#rely on your mind / memory sometimes. BUT yeah man's really does try to Deflect so badly when it's brought up

[mad-hunts]

barton flirtatiously changing the subject™ to stop anyone (particularly level 2 friends and up as well as people he has a crush on) from bringing up his cannibalism is definitely something that he would do. like, do i want to talk about it? NOPE. am i going to express that to you by saying ' oh, UHH, actually... can we not talk about that right now? ' instead of paying compliments to you like ' hey, so totally random thought here, but have i ever told you that you have a really great smile? ' also nope LMAOO

[wistfulcynic]

Both Are Infinite, Chapter 3

Summary: Busy single mother Emma Swan relies on her best friend, Royal Navy Captain Killian Jones, far too much to ever ruin things by acting on the crazy lust she feels for him. The boundaries between them are firmly set… until they’re not, and suddenly Emma and Killian are forced to confront the feelings they’ve been suppressing for far too long.

Also on: AO3

Art by: @rouhn

@resident-of-storybrooke @rouhn @teamhook @wellhellotragic @kmomof4 @let-it-raines

Chapter 3:

Henry and Roland stood in front of the farm’s goat pen, tentatively reaching their hands through the fence to pet the goats’ soft noses and feed them treats. 

“I think I like goats,” said Henry.

“Me too,” said Roland. “I like their noses. But my dad says…” 

Henry frowned, and stopped listening. He liked Roland, who was about his age and who knew a lot about animals and about dinosaurs and about how Captain America was the best Avenger —something that Henry required of all his friends— but he never shut up about his dad, and Henry was growing tired of hearing about the man. Roland should think about what it was like for people who didn’t have dads, he thought crossly, before he went around bragging about his. He considered saying that to Roland, but deep in his heart he was still hoping that Killian would agree to be his dad, even though both Killian and his mom hadn’t reacted to his inquiries the way he’d thought they would, and so he didn’t want to say anything to Roland until he was sure Killian was no longer an option. 

 Henry thought that his suggestion made perfect sense, and he didn’t understand why his mom and Killian couldn’t see it. He didn’t have a dad, Killian didn’t have a kid, he and Killian did stuff together the way his friends did with their dads, Killian took care of him when his mom couldn’t and taught him things that were important to know. As far as Henry was concerned the matter was settled, and it was just a question of calling Killian “Dad” instead of “Killian,” and then he could tell his friends that his dad was the captain of a big ship, and they wouldn’t look guilty or pitying when they talked about their dads in front of him. He decided to try this out. 

“My dad’s the captain of a big ship,” he told Roland. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. It goes everywhere in the world and he’s the boss of all of it.” 

“That’s cool,” said Roland, clearly impressed, and Henry felt a bit guilty for lying. After all, it wasn’t Roland’s fault he had a dad and Henry didn’t. 

“And my mom works for a famous inventor,” he added, wanting to tell the truth about something. 

“I don’t have a mom,” said Roland, matter-of-factly. 

Henry was flummoxed. “You don’t?”

“No. I did, but she died. I don’t really remember her.” 

The pang of Henry’s guilt grew sharper, and he writhed a bit as he considered this. Roland didn’t remember his mom, and he, Henry, didn’t remember his real dad either. Maybe Roland would understand. 

“Actually, Killian’s not really my dad,” he confessed. “I just want him to be. But he is the captain of a big ship.” 

“Is that why you want him to be your dad?”

“No. It’s because he takes care of me and he loves my mom, and that’s what dads are supposed to do, right?” 

Roland nodded. “Yeah, I think so. That’s what my dad does. I mean, he takes care of me and he tells me stories about my mom.” 

A question was burning inside Henry. He hoped it wouldn’t upset Roland, but he had to ask it. “Do you ever wish you had a mom? A live one, I mean?”

Roland nodded again. “Yeah, sometimes. When I’m sad or I don’t feel well or when my dad has to work a lot.” Henry was almost certain now that Roland would get it. “Is there someone you want to be your mom?”

Roland thought for a while. “Maybe my dad’s boss,” he said finally. “Lots of people think she’s really mean, but she’s always nice to me and once when my dad was sick she came to our house and brought him soup. I think I’d like it if she was my mom. He paused, and Henry waited anxiously for him to continue. “Sometimes I pretend she is.” 

Henry grinned. Roland definitely understood. 

When Killian and Emma arrived at the Rabbit Hole that evening, both the bachelor and bachelorette parties were in full swing. Emma looked around, taking it all in. The Rabbit Hole had once been a mysterious, adults-only place in her mind, one that felt intriguing and exciting. Now, through the eyes of wider experience, it looked just like any other slightly dive-y bar. She felt oddly disappointed. 

“Tell me again why both events are being held at the same venue?” Killian murmured in her ear, distracting her from her thoughts. 

“Because David and Mary Margaret do everything together, they can’t help it. And there’s basically only one place in town for this sort of thing,” said Emma. She glanced over at him, her heart doing its familiar dance when her eyes met his bright blue ones. He was looking particularly good tonight, she thought; as gorgeous as he was in his uniform she preferred his off-duty look of black leather jacket and skinny jeans, his beard a bit less neatly trimmed, his hair a bit mussed. He looked slightly wild and slightly dangerous, and anyone who didn’t know would never guess he was a decorated naval officer. She loved that about him, the different facets of his personality that should have been incongruous but somehow meshed seamlessly into one fascinating, complex man.  

“Emma!” came a shriek from her left. “Holy shit, girl, is that you?”

She turned to greet the tall brunette who was charging towards her, finding herself swept into a hug before she could manage to deflect it. “Hi, Ruby.” 

Ruby stepped back, holding Emma by the shoulders as she gave her an assessing once-over. “I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages! It must be years!” 

“No more than three of them—” 

“Really? It feels like so much longer! And who is this?�� she transitioned smoothly, turning to Killian and letting her eyes caress him in a manner designed to throw a man off-balance.

“Ruby Lucas, this is my friend Killian Jones,” said Emma, a bit warily. 

“Ohhh, yes, I’ve heard of him,” said Ruby, batting her lashes and holding out her hand. “Captain Jones, isn’t it?” she purred.

Killian was not so easily thrown off his game. His lips curled slowly into a devastating smile as he took Ruby’s hand and brushed a kiss across the backs of her fingers. Emma couldn’t help feeling a bit gratified when Ruby involuntarily caught her breath. “Just Killian will do,” he said, looking up at her through his long eyelashes, his deep voice caressing the words. Emma hid a grin. He had managed to turn Ruby’s tactics around on her, and it was oddly satisfying to see the bold brunette on the back foot for once. 

Ruby blinked slowly, staring at Killian for a long minute before shaking her head to clear it then breaking into a grin of reluctant camaraderie and respect. “All right, then, Killian,” she said, twining her arm around Emma’s and pointing to the far corner of the room with her other hand. “I’m going to steal Emma away now, the boys are over there on that side of the bar.” Emma looked over where Ruby indicated and her mouth fell open. 

“Ruby, is that… is that Graham Humbert?” 

“Oh, yeah, he moved back a year or so ago. He’s the park ranger for this area.” Ruby shot her a speculative look. “You had a thing for him in high school didn’t you? You ever get off with him?” 

Emma was still staring, lost in memories. “No, though not for lack of trying. Unfortunately, he was more interested in trees then too.” 

“Well he might not be anymore. Unless I’m very much mistaken, he is giving you the eye.” She tugged on Emma’s arm. "Let’s go say hello.” 

Emma glanced at Killian who was standing very stiffly, his expression uncharacteristically blank. He didn’t meet her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” he said with a tight smile, and departed, disappearing into the crowd before she could protest. 

“Come on, Emma, let’s go greet the hunky woodsman.” Ruby pulled her over towards where Graham was sitting but their progress was interrupted by Mary Margaret, already flushed with alcohol, the pink paper crown on her head slightly askew.

“No you don’t,” she said, “No men tonight. This is girls’ night, night for girls.” 

“Oh c’mon, MM, it’s not a bachelorette party if someone doesn’t get their rocks off.” 

Mary Margaret scowled. “I said no! And anyway, Emma already has a man.”

Emma’s scowl matched her friend’s. “I don’t—” she began, but Ruby pounced. 

“Ah, yes, the insanely hot and I must say impressively smooth Captain Jones. What is your deal with him, Ems?”

“There’s no deal,” snapped Emma, pushing both women away and stomping towards the bar. If there was going to be interrogation on this subject, she needed to be a hell of a lot drunker to deal with it. She ordered three shots of whisky and quickly tossed them back, relishing the fiery burn that traced its way down her throat to her stomach, helping to dull the familiar ache that had bloomed in her chest at the suggestion of romance between her and Killian. By the time she’d slammed the third empty shot glass down on the bar, Mary Margaret and Ruby had flanked her again. 

“C’mon, there must be a deal,” pressed Ruby. “You can’t just be friends with a man like that, not really.” 

The ache stabbed Emma again. Why does everyone always say that? “Well, we are just friends.” 

“And you’ve never fucked him?”

Ruby still had zero concept of boundaries, thought Emma crossly. “No.”

“Don’t you want to?” Ruby’s voice was pure disbelief. 

“I—” What a stupid question that was, thought Emma. Of course she wanted to, had wanted to from the very moment she’d seen him from across a bar not that dissimilar to this one, had wanted to every moment of the five years that had passed since. It had certainly been her intention to end up in bed with him when she’d taken her alcohol-fuelled courage in hand and marched across that bar to lay a kiss on him. She wondered endlessly about what would have happened between them if Henry hadn’t gotten sick. Would she have been able to fuck him then walk away, as she had done easily with other men? Something told her that a single night in bed with Killian wouldn’t be anywhere near enough. 

“I’d rather have him as a friend,” she said quietly, and Mary Margaret and Ruby’s eager faces fell as they recognised the resigned sincerity in her voice. 

“I mean, couldn’t he be both?” Ruby ventured, sounding contrite. “Friend and lover?”

“No.” 

“But why not—”

“Because I’d fuck things up, and then I’d lose him, and I can’t lose him. Besides,” he doesn’t want me “he’s dating someone else.” No point telling them he’d broken up with his girlfriend, for all she knew that could just be temporary, He’d looked awfully sad when he talked about it. Mary Margaret and Ruby looked like they were about to commiserate, and Emma hastened to change the subject, knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle their sympathy. 

“But never mind that, I thought you said this was a party!” she said, forcing a smile and waving at the bartender for more drinks. “Girls’ night, remember! Come on, bride-to-be, let’s get you drunk— er, drunker.” She handed them each a shot. “To your wedding,” she said, holding up her glass. 

“To my wedding!” cried Mary Margaret gleefully, and they all drank. 

Half an hour later, Emma was feeling wonderful, just buzzed enough to be carefree without tipping over into out-of-control. 

Her eyes wandered over to where Graham was sitting. She could still see why her teenage self had been into him, though if she was honest none of the old fascination remained. He was sort of Killian-lite, she thought. Similar height and build, similar dark-haired, light-eyed, beardy aesthetic, but he lacked Killian’s edge and charm and his simmering sex appeal. In another time and place, another Emma would certainly not have turned down a night with Graham, but here-and-now Emma had no desire to tear his clothes off and have him against the nearest flat surface, as she pretty much constantly wanted to do with Killian. She thought about Ruby’s question, and the alcohol coursing through her system somehow made it seem like not such a bad idea. Why couldn’t Killian be a lover as well as a friend? People did that, right? Friends with benefits they called it. He was her friend, so why couldn’t she have some freaking benefits? Of course, there was the small matter of him practically throwing her off of him this morning. She had to admit that that wasn’t promising. But he had also kissed her once, kissed her as she’d never been kissed before or since, with the same blazing heat and barely-contained passion she felt for him. Most of the time she refused to let herself think about that kiss, the single hottest experience of her life, but the memory was burned into her brain and she knew that even if she wanted to she’d never be able to forget it. If she let herself she could still could still hear his sharply drawn-in breath as she’d pulled his mouth down to hers, still feel the way his hand had tangled in her hair and their lips had clung together in the gentlest, sexiest way, both soft and firm, before he’d tilted his head, opened his mouth, and devoured her. Emma had lost herself in the heat and wetness and the way his tongue had curled around hers, tasting of rum and spice, making her head spin and her whole body flush as she’d moaned and pulled him closer. She still remembered his muscles flexing under her fingers as she’d clung to him, the iron strength of the arm he’d wrapped around her waist, holding her like he never intended to let go; remembered the intense connection that had sizzled between them, setting her nerve endings alight at every point of contact. She remembered the wrecked look on his face when they’d finally come up for air, the way he’d stared at her like he’d never seen a woman before, like she’d shaken him to his foundations. Sometimes she thought she’d give anything to see that look again, to feel that he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him.

“Fuck,” she groaned, squeezing her thighs together. She was really wet. This is why I never think about that damned kiss. 

She scanned the room for Killian, not seeing him at first. Then the crowd shifted and there he was, sitting in a dark corner booth, deep in conversation with a gorgeous brunette. Emma’s heart gave a painful lurch as she watched him lean in close to say something to her, his mouth curving into a flirtatious smile. She replied, smiling back, and then they both threw back their heads and laughed. Emma realised with a jolt that she recognised the brunette. It was Belle, the town librarian. Typical, she thought. Killian loved to read, he and Belle would have a lot in common. A lot to talk about. A lot to laugh about, apparently, as they burst into laughter again and her gut twisted viciously at the sight. 

When are you going to get it through your thick skull that he doesn’t want you?

But the kiss…

That was one time, and it was years ago. He hasn’t made a single move since. He’s never made a move on you, actually, don’t forget, you kissed him. Let it go.

Dragging her gaze from Killian and Belle, she looked back at Graham and found him watching her. He smiled. Killian-lite, she thought again. Maybe that would suffice; she had a Killian itch that needed scratching, if she couldn’t have the real thing then maybe the lite version would be enough. At least there’d be no danger of her falling in lo— no, mind, don’t go there. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Belle nearly doubling over with laughter as Killian grinned wickedly to punctuate whatever story he’d been telling her. Emma made up her mind. She flashed Graham a flirtatious look and stood, flipping her hair over her shoulder and sauntering over to him, missing the pained resignation that flashed across Killian’s face as he observed her out of the corner of his eye.  

An hour later she had tipped from carefree to out-of-control and was just rounding the corner to barely functional. Quickly tossing back the two latest entrants in a long line of shots, she draped herself over Graham’s shoulder, tracing her fingertip along his jawline, and blinked slowly as she tried to concentrate on what he was saying through the alcoholic haze that she thought might finally be strong enough to wipe the image of Killian and Belle from her mind. 

“Emma, why don’t you just talk to him?” Graham was saying in a carefully patient voice. 

“Hmmm? Who?” “Killian.” Graham’s tone suggested he had repeated this suggestion multiple times. 

“Talkabout wha’ with ‘im?” slurred Emma.

“Tell him how you feel, Emma.” 

“How d’you know how I feel bou’ Killian?”

Graham sighed. “You’ve been talking about literally nothing else for the past hour.” 

“Hmmmm?”

“Look, maybe I should get someone to take you home.” Graham signalled to the bartender and suddenly there was a glass of water in front of Emma. “Drink this,” he told her.  

“Mmmmm,” Emma looked down at the glass, trying to make it sit still long enough for her to pick it up. It refused, and when she looked up again Killian was there.

“Heyyyy!” she said, grabbing his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“You all right, Swan?” 

“Fine, ’m fine. Jus’ fine.” 

Killian smiled, but there was something troubling behind his eyes, something she couldn’t put her finger on. “Fine indeed,” he said. “Are you ready to go home?” 

“Home,” she giggled. “Take me home, Killian.” She stood up so abruptly that she stumbled on her high heels and fell backward. He caught her with an arm around her waist and she leaned into him, snuggling into his embrace and nuzzling her face into his shoulder. 

Gently, he set her away from him, leaving only his hand on her arm to steady her. “All right, love, let’s go. There’s a taxi waiting.” 

In the taxi she clung to him, her head on his shoulder, determinedly resisting his attempts to get her to sit on her own seat. She wanted to cuddle, damn it, she thought, knowing that there was a reason why she couldn’t but unable to call it to mind. The ride was not a long one, and when they arrived at Mary Margaret and David’s house he held her away from him with a firm grip of his hand on her arm as he helped her inside and up the stairs to their room, and all Emma could think about was how strong he was, how calm and competent he was all the time, everywhere, and how she wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go, wanted also to see him driven wild, pushed beyond the limitations of his iron control. 

He lowered her to a sitting position on the bed and knelt down to remove her shoes, then leaned in close and unzipped her dress. She took a deep breath, inhaling the heady aroma that surrounded him. Fuck, he smells so good. Smelling him was one of her secret indulgences, but this time she’d barely managed to catch a whiff before he was gone, retrieving her pyjamas and laying them on the bed next to her. 

“You get changed, love, I’ll go get you a glass of water.”

Why’s everyone want me to drink water?

“No, wait,” she said, lurching to her feet and falling unsteadily towards him. He caught her, his hands on her hips, his eyes darting away as she tried to catch his gaze. 

“What is it, Swan?” he asked, his voice rough. 

“Don’t go yet,” she breathed, running one hand across his chest and reaching up with the other to caress his face. He swallowed hard, then a muscle in his jaw began to dance and she traced her fingertips over it, fascinated. 

“I’m coming right back,” he ground out, but she just shook her head. 

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. 

“Emma…”

“Killian, I—” she hesitated, groping for the words, the alcohol making her long to tell him how she felt while at the same time robbing her of the ability to express it. “I—” Nope, no use, the words wouldn’t come. Frustrated, and overflowing with emotions that needed an outlet, she stood on her toes and kissed him. 

The feel of her mouth on his, finally, after years of subsisting on only the memory of it, rocked Killian to his core and left him iron hard and desperate, the desire to say to hell with it all and just take what she was offering almost a physical force in his gut. He had to fight his attraction to her constantly, which was exhausting enough when their boundaries were clearly in place but here, with her pressing herself insistently against him, her lips soft and hot, her breasts against his chest and her arms twined around him, the narrow bed they would share for the night only inches away, it was all but impossible. For one brief, heartbreaking moment he allowed himself to be weak, to tangle his fingers in her silky hair and return her kiss, nudging her lips apart and taking her mouth as he’d so often dreamed of doing, deep and soft and wet, stroking her tongue with his as he held her close. Lost in the intoxicating pleasure of her, he allowed himself to pretend that the love of his life was in his arms because she wanted to be there, that she was kissing him because she loved him and not because another man had gotten her all keyed up then unceremoniously dumped her on her friend when he’d realised she was too drunk to fuck. The memory of Graham's sheepish expression when he'd asked Killian to take Emma home filled him with rage, rekindling his urge to pound his fists into the other man's face. At least the bastard hadn’t taken advantage of her inebriated state, Killian thought furiously. 

What, you mean like you’re taking advantage of it? 

Fair point, he conceded. 

He slid his hand down her back and over her ass, pulling her hips tightly against his and pressing his aching erection into her softness, letting himself imagine just for a second how bloody good it would feel to bury it inside her, at the same time fisting his other hand in her hair and pouring five years’ worth of love and lust and longing into one last fierce kiss. 

Then he let her go. 

“Killian?” she whispered, confused, blinking dazed green eyes at him, reaching out to pull him back. 

Killian cursed Graham Humbert with every foul invective he could call to mind, and after ten years in the navy he knew a fair few. 

“Get changed, Emma,” he managed to say, his throat so tight he could barely force out the words. “I’ll go get you that water.” Deftly evading her reaching hands, he fled from the room.  

When he returned to the bedroom ten minutes later, having managed to regain some calm and wrangle his cock into submission, he found Emma curled up on the bed, sound asleep, still wearing her dress. Killian cursed again, not bothering to whisper, knowing that she was down for the count and unlikely to wake up before noon. He set the glass of water down and regarded her helplessly. He could let her sleep in her dress, but the prospect gave him an unpleasant twinge of conscience. She’d be a lot more comfortable in her nightclothes, and he hated to think of her in any discomfort. 

Gathering the tattered remains of his self-control he gently slid her arms out of her dress, making sure to keep her breasts covered and resolutely ignoring her obvious lack of a bra. He picked up the tank top she liked to sleep in and slipped it over her head, pulling her arms through the holes and smoothing the shirt down her body, removing her dress as he went, his eyes darting away from the sight of her pebbled nipples poking up through the thin fabric of her tank. He was rock hard again, blood pounding in his ears and his fingers itching to touch her, and when he pulled her dress down her hips and saw the tiny scrap of lace that was all she wore as an undergarment, he nearly came. As quickly as his trembling hands would allow, he pulled her pyjama bottoms up over her legs and hips then tucked her under the blankets and sighed in relief when her gorgeous body was fully concealed. 

He needed a very, very cold shower. 

Retreating into the haven of the bathroom and locking the door behind him, and shed his clothes rapidly, glaring at his cock as it sprang free from his jeans. Cold water alone was not going to be enough, he knew, not when images of Emma’s long, slender legs, golden curls peeking out from under the tiny triangle of black lace between them, were burned into the backs of his eyelids. Stepping into the shower, he grasped himself firmly, bracing his other hand against the wall and ducking his head under the icy spray. He hated jerking off to thoughts of her; it felt like a violation of her trust and of their friendship, but he’d never been pushed this close to the edge before and could think of no other way to achieve the relief he desperately needed. Pumping his cock roughly, almost angrily, he closed his eyes and surrendered to his fantasies. Emma’s gorgeous legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her, the tight, wet squeeze of her inner walls around him, her hair spread out on the pillows as she moaned his name and writhed beneath him, ecstasy breaking over her beautiful face as he made her come again and again. 

It didn’t take long. He was more aroused than he’d ever been in his life and his release came so quickly it was almost embarrassing. He pumped himself dry, hoping that this perfunctory shower orgasm would keep his cock limp long enough for him to fall asleep, though he knew that with Emma lying beside him that hope was certainly a futile one. He dried himself quickly and returned to the bedroom, pulling his pyjamas on and sliding stealthily into the bed as he had the night before, again keeping as much space as possible between himself and Emma. Releasing his breath in a long sigh, he closed his eyes and willed sleep to come. He was ready for this day to be over. 

But it was not to be. Barely had he begun to relax when Emma rolled over, drawn to him like iron to a magnet, and buried her face in his neck, her hand sliding under his t-shirt, fingertips caressing his skin. He turned to look at her but she was unquestionably asleep, her breathing deep and even, a slight smile on her face as she snuggled into him. 

Killian gave up. There was only so much a man could be expected to endure in one twenty-four hour period, and he was pretty sure he’d surpassed the limit some time ago. He slid his arm under Emma, pulling her close, brushing her hair back from her face as he pressed soft kisses onto her cheeks and forehead. 

“I love you, Emma,” he whispered, stroking her face with reverent fingers. “I’d give anything for this to be real. Forgive me.” 

Turning his face into her hair and cuddling her close, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.