A/N: After writing the first part, this popped into my head so I decided to write this out as well.
She wakes just before the alarm on her phone blasts it's droning sirens, checking the time as she shuts it off. She has close to a half hour before they have to get out of bed and begin their day. Stretching her limbs contentedly, Emma thinks back on the events of the previous night, how she'd been so expertly relieved on her pain and then some, and lets out a quiet laugh. If that's what was needed for her to fall asleep every night, she would gladly comply.
The light of the early morning filters through the thin material of the drawn curtains, illuminating patches of the walls and floor and bed. She turns on her side, back against the cushy mattress, and half expects to find Killian staring at her, as he does more often than not. Ever the early bird; she knows (and loves) this about him.
Instead, she's greeted to his still-sleeping form. It's an uncommon occurrence, Emma being up before him, and such instances result in either her plunging right back into the depths of sleep (for if she's awake before he is, she knows it's way too early for her to be up), or she lingers to observe him, mindful of the rarity in seeing him in total repose. He looks years younger when he's like this, and she typically imagines what it would've been like to meet him in the early stages of his life; how a teenage version of him would react to a teenage version of herself; if things would've turned out radically different if they'd known each other sooner.
That is what she typically thinks on. But right now, Emma has only one thing on her mind. She owes a certain someone her thanks, and she has every intention of making good on her debt.
Inching closer to him, her blonde strands tickling his outstretched arm that lies beneath her, she watches the rise and fall as he breathes steadily, front facing towards the ceiling, and is careful not to disturb him. Not yet.
She leans over him to get to his nightstand, her bare breasts brushing against the fine hairs of his chest and she shivers deliciously. She's tempted to wake him then and there, to straddle him and relieve the tension building up inside, but this isn't about her. This is all for him, she reminds herself, echoing back his earlier words of devotion.
She pumps a generous amount of lotion in her left hand, tucking herself back into his side without a noise. Pushing back the covers, Emma settles her head against his bicep, draping her leg over his thigh and dragging the material of his sweatpants down just enough to expose him, marveling at the sight. She trails the back of her hand down the planes of his torso, the taut muscles of his stomach, past every indentation and scar.
Killian stirs at her touch, mumbling gibberish before focusing on her. "Swan?"
"Good morning," Emma replies, choosing just then to wrap her slick palm around him.
He inhales sharply, eyes widening with the full recognition of what she's doing. She gives him a moment, waits until his huffs of surprise turn into an appreciative sigh, and then she circles the entirety of him. His body relaxes, tilting his head to seek her out. She caresses the outline of a vein on the underside of his shaft, fingertips gliding over every dip and curve and contour as she moves from base to tip.
He lunges forward, capturing her mouth with skillful precision, passion and longing evident in his need to be nearer to her. Their kiss is languid and slow as they explore each other and revel in the moment she's carved out for them. She bites as his lip when they separate, pulling gently before releasing him, then diving back in, mirroring the movements of her hand. His face is the picture of ecstasy, serene and yet strained. His mouth is parted on a silent moan, his dark eyebrows high on his forehead, but his eyes are screwed shut and his breathing is coming out it quick, successive pants.
Emma kisses at his jaw, along his neck, to the spot right below his ear where she makes sure he can hear her own moans of pleasure. She loves seeing him like this, so absolutelyabsolutely open and unguarded. It feels wonderful whenever he gives himself over to her, and she is glad whenever she can return the ardent dedication he has shown her countless times.
She regards him as best as she can from her position at his side. Catalogues every twitch and contortion of his expression as she changes from measured ups and downs to more of a curling motion, unpredictable as she goes (even she's not sure where she'll land next, and knows he's being driven crazy in the best way at not knowing either).
"Oh Emma," he breathes, eyes blinking open and head pressing deeper into his pillow. He shifts away just a fraction, so he can look at her. Her own breath hitches when his blue meet her green, his pupils blown wide in lust, and the purest of love pouring out from his unwavering gaze.
He starts to buck into her palm when she holds onto him more tightly, her strokes alternating in pressure while her whole hand stays wrapped around his length. Emma stills at first, letting him thrust at his own pace, her lips hovering over his as he chases, but staying just out of reach. Then she begins to move again in earnest, their efforts falling perfectly in sync shortly thereafter.
Her thumb peaks out to ghost over his tip, her nails scratching ever so lightly as she continues. Killian whines at the new sensation, free of any modesty or restraint. "You like that?" she practically purrs, tongue flicking out to lick a path from his throat to his shoulder, ending with a sweet kiss over his heart.
"Yes," he stammers out, brows pinching together in blissful agony. His uninhibited tone nearly undoes her with its vulnerability. He trusts her so completely even after all that's happened; lets her see this part of him that's been meticulously hidden for so many years. It must be a comfort to him, as well, she realizes, to finally be able to let go; to have someone who cares as deeply and as fiercely as he was born to do.
She nuzzles her cheek again his own, increasing her speed and feeling the accompanying rumbling growl that emanates from him. She can tell he's close from the way he's heaving now and the force with which he fists at the sheets, sensual and filthy sounds from both of them filling the room.
A couple more strokes and then he's there, letting out a strangled cry with the evidence of his completion surging forth as they collapse against one another. They lay there as their breathing slows, luxuriating in the afterglow of their exertions, until Killian makes to get up and Emma shoves him back with a playful scowl. "You, stay here. I'll be right back."
She returns with a towel in hand and a coy smirk, very much aware of his intense stare, and it's this—not magic or a prophecy or her Savior status—that makes Emma feel like the most powerful person in all the realms. As she cleans him off, bending further than necessary just be that much closer to him, she feels the touch of his fingers as they tangle in her hair. She looks down lovingly at her very dazed, very satisfied pirate, with her arms planted on either side of him.
"Morning, love."
Their matching grins are enough to illuminate all of Storybrooke, she's certain, and she can't think of a better way to start the day.
.
.