This is going to be two parts. Today's is rated T for language, tomorrow's will be so very effing M. Because Pervy Thirty. (You should all know by now that dear author here is shitty with details, and somehow forgot to put in the characters on this one. If you ever notice I've done something like this, I beg you to tell me. Comment, PM, don't care. Come let me know that I've missed something vital. :D)
I can't let you do that:
The job is meant to be a quick one. Get in, crack the safe, grab the stuff, and get the hell out. Some rich old ponce who has so many homes with so many vaults that there's a good chance by the time he figures out anything is missing, if he ever does, Killian will be long rid of whatever he takes. But there is a complication that Killian hasn't accounted for when planning: Emma Swan. He has no sooner disengaged the alarm system and crouched down to the safe when a puff of air hits the shell of his ear and he knows he isn't alone.
"Now, now, Killian. I can't let you do that," she says softly, the scent of her perfume surrounding him.
"I was here first, Swan. You can have my leftovers," he mumbles.
"I'm not one for sloppy seconds. You know that." The implications of the statement crawl under his skin and he has to bite the inside of his cheek instead of responding. One drunken night at the pub, he'd asked her on a date, only to find that she knew every intimate detail of his relationship, and subsequently the break-up, with his former partner in crime. Apparently after leaving him high and dry a few months prior, and after he narrowly escaped being caught for the job Milah botched, she decided to tell anyone else in the business all of his business.
"Low blow. Even for you. I could say some things about Cassidy, but that would be bad form, and you know I don't believe in that." He glances over his shoulder when he says it, and watches as Emma's smug smile drops like lead from her face.
She's suddenly standing and turning away from him, mumbling something about being a dick about the whole thing, and Killian rolls his eyes. It's not the first time they've had this interaction, and it certainly won't be the last. At least, he hopes it won't be. Not entirely sure where that thought comes from, he returns to his work and tries to push thoughts of Emma from his mind. He manages the first tumbler with no problem, but then Emma's behind him again.
"You're doing it wrong," she murmurs, and she's far too close. This time he can actually feel the heat of her skin near his, and knows for a fact she's playing dirty.
"Weren't you ever taught to not play with fire, Swan?" He's so close to having the second tumbler tripped, but then her hand is on his shoulder and he overshoots it. He swears under his breath and closes his eyes for a moment. In one smooth movement he rises and faces her, and maybe she wasn't expecting him to respond, because she dances back a few steps as quickly as possible to put space between them. "Ah, you can dish it out, but won't take it, is that it then?"
He watches her countenance change again, a sultry smile spreading over her lips as her eyes glint with mischief. "Oh, I can take it." One of her hands slides up his chest and he fights to keep his breathing even, to not let his body react. "I can take it all if you'd just get out of my way and let me at that safe."
"Not a chance, love." He goes to remove her hand, but instead his rests over top hers. They stand there, a stalemate of stubborn personalities, until both of their watches beep and they both jump away from each other. "Listen, I'll cut you in for a quarter if you help, or get the hell out of my way."
"Three quarters."
"Not a bloody chance in hell, love. Half."
"Deal!" The grin she flashes him is one of triumph, and Killian knows he walked into that deal all on his own. He scrubs a hand over his face before he rolls his eyes right out of his head. She prances behind him to the safe and enters the first number that Killian already got and starts on the second. She's halfway to it when he speaks up again.
"Half, and go for a drink with me."
Instead of overshooting the number like he did, she stops just in time. By the quirking of her lips, he guesses she got it.
"What are you playing at, Jones?" she whispers before she starts turning the dial again.
"A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. If I have to negotiate my way into a date with you, then so be it. Do you agree?" As he finishes speaking, he moves to stand next to her, his knee at her elbow. One push and she'll lose her grip. He knows he's the one fighting dirty now, but she's cost him two jobs before and half of this one. He's at least owed a drink with the lass at this point, his past and her past be damned. "Well?"
Emma sighs, heavy and annoyed, before her eyes flicker to his. Her nod is almost imperceptible, but it's there. "Fine."
He instantly moves back. "Excellent," he whispers. He's standing just behind her, listening for anyone approaching when she calls for him.
"Killian," she whispers, and he's shocked to hear his name for once. "I can't get it."
By her side in an instant, he presses his hand against the door of the safe and feels for the clicks. "Keep going," he urges. They're both quiet as her hand moves, spinning the dial as slowly as she can. "You've almost got it, Swan. Keep going."
With five more clicks, he can feel the shift, and the sigh of the tumbler giving way, and that's it. She looks at him, eyes wide and amazed.
"Now hurry," he whispers to her, the same joy reflected in his eyes.
Within ten minutes, they've taken their fill from the safe, the alarm is reactivated, and Killian and Emma are gone. If there's any luck on their side, the rich old bastard would never even know any of it was missing. And if he does, it'll be long out of their hands by the time that happens.
Twenty minutes after that, they're safely ensconced in the bar down the street from his apartment, clinking their beers in celebration, and thinking of the money they'll be splitting.
"So what happens now? I take half, we go our separate ways?"
"Not the best idea, Swan. Splitting it as is will make it harder to move. I have a contact that will take it and pay well and we can split the cash."
"I have contacts too, you know," she replies, a hint of petulance tinging her voice. He looks at her and tries to keep the smirk off his face.
"Aye, you do. And how many of them are still friendly since your split with Neal?"
The comment strikes another nerve, as any comment about her former partner and lover does, and his smile is apologetic and understanding. He'd had to find all new sources after Milah burned all his bridges for him. It's been over a year, and he still only has three shady business partners that he actually trusts.
"And how do I know you aren't just going to run off with it?" she asks, her fingers picking absently at the label on her bottle.
"Swan, I asked you out for a drink as part of an agreement. I'm a man of my word. I won't go back on it. Especially not with you."
She studies him for a moment, perhaps testing for any hints of a lie. He doesn't blame her. In their line of work, trusting the wrong person can lead to a broken heart in a bad scenario, and getting caught in the worst cases. She nods, the extent of how she'll show her trust for now.
They've each just finished another round when he excuses himself to use the bathroom. As he exits, Emma is walking in the small hallway to the ladies' room and her eyes glance down. He hears her scoff as she passes him and stops in his tracks.
"What now, Swan?"
"Your sense of style is just beyond me, Jones."
"Oh? Enlighten me. Should I be dressing in skintight black like you, pretending to be a spy? Wearing a bloody turtleneck?"
"At least I don't look stupid in mine."
"How does this look stupid?" He's positively incredulous at the whole exchange. Never has he considered his clothing stupid. "And what about your silly shoes?"
"They aren't silly, they're ballet flats. Like actual ballet shoes. They're completely silent and don't leave any discernable prints. Unlike those clunkers you wear." She leans back against the wall, gesturing to his shoes nonchalantly as she does. He looks down at their shoes, but it clicks that she's not referring to a women's fashion item, she means shoes for the actual dance.
"You dance ballet?"
"Once, before I gave it up for stealing other people's shit for sport. And then there's your shirt."
"What's wrong with my shirt?" He glances down at it himself, but he still just sees the black Henley, buttons left open like he would any other shirt he wears. Nothing out of the ordinary. He glances again at her outfit, but it's mostly hidden now. The aforementioned black turtleneck and leggings covered up by a heavy sweater. Her curves and assets now hidden under the bulky and shapeless cable knits.
"It's ridiculous. I mean, what's the fucking point when most of your chest is exposed anyways?" She hooks her finger into the point of the V and they both immediately stop and hold their breath. Her index finger is in his shirt, brushing through the hair there, and to the warm skin underneath. He braces one hand on the wall by her head, and it might be his imagination, but her back arches ever so slightly outwards, coming closer to him.
"Regarding out deal, you're welcome to stay the night at my place. Keep an eye on your bounty." The rest of her fingers have curled into the neckline of his shirt, gingerly brushing against his chest. She can probably feel his increased heartrate, but she's too focused on his lips to notice much of anything at this point, he suspects.
"Yeah, I could do that. Make sure you stick to that whole good form bullshit you're always talking about."
"It's more than good form, Swan. It's excellent," he says, his hands balled in the soft wool of her sweater now. He wants nothing more than to drag her the extra three inches it would take to press of her against him, but not here. Because if they start here, they're never going to make it back to his place, and he'd rather not be dragged into one of the dingy bathrooms for what she's implying with her body language.
He clears his throat, mumbles something about settling the tab while she begs off to the bathroom since it was her original destination before they got caught up arguing about fashion choices in the thievery business. When she returns, he's downing the rest of his beer and reaching for his wallet. Her hand skims across his backside and she shoots him a seductive smile as he throws down a bill. It's probably more of a tip than the hole-in-the-wall bar deserves, but he no longer cares as he follows Emma out the door.
They're barely inside, the door just shut behind him when she shoves him against the wall with enough force to knock his head back against it.
"Sorry, got a little carried away," she says quickly, but whatever response he could've had is lost when her lips cover his.