Baby, It's Cold Outside
"Swan, it's just a drink." He chuckles, an amused grin adorning his, beautiful, beautiful face-and this, this is why she can't possibly stay, no. "It's up to your knees out there. Do you really want to trek it alone? Just stay here 'till morning. It can't hurt." His grin was brilliant and hopeful and just a bit timid and seriously, she cannot be held accountable for any of what happens next-her brain just turned off, you see.
"Alright." She responds with an awkward smile.
"Brilliant." He says, grin widening in his obvious exuberance, and she melts just a little bit more, despite the near freezing temperature. He opens the door with a ridiculous flourish, tilting his head in a sort of bow and smirking as he states "After you," in one of the deepest tones she's ever heard uttered and she steps inside, grinning and shaking her head. He follows directly behind her and shuts the door to his home behind them with a soft click.
What happens over the course of the next few hours is completely, totally, absolutely not her fault.
Honestly. It's his.
She swears.
Three hours and far too many drinks after she's set foot in Killian Jones' home, she knows she has to go. There might be three feet of snow outside, but she has to get out of here before she does something completely and utterly stupid.
Like lean over just a little bit and kiss him. Or confess her undying love for him, because oh, did she mention that she is completely and irrevocably in love with Killian Jones? Because she is. Completely. Irrevocably. In love. With him.
She's known this man for the past year and a half and has been in love with him for just a day short of that.
Who is she kidding? She's loved him since she met him.
She met him through her brother, David. Killian had just moved to the States six months prior to work at the same firm as her brother. The two quickly became the best of friends and eventually, she herself met the man her brother had been having an 'epic bromance' with for the past six months.
He was witty, sarcastic, charming, arrogant, flirtatious, and everything she swore to herself she would never be attracted to again.
Now the only person she's kidding is herself.
Their heated banter that night, led to the forging of a quick friendship which led her to the predicament she finds herself in right now. Sitting on Killian's couch, a half-drunken tumbler of spiced ginger rum (because 'tis the season and all, but it is actually quite terrible) on the coffee table before her, giggling uncontrollably at lord knows what, she is neither in her right mind nor sober enough at all to stay a moment longer. Killian sits on the opposite end of the couch, his own tumbler filled to the brim with his (eighth? Ninth?) drink resting beside hers. He's grinning at her in a stupidly endearing way and she knows she has to leave.
Once she catches her breath, she stammers out, "I-I have t-to go, Killian." She raises her head to meet his gaze.
She may catch a flicker of disappointment flash in his blue, blue gaze before he composes himself, but then again, that might just be the liquor talking.
"Emma, you can't leave now. Your car is bound to be covered in piles of snow by now."
"Killian, I've got to go." She says, standing up and swaying a bit from the buzz she's received due to the large, large amounts of rum.
He's over and steadying her in his arms quicker than she can even react, and she wonders how on earth this is possible due to the fact that he has been drinking just as much as she, if not more.
"Whoa, there. Steady, lass." His large hands rest on her upper arms and her eyes are directly level with his sturdy expanse of pectoral muscles.
Oh god.
She meets his gaze and sees the concern in their depths, which only causes her to melt even more
...not done, but I wanted the Christmas deadline, cause I procrastinate soooo much. Give me two hours.