A/N: Gratuitous smut for Kat2609's birthday. Written for the prompt of her choice: "We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we're just waking up and there's something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair..."
It's been over a year since she kissed him. Well, since he pretty much goaded her into kissing him with witty and drunken banter. And they'd both been able to write it off as alcohol hijinks at the time. Except from that point on, she's always been aware of the way he looks at her just a little bit longer, with a little more something in his gaze, as if every time he looks at her he's thinking of those glorious minutes where they'd been perfectly in sync with their breathing and their lips and their hands, their bodies close in a perfectly fit embrace until the reality of what they'd just started pulled her back, pulled her away, and she mumbled something about it only happening the once before she stumbled away from him to find Mary Margaret, her designated driver/savior of awkward situations.
It's been over a year, and yet she's staring at his lips in the dim morning light as if it was last night instead of ages ago.
She can't quite pinpoint whether it feels like there are miles or millimeters between them in the double bed, stuck together when a "booking malfunction" (Mary Margaret's meddling) "accidentally" (done completely on purpose) paired them off in this room. It was either this room or the marriage suite, which their combined salaries would never have covered for this stupid conference she was dragged to (agreed on months ago, but she will never confess to it).
And yes, she will admit to falling asleep on his shoulder in the car on the way here. And yes, she will admit that she woke up with her arm wrapped around his waist, her hand tucked inside his jacket and resting against the smooth fabric of the vest he wore beneath it. And yes, okay, she will even admit to staring at him as he slept there, too, until a semi-truck tried merging into their lane and David shouted things as they hit the rumble strip.
As Killian jolted awake, she used the motion to jerk upright and away from him, thankful for the confused expression on his sleep-addled face as she was able to just shrug and turn to look out her window until they reached the hotel. That's when the newlyweds announced that they were late and lost the two double rooms, instead ending up in two singles. And of course David and Mary Margaret wanted one to themselves.
So now here she is. Staring at Killian as his chest rises and falls in a deep and steady rhythm.
His mouth looks weird without a smile, or that downward twist when he's concentrating really hard on something. With how completely relaxed he is in sleep, he doesn't even look real. Her hand is halfway to his face to make sure he really exists when she recognizes the signs of him waking up. And before she can move a single muscle, he's blinking his eyes open in her direction, that piercing blue dulled with the last dredges of sleep. His eyes aren't even fully opened but when he sees her, his lips quirk up on their own and he blinks slowly.
"G'morning, Swan," he mumbles out. She should try to hide the fact that she's staring, but she can't seem to stop. His hair is standing in every direction, most of the back of it sticking straight up, and his voice is low and rough with sleep. Other than the time they actually kissed, she has never wanted him more.
Morning breath be damned, Emma doesn't even give him a chance to fully wake up before she's closing the distance between their bodies, tucking herself against his side. She doesn't stop there, though. She presses closer until her mouth is on his, the simple kiss nothing more than their lips moving against each other. As the length of it stretches, one of his arms comes to rest over her shoulders while his free hand cups her face. Both of her hands are balled into the fabric of his t-shirt so tightly that her knuckles are white.
"I need to take these sleeping pills more often," he sighs out when she pulls back a little. His eyes are closed again and a peaceful smile graces his kiss-tinged lips. "I have the best dreams when I take them."
Emma's eyebrows shoot up at the realization that he thinks he's dreaming, and she wonders how often he has dreams of simple things like this. She makes a mental note to ask him later, but refocuses her attentions to convincing him of the reality of their situation. Untangling one hand from the soft cotton in her grip, she skims her hand with purpose down his torso and across the front of his sweatpants. Semi-hardness greets her and she tries to keep the leer off her face, but it's difficult when his eyes shoot open and his mouth drops open first in disbelief, and second as he moans appreciatively as her hand strokes the length of him through the material.
"Bloody hell, love. Should I ask what you're doing or will you stop if I do?" His hand is not so innocently traveling down her back to palm her ass and she presses herself against his side even harder, but it's not enough. None of it is enough. But maybe if she…
He grumbles when her hand lifts from where it was still languidly stroking him but swallows his own gasp of surprise when she slides on top of him, straddling his hips like she was made to fit atop him. She can feel him now, fully erect, through the layers of their sleep clothes and she shivers as she rubs against him. She's afraid of how it'll feel if she gets him bare if it already feels this good. With her hands braced on his chest, she moves again and smirks down at him.
"Isn't it obvious? You're still dreaming, Jones."
Large hands clamp onto her hips and guide her movements, just hard enough and just circular enough that she can already feel her climax building.
"No, no. My dreams don't feel anywhere near this good, and in them you call me Killian," he says as he moves his hands only to tuck them beneath the waistband of her shorts.
"You have these dreams often?"
Instead of answering her, Killian topples her onto her back, swiftly rolling to lean over her and kissing her again. This time it's much like it was in that bar: hot and needy, his tongue meeting hers as she opens her mouth to him. Right as she settles into the kiss, he's moving away, moving down, and Emma struggles to breathe and keep up when he starts talking at the same time he yanks her tanktop down and the cool air of the room meets her bare skin.
"Only every other night or so, but never," he bends to nip her collarbones, "quite," he kisses his way to the spot between her breasts, "this glorious," he finishes on a sigh before enveloping one nipple in his mouth. When his teeth gently clamp down on it, she feels it all the way down to her core and can't stop the moan of pleasure even if she wanted to. His hands come up to ease the straps off her shoulder and she's thankful for the stretchy material when he pulls it down to her waist, her hips, grabs ahold of the shorts she slept in and pulls both all the way down her legs and tosses them off the side of the bed.
For a moment, she's self-conscious with him kneeling next to her and looking his fill, his eyes raking over every inch of her exposed flesh like he wants to devour her but doesn't know where to start. She expects him to move, to do anything, but he just keeps gazing, his eyes lingering on her face every few moments before moving again.
"What are you doing?" The impatience is clear in her voice.
"Memorizing. I want to at least get it all right in the new dreams if you run off again."
She hums out a response but itches to get him in a similar state of undress. "Killian," she murmurs, and though it was hardly louder than a whisper, his wide eyes meet hers. "Strip." His hands immediately drop to the hem of his t-shirt and pull it up. It follows the same path as her clothes before he places his hands on the waistband of his sweats. She's eagerly anticipating this reveal, always a little curious about what he's packing, but he stops there and she can see him considering or thinking or something, but it's not getting naked so she's just frustrated.
"Sorry, love. I just need to-" but he trails off as he instead trails his fingers from her navel down, and she would perhaps think about protesting, except his thumb is ghosting over her clit and she really can't complain at this turn of events. He shifts to crouch between her thighs, thumb maintaining a gentle rhythm which is nice and all, but she needs more again.
"Killian. It's not a cat. You can't make it purr," she says, just in case he's expecting it to do a trick or something.
He chortles, and it sounds sexy because of course it sounds sexy coming from him. "Technically, darling-"
"Killian. No. Don't even say it."
He's chuckling when his lips and tongue descend on her clit and the sensation has her hips jumping up slightly and cursing 's rushing headlong into her orgasm after that, as he doesn't stop or slow, just uses his lips and tongue and a tiny scrape of teeth as one finger slides into her, then another, then they thrust, thrust, thrust and her entire body is tensing up in pleasure. Her hands grip his hair to the point she worries she might be hurting him but he moans against her this time, and the vibrations push her over the edge completely.
When she collapses back against the pillow, her arms flung out to the sides, Killian takes the opportunity to hop off the bed. He fishes around in his small suitcase and comes back victorious with a condom in hand, and divests himself of his sweats before climbing back over her. She regains her ability to move and function with the promise of the next actions, so she plucks the packet from his hand, hastily ripping it open and then taking her exquisite time rolling it over his cock, taking pleasure from the way his breathing hitches and the obvious desire she sees in his eyes. She lays back down in invitation, biting her lip as he positions himself at her entrance and slides in slowly.
Her moan is breathy, his a groan of homecoming, and then he's moving and she can't even think of why it took her so long to come to her senses about him, why it took her so long to get to this point because he's here, and she's here, and he's circling his hips every few thrusts and her legs are wrapped around his waist and it has never been like this in her life. Ever. And even more so when he hooks one arm under one of her legs and places her ankle on his shoulder as he moves to rest on his knees.
Resettling in the new position, he thrusts again and smirks when her back arches off the bed, her hands moving to dig into the sheets as every stroke ramps her up for a second climax.
"Don't stop," she manages to gasp out, and he obliges, even speeding his moments a fraction as it becomes purely about fulfillment. There's time for more exploration and torturous paces later, and she tells him so with her eyes, reaching for his hand at the same time he reaches for hers. Her second climax, while no less potent, washes through her with an extra wave of calm and she grips his hand harder, pushes her hips up to meet him as she rides through each crest.
"Killian," she sighs out, still meeting his movements with her own to bring him over with her. He grits his teeth, an expression of blissful anguish crossing his face as he drops her leg and buries himself inside her. His forehead drops to the space between her breasts and her name leaves his lips on a groan, deep and satisfying, that she can feel all the way to her toes. Emma threads her fingers through his hair soothingly and matches her breathing to his as he comes back down from the high of his release.
"Well, that's certainly better than any dream I've ever had," he murmurs against her skin. Emma chuckles softly, and tries to not mourn the loss of him filling her when he pulls out and disposes of the condom. Soon he's propping himself up on his elbow, running a gentle hand along her stomach and leaning over to kiss her again.
She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but a knock on the door startles them both out of their little bubble as Mary Margaret calls their names.
"We're going down to breakfast if you guys want to join," comes the muffled invitation. Emma stifles her groan and tries not to laugh when Killian's face contorts into a grimace. They're both unshowered, thoroughly sated, and it's safe to say they both forgot where they were. In the same instance, their eyes go wide with realization and they both look at the wall where the headboard had been tapping just moments before. "Just, whenever you're both ready, of course," Mary Margaret adds, and they can tell she's probably blushing as she says it.
"Please. Take all the time you need," comes David's commentary on their previous activities, and this time Emma doesn't hold back, groaning and burying her face against Killian's shoulder. Embarrassment turns quickly to humor, and then they're both quietly laughing and she reaches up to give him a sloppy kiss.
"We've caught them making out enough times that I think payback is finally in order. Don't you agree, love?"
And they have plenty of opportunity. The conference is three days long, and this is only the first day.
(The next conference that they all attend, Mary Margaret makes sure to reserve a room on a different floor than the newly married couple, and mysteriously, they never have a "check-in malfunction" ever again.)