I kinda saw that it was AU week on Tumblr, and this had been sitting in my drafts for so long because AUs like this usually aren't my forte, but I figured eh, what the hell? A nice change from the angst of that other one-shot I posted, and filled with some good old smut. The premise: Killian is the manager of a high-end retail outlet, and Emma works under him (please ignore the awful pun). Office smut ensues.

One-Shot. CS AU.

Rating: Definite MA

Profits

It was one of those things where Emma got more of a kick out of calling him a jerk and trashing him with her fellow coworkers than simply smiling politely and doing what he asked. She didn't hate him, not by a long shot, but he liked to be a smart ass and was more fucking demanding than anyone had any right to be. He'd tell her about his plans after work, and she'd laugh at him and call him a girl for caring too much about what he wore. He'd slip on a shit-eating grin and give her an impossible task , and she'd openly roll her eyes and demand a raise, before he strode off in his pointed shoes and she set to work. He wore arrogance as thick as the cologne he pilfered off the sample counter twice a day, and she could hear his deep timbre and smell his skin from across the building.

She wore her shirts lower after someone mentioned innocently enough that he preferred curves and softness over the usual female effigy of no-carb diets and Pilates. She eventually noticed the compliments imbrued with the snark, and caught the conversation turns when he'd talk about how incompetent her other coworkers were, and how he'd have her promoted to manager the second a spot opened.

Really, she was damn good at her job, and she could see that he knew it. Ambition colored his every move within the company, and he never did anything unless it could come back on him in a positive way. She knew it. He was a damned pirate when it came to sealing deals and duping customers out of their hard-earned cash, and he only spared time for those he could truly use.

And she also fucking knew he'd go to hell and back to bring her up with him. He'd done it before.

Through the arrogance, that frat-boy façade that came to him like a second nature, he was loyal as hell, and always seemed to know the exact moment to dial it back, to give her a genuine smile and word of encouragement when she was ready to break down and scream.

Today she liked his sneer as he dealt with a particularly ridiculous client more, though. She enjoyed watching him stalk around the building, other associates scattering at the jangle of his keys and the clip-clap of heavy, swift footfalls. He was pissed, and not just at the client. Quota hadn't been met thanks to the new assistant manager's blunder, and it made him look bad in front of the big boss, Mr. Gold. He'd emerged from the man's office quiet and steely, cigarette already between his lips as he shoved the front doors open before him.

He spent the rest of the day barking orders to anyone unlucky enough to stumble into his path. She'd watched from afar, happily buried in her department, and waited for him to come to her.

It only took a few hours.

She was in the stockroom, the cavernous space gray under florescent bulbs, but more importantly to her, blissfully quiet.

Until the door banged open, his black button-down a blur as he burst through. He'd startled her, she'd startled him, and after a few choice words and a half-hearted argument, he was folding his arms over a shelf and resting his head on them.

He was exhausted, fed up, and crumbling. Gold was riding him harder than ever, and he'd wanted nothing more than to murder the slimy reptile in his chair. She was speechless, dumbfounded, unsure. Realization dawned in that moment as she thought that they were friends after all, at least.

She put a hand on his shoulder, felt the tension knotted beneath her fingertips, and squeezed. His head rolled towards her fingers, soft dark hair contrasting with the black scruff of his jaw, and her stomach clenched.

She chided him for taking it too seriously, though it was soft. Her hands both found the nooks between his shoulders and collarbones, work-hardened fingers digging into muscles, tendons, nails just barely against skin. His entire body sagged, his weight nearly fully rested on the metal shelf, and a satisfied groan rumbled deeply in his throat.

She allowed her fingers to occasionally drift into his hair, sliding between silky fine strands and dragging along his scalp. She asked if he was better, and said that she was only doing it for the sake of her coworkers. That his tantrums were a terrible thing to behold and endure.

When he straightened and her hands fell away, there was a moment when she thought he was offended, that she shouldn't have tried to make it a joke. She opened her mouth to apologize, fucking apologize, but no sound came forth. The dark set of his eyes matched what they were before, vulnerability gone, something heated simmering below the surface. It wasn't quite anger, but it was aggressive. He stepped even closer, his eyes darting about as he took her in.

He looked down. Once, twice, and lingered a third. There was only one fucking thing down there too, with him standing so close that the bottom of his dress pants brushed the skin that her ballet flats exposed.

Her mouth was dry, any retort about eye contact and frat boys lost as his hand slowly, firmly grasped her arm just above the elbow.

He asked if it was hard for her to endure. If his shitty day made hers the same. Smiling sweetly, ever so sweetly, she said no, no her day was just fine.

Voice low in her ear, rich and laced with demand, he told her to meet him in his office in ten minutes, and to have someone cover her phones until he was done with her.

She jumped for the second time when the rough of his stubble brushed along her cheek, and his hand slid down along the inside of her forearm, tangling his fingers with hers for only a second before his body was gone, the stock room door sweeping back and forth on its hinge.

She waited fifteen minutes before finally beginning the trek back to his office, her insides hot and messy and bothered. She shouldn't be doing this, it was absolute career suicide if anything went awry (and so much could), and yet her feet propelled her onward. When she finally reached his door, the outside office blissfully empty (she wondered if he'd sent his assistant away), she suddenly felt as though she'd just run a marathon. Flushed, hands slightly clammy, winded, her heart pounding out an unsteady rhythm, legs like jelly, she tried to take back control.

Christ above, nothing had even happened yet.

In all honesty, she didn't even know if anything would happen. Sure, she figured the touching and suggestive tone most likely spoke for themselves, but how could she know for certain? And, if it was exactly like she imagined, did she even want to do this?

Only one way to find out.

A terse, "come in," followed after two knocks, and her stomach somersaulted. Bracing for anything, head held high, she entered, closing the door behind her.

He was standing behind his desk, dark eyes just as menacing and hard as they'd been before. She opted for an air of nonchalance, brushing off the heat that rolled towards her. She asked what was up, hands finding their way into her back pockets, face carefully free of the turmoil rising inside.

She had a moment to consider what a poor choice of words that had been, before he was sweeping out from behind that mahogany hunk of desk, invading her space, crowding her deliciously.

Words about need and want tumbled swiftly from his lips as he descended, stealing her air and sense. He tasted faintly of alcohol and more strongly of mint as he forced her mouth open with his, tongue sweeping along hers and teeth dragging along her bottom lip. She was hardly in control as she wound her hands into his hair, nails raking against his scalp as he bit at her lips, thrusting the entire length of his body against hers, her back meeting the wall with an undignified thump and grunt. She opened her mouth even wider, darting her tongue against his teeth, lips, the wet writhing muscle of his tongue. The bland walls and stupid inspirational posters faded away as his body became her reality, her everything.

His broad, slightly calloused hand was suddenly beneath her blouse and camisole, dragging against the curve of her hip and back. She shivered and felt the smirk on his lips, so damn sure and cocky. With a sharp tug she pulled his head back, enjoying the brief flash of uncertainty in his eyes before sliding her palm along his front, rubbing him through his trousers and drinking in the throaty groan that followed. He was so damn hot and hard beneath her hand, and she liked the utterly destroyed look on his face so much that she kept her hand fisted in his hair, preventing him from kissing her as she watched his eyelids flutter, his swollen lips part as he panted and gasped.

His eyes shot open when she began fumbling with his buckle, locking with hers as he removed his hand from just below her bra and grasped hers firmly.

He asked if she was sure, said that they didn't have to take it that far, that he just wanted, needed to taste her. Needed to know if she felt –

She shut him up with another kiss, gentler than before, but didn't let go of his belt. His hand eventually released hers, sliding up her arm until he cupped the back of her neck, holding her lips against his, fingers buried in her long, thick tresses.

When he finally sprang out into her palm, silky and hard all at once, she swallowed his loudest moan yet, rubbing her thighs together as heat pooled in her core, wet and dripping. She needed to be touched so very badly, and just as the though materialized in her mind, she felt his fingers trace the top of her leggings, gliding against the skin of her stomach just below her navel, before shoving his entire hand underneath in one quick movement. It was her turn to gasp as blunt, thick fingers met her delicate nub and folds, her grip automatically tightening around him as he hissed and bucked against her.

Filthy things began spilling from his mouth, praise and demands mingling between their kisses, endearments and curses alike. She thumbed at his moist tip, pressing and spreading his essence down his shaft, wondering aloud how much harder she could make him, if he'd like her lips wrapped around him, if fucking her would be enough.

She nearly screamed when he pressed two of his fingers inside her, curling to reach that spot as he thrust into her mercilessly. He ordered that she release him before he was undone, and had her wrap her arms around his neck as he effortlessly hitched her legs around his waist. She shamelessly fucked herself on his fingers, crying out when he added a third, her body seizing and exploding all at once as he called her a good girl, lips latched against her neck and the tops of her breasts that the camisole exposed.

She'd barely caught her breath before he was carrying her away from the wall, setting her ass on his desk as he quickly shimmied her leggings and panties off. She pulled at the buttons on his shirt, desperately seeking skin and heat, but eventually settled for sliding them underneath, relishing the crisp feel of the hair that covered his chest and tapered into a line down his flat stomach. When she thumbed and scraped at his nipples, his mouth attacked her neck again as he groaned, his hands quickly shoving the straps of her bra and camisole down her arms until he could shove the material away from her breasts. She hissed when they were bared to the cold air of his office, but it turned to an embarrassingly loud moan when the wet heat of his mouth closed over her right nipple. He sucked the taut bud past his teeth, obscene sounds filling her ears, the sight of him so tightly latched on to her nearly enough to drive her over the edge again. The softness of his tongue alternately soothed at his teeth worried at it, and she couldn't help it when his name fell from her lips. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to hear hers shouted from his.

She slid her hands down from the planes of his chest and stomach, following that line of hair until he was gripped in both of her hands, a strangled gasp leaving his throat just before he bit down on her already over-sensitive nipple, hard. She cried out, but even as the sharp sting was nearly too much, she led the straining length of him to her core, grinding against him as she coated him in her wetness. He released her breast with a soft pop, his thumb rubbing where his teeth had abused. The burn in her breast only added to the growing fire in her stomach though, the dark glint of his eyes nearly drawing a whimper from her as his other hand joined hers.

He spoke low in her ear, softly, gently, as he asked her to wait a moment, his hand going beside her on the desk to where his wallet lay. He withdrew a slim foil package, and deftly rolled the condom within over his hot flesh.

He asked her if she was ready for him, even softer than before, a real question in his voice, as if he could actually stop now, if she only said the word.

Friends. The words danced in her mind, made her pause and think. Would they be friends after this? She didn't see it as just a quick fuck with her boss, but did he? Was this all she was to him? What happened after they were done desecrating his office? Was it just a one-time thing?

What the ever loving hell was she doing?

A second grew into a moment, a moment into infinity. He waited, quietly, the blinding glare of lust dimming to dull shimmer. He said her name, made it a question, but she suddenly couldn't meet his eyes. She felt an intense blush warm her cheeks, suddenly embarrassed, feeling unbearably vulnerable in the cradle of his arms, their circle of flesh.

Her name. Again. Whispered by her ear as his hand travels up her back, and down again. Assurances that everything was alright. That he wouldn't touch her unless she wanted it.

The problem was that she did, though, no matter how horribly it could ruin them.

Another pause as she gathered herself, stole her doubt away, before she forced a bruising kiss on him. She told him to fuck her, to fuck her right then and hard.

And God did he. Not a second had passed before he was inside her, stretching her, burning her. She met his next thrusts with equal fervor, though, clenching around him, telling him how much she's wanted this, from the first moment he'd grinned crookedly at her, extending his hand as he offered her a job. Three fucking years she'd pleasured herself as she thought of him, of his hands and eyes and voice. He gasped then, and she knew he was close. She rubbed at herself hard, quickly, but it only took a moment before the set of his teeth in her neck and angle of his thrusts had her tumbling over again, her name a broken gasp on his lips as he followed.

The desk was hard and cold under her ass, but he was warm as she held on, afraid to let go. She didn't want the sweet glow to end, didn't want his words to force her back to reality, or face the prospect of things never being the same between them. She couldn't let go.

"I don't suppose you want to go to dinner with me?" Killian breathed into her neck, his voice rough and used.

How loud had they been?She couldn't help but feel a thrill at the question, but she pushed it down as he pulled himself back from her. She found herself unable to look away from his eyes. Emma had always loved how the blue would catch in the light.

Dinner.

"You're paying," she said after a moment, her shoulders relaxing, lips smiling. "Unless you feel like giving me a raise?"

Killian laughed, and the sound of it alone eased her worries, chased away the panic. It was okay. They were still okay.

"Get your sales up and we'll see, love," he said, the endearment flowing off his tongue like he'd always called her that, like she's always been his.