I hurt myself again. I really need to stop with the angst. Mild spoilers for the finale.
…
Don't Forget it was Real
…
"There's this little bakery," Emma begins, her eyes staring straight ahead at the wall opposite her. Had Killian not been the only other person in the room, he might not have known she was talking to him. He inclines his head in her direction, turning his attention from the sound of the gentle waves lapping at the sides of his beloved ship, to the woman sitting on his bed. "It's just down the road from where I used to live in Boston. You walk down these cobbled streets in Little Italy and it just appears before you." A quiet smile places across her face at the memory, "There's nothing to it. And it's not famous so there is never a line. The owners keep their goods on plastic trays all around the place. It's like they have the products and the customers to expand, but they won't let go of their little premise at the end of the road."
She looks up, coming out of her reverie and finding Killian in the haze of memory surrounding her. Her eyes sadden when she sees him, watching her with caution, with a pained expression on his beautiful face. She tries another small smile, "They do the best cannoli."
A breath finally escapes Killian, carrying with it an almost laugh. Just a burst of air expelled from him with a touch of mirth attached. "Darling," he says, "what in demon's name is a cannoli?"
She couldn't help the laughter if she tried, loud and freeing and painful all at once. She hunches over and tries to draw breath, knowing that she's lost it now, lost all semblance of composure, and that this moment of sheer glee will be over as soon as she lets reality back in, as soon as she…
Her eyes catch the dagger sitting in her lap and her heart skips a beat, her laughter dissolving into hiccups and tears welling in her eyes.
"Emma," she hears through the fog, "let's get this blasted thing away from you."
Then Killian's hand appears in her line of vision, pulling the dagger away and placing it on the table behind him. She feels the heaviness of its drag along her leg as he removes it, feels the weight of the responsibility she now bears settle in the pit of her stomach. His hand returns to her leg, free of the blade, and brings with it warms and comfort. He slides it from her knee to her hip, squeezing slightly and leaning in to press his lips against her clammy forehead.
"If we make it out of this alive, I want to take you to Boston," she breathes out against his neck.
"You don't have to do this," he whispers into her skin and he physically feels her shoulders slump forward as she leans on him heavily, their foreheads touching as he leans in closer.
"I do," she answers, "because this is the life I was signed up for. This is what my parents decided for me." There is no hiding the bitterness in her tone at what David and Snow had done, no way to run from the sting of feeling as though she had disappointed her parents from before she was even born.
"We could run away now," he suggests not for the first time. She has been slowly bringing her possessions aboard his ship, the rest they could purchase as they sail the realms, together with Henry, endlessly.
Her hands find the back of his neck, drawing him in impossibly close, his back beginning to protest over the position. But then she kisses him and everything else leaves his mind but for the feel of her lips on his. It's slow and heated, promises locked in their hearts spilling out through this expression of utter adoration for each other. He wants to tell her that he loves her, wants her to know that she is needed in this world for more than saving people, that she is just needed.
But, instead, he just whispers her name into her skin as he trails a path down her jaw, nipping at her pulse point and relishing the breathy moan that escapes her. They've never had a moment to themselves long enough to indulge in this kind of exploration, their kisses often fraught with relief or goodbyes. But this time is theirs.
No one knows they've acquired the dagger and Emma has no intention of letting that information out just yet. Not while Killian is pressing her onto the mattress of his small bed, not while his hand is pushing her sweater over her head, not while his lips are kissing her ribs. She arches her back and he sinks his teeth into her sensitive skin, soothing the bite a moment later with his tongue, as though he wants to taste every part of her.
His lips drag lower, fingers popping the button on her jeans open and pulling down the zipper. He nudges the seam of her pants with his knuckles, smiling when it has the desired effect and her hips roll forward on the bed. His mouth closes over the fabric, breathing out in a rush of warm air and closing his eyes when he hears her whimpers. His own pants feel restricting and tight, but he would happily undress her for the rest of his life just to hear her approval.
He loops his hook through the top of her jeans and panties and slides them easily off her legs, making sure to press kisses to the inside of her thighs and the backs of her knees.
"You've got too much on," she says, as his lips inch closer and closer to where she is aching for him. He chuckles, sending a soft vibration to the apex of her thighs.
"I am more than okay with this, darling."
Everything he says is like a little electric shock to her core, leaving her breathing laboured and her hips moving of their own volition to try and ease some of the tension.
"How can you be?" she asks, "I need you."
His tongue finally makes contact with her soft folds and she lets out a moan, hips coming off the bed. He rests his hook on her belly, easing her back down as he sucks lightly on the tight bundle of nerves, doing maddening things to her. He glances up her body, loving the delightful flush of her pale skin, and pulls away slightly, still letting his breath warm her. "But I have you," he says.
He kisses the inside of her thigh again, shifting her leg so that it rests over his shoulder, his hand running along it tenderly as his mouth takes her again. This time he's more insistent, tasting her and groaning when she lets out those breathy whimpers he is already becoming quite fond of. She reminds him of the ocean, tasting of salt and rolling like a turbulent storm. He thinks he will never tire of her.
Her hand finds his hair, running her fingernails across his scalp until she grips the dark strands like a vice, holding him right there. He grins into her skin and she must feel it because she mutters something that sounds very much like, "cocky pirate," before shattering around his tongue.
Still, he laves attention at her core, making sure she has opened her eyes again before flicking his tongue out against her hip and kissing his way up her body. He pauses at her bra, but she helps him reach behind her, helps him pull it off her and toss it aside, leaving her completely bare to his gaze.
Her skin is still tingling with the feeling of her first orgasm, but the longing in his eyes as he looks upon her has her body awakening once more. It's never been like this for her. This slow burn and this comfort. Sex has always been about convenience, about reaching the end as fast as possible and moving on.
But this… this is loving. This is tender. It's trusting and loyal and so much more.
She sits up as he stands, not caring that her legs are still spread wide, not caring that her stomach probably creases, that her breasts are slightly different sizes. She doesn't care about the stuff she usually cares about because it's Killian and he's looking at her like she's giving him the world.
She bites her lip as she undoes the fastenings of his jeans, looks up at him expectantly until he realises she wants his shirt off too.
"Darling," he says with a warning tone, and she realises that he's the one feeling those crushing insecurities weigh him down.
She inclines her head, reminding him, "I don't care about your past. You are who you are now, right here, with me."
He seems to contemplate her words for a moment then reaches up to pop open the first button of his shirt. She doesn't move until he does, waiting for his permission; waiting for him to let her in. Her hands tug on his jeans until he can step out of them, then smooth up his stomach and push his shirt open. He has lifetimes of scars littering his body, scars that Emma easily seeks out with curious fingers.
His hand reaches forward to cup her face, tilting her head up. "I'll tell you all about them one day," he promises and she doesn't remind him that they may not get that chance.
She leans forward kissing a scar along his hip, breathing in his scent and sliding her hand back down to wrap her fingers around his length. He gasps and grips her hair tight where his hand lays on her neck, "Gods."
She turns her head, eyes darkening at the sight of him in her hand and he must have his eyes closed because she hears him curse when her lips wrap around him. "Emma," he breathes a moment later, "Emma, love…"
"Mmm?" she hums, knowing what she's doing to him.
"Ahh," comes his answering sigh, his voice failing him as his hips rock gently in time with the swirl of her tongue.
She pulls back with a small smile, glancing up his body once more before he leans forward and presses her slight frame down onto the bed. Her legs cradle him easily as he rests on his left elbow and lets his hand trail along her calf, leaving her leg sitting over his waist as he gently nudges her entrance.
She arches her back, gasping when he slips a little further inside of her. Her foot pushes into his lower back, insistent and desperate. "Please," she whispers and he nods, finally filling her as a soft symphony of moans fills the captain's quarters of the Jolly Roger.
They fall into a steady rhythm, each thrust rocking them with the motion of the ship. Killian's hand finds Emma's, bringing it above her head and gently locking his hook over her wrist, leaving his fingers free to trail back down her arm, over her breast and stomach, and settle where their bodies are joined.
"That's it," she breathes, "don't stop."
He bends down to run his stubbled jawline against the side of her breast, taking a nipple into his mouth and scraping his teeth along the sensitive skin. He hears her gasp above him, her back arching completely off the bed as her inner walls contract around him, drawing him closer and closer until…
"Gods above," he groans out and she smiles up at him, her hips still rolling in gentle circles to bring them both down.
"Something like that," she mutters into his neck and, for a moment, everything in the world is right.
…
She rolls over, pulling the blanket higher on her chest and relishing in the feel of Killian's steady heartbeat at her back, his arm slung casually over her naked waist.
Her eyes focus on the table across from her and she wishes she could look away. But once she sees it, she can't help the knots that form in her belly, the terror that lodges in that ever present lump in her throat, the one that threatens to make tears fall far too often of late.
If she was just a fraction further forward on the bed, she wouldn't even be able to see it; wouldn't be able to see the dagger which is going to tip her world completely off its balance.
Killian stirs behind her, nuzzling into her neck and kissing her affectionately, "Go back to sleep. We can go to Boston tomorrow."
She wishes he wasn't dreaming.
Tomorrow will be the day she risks everything. Tomorrow will be the day she will say, "no," once more to running away. Tomorrow will be the day she says goodbye.
She closes her eyes against the tears, but they fall anyway.
"I love you," she whispers to the void in front of her, "If I only get to say it once, I love you."
Her eyes flick once more to the dagger on the table and she makes a wish for it to be gone in the morning before turning away from it, burying her head in Killian's chest and crying until sleep claims her tired body and she can dream of that little bakery and of freedom once more.
…
Thoughts?