Her fingers tighten around the silken locks of hair, her grip strong enough to be painful – she's offered a groan when she tugs, warm puff of hair tingling her naked and sensitive skin, and bringing a shiver down her spine. Emma loves it that way, slow like the tide and soft like white sand, warm and quiet and caring, in that too small bed on this too big sea, oil lamps casting shadows and turning their skins a molten gold. Emma loves her pirate that way – giving and ruthless in her attentions, as with everything else in life, her tongue as sharp against the princess's body as it is with word, her grin wicked and amused with each moan and sigh out of the blonde's mouth.
"You're a bloody siren," she had said once, her mouth full of laughter and tongue tasting rum. "Sing for me," she had said, fingers curling within Emma, pressing against the spot that makes her see stars – Cygnus branded behind her closed lids, Cassiopeia inked into her skin.
She sees stars now, bright and numerous in the dark night, as Kiera laps at her, tongue drawing patterns when she needs her pirate the most, provocative and teasing and ever so smug. She loves to play, loves to bring Emma so close to the edge she could fall and fly, only to stop at the last second, to grin at the groan of frustration at the corner of Emma's lips. She likes to play, fingers discovering every inch of skin, mapping every curve and every freckle – a pirate still, even in bed, an adventurer underneath the sheets. She rides the princess's body the way her ship rides the waves, sure and confident, and Emma loves her all the more for it – how she doesn't shy away from her lust and desires, how she gives as much as she takes, never one to back away.
Her breathing spikes up, muscles tensing and snapping as Kiera presses her tongue flat against her bundle of nerves, orgasm having her close her eyes and bite down on her bottom lip, swallowing down a cry of pleasure as her hand go slack against the pirate's head, fingers brushing her hair slowly, tentatively.
When Kiera comes back up next to her, it's for an unforgiving kiss, and Emma tastes herself on her lover's tongue, hums appreciatively. They linger, slow, take their time as Emma comes down from her high, skin buzzing with pleasure and magic both – the oil lamps are brighter, the air snapping with electricity, and Kiera's smile is smug and proud when she breaks the kiss.
"Are you all right, my love?"
Emma scoffs, too lazy and happy for a witty comeback, and pushes the other woman away with one hand against her shoulder. Kiera laughs softly, that breathless chuckle of hers, before she snuggles back against the princess, all warmth and naked skin – the cutthroat pirate captain, terror of the seven sea, cuddling against her princess like a kitten.
Sometimes she even purrs, when Emma's fingers get lost in her mane. That side of her Kiera never show to the world, least it tarnishes her reputation; that side of her Kiera only shows Emma, all pretences forgotten, her mask long gone. She loves her for it, that quiet, vulnerable side of her, as much as she loves the pirate, proud and tall behind her wheel. Sometimes it scares her, how much she loves every side of her, every detail and every quirk, every flaw even.
So she snuggles back, nuzzling against Kiera's neck – she falls asleep that way, muscles sore and breathes puffing against the pirate's sensitive skin. She wouldn't have it any other way.
(The path of true love, they say, is full of surprise. Never would Emma had thought hers would come in the shape of a pirate captain saving her ship from a kraken and whispered promises of freedom and adventures on the tip of her tongue.)