Because there's nothing better than these two captaining the Jolly together.
(Leave a review if you've got the time!)
"You know the drill."
The shouts of the crew and the heavy sets of trudging footsteps above deck mingle with the sigh he lets out, and she can't help but grin. His mouth is hovering over hers, ready to devour but never having the chance, still halfway to the bed, the door just being slammed shut behind them.
His hand twists in her hair, and the rings he wears catching on to loose strands, tugging at her head ever so slightly. He knows that turns her on, the bastard.
"Or, we could just stay down here," his mouth turns up in a smirk, eyes never leaving her lips.
"While your men get to have all the fun?" She tilts her head, the pad of her thumb running across the scruff on his jaw.
"I assure you," her eyes dart down to his lips as he licks them, "we won't be missing out on any fun." The last word drips with sin and she finds her toes curling inside her leather boots.
The Jolly creaks under them, rearing for a fight, no doubt, steadying herself for another victory at the hands of the merciless Captain Jones. Who doesn't seem too keen to be waging any wars at the moment, she muses, opting instead to skim his nose against her jaw, brushing his teeth against her earlobe before roughly sinking his teeth into it.
She fists her hands into his coat, the black and heavy leather rigid under her fingers as she groans.
"Killian." And it was supposed to be a warning, but comes out more like a breathless plea.
"Aye, my pirate queen?" His voice is hoarse, syllables scraping the edge of his throat, his hands skimming down to her hips as he walks her back towards the nearest wall. He bites at her neck, soothing it with his tongue right after. And God, he's moving far too slowly in her opinion.
She moves her hands up to pull at his dark hair, jolting his head back and crushing her lips to his just as her back hits the wall with a muted thud. She can feel his growl at the base of his throat as it makes way into her own mouth. And loot be damned, she thinks, the crew can handle the invaders - after all, the two of them have trained them rather well.
He moves his lips against hers in a quicker rhythm, the clashing of swords and yells pounding from overhead. And she can tell it only irks him further, fills his body with adrenaline and need as it does hers. She can pick out the rush of the waves, and even those seem louder, more furious. She moans as he pulls at her waist, aligning her body with his, leaving no space between them.
(And they were just dining with the crew, laughing at the expense of one another, the sea calm under them and she's been doing this for years so, really, the change in winds is no surprise - although it is of rather imperfect timing.)
A cannon fires from the Jolly, the sound cutting at her senses, rocking the whole ship backward as his hips grind into hers with a fervorous motion. She claws her fingers down the skin of his neck, scratching at the hair peeking out from under his vest. He hisses.
"Gods, Emma," he pulls at her lower lip. And just as he pounces at her once more, there's a pounding at the door.
He ignores it, continuing his assault on her mouth, tongue running along her bottom lip, she releases a gasp and -
"Captain!"
More pounding. Quick and loud and they should probably be worried.
"We need you, Captain!"
A pause. They separate but his hands stay at her hips, fingers skimming the laces at the sides of her brown leather trousers.
"Captain?"
He lets out a ragged sigh, dropping his head to her shoulder. "Yes, Mr Smee?" She can tell he's trying his best to keep the annoyance out of his gruff voice.
"I'm afraid we may fall short of crew if you and Lady Swan don't come out immediately to lend a hand," Mr Smee yells rather hurriedly.
"Aye," he sounds, "we'll be right there."
They hear the retreat of his quick footsteps against the hardwood. He heaves in a heavy breath.
Her teeth are biting into her cheeks, fighting the urge to burst into a fit of giggles between her laboured breath because this man, the cut throat pirate of the seven seas, is sighing heavily into the hollow of her shoulder blade and murmuring about Goddamn bilge rats who can't handle their own fights.
He nuzzles further into the space between her neck and shoulder, circling her waist with his arms. He's swaying her from side to side, dead to the warnings of his first mate. She lets him. Relishing in the quiet (well, despite the angry shouts, roaring of the winds, scraping of metal against metal) moment.
She pushes him off her with palms to his chest. "Come on, Captain," she urges softly. She watches him as his full blown pupils have shifted into something smaller, gentler, the stark blue of his eyes shining in the mid afternoon light.
He brings his head down once more to capture her in a chaste kiss that leaves her whole body buzzing.
He steps back, strides across the room and grabs both their cutlasses from the corner by the door. He throws her hers and she catches it with ease, a smile flitting to her lips.
Their movements are heated, lazier than they should be in this current situation. But her body is still thrumming with the need to be flush against his, muting the loud echoes of the battle above deck, and they never could keep their hands off one another.
He mirrors her expressions, tossing in a raised eyebrow as he looks her up and down once, slowly, eyes raking over her body like a promise. (It is, she knows.) And his hair is mussed, lips swollen in uneven shades of red, coat crumpling at the shoulders, but he looks as handsome as ever. And they'd better finish this job so that they can come back and finish, well, this job.
He seems to read her thoughts, a mischievous glint shining at the corner of his eyes as he shifts to open the door. "Alright, Swan," he nods to the corridor leading to the stairs, a full blown smirk on his face, "let's go steal you some gold now, shall we?"