Title: Tithing Time
Author: Roguie, et al.
Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Pairing: Killian/Emma
Genre: Romance, Sex, Angst, Speculation
Words: 2500
Rating: M – sexually explicit.
Spoilers: Yeah, may as well say up to Sympathy for the De Vil
Summary: As the Charming Family Mascot, Killian has plenty of time to observe and understand. The problem is, when it comes to this final battle, he understands too much. History is always doomed to repeat itself and someone always pays the price.
Disclaimer: OuaT is definitely not mine. If it was, I probably wouldn't have used the word fuck in this story. Or y'know, the sex thing... Killian and Emma would be off making tacos... or something.
A/N: Hello, hi, yeah. I really don't know what to say about this story. It was honestly just a random thought that crossed my mind in a what if kind of scenario because, lets face it, history is doomed to repeat itself until the lesson necessary is learned. This wasn't supposed to go smutty, but Killian got a bit away from me whilst reminiscing – sorry... not sorry... aaaaand since I wasn't sure if I was doing this as a one shot or a wip, it's a little more angsty than my normal works. It would appear that 4B is depressing me slightly with all it's come to the darkside hoo ha, and that's bleeding through the tone of my writing. I would apologize, but meh, sometimes a little darkness is good for the soul? So, yeah, let me know what you think – however, until further notice I will not be signing for any brown paper wrapped packages left on my doorstep, kk? Y'know, safety first and all. ;)
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They say that when one fails to learn from past mistakes that history is doomed to repeat itself. As a man who had lost much in nearly four centuries of life, Killian Jones believed himself to have learned a lesson from each fresh wound, from every wrong turn, from any situation that ripped light from his heart and replaced it with darkness. For a small period of time, he'd foolishly believed he had outrun the curse of misery that had chased him through the decades. He woke every morning with Emma in his arms, he was not only allowed but encouraged to press his lips upon her in public where the world could see his claim, he was brought into her royal family and treated as one of them – all friendly mocking aside – and rather naively accepted his place in her life without keeping a trained eye on the horizon for the darkness that would inevitably block the sun from shining down upon them.
He could have claimed it started before Emma had been born, through decisions made for her life before she had drawn a single breath. He could have claimed it was exasperated by the lies weaved by parents once believed paragons of virtue. He could have convinced himself that it was the dastardly plan of a bored little man, looking to bring ruin down upon others as his own heart blackened from a loss he'd not expected whilst wielding the power of the magical quill. Killian could have closed his eyes to the signs, prayed he was wrong, that it had nothing to do with his true love, her heart he'd fought so hard to win, or the changes he'd seen within her as week after week passed.
Once he'd heard the honest truth from her royal parents, once he'd been told the story of innocence stolen, the painful loss brought upon Maleficent by the Charmings and then mirrored months later by Emma's own tumble into the realm without magic, he saw the truth for what it was. The Charmings continued to lie to themselves that their actions would have no consequence in Emma's adult life. Emma pulled away from the comfort she had only just begun to accept, spiralling into confusion without a net to lead her safely away from the darkness that lay just off to the side, always waiting for her to notice. They called her over reactive, a petulant child, they demanded she forgive when she felt no inkling of forgiveness. They noticed her changes and yet they all failed to solve the equation, all but the pirate who had not a trace of magic to his name nor any hope of holding onto what he'd thought his so briefly. He mourned as deeply as he thrilled, caught between two warring emotions that tore him apart at the very fabric of his being.
They had come together as lovers the very night she'd returned his heart to his chest. There had been so few words between them and yet so many powerful expressions, that when his growl tore itself from his chest he was driven beyond what pale semblance of control he believed himself to possess. He'd had her against the wall in seconds, pressed into her, her legs spread apart by his own so that the aching arousal that lay heavy against his flesh immediately nestled against her stomach, leaving her no doubt as to the first dominant emotion to flood his soul. Whimpering, growling expressions of need escaped them both as he ground into her slowly, hips circling with just enough pressure that he could feel the liquid heat dripping from her through layers of denim and leather.
Wordlessly, they'd moved as one; with his arms around her waist he'd hauled her to him, her legs immediately latching around his hips even before he'd taken his first step towards the staircase that would lead them to the only illusion of privacy they'd be allowed within the town line. Giggles escaped the blonde that literally rode him the distance to his room, her lips busy seeking occupation against his own, against his throat, or fighting her own teeth for dominance against his collar bone as he swore she split flesh and left her sweet mark upon him in a sting of welcome pain.
Lights burst and dimmed around them as he slammed open the thin door, uncaring as to whether it closed behind them. She shrugged off her jacket and pushed off his. His hook found her blouse and bra, ripping through them both as if they were made of air and leaving a trail of shredded fabric to tangle beneath his feet. Warm fingers reached between them, releasing his leathers, stroking his cock, bringing the most animalistic grunt to his helpless lips as she squeezed him first through fabric and then skin to skin, his head so swollen and tender that he threatened to burst before they'd entirely shed their clothes.
He'd begged her then, for mercy, for pity, to not turn him away. He was a man overcome by desperation, to hold her, to love her, to fuck her and claim her properly as he should have done long before. To her credit, she matched his every plea with a wanton grin, shimmying against his frame so that her feet worked his leathers to the ground, leaving him only long enough for him to pull free of his boots and for her to strip clean out of her jeans and panties, leaving her body bare to his desire.
Neither paused to think of safety, of complications, of anything behind the press of his hand to her back as she finally pulled her leg free of her jeans and boots, the pressure of his touch propelling her forward until her hands met the mattress and stopping her gentle fall. She'd only half choked out his name when his own hips widened her stance, the crown of his cock pressing against her wet slit without hesitation. He pushed forward once, twice, sliding through the warm, liquid arousal that simply coated her, cock hitting her clit without fail, her body stiffening with pleasure, words failing her and turning into a simple, keening cry of pure want.
He didn't leave her waiting, couldn't leave her waiting, and after a third hard rub against her clit, his nails and hook dug into her hips, holding her firm as he repositioned himself, swollen head to eager channel, and in one, firm thrust forward that split her wide around him, leaving her mouth agape with the shock of a burning stretch that immediately turned into bursting pleasure, he buried himself to the hilt.
Molten curses slipped past his lips as he froze, desperately fighting for control of his starved, over sensitized body. Hot, desperate mewls escaped her lips as she fought to find the words to plead with him to move.
She needn't have worried.
The absolute second Killian found his control, he pulled out of her tight little body, his eyes rolling back in his head at the same second his fingers tightened on her flesh, warning her ever so briefly before he slammed back into her. There was no room for words between them. The pace he set was brutal, punishing; her body had been long separated from the touch of a man, he'd waited too long for her. She was stretched impossibly wide around him, he was finding depths inside of her she never knew existed. With each thrust he bottomed out, sending sharp bolts of pleasurable pain through her entire body, heightening her arousal, tightening her lungs, narrowing her senses so that she was left only aware of the rough quilt rubbing harshly against her aching nipples, how beads of sweat dripped off his body and mingled with her own in the hollow of her spine, cooling and heating intermittently bringing goosebumps to every inch of her flesh. She could hear the tortured pants of his breath in her ear, smell the mixture of his arousal and hers in the air around them, and all of it combined into the headiest, most overwhelming package of dirty, raw sex that when his fingers left her hip only to find her swollen, aching clit, pressing down on it in a well practised circle, and his harsh, broken voice finally demanded her attention with a growled, "Now, princess", she had no choice but to obey. The orgasm that crashed through her left her screaming in his arms, his name, God, Jesus, whatever kept him slamming his body into hers as she tightened down on him greedily, sucking him inside of her deeper, the waves of her orgasm finally claiming him and forcing him to release, helplessly chanting her name into the night as his warm seed flooded her womb, propelling her into a second, smaller orgasm, her hot, pulsing walls milking her broken pirate dry.
After that night, after laying panting in each others arms, after much needed words were offered and hearts exchanged, Killian finally believed it was behind them. Emma was finished with running from him, over avoiding him, through denying him; it was Killian and Emma against the world, with the help of her son, her parents, and his mortal enemy's estranged wife, but still, him and her against the world. For a while they'd been happy. For a while he'd been able to watch as Emma grew slightly thicker and believed that this once, he wouldn't lose everything. For a time he'd been able to nod as she blamed whatever food she'd had the misfortune of eating the night before during the mornings he'd followed her from their bed and into the washroom, holding her hair, stroking her back, telling himself that her days of denial would soon be at an end. For weeks he stayed by her side, catered to her every need, was there to fill every craving without her having to ask, but still the words didn't pass between them. He watched when the smallest things incurred her wrath, brought tears to her eyes, forced her to turn her back on the people she loved most, and longed to put a name to what was so obviously the cause, yet held his silence until she was ready to listen.
He'd wanted to give her the time she needed to accept what was happening. He needed to give her the space she needed to open her heart to the new source of love they had created inside of her. He wished he'd had the opportunity to let her approach this drastic change at the speed she needed to so that their lives would seamlessly expand to include one more member of their radically odd family.
His wishes went unanswered.
The moment his princess had returned with the dragon's offspring, he knew their time was at an end. She had been slipping away from him for weeks, growing more and more distant, putting immeasurable space between herself and the ones she loved, until she left entirely without inviting him along. Allowing her that space to leave him, to let her willingly drive off into danger went against every fibre of his being, and yet he allowed her to placate him with a kiss and a half hearted smile, with a request he not worry about her and not a single look back as he felt his world shatter around him. He lied to himself to keep sane, hoping, praying that the shadows of darkness that threatened his dreams of their future were only hints of his own past paranoia, but when she returned with the dragonling, already ripe with the new life inside it, progressed only months further along than Emma herself, Killian felt the world simply snap around him.
He would lose her.
He would lose his child.
They had learned nothing from the past and now, not only had the same situation come back around again, but with it came the very people wronged thirty years before.
History was repeating itself.
He'd been a fool thinking he could have her. Have his child. Have happiness for more than a glimpse of time in an otherwise miserable existence. The fates would never allow him to set foot in a land where his joy would have permanence.
Darkness. Light. Unknown futures. Unchanged pasts. Unrealized potential. Unworthy heroes. None of it mattered anymore. The Charmings had sold Lily's soul in exchange for Emma's, and the dragonling wanted it back. They would battle, it was inevitable. They would win, that too was inevitable. Once again someone in their group would pay the price necessary, and this time Killian had absolutely no doubt that the tithe would be paid by his true love and his unborn child.
His life was a bloody mockery, his body forced to follow steps he never agreed to taking as he fulfilled one fate after another with no end in sight. Killian quietly watched Emma standing between her parents, her pirate and her one time best friend, the fight finally back in her eyes, one hand pressed lightly over her still flat stomach, and he sighed helplessly as he moved to her side.
"Did I ever tell you it was my brother that taught me to dance, love? He made sure I'd not look the fool, even when I wasn't expecting the next steps."
"This isn't a waltz, Killian," she whispered softly, sparing him one gentle look, one silent plea to return to where it would be safe, knowing that regardless of her wishes, he'd not leave her side.
"Matters not, Swan, the same rules apply. Always pick a partner who knows what he's doing."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm not."
He'd stand by her side until the tithe was paid, their debt fulfilled, and his own history repeated itself one last time.
"I love you, Swan."
She smiled. "Good."
Her smile alone was worth his every bloody step.
~~~Fin~~~
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