Fallen Mage
T.V. Show: Once Upon A Time
Pairing: Emma/Killian
Summary: Suddenly overawed by a strange, delicious desire of making everything special, Emma imagined the course of true love she profoundly and emotionally shared with Killian in a moment she had always created in her obscure mind. A Christmas Story
Author's Note: Merry Christmas, my cute giftee, waiting-for-autumn! This story was written for CS Secret Santa 2015, but I'm more than happy to share it with all of you!
Someone asked me to describe home
And I started to talk about...
Your cutely wispy hair
Emma wandered around the room at an erratic pace, looking quite lost in the allurements of a coquette chamber, aesthetically decorated with tiny, fragile ornaments. The idea of having a real, tangible place to call home throbbed into her previously still, pliable veins like a new, pulsating piece of her heart finally getting over the anguish of spiritual conflict. Home required people.
Emma was overwhelmingly surrounded by people savoring the season of generosity, the caressing, familial peace, sending momentary shivers down her delicate spine. She wondered in self-analyzing moments if this reality was actually genuine or if it was an odd kind of abstracted reverie. As the beckoning warmth radiating off the stylish mug insatiably filled with aromatic hot cocoa, she escaped such blandishments of unreal pleasure, focusing on the chatty atmosphere surrounding her.
Her everlasting supporting parents were chuckling and working on some refined snacks, the buzz of admiring silence ringing painfully in her sensitive ears, as a gush of gratitude swamped her into an indefinite oblivion. Henry was quietly studying the fairy tale book, even if long ago he managed to decipher all its deepened, mused mystics. He was obviously under the influence of the clamorous agitation of rebellious passions, showing thoroughly via his new-found attitude of Author.
Emma thought about time, how it managed to heal her. Days when she dared to dream passed in stately procession and she unconsciously became stronger, her deepest aspirations of her soul taking form and materializing in truthful love. Killian was standing isolated in a minuscule corner, utterly lost in the dimness of the sealed eye while methodically trying to finish an aesthetic row of warm popcorn and dehydrated cranberries.
His fingertips caught a deep shade of red as they kept working continually, as though they were conducted by the easy-going indolence of a sedentary life. Some rebellious dark strands made an appearance on his upper part of his head, giving him an appraising look of dedication. Emma surprised the evening silvery, solitary in the girdle of early night, star reflecting off his tender face and she couldn't help approaching him.
"Do you want help?" She asked quietly, her voice just above the volume of a whisper, but still filled with pure candor. His slightly trembling fingertips wandered on the delicate surface of his cheekbone, stroking rhythmically, purposefully to create an electrifying friction.
Emma only received a little nod in answer, and as their pale hands melted into a single working machine, she instantly knew that true affection is felt, not simulated.
The mystified sound of your voice
It was just an incomprehensibly loud clatter flowing around Emma, clearly dissolving even the last drop of authentic concentration. She used to tell herself that it was just the typical mid preparation when the foreground was incredulously shabby and the adults were swamped into a wide whirl of anxiety.
Emma got used to being conveyed in rounds of unbearable noise and instructed herself to ignore and involve into another absorbing activity such as polishing with a layer of lacy wax the kitchen counters. Just as she was sinking in the mantra of self-discovering aptitudes, Emma was suddenly interrupted by the freshness of some anew risen pulse, in the form of shouting.
Killian's voice was powerful and echoed through the walls; the effect was one of lavish profusion, seizing in her a wish to join him in any other situation that would differ from hers.
She went straight to the source of noise, haunting the place as she strode forward at an alarming pace, her childlike contour of her body vanishing like a phantom. She stormily entered the adjacent room, and rapidly found herself in the daunting posture of restraining happy, incoherent giggles.
"What in the bloody hell is this?" Killian asked forcefully, his slightly hoarse voice clearly amplified by panicky energy. He was trapped in the chromatic fir wreath, looking utterly helpless and distraught by all tangling device.
"Let's get you out of this, before my mom decides to use you as ornament," Emma responded laughingly, the headlong vigor of sharing everlasting memories propelling her into the great unknown.
The feathery texture of your skin
There's an indefinable air of good-breading lingering in the mix of fir and steaming tea, depositing itself on a surfaces, clearly signaling the appearance of serendipity.
Emma was sure she was meant to end up like this, in a compromising position for the outside, impersonal viewer, but genuinely comforting and soothing for her lofty grace. Killian and her were lying peacefully still on the hard, wooden floor, gloriously naked and sparkling with sweat, deliciously sheltered by the light glow of the tree lightning.
She knew they should have been discreet, utterly intimate when such a major step was done. Instead, Killian's strong will and charming smile carried her in the world of spontaneity, where all the rules were long forgotten, under the magical, winked show of lights. As she rested her hand across his erratic beating heart and her tired head across his muscular chest, she didn't want to be anywhere else.
Her slightly-colored eyelids grew gracefully heavy, her calm breath steadied continuously, until darkness crept into her love-filled vision.
Even through unconsciousness, her cheeks furrowed instantly at the feeling of being tucked closer, an urge of satisfaction and contempt enveloping her broad, newly plastered smile.
The softness of your lips
Killian was an oddly perceptive individual even after all the time spent in utter isolation, he found himself able to learn new things regarding the actual world. He had already obtained the maximum of communicable and attainable truth, just by standing around such developed people. His meticulous observations of facts lead him to grasping brand new notions that would obviously serve his mischievous intentions.
He was laying across the old sofa, looking comically well-rested and dominated by a mask of calm and collected demeanor, whilst his impatient girlfriend was resolving and adjusting the last minor details.
"Aren't you missing something rather important, love?" He asked purposefully, his tone dancing intentionally between monotonous smugness and affection despair.
"What are you talking about?" Emma asked back, almost rhetorically, scanning the room briefly before realizing the ultimate essence of such a formatting moment.
"I'd rather you looked above your head, darling," Killian continued, obviously aware of the tension building crests in the most servile acquiescence.
Emma looked in the exact direction as she was told, seemingly confused and lost in the labyrinthine request, before finally spotting a tiny bouquet of mistletoe hanging carelessly.
Obediently silent, Killian crept behind her and pressed a courageous peck right at the junction of her neck, gingerly leaving a visibly contoured trace. "Shall we follow this tradition, too?" He whispered, his voice dangerously low and possessive, prepared for another round of symbiotic touches.
Emma turned around; a vividly reddish color irreversibly conquered her cheeks. "How do you know about such things? I bet Neverland was full of mistletoe and smooches," She ditched back rapidly, the nameless and inexpressible fascination taking over her completely.
"As you may know, Swan, I'm quite perceptive," Killian answered slowly, the music of her presence singing a swift ballade in his circulating blood.
Their lips met in a collided move, the opulent and onrush passion mustering out of every sense. The outpouring of tenderness was shown through a dance of limbs, eager, almost desperate to feel, to melt into harmony.
The palest abstraction of thought was finally ridden off, leaving space only for truthful sentiments.
Until I realized they had expected to hear a place
As years went by, and the paraphernalia of power and prosperity continued, Emma realized that love and home are the same, undeniable panoramas of life.