AN: Oneshot - AU - No magic, no Hook :) - Emma lives in Austin, TX, and travels often for work. Killian is a freelance writer who never lives anywhere for more than a few months. They met many years ago, but have a history of inability to get over their own stubbornness and admit their feelings for each other. Neither wants to be the first to show their cards. In this story, their roles are opposite to who they are in the show: Killian is more guarded, and Emma wants to see past his walls. Enjoy!


The Bubble

Emma pushed slowly on the knob of her coffee press with one hand while reaching for a mug with the other. Just before she could pour the coffee, there was a knock at the door. She was expecting a few packages to arrive for Christmas, so she flung the door open absentmindedly, coming to an abrupt stop when her gaze met that of another person on the other side of the threshold. It was a face she knew well, but not one she ever expected to see at her door.

He leaned casually against the railing, looking slightly smug and not at all guilty for showing up unannounced. She gawked for only a second before catching herself and shifting her expression to the trained nonchalance she used in his presence.

Mimicking his smugness, she spoke first, "Well, well, well… if you were shooting for Venice, I'm afraid you missed your mark." Her eyes shifted down to the duffel bag at his feet.

He smirked and expelled a breathy laugh through his nose, maintaining that gripping eye contact that always makes her feel exposed.

"Is it alright that I'm here?" he asked. His question put the impetus on her to admit any uncomfortable feelings between them. She couldn't say "no" without a tacit admission to being affected by his presence. And because she had grown accustomed to their dance over the years, she didn't miss a beat.

"Of course! Come on in, I just made some coffee."

And he smiled at her as if she had just revealed deep affection for him.

He walked into her tiny studio apartment and dropped his bag by the door. She had never seen him in such a personal context, at least not one so personal to her. She had been to his flat in Munich, but that was fairly new to him at the time. This was her apartment of five years. It was populated by furniture that she picked out, and her books filled the shelves. It was a lot easier to seem edgy, as if she lived her life in the same spontaneous vagabond manner as him, when they were both in London, or Munich, or Istanbul. Now, he could see just how organized her life was. She felt incredibly vulnerable as he looked around.

"This is a great space." He said.

"Thanks. I like it," she replied, handing him a cup of coffee across the kitchen counter. "What the hell are you doing here?" She asked incredulously, earning a laugh from him. She leaned her elbows on the countertop, gripping her own mug with both hands and keeping the counter between them.

"Well," he began, pausing to take a sip and swallow. "You said you wouldn't be here at the end of the month, implying that you would be here for the next week or two."

"Okay…" she said with a wry smile. "I'm just a little confused because it sounded like you were just looking for couches to crash on while you were in the States for a few weeks. And I believe I told you that you were welcome to stay here while I was gone."

Maintaining the levity that helped them both avoid direct communication, he quipped, "So I decided to crash a little early." He pinned her with another steady gaze, disarming her.

They had plenty of serious conversations about abstract ideas and travel experiences, but they always avoided direct confrontation of their own relationship. She typically played along despite her own desires. The night they had spent together in Munich had been nothing short of magical, but even then, they had kept their guards in place. It had been passionate, but a purely physical passion. Since the first few months they knew each other in London, they had not discussed anything emotional. He turned her down early on, but never really let her go. They still checked in every few months to talk about nothing of consequence.

Still, she dreamt about him. She didn't want to, but every time her mind drifted, it settled on him. She could not let him see that, though. She had been the first to tip her hand all those years ago, and the rejection still stung. But here he was, standing in her apartment – she couldn't just let him off easy.

"Killian. You flew from Milan, Italy, to Austin, Texas." Her serious tone chipped at the lighthearted barrier they kept in place. She sat her mug down and gestured with both hands, "You're standing in my apartment."

"Milan is overrated," he replied simply, walking around the counter to stand beside her.

She turned to face him, slowly losing control over the façade of nonchalance. She drew a shaky breath as he stepped closer. He looked down at her and clenched his jaw.

Even now, when he travelled spontaneously across the world to see her, he was making her feel like the one putting her heart at risk. Why did he always act like he could see right through her? Suddenly irritated that he never spoke plainly with her, she placed a hand on his chest and pushed. "Why are you here?" she asked, shaking her head. "You can't just show up here and act like it's not a big deal."

"I know, I know," he admitted, gripping her hand and holding it in place on his chest. As his thumb stroked the back of her hand, he said, "I was just thinking about Munich." He smirked.

She flashed back to his lips on her neck and his hands on her body, how she was tangled up in him and still trying to get closer.

Blinking those thoughts away, she pulled her hand from his grasp. "So you're here for that?" she asked, "a week or two of Munich?" The question was direct, but her tone was not accusatory. She was not offended, and she did not feel used. They had used each other equally in Munich, and she suspected that his guarded persona mirrored her own and concealed deeper feelings. She intended to draw them out.

"Would that be so bad?" he questioned, inching closer.

"No. It wouldn't be," she said, holding his gaze. He leaned in slowly until his lips were just a breath away from hers, but watched her carefully the whole time. He paused and smiled, and she felt a puff of air from his nose brush across her cheek.

"…But?" he asked.

She smiled back and squared her shoulders without moving her face one inch away from his. "But I can't do that."

He remained still. His eyes gleamed, knowing that she still wanted him despite her objection.

"I have a counter offer," she said.

"Do tell," he said, placing his hand right beside her on the edge of the counter, his face still distractingly close.

Attempting to clear her head, she retrieved her coffee and took a sip as she stepped back.

"I don't really know you," she stated.

He furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side in a silent question.

Putting one hand up, she said, "Now, here me out. We've known each other for a long time, yes, but I don't think I've ever had a personal conversation with you."

He raised his eyebrows in a slow nod, as if to say, "ahh," and stepped back, reaching for his own coffee cup.

"We have talked about music, and writing, traveling, whatever," she continued. "But I've never seen past your whole facade," she said. "I don't hear about what upsets you, or what you're afraid of, or the people you care about." She took a step closer. "And that's not a criticism, it has obviously been a mutual thing. We have kept each other at arm's length."

He stood straight and listened cautiously.

"What I propose," she said, stepping further into his space, "is that we press pause on this whole emotional detachment game that we've got going, and try something a little different while you're here in Austin." She straightened his collar and let her hands linger there. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed. "I can't sleep with you again if it doesn't mean anything," she said, looking him straight in the eyes.

"It wasn't meaningless," he corrected.

"I know," she admitted. "But we never let ourselves be vulnerable. We haven't ever addressed this," she gestured back and forth between them. She had not spoken with him so frankly before, and she felt freed by it.

"So, you're suggesting that we…?"

"Drop the act," she finished for him. "Just while you're here. I'm not saying we start a relationship, nothing that has implications for what happens after. Think of this week as a sort of bubble. We let ourselves relax, be honest with each other, enjoy each other…" she finished with a smirk, leaning toward him the slightest bit. "And then when you leave, the bubble bursts, and neither of us is on the hook. We can leave everything behind if we want to. We have immunity."

She sipped her coffee casually, as if she had just suggested they try out that new Chinese place for lunch.

He considered her quietly.

"Immunity..." he mused.

"Immunity," she confirmed.

Her bold attitude began yielding to insecurity. She sat her mug on the counter and started down at it absently. Her proposal hinged on the assumption that he had feelings for her, and she could already feel the creeping embarrassment of being mistaken.

As she started brainstorming ways to diffuse the awkwardness of his rejection, he moved behind her, placing his hands on either side of hers on the counter and pressing his chest against her back. He lowered his head to place a soft kiss on her shoulder. He breathed out a simple "okay," and let it hang in the air as his lips continued to hover just millimeters from her skin.

After a moment of stunned silence, she turned her head toward him just enough to rest her forehead against his cheek. His eyes were closed, and she felt his chest expand as he breathed her in. She closed her eyes and took a moment to think about how good it felt to be close to him, then rolled her hips against him in a slow drag. His resolve snapped, and he released a shaky breath, bringing his hand to her waist and then across her belly, pulling her hard against him and pressing his face against her neck. She shuddered, shifting against him so that her lips could meet his. The warm pressure moved through her body like melted butter, and she clutched at his neck with one hand, pulling him closer as his hand on her belly continued grinding her hips backward into his.

His tongue slipped between her lips. Her fingernails raked lightly down his neck. His hand slipped lower, seeking the soft skin beneath her shirt.

Releasing the counter's edge from the death grip of her remaining hand, she slid her fingers against his, stilling the movement of his palm across her stomach.

"Killian," she breathed his name with an almost moan. Her intention was to slow things down, to snap them out of it before the situation got out of hand, but he responded by spinning them around and pressing her back against the wall.

Her hands landed at his waist, and his were flat against the wall, framing her face.

When his thigh pressed between hers, Her eyes closed and her head fell back against the wall.

His lips found the spot just under the curve of her jaw and sucked.

She whimpered and was too far gone to remember to be embarrassed about it. He responded with a low groan in the back of his throat and dragged his kisses further down her neck.

"Wait," she muttered, still afraid to trust that he wasn't playing her.

"Why?" he asked, pulling back to look her in the eye, blinking a few times in an attempt to focus. His pulse still pounded in his ears.

Her chest heaved as she tried to calm her breathing.

"I don't want to rush this," she said between breaths. "We have time."

He leaned in close, grazing his cheek against hers and burying his nose in her hair.

"I want you," he said in a strained whisper, right in her ear. His tone was resigned. He would give her time if she wanted it, but he wanted nothing more than to take her right against that wall.

Her body burned for that. Her hands curled into fists at his side, stretching his shirt tight across his body, and she squeezed her eyes shut, steeling her resolve.

"I want you, too," she said. She unclenched her fists and ran her hands up his chest. "But we owe it to ourselves to take our time…" she fiddled with his collar, smirking, "...maybe talk for more than ten minutes before jumping each other."

He sighed and brushed her hair away from her face.

"I'm not saying never," she clarified. "Just maybe not the first night."

He smiled at her and stood up straighter, disentangling his limbs from hers.

"Fair enough," he said. Leaning in close once again, he kissed her cheek and lingered beside her ear, "But I make no promises about the first morning, love."

Her stomach flip flopped, and before she even noticed that he moved, Killian was pulling the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder and gliding further into her apartment.

She slid down the wall to the floor, groaning the whole way down.


Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.

For those who have read my other story: Your reviews mean a lot! I do intend to finish it, but got a bit sidetracked.