This little piece came out in response to a challenge that we had amongst us few. A million thanks to CP for the trouble she underwent for this.
Disclaimer: I wish.
He was surely going to hell for this.
And the worst part of it all?
He didn't mind. Not one bit. Not even for a single damn moment.
Surely hell couldn't be more painful than what he was already experiencing. Though his member in its confines would surely disagree, as it kept on hardening, watching that god damn vixen tease him through her lithe movements.
She was truly a siren in disguise sent to lure him stray from his path.
And damn right she was succeeding.
Killian Jones prided himself for his righteous attitude, his moral conduct and most importantly his restraint. He believed in good form. It was really simple.
If he was indulging in a one night stand, he would make sure to leave a note for his partner or a little breakfast if he had time. It wasn't him to just up and leave.
If he was dating, he made sure to pull out the whole nine yards – romantic dinners, long walks, thoughtful gifts… in simple terms, all the romantic clichés ever existed.
And if he was friends with someone, he did all the friendly duties.
Except for her.
(Unless watching your friend get undressed and while getting off imagining her like that was counted.
In which case he was solemnly performing them to the tee.)
Earlier, he used to pity everybody out there for their self-indulgence, openly condemned them for the same, claiming he was above them – a righteous soul having much higher temperance. He didn't have to opt for these petty means to find release. He could very well go out, pick someone up and vent out all the frustrations. Indulging in such activities was for the weak. And he wasn't weak.
(And really he couldn't be more wrong.
They say you just need the right person to bring out the best or the worst in you.
And he had found her.)
But now he understood it. And as it grew, the guilt subsided all the same leaving that scorching need… the temptation… the lust humming in his veins.
And he didn't care.
His hand went south, as she pulled up a loose shirt and made herself comfortable (too comfortable) on her king-sized bed couldn't see her face clearly in that dimly lit room. But he could very well guess her actions by the way her body arched up and her hands toyed around the hem of the shirt she wore, the dim light illuminating her like the bloody goddess she was.
He had a sneaky suspicion she knew what she was doing... that she was aware of his less than gentlemanly intentions and actions. But if she did, she never showed… it was a game to see who would give in first. And no matter how much he wanted to give in… he was far too stubborn for it.
(He had his wounded pride to nurse too.
But really, he didn't care.
Not when she was lying there like that.)
It all started with a single (completely innocent) look.
Seriously had he lost his mind?
(He was sure he had. Still has.)
Emma Swan was going to be the death of him.
And he would die a happy man.
Pitiful.
She had recently moved in next door. And all he knew about her was that she was a young widow who wanted to start afresh and didn't delve in her past too much, more focused on carving a new life. He could sense some resentment regarding her past but he didn't probed more.
Gradually, a sort of friendship established between them. Nothing less.
They do develop a unique tradition though.
"Sorry had to hurry. Some Ben came. Told you to call him and meet him at the Plaza around 8. Ciao. "
That was the note he found on his door written on a paper bag… a freaking paper bag. After attending business, he returned the bag back, with a reply obviously.
"Thank you so much for taking the message. Saved a million. Be sure to claim your paycheck. ;)
And seriously a paper bag? Aren't you an innovative lass? "
And then started a series of note exchanges all on a…. paper bag.
They could have been mature adults about it. Even if they wanted to continue this note exchange, they could have used papers.
But no, they stuck to it.
They used it to tease, flirt, or leave some random messages. It was a very stupid tradition.
It was during this time that he first saw her changing through his window, one night. He knew it was wrong, he shouldn't look but he didn't budge. He stood there like a statue until she completed her daily routine and went to bed. He convinced himself later, that it was just a small slip… a mistake and that wouldn't happen again.
He was so wrong.
One day turned to two which turned into a week and before he knew it, he was watching her movements every day and soon enough, getting off on the occasional glimpses caught and letting his imagination do the rest.
For it was a plain fact, Emma Swan wasn't unattractive and yes, on any other day he would have jumped into bed with her, given the chance. But they were good friends and he enjoyed that.
(Except for that teeny little act of staring.
But completely platonic in all other aspects.)
The view his window provided was gladly appreciated nowadays as it gave him an excellent sight.
And so it continued. He was way past the line anyway. How would a little more hurt?
And really he should have noticed it before.
"Aren't you a cute little looker?"
That's what the note had said. He had ignored it and then written a reply.
"I have been told that I am a frequent visitor in people's sub-conscious. ;)"
But that day onwards her movements became bold, her touches increased. He could now clearly see her, her back turned to him, long locks of blonde hair cascading by her shoulder and the vast expanse of her flawless back on display in plain sight.
It was like she didn't care, if anybody caught her like that.
(Not that he was complaining.)
He was addicted… fixated… obsessed. He could imagine himself there… with her… over her… under her. All his morbid fantasies coming alive.
He could imagine all those enticing sounds escaping her lips as he drove into her.
The grunts and moans that would break out as they filled each other yet remaining unfulfilled in the most pleasurable way possible.
Her creamy soft skin against his rough one, fitting together seamlessly and he grows hard again.
His imagination leapt bounds but he was past caring.
Their banter had become more flirtatious, but he knew she didn't mean much by it. Her touches increased too, nudges, casual and lingering but nothing more. The smiles were more mischievous as if she knew something that he didn't.
But it was nothing out of ordinary. (Right?)
But then she invites him for dinner and sure he is a little fidgety but Killian Jones is nothing, if not confident. So he puts on his charming smile and goes and greets her.
Sure, it is a little awkward for him – he is having dinner with the woman he creepily stares at at night but Emma is right in her element. All smiles and everything.
They spend the time together laughing, smiling, joking and everything.
But as he is leaving, she brushes her hand against his arm and winks (she fucking winks) wearing the classic Emma smirk and then it clicks as the door shuts close.
She knew. She fucking knew.
So yeah, when he pushes the door and finds it open, it is no surprise.
The clothes strewn around paving the way to her room – no surprise there.
Finding her naked, lounging on the bed, touching herself as he grows impossibly hard in record time? – Nada.
But he is pleasantly surprised to find her leaning towards him smiling mischievously tracing along his length. (Seriously, when did she get up?)
"So tell me sailor, isn't it bad form to leave a fine lady wanting, alone in this big room while you stare knowing how bothered up she is?" She asks forming a face which is an embodiment of innocence, completed with her mock pout.
"It hardly seems fair, does it?" she continues, "leaving a lady all alone. Where's the righteous sailor that I know?"
It takes all his willpower not to push her against the wall taking her there – him clothed, and not even a stitch on her. Holding her gaze, he replies
"Allow me to rectify…"
And then he thrashes his lips against her pouring out all his pent up frustration in that single touch.
What follows? His fantasies couldn't even hold a candle to it.
Thoughts?