Previously posted on tumblr as mahstatins, just organising stuff! Mild smuffy silliness, ahoy.
She burrows her nose into Killian's chest, watching the gauzy white curtains flutter over their perfect view of the sunrise, curls her toes into the cool cotton of their bedsheets, and wonders when she got so lucky.
His arm is warm against her bare back and the beat of his heart is solid and steady under her ear and this is her life now. This is her life.
Killian wraps a dishevelled curl around his finger, watching the play of light through the golden strands.
"You know," he says, "I've been thinking."
Emma looks up at him, at the line of his jaw and the stubble she'd so delicately trimmed the night before, and lifts her brows in faux concern.
"Yeah? Always dangerous, that."
She presses her smile against the way his chest rumbles as he groans and tugs lightly on the ends of her hair.
"I've been thinking," he continues, "that I'd like to take Henry out sailing, and perhaps take the opportunity to speak to him about this new arrangement of ours."
His hand leaves her hair on the word 'arrangement', skating down her bare side to squeeze at the rise of her hip. Emma hums, sliding her left leg further over him so that he can more easily palm her ass.
"What part of this arrangement exactly?" She bites her lip and looks up at him through her lashes, "Because if you're planning to give Henry the talk on the birds and the bees - "
"The birds and the - ? Don't be daft, Swan. I don't want to traumatise the boy, I just want to…" he looks away, a furrow between his brows, "I don't want him to feel like I'm forcing myself into your lives."
"What?" Emma props herself up on her elbow so that she can meet his eyes, "Forcing yourself into our - Killian, I went to hell for you!"
Killian winces, the memories still raw and exposed even when the scars have been washed away with magic and kisses and tears.
"Yes, yes I know, but Henry - "
"Came too!" Emma can't help the way her jaw drops and her eyes go wide at the flush on Killian's cheeks and the way he is resolutely looking anywhere but at her, "You think Henry's going to be mad about this?"
Killian shrugs one shoulder, but still refuses to meet her eyes, "I was a teenage lad once, Swan. They can be… temperamental."
"Henry loves you," she states it baldly, like the fact she knows it is, "he might not ever have told you that, but he does. He came to the Underworld against my will, against Regina's will, because he wanted to save you. He helped you choose this house, for god's sake! This is our family now, you, and me, and Henry. How could you think for a second - "
Killian closes his eyes, something like defeat in the set of his mouth. Emma leans down to kiss the corner of his closed lips, the tip of his nose, the lines between his brows.
"One day," she vows, "I'll make you believe you deserve this. Even if it takes every day for the rest of my life."
His lips twitch upwards, but his eyes remain closed. "Is that a proposal, Swan?"
Her heart rate picks up, but not in the old terror or the fight-or-flight adrenaline rush that's been her constant companion since childhood. Instead it's a thrill of excitement that runs through her as she lets herself lie back down to whisper "Not yet" into his ear.
He smiles, a soft, real smile that even she has rarely seen, and the thrill settles, warm and solid and right, in her chest.
"You're a tease, Swan."
"Patience is a virtue," she sing songs lightly as he opens one eye to look at her, "and we all know how - oh!"
He rolls over her with a growl, his teeth sharp as they tug at her earlobe and his mouth wet and insistent as he makes his way down her neck.
"What? How virtuous I am, or how patient?" he asks as he strokes his way down her side to splay his fingers over her hip, "Shall we test that theory?
Emma's about to agree whole-heartedly, when sense makes her tug at his hair where he's nosing at her right breast. "But what about Henry - "
He stops, hot breath skimming over her nipple, and quirks an eyebrow at her. "Didn't you just tell me not to worry about Henry?"
She wants to swat at his shoulder, but he flashes his teeth and she remembers the way he gets about revenge, "I meant about us living together! He's only in his room and I don't want to traumatise him for life!"
"It's barely dawn, do you think a pre-teen boy is likely to be awake at this hour? Young lads have no interest in rising with the sun. Let's have five more minutes, Swan." He swirls his tongue over her and she lets her head fall back against the headboard.
"Five minutes," she warns breathlessly as his hand hitches her knee up, the sheets falling to her ankles and leaving her exposed as his mouth wanders.
It's not that sex with Killian is the best sex she's ever had - although objectively speaking it really is; he has a couple of centuries worth of experience after all, and she's not exactly a blushing virgin - but that there's something different, something intrinsically more, about the way he makes her feel (about the way they feel when they're together). Maybe it's the magic that flickers along her skin and flares under his touch, or the it's the knowledge that this is right, this is true, that makes her arch beneath him. Or perhaps the loss she feels every time he lifts his lips from her skin or releases his grip on her hips is an echo, an ever decreasing ripple of the way she'd felt without him, cold and alone and bereft. Maybe it's all or none of these things, but when he stops to suck a mark into her inner thigh she finds she doesn't really care.
There's a commotion not unlike a herd of elephants barrelling down the corridor towards their door, and Emma just has time to drag the sheets and comforter over Killian's rigid form and up to her chin before Henry slams his way into the bedroom.
"Thanks for knocking," says Emma, her sarcasm tempered by breathlessness and the scratch of Killian's scruff against her ribs.
"Knock, knock," says Henry flashing her a bright, unconcerned smile, "can we go to Granny's for breakfast? I promised Violet I'd see her today too, so if you could maybe sit in another booth that would be great? And if Killian could maybe sit outside or something?"
The sheets begin to shake noticeably, and Killian's breath comes warm and fast against her skin as he tries to hold in his laughter.
"Killian doesn't have to come," she says, pushing her heel as hard as she can into his trembling thigh.
Henry looks unconvinced, "You're going to leave him here by himself? You know he doesn't know how to work the Keurig. Or the washer dryer. Or the grill. He'll just wreck the place."
Emma can feel the silent 'Oi!' that Killian mouths against her. Her eyes flick down to the lumpy comforter before she tried giving Henry her most innocent look. "Killian? Is he here?"
(Her mother is a more convincing liar than she is for god's sake.)
Henry appears to agree with her assessment, rolling his eyes extravagantly, "I know he's here because his coat's by the door and his boots are on the stairs. And anyway, I can see his foot."
There's a pause where Killian stops shaking, and both Emma and Henry watch the offending appendage retreat under the covers
Henry wrinkles his nose. "You're not going to have a baby are you?"
"N- why? I mean, of course not, but…" she trails off, her tongue feeling too big for her mouth and her heart hammering in her throat. This is not how she wanted to have this conversation - she's not even sure if she wants to have this conversation at all. Beneath the sheets, Killian goes unnaturally still. The warmth on her side fades and she realises it's because he's holding his breath.
"I don't mind," Henry says, his eyes flicking down and betraying that it's only sort of a lie, "but Robyn's been keeping me up all night at moms, and she pukes everywhere all the time, and, you know," he looks Emma dead in the eye, looking uncannily like his royal grandfather, "I just hope you're being careful."
The bedsheets heave with Killian's choked coughing fit, and to think she'd been worried about Killian giving Henry the birds and the bees talk. Henry beams vindictively.
"Kid," says Emma, as calmly as she can manage whilst Killian is trying to muffle an attack of hysterics in her abdomen, "my purse is in the kitchen. Take twenty dollars. Go somewhere."
Henry quirks an eyebrow. "Forty."
Killian wheezes into her bellybutton.
"Deal. Go."
"Awesome!" Henry spins on his heel, and disappears back down the corridor as quickly and as loudly as he arrived.
Killian tosses back the sheets, a bellow of laughter escaping him before Henry can possibly be out of earshot.
"What's so funny?" Emma hisses as she scrambles up onto her knees, "He almost caught - Killian!"
He stops clutching at his stomach long enough to catch the mortified expression on her violently red face.
"Oh Swan," he says, laughter still bubbling behind every word, "don't tell me you think he genuinely walked in here by accident?"
Emma's jaw drops. "You think he walked in on us like, like that, on purpose?"
"I think," Killian stretches out beside her like a satisfied cat, "that your lad came barrelling in here with the subtlety of an ogre, knowing perfectly well that I was here, and that in doing so he's got himself a day of freedom and forty of your hard-earned dollars."
Emma gapes at him. "That little -"
"Pirate?" Killian folds his hand and stump beneath his head, and gives her that soft, soft smile again. "Aye. It runs in the family."