I've had so much inspiration for writing recently, it's insane! It's like an writing block I've had for my stories has just disappeared. Even some of my really old stuff that's not been updating for two years is getting back into business!
Anyway, this is an angsty little CS song fic set in Modern AU, just because I've taken a favour to it.
Enjoy and let me know what you think!
Killian Jones had really made a mess of things this time. And not a tiny mess that was easily swept under the carpet with apologies whispered into each other's mouths and the promise of the most phenomenal make-up sex either party has ever experienced. No, this time he had really pushed her too far, moved too fast and scared her. He'd forced her back into her shell, the walls he'd spent so much time breaking through building up behind her eyes once more as he watched her hands tremble and her shoulders tense.
It hadn't been a planned decision, and it certainly would never have been the way he'd execute any such plan if he'd had one. It was a stupid, spur of the moment choice, the words slipping from his mouth as they snuggled together in their bed, her face tinged red from their previous activities, his scruff brushing against her hair. His heart had broken when he saw the colour drain from her face at his whispered question – 'Marry me, Swan.' He'd said, his forehead touching hers. He never thought he'd seen her recoil from his touch so fast since the day they'd met. She stumbled from the bed, half falling out of it in her attempt to escape, but he'd seen her fear and anticipated her escape plan. 'Too much too fast.' She'd complained, dragging on any clothing she could find which happened to be one of his soft, black button down shirts, the sleeves passing her hands before she rolled them up and a pair of her checked red shorts.
She shouldn't have looked so beautiful like that, but she did, he'd swear by it. 'Just think about it, Swan. Sleep on it at least. Don't run yet.' And to her credit she didn't. She climbed back into their bed and lay her head on the pillow, but she didn't face him, her body curling up into the ball he'd taken so long to pry her out of. He'd not meant to fall asleep beside her, he was too busy doubting if she would truly stay, doubts that were soon recognised as not being without reason. He awoke the next morning to an empty space, her side of the bed cold and her suitcase gone. There was no note, no word, nothing.
That had been over a week ago and Killian had heard nothing. When he rang, she refused to answer, his messages were left unreturned, his text's and Facebook messages unread. It was maddening. He had no way of knowing if she'd received his cry for help, for her to just come home, not even Mary-Margret had heard from her, and she and Emma had been as close as family.
She'd run away, the way she always had done, the way she promised to do again. Killian had nothing to do but try and live his life normal and await her return, one he wasn't even sure was coming.
New York. That's where she was heading. After Killian's outburst she had lay awake beside him, waiting for his breathing to even and slow before she made her move. She slipped from the bed silently, grabbing just enough to clothes to last a couple of days. She could always get more where she was going and he wasn't sentimental enough to take anything else par the necessities with her. Then she was stuffing it all in the nearest duffel bag and disappearing into the early morning light in her yellow bug. She didn't look back.
Leaving Maine had been a flurry of road and forest, the tears in her eyes blurring the highway into nothing but grey tarmac and oncoming traffic. Before she'd know it she was at the airport, dressed properly in her jeans and red leather jacket, her hair as messy as it had been when his fingers had been threaded through it. Emma needed space, more than Killian would ever willingly give. She needed to breath, and nowhere within reasonably driving distance was going to offer her that. And so she bought a ticket with what little money she had, scraping enough to get her to New York at least. She could settle there for a while and just so long as she blocked everyone from the quaint little town from her life then they wouldn't be able to find her. Then she could go further, maybe travel the country like she'd planned to do before prison, or find a suitable career, something more fulfilling than bailbonds. Perhaps she could be happy. She doubted that thought, but the fear of the future was enough to spur her on.
She had a couple of hours to kill before her flight departed and so she turned her phone on, having left it in her coat pocket the night before. She should have left it behind on the kitchen island beside her apartment key, cutting all the ties she had to Storybrooke while she could, but that clearly in the cards. It was morning now, early enough that Killian would be awake and searching for her. The missed calls and voicemails on her phone confirmed as much.
Ripping the SIM card from the phone should have been her first course of action, he next step in cutting ties, but Killian's bright face smiled up at her from the screen, his blue eyes wide and – dare she say – happy as he had his arms around her shoulders, looking at the camera like she'd told him to. The doubt settled in, mingling with regret as she saw his face and before she could help herself, she clicked the first answer message.
"Swan, Emma, please. You don't have to do this we can figure something out - " Message deleted.
"I know this is fast, and I know you're afraid, but talk to me, Emma. Don't leave like this. I love - " Message deleted, next one.
"Please, Love. At least give me something, let me know you're okay. I'm worried ab –" Message deleted. Emma found that the next few continued on like this, Killian's voice soft on the other end of the phone, asking for a chance or a sign or anything. But Emma just didn't know how to give it, and she had always been so awful at good byes. She was ready to give up, to throw her phone in the nearest trash can and not think of it again, but then the small green phone symbol appeared again. He was ringing her, and she couldn't answer it, she refused to. It rang and rang for what felt like a lifetime before it finally cut out, a breath Emma didn't know she was holding slipping from her chest.
It was short lived as the second notification beeped. He'd left her a message. Tears already weld up in her eyes, her chest feeling like it had been hollowed out like a Halloween pumpkin, and her limbs trembling slightly, Emma couldn't see any more damage being done by listening to it. She had been wrong.
If he'd sounded hurt before, then he sounded nothing short of devastated.
"Swan, I know you need your space and time and I will give it to you. God knows I don't have a choice, you're probably at the airport right now, ignoring my advances." She had never hated his ability to read her more than in that moment, her heart aching as she listened to his voice cracking as he spoke. Even now, miles of road between them, and Killian could read her just as well as the day they'd met. "If you there, standing with your suitcase but you can't step on the plane, then know I'm still here. And if you're covering your face but can't hide the pain then please know I'm here and I'm waiting for you. Because that you mean to me, Swan. I love you enough to let you go. Everything is the way that you left it, so if you ever come back –" She hung up instantly, the tears falling fast from her eyes as the airport blurred around her, the people nothing but moving shapes, the announcement muffled and distant. He knew her too well, had so much faith in her that he was willing to let her go, so sure that she would come back to him in the end.
Setting her jaw, she gripped her bag tightly, waiting anxiously for her planes announcement to be heard over the speakers. The second she heard it she stood, following the arrows to the correct terminal and getting on the plane as fast as she could. She needed to put space between her and the man so loving that he was willing to wait for her without any inclination of how much time he'd have to do so.
It wasn't until she landed at her destination a few hours later that she realised she hadn't deleted his last message.
Weeks passed and Killian was left without word. He'd stopped calling her, knowing he'd said enough in his last message. All he could hope was that she had at the very least listened to it and knew he was waiting for her. Nothing had changed in the apartment, everything was the way she had left it her clothe untouched in the wardrobe, her toothbrush still standing in its place beside the sink. Even her box of pop-tarts had been left alone, three packs of four left and abandoned on the top shelf where Emma thought Killian wouldn't notice them. He might have sneaked one had she been here, but the thought of ruining anything she'd left behind felt like another step towards excepting she was gone. That was not something Killian was willing to do.
It showed, as well. He became less and less invested in his job tending the bar at the Rabbit Hole, choosing instead to drink in his – their – apartment. He'd stopped singing too, cancelling any and all gig's he'd agreed to since her absence, enough so that his phone buzzed for what felt like hours from venue owners demanding an explanation or friends asking if he was managing okay. His heart skipped whenever his phone went off, and despite knowing it wouldn't be her, he'd answer in a second, reading the text or answering the call like it was the first sound to a deaf man's ears. It never was her though.
Time seemed irrelevant to him, he'd barely slept since her leave anyway. She could have been gone hours, it could had been months, he wasn't sure. The pain was not any easier to bear and the emptiness remained as such, cold and black inside of him. But his routine was somewhat hard to break.
When he cooked dinner, no matter how small a morsel, there would be two plates sat at the kitchen island, her seat remaining empty as he ate alone without her. Whatever sleep he did manage to get was only ever when he slept on her side of the bed, going out of his mind by how her scent clung to her pillow, the sweet smell of cinnamon still clinging to the fabric of both the bedding and the black shirt she'd been wearing the last time he saw her. He wished she could have taken that with her at least. That way he wouldn't picture it hanging off of her shoulders when he saw it, wouldn't think of how the sleeves fell past her wrists or how the bottom just grazed her mid-thigh, her creamy skin a stark comparison. Yes, he was definitely going out of his mind.
Moving on, that had been Emma's plan. Get a job, get an apartment, get herself a new life. She needed to move on and she needed to do it fast, but nothing had prepared her for the all but crippling emptiness as she walked out of the airport to see no one waiting for her, no friends to welcome her back from a holiday like they had before, no Killian gripping her hand, his face split into the bright smile that always came with seeing his brother in England. There wasn't even her bug.
And so she'd hailed a cab and found herself a hotel deep in the city. She'd picked up her job in bailbonds, faking dates and chasing skips the best rush she could think of to keep her distracted. It had worked at first, the adrenaline pumping through her veins as she slammed on the cuffs and collected her pay before heading home. She'd be so excited when she reached her apartment, she may be bruised and she may be exhausted, but she had done it, she hadn't failed. And he'd tell her that he was yet to see her do so anyway before kissing her temple and dragging her down onto the sofa where he'd waited up for her, the television on and a cocoa waiting on the coffee table. But when she pushed open the door the apartment was dark and cold, like no one had lived in it before. It was then teat the adrenaline died and she found herself falling back into her regret and most of all her loneliness. He wasn't here and he would never be here.
So she buried the pain the only way she could. She'd go out alone and she'd drink. She'd meet a guy at a bar with a less than respectable reputation and she'd go home with him. For those brief hours it would work, she'd scratch the itch that had been nagging at her for days and she'd bee sated and weightless for all of five seconds before she slipped out of the bed and back to her own apartment. It was there that the grief came crashing down.
Emma was in mourning, longing for not just the man, but the life she had left behind. She could have been happy in Storybrooke. She had her friends – David, Mary-Margret, Ruby and Belle, people who she had just up and left without so much of a word, no explanation, no forwarding address. Emma hoped they hated her, at least then her grief could remain as such without the crushing guilt that came with abandoning them.
She was trying to move on – she truly was – but there was something, a nagging little itch that kept on calling her. She found herself googling the Storybrooke Mirror on her phone and reading up on the events of the small town. She'd even go so far as scrolling through her contacts, her fingers hovering over the green call button but never pressing it. Running had never been this hard. Emma had years of experience of it under her belt, running from foster homes, running from relationships, running from motherhood, there was nothing she couldn't run from. Except for the feeling of loss that had burrowed itself with her, a deadweight nestled deep in her bones, dragging her so deep she felt like she was drowning.
And so she sought solace where she could, the only place she could even think of, her guilty pleasure. Killian's last answer phone message. She must have listened to it over a hundred times in the months she'd been away, holding the phone as close to her ear as possible, bringing the tiny piece she had left of him as close as she could.
"It's strange, I feel as though I'm trying to persuade you to stay like you're in the same room. I can only hope you will be again. Just know, if you ever come back –" And then she shut the phone off again. Hearing his voice was hard enough, but to hear his plead through the devastation was like having her heart torn from her chest, the small organ breaking in half before having it thrust agonisingly back into her chest, only for it still to beat. Even Neal's betrayal had not been this hard, she had been young and in love and the pain of it all had caused her to give up her own child, and yet it had made her stronger. But this, this was making her weak, draining her of spirit and making even the simplest of actions like a chore. She rarely eve slept without waking with a gasp, reaching across the other side of the bed just to find it as empty and she'd left it that day.
Killian no longer left her messages, he didn't try and reach out to her at all. It left her to wonder if Killian felt as lost as she did, or even if he missed her at all. It was this doubt alone that kept her away.
He wanted her back, he did, but whenever he lifted his phone to call her he remembered what he'd said the last time he'd spoke to her. He'd told her he would give her space, however much time that entailed. Killian was being as patient as he could, but he missed her horribly. He wished nothing more than for her to give him the cold shoulder after one of their arguments, Like the time she'd not spoken to him for two days after jokingly commenting on the new barmaid, Lacey. At least then she had been there and all he'd had to do was turn down the scantily dressed woman with the thick brown hair and glittering make-up. Not that to had been in anyway a challenge, he had eye only for his Swan, and how he wished that he could let them rest on her now.
He wished that she would give him a hard time, something she far from struggled with. Be it over bills that needed to be paid or who ate the last bear-claw, she always had something to say. He longed for that now, just the sound of her voice, even though a mobile phone would be enough, or an answer phone message left unnoticed for an hour or so. He just needed to hear her.
He even wished he could still wish it was over, something he'd not struggled with after the first week of withdrawal. He'd been angry then, furious in fact and had even taken to punching the street sign that marked the road they lived on after a raucous night at the Rabbit Hole. He wished for the pain and the longing to end, for every thought of her blonde hair and green eyes to just be simply wiped from his mind. But now he wished for nothing more than her return, even if she just appeared at the doorstep and told him they were over. It would be closure and it would be enough. But Killian Jones did not seem worthy of even that.
Wishing was seeming to be a waste of time and – if her lack of contact was to go by – he didn't even cross her mind.
And yet, he waited for her. Before he went to be he ensured that the door was left unlatched, the chain that bolted the door shut hanging limp and unused against the doorframe. He'd sneak into the hall way and override the timer on the hallway light, ensuring it stayed on all night, keeping the hall warm and welcoming in case she stumbled through after a late slight and long drive. He'd even slipped her key, swan key chain and all under their welcome mat in the hallway, checking it was still there before even thinking of turning in for the night. She'd know there would be one there, and even if the doo was unlatched in anticipation, he wanted her to know she was forever welcome in this home they'd built together.
"They'll be a smile on my face, Swan, should you ever step through that door. And the kettle will be on, a cocoa with cinnamon to welcome you home." Home, is that what she was missing? Her home. Was this what homesickness was like, a ravaging at her insides, her heart thumping weakly, her legs like lead. Is this what it truly felt like to miss home? Emma had learnt a long time ago that home was the place that when you leave you just miss it. And if that what this was, homesickness, then Emma was learning a new lesson and she was learning it horribly. The only person who can stand in the way of your happiness is yourself.
"Killian, I hate to be the one to say this." Belle said as she sat at his kitchen island, four months after Emma's departure. "But you're wasting your time staying cooped up here like this." She was kind in her words, her hand seeking out his, warm from where he'd held her tea but not the comfort that Killian was in need of. "I truly don't believe she's coming home." Her eyes were sad and pleading as she watched him grasp his glass of rum. It was only gone noon and Belle couldn't even wager a guess to when he started drinking. For all she knew he hadn't yet stopped from the day before.
"Ah, but they used to say the world was flat. And how wrong that was." Killian retorted and Belle sighed, knowing her argument was already lost. Other's had tried to coax him out and back into their group. Ruby came with coffee, telling him that if staying in the apartment got too lonesome he was always welcome at her and Mulan's shared apartment, or even Granny's Diner. "If she returns, I intend to be here to greet her." He had responded and Ruby had left not long after without a word.
David and Mary-Margret had even tried, bringing their toddler – Neal – along with them, their eyes almost as lost as his undoubtedly were. Almost. They'd asked if he'd like to come to dinner, clearly not certain on whether he was even eating at the moment. He had declined as politely as he could manage, grateful he had only just started on the rum and was still sober enough to appear pleasant. That was if you could get past the overgrown scuff and dishevelled hair.
Robin, the owner of the Rabbit Hole, had also tried after months of not seeing Killian at work. He'd knocked a few times and was shocked to see the door swing open, still unlatched from the night before.
"Killian, you're risking everything you own leaving the door open like this." He'd said sympathetically, like logic and fear of burglary was the way to urge him into breaking his routine of waiting for her.
"There's nothing I could lose in a break in that she hasn't already taken, Mate." Killian had replied tiredly. The bed didn't smell like her so much anymore, and what comfort he'd drawn from that scent was dissipating fast. The last piece of her he had was slowly dwindling into nothing. Material possessions were starting to mean very little.
"Have you played since, you know?" Robin asked, not leaving as promptly as the others. He wasn't feeling the loss as the others were. He'd not known Emma. Killian could almost envy that, but her knew in his heart that he'd feel this pain a thousand times over than go a day without having known her. He'd follow her to the ends of time if it meant he still had the chance to meet her. "You should." Robin said in response to Killian's silence. "I find it's the best way to voice what no one else can understand." He placed the guitar on the kitchen island before taking his leave, letting the door swing shut without letting it click behind him.
Before Killian even realised what was happening, the guitar was in his arms and he was sat on the sofa, the kettle whistling behind him in the apartment. He felt the words fall from his mouth, his fingers moving of his own accord as he poured himself out. He still felt empty from her loss, but the weight of it was lifting and he found he as able to breathe again.
The following day he asked Robin if there were any gigs available. The man had smiled and told Killian that evening was pretty bare of entertainment before disappearing to deal with his son.
The light at the Rabbit Hole was a soft, red tinted glow, the only real source of white light coming for the bar and even that was just so Robin could see what he was doing. Killian was sat on his usual stool atop the small stage near the back of the bar, the soft lights warm on his face.
More people had turned up than he'd honestly expected. David and Mary-Margret were in the front of the crowd with Ruby and Belle, all of them clapping and cheering as the song began. He could see other's he recognised – Tink with her triangle scarf around her neck, Dr. Hopper sat at the bar beside Marco, both of them watching and listening with interest. Even Regina had turned up, Roland sat comfortable on her hip as she swayed ever so slightly to the song. They all knew what he sang about, but none of them seemed bothered or surprised, instead they smiled and urge him to continue.
"If it's the fighting you remember," Like when they talked about careers. Killian had argued that being a bailbonds was too dangerous a job for the woman he loved. He knew she could handle herself and he knew she was good at it, but seeing her at the end of the day with bruised arms where the skip had fought back or walking with a limp where she had fallen awkwardly was something that made his heart strings tighten in an unpleasant way. The worst had been the time she'd received a few broken ribs after a particularly nasty scuffle out of town, someone having sought out Emma's exceptional help. Killian had fussed over her so much that shed kicked him out of the room, something he hadn't taken lightly. "Or the little things you miss." Like how they fit together oh-so perfectly, her head tucked beneath his chin, his arm around her waist as she nuzzled his collar bone. Or even the way he made a smiley face out of chocolate chips on her Sunday pancakes. It was the only day she was ever guaranteed to have free and Killian always did his best to make sure she enjoyed it.
"I know you're out there somewhere," He sang, thinking of her alone in a city somewhere, chasing skips and sleeping alone. Or even driving along the highway, traveling the country like she said she had wanted to do – something he'd promised to do with her. "So just remember this." He had been sure he saw a flash of blonde hair at the back of the crowd, but when he saw Ariel turn back around, her smile wide as she embraced her husband, Eric, he played it off as a trick of the light. And yet, he still scanned the crowd, hoping to see her, knowing deep down that he wouldn't.
"I'll leave the door unlatched if you ever come back, if you ever come back. They'll be a light in the hall and a key under the mat if you ever come back, if you ever come back." It had been months, five and half to be exact, and not a night had gone by that his routine had faltered. "There'll be a smile on my face and kettle on, and it will be just like you were never gone." He'd imagined it so many times in his head, his Swan returning to him. He'd thought of how he's react, if he'd be angry and demand she leave, or if he'd cry and wrap his arms around her. In the end he settled that he'd just draw her inside and everything would return to normal. He'd have given her enough trust with his heart, and she would have returned with it. That would be enough. "There'll be a light in the hall and a key under the mat, if you ever come back, if you ever come back now."
For Killian, the night had ended there. His friends had gathered and embraced him, speaking about how beautiful a song it had been and how passionate his words were. He'd thanked them and hugged them in turn, promising to be better, to come back to them properly. He may not have given up hope that Emma Swan may one day return to him, but he could always wait while also working his job, or spending time with his friends. His door was still open to her, as it always would be.
It had been later than Killian had expected when he returned to his apartment, not bothering to turn on any lights par the main hallway as he let the door swing shut behind, clicking the latch open in waiting. He'd manoeuvred his way through the apartment so many times in the dark before, be it looking for a snack in the middle of the night or carrying Emma back to his – their – bed after a rather late Netflix marathon or heated Make-out session, her arms either around his neck or her legs wrapped around his waist, he knew his way. And so he slipped into his pyjama's, leaving his top bare before brushing his teeth, vowing to do something about his now beard worthy scruff in the following morning. He'd stopped looking like a rock star about two months in, now (even with a few interim trims) he just looked sad and a tiny bit homeless. With a chuckle he'd long thought was lost, he padded back to the bedroom, the carpet scuffing his feet.
He froze at the scratching sound of a key pushed into the lock of the front door, a soft, familiar 'Oh' sounding from the living room. He was there in an instant, his eyes scanning the living space frantically. It was pointless really, the intruder was hard to miss. She stood in the doorway, one hand still holding a key in the lock, the other pressed against the wooden door as she tried to retract it. Killian couldn't make out her face in the dark of the apartment, but with the light of the hallway spilling in around her, he didn't need to. Her blonde hair shone like a golden halo in the light and her silhouetted legs were not something he would have ever willingly forgotten, not when the last time he'd seen them had been from peaking beneath his own shirt.
"Swan." He breathed and she flicked on the light beside, illuminating the room so fast Killian's eyes stung. But he dared not blink, too afraid this was a dream – it wouldn't be the first – and that she wasn't back, she was still far away, sleeping alone or in another's arms, not in their living room.
"I heard your song." Was all she said, her eyes seeking out his as he continued to stare. "I didn't realise it would be so literal." She laughed slightly at the end, a nervous sound that shattered any tension that could have been building around them.
"You came back." He breathed out, watching the pain and longing in her eyes even from across the room. He didn't doubt his were a reflection of hers, but all he cared about was that she was there, she'd come back and her walls were crumbling ever so slightly behind her gaze.
"Did you doubt I would?" She asked, but her laugh was self-depreciating, her voice wavering as she spoke. Killian was dinking her in, from her booted feet and tight jeans to the familiar red leather jacket, up to her face, hr eye rimmed red and her hair looking surprisingly un-kept.
"Well, with our history could you blame me for being uncertain?" He's smiling, he knows he is, can feel the expression as it spread across his face so foreign after months of sorrow. She laughs then, a choked sound that's a little more of a sob, but it's enough. Emma opens her mouth to speak, no doubt to apologise or explain – or both, but Killian doesn't feel like listening.
He crosses the room in no time at all and Emma seems momentarily startled by his close proximity, but then his arms are around her waist, tugging her close. She tenses for a second and Killian is left to wonder just how much physical contact she's had since she'd been gone, but it's a question for another time. Her hesitation is noted, but quickly forgotten as she grips him back with a vengeance, her arms wrapping around his neck, one of her hands slipping into her hair.
His hand wander, roaming over her back and feeling the smooth, arm leather beneath his palm, a texture he hadn't even realised he missed until now, like a man who had been in the dark so long and has only just found the light. It's familiar but new as Killian's hand roam, feeling like he's learning her body for the first time, the strength of her back, the smooth bump of her ribs as his hand slips beneath her jacket before mapping out the planes of her shoulder blades, all the while breathing in the warming scent of cinnamon and vanilla.
"Killian," she breaths, nudging her nose against his scalp until he lifts his head to look at her. She leans her forehead against hers and he feels the spark inside of him that had been dormant for so long as it jumps to the surface, dancing across his skin like a caged deer prancing through a meadow for the first time. "I'm sorry, I never should have gone I should have –"
"Shh, Love." He says, his hand moving from her back to her neck, her skin reacting in kind when his knuckles graze her ribs. "Don't talk." His hand is on her shoulder now, his thumbing gently grazing over her neck, right over her pulse point, a steady reminder that she is here, that she's not a dream cooked up by his rum afflicted and sleep deprived mind.
"But we need to. We need to talk about what happened, about what it's going to be like here now." He cuts her off with a kiss. It quite, a chaste and nothing like he's been craving but it's everything he could have ever asked for. If he was to die in that moment, with that kiss the last thing on his lips, he would die happy. When he pulls away he can feel her follow, her breath ghosting over his face as he smiles.
"It will be just like you were never gone." He says, his voice steady, his gaze sincere and Emma can feel herself falling in love all over again, because she does love him and she does want a future with him. It just took losing him to figure that out.
"But –" She argues but it's weak. Her voice is breathy, her eyes dropping to his lips as she craves the feel of them once more against hers.
"It will be just like you were never gone." He pressed, his grip on her back tightening and pulling her ever closer to him as she gasps in pleasant surprise. His hand travels just a smidge higher to cup her cheek and with one last longing glance, his lips are on hers once more. It a hurricane of a kiss, both Emma and Killian gripping the other hard and trying to pull them impossibly closer. Their lips mould together and there's a battle of teeth and tongue waging where the two lovers are joined, a battle they both want to win but are far from afraid to lose. As Emma sighs into his mouth, Killian knows he's lost and doesn't hesitate in hoisting her up, swallowing her surprised in their kiss as her legs wrap around him. They fall together then, landing on their bed like they had the first time, fitting together so perfectly is was as though the God themselves had carved them from the same marble.
"I know you said no talking, but I've got to ask." Emma breaths out in the circle of his arms, her fingers toying idly with the dark spattering of hair over his chest. Killian hums in recognition, too spent and far too happy to even form a coherent sentence. "The beard." Is all she says but Killian chuckles, his chest vibrating against her cheek. It isn't long before she's laughing too, especially when he scruffs the beard in question against her face, making her giggle – a very un-Emma sound to make – before pulling her back for another bruising kiss.
They stayed like that, wrapped around each other beneath the covers for hours, gripping tightly to each other, afraid to let go again so soon. It's only after Killian hears his name from the front of the apartment that he finally speaks up.
"Perhaps we should have put the door on the latch last night, Love." She laughs and Killian couldn't help but savour the sound, more grateful than ever for this angel of a woman beside him, thanking any who were listening for bringing her back to him.
Apologise for any spelling mistakes, but I've literally been in such a rush to post this that I'm sure my spelling isn't great.
Review!