#this is feels-ier than the first sentence implies
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how close is close enough
notes:Â soulmates with benefits? one true lovers to one true loved? iDK this was an exercise in smut, ive been in a drought
also on ao3
Thereâs something to be said for the way a soulmate fucks.
The movies, the novels, the articles, the âSoulmates Are Great, Get Yours Now!â sales pitch is that love-making isnât truly love-making until itâs your One True Love. Too optimistic, âOnce Upon a Timeâ to consider that making love to your soulmate could be the last thing you want.
Fucking them, however, has its perks.
âYou look ravishing tonight, Swan.â
Killianâs kiss is sloppy, more than the nip of teeth - blood wells up in whatâs sure to leave her lips bruised. He isnât looking for a reply, or any kind of acknowledgement of his compliment â more accurately, his declaration that this is exactly what heâs about to do: ravish her.
Still, itâs as it always is, because he loves being able to halt the cleverly worded retorts in Emmaâs head, to leave her mind completely blanked and blissed out because it gives him the satisfaction that she can walk out that door and never look back, but heâd still be the one imprinted on her, the only one who can make her forget to breathe â naturally. Itâs one of the little quirks of having a soulmate, that the oft used and stupidly impossible line is actually possible when everything is so hyper-focused on mine that I goes completely neglected.
Your soulmate is everything to you. Heâs supposed to be to hers, but she likes to be hers first so it is as it always is -
âThe stalking is getting prosecution-worthy.â
âYour company is the one that hired me to represent them. Appearing at an event that Iâve been invited to isnât stalking.â
He presses a hard kiss to her lips before her pout becomes a protest of said âinvitation.â Killianâs seriously intent on seeing them furiously red and swollen from his attentions, and fuck her if she doesnât clench her thighs at the thought of his number of meetings tomorrow, when she still carries the well-fucked air about her, in her walk, in her talk, in the way she licks at the mark of his teeth on her bottom lip. Meetings heâll have to sit through while knowing the remnants of pleasure are still coursing through her, another soulmate quirk where the spiking feelings travel along that invisible line from you to them and her flush of arousal intensifies with his frustration.
Sheâs come from that alone a few times.
âYou may have some grasp on the criminal justice system, but I know the ins and outs, love, and I have more than a dozen arguments to shut you down before your petition even reaches a judge.â
She snorts, and effects a breathy voice, âOh, thatâs hot. Keep telling me just how you can manipulate the law in your favor. Itâs just so sexy to know that I canât do a damn thing to keep you away from me.â
âYou canât.â
Her breath catches at the gentle affirmation - this trace of genuine emotion that she didnât sign up for. Emma only wants to feel the press of his hard length against her belly and not the leap her heart makes into her throat.
âWeâve had enough of that, havenât we?â he breathes against her lips.
Emmaâs eyes shut hastily. She doesnât want to see the months of being unable to sleep, the anxiety launching even the thought of it out the window because of the sea between them. That it was only soothed when he caught the red-eye and got stuck at JFK for hours before taking a cab straight to her door. Sheâd opened it before Killian knocked, and heâd moved swiftly, bags falling to the floor as he tilted her chin to align their lips perfectly in a kiss of âhello, nice to meet you, be mine forever,â before stepping back to groan with utter exhaustion, âCan we go to bed?â
Theyâd slept for hours, entire days, waking up to shower, eat, and study each other in equal measure, until the exhaustion eased enough for them to actually work through this thing. Theyâd decided on Killian transferring to New York because picking up his entire life and moving it into hers was better than the reverse (sheâd finally found a place that she liked enough to stay, not loved, but sheâd made roots here, the first sheâd ever been able to, and heâd understood that from the sparse, sanitized history in her personnel file. Probably more from the way sheâd said, âI like New York,â into the bedspread, picking at the sheets instead of looking at him). Sheâd made a very minimal protest when he announced that heâd been offered a job by Regina in the past and he was certain the offer would still stand even ten years after sheâd grudgingly, unhappily given it.
There was no protest at all when Emma walked into her bathroom to find him naked and dripping water on her floor because heâd opted to towel off his hair first. It had gone straight from her catching his eyes to Killian lifting her atop her sink to fuck away her anger at him for soaking her recently mopped floor. Her faucet left a deep imprint in the small of her back and heâd smirked as he massaged the pain away â and then massaged her lower and into quick decision: fuck soulmates, soulmate fucks, it is.
(She closed her eyes, didnât she? So why can she still see it so crystal clear?)
âNo you canât,â he breathes hotly.
Her lips are captured again, her hair with them as he slips his fingers in and tugs at the tangled curls, grip tight just as she likes it - the way he likes it, a mirroring desire. Emmaâs hand slips between them to palm him through his pants â her lips parting on a sharp breath at the weight of him, all of him straining towards her. Her fingers are soon at his belt, and the difficulty of doing this one-handed is worth it because her other hand grips his shoulder, nails carving half-moons through the layer of his shirt â the taut muscle feels so good to hold onto; she doesnât like to let it go.
Killian hisses at the pain, and returns it in kind. Her hair pulls painfully at the roots as he throws her head back, her gasp embarrassingly audible - her moan reverberating through her whole body as he kisses the line of her jaw. His teeth scrape against her chin before he attacks her neck, beard and teeth rubbing the delicate skin raw. Clearly admiring his handiwork, he nuzzles his nose just beneath her ear while his body shakes against her in quiet, teasing laughter.
Emmaâs fingers are fumbling now, but she manages to finally release the expensive buckle, tugs the zip down because his pants are far too tight for her to just slide her hand between the band and his skin.
The hard planes of his stomach jump inward as her nails tickle the dark hair trekking a downward path, and then his cock does, the hot, hard length seeking the heat of her palm. In some kind of feat of strength, she resists just grabbing him in hand like she wants to and brushes just her fingertips over him, not even a caress.
She moans at the slight sensation, though because heâs so hot and rigid and she hasnât even felt his bare length yet, and she wants to so desperately, mouth parting at the thought of taking him in hand, in mouth, inside her. Emma wants to fuck him, overwhelmingly so, a wave of moisture turning her underwear useless, no point in keeping them on because theyâre ruined, utterly ruined by him.
Killian licks the shell of her ear, and promises darkly â and oh, itâs a promise â âKeep that up and Iâm going to fuck you right here against this door, and have the staff knocking it down because of your pretty screams - Iâm quite tempted to take you until the door comes off the hingesâŚâ He trails off only to bite at her earlobe, hard, and as she whimpers at the shock of pain, rolling her hips because sheâs so desperate for the same focused attention, he asks, âWould you like that, hmm? To spend all week with an aching back, so well-fucked that every time you move youâre reminded of me, every small shift a lesson in why you shouldnât tease a man so desperate for you.â
He is - heâs hungry for her, hips slamming forward, crushing her hand between their bodies. The door does echo the motion, her back hitting it hard. The air goes out of her from the blow, her legs parting instinctively to allow him between. Killian tugs her hair one more time before sheâs scrambling to catch up and wrap her arms around his neck before he hoists her up by her ass and carries her to her bed. She remembers vaguely, that sheâd brought work with her when she hears papers crinkling beneath her shoulders - but it doesnât matter, nothing matters but how he follows her down, thrusting between her legs, forcing her skirt up so that they can collide, his erection dragging hotly against her soaked cunt. He groans as that wetness melts through his boxers too - but it isnât all her, heâs so hard that she can taste the fluid coating the head of his cock, salt leaking from the tip in desire - desire too soft of a word for what they have - not true love-making but soul fucking -
If they donât get undressed soon, sheâs going to come in her underwear, and heâs going to curse her for ruining his pants.
Not that his curses are so bad, though, given the way he makes her reap the consequences, rutting against her until heâs hard as before, but sheâs so far gone that the first thrust makes her come, the second, third, every meeting drawing out her pleasure into a bliss it takes hours for her to wake up from.
âSwan, Iâm always impressed by how easily distracted you are when youâre beneath me.â
His words whip at her ears, all the warning Emma gets. Itâs the bite of a man tired of having to repeat himself, but she can never stop herself from thinking of him in the past, present and future when theyâre together, it all blends into just one thought: Killian, and he always has to fight to pull her from that.
He likes the fight, though, likes to drag her back to this moment - he thrusts hard, driving her into the mattress, the pain of their meeting, and indescribable pleasure, never given time to settle. He pulls back quickly, reaching his hand where his cock was, and tearing her underwear to the side, one finger already worked into her before she can think to whine, to beg, to plead her case in more than moans and twisting in the sheets.
Killianâs finger goes knuckle deep, would sink deeper if his ring didnât catch on her tight entrance, if she wasnât so taut already that he could slip it within, the drag of the cold metal on her sensitive walls - her gasps as he pulls out, bring his finger to his lips so she can see her juices making the jewels glimmer.
âIf you donât bloody stay here, lass, Iâm going to -â
âDo what?â she breaks in.
Emma opens her eyes, because thatâs her problem every time, when she closes her eyes, she can see every Killian there is, but when she opens them, heâs the only one before her. His face hovers close to hers, eyes narrowed in frustration, bright blue darkened black in maddening need. Dark hair clings to his damp forehead.
Heâs so beautiful, and she reaches up to tell him so with her fingers, brushing them over his too-kissed and not kissed enough lips, down his neatly shaved jaw, over his neck and to the nape.
Her hand feels right there.
It feels right when he turns his head to kiss her arm, still maddened, but smiling when he pulls away, drags his finger free of her so she lets out a soft gasp - not of loss. Itâs never that. He never leaves her; never. Merely directs his attention elsewhere, to the waist of his pants, forcing them down his hips with no care for his comfort, and properly pulls up her skirt so thereâs no pull on her legs to keep them from spreading wide in welcome. He takes a short moment to divest her of her underwear, cool air making her thighs tremble.
Killianâs cock bobs between them and she looks and looks and looks until she looks, lifting her gaze from his fat length and back to his face. Heâs watching her - no need to study because he knows her well, knows her best, but watches her because he -
He smiles at her, satisfied, but not amused enough to call it a smirk â his dimples too deep to simply place on the deep red blush spread from her cheeks to her chest and everywhere his eyes can see and everywhere where he canât. It isnât just the sweat on her skin, her hard nipples straining against her blouse or even the damp hair tossed recklessly about her.
It tangles Emma, the words in that smile. She wants to shut her eyes and throw herself back into that melee of simply him and none of that expression already plaguing her, its words echoing in her head: heâs happy with what sheâs giving him and yet, wants more.
Killianâs gaze averts to her spread legs and she breathes relief out, breathes torment in when he licks his lips, filth in the quick motion, and says, âYou have the most beautiful cunt.â He brings his hand to her, stopping just short of touching her to say, âIt burns to the touch,â even though he isnât touching her, not at all, and then adds, âIt burns not to.â
He moves and Emma does, too. He presses his knees between her and drags her to him, his cock smacking against her, earning a hiss from the both of them. She reaches up to find that perfect handhold at the nape of his neck, and with the other she grabs his forearm, ready to pull him to her the moment he sinks within.
It takes Killian a moment to find her, his cock spreading lush wetness everywhere; she can believe sheâs this wet but every time it happens sheâs a little amazed, a little embarrassed of what he does to her. Heâs too focused on watching her face to ease their ache, and it isnât as if she canât help him with that because just like him, she canât look away. She could blink and she still wouldnât miss it because he can hold that look for a lifetime. Itâs the look reserved for her, born the moment she swung open her door to let him in. Itâs the heavy gaze, the soft almost-smile that says heâs never left, never will.
Emma hates the whimper that leaves her mouth when he finally guides home, his rigid length always a stretch that she never adjusts to, so thick that it always burns when he fills her - always, something about soulmates setting you alight with a simple touch, but always to make you believe in love, not ascribed to them fucking into you until becoming one feels less like two hearts meeting and more unconvinced that theyâll ever be able to part when heâs nudging the very end of her, her walls grabbing him and not wanting to let go.
She pulls Killian down, not moving besides a slight shifting that makes her bite her lip when he pulls at her. He moans at that - buries his face in her neck and kisses her over and over again until her skin burns too. She pulls his head back, forcing him to rise above her, and returns his fervent kisses with her own. Her tongue plunges into his mouth greedily, their lips moving, maybe not perfectly in tune, but thereâs no misstep; they follow each otherâs lead.
Her hips follow his when he draws himself out.
But his hand grabs her waist, squeezing hard, and Emmaâs pushed back down, allowing him to pull out of her, almost completely free so that she gets the full weight of his inward thrust. She lets out a sharp cry against his lips and pulls away to find comfort in his neck. She canât see them like this, but sheâs spent enough time committing them to memory with her lips that she can trace her tongue along the few small freckles dotting Killianâs skin.
She doesnât fight the pace he sets, slow and deep - sheâs happy with what he gives her, too, and yet she wants more, shudders beneath him with wanting him in fast, short thrusts that hit her hard. He flexes his hand on her waist, and releases her to flatten his hand on her abdomen and feel the shudder for himself.
âGood girl,â Killian says, kissing the crown of her head, continuing to take her the way he likes. She flushes at his words, caught in his sincere words, overcome by how easily he says it and how deeply she feels it, âYouâre doing so good for me, love, letting me have you like this. You donât know what it does to me - what a gift you are.â He keeps kissing her head, she feels it as his nose sinks into her hair with every mark of affection. âWant you -â
She keens quietly, her own nose brushing the coarse hair of his neck as she lifts her head from the embrace, parting them only so their heads can come flush together, resting - but not quite because her eyes are wide open as are his, fully aware of the other â
As aware as she is, Emma feels completely and utterly helpless to the thing suddenly rising within her, urging her to words sheâs never even thought to voice.
â...more than anything?â she asks.
Killian nods. âAye, more than anything.â
She keeps her eyes open up until the moment he kisses her, and then it isnât about the joining of their lips, or the way he picks up speed, or even his hand crossing the distance between her belly and her curls, thumb finding her swollen clit and rubbing it in deliciously hard circles - Emma keeps her eyes open because this is more than anything, more than everything, more than it could and should possibly be.
She closes them because if she doesnât, sheâs afraid sheâll be lost in the impossibility of it all and lose the reality of it, of him.
(That Killian is hers.)
Emma closes them because, more than anything, if she doesnât, the next words from her mouth might be âI love you.â
Rocking against her, Killian keeps kissing her until she canât breathe from it, panting harshly as his fingers and his cock bring her closer and closer to orgasm - and then heâs talking to her, though she can barely make out the words because blood is rushing in her ears and his murmurs are nonsense at best, lust and affection and everything jumbled together.
She cries out when he increases the pressure on her clit, three swift swipes of his thumb and a deep drive of his hips completing her. She barely holds on - usually doesnât because flying into that space between heavenly and heaven is all she wants - but this time, she doesnât blank out, maybe because sheâs come so close to ruination, maybe because she wants to be ruined, but she holds on and she hears her name, broken on Killianâs lips, a prayer that only she can answer, rolling her hips up to meet his so he rocks his pleasure against her very core, riding out his orgasm - their orgasm.
(Theirs.)
He collapses atop her, and heâs heavy, but she doesnât push him off. Sheâs too close right now to let him go far.
âWeâre not sleeping like this, are we?â he queries.
She likes the way he sounds after, always does, but like doesnât really describe the depth of it - and neither does the soulmate thing, the feelings jumping from her to him to her to him. Itâs just that âlikeâ never could come close to it.
âNo, but -â
Emma swallows and feels her chest tighten, and her heart race. All this is dragging her towards the yawning jaws of panic â itâs all going to be ruined if he moves off of her, if she lets a distance grow. The distance that never bothered her, even when Killian was a continent away and she couldnât sleep at all, is terrifying now - and now of all times, because sheâs never felt this way, the sudden strike unexplainable.
âBut -â she says again when he starts to move.
But, Killian parts them, pulling out of her and falling back on his knees so he can see her clearly. With the clarity of sight, he pulls her up too, drawing her close, worry wrinkling his brow, panic in his eyes.
âEmma, hey. Itâs okay. Itâs okay, Iâm here.â
Yeah, sheâs aware, and with that awareness comes the helplessness, and the words tumble from her mouth.
âI love you, Iâm sorry.â
Killian cants his head, both eyebrows jumping just as she begins to cry. She thanks whatever decided that she should have someone for her always and forever, thanks them with how much she hates this. More than anything, she hates this.
âŚmore than anything?
She should never have asked the question.
âYouâre sorry?â
He sighs and she closes her eyes, willing the tears to stop but they donât because why would they? It feels like theyâve just been waiting to fall all along.
Waiting for her to fall with them.
âWell, I donât mean to upset you, Emma, but Iâm not.â
She doesnât open her eyes.
But he cups her face, fingers at her neck and thumb caressing her cheek, and itâs the way he caresses the wet track of tears that makes her open them. Like he wants to brush them away, but canât.
He smiles, humored brightness to the blue of his eyes, âNo, not in the slightest. Iâm glad that youâve chosen to love me. Itâs good. Puts us on the same page.â
âWhat?â
Killian shrugs his shoulders in explanation. Somehow, the small motion is reassuring â the followed itching at the spot behind his ear drawing her smile. Sheâs crying and heâs nervous, and yeah, she feels like theyâre on the same page.
âI decided a while back that Iâd love you because youâre mine. Not in the way that we belong together, but that you make me feel like I belong.â
She canât think how to reply to that â to give words to the emotions that rise⌠âWhat the hell?â seems pretty inappropriate right now even though itâs her go-to response to things that throw her off course, out of mind, and completely unable to fathom.
Thankfully â or knowingly â he keeps going without her words.
âIâm not particularly fond of the fluke of birth that had us awake for three horrible months before I could convince Liam that finding you was life or death -â he pauses in consideration, a fond smile at the memory â- I think it was the motorcycle accident that turned the cards in my favor. Nothing like a concussion to get a stubborn git to give you access to his special contacts.â
Liam, his brother. Special contactsâŚ
âWhat the hell?â
Completely ignoring her question, he says, âI can usually work the law in my favor, but heâs a bit of a stickler for doing things the Right Way, tends to work in the written law and not the spirit of it.â
âYikes.â
A grin takes him, and with clear pride, he says, âYou two will get on swimmingly.â
Narrowing her eyes â thereâs always some double meaning when he references anything having to do with the sea â Emma asks, âJaws theme swimmingly?â
Killian laughs, loud and obnoxious, and Emma pushes at him, rolling her eyes only to feel the lingering wetness in them, to remember that sheâd been crying and heâs clearly trying to help her forget, and she loves him for that.
She loves him, and she doesnât have to be sorry.
He looks at her, obnoxious, too-satisfied smile gone to an indulgent smile, like he wants to give her whatever she wants. Killian brushes her fingers with his. Emma returns the touch, her fingertips resting on his knuckles, stroking softly.
He clears his throat, drawing her attention back to him â something needs to be said, yeah, of course. She nods at him, offering a soft reassurance that is probably more for her than him â he knows her best, but she knows herself just as well.
âI hate that this was seemingly decided for us but -â
He shrugs, and she supplies, âI donât hate you.â
âThanks,â he says, his sarcasm softened by her moving to place her hands on his chest, and then sweeping across to buttons of his shirt. She starts unfastening at the neck or, rather, upper-chest because even professional doesnât warrant an aesthetic change with him â she likes that.
Her progress has taken her halfway down when his hands fall on hers, stilling her movements.
âThank you,â he says, his grateful words weighted with the kind of emotions that are supposed to warrant an explosion in her chest, effusive declarations of true love and forever and ââTil death do us partâŚif we file this quickly we can get married tonight!â
She smiles and lets him wipe at the tears still on her cheeks while she returns to unbuttoning his shirt. With a hum of affection - and maybe just a small firework show in her heart - she says, âYouâre welcome.â
#cs ff#captain swan#cs au#cs smut#xoxo gossip amber;;#xoxo; f#this is feels-ier than the first sentence implies#through no intention of my own ofc
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