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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

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Second in Command (Ch. 13)

Summary: Life as the "spare to the heir" isn't all that it's cracked up to be when you're the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don't know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: A few things about the writing in this chapter: I have been reading a hell of a lot of Cocktober fics and editing mine, so that mature rating comes into major effect here (even if I’m less descriptive in this story than the others). Also, I have been writing angst in something else plus a, like, three-day headache, so I had difficult time writing this because it’s literally fluff guys. It’s just all of the fluff, and I really, truly hope that this chapter lives up to its expectations. I would normally wait a bit longer between chapters, but maybe this will brighten someone’s Saturday!

Oops. Forgot to link the story to ao3 | here |

You guys are forever the best, and every comment, kudos, like, reblog, private message, etc. fills me with the most joy ♥️

Tag list:

@resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @profdanglaisstuff

@ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld

@jennjenn615 @a-faekindagirl @mayquita @captainsjedi

@captswanis4vr @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat

The New Year passes with little fanfare, just a quiet celebration at home as they watch the fireworks over the Thames on the television, glasses of champagne in hand. Emma didn’t even make it out of the living room before falling asleep, her neck twisted in a way that would keep her out of commission for a week if left that way. He simply slid her down so that she was more comfortable on the couch, not wanting to wake her by taking her upstairs. He was thankful that they’d gotten some new furniture because his old couch was not nearly as comfortable as the new one Emma had picked out while he was in Africa.

He’s already packed for their trip, his suitcase spread out in the middle of the closet, everything carefully folded, while Emma has half of her summer wardrobe simply tossed in hers. He can’t help himself from folding everything up so that it will pack more efficiently and he’ll be able to put it away in the closet of their bedroom more easily. He is meticulous in the way that he lives, and Emma is not. It drives him crazy, but it is worth it in every way.

By the time Wednesday morning rolls around, Killian is more than ready to leave the cold of Britain behind for the warmth of Seychelles and the privacy of having Emma to himself, no royal protocol or photographers or hostile family members or need to wear a suit and tie. When they escaped to Switzerland a few years ago Emma was reluctant to let him do something like this, and the nerves practically rolled off of her until they were secluded within the walls of their lodge or cautiously skiing down the slopes (see: Emma landing on her ass in the snow more often than not). Today, she is calm, relaxed even, as she sits opposite of him on the plane with her nose in a book and her feet propped up in his lap, his thumbs running across the bones of her ankles while he watches both Netflix and her.

Sometimes he is struck by her beauty. Actually, all the time really, but he’s often struck by how much she’s grown in herself since he’s known her. When they met, she was inherently kind, something no one can ever take away from her despite her protests otherwise. She was inherently kind but fighting a battle with herself over if she deserved to receive that kindness in return. She always had. She’d been subjected to things she didn’t deserve by a man who didn’t deserve her, and Killian wanted nothing more than to take away those demons and replace them with the goodness he saw in her and with the light that she brought into his life just by talking to him like he was any other guy. And as much as he knows that he did have an impact on her growth and her ability to believe in herself, it was really all Emma. It’s always been Emma.

So to see her today as she is, someone who is sure of herself even when the world has a target on her back, it’s a wonderful, beautiful sight.

She kicks at his lap with her foot to get his attention from where he was obviously daydreaming and most likely staring.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course, love, why?”

“If you look at me any harder you’re going to drill a hole in my head.”

“I’m just happy.”

She smiles at him before shaking her head and going back to her book, running her toes across the top of his thighs, and he knows this is her way of being affectionate with him even when most of her attention is focused on her book.

By the time they get to their private villa, far away from any of the other villas and on their own private beach, he almost cannot wait to be out in the ocean air and all of the freedom that provides, even if he knows that he’s got two security guards discreetly trailing behind them and staying in the small cabin next to them.

“Well shit,” Emma murmurs when they pull up to the villa, her hand slapping against his knee.

He can’t help but laugh as Emma takes in their home for the next ten days while he’s grabbing their luggage out of the golf cart they drove here in.

“Very eloquent, love.”

“Can you blame me, Killian? This looks like it’s out of a movie.”

“You’ve got to see the inside. And the view of the ocean.”

It’s like their own personal paradise, natural elements scattered across the villa with white linens and pillows that are the many colors of the sea dispersed throughout. He’d seen everything online before securely booking it, but Emma’s amazed as she’s walking around and running her hand over the balcony railing that overlooks their private pool which melds into the ocean, two types of blue becoming one. He doesn’t always feel the need for this kind of luxury, but he has the ability to give Emma this and he very much wanted to.

Especially for the sake of the ring in his carry-on.

“Damn,” she says later when she sits down on the swing on the balcony of their bedroom, a clear view of the ocean in front of her as he puts their suitcases in the closet. They can unpack later. “This is amazing, babe. Can we move here?”

“Considering the thing that lets us come here is me spending my time in Britain and getting paid to be me, I very much doubt that we can do that.” He moves to lean over her and wrap his arms around her neck, resting his chin on to top of her hair. “And I suspect that you’ll miss everyone too much. I know for a fact that you’ve already asked Abigail for a picture of Elizabeth with Alex.”

“They’re so cute, babe. And Alex cried when I left. Obviously I’m going to miss them. Don’t pretend that you don’t either. But I think I can do without them for ten days when I feel like I’ve walked into a book or a movie or something else ridiculous. How is this place even real?”

“It is one of my personal favorite places,” he admits before unwrapping his arms and moving to sit next to her on the swing, kicking his legs against the ground to sway them back and forth.

“Have you been here before?”

“With my family when I was a teenager. Wasn’t quite as romantic then.”

“I would hope not. That’d be super concerning and frankly pretty damn weird.”

They spend their first day there getting used to the place, exploring the rooms and discovering all of the hidden gems within the villa. He can feel all of the tension that’s been building in his shoulders, years of stress and worries that have accumulated and have been weighing him down, lifting and evaporating in the salt air. It looks as if the same thing is happening with Emma, her smile brighter than it’s been lately as she lounges in one of the beach chairs. They didn’t manage to get out to the beach until late in the evening, the sun setting and the temperature cooling, a light breeze causing Emma’s hair to blow in the wind as she wraps herself in a blanket and stares out at the horizon.

It’s perfect.

But then the heavens open up unexpectedly, one of those island storms that come out of nowhere, quickly drenching the earth before disappearing just as quickly. He and Emma don’t move out of it fast enough, too far down the beach to be anything but soaked by the time they get back inside, absolutely drenched as the water on them falls to the tile floor of the entryway, pooling at their bare feet. .

Emma strips out of her knit sweater, leaving her in just her bra as she grabs a towel out of the linen closet and dries off. He’s a bit of an ass, grabbing onto her and giving her a tight embrace as he buries his chin in her neck and makes sure that she becomes just as soaked as she was a moment ago.

“Killian,” she laughs, trying to squirm out of his grasp, but he just holds on tighter, breathing her in, smelling more like salt air and rain water than the flowers of her perfume or the vanilla of her shampoo. “Killian,” she whines again before wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him as he’s holding her. He can feel the laughter shaking through her chest. “You are such a kid. We’re going to stay wet forever and catch pneumonia.”

“Well, I’d quite like you to be wet all the time.”

She scrunches her face, her nose becoming a wrinkly mess and her eyelids closing.

“That’s the worst pickup line you’ve everused on me.”

He laughs against her shoulder before kissing it and releasing her, shedding his own clothes as he reaches for another towel and dries her down, slowly moving the towel down her body while she runs her fingers through the water droplets falling off the top of his hair until he takes the time to dry himself off.

By the time the two of them have changed clothes, he looks outside to see that the rain has stopped falling while the night sky has fully emerged, white stars contrasted against the black canvas of the sky, and he falls back onto the living room couch with a bit of a huff of frustration.

“You’re being cranky over a bit of rain, babe.”

“I am not.” She rolls her eyes. “Okay, then maybe my thighs hurt from running on the uneven sand.”

“Your fitness is going to have to be better than that for the plans I have for you and your thighs this week.”

A laugh passes through his lips before he reaches his hand out to grab hers on the armchair she’s sitting in beside him. “It’s a good thing we’re already together because we apparently have lost our touch when it comes to flirting.”

“I don’t think you could ever trulylose the ability to flirt. That’s, like, you’re second language.”

“That would be French.”

“Ah, yes, the language of love.”

She lets go of his hand, their fingers falling from each other while she walks into the kitchen and out of his sight so that he’s left to look out at the night sky again through the floor to ceiling windows, the wind blowing the palms as the aftereffects of the storm blow through.

When he awakes the next morning, Emma’s staring at him, green eyes peering into blue, with her head propped up in her right hand as her left trails over his arm, small little taps that he wouldn’t feel if he wasn’t so in tune to Emma’s touch.

“I’m still going to be here if you blink, Nolan.”

She rolls her eyes before moving closer to him, folding her body into his, the heat of her automatically washing over him as she rests are head on his shoulder and he wraps his arms around her waist to keep her as close as possible.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

She shakes her head up and down against him, nuzzling further into his shoulder if that’s even possible. He noses at her forehead, encouraging her to look up at him even if she doesn’t listen.

“So you’re simply being extra affectionate this morning?”

“You are incredibly warm today, and while I’m loving this whole open concept feel of this place, us not closing the windows last night was not our most brilliant plan.”

“Ahhh,” he sighs before snaking his arm around her to rub at her back, sneaking underneath her top to find the bare skin of her back. Her skin is cold where it’s usually warm, and that just won’t do, his hand moving up and down to try to bring heat back to the skin. “Well,” he purrs, dipping his head down to capture her lips in a lazy kiss, “I think we can change the temperature with a little bit of physical activity.”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” she tells him, somehow managing to not roll her eyes, when he pulls back from her, “and neither have you.”

“Has that ever stopped us before?”

“I also need to shave today.”

He raises his eyebrows while his lips tick up to one side. “Has that ever stopped me before, my hairy little love?”

She laughs before crawling out of his grasp and sliding her shirt over her head, her breasts encased in the most raggedy bra that she owns. She loves that thing, and he sees it more than he sees any of the satin or lace she keeps in the closet.

“Looks like I can still flirt if I’m getting you out of your clothes that quickly.”

“Baby, you’re just lucky we don’t have to schedule our sex because we’ve been together so long.”

She crawls onto his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs before hooking her arms behind her and snapping her bra off, the tan straps falling off her shoulders and exposing herself to him before she begins nibbling on his jaw.

“Is this not our scheduled monthly morning sex?”

“Oh no it is,” she giggles as he starts running his fingers up her sides, hitting underneath her armpits like she absolutely hates, “so you better do your best work, my love, because this is it.”

He stops tickling her arms then and cups her breasts, his fingers ghosting over her nipples as he dips his head to the side to whisper in her ear, “I have a feeling I can renegotiate our terms.”

He leans back and grabs onto Emma’s waist, tossing her forward onto the bed so that she bounces against the mattress, her hair spreading out behind her like a golden blanket as she laughs and smiles up at before bringing her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You are the most stunning woman alive,” he coos as he lowers himself on top of her, aligning their hips and their lips, the softness of both driving him wild as she moves against him. Emma may not know how to waltz, but they have this dance down, so well-practiced that even through the cloudy haze of passion, they both know exactly what to do to drive each other crazy. “Just, everything about you is wonderful.” He leans back down to slant his lips over hers, running his tongue along the line of her lips until she allows him entrance, the slick slide of her tongue against his making everything else in the world blur away only to leave Emma.

He quite likes it that way.

Emma runs her hands against the skin on his back, her nails scratching red lines into his skin as his scruff mostly likely rubs similar red marks into her chin, his lips moving from hers to run across her jaw and behind her ear, running his tongue below the lobe a biting until she whimpers. When he chuckles at her whines, she digs her nails a little further into his skin and pointedly rolls her hips against his so that he’s whimpering as well.

Oh gods that feels good.

“It’s not so funny now, is it?”

“You’re a bloody minx.”

She laughs against his shoulder before her hands inch down to his boxers, thumbs moving the elastic down until the cool air hits his skin. He lifts his hips to help her get him undressed before doing the same thing to her so that their skin is pressed together, her softness pressed against his hardness while he checks to see if she’s ready for him, slowly sliding into her when he feels her slickness, a gasp escaping from Emma at her sudden fullness.

“You ready to renegotiate our terms now?” he whispers before moving inside of her, her walls always so tight that it takes everything in him to not lose himself completely right then and there.

“You are an idiot,” Emma laughs before wrapping her legs around him, her heels digging into his ass to push him further inside her and bloody hell. “You are an idiot, and I love you to pieces.”

He dips his head down to kiss her, murmuring I love you against her lips before increasing his pace, thrusting in and out quickly as they whisper quietly, or not so quietly, mixtures of loving little nothings and dirty little things into each other’s ears, pants and moans echoing throughout the room and out the open windows so that the sounds of them rocking together are mixed with the rocking of the waves, slow and fluid at one moment only to be harsh and demanding the next.

Emma falls before him, her teeth biting into his shoulder as she whimpers beneath him, and he’s not long after, spilling himself inside of her before collapsing on top of her, knowing that if his weight becomes too much, she won’t hesitate to tell him. Instead she kisses his shoulder, her tongue soothing her bite mark before sighing beneath him and closing her eyes when he rubs his scruff against her cheek, the harsh hair blending in with the softness of her skin.

“So only once a month in the morning, huh?”

“Ugh,” she grumbles, pushing him off of her, not that she can really do that without a little help from him, so that he pulls out of her and tumbles onto his back. “You are impossible, and you really know how to run with a joke.”

“I may be impossible,” he kisses her collarbone before crawling out of bed to get her a towel, “but you love me for it.”

“Aye,” she mimics in his accent, propping herself up on her elbows and smiling at him like he’s the reason the sun is in the sky and the ocean is at their feet, smiling at him like he’s everything to her in the way that she’s everything to him.

He lets Emma sleep in for a little while longer while he takes the engagement ring out of his carry-on and slips it into the sole of the shoes he’s going to wear for dinner tonight. Yeah, he could just put it in one of his pockets, but Emma’s been known to slip her hands into his pockets when kissing him and he just can’t risk keeping the ring somewhere she’ll find it.

So he slips the ring into his shoe and dresses in his swim trunks and a button down, going downstairs to fix himself some coffee and eggs, knowing not to bother fixing Emma anything because she won’t be up for at least another hour or two. She surprises him, though, coming down the stairs dressed for the beach not thirty minutes later, and she doesn’t even teasingly berate him for not fixing her something, instead grabbing a fresh muffin the resort provides and sitting out on the deck to watch the ocean roll in and then roll back out, the sun glittering across the water.

If he didn’t so love his home country and wasn’t required to be one of the faces of the nation, he’d move somewhere like this like Emma jokingly requested last night, a place near the sea where everything is romanticized just the tiniest bit, where he can watch his girlfriend drop crumbs down her shirt as she sits in a swing with her hair curling in tight ringlets because of the salt of the water.

Killian likes to think that he’s a bit of a romantic, always making sure that Emma has fresh flowers or leaving her notes when he leaves the apartment for the day. He likes to think that he’s a romantic as he tells her he loves her for the seventh time in one day or when he readily (most of the time) admits that he’s wrong when they’ve gotten into an argument because one of them did something stupid. More often than not, he’s the one who’s done something stupid. He likes to think that he’s a romantic despite the fact that they’ve been together for nearly six years, or maybe even because of it. He likes to think that he’s a romantic in the little, everyday things, the ones that truly mean more than the big gestures, but today is a big gesture kind of day.

Today is an asking Emma Nolan to marry him kind of day.

He’s nervous.

So damn nervous.

Marrying her is all he has wanted for the past five and half years, and he has no doubt that she’ll say yes, but as they tan on the beach later that day all he can think about is his plans for later that night and the ring resting in the bottom of his loafers.

She’s so beautiful in every way, but right now she’s got nothing on but the tiniest pieces of blue fabric, her skin sparkling as the sun beats down on the mixture of lotion and sweat, and her hair is falling over the top of her chair so that the tips mix with the white sands of the beach. She’s got a book in her hands, and he idly wonders how many she brought with her because she reads more than any person he’s ever met, especially lately.

She’s beautiful and he loves her, and he’s so nervous for this evening that he thinks he might need to have a small, or large, glass of rum before he asks her. Does that make him awful? How do you love someone this much and still get nervous?

He must have been noticeably staring for too long because she turns on her side and reaches her hand over to run her fingers across his torso, resting them at the curve of his hip as she continues to read, only stopping when he returns her action and places his hand on her hip, her green eyes peering over the top of the pages after she pushes her sunglasses to her head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring again.”

“It’s difficult not to stare at you.”

She puts her book down on the ground between them, making sure to mark her page, before crossing the small gap between their chairs and crawling into his side, half of her resting on top of him, her bare legs running up and down his calves while she props her head up on her forearms that are resting on his chest.

“What?” he questions, wrapping his arm around her to tug her more fully onto his body, a heat spreading across him that has nothing to do with the sun.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

She smirks, pressing her lips against his chin before pressing her lips against his own. “It’s difficult not to stare at you.”

“Darling, you have to come up with your own compliments.”

“Okay,” she says, her foot tapping at his. “You’re hot as hell.”

He throws his head back as much as he can in laughter while his hand squeezes her ass cheek for, well, her cheekiness. She’s not the kind of funny where everyone in the room knows it. It’s usually more subtle, nuanced, but he thinks she’s the most hysterical person he’s ever met, especially with her not-so-eloquent flirtations.

“That’s much better.” He kisses her nose before shifting her so that she’s at his side while he grabs her book from the ground. “What are we reading, love?”

“A trashy beach novel because I finished all of my good ones.”

He flips through the pages, skimming the words until he gets to her bookmark and begins to read where she left off, continuing until Emma yawns against his neck and her skin begins to pink.

“So what exactly does our date tonight entail?” Emma questions later as she runs her brush through her hair, smoothing out the curls she just put into it with her curling iron.

“It’s a surprise.”

That’s the understatement of the century.

“Killian,” she whines, leaving her spot in the bathroom, clad in nothing but her robe, to sit on his lap and wrap her arms around his neck. He likes relaxed, beach vacation Emma. She’s extra affectionate, and that’s going to work well in his favor tonight…hopefully. “What have I told you about surprise dates? I love them, but I need guidance on my clothes and if I need to eat beforehand because I’m not going to like the food.”

“This is like our first date all over again.”

“What?”

“You asking me for help on your outfit. You didn’t know what to wear.” He presses a kiss against her temple. “Darling, I own the same suit pieces in multiple colors. You dress me all the time. And while I would be perfectly okay with you wearing your birthday suit, I know that whatever you wear will be fine. We’re going to be out on the deck, and I promise you’ll like the food.”

“I still can’t believe I had to ask you for help that day.”

“It was endearing.”

Emma ends up dressing in a white sundress, and it’s almost comical how appropriate that is for the occasion. The entire evening is nice, the resort delivering grilled fish and bottle of wine as well as setting up candles and fairy lights that keep the area illuminated even under the canopy of trees. He’s especially glad for the wine, not getting to have his glass of rum earlier, and with every fidget of his foot, he can feels the ring in its protective bag under the arch of his foot in his shoe.

“Emma?”

She’s looking out at the water, her glass of wine swirling as she absentmindedly holds it out beside her. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything else for awhile, still trying to run through the words he’s been rehearsing for weeks now, until she looks over at him, sweet smile on her face as her head falls back, hair tumbling down the back of her chair.

Instead of proposing, he blurts out, “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Sure.” She slips her sandals from her feet before stepping onto the sand, looking at him curiously as he stays in his shoes. “You don’t want to take your shoes off? Those are nice ones. I wouldn’t want you to mess them up.”

“Um,” he scratches behind his ear and hopes that his internal grimace doesn’t become an external one, “it’s fine this way.”

They walk silently for a little while, their fingers twined together, and even though their silence has been comfortable, like most of them are, he has to break this one. He will not chicken out of this moment.

“You know,” he begins, trying not to have to take a deep breath because that will most definitely give him away, “the day I met you I was pissed beyond belief at my father. I don’t even remember what about, but it led me to going on one of my walks and to meeting this fiery blonde lass who has just…who has just become my entire world. So you could say I like my walks like this.”

He looks over to her, her lips slightly parted, and he can see the gears running in her head by the way her brows are furrowed together. He knows the moment she’s figured out what’s about to happen, one corner of her mouth ticking up and her eyes widening the slightest bit as her brow unfurrows, but he soldiers on, confident that this is going to go well.

“Emma, I have loved you for five years, four months, and seventeen days…”

“Did you count?” she laughs, interrupting him like only she could in a moment like this.

“Of course,” Killian confirms, stopping their walk so that he can stand in front of her, the moonlight making her hair look almost white. “I have loved you for that specific amount of days, so long that I cannot remember what it’s like not to love you. You’re everything to me. You’re the love of my life and my partner in everything. You’re brave and you’re kind and you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

He finally gets down onto one knee, and when he looks up to Emma, she’s nodding her head in encouragement while she absolutely beams down at him.

“You’reit, my love, and…hold on, I’ve got to get the ring out of my shoe.” He reaches down to take his left shoe off, struggling to get it out from underneath the sole, and when he does finally get it, Emma’s squatting down in front of him trying to hold back her laughter at his scrambling. He has to kiss her then, totally out of order of how this thing is supposed to go.

When they part, their foreheads resting together and their lips so close that when Emma speaks, her lips brush against his. “Killian, ask me.”

He does.

“Will you marry me?”

She nods her head against him before closing that small distance again and slanting her lips over his, and he can feelher smile. He’s sure she can feel his.

“Yes, Killian, of course. A thousand times yes.”

She peppers kisses across his face before her lips land against his.

“Bloody hell, you said yes.”

“Did you think I’d say otherwise?”

“No,” he laughs, grabbing her left hand so that he can finally slide the ring on her finger. It looks right, like it belongs there. Probably because it does. “But this is nerve wracking, sweetheart. I’ve felt like I was going to pass out all day.”

She chuckles before leaning back and holding her hand up against his shoulder, looking at the ring for probably the first time since they’ve both been a bit distracted. “Babe, this is beautiful.” She cups his cheeks, and he can feel the metal from both of her rings against his skin. “You’re beautiful, and I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Can I call my mom?”

He barks out a laugh before tugging Emma into him with such a force that their teeth clack together in their kiss, his hands threading into her hair while her hands grab the collar of his shirt, little whimpers emanating from her throat as he moans into the kiss, not breaking apart until he feels the sand at his back and Emma on top of him.

She’s breathing heavily, harsh pants that match his own as their foreheads press together, her nose pushing into his cheek as his does the same. “Is that what you wanted to call your mum for?”

She shakes her head against him, her nose brushing over his while he moves his hands down to hold onto her hips. “We’re getting married,” she sighs against his lips. “Babe, we’re actually going to do it.”

“I know,” he grins, the feel of her smile so near his lips and the skin of her thighs underneath his touch making him feel like his entire body is tingling. She said yes. She bloody said yes. “I cannot wait to marry you, Emma. Absolutely cannot wait.”

“I can’t either.”

Eventually the do make it back to the villa, and while he’d never planned a beach proposal, never meant to do it down by the water, he’s glad that it happened that way. He’ll probably have sand in his hair for years, but he doesn’t bloody care. After celebrating their newly engaged status with just the two of them, Emma calls her mum, bubbling over in so much excitement that he thinks she might burst.

“I’m nervous,” she whispers against his shoulder as they sit out on the chaise on the balcony, her phone ringing as she dials her parents.

“Don’t be.”

“Did they know it was happening?”

“I talked to your dad about it a few months ago.”

“Oh that was smart not to tell Mom,” she laughs, not hearing the phone click as someone answered the call.

“What did we not tell, Mum?” Mary Margaret asks through the speakers, and Emma practically jumps out of her skin. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation, sweetie?”

“I have something exciting to tell you.”

“Oh my God, I’m going to be a grandmother.”

“What?” Emma gasps, looking down at her stomach, still flat as ever, like Mary Margaret can see her even though this is just a regular phone call instead of a video message. This is going about as well as he thought it would. Mary Margaret is likely to scream bloody murder when she finds out the real news. “Why is your first guess that I’m pregnant?”

“Well because you and Killian are obviously sexually – ”

“Mom,” Emma groans, and he just leans over to kiss the top of her head as her face goes red, “please just let me tell you so that we can nothave this conversation.”

“Okay, go. I’m all ears.”

Emma takes a breath, looking over at him and kissing the side of his jaw before holding up the phone to her mouth and whispering, “Killian asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”

The phone is silent for a minute before Killian hears Mary Margaret sob on the other end of the phone.

“Mom,” Emma prods, “Mom, are you okay?”

“My baby is getting married,” Mary Margaret absolutely wails through the phone, and he imagines she’s going to give Emma the tightest hug when they get home. Probably give him one, too. “I’m so happy. Ooooh, I cannot wait for your father to find out. I’m assuming I can’t tell him while he’s down at the pub?”

“Probably not the best idea. You’ll have to keep a secret for at least a few hours. You can text me when he gets off, and I’ll call him, too.”

The conversation lasts for a few more minutes, Killian joining in every now and then before they let Mary Margaret go, Emma curling into him and resting her left hand on his chest. He likes that, seeing the shine of the diamond reflected against his chest, and when they fall asleep later that night, it’s with her left hand resting on his chest instead of the usual right.

The next morning Emma wakes him up with a kiss before he even manages to open his eyes, her tongue running across his lips and then suddenly pulling away so quickly that he thinks he’s dreaming until he opens his eyes, hazy from his late night, and sees her clothing her bare skin with a sports bra and a pair of leggings.

“Darling, are you going somewhere?”

“For a run on the beach because apparently I hate myself and still feel the need to exercise when on vacation.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

She shrugs. “Only if you want to.”

“Give me five minutes.”

By the time they’ve been running for twenty minutes his legs and his lungs are burning, not used to the uneven terrain of the sand and the water, and it takes Emma a moment to realize that he’s stopped running, hunched over with his hands on his knees. Maybe those kids in Africa were right. He is out of breath quickly for a healthy, twenty-nine year old man. Emma does eventually notice that he’s fallen back, turning around and jogging back to him until she’s standing in front of him, her lips upturned as she smirks.

It’s that smirk that sparks an idea in his head, and before Emma even has the chance to run away he’s got her thrown over his shoulder.

“Killian,” she warns even as he carries her to the water, smacking her ass when she pinches his side in retaliation. “Killian, that water is going to be ice cold. I swear, don’t you dare throw me in there.”

He doesn’t listen, and he doesn’t care how much trouble he’s going to get in with her later, he gets knee deep in the water, and she’s right, it’s damn cold, but he’s still throws her into the water before diving in after her, making sure to pop up right where he tossed her to make sure she’s okay.

When he surfaces, she’s already above water, slicking her hair back while her lips twitch, eyes bright even as the salt water brushes over her brow, maybe especially because the salt water brushes over her brow and reflects in her eyes.

“You are a dead man.”

“What a way it’ll be to go.”

“You,” she swims over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, her tennis shoes sinking into his back, “have got some balls, Killian.”

“You of all people would know.”

He kisses her nose before wading them back to the shore, their clothes already weighing them down the more he exposes them to the air instead of the water, and if he’s going to regret doing that, it’s going to only be because now he’s walking them back to the villa, their clothes heavy even with Emma quitting her squirming by the time he is halfway back. This is a hell of a better workout than their run, and his heart pumps at a faster rate with the way Emma’s nibbling at his pulse point, her tongue soothing her bite every few seconds.

Getting engaged is bloody brilliant for one’s libido.

He manages to get her all the way upstairs and to the stone shower, putting her down right outside of it, his arms screaming in protest even as he strips down, finally getting his wet shoes off and reaching into the shower to get the water started, a steady stream falling onto the light stones and darkening them as he steps in, letting the water fall over him, his hair matting down as the sand falls off of him

Killian looks over to see Emma staring at him, her bottom lip between her teeth as her hip rests against the wall, still dressed in everything but her shoes.

“You like the view, sweetheart?” he teases, slicking his hair back so that it doesn’t fall in his eyes.

“I do like it,” she seductively purrs before peeling out of her soaked thru sports bra, the material getting stuck when she gets it over her shoulders, and he barks out a laugh as her seductive strip tease transforms into a struggle of simply getting out of her clothes. She eventually gets it off before snapping it at him for his laughter, her hair falling in wet waves down her back when she bends to strip off her leggings, laughing and mumbling something about stupid spandexuntil she finally steps into the shower with him, her hands running up his chest until they land on his shoulders, her body tightly pressed into his.

If all early morning runs ended like this, he’d go every damn day.

“That was quite the little show you put on there, darling.”

He reaches around to grab her bottom, pulling her even closer to him so that his growing hardness can get some friction while her hardening nipples press into the hair of his chest. He backs her up to the wall so that the water is only hitting at his back, his body shielding Emma from the spray getting into her eyes as he dips his head down and kisses her, little moans coming out of her throat as he devours her, rolling their hips together and making himself moan, too.

“I like this being engaged thing,” she breathes while he runs his mouth across her jaw and her hands simply hold onto his neck and card through his hair while his travel over her stomach, down her thighs, against her core, feeling the wetness that’s starting to pool there that has nothing to do with the water in the shower. “It makes you extra sexy.”

“Are you saying I needed incentive to be extra sexy?” He bites at her ear lobe and pushes against her clit with the heel of his hand simultaneously, and all of the air rushes out of Emma as she gasps and leans her head against his shoulder while her body reacts to him.

“No, babe,” she kisses his shoulder, peppering kisses across his collarbone before running her tongue across the underside of his jaw, her hands snaking down to stoke him while he fingers at her folds and fuck, she’s amazing. “You are always sexy,” she presses up on her tip toes to reach his ear, “saucy even.”

He chuckles at their inside joke, and at that she runs her fingers across the underside of his length before circling the tip and his laugh is dispersed into a moan, his heavy breathing only increasing the more she works him up…and down.

“Turn around, darling,” he grits out, kissing her temple before she turns and he can kiss at the back of her neck and down her spine, his hands tracing down her sides until he’s kneeling on the ground, edges of the stones cutting into him as he licks a stripe against her folds, his tongue teasing at the soft ridges while Emma grapples at the wall, pushing her ass up against him so that she can get more friction.

“Baby,” she moans when he gets into a particularly good rhythm, his forearm holding her stomach and pushing her back into him as his fingers toy with her bundle of nerves. “Babe, I can’t – I can’t hold on. I need…I need you to ah – fuck,” she whimpers, her voice cutting above the sound of the water beating down when he harshly smacks her bundle of nerves and her legs fall out underneath her as her release finally hits her. He works her through it while holding her up and keeping her from falling in any other way but the pleasurable one.

It’s bloody amazing.

Once her legs have gained their strength back, Killian rises from the ground, kissing his way up Emma’s back before capturing her lips with his in a bruising kiss and lining himself up to her entrance and sliding into her, her walls fluttering around him, little aftershocks from her previous orgasm.

“I love you,” she whispers against his lips as he starts to move inside her, dragging himself in and out before harshly pushing back in, his arms supporting Emma under her breasts and at her waist while he rolls his hips against her backside. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, my darling.”

It continues like that for awhile, the sounds of wet skin slapping against each other mixed with moans and the fall of the shower water beating against Killian’s back and to the floor, the heat of it waning the longer they’re in there. When Emma falls for a second time, Killian isn’t far behind, suppressing his moan against the skin of Emma’s shoulder while he holds both of them up, all of the sounds blurring and muting as he attempts to come back to himself.

Eventually Emma manages to turn in his arms and push them back underneath the shower spray, grabbing the shampoo and condition to wash the sand, the sea, and the sweat out of their hair.

“You’re right, love,” Killian says later when they’re both wrapped up in towels and Emma is twisting her hair into two fishtail braids.

“I mean, always,” Emma teases, “but what am I right about this time?”

“That ring on your finger makes you extra sexy.”

They just had sex in the shower, but her cheeks still go red. He loves when he can still make her blush.

“So how many official duties are we going to have when we get home?”

“A hell of a lot,” he sighs before shuffling around in his suitcase and pulling on his swim trunks for when they eventually get to the beach, handing Emma one of her bikinis and a cover-up, “but we don’t have to worry about any of that this week. And we won’t have to announce it to the world for at least six weeks, but there will be behind the scenes things to do.”

He steps forward to twist his fingers through the tips of her braided hair, and when she scrunches her face, her nose wrinkling, he leans down to kiss her forehead.

“But today, my future wife, today we eat whatever the hell we want because we have done quite a bit of physical activity this morning and then we bask in the sun so that we can rightfully complain about having to wear several layers of clothes when we get home.”

“Sounds like a plan, my future husband.” A beat passes. “Oh God, we’re that cheesy couple aren’t we?”

“Absolutely.”

The day passes in a blur of food, fruity alcoholic drinks that are almost obligatory when visiting an island, the sun beating down on pale skin changing to tanned, sand between the toes, and nothing between Emma and Killian as they lounge on the deck or in the pool, drifting off into the ocean almost as naturally as they drift to sleep later that night.

He wakes around two in the morning, the moonlight causing Emma’s ring to shine as she runs her left hand over the exposed hair of his chest, her delicate fingers pressing against his skin.

“Hey,” he whispers before running his fingers down her back and tugging her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. “What are you doing up?”

“I’m just thinking.”

“Would you like to share with the class?”

“Hmm,” she hums before kissing his chest, right over where his heart is beating. “It’s nothing big. Just life.”

“Life isn’t something big?”

Even in the darkness he knows she rolled her eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’d rather you tell me.”

“I’m simply thinking about how lucky I am,” she sighs, her fingers still toying with his hair, “how lucky we are to have this life. And not necessarily the fancy vacations and the nice things, but to have each other. I think about all of the things that had to go wrong, and more importantly that had to go right, for you to walk in that door that night…and for you to keep coming back.”

“I like to think I was too stubborn to not come back. You fascinated me. Still do. Probably always will.”

“Killian, you know everything about me.”

“Aye, but we’ll change as we get older. We already have in the past few months, but in a good way, you know?”

“Yeah,” she exhales, leaning down to kiss his bicep, “I know. Everything about this is so crazy, but you and me, we make sense, don’t you think?”

“I know that we do.”

They eventually drift back to sleep and don’t wake until mid-morning, the sun shining brightly even with the curtains closed and shrouding them in the hazy light. He’s got a day scheduled out on a ship for them, and while he promised her he’d take her sailing, he couldn’t manage to get anything other than a motorized yacht, but she seems fine with it as the wind blows through her hair while they’re driven out into the sea by one of the resort officials, a day’s worth of food and drinks stocked in the kitchen below deck.

It’s a wonderful day, even if it is a little awkward having the driver and his security onboard with them. At one point he and Emma jump off the back of the boat just to get away from the others, letting the salt water wash around them while they wade in the ocean.

“I think my skin is going to be completely wrinkled by the time we get home.”

“Aw,” Killian coos before swimming over to her and wrapping his hands around her waist under the water, “my own little old woman.”

Emma scrunches her face, and he tries to swoop in and kiss her, but she squirms out of his hold and ducks under the water to climb up the ladder to get out of the water, her bottoms clinging to her.

“Your ass looks amazing, love.”

She turns to look at him still down in the water, her lips slightly parted in surprise before she smirks and hooks her finger to call him toward her, and he scrambles out of that water like a man possessed.

The rest of their week goes like that, mixtures of salt water and alcohol or sand and sex, not necessarily in those combinations. Killian hasn’t been this carefree in years, and when he zips up their luggage the morning of their flight home, he feels a legitimate sense of melancholy wash over him at the thought of leaving and having to go back to his real life with duties and work, no matter how much he’s missed his bed and not-so-surprisingly-anymore, his family. Emma simply smiles and squeezes his forearm, lugging her suitcase down the stairs before he gets the chance to carry it for her.

She walks out the front door on her way…their way…home.

Together.

#second in command #captain swan #cs fic #cs ff

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