fuck you…”

“Pull out and let her swallow…” Sam demands and the other Dean nods eagerly. “Good…”

Opening your mouth, you show Dean his cum before you swallow it. The other Dean groans, as he wipes his cum off your chin. “Love you, Baby…”

“God…Sweetheart…” Grunting your Dean fists your hair to press your head into the mattress. “You squeeze me like a vice…”

“Cum…” Sam orders and you scream into the cushions. Feeling your Dean fill you up you smile lazily as you can’t believe you had the opportunity to fuck two Dean’s at once.

“Good girl. Now we are going to give you a break and then…” Sam gets up as Dean pulls out of you. “I am going to make you scream my name…”

Sam is watching you crawl onto man-bun Sam’s lap to slowly take him in. He would never admit what Dean blurred out, but your Sam was never harder in his whole life.

Watching you taking his alternative version in, let his cock twitch repeatedly. “I want to fuck you, Sam…” Releasing his hair out of the ugly man-bun you smirk before you start to rock your hips slowly.

“Go slow, grip his shoulders and grind…” Sam orders as his hands creep over your back. Shivering you nod as you let your Sam grip your waist to guide your movement.

The other Sam is shyly glancing at your Sam, huffing as the man behind you guides you faster.

“Good, that’s good, Baby. Take him harder and make sure he’ll never wear this man-bun again. You need to fuck the attitude out of him.”

“Yes…Sam…” Purring the words you grip the other Sam’s shoulders tightly. “Love to ride you.”

“I know you do, dirty whore.” Alternative Sam grunts and you smirk. “Fuck me harder, slut…”

“You are a good teacher, Sammy.” Snickering your Dean films you on top of the other Sam. Your Sam watches you with darkened eyes, guiding you now and then. “She fuck’s him like pro…”

“On top of him, now…” Sam gets impatient and you know what he’s up to. When you lie onto the other Sam’s chest, still rocking your hips your Sam circles your puckered hole. “You’ll be full of two Sam’s in a blink, Baby.”

Shivering in anticipation you nibble at the other Sam’s jaw, causing him to fist your hair to press his lips to yours. Your tongues snake as you feel Sam slip one finger into your tightest hole.

“So tight…” Moaning you grip alternative Sam’s shoulders as you feel the cool liquid run out of your asshole. “Love to fuck your ass…”

“Yes, he does…man bun Sam. Do you like a good ass too?” Your Dean snickers as you feel the tip at your entrance.

“Relax, Baby. Let me in…” Humming you let Sam press into you. He’s panting heavily, feeling the fulness at the other side of your thin wall while he inches into you. “That’s a good girl. Lock at this Dean…”

When you feel both Sam’s inside you start to whimper. You never felt that full. Sam prefers anal sex while he fingers you but with one Sam in your ass and the other in your cunt you are stuffed to your limit.

“I’ll count to three…” Sam warns, and you know you are in for a treat.

The first drag lets you go limp between both Sam’s. While Sam behind you pulls out the other thrusts up into your abused pussy.

“Good…so fuck good. I never saw better porn.” Dean pants heavily watching you writhe between his brother and the other Sam. While you try to keep your noises low, Sam grips your waist tightly to go harder.

Cries leave your lips as two cocks slam into you in abandon. If you die right now – you’ll do it with a dirty grin on your lips.

Dean urges the Sam’s on, forgetting only one is his brother.

Your eyes round at all the dirty words leaving Dean’s lips but the most erotic thing is the noises you and the Sam’s produce. Skin slaps against the skin and you can hear your juices squish with every trust.

“I love the way you fuck her, Sam.” The other Dean steps closer to watch two dicks disappear in your body. “Next time I want to fuck her pussy or ass with Dean…”

Grunting you meet your Dean’s eyes and you fall hard at the other Dean’s words.

“You’re ours…Baby…” Sam grunts filling you with his last thrust.

While you struggle to catch your breath you are close to another orgasm. “Cum for us…” Your Sam whispers and you dig your nails into alternative Sam’s chest, causing him to shudder and squeal.

“Did your brother just squeal?” Sam tilts his head, glancing at alternative Dean. “I think we have to teach him how to fuck for sure…”

“Shut up…” Panting the other Sam pumps into you, cursing your name with every stroke until you feel his cum drip out of you. “That’s it…whore…”

“Good girl…” Sam's lips travel down your neck. “Always so good for us. We love you…”

“I have to admit that was something else…” Sitting on your Dean’s lap you sip at the tea your Sam made for you. “Getting fucked by four Winchesters…a dream coming true.”

“Dirty girl…” Snickering Dean pecks your neck.

Castiel stands in the room, not daring to say a thing about the things he just heard or the images in your head.

“Anything on how to send those two back?” Sam asks.

“I am afraid their universe is gone…” Castiel sighs as Jack walks into the library blurring out the truth. “I will get some popcorn…” The Nephilim exclaims and you chuckle at his words.

“What now guys?” Dean finally breaks the awkward silence. “Will they die, disappear or shit?”

“They caused a paradox or something similar. While not existing in their world any longer their existence manifested in this world.” Castiel tries to explain why the other Winchesters didn’t disappear but he can’t find a reason.

“Means we can stay?” The other Dean asks hopefully. “We could all live here together and share…” Your eyes lit up and you look at your Sam.

“Fine.” Sam grunts and you clap your hands. “But we will need a schedule or something…”

“Or we are having an orgy every Wednesday…” Dean exclaims and you burst into laughter.

“For the rest of the time – who snoozes loses…” Wiggling his eyebrows Dean smirks. “I’ll be glued to your side from now on.”

“Sounds like a plan…” Nodding all Winchesters look at you. “What about killing Chuck?”

“We can work out a plan. Four Winchesters are better than two…”

Part 2 - Quadrouble in love

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx

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@sycochick

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

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-j2

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@negans-lucille-tblr

@deans-baby-momma

@thefaithfulwriter

@squirrelnotsam

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@adoptdontshoppets

@team-free-will-you-idjiot

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

Sam/Jared Forever Tags

@moosekateer13

@thevelvetseries

@train-wrecc

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

Poly Tags

@akshi8278

@deanmonandnegansbitch

@w0nder-marie

@wolfofbluestardust

#Winchesters x 4 #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #smut #angst #polyamory #fivesome #15x13 destiny's child #dean x reader x sam #sam x reader #sam x you #sam x reader x dean #dean x reader #dean x you

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inkribbon796 · 4 years ago

Text

Little Wonders Ch. 1

Chapter 1: Let Your Clarity Define You in the End

Summary: Dark goes house cleaning to flush out a dangerous mole in his network.

Chapters: 1, 2

Dark was outside his office, talking with Google when Logan walked out of his office. There were a couple papers in his hands that the Entity was reading through.

“Is this everything?” Dark asked Google as Logan came to stop a non-confrontational distance away. Logan had only been working for Dark for a little over eight months now, but he’d learned enough about him to tell Dark was already in a bad mood. All Logan could do was stand and wait to either be abruptly dismissed from the meeting he was supposed to go to, or for Dark to usher him inside.

“Yes, he wasn’t doing too much before he disappears from Florida state records,” Google answered calmly, his eyes tracking to Logan before smiling and looking back at Dark. “You’re certain I can’t take care of him myself?”

“Bim is in a hunting mood,” Dark refused. “If you’re lucky, you can keep the brain.”

“Unfortunate, but I’ll have to accept it,” Google allowed and then walked away.

“Ahh, Sanders,” Dark gave a small smile as his attention turned to Logan. “I was a bit worried that you had left early.”

“I leave on average at 2200 hours,” Logan commented walking into the office when Dark silently ushered him inside. He slowly closed the door behind him.

“Sit down, I won’t keep you long,” Dark promised, hands knit behind his back as he strode to sit behind his own desk. “I’ve been looking over your notes concerning my Lost One’s files. Some very useful ideas, wish I could still use them.”

“Did something happen?” Logan was braced for the bad news and an even later night.

“Yes, three of my Lost Ones were arrested, and Yancy is on parole,” Dark admitted calmly. “The whole mess was taken care of an hour ago.”

“I didn’t even know you had left,” Logan admitted. “I assume they are none the worse for wear.”

“Apart from Bim’s overdramatics, they’re all fine, the heroes were too busy thinking they were being coerced to start roughing them up,” Dark commented. “I honestly had nothing to worry about.”

“That’s good news,” Logan agreed.

“It is,” Dark replied in a thoughtful, rueful tone. “But the heroes know a bit too much about Yancy, which means we’ve got a bit of a fly on the wall in my network because they know things Yancy never told them.”

Before Logan could fully decide what to say or give options on how to help smooth over the problem, his chair was abruptly spun around which surprised Logan because he hadn’t heard anyone coming up behind him and hadn’t thought the chair was designed to spin.

Even through the distractions, Logan knew he was probably on a short list of suspicious individuals. The person he came face to face with was familiar but not in a way Logan could place.

“Hey Lo,” Orange smiled as he looked at Logan. “Having fun playing dress-up? That’s usually Princey’s thing.”

The Side frowned when he saw the guarded but uncertain look on Logan’s face. “Huh?”

Logan was braced for something, trying to remember where he’d seen this person before.

Dark came up behind them, “Something wrong?”

“He doesn’t remember me,” Orange answered, he took Logan by the lapels of his suit, which Logan immediately and indignantly tried to pull away from him. “Come on, Lo, you know me? Remember?”

“Oh,” Dark recognized, and put his aura on the top of Logan’s head, his aura lightly searching for something until he found it. The Entity pulled off another aura, almost like a mesh of spell work that kept Logan complacent and unaware of what he was doing, and Dark could practically feel the Host’s magic all over it.

As Dark’s aura subsumed the other aura Logan had a disoriented look to him before his laser focus landed on Orange and he startled in his grip. “Unhand me!”

“Nah, you’re already in deep shit, where would you swim to?” Orange grinned, Logan pressed back into the chair as Orange leaned over him, hands on the chair arms.

“Enough,” Dark cut in, using his aura to rotate back to look at Logan. “So, Mr. Sanders, is there any part of your resume that you weren’t lying on?”

“My distain for disorder and puns,” Logan answered.

Dark moved his hand and Logan felt something like a hand on the front of his throat, phantom claws on the soft flesh of his throat. “You of all people should know how I feel about moles, Thomas.”

“What?” Logan was barely able to still talk without claws sinking into his throat. “My name is Logan.”

The pressure in his throat abated for a brief second, but Logan wasn’t allowed to feel much of anything when Dark scored his aura claws down. Logan cried out, his cheek burning with sharp pain, and it felt wet. The Logical Side presumed it was with his own blood. The panicking part of his brain wanted to call out for Patton or Roman, he was acutely aware he wasn’t wearing his communicator.

“AAHHHHHH!” Logan screamed, and Dark physically grabbed Logan by the throat, pinning him to the chair, a bunch of papers in his hands.

“Thomas F. Sanders, date of birth: April 24, 1989. Gainesville, Florida.” Dark began casually reading off the paper and Logan tried to fight off the wave of palpable fear. Dark had gone looking for Logan and found Thomas instead.

Logan wasn’t sure what was worse. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to lie and make Dark believe he really was Thomas . . . and after this was all said and done, hope Dark would toss the papers away and not look deeper into them.

But Dark was always good at spotting lies.

“I am not Thomas,” Logan decided. “He doesn’t exist, Orange, you know my name is not Thomas, do not participate in this pointless charade.”

“Hmm,” Orange hummed, grabbing Logan by the hair and forcing him to look up, “nope, you’re Thomas alright, that dopey optimism, that personality that people can’t help but love!”

“Faksehood!” Logan shouted at Orange. “I am not Thomas.”

Orange slapped Logan on the cheek that was still bleeding. Dark was sitting behind his desk again, the quick change disorienting Logan a bit.

Dark was still looking at the papers, “You never told me you were an actor. A couple Community Playhouse credits in Gainesville, Hot Mikado, ooh, Singing in the Rain. I hate that one.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Orange paused in his sadism to question Dark, his face twisting up in the only Thomas-like display that Logan had ever seen from the other Side.

“I hate actors,” Dark scoffed, balling up an entire page and tossing it into the trash bin. “Wil adores the movie, but Singing is the Rain is about actors, which means I hate it all the more.”

“Harsh,” Orange scoffed. “Bad date?”

Dark glared at Orange, “I’m not going to humor that statement.”

“You know I am not Thomas,” Logan reminded Orange, his anger consuming his fear. “Why are you helping with what I assume will be my death. This will affect you as well.”

“Not as much as you think,” Orange smiled.

“Why are you insisting I’m Thomas?” Logan demanded. “Insisting such is offensive and incognizant.”

“Well unlike the others who want to fight over that name, Princey’s got all those social skills, and Pop’s is an emotional basket case. But you,” Orange tapped Logan on the nose, “have all those memories like going to school, Thomas’s folks, stuff like that. So if anything happens to those pesky little things, Thomas will die. Even if all the others fuse and try, they’ll never have those memories. Even if Princey rehearses until he believes his own performance they can’t bring them back. So if you die, it’s a win-win.”

Logan had been listening to Orange gloat and jeer and he hated that he had the gall to wear Thomas’s face while he said it. So he did something impulsive in his pain and anger, he spat in Orange’s face, moving to punch him but Orange was faster, slamming his fist into Logan’s face.

Over and over again.

The other Side was trying to get at the bloody scratches already present. In the scuffle Logan’s glasses were knocked free and Orange stomped on them, almost like a pained connection, Logan felt it when he heard the frame crack.

“You know, I’m sick and tired of Thomas this and Thomas that. News flash, Teach, he would have hated and been afraid of me. Why should I want to go back to that, to being so thoroughly buried I may as well have now existed to him? The best thing that ever happened to me was when he was broken apart and I was taken away from you.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dark cut in, his aura wrapped around one of Orange’s arms. What Logan couldn’t see because of his destroyed glasses, was the knife he’d pulled. “I need him alive for a bit longer and you’ve said your peace.”

“I thought you were going to off him,” Orange scoffed.

“Not quite yet,” Dark flicked his wrists and a Void portal ripped open, forcing Orange from the room.

“So, Logan,” a dark shape moved in front of Logan’s vision again as Dark sat down in front of him. He heard a tearing of paper.

“Regardless of who you were,” Dark clipped what remained of Logan’s glasses to the front of his shirt. “It’s time for you to choose, Sanders. The heroes, or me.”

“I think my decision would have been obvious,” Logan told him. “You and your network are deplorable and I have greatly enjoyed my work in helping to dismantle it.”

Dark clicked his tongue, “Regrettable.”

Logan felt Dark aura tighten around him and the chair like a snake and Logan just braced to get his neck snapped. He hoped it would be quick and he wouldn’t feel it.

To Logan’s mounting tension he was pulled through a Void portal and Dark was bringing him down what seemed to be a dark corridor. Logan had the ability to gaze around and wished that he could see where he was. It looked interesting.

“Trying to figure out where you are,” Dark mused proudly.

“My habit is to obtain information on new places or experiences,” Logan explained.

“Well,” Dark sounded smug, “no need to bother with that tonight.”

At that moment Dark caught movement down one of the tunnels and he threw his aura to scare the creature or person off. Logan tensed when he felt Dark’s aura curl up around him before the Entity struck.

“I hate the rats around here, I swear the magic from that old hag makes them grow bigger by the day,” Dark scoffed in disgust.

“You are going to have me eaten?” Logan asked tensely, fear bubbling back up onto his mind.

“Not by the rats,” Dark corrected. Dark opened a steel door, his aura moving into the cracks to open it from the inside, the rusted gears grinding loudly.

“Finally!” Bim shouted when the door opened, he was polishing his already immaculate scalpels and knives. Dark noted the darker eyes, sharper teeth, and almost sunken eyes. “I’m starving here, Old Man.”

“Yes, I merely had to pick him up for you,” Dark set Logan’s chair down, his hands on his shoulders. “He meets your outrageous standards, I hope.”

Bim looked at Logan and smiled and ravenous excitement, “Oh, what did he do?”

“Does he work or should I slit his throat now and be done with it?” Dark demanded harshly, the door being locked and sealed behind them.

“Yeah, yeah, just let me get the table open,” Bim said, and Logan heard the clicking of metal, his heart was racing.

“Well Sanders, I look forward to seeing which hero is missing in the coming weeks,” Dark smiled as he whispered quietly into Logan’s ears, patting him once on his shoulder.

Logan felt Dark’s aura grab him and began fighting it, trying to reach for anything but Dark dropped him onto a metal table. His wrists locked into a tight metal cuff at the top and his ankles locked into a similar cuff at the bottom. He had almost no room to struggle.

“Do not leave evidence,” Dark ordered his progeny. “The heroes will come looking for this one.”

“Shit, it’s like this is my first rodeo,” Bim scoffed.

“I mean it, be responsible,” Dark ordered and Logan heard the Void being ripped open, leaving him alone with Bim.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Thomas Sanders #Markiplier #Logan Sanders #Darkiplier #Googleplier #Orange Side #Bim Trimmer #magic #death threats #angst #resentment

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youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat · 7 years ago

Text

Title: “When You Speak French...” (1/1)

(AO3)

Rated E

Summary:

“He loved making love. Not in the physical, sexual sense - though she could bet he liked that too. But in that old-world, courtly, talking dirty behind a respectable veil of suggestion, way. Except, on him, and with a face he knew looked like it did...Respectable? Only barely.”

Worried about Hook post 4x12, Emma goes to check on him. They talk. They Netflix. They chill.

Emma was thinking of Killian when she walked back into the loft after dropping Regina and Henry off at their place.

She’d been thinking of him all the way back from the empty house, since Henry mentioned villains and happy endings, even. Or, no, it was more accurate to say that he’d been distracting her since she kissed him goodbye at Granny’s with a promise to call him tomorrow. He’d given her that rueful smile, just as he always did when they parted. But this time it was a little more...bleak?

And really, Killian had been on her mind since their weird, stiff encounter that afternoon, the wrongness of which she now knew she had Gold to thank for.

She swallowed the bitterness that rose, thinking of the day’s events. Man, if she was feeling this twisted, Belle must be doing terrible.

This was the problem, that somewhere between the time she’d followed Henry to Storybrooke and now, she’d started to think of everyone’s well being as her responsibility. Case in point Regina comparing her to her own speech-making mother that night.

Maybe that was part of the reason she’d been so eager to run after their showdown with Zelena.

Maybe it was lucky for her overtaxed emotional capacity that Hook had seemed so damn untrustworthy when they’d first met. It had meant she didn’t have to worry about him too. Funny that now he was starting to mean more to her than anyone. Minus her son.

“Emma?”

She was jerked out of her thoughts by Mary Margaret who sat at their kitchen table cradling Neal, David nursing a cup of coffee in the chair next to them.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Uh,” Emma said, realizing she’d been standing in the doorway for much too long. “Yeah.”

David stood and walked over to lay a hand on her shoulder, peering at her.

“Are you sure, honey?” Snow asked. As usual, they acted like they shared a mind as well as a heart. Must come in handy.

“Actually,” Emma said, lifting her thumb vaguely to point behind her, “I think...I’m gonna go...”

David’s brow furrowed.

“...check on Killian,” Emma finished.

Her parents donned twin expressions of measured surprise.

“It’s a little late,” David said.

“Yeah, I might just…” Emma felt her face heat, remembering who she was talking to. “Ah.” She cleared her throat. “I might just...spend the night at Granny’s. Or whatever.”

There was a pause as this sank in. David lifted his hand from her shoulder. “Okay. That’s...that’s alright.”

Emma raised her eyebrows.

“I mean - You’re an adult. You don’t need our permission to - ” David’s face began to resemble a tomato. “You can do whatever - ”

“Please stop,” said Emma.

“That’s perfectly fine, Emma,” Snow said, serene, burping Neal absently. “Thank you for letting us know.”

“Great,” Emma mumbled, turning to go.

“Have a good time,” Snow said.

An odd choking noise came from David. Emma turned to see her mother still looking carefully innocent. Snow smiled over Neal’s knit-cap-covered head.

Emma stepped out into the hall and Snow called “Be safe!”

Emma yanked the door shut on more squawking from her father.

Killian was still dressed when he answered the door. Emma briefly wondered what pirates wore to bed before she could stop herself, exasperated. She cursed her mother too, for good measure. Despite what anyone might think, that wasn’t what she was here for.

“Swan?” he said in greeting, confused. She liked that he called her by her last name. She liked a lot of things about him.

“Sorry,” she said. “I know it’s late-”

“Did something happen? Is everything…?”

He reminded her of the day she’d asked him out on their first date,

“Everything’s fine, no crisis...that I know of…” She trailed off, not sure how to continue. She didn’t have much experience with this part. The talking part. She’d been okay at it with Walsh, but everything about that relationship was a toss up, what with the flying monkey factor. Hook seemed to sense her discomfort, though, because he stepped back wordlessly to let her in.

She hadn’t been in his room since they’d officially started dating.

It looked like he’d settled in. More so than she had during her brief stay at the inn. She recognized his old coat in the closet, tails hanging past his other jackets. There were books on the desk, some leather-bound, some paperback, sitting in a row next to the obligatory bottle of rum. His jacket hung over the back of the chair. He had two lamps lit, low. Good lighting for spilling your soul in whispers. Emma licked her lips.

She felt his hand, warm, on her back, as he crossed in front of her to pull out the desk chair.

“What’s on your mind, love?” he asked when she’d sat and he’d found another chair for himself. He reached for the rum and the glasses and poured for her first. He was trying to relax her and it made her smile. But she still took a decent swallow after they’d clinked their glasses.

She took a moment to study him, trying to guess how much of his appearance was artful dishabille and how much was stress, if any. Was it just the liner that made his eyes look dark? Was his hair mussed from fairy-tale, pirate product, or had he been running his hand through it out of frustration.

He just stared back, waiting.

“How are you?” she asked, finally.

He blinked and broke into that wide grin. All sharp teeth and incorrigible rascal. “Worried about me, love?”

She didn’t smile back. “Yes.”

His grin disappeared. “I told you, Swan -”

“I know,” she said quickly. She didn’t want him thinking she was doubting him. “I know,” she repeated, gentler, and looked him in the eye. “I’m a survivor too. So I know that living through something doesn’t mean you feel like roses afterwards.”

There was that shift in his eyes again. The bleakness. He looked away, the way he did sometimes. The way she did sometimes. They’d become quite a pair, bumping into each other’s insecurities, shying away from the spotlight of each other’s stare. Emma wasn’t discouraged. It was her turn to prod, her turn to coax, her turn to catch him if he decided to take a leap of faith.

She considered how to continue. If the situation were reversed he’d have some great declaration of devotion all keyed up for her. She thought about pouring him more rum, but that felt wrong, forceful, in a weird passive way. Instead she took his glass from him, laid her hand over his.

“You remember when Walsh turned into a monkey and tried to push me off the roof of my apartment in New York?”

He blinked, pulled out of his brooding enough for his head to cock, his lips to twitch.

“Part of what sucked about it - part of what hurt - was that I thought I was past this. This choosing the wrong guy thing...this superpower failing me thing. But there I was again, wrong. Wrong about...me. I thought I was past this kind of mistake, but I guess I wasn’t.”

A slow, bitter smile spread across Killian’s face. “Aye, Swan. I thought I was smarter than falling for Gold’s tricks after a few centuries, but I suppose not.”

Emma sighed in frustration. “Not what I meant.”

“But it’s true isn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Yes you do, you were in that clocktower. I must secretly love being the Dark One’s puppet since I always find myself playing the role.” He practically spat the words.

Emma suppressed the urge to wince. Yeah. Whatever progress she’d thought she’d made with relationships when she’d been with Walsh had definitely been a fluke. She clutched Killian’s hand, wishing she could quiet whatever he was thinking - feeling - magically through physical contact. She cast a round for what to say. For the right fucking thing to say.

Quietly, a stab in the dark, she asked, “Tell me how it happened?”

He glanced at her, vulnerable. It made Emma scared, scared she wouldn’t catch him right. Scared she wouldn’t be able to comfort him.

“I did, you know. Sort of.”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t comment. It sounded like a start.

“Left you a message on your device. But Gold destroyed it.”

Emma caught herself before she blurted That’s where it went?! Not the time. Instead she stroked his wrist with her thumb and listened. Listened to him recount his side of their first date.

She didn’t realize that her grip on him was tightening, that her jaw was tensing, until he stopped to murmur, “Love?” all concerned.

“Sorry,” she said, trying to relax. Jeez, what kind of look must she have had on her face? “I just thought that was a good night for us. Like we pressed pause on all the magical drama to have a normal date. Or as normal as we get, anyway.”

“It should have been, Emma. I’m sorry.”

She frowned. “For what? It’s not your fault Gold’s a rat.”

He looked a little surprised at her vehemence, but he plowed on. “But I should have told you.”

Emma nodded slowly looking at their hands. At some point during his story she’d wound up sandwiching his between both of hers. The metal of his rings had grown warm. “You should have,” she said, “but I get why you didn’t.”

He shook his head, the bleak look back. “I can’t tell you how much I hated myself for it when I found you at that empty house.”

Emma squeezed his hand again, frustrated. “Stop that. I was so distracted with the magic stuff, then. But I could tell, later, there was something weird going on with you. I wish I’d -” she broke off and laughed at herself, bitterly.

“What?”

“I was almost jealous of Belle in that clocktower, you know?” She couldn’t help smiling bitterly. “Not because of her miserable situation, just...she knows Gold so well. He was keeping things from her too, but she put it all together with so few of the pieces. I wish I could have done that for you. Figured out what was happening, I mean, not...kick you out of town.”

Killian winced. “Aye. And I’d rather not be compared to the bloody Crocodile.”

She blinked. “You’re not. You’re nothing like him. I wouldn’t be…” She sighed, trying to explain herself. “I’ve had more than enough of relationships where someone isn’t being...true with me.”

Killian stiffened, his eyes wide with regret, and Emma rushed to soothe him, hands cupping his face and drawing him close.

“Hey,” she murmured, trying to pour her conviction into him through their shared gaze, “That’s what I mean. You’re not like that. You’re just...like me. Used to taking care of things alone.”

Killian breathed out, heavy. “Yes,” he said, wholehearted.

She ran her thumb back and forth over his beard. “I guess we have our work cut out for us if we want to start taking things on together.”

He covered her hand with his, and gazed at her. “We just have to remember that we make a good team.”

She smiled, recognizing the echo from the beanstalk. “Yeah. We do.”

She felt his body shift in a sigh again, eyes full of peace. She felt a surge of satisfaction at having put it there. He stroked a lock of her hair, lazy, and she nudged forward to kiss him. Soft and sharply sweet, the way most of their kisses had been after Neverland.

When they pulled away, he glanced at the clock on his desk, resigned. “It’s late,” he said.

“Right,” she said. “I...I was thinking I’d stay.”

Killian stared at her.

“Not to...do anything if - I mean - Not that - That’d be fine if -”

“Thank you,” Killian murmured, cutting off her waffling, with a little smile. Emma felt that surge again. It was more than satisfaction, it was preening pride, it was fierce protectiveness.

After a moment, Emma realized they’d lapsed into silence, staring at each other.

Oh.

This was something she hadn’t thought of.

The awkward bit after the cathartic talk. Great.

Emma rubbed her hands on her jeans. She was nervous now that they’d settled it, unsteady with the force of all she was feeling. Killian watched her fidget. Was that a lip twitch? Was he laughing at her?

Finally she blurted, “I thought we could watch a movie.” She paused to reign in the volume. “You know, since you’re really gonna need to know what movies are. Especially if you keep hanging around my kid.”

“Yes, he’s mentioned them a few times,” Killian said, seemingly unperturbed by her weird mood shift. There was definitely a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“Well, they’re…” Emma waffled. “Moving pictures. Motion pictures, is what they’re called. They’re like...plays? Recorded plays.”

He blinked at her. No comment apparently.

She reached for her bag figuring it would be easier to just get to it than explain. She’d picked it up from the floor by the desk, and pulled out her laptop. Killian’s chair creaked as he leaned back, relaxed, to watch her.

“I thought I could show you what they’ve got on Netflix and you could pick one that looks interesting.”

He shrugged, of course, probably not understanding her, but not seeming to care. “I’m sure I’ll like whatever you choose, love.” His voice was throaty with contentedness.

She took his cue, skimming through the Netflix categories. Back to the Future, wasn’t available for streaming...she thought he might start picking at inaccuracies if they watched Pirates of the Caribbean...

She hesitated over The Addams Family. Good comfort fare. Though she worried Thing might be kind of insensitive, but Killian only snorted at her description. “As my hand didn’t actually turn out to have a mind of its own, I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

She reached over to touch his hook. “You don’t want me or Regina to try and reattach it for you?”

“Do you care whether or not I have it?”

Emma frowned “No.”

“That’s what I assumed,” he said. “And I find I’m liking myself better now than as I used to be.” He shrugged. “And, for better or worse, what I am now is a man with a hook.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, “I can understand that. I’ve found I like myself better now, too. And I like you. As you are.” She smiled to herself. “I like us.”

Killian huffed a laugh. “Aye, love. So do I.”

Emma’s stomach had started to do an embarrassing sort of flutter whenever Killian laughed. Especially when she was the one who made him laugh. “Well, anyway,” she said gruffly, turning back to the computer, “I think you’ll like this one? Everyone wears a lot of black, and there’s swordfights and chivalry and...French.”

He grinned. “A oui?”

“Oui,” she said back, smirking.

She set the computer on the bed and sat next to it to yank off her boots.

She noticed him staring at her from his chair and she slowed her movements, letting the leather slide from her fingers.

She thought she saw a flicker of possessiveness in his eyes before he stood to move her shoes by the door, toeing off his own boots and placing them next to hers.

She stood too, to shuck off her jacket and he appeared behind her to assist. She felt his breath stir her hair and suppressed a shiver. Woa. Relax.

She sat back down on the bed, folding her legs like a pretzel and tucking her hair behind her ears. She watched as Killian walked back to the bed, flicking open the buttons on his left sleeve.

Emma was careful not to react. But she couldn't help the way her senses heightened, the way her focus narrowed on his fingers rolling back the fabric, on the slow reveal of dark hair and pink scar tissue and leather straps.

This was new. Not just her seeing him without his brace. Not just their spending the night together. But the simple intimacy of getting comfortable around each other. Of settling in to lounge together, not a common luxury in their case.

It was so domestic. She should be freaking the hell out. Maybe later she would be. But now she was too busy soaking it in. All of him. Long and dark and lean, often dangerous, but now vulnerable, in his socked feet. Trusting, shit, so damn at ease, as he undid the buckles on the straps. He tugged the brace off, hook and all, and dropped it on the night stand. Then he climbed over her, crowding her for a moment, but not touching her - not even brushing her by accident - as he moved around her to the empty space on the other side of the bed. His scent surrounded her, always managing to remind her of the sea, clear and salty. She hitched a breath.

He caught her eye as he settled next to her and betrayed himself with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Exasperated, Emma gave him her best unamused glare and moved the laptop closer to start the movie. He chuckled as he slid his arm around her shoulder. Emma reached over and pulled his stump into her lap. She felt him stiffen, and was about to let go when he relaxed again. She slipped her hand under his sleeve and squeezed.

They both turned their attention to her laptop.

She caught his bewildered look at the opening with the carolers, but he laughed at Wednesday's shooting the apple in Pugsley’s mouth, and smirked at Morticia and Gomez’s flirting.

“The girl reminds me of you.”

“She does?”

“Aye. Weren’t you a little trouble maker as a lass?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Weren’t you?”

He mirrored her expression. “Oh yes.”

She grinned.

They were silent for a while - he, absorbed in the movie, and she, absorbed in him being absorbed in the movie. She felt him twitch every now and then at the more jarring smash cuts or pans, and she stroked his wrist to soothe him. She felt the pucker in his skin from the scars and wondered if it would be weird if she pushed his sleeve back to kiss them.

The auction scene came. Maybe her anticipation was a little sharper as she waited for his reaction. If there was one thing Killian loved (and could relate to), it was being a flirt.

He loved making love. Not in the physical, sexual sense - though she could bet he liked that too. But in that old-world, courtly, talking dirty behind a respectable veil of suggestion, way. Except, on him, and with a face he knew looked like it did...Respectable? Only barely. Emma had been amused to find herself on the receiving end of it. Among other things.

Sometimes she wondered if she really rose to the challenge of all his double entendres. She did alright, in her own dry way, she thought. But now and then, over the last few months (and even, if she was honest with herself, before they’d started dating), she’d found herself worrying he didn’t find her a satisfying enough flirt.

All this to say, Gomez and Morticia were orgasmically outbidding each other when she glanced at Killian just as he glanced at her.

Coward that she was, Emma looked away too quickly to read his expression. But she could feel his body tense slightly around her. Christ, she hadn’t been quite so aware of how much they were touching until now. She was pressed into him, hip to hip, his body warm through the knit of her top.

“Have you ever done it in public?”

There was a pause where she guessed he was registering that she had actually blurted out that ridiculous non-sequitur.

“Excuse me?” His voice was carefully neutral.

Emma’s cheeks were flaming, but she still nudged her chin towards the couple mauling each other in the middle of a crowded room. “Has that ever been you?” she asked, forcing herself to watch his reaction.

The smile that unfurled at that comment was one of his more evil ones. “Gentlemen never tell,” he said.

Emma stared at him. “Gentlemen don’t look like a cat who just made a meal of a whole bunch of canaries.”

He shook his head, smirk guarding his stupid sex secrets, and turned the question on her. “And you lass? Have you ever lost control with an audience?”

She scrunched her nose. “I was never much for PDA.”

He gave her an infinitely patient look

“Public Displays of Affection,” she explained, sheepish.

“Ah,” he said. “No, you wouldn’t.”

She shifted to get a better look at his face. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t take offense, love,” he said with a gentle smile. She felt his fingers carding through the hair on her shoulder. “I like that you’re private. You’re protective of the things you love because you love them so fiercely.”

Oof. Emma felt that giddy fluttery feeling take ahold of her again. He had to stop ambushing her with stuff like that. “Thank you,” she said, softly.

“For what, love?” he said, just as softly. “It’s the truth.”

She had too look away again, shy. That’s what unsettled her about him. He made her shy.

“Maybe once or twice, to answer your question,” he said.

She gave him a withering look, but was grateful that he’d switched back to playful.

“I’ve certainly imagined it more than once with you.”

That made her ears perk. “Have you?”

“Aye.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Especially at the sheriff’s station.”

Emma snorted.

“Never thought I’d take a liking to shackles, but when it’s you doing the shackling...”

She stared at him. “You’re not serious.”

He grinned. “You doubt me?”

“Are you saying if I slapped cuffs on you right now -”

“Well, not for our first time.”

Their first time. The words sounded bolded. A title. Emma and Killian’s First Time. Emma could feel the blood drain from her face.

“Emma, what is it?”

She resisted the urge to say Nothing. She’d decided not to hide things from this man. Still, her words came out a bit too clipped when she said, “You have it all planned out then? Perfect? With candles and rose petals and champagne probably.”

“I…” He looked at her, a little bewildered. “I hadn’t made plans, no...”

Guilt stabbed her. She opened her mouth to explain herself.

“But of course I’ve thought of it,” Killian went on. “I’ve thought of you,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Many a time. Sometimes with champagne and candles, sometimes with handcuffs. Sometimes on my ship if it were truly to be perfect. On the deck under the stars, or in my cabin, shutting out the rest of the world.” His voice had lowered, his accent making the words liquid. His eyes were as dark and as warm as the scenes he described. “Sometimes at your loft with everyone else gone, in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” Emma mumbled, somehow quipping through the haze. His lips twitched.

“Aye. When you’re leading the room as if it’s a war council. You’ll say something particularly practical, or determined, or witty. And I’ll imagine dropping to my knees right there and tasting you. Your quim sweet and wet on my tongue. Worshipping you properly, as you should be.”

Emma sucked in a breath, his words and the rasp in his voice trailing down her spine. So much for respectability.

She was even more shocked when he looked away, when she saw the pink on his ears.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said. “I didn’t mean to -”

“Keep going,” she said.

His gaze snapped to hers. He licked his lips and obliged, voice drawing quieter, reverent. “Sometimes you’re here,” he breathed. “When I’ve spent all day with you or when I’ve hardly seen you at all. When some miserable threat is plaguing the town. When I can’t sleep for some worry or when I’m dreaming, you’re here. You’re in my bed.” His eyes traveled the length of her.

She felt the look like a touch, like his hands dragging over her skin, like his mouth pressing against her, breath hot.

When he met her eyes again, his held that wry glint, that humor heavy with feeling. “I’m never rid of the thought, love. Never rid of you. You torture me.”

That was enough. That was enough for her mouth to find his. His clever, beautiful, sad mouth, slanting over hers with a groan. The arm around her shoulders catching her to him, locking them together. His body long and warm and firm against her breasts, her stomach. His hair soft under her fingers, his beard scratching her cheeks and her palm. His taste as she licked into his mouth, tongue massaging hers, hot and decadent.

Good. He was good. Very good at this. Not a new thought, but it was a miracle Emma was thinking at all in this state. She was all instinct and sensation, all of her focus occupied by the need to take this man, to devour him and be devoured by him, until they forgot all of their wounds, until they forgot their own names. Until there was nothing left but each other.

Fuck, she was wet. She could feel the thrill between her legs as she swung one over his hips to ease the ache. Her foot smacked something but she didn’t register it until a loud clatter made them both jump.

“The device,” Killian said, thickly, peering over the side of the bed. His hair looked thoroughly wild from all of the damage she’d inflicted on it. Emma bit her lip to keep a nervous laugh from escaping her.

Killian glanced at her. “Should we…?”

“Yeah. Uh.” Emma disentangled herself from him, her body protesting rather loudly, and picked up the computer. It was running fine, fan still whirring obnoxiously in her hands. She considered asking him if he wanted to finish the movie. She considered tossing the thing out the window and attacking him again.

“Are you...alright?” he asked, still hesitant, awkward, which was very weird for him. “I’m sorry if I -”

“No!” Emma jumped in. “I’m sorry, I know we’ve never talked about it before. Not really.”

Killian scratched his ear “I’m usually much more adept at this.”

“Me too,” she said. “I think it’s just been a long time since I’ve done it with someone I cared about.”

He gazed at her. “We’re in the same boat then.”

Emma turned away and placed the laptop back on his desk, fussing. “I really didn’t mean to do this tonight.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he repeated. “Did you have plans for us, then, Swan? Champagne and roses?”

She smiled at the tease. “I guess I didn’t want to assume how you felt.”

Killian nodded, lips quirked. “Well, you know how I feel now.” He gave her her a prompting look. “Why don’t you tell me how you feel?”

Emma grimaced. “That’s something I’ve never been good at.”

He didn’t comment, only watched her, expectant, accepting.

“I feel…” she felt hot, she felt uncomfortable, an itch under her skin. She felt like her bra was too tight. She seized the whim and reached behind her, under her top, to unhook it.

His eyes widened as he watched her pull the straps through her sleeves and slip the whole thing out from under her shirt. She brandished it awkwardly. “It’s, uh…”

“Stays,” he guessed, his eyes flicking back to hers, amused.

Emma huffed a laugh as she tossed the bra away. “Yeah, stays.” She tossed the bra somewhere and ran her hands through her hair as she approached him, not quite meeting his eyes.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes either but she discovered it was because he was staring at her chest. Emma bit down on another laugh. Typical.

He placed his hand on her waist, big and warm. She abruptly lost her mirth. His thumb stroked her side through her top. He dragged it up to the side of her breast and she clutched his shoulder to steady herself. “Have they gotten more comfortable?” he asked, voice deceptively light.

She blinked.

His lips twitched. “Stays,” he clarified.

Smirking, she took his hand and guided it under her top, ran his fingers over where the wire had left an indent in her skin. She heard him breathe in, stroking along the mark, frowning. Then he leaned in and kissed her through her top, underneath her breast, mouth hot and not even close to where she needed it.

Emma swallowed.

He leaned up and drew her into a light, teasing little kiss. “Tell me what you feel, Emma,” he goaded against her lips.

She gripped the fabric at his shoulders, gathering his shirt and vest in her fists. “I feel like you should lose this,” she murmured back.

He smiled into another kiss, and started undoing buttons.

Emma took her hands away from his shoulders, wanting to draw out the anticipation. Usually she had no patience for frivolous titillation or sweet nothings. But Killian was all about sweet nothings, and she wanted to let this nervous want grow, wanted to see where it would lead. She dug her nails into her jeans as he finished with the vest and tugged his shirt out of his pants.

She watched the strip of chest he was always showing off grow longer. She remembered him throwing off his raggedy disguise at the base of the beanstalk, smug and preening. Emma had always had kind of a thing for hairy men, though any appreciative thoughts she might have had about his looks at that time were quickly followed by annoyance.

It wasn’t the last time ogling his cleavage had left her feeling confused. She remembered glancing at it dubiously when they were at Zelena’s snowy farmhouse. She might have even snapped an “Aren’t you cold?” at him at one point. He’d responded with a knowing grin. She’d watched him out of the corner of her eye during lunches at the station, or traipsing through the woods looking for the latest monster. But now she could look at him unimpeded, no monsters, no hidden agenda, just Killian.

She felt like she was unwrapping him, pushing the clothing off his shoulders and kneeling between his knees. She felt his pulse drumming under his jaw. Thumbed the chain around his neck. He sat still, such a freaking gentleman. She moved her hands down between his pecks, brushed the hair outwards, let his nipple pop up between her index and middle finger. She studied it, relishing the way his chest pressed into her hand with his sharp intake of breath. She moved on, running her palms down his torso. She scratched a nail lightly through his goody trail, following it down to where it disappeared into his waistband. She hesitated there, wanting to just grip him through the leather, see her investigation to the end. But this wasn’t her usual one night stand, not her usual brazen routine.

He caught her hand in his and tipped his forehead to hers. “Now you?” he rasped, and it steadied her, knowing he was as affected as she.

Emma yanked off the knit top without preamble. Killian made a sound that almost sounded like a sigh. He gathered her close again. She rubbed his legs, forcing herself to hold still, to let him look his fill. He stroked her collar with his knuckles, she shivered from the cold of his rings and he murmured something wordless and soothing, leaning forward to kiss the place he’d touched. She shivered again, digging her nails into his legs.

He chuckled. “Impatient love?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

He kissed his way down to her right breast, brief, open-mouthed, sucking kisses, nipping at her skin. She gasped when he lapped once, long and teasing against her nipple before drawing it into his mouth.

The sound she made was mortifying. He looked up at her, mouth around her breast, eyes hungry and satisfied, desperate and predatory. Emma remembered his kitchen fantasy and was hit with the sudden vivid image of him giving her the same look from between her legs.

“Fuck,” she muttered. She seized his face between her hands and dragged him up to kiss him into next week. They collapsed on the bed and she fell flush against him, wiry and hot and everywhere. Hair tickling her nipples, pendants on his necklace scratching her skin. She groaned and he growled, rolling them, leveraging himself with his knees so that he could grind that hard ridge right against her core. She clasped her legs tight around his waist.

Suddenly he tore his mouth from hers, and Emma blinked, dizzy and confused as she watched him twist off the first of his rings with his teeth. He cursed when the second one gave him trouble and glanced at her wildly. “Get them off,” he ordered, gruffly.

“Huh?” was all Emma could manage.

“Get them. Off.” He bit out the words, and Emma moved to comply, irritated through the haze of desire. Maybe he sensed this because he let out a strangled laugh before leaning in to nuzzle her neck. “Please love,” he whispered hoarsely. Her fingers slipped on the metal when he bit her gently. Fumbling, she managed to get them all off while he nipped at her earlobe.

For a guy with only one hand, he sure managed to make it feel like he was touching her everywhere at once. Stroking down her back, thumbing her nipple, dragging over her stomach and sliding home - right into her underwear.

He swallowed her stuttered gasp with a kiss. He petted her hair, parted it to stroke through her folds. Emma had the stray thought that he’d been insistent about taking off his rings for her comfort. Fucking gentleman.

He found her clit, brushing against the hood with his fingertip. He broke their kiss to watch her as he covered her whole mound with his hand and placed the heel of his palm right against that sensitive little bundle. He rubbed, stroking her lips, grinding lightly against her, making just enough friction to flip the switch, to make her arch up against his unyielding body.

“You’re to tell me how you like it, love,” he said, fingers playing at her entrance.

“I like that,” she whispered. “I’d like it more if you’d get the hell in me.”

She groaned as he sunk a finger into her folds, his thumb stroking her clit. He kissed her again, nipping at her bottom lip. “I could be dreaming right now,” he said, “except you feel too good to be a figment of my imagination.”

“Same,” was her inspired reply.

But he laughed. “Is it?” She gasped as he hit a particularly good spot, and his brow furrowed, mouth open to mirror hers. “Do you dream of this, too, Swan?”

She would have teased him about fishing for compliments, but he was so focused on her, drinking in her face, studying her reactions as he touched her. She found herself sniping, “Yeah, I think about you. When you’re annoying me I think about shutting you up.” He laughed, flicked her clit again. She hissed.

“Or when you scare me, running off into danger when I tell you not to,” he hummed consolingly at that, “I think about torturing you.”

He froze for a moment. Fixed her with a look of mock disapproval, but didn’t speak. She licked her lips, pushed on. “When you tell me something sweet or supportive, or when you’re just -” he brushed that place again, deep and tender inside her, “there. When I need you and you’re there.” Her breath started to come in short pants. “A lot - I think about you - All the time. I just never get too far. I don’t like fantasies because then reality doesn’t hold up. That’s how it usually is.”

He’d eased off the pressure as she talked, circling around her clit. But now something flashed in his eyes and he dove into her again.

Emma let out a cry - a cry, like a gothic novel heroine - and gripped his shoulder. “And?” He asked. “Is it a disappointment?”

She would have laughed at the drama of the statement if she weren’t so out of her mind with sensation. His thumb still kept attention on her clit while his other fingers worked, ruthless, on that place that made her teeth clench with its intensity.

Oh god, she was overwhelmed. By his touch and his voice and his kiss, which he groaned into as if he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist her. The kiss was wild and harsh, he was set loose, free to do all he threatened in looks, in flirtations. All those things she never knew how to respond to, now she could do nothing but respond. She was too far gone to know anything at all except him, surrounding her, inside her. He tore his lips away from her to watch her, his hair was a mess again, his face a mask of concentration and wild yearning that mirrored her own, eyes huge and blue. It was him. Finally.

Her orgasm ripped through her, the tension expanding, exploding, shooting out to her fingertips, to her toes. The rush unending and anchored by his fingers speared into her, by his gaze enveloping her, muttering words of encouragement.

It felt as if the whole night had passed when it was over. As if every thought and discomfort had been scooped right out of her. Killian slid his fingers out of her and sucked them clean. She shuddered watching him.

“No,” she said.

He looked at her.

“Not a disappointment.”

His eyes glazed over with a heady satisfaction, and he leaned down to tease her with a kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue.

Her fingers unclenched, sticky with sweat, and she realized she’d been clutching his rings in her fist the whole time. She presented them to him.

He rubbed her thigh with his wrist as he took them. She wondered at her pants still being on.

“We can stop here,” he said. “If you want.”

She stared at him. “Is that what you want?”

His brows twitched, and he glanced at the ceiling with a dry expression. “I think we’ve established that I want you all the time.”

“And what do you want to do with me?” Emma prodded.

“Whatever you want, love,” he prodded back.

“Okay,” she said, through with the preamble. She gripped his shoulders flipped them both sloppily with a tilt of her hips. She sucked in a breath as she landed on the bulge in his pants, which seemed to have grown more significant during her interlude. His eyes fell closed as she rubbed against him, lazy and feline, listening to his breath hitch. She felt the fuse spark again, as easy as if he’d snapped his ridiculously talented fingers.

“I want this,” she purred through his groan. He arched up to capture her mouth again. They kissed, drunk and languid, clutching each other. Emma jerked as she felt the metal of the freaking rings he still held in his hand bite into her side. He started to pull away but she anchored their kiss with a hand at the base of his head, while with the other she took the jewelry away from him again and tossed it. He grinned into her mouth as the rings pinged across the floor.

Emma shoved both hands into his hair and set about wrecking him. Bowling him over, as if she could suck his release right out of him. She remembered Neverland, but that had been different. Then she’d been feeling like her old self, cocky and ready to throw a man off guard, not a desperate mother searching for her son in a magical hell.

Now, she wanted to take him apart for its own purpose, for his own pleasure. For the noise he made when she ground down on his hips. For the ridiculously decadent expression on his face as he cupped her breast, thumbed her nipple.

He bent down to her again and sucked.

She bucked against him and gasped, the sound high and sharp.

And he stiffened, suddenly, releasing her to shove his hand into his pants to grip himself.

Emma gaped at him, his face flushed and twisted with concentration. He laughed grimly at her. “Look what you do to me,” he muttered. “I’m a disgrace.”

Emma took an unsteady breath at the thrill of having Killian underneath her, abusing himself to stave off his release.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, so we should take this slow.” A thought occurred to her. “Also.” Gingerly, she climbed off of him, crawling over to open the bedside table drawer.

“What are you doing?” he asked, behind her.

“Ruby told me Granny keeps them in all the rooms,” she said as she rummaged, “which I could not fucking un-hear. But I guess it’s good that I didn’t forget.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“These,” Emma said, hand closing over the little box in the drawer.

Killian propped himself up on his elbows and watched her curiously as she took too long tearing the box open. Finally she held up a condom with a lame flourish. “They’re -” she stopped. “Did you guys have contraceptives where you’re from?”

“Ah, French letters.”

“...Sure.”

Killian grinned suddenly. “Is that what I look like when I can’t place one of your modern contraptions? Because I can see why you’d find it endearing.”

“Don’t get full of yourself now -”

“Of course not, love,” he growled. “I want to fill you.”

Emma rolled her eyes even as she felt the words shoot straight between her legs. “Do you know what to do with this, or should I do it myself?”

There was a spark in Killian’s gaze and he fell back, hand and stump coming up to rest behind his head. “I bow to your expertise.”

“Oh my god,” Emma muttered. She stood and turned to take him in, sprawled out, dwarfing the bed. How the hell did he sleep here every night?

She noticed his gaze was lingering on her chest, and remembered she was naked from the waist up. She pursed her lips and his grinned widened.

“You know, you’re lovely when you’re irritated,” he said.

“I want you enough that I’m gonna ignore that,” Emma said before she placed the condom between her teeth so she could have both hands free to get his freakin pants off already.

“Just a jest -” he fell silent as she kneeled over him, making quick work of his zipper and yanking the leather down over his hips.

Captain Hook was a boxers guy.

Emma felt her face flush and she turned when she tossed his pants away, hoping he wouldn’t see. What was up with her? Why was she so shy about this?

“Love?” his hand encircled her wrist and he tugged her down to look into her face. He took the condom from her mouth and his left wrist brushed her hair over her shoulder. She recognized the motion as one he’d done before, with his hook. It made her feel soft and weird, it made her blush harder.

It made her search for his kiss and he was there immediately, soothing her with lips and teasing tongue and teeth. He drew her close and rolled them, rising over her, solid and safe. The pendants on his chain came rest on her breast bone again. She fiddled with the chain, trailed her hands down his chest as he kissed and nipped at her neck. She hooked a finger under the waistband of his boxers, no longer impatient, but curious. His kisses slowed.

“Emma?”

She slid under the fabric and took him into her hand.

He froze, his teeth bared.

She stroked him, lost in her discovery, lost in his reaction.

He drew a deep unsteady breath and searched her gaze. “Do you want this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she responded, sure of that, at least, even if the rest of her feelings felt so foreign.

“Then will you open this bloody thing?” he said brandishing the condom.

Emma snorted and took it from him. She ripped it open as he divested them of the last of their clothing.

She rolled the condom on him without preamble, impatient again, and he followed her lead, only stopping to kiss her again before he slid home.

Home. All of him, and there was quite a bit of him, suddenly there, suddenly everywhere, fusing them together.

It all came at her in a rush. The satisfaction, getting exactly what she desperately needed in this moment. It was a rare feeling. It was magic, peace whatever you want to call it. Not peace. That was too...peaceful. Too calm for this wild, rolling, need, rising up just as it was being sated. And it was precious to feel this good, to feel this right. Even now, at the bookend of a crisis, there was no telling whether the morning would bring another. She had to seize the damn moments whenever they appeared. She had to seize this night and this man who was troubled like her, but who was trying like her. This man who looked at her like she was his savior, but who somehow still made her feel like she didn’t have to be perfect, like she was glorious just as she was.

She wondered if he noticed she’d started to look at him the same way.

Except for the savior bit, because Emma didn’t need anyone to save her.

Just love her.

Fuck. Not now. It was too much, too much to be thinking about that now. She gasped and started blinking rapidly because there were tears coming out of her eyes. “I’m sorry. Wow, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, love,” he murmured, body tense above her, watching her intently.

She laughed at the on-the-nose endearment. “I’m really sorry, I know this shouldn’t be a big deal-”

“It is.”

She looked at him. His eyes were wide and serious. “It’s a big deal,” he said.

Somehow, her mind picked out the very dumb crack in the phrase. Emma let out a weird strangled hiccup that made him blink.

“Yeah,” she said, “it’s...”

His lips twitched. “Big.”

She tittered. “Really big.”

They burst out laughing right there. Naked and sweaty with pirate king Killian Jones inside of her, and they were laughing.

“I swear, Emma,” Killian said, gasping (man, his face was red), “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know you didn’t,” Emma weezed.

They laughed harder, and his face ended up buried in her neck, her arms and legs wrapped tight around him as they shook.

It was a weird sensation, feeling the rumble of his laughter all through his body, even where they were joined. And as she laughed, she could feel herself spasm too, everywhere, and tighten.

She heard his breath hitch.

Her laughter died, abruptly. She ran her hand up to the hair on the back of his neck and griped a handful while, purposefully, ruthlessly, she squeezed.

And Killian groaned.

She flipped him on his back, his head bouncing on the mattress, arms coming up to steady her by the waist. She paused. “Is this okay?” she asked.

“It’s bloody, fucking, fantastic,” he rasped. “You’re -”

She pinned his wrists down on either side of his head and his eyes widened. “You -” he tried again.

She started to ride him, her ass slapping lewdly against his thighs. He closed his eyes and moaned, back arching off the mattress. She could see the strain in his neck as he bared his teeth, the shine of sweat on his skin and the fur on his chest. His eyes opened again, almost black with desire and he bucked underneath her, pressing against the tender place inside her that made her stutter and squeeze. She saw the triumph in his eyes, and retaliated by diving back into her harsh pace, making him gasp. They kept up the rhythm, she relentless and he mindless, driving into each other. She watched his jaw slacken, his beautiful, plush mouth falling open, mute.

For all his lovely words he might be at his filthiest when he was completely speechless.

“Oh love,” he managed, finally. “You’re -”

She dropped down to her elbows, fisting the sheet behind his head, his breath brushing her face in short hot pants, and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. He slid his hand between them to brush against her clit. She gasped, opening her eyes as she ground against him. He was sweaty and frantic, hair standing on end, eyes huge and full and drowning her. He was precious.

And fuck, she was crying again.

“You’re everything,” he finished, the words whispered harshly and quickly smothered by her own mouth. She kissed him with everything she had, with all the adrenaline and fear and excitement and deep seeded contentment and rightness of everything she felt, of everything he made her feel, and it was too much, still too much, always too much to contain -

She sobbed with her release, too overwhelmed to worry about the display, too out of her mind to even be aware of it. Somewhere at the tail end of it she felt him arch and stiffen beneath her, hand coming up to brace the back of her head as he kissed her furiously.

And when she came back into her body, they were still kissing, slowly now, lazy. Tender. He trailed away from her mouth to kiss the tears off of her cheeks and she saw that he had them too. She returned the favor.

She stroked his hair back, pressed her forehead to his, closed her eyes, and just felt. The thought thoroughly fucked out of her. And good thing too because if she started thinking now she’d probably start crying again.

After some time, he shifted them from the weird diagonal position they’d fallen into across the bed. He kissed her in response to her sound of protest when he pulled out of her. He stood to dispose of the condom, frowning at it before tossing it into the trash bin next to the desk. She felt her eyes closing but she still stared at his ass he disappeared into the bathroom.

She felt something cold on her thigh and opened her eyes to find him cleaning her with a wet washcloth from the bathroom. His movements were focused and matter of fact as he performed the intimate little service.

“I came over to take care of you.” The thought just fell out of her mouth as it formed in her head.

Killian looked up at her and smiled, naked and rumpled and...happy. “I know,” he said. “You did. You do.”

That made her smile too. God, she must look like a doof. She’d leave feeling embarrassed for tomorrow.

He got rid of the washcloth and climbed into bed with her, tugging the covers loose and over them. He pulled her close, surrounding her, and Emma promptly drifted into sleep.

…

The stupid sun was hitting her right in the face.

Emma grunted, squeezing her eyes tight, trying to block out the light. She turned her face into the warm, solid surface under her cheek, rubbed her nose into the hair she found there.

She heard a grunt. “You’ve a cold nose, love.”

She opened her eyes to find Killian blinking awake. He was wrapped around her, arm under her head, legs tangled with hers.

She stared up at him and the giddy, joyful feeling she’d started to get around him - the one that happened whenever she made him laugh, whenever he made one of those declarations that hit her like a ton of bricks - rose in her chest, strong, filling her to her fingertips, to her toes where they rubbed against his calves.

He studied her face and broke into a wide smile, one that must match the one she felt stretching her own cheeks.

“Do you think,” she said, “if we stay in bed, that the rest of the town will just leave us in peace?”

He laughed, his teeth sharp, his eyes bright. Emma felt herself thrill, and she didn’t care.

“I’m all for testing that theory.”

#captain swan #captain swan ff #emma swan/killian jones #emma swan x killian jones #my stuff

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