AU Prompt:
"I have a paper due tomorrow and it's three am, I need all your coffee cause I ran out" college auRating: Definitely M
A/N: Oh man. Hi. This was supposed to be a quick one-shot to get through my finals. That didn't end up happening. Consider this the prequel to "Burning Off the Midnight Oil" because I'm pretty sure these two grew up to be those two. Huzzah to being done with school, and I hope you all enjoy!
SUNDAY
As far as finals weeks go, Killian knows this one will been rougher than usual, but that should be expected when graduation is less than two weeks away. He can feel the tension in his neck as he tilts his head side to side in an attempt to loosen the protesting muscles. He thinks he hears rain, but it's hard to tell if it's real, or if it's his brain frying from the previous fifteen weeks.
If it weren't for finals week, Killian would be fast asleep in his bed at this point in time. He would be asleep, or drunk, or maybe hooking up with whoever was willing to come home with him from the bar. Although, the last option really lost its appeal after his second year of college when the workload got more intense. Since then, he's entertained the idea of fancying the girl that lives down the hall, but has neither the time nor energy to pursue his interest. Still, any of those options would be more enjoyable than his current position in front of his laptop at three o'clock in the morning with a final deadline looming closer by the minute.
Ten pages due by Friday, and Killian currently has an introduction half-assed onto the page. His coffee pot has been brewing almost non-stop over the course of the semester. He's not sure when he last had something to eat. He's also pretty sure he's hallucinating, because he hears someone knock on his door. No respectable callers come to your door at three in the morning. He knows this from experience.
He pushes away from the table, because surely, whatever is on the other side of his door is better than what is on the page. And he's not mistaken. When he pulls open the door, there's Emma Swan: The Girl that Lives Down the Hall. If looks could run someone through with a sword, Killian is fairly certain he would've been dead the moment he opened the door, and his mind starts scrambling for anything he may have done to upset her. But it's been hours since he's even moved from the table, and he doesn't have music playing. When he comes up with no reason why she would be wishing ill will against him, he decides to do what he does best in strange situations and flirts.
"Ah, good evening Swan! Lovely of you to stop by," he says, propping up against the door jamb and allowing his lips to curl into a smile. "If you're here for more enjoyable activities, I'm afraid we'll have to reschedule until after the semester is through."
"I need coffee," comes the simple response. He raises an eyebrow at her and takes another second to look at her—bags under her eyes, ink smudged across her cheek, vague expression that's more exhausted than murderous, bag slung over her shoulders. He thinks the word "haggard" should never be used in relation to Emma, but that's definitely leaning in the right direction of what she looks like.
"Pardon?" is what he finally thinks to say back.
"I'm out of coffee. I have to finish this essay. And I have exams to study for. I need coffee, Jones. Can you help me or not?"
He motions her into his apartment when she finishes speaking, gesturing vaguely to the kitchen and coffee pot, expecting her to take what she needs and leave again. So he's surprised when she sets her bag down on a chair next to his at the table before she wanders in to get coffee. He's staring at her bag when he hears the cupboards opening and closing in succession, and he's brought out of his reverie of his new guest when he hears her noise of victory after he assumes she locates his coffee mugs.
He's still standing by the door, at least having the sense to shut it, but otherwise unmoved when she comes back out and walks to his table. She glances at him and raises an eyebrow in question.
"Aren't you working on something, too? I mean, I can leave if you're going to bed or something I just- I could smell the coffee in the hallway and thought you maybe just made a fresh pot."
"Ah, yes. I am. Working on something, that is," he manages to spit out. He returns to his spot at the kitchen table just as she's plugging in her laptop and he can't resist glancing just once at the jean-clad behind that's right in front of him. He swears internally, or at least he thinks he does because she's straightening up and he averts his eyes as quickly as possible to his computer screen.
"What'd you say?" she asks, sitting down and removing any chance of untoward glances for the moment.
"Nothing at all, lass. Just a touch of writer's block," he recovers quickly. She makes a noise of understanding as she powers on the computer in front of her and proceeds to unpack what looks to be a small library onto the free side of the table.
He sees her reposition the mug so the handle faces her and it's the first time he notices that she's grabbed the largest one of the bunch, a monstrosity that says "Keep Calm and Trust Your Captain" that Liam got him one year. She takes a moment to read it and then looks at him, eyebrow raised in question once more.
"It was a gift," he says, as if that explains everything. And it should, but he sees her lips quirking into a smirk and dreads the next question.
"Captain?"
"Don't you have work you should be doing, Swan?" he asks, and the avoidance tactic works for the moment. She shakes her head, even as the smirk widens into a grin, and turns her focus to her computer.
They settle into silent working, no sounds other than keys clicking, pages turning, and the occasional exasperated sigh when something isn't phrasing right. Killian finds that with Emma at his table, he's suddenly inspired to work a little harder, and before he knows it, he has a rough outline on the page, quotes plopped in to indicate where they'll end up in the paper, and the introduction and thesis are much stronger than what he had before she arrived.
He glances at her every once in a while, admiring the furrowed look of concentration that has taken residence on her face. She has glasses propped on her nose, now, and he has to turn his attentions back to his own work to keep from staring at her much longer.
The coffee cups are empty and in need of refreshing, so he stands and grabs the mugs from the table and plods into the kitchen to refill both. He dumps the last of the pot into the terrible excuse for a coffee mug that Emma has chosen, and he barely even hesitates when he brews a fresh pot. It's four in the morning, but he knows he can manage another hour of work, at least, and Emma doesn't look like she's about to let up yet. With mugs in tow, he heads back to the table and places the steaming liquid next to her.
"Thanks," she mumbles, never taking her eyes off the screen even when she reaches for the cup and takes a long sip. It's too late in the semester to fuss with things like sugar or cream in his opinion, and the look of contentment after she puts the mug down tells him they've both gotten used to the bite of the liquid on its own.
She taps her pen against the table and chews her thumb nail a little, and he finds himself staring at her movements. He and Emma have been neighbors for years and have shared classes in the past, but she's never been anything other than the girl down the hall. The most he was ever able to attribute to her was a wayward crush, born of her being the first person to give him the time of day on the first day of a shared composition course. Her smile had been bright and easy, that day.
Somewhere between when they lived in the same dormitory the first year and being neighbors in the small complex across the street from the college campus, something changed with her. Through mutual friends he's heard vague descriptions of break-up or family troubles but never inquired further and certainly didn't ask her himself. Yes, she's beautiful, but he's always wanted to know what's underneath the hard-working exterior.
When they were lab partners in a science class during their second year, the easy going smile had been replaced by a look of concentration, a walled-off look in her green eyes when they met his. Their interactions were limited to that of the classroom variety and a few outside study sessions. He likes to think he can call her a friend, but other than those shared classes, they've hung out a handful of times outside this current moment and he's not sure she'd share the sentiment.
Right now, the curiosity about that change is nagging the back of his mind, but he knows neither of them have time for questions that have nothing to do with their impending deadlines. So instead he follows her lead in the interaction department, focusing instead on the words that seem like less of a jumble the more he works.
By the time five-thirty rolls around, Killian's made enough progress to feel like he may still graduate, and exhaustion slams into him without warning. He saves once, twice to be sure, before shutting down his laptop, only to realize that Emma is asleep with her chin resting in her palm.
"Swan?" he ventures, nudging the arm not supporting her head with a hesitant touch. As soon as his skin makes contact with hers, her eyes shoot open and he holds up his hands in apology. "You fell asleep. It's late, or early, depending which way you look at it."
She blinks a couple times to clear the haze of sleep before nodding. With sluggish movements, she saves the documents on her computer before shutting it down, but makes no move to pack it away again.
"Listen," she starts, and something about the grainy quality of her voice tugs at him. "I have to do this all again tomorrow. Any chance I can just come back here?" He nods at the request and she gestures to her laptop and book piles. "Okay if I leave this here?"
"Of course. No point lugging it all down the hall just to bring it back tomorrow. Today."
"Whatever it is," she adds, small grin peeking through.
He chuckles and shakes his head. "I have a feeling we won't know what day it is until this is all over."
"Just as long as we know what day we're supposed to dress up in the square hats." She smiles a little wider this time, the rush of victory so close at hand lighting up her features. He recognizes it as the same smile he saw on her face the day he first met her, and wonders once again what changed that it takes the thrill of graduation to bring about an expression he hasn't seen in almost four years.
This train of thought is interrupted when Emma pushes her chair away from the table and stands. She rolls her shoulders and her head, sighing as muscles stretch and joints pop. She gathers her still partially filled backpack and puts it back on her shoulders, giving Killian one more quick smile.
"Thanks, Jones. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Any time, Swan. As you can see, I do mean that." He says this as he stands and walks her to the door. He reaches up and scratches behind his ear, barely noticing the habit that he's never been able to kick. His breath catches when suddenly she's hugging him around his middle. Before he can even respond to the action, she's pulling away looking a little stunned by her actions as well.
"Uh, goodnight," she mumbles, and turns the handle to leave.
"Goodnight, Swan," he responds, although she's already moving swiftly down the hall towards her own apartment. He waits until he sees her unlock the door and enter, the door quickly shutting behind her without a backwards glance, before he eases his own door shut and locks it.
Considering the mess at his table, he leaves all their work untouched and only gathers the used coffee mugs. After rinsing them and placing them in the dinky dishwasher provided in the apartment units, he resets the coffee pot to brew when his alarm will go off. It's the least he can do for the version of him that will wake up in less hours than he wants to consider.
He rubs at his eyes and shuts off lights on his way to his bedroom, lost in thoughts about unexpected visits and long, blonde hair.
MONDAY
He's deep into work when the knock sounds on his door the following evening. He wasn't sure when to expect her, so his ear has been trained for the sound even with the music filtering out of the speakers on his laptop.
He whips open the door to find her, glasses already on and an iced coffee in each hand.
"Figured the cold might stimulate some extra brain power. Or something. You know what, just take the damn coffee," she rambles, and he wonders how much she's already consumed so far.
"Thank you?" His uncertainty at her caffeine levels shows, even as he takes one of the cold cups from her. He stands aside and motions her in and they each return to their previous positions at the table. She doesn't comment on the addition of music, so he leaves it on as he burrows into the words he's typing, piecing the information together paragraph by paragraph. It's as if his muse appeared the same time she did the night before, and he can't help think that it's never been this easy to write an essay before.
"What are you working on today?" she asks, breaking their silent work about a half hour after they sit down.
"Same essay as yesterday. It's due Friday, but I want to give it an extra day for revisions," he replies, never looking away from the screen. He can feel her eyes on him and he wants to look over at her, but he's afraid he'll get stuck in the trap of staring at her all over again. "Any progress on your end?"
"A little. My capstone is giving me hell. I have two more final exams left so I'm just trying to spread it all out."
"Shouldn't you be done with exams at this point? Aren't you an English major or something? I thought that was primarily essays and stuff by the end." The glare she shoots him tells him he's wrong.
"Try American Studies. And I left some of the gen eds until the very end. I had to take a math exam this morning." She takes the time to stretch her arms high over her head leaning over the back of the chair until the pops that result sound satisfying even to him. With her face turned toward the ceiling, he falls prey to glancing at her. He can't help it. It's hard not to stare when her shirt is riding up just a touch, exposing a thin strip of flesh to his hungry eyes.
Before she turns back, he looks again at the laptop and pinches the bridge of his nose. He drags his fingers across his eyes once, trying to relieve them of the tension that seems to be growing by the minute. He's starting to feel that being an adolescent was easier than spending even an hour with Emma at his kitchen table. He chalks it up to stress and physically shakes it from his head.
With more sensuality than she probably intends, Emma finally drops her arms and straightens her back, letting out a soft sigh that just borders on a breathy moan and he clenches his jaw just a little tighter to block out any thoughts that threaten to come about.
"What about after?" she asks after what would be silence if it weren't for the music still playing on his computer.
"I have a job at the docks with a couple research boats. They're willing to take on a fresh oceanography graduate."
"So you're sticking around then?"
"As opposed to going where, love?"
"I dunno. Back?" It occurs to him then that Emma has no idea where he's even from, or what his history is, and he can tell anyone that she lived in Boston growing up. She has a cousin she's close to, but otherwise she's low on the family department. He tries to figure out if he knows all this because he's attentive when others are speaking, or if it's because he's just always been attentive when others are speaking about Emma.
"Back to Portland where my brother lives? No. Probably not. Not when I have a job lined up and this fabulous apartment." He throws his arms wide to indicate the small retro eating area they are currently tucked away in. The wallpaper probably dates back to the 70s when olive green, orange, and yellow were in vogue. To top it off, each flower in the strange drab colors is topped with gold glitter, perhaps in an effort to make it appear more cheery. For the record, he does not think it does.
She laughs at that, taking in the area, with the added bonus of an olive green light fixture hanging above them. "Yeah, this place could use some updates. Yours is worse than mine."
"And you?" he asks in return. "What will you do after graduation?"
"I don't know yet." She grimaces as she says this, and he knows the feeling all too well. The job he's been offered only came through two weeks ago. Before that, he was just as undecided as Emma sounds. He's just about to offer some sage advice he hasn't thought of yet when her stomach growls, loudly, and her eyes go wide. "I think I've only had coffee today. I can't even remember if I've had food."
"That's it. Save your work. We're going to see Ruby and get some food," he declares, following his own orders and saving everything (in triplicate if necessary) before shutting his laptop.
They navigate the small but steep hill leading down to the restaurant and bar where Ruby works. It's way too early for the bar crowd, but too late for the dinner crowd, so they're able to sit at the bar and chat with Ruby while she preps for the wave of students that will come in to celebrate the end of their finals later that night. The whole week is filled with celebrations, no matter what day it is.
If Ruby is surprised to see them come in together, she doesn't show it, but he's sure a look passes between the two women. Before he can even raise an eyebrow in question, the exchange is over and she's focusing on seeing how many of the onion rings she can steal from his plate before he slaps her hand away. He never does. He's beginning to discover that he'd buy her a couple more plates if she keeps smiling at him like that.
Killian first figures out that he's in real trouble when they're scaling the hill on the way back to their apartment building after what could be called dinner, but probably also breakfast and lunch. Every couple steps, their walking rhythm matches up and her hand brushes against his. And every time her skin touches his, he has to stop himself from reaching out and clasping her hand.
He throws himself into his essay when they return, only surfacing when they need more coffee or he has to stretch. With real food in their systems, they seem to catch their second wind and he's fairly certain that two and a half hours pass by the time one of them speaks again.
"Grad school," she says suddenly, and he blinks a couple times in an effort to remember if there was something said before this.
"What about it?"
"I think that's what I want to do next," she adds. He turns to fully focus his attention on her, giving her a look to indicate that she should continue. She meets his eyes quickly before looking at the screen on her computer again. "Ah, they have a program for graduate studies that I can probably get into." She turns the laptop towards him and he peers at it.
"The date for application has passed already," he remarks when he spots the deadline.
"For the fall semester. I think I need a short break after this experience. I can apply to start in the spring."
"Sounds like an excellent plan, then," he tells her. He can see the self-doubt spelled out on her face and again wishes to know what happened to the self-assured young woman he first met.
"You really think so?"
"Swan, I wouldn't lie to you. If it's going to make you happy, you should do it." She looks at him again, this time locking her gaze with his, considering for a moment before flashing a tiny grin.
"I think I'm wrapped up for the night. I have another final late tomorrow, and then I'll be back?"
"Works for me. I seem to get my best work done when you're here." He hadn't entirely meant to admit it, but the look she gives him after he says it is worth it. "And I have a final early in the morning, so I should probably get some sleep for once." She nods once before rising from the chair.
Just like the night before he walks the short distance to the door with her. This time when she hugs him, it's planned. He carefully brings his arms around her to return the embrace. It's still much shorter than he would prefer, but at this point, he's not going to complain. When she steps away from him, she gives him a genuine smile.
"Thanks. This week is starting better than I expected with a friend," she says quietly. "Goodnight, Killian."
He flashes a wide smile at her and wishes her the same and then stands and waits again until she has her own door unlocked. She glances back at him before she walks through her open door, holding up her hand in a tentative wave. He waves back before stepping back into his apartment and closing the door. He leans his forehead against it briefly, wondering if this is the best or worst development he could've asked for.
TUESDAY
Emma is just walking down the hill towards campus when Killian is returning from his morning final. In a return gesture, he has an extra iced coffee in hand that he was going to deliver when he got back to the building.
"I thought you said your final was later today?" he asks when he's standing in front of her.
"It is. I wanted to get to the library for a bit. Is that for me?" she indicates to the coffee in his hand. He hands it over, a smile spreading across his face that matches the one on hers.
"Aye, I was just on my way to deliver it. Good luck. I've earned myself a few hours of rest before I get back to work on that bloody essay," he remarks, turning to start up the hill she's recently descended.
"Gimme your phone. I'll text you before I stop over in case you're still sleeping."
He wonders if that was the most brilliant way to get a phone number or what, but hands over the phone. She sends herself a text from his phone, the message simply a smiley face, and they both go about saving the information before parting. He wishes her luck one last time and she sucks the straw of the iced coffee into her mouth while his goes dry. She will be the death of him, but hopefully it'll be after he's earned his degree.
Despite his mind's fixation on Emma Swan's mouth (clearly just stress levels) he manages to fall asleep nearly as soon as he falls on his bed. When he awakes, there are two texts from Emma sent just minutes prior.
I'm gonna hurl.
I'm going to fail.
He stares at the words on the screen, fighting through the haze of a recent nap to come up with something reassuring.
You'll do fine, Swan. I believe in you.
It sounds pathetic, but it's the best he can do with the limited amount of brain power he has left. The text is marked as read right before her final is due to start, but it takes another hour to hear back from her.
I don't know. Usually I know right away if I aced something or bombed it. But I didn't throw up on the prof, so there's that.
Proud of you. :)
Something tells him that the look on Dr. Hopper's face if she had gotten sick on her psychology professor would've been worth it, but he doesn't say as much. Killian throws himself into his essay after their text exchange, only hearing from her again when she lets him know she's headed to the library for some last minute research materials.
His eyes start straying to the clock in the bottom right corner of his computer every few minutes after he's made himself some dinner. She never said when, precisely, she would be there. He sends off a text inquiring about her whereabouts anyway, but gets no response. He's about twenty seconds from marching down the library to find her when he hears the tapping on his door. With a sigh of relief, he opens the door to find Emma on the other side, and it takes a great deal of effort to not double over laughing at the sight of her.
When she first came over those few nights prior, he thought her expression one of murderous intent. Had he seen this expression on her face first, he would've known that the first was merely exhaustion. This, this was the facial approximation of homicide by looks.
Her entire appearance is slightly damp. A dark stain covers one knee of her jeans where it looks like she went down in mud. Her hooded sweatshirt also has stains splotching across the Storybrooke University logo. Her blonde hair is dull and pulled into a sloppy bun or something that's supposed to resemble one high on her head. He opens his mouth to ask, but she holds up a hand. So he just presses his lips together and steps aside to let her in. As a final detail, he sees that she is no longer wearing shoes or socks.
He follows her in and goes back to his seat while she goes to his kitchen. Without another word, she settles herself at her spot at his table after fetching the Captain mug from his kitchen. He'd tried hiding it when he put it away that morning, but apparently did not try hard enough.
After an hour or so, Killian can see the tension slowly draining out of her. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of making her look a little more tired than normal. He wants to urge her to sleep, to get some rest, but he doesn't think she'll take too kindly at being told what to do even if that's not his intention.
"So are you going to tell me why you're apparently a Captain?" she asks. Her eyes now scan the page of a book while she pulls one leg up to rest her foot on the chair. He looks at the knee of the jeans, still covered in what definitely must be mud, the dark splotch of earlier lighter now that it's drying.
"Would you care to explain to me why you're covered in mud and not wearing shoes?"
She hums, this displeased noise in the back of her throat, and turns back to her work. He assumes he's off the hook, so he continues working on his essay. He's roughly two paragraphs away from being done, apart from the conclusion and cleaning up his works cited page, and he can see the light at the end of the long tunnel.
"Did you know it stormed earlier?" she says suddenly. He blinks at her, unsure of where this is coming from, as he's completely forgotten his previous question at this point.
"Did it?"
"Yep," she says, heaving a sigh as she underlines something in the open book. "Total downpour right after I woke up face down in a book and my phone dead. I started running to get back here right as the skies fucking opened up right above me. And then I tried to get up the hill…" she trails off, and he thinks about the hill after it rains, and knows immediately what fate has befallen his poor Emma.
"You tried running the hill," he states. She flicks her eyes in his direction once before looking back to her book. The pink that lights across her face is all the answer he needs. "And your shoes?"
"I think they're still somewhere in the hill. I left my socks by my door and came straight here."
She's been entirely forthcoming with her mishaps now, so he knows he owes her an explanation in return. Embarrassment gnaws on his gut for a moment and he heaves a sigh before telling the story.
"I got drunk during the holiday break freshman year. He was still living in England at that point," he says, waving at the mug she's brought up to her lips again. "I cannot recall, but my wonderful brother tells me I started talking like a pirate and told him I was commandeering his vessel at some point in the evening. When he told me I couldn't commandeer it because I was too pissed to drive it, I told him that I was the dreaded Captain Hook and he would just have to do my bidding."
In her defense, he can see she's fighting laughter as he finishes explaining. And then they're both laughing, the hysterical giggles of college students about to graduate mixing with genuine laughter over their own stupidity.
"Killian Jones, the feared pirate Captain Hook. I like it," she says, eyes still lit up with her mirth.
"Glad you can find entertainment in my misery, love. He finds new ways to remind me of that incident every time we talk," he explains.
She chuckles again, and soon they are tucked back into their work. They take turns fetching fresh coffee, and when the pot runs out again, he sets up the coffee maker but doesn't brew the next batch. He's just about reached his limit, and if he drinks any more coffee, he's not sure his bladder will survive. Instead, he sets the automatic timer so it'll brew when he wakes up.
It's four thirty in the morning when Emma finally tucks away various study guides and stashes her books back in her bag. She takes care to save everything twice before powering down the laptop, and Killian follows her lead.
"Heading home?" he asks, gathering their mugs and heading into the kitchen.
He walks back to the table in time to see her standing and stretching, cracking her back and neck as many ways as she can. He thinks this may be his favorite part of each night as he watches the lines of her body move. She throws her glasses on her bag and scrubs her fingers across her tired eyes.
"I should," she says. But he sees the hesitation, and he can also see the exhaustion creeping up fast on her features. "I'm afraid I won't wake up in time for my final." Her admission comes from the nagging paranoia every college student possesses, but with how long she's been working, he considers that her fear may be a reality. "Would it be okay if I crashed on your couch? I don't know what time you're planning on waking up, but if I go home, I'm not sure I'll wake up in the next twenty-four hours."
"I'll be up by ten-thirty to keep working. What time is your final?"
"It's at noon. That may actually be perfect. You can just roll me off the couch and toward my apartment when you wake up and I can take it from there."
"That couch is miserable, Swan. You'd be better off in the bed with me," he says. The look she sends him is a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "Not like that. I have a full size bed. Not too big, but large enough that we won't be cramped up in it. You'll need as much sleep as possible for that final," he explains.
"The couch will be fine, Jones. I'm relatively small. I fit well in tiny spaces," she says, eyeing the couch in question.
"I mean it. The couch is too small, even for such a tiny creature like you. And it's unfathomably uncomfortable. I swear to you Swan, if you crash in the bed with me, I will not lay a single ungentlemanly finger on you."
She stands there considering it for another moment and he can see the look in her eyes becoming more vacant.
"I'll set the alarm and I assure you, I will wake you up when it's time to go for your exam. Plus it'll be easier to just knock you off the bed to wake you up." She cracks a smile at that, and finally nods in resignation. He checks the lock on the door before motioning her towards the bedroom while he turns off the lights.
Emma's standing by his dresser when he enters the room, holding a framed picture of himself and Liam. He takes in the sight of her, still caked in mud, and moves to the dresser she's in front of. He nudges her out of the way and pulls open a drawer, rifling through it for only a moment before coming up victorious with a pair of old track shorts he hasn't worn in years. He hands them over to her and at her questioning look, he indicates the pants he would not let near his bed in a million years, even if the wearer of them has slowly been crawling into his heart over the last several days of sleep deprivation.
"Ah, yeah. Thanks," she says, taking the shorts from his hands. He grabs his own sleep pants from the floor and wanders out of the room to let her dress for bed. He takes the opportunity to scrub his face with a warm wash cloth and clean his teeth, ignoring the hollows his eyes have become since the week began. When he returns, she's sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her turn in the bathroom.
"I left out a washcloth if you want. And I always keep a spare toothbrush, so you're welcome to use that as well," he says, heading over to his hamper to deposit his dirty clothes.
"Thanks," comes her quiet response, and she exits the room.
He's just settling into the bed when she comes back in and he sees her hesitate before she grips the hem of the sweatshirt and pulls it over her head. She drops it to the floor and climbs under the covers. He wants to appreciate the whole scene of sharing his bed with Emma, but he yawns instead, and lets his muscles relax after he clicks off the bedside lamp.
"Sleep well, Swan," he murmurs as sleep starts pulling him under.
"You too, Captain," she grumbles back, turning on her side away from him. He falls asleep mid-way through the chuckle her comment causes.
He dreams he's sitting by the ocean on a sandy beach more perfect than any beach he's ever come into contact with. The sun is shining down on him, warming his skin and making him feel like this is the only place in the world he should be at this exact moment. In the dream, he's dipping his hand into the sand, but instead of getting cooler as his hand goes deeper, the sand stays just as warm as the grains on the surface and he thinks that he could stay like this forever.
"Jones," he hears. A voice is saying his last name, and he wonders who else could be on this deserted slice of heaven he's found in his dreams when it repeats. "Killian." This time it's a little more forceful, and he recognizes the voice as Emma's, and suddenly the dream is being ripped away from him as he hears her repeat his name once more. He doesn't open his eyes. He doesn't want to. He can tell by the amount of light filtering through his eyelids that they couldn't have been sleeping for more than a couple hours, which means they have more before his alarm will go off.
"What is it, lass?" he asks, and the gravel in his voice would make him cringe if he could move his face muscles for more than just speaking.
"Your hand," she says, and it's hard to say whether the tone she's using is terse or, is that a hint of breathy he detects?
"What about it?"
"It's in my pants," she responds, and her voice is definitely walking the fine line of being throaty so he finally cracks open an eye to see that at some point, he must've rolled over to face her and when he assesses the situation, he finds that his hand is, indeed, tucked into the waistband of the borrowed shorts and even resting beneath the line of her underwear and settled on her hipbone.
"It seems you are correct. And technically, they're my pants," he replies, and he can feel sleep tugging him back under, so he closes his eye again but makes no move to change his position. He flexes his fingers without even meaning to and hears her breath hitch. The noise is interesting enough for him to open both eyes this time and he's staring at the back of her head trying to figure out exactly what would be the logical next step in this moment.
He shifts his hand, intending to remove it and roll over, but her hand is there, resting lightly on top of his. Killian tries fighting the sleep that's washing back over him, but he's out before he can make out heads or tails in the situation.
WEDNESDAY
Emma is still pressed lightly against him when Killian reaches over to hit the snooze button. He briefly worries about how difficult it will be to wake her up. He silently prays that she's not the kind to throw a punch when she's woken. He peers over her shoulder as much as he can from his current vantage point, enjoys the peaceful way she's breathing and noting that the bags under her eyes have lessened considerably with the few hours of sleep they got.
The smell of freshly brewing coffee, infinitely better smelling in the morning than after four pots at night, drifts through the apartment, and he untangles himself from Emma and the sheets to start preparing for the day. He returns after a healthy gulp of his beverage, prepared to deal with waking up a sleep deprived college student.
"Emma." He shakes her gently, repeating her name and ready to duck if any fists go flying. But she only grabs his hand, cuddling it against her chest. He stifles laughter while she makes a noise of sleepy agitation. He tries again, but she only tugs his whole arm tighter and burrows down into the covers. He's trying to keep himself a respectable distance, but she just keeps pulling him closer.
"Five more minutes," she murmurs on a sleepy sigh.
"Can't do that, love. You've got an exam in an hour. Don't make me do this the hard way," he says, stretching a finger up to rub under her chin. Still, she doesn't budge. "I warned you." He extracts his hand from her grasp and walks back out of the room. He considers his options for only a moment before he settles on a plan.
In the bathroom, he turns the water on, not allowing it to get too warm before he gets back, and goes back to his room. In one movement, he picks Emma up and carries her straight into the shower.
Killian moves quickly enough that initial confusion at being lifted doesn't have enough time to materialize into consciousness before the semi-cold water is raining down on Emma. She screeches and wriggles, trying to get away from the water. He turns so his body blocks the water, thankful for the cooler temperature to stop him from fixating on the fact that he and Emma are in the shower together. He sets her down on her feet and she shivers against him.
"I hate you," she says, teeth chattering a little.
"Come now, Swan, I didn't even put it on full cold," he says, grinning ear to ear. He reaches behind him and changes the temperature, making sure the water hitting his back is warm before he steps out. She raises an eyebrow, relinquishing her hold as she feels the warm spray.
"Just doing my job to wake you up, love. Coffee will be waiting when you're out." With that, he gives her a wink before swishing the curtain closed. He pilfers a spare towel for himself and tries to ignore the way her tank top clung to her skin.
He refocuses his attentions on his mental to-do list as he strips out of the now-soggy sleep pants and shirt. He redresses, making sure to dump everything from the floor into the hamper before lugging it down the hall to start washing it.
When Killian re-enters the apartment, Emma is standing in his bedroom wrapped in his bathrobe looking a little lost.
"Where are my clothes?" she asks, looking over her shoulder at him. He closes his eyes and swears softly.
"I just threw them in with my laundry. I apologize. I wasn't even thinking," he stammers out, but she looks entirely collected. The ease with which she's standing there, her hair wrapped in a towel and her body enveloped in the worn terry fabric of the robe, feels entirely too natural. He's not sure if it's sleep deprivation, stress, or genuine interest on both their parts, but he can feel the shift in their status from the night before to now.
She chews her lip for a moment before shrugging. She goes to the drawer he opened the night before and finds a pair of shorts from it. "Got a shirt to go with this?" She slips on the shorts under his robe while she asks, and he indicates the drawer above the one she just rummaged through. She pulls out a t-shirt and only turns to face away from him before dropping the robe and slipping the shirt on. This time, when she looks at him over her shoulder, he can see the faint lifting of the corners of her mouth, the playful glint in her eyes, the light flutter of her eyelashes.
He has two words that go through his brain at that exact moment: Game. On.
"It takes two, love. But I don't want to make you late for your test," he says. He leans against the doorframe and raises an eyebrow in challenge. She huffs out a laugh while removing the towel from her hair.
"You have something I can borrow to throw over this?"
Without even looking, Killian grabs a sweatshirt from the hook next to his bedroom door. He walks it over to her, stopping when he's more than invading her personal space. She smells like his soap and shampoo, a combination he didn't realize would be equally as dangerous as her own bath products.
"You have to promise you'll return it." He licks his lips and delights in the way her eyes track the movement. He brings the garment between them, allowing his knuckles to brush along the fabric covering her stomach. She gasps and sways into the touch just a fraction before yanking herself back and snatching the hoodie from his hand.
"Well played, Jones." She tugs on the sweatshirt, making sure to push up the sleeves before freeing her damp hair from beneath it. She takes a moment to tie the wavy tresses up again, the same messy deal it was when he opened the door the night previous. And then she grabs his shirt and pulls him forward to kiss him. In a moment reminiscent of the first time she hugged him earlier in the week, he's barely had a chance to respond before she's breaking the kiss and sliding out of his bedroom. In a daze, he reaches up to touch his lips where they're still tingling from the contact with hers.
She's just throwing her book bag over her shoulders when he regains his wits and goes out to see her off. He has every intention of making a smart remark and behaving himself, but he makes the mistake of striding right to her and kissing her again. "Don't forget shoes," he comments when their lips part. She's the one to instigate again, threading her hands in his hair. "And good luck," he says, trying to untangle himself but unwilling to let her go. "You're going to be late, Swan." With a disgruntled noise and one last kiss, she finally breaks away and opens the door to leave.
"We're not finished here," she states, promise dancing in her eyes, before she shuts it behind her.
It's an effort to get anything done after Emma leaves, but Killian manages to throw himself into various tasks to keep his mind off what he would rather be doing instead of his final essay. It's this thought that makes him realize that it's not even been a week and everything has changed so drastically.
He's just starting to compile his works cited page when she returns.
"You have no idea how much you made my day," Emma says when she waltzes back in. She doesn't knock, just comes in as if she's been doing this all their school careers.
"And how did I do that? Surely my coffee isn't that good."
"I didn't even get coffee this morning. Someone dumped me in a shower to wake me up. However, I just walked into my last final wearing your clothes and smelling like you. My ex is the TA for that class. I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head when I handed him my exam," she responds, and her eyes are lit up with more than one victory.
"Is that whose sweatshirt I'm currently drying?" He's proud when not a single note of jealousy comes out when he says it.
"Nah. I stole that from David years ago," she responds, heading for the kitchen to refill his coffee mug and bring back one of her own.
"He's your cousin, correct?"
"Something like that," she says when she re-enters the eating area. She settles herself in her chair, powering on her laptop and diving into work without another word. He wants to bring up their earlier moments, the ghost of her lips still lingering in his memories, but she seems to be intent on focusing and he can't fault her for it.
They break only for dinner and then both manage to work until it's almost morning again, and Killian can feel the toll it's taking on his body to stay up late and rise early every single day. Emma is just about falling asleep at the table again, her eyes drooping shut even as she struggles to stay awake long enough to save her work. He rises from his chair and urges her up from her own. When she stumbles on her way to the door, he eases the backpack off her shoulders and sets it next to the table, then guides her back to his bed once more.
From there, she doesn't even hesitate. She goes right back to the side she slept on the night before and collapses, curling up tight onto her side again and mumbling something that may have been "Goodnight" or could possibly have been another language. She's still wearing the clothes she left in that morning, practically acting as pajamas on their own, so he only checks to make sure she did remove her shoes at some point before drawing the covers over her.
He doesn't bother to leave the room to change this time. After tossing his jeans and t-shirt into the recently emptied hamper, he pads softly over to the dresser to pull out a fresh pair of sleep pants. He skips a shirt this time, all of a sudden too tired to even think of doing more than crawling into his bed and making sure the alarm is set again. He turns his back to Emma and falls asleep nearly as soon as his head is on the pillow.
There's no beach or sand in his dreams this time. It's all flashes of things: soft blonde hair, green eyes, smooth legs, water dripping from the tip of her nose as her teeth chattered. He'd washed and dried those clothes that afternoon as well, but now his dreams supply him with images without the barrier of fabric, of him returning to warm her skin before the water can do so, of their bodies pressed so close together, her mouth hot on his, her hands trailing his body, and he's lost in the sensations of it all.
He wakes suddenly when Emma makes a noise. He's laying behind her again, his hand on the same spot on her hip, and he's never been so thankful to not have an erection to give away what he was just dreaming of. His fingers twitch where they rest and she makes that same noise, caught between a gasp and a laugh, obvious that it must be a ticklish spot. He contemplates continuing what they started that morning. He ponders pulling her closer and seeing where things could lead, but he also thinks that maybe it's best left until they've finished the week.
Emma makes the decision for him. Her hips push back just enough that his breath catches and he bites back a moan. He can hear her shaky breathing and he flexes his fingers again, one at a time where they rest on her hip, taking note of the warm skin beneath his own flesh. He hears that small gasp again and she pushes back against him a little more firmly this time. She turns, so slowly and slightly he's not even sure what's happening, but his fingers slide off her hipbone until they're resting between her bellybutton and what could be either a very good idea, or a very bad one. She still hasn't turned to face him, though, so he's not sure of his next move.
Killian takes the initiative this time and flattens his hand across her lower abdomen, pulling her more firmly against his hardening cock and is rewarded with a whimpering sort of moan, soft, barely audible if it weren't for the utter quiet and stillness of the morning. Her hand circles his wrist and he almost expects her to pull it away, and if that's what she chooses then he will roll over and do his absolute best to stay on his side of the bed for the remainder of the time, or move to his godawful couch so she can rest. But she's pushing it downward, and he moves on his own from that point. He cups her center and she clenches her thighs, trapping him there momentarily. He takes a few calming breaths because this is beyond even his wildest expectations for the evening and she either senses his hesitation or thinks he's fallen back to sleep.
"Killian? Are you—oh fuck," she finishes on a moan, because he takes the opportunity to pull her back again, his fingers sliding against her as he does so, while he grinds against her backside. He grazes his teeth along the neckline of his own t-shirt on her neck and enjoys the way a shiver goes down her spine.
"Tell me what you want, Swan," he whispers gruffly against the exposed skin of her neck. She shifts her upper body to be able to look back at him and he swallows hard at the expression on her face. Gone is the blatant exhaustion she carried in with her a few hours before, replaced by eyes with wide pupils, a faint tint to her cheeks and she wets her lips as her gaze darts down to his own lips. She reaches a hand to the back of his neck and guides him forward until their lips are touching. Her teeth scrape against his bottom lip and he's opening his mouth against hers to let their tongues rub against each other. He can feel the passion, just waiting to be unleashed, sizzling beneath his skin and he drags his fingers across her clit. She moans again, and the sound goes straight through him, pushing him into motion to shove the covers down as he pulls her to lay flat.
He uses the change in position to map out a course down her body. One of her hands is in his hair and the other grips the pillow under her head as he tastes the areas he's yet to explore. His teeth nip at her collarbone. He tugs the fabric of the shirt down, tasting the tang of her skin before continuing downward. He kisses and licks and nips across the planes of her stomach as his hands push the now obstructing shirt out of the way. He halts when he reaches the waistband of the shorts, taking care to nuzzle the skin just above.
"Tell me, Emma," he demands again. She makes a noise of frustration, and suddenly he thinks she may not be used to vocalizing such needs. He looks up, seeing all the confirmation he needs in the expression on her face, something that could be unadulterated pleasure if her apparent insecurities could be pushed away.
He moves up again, crawling up her body and bracing his knees on either side of her, his hands on either side of her head and leans down to kiss her again. She reaches one hand up to stroke over his cheek, over the scruff that has all but taken over his face lately. He breaks the kiss, breathing ragged and self-control barely in check. He licks his lips and looks down at Emma.
"I won't continue until you indicate whether or not you want me to," Killian whispers. He shifts his weight onto one hand so he can reach up and smooth the mess of her hair back. The hair tie that held it up earlier is worked almost all the way off the bunch of her hair and he takes a moment to rake his fingers through the tangled mess, his short nails lightly scraping her scalp. Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation and he repeats the action.
"Please," she says, voice just above the sound of an exhalation of breath.
"Please what?" He's not sure if he can hold back much longer, but he wants to know that this is more than stress relief, that it's more than the product of too little sleep and too much pressure. He wants to hear her say that she stayed because that's what she desired, because she could've gotten back down the hall if she really wanted to. But she didn't. She stayed, and she moved his hand, and she kissed him first. And now she's looking into his eyes like maybe she's coming to the same conclusions that he is. There's more here. There may have always been, but in the hour of need and desperation for companionship, they had each other.
"I don't want this to be a one-time thing," she finally says. There's uncertainty in her voice, tinged with fear and confusion, and neither of them have the time to speculate on feelings right now.
"We've chosen the absolute worst time to start this, haven't we?" he asks quietly. He doesn't want to stop. But if this is all it's going to be, he's not sure he can let her go without knowing if this could've been the next adventure in his life. She's shaking her head, and suddenly she's leaning up to claim his lips again.
"No," she says when she pulls back again. "Probably better this happened now than before we started finals, really." He sees the grin peeking through, and smiles in return.
"You're probably right. We'd have killed each other before I got to take you to dinner," he says. The thought of dinner, of dates, of relaxed nights on the couch watching movies suddenly opens up a pit of longing in his stomach and he drops his forehead to rest on her shoulder. "Emma, I want to date you. I'd like to know so much more about you." He lifts his head to look down at her again, sees the unrestrained smile on her lips.
"I'd like that," she says, her voice a little shaky. "I don't put out on the first date, just so you know," she adds. He huffs out a laugh and pushes back to rest on his haunches, fully intending to dial this all back, to put a pin right where they are now and pick it back up when they've maybe had a full night's sleep. So he's shocked when she wriggles beneath him, pushing herself to sit up and yank him back to her. "This isn't a first date," she says against his lips.
"Temptress," he responds, running both his hands through her hair.
"I want you, Killian," she states. She doesn't avert her eyes, her voice doesn't waiver. "We can figure the rest out tomorrow, er, later. Whatever. But right now," she trails off.
It's his turn to react instead of respond, and he kisses her again, and again, and yet again, deeper and longer each time until he feels her fingers threading through his chest hair, brushing against his nipples.
Then she's kneeling with him on the bed, her hands kneading the muscles on his lower back. He cups her cheeks with both his hands, slowly roaming them across the sides of her neck and across her shoulders. His fingers slip beneath the fabric on her upper arms, and he's suddenly impatient to remove the barrier between them. He reaches for the hem and lifts the t-shirt over her head when she lifts her arms, and she reaches back to unclasp the bra she must've put on when she got shoes to wear to her final. When she's finally bare on top, he cups her breasts, admiring the soft weight of them in his hands.
He bends to repeat his earlier action, this time continuing by licking a thin line in the valley of her breasts before he sucks a mark onto the top of one. He grins when he hears her gasp, the sound bordering on indignant.
"Consider it a promise, love," Killian whispers against her flesh, and returns his attentions to making her squirm again. By the time he's thoroughly explored each peak, Emma's breathing is coming quicker and her hips are just barely moving against his. "You're going to be exhausted when you finish that capstone."
"Probably be more relaxed, though," Emma says on a sigh as Killian's fingers once again dip below the waistband of the shorts he's given her.
"This isn't some elaborate ploy for stress relief sex, is it?" He means it as a joke, but he hates the note of insecurity that escapes along with it.
"I don't agree to go on dates with men I'm just trying to sleep with," she says. "In fact, I've probably wanted this, you, for longer than I'm willing to admit. But school-"
"Got in the way?" he finishes for her. She presses her lips together and nods. "Longer than you're willing to admit, eh?" His grin is rakish, and her answering look has him chuckling.
"Isn't there something else you'd rather be doing than talking, Captain?" she asks, rubbing the palm of one hand over the bulge in his sleep pants. He drops his head back as a moan rumbles through him. A term that once caused embarrassment has never sounded dirtier.
When he lifts his head to look at her again, she's smirking and proud, and he takes it upon himself to wipe that smug look off her face using whatever tactics he has to. He's still resting on his haunches, kneeling on the bed, and he pulls her to sit across his lap. With her legs splayed on either side of his, it's easier to slide his fingers up the leg of the shorts, rubbing her lazily through the material of her underwear.
But neither of them are interested in waiting any longer, and he urges her up to strip the last of the garments off her before stripping off his own pants. He reaches for his bedside table for a condom, tearing the packet open and rolling it on quicker than he ever thought possible.
Without preamble she's climbing back on top of his folded legs, sliding down his cock until she's seated on him, and they both pause. He takes a couple deep breaths, trying to get some semblance of control running through his body, and then she's sliding back up and back down, and all he can do is bury his face against her neck as her name slips past his lips. She repeats the move, and this time when she pushes back down, he thrusts up to meet her.
He wraps his arms around her waist and moves them so she's laying on her back while he's still inside her. Emma gasps in surprise but her legs go around his waist automatically and her hips rise to meet his thrusts. It's not perfect or graceful, by any means. They're both exhausted from the amount of mental activity they've both been carrying on, but for a first time, they manage to find a rhythm and movement that works for both of them.
It doesn't last long. He makes sure she peaks before he does, but then he's tumbling along right after her, resting his forehead against hers as he braces himself to not fall on her. He rolls away long enough to dispose of the used condom and then he resumes his earlier position, only a little closer this time. She tucks her back against his chest and he places his hand back on her bare hipbone, flexing his fingers one last time.
"Killian?" He can hear the sleep overtaking her already, and his own exhaustion is outweighing anything else for the moment.
"Hmm?"
Her response is so delayed that he isn't entirely sure she isn't sleeping again already.
"I'm really glad you made coffee Sunday night," she finally says, and he can hear the smile through her words, even though she's not facing him.
"Aye, love. Me too," he says, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. "Now rest, because tomorrow is still going to be a long day."
She hums out a response, and then her breathing is deep and punctuated by a soft snore.
THURSDAY
It takes a great deal of effort, when Killian awakes, to not proceed to wake Emma with more pleasurable activities, especially when they're still pressed together naked under his sheets. For once, the lingering exhaustion he feels has as much to do with physical activity as it does mental strain. He carefully untangles his arm from where she's hugging it to her chest, much like she did when he tried to rouse her the previous morning, but she still stirs from the action. He clicks off his alarm, wrapping his arm around her waist again even as she stretches against him.
He watches with fascination as all the lines he liked before are unhindered, her body arching gracefully with her arms above her head. He feels her legs extend beneath the covers and just grins at the obvious pleasure such a simple task brings to her face as she kicks the last of her lingering sleep.
When her eyes finally open, they are clear and bright, and she's smiling when she looks at him.
"Good morning," she mumbles, voice still rough with sleep.
"It is with you in my bed," he says, placing a single kiss against her bare shoulder. She chuckles and grabs for his hand, linking her fingers with his.
"What now?"
"Well, we should start with coffee," he responds. When she fixes him with a look, he can only grin back. "After coffee, we should probably get back to work and hold off on extracurricular activities until my essay is finished and your capstone is turned in. Better answer?" She hums in response and nods.
"But after that's all done, maybe we can see about that date thing you mentioned."
Killian reaches up to softly brush his fingertips over the mark he left, closer to her heart than he realized. "Like I said, it's a promise," he says and winks when he looks at her.
They only part for a few hours, long enough to each use their showers and Emma to change into her own clothes, having finally collected her clean ones from the top of his dresser before she left. They meet back up in the early afternoon, after they've both squared away some alone time. She returns to the library one last time for any books that may aid in the completion of her capstone essay while he attempts to finish his own essay. It's to the point of madness where the damn thing is so close to being done but the conclusion keeps fighting with him.
He's still glued to his chair when she returns with takeout, leaning over him and saving his progress before prying the laptop away from him so he can eat.
But after they've eaten dinner, there's joking about tension and stress, and an offhand comment about blowjobs. He doesn't even remember which one of them slipped on that one.
She starts it. That's all Killian is really sure of when all is said and done, because he certainly doesn't know how else to explain how he ends up on the floor, kneeling between Emma's parted thighs with her jeans and underwear kicked somewhere off to his left. He doesn't remember how she started it, but he knows it's her fault that their work at the table was abandoned in the pursuit of each other's mouths, hands roaming under and over the fabric of clothing until he was pushing her to sit on the couch as his hands divested her of the bottom portion of her wardrobe.
Her eyes are trained on him, her tongue wetting her lips and her breathing a little faster as he slowly trails his hands from her ankles up to her thighs.
His lips follow a similar path, skimming over her thighs and up to a spot just below her navel. He knows he's not playing fairly, but once again, she started it. He drags his tongue in a thin line all the way to where a small patch of hair remains, fastidiously groomed and soft when he runs his fingertips over it.
"Please," she whispers once, and he obliges.
His mouth is pressed against her center as he moans, his first taste of her better than the coffee they abandoned before this all began, and he takes the way she arches against him as a good sign. He drags her hips further off the couch, pulling her closer to his mouth. Her own moans are growing in volume and he briefly worries about the looks he'll get from his neighbor later, but then her fingers are in his hair, her nails scraping along his scalp and the back of his neck and he doesn't give a damn about what the neighbor thinks.
Killian's hands are gripping her hips, probably a little tighter than he normally would've considered if it weren't for his need to see her fall over the edge so desperately. She's rolling up into his mouth in a steady pace and when he looks at her again, her head is pushed back into the seam between the cushions, her lips a thin line as she tries to contain the noises he's growing increasingly fond of. Her hands leave his hair to slide her shirt up to her chin and she starts to tease her nipples through the thin cotton that contains them.
The sight has him groaning again and he moves one hand to push two fingers into her wet heat, stroking the front wall until he hits upon the right spot just as he flattens his tongue against her clit. His other hand goes to his own erection, palming himself through the fabric of his jeans. She curls up until she's almost sitting up, using one hand to anchor in his hair again, holding him in place like he would dare to move at this moment.
He can hear her frantic whispers above him. "Don't stop, please Killian oh god, please don't stop," all jumbled and with a well-timed suck and the press of his fingers, he feels her walls tighten around the digits as she climaxes. His own release occurs only moments later with his mouth still buried between her legs. His name is still tumbling from her lips as he slows his movements, only ceasing when the hand in his hair practically yanks him away. He licks his fingers clean and meets her stare, smiling when she groans and squeezes her eyes shut again.
"Smug bastard," she grumbles out, but she's still trying to catch her breath and her hand still hasn't left his hair. She uses her leverage there to drag him up to kiss her again, tasting herself on his tongue and lips.
"What can I say, Swan? You inspire my best work," he quips. She's grinning when she rolls her eyes, playfully shoving him away so she can reach for her discarded clothing.
"Oh! What about…" she trails off, gesturing vaguely downward. His bravado flees as he scratches behind his ear, a faint blush creeping along his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears.
"Already ah, taken care of," he says delicately.
"You know I would've returned-"
"I'm well aware, love. But there was no way I was lasting through the way you were saying my name," he admits. She throws her hands over her face, groaning in embarrassment, but he just pulls them away and kisses each hand. "Now, d'you think we can maybe attempt to get some work done?" He has no room to talk, really, because while she started it, he didn't stop. She rolls her eyes in a spectacular display of ocular mobility.
Emma stands up and tugs her underwear back on at the same time and he lifts himself from the floor, gingerly shifting for a moment. He makes a face, and she can't stop the laugh that bursts out. He huffs out an exaggerated sigh, motioning her over to the table.
"You get back to work. I'll be right back." Killian can still hear her snickering as he walks back to his bedroom to change.
Upon returning to the table, they miraculously manage to get through another two hours of work before calling it a night. They debate, briefly, whether or not she should stay again, but they both know and accept what would happen if she crawled into his bed again, and they've already broken their own rules once.
She leaves reluctantly after making sure to kiss him and liberate him of any sense he still had.
FRIDAY
When it comes down to it, Killian has to run to get his essay printed and turned in on time. His breath is still heaving when he hands it over to his professor. The crotchety old git sits there and checks everything from the format, to the page length, to the works cited before he begrudgingly nods his head to release Killian. He still manages to thank the professor for an enjoyable semester, even though all he gets in return is another terse nod.
He texts Emma as he walks back up the hill, not expecting a response until her capstone is finished and turned in, but still letting her know that he's finished. There's still a lingering fear that, now that finals week is over, she'll disappear and move on. That she'll see it as nothing more as a way to get through this last week. That it was all a passion born of stress and with time and energy about to be slightly less constricted, it will have been nothing at all.
As soon as the door to his apartment is shut behind him, he makes a beeline for his bedroom, intent on getting in a few more hours of sleep. He couldn't sleep directly after Emma left, obsessing over every comma placement, every word choice, and he stayed up later than intended, woke up earlier than expected, only to obsess over it some more.
Killian is more than a little surprised to see his bed already occupied. Emma is curled up, wrapped tightly in all his blankets and snoring softly. He can see the hood of his sweatshirt against the back of her neck and her hair, but not much else. He toes off his shoes beside the bed, otherwise climbing in fully clothed, and has to wrestle for a few moments to get any corner of his comforter from around his intruder.
With one last triumphant tug, he slips under the covers and behind Emma, easing an arm around her and pulling himself flush against her. She stirs a little and burrows back against him, giving Killian a face full of hair and hood. It's too much of an effort to try to correct the new issue, so he just unburies his face from the strands tickling his nose and relaxes.
Hours later, Killian wakes up to something tapping his nose repeatedly. He tries to reach up and brush it away, but his hand is trapped under layers of blankets and sheets, and what feels like his own sweatshirt. He feels more than hears Emma shake with quiet laughter as he attempts to free himself.
"Forget Captain Hook, I'm going to start calling you Captain Sleeps Like a Rock," she says quietly, and he blinks his eyes open to regard her. She's turned to face him now, and his hand is stuck against her back under the hoodie. He has that moment of confusion, where he has no idea what day it is. What was only a matter of hours feels like he's slept for days, and he's only aware that there's still daylight outside his windows and that Emma is smirking at him.
"I'll dump you in the shower again, you interloper," he comments, finally freeing his hand to wipe across his eyes.
"I hope you will sometime," she replies breezily.
"How did you even get in here?"
"Well, there are these things called locks. And sometimes when you're in a hurry to say, I don't know, turn in a final essay, you forget to use them. I was going to do something nice and make food, but you only have a package of hotpockets in the freezer. Then I was going to do something to celebrate," she gives him a look that speaks of what she had in mind when she says this, "but your bed just kept calling my name. So I decided to nap until you got back."
"Naps come first, always."
"Agreed." She starts fiddling with the neckline of his t-shirt and he becomes incredibly aware that he's still wrapped around her, their legs and the sheets all tangled together. "What comes after naps?" she asks, her voice taking on a lower tone as her hips press forward. A sound approaching a growl escapes from him as he rolls to trap her beneath him. Hovering just above her, his lips find hers in a kiss that more than expresses his intentions.
"I think it's best to show, rather than tell," he says when he pulls back slightly. She's more than happy to agree with him.
GRADUATION DAY
It's awkward introducing Emma to Liam after their graduation ceremony only a week later. He would've possibly waited a little longer before doing so, but Liam happened to find them right as Emma threw her arms around his neck, her diploma clutched in one hand and her cap in the other, and kissed him with so much exuberance that he got lost in the moment.
Until, of course, Liam cleared his throat loudly right beside them.
"Oh! Right! Emma, this is my brother, Liam. Liam, this is my girlfriend?" He adds the question mark, looking at her with a one eyebrow raised until she shyly nods. "Yes. Girlfriend. Emma."
Emma reaches her hand to shake Liam's, the befuddled expression on his brother's face priceless.
"Brother, I just spoke to you before finals began, and you failed to mention a girlfriend. Just what kind of finals do you kids have at this college?"
They both manage to laugh off the question, definitely thankful for the week that pushed them closer together. They end up going to dinner with Liam, Emma's cousin David, and his wife Mary Margaret. It's all the family either of them really have, and other than some shifty looks from David to Killian, it's the perfect way to complete their celebrations. Still, he's thankful when they leave the small bed and breakfast where their family members are staying for the night and head back to the apartment complex.
The staggering relief has him pulling Emma close and she rests her head on his shoulder until they get to the hill. They eventually freed her sneakers from the mud-trap, but the ground is still soft and she glances between it and her heels. He can't help but laugh when she reaches down and slips them off before walking up the hill barefoot. She tugs him along with their joined hands.
He's pleasantly surprised when she opens the door to her apartment and pulls him in after her.
"Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to go wash my feet real quick from that fucking hill," she says, tiptoeing off to the bathroom. He drops onto the couch and sinks in, thankful to be on a couch that isn't like cinderblocks have been covered in burlap. He closes his eyes, listening to the water run in the bathroom and the general sounds of Emma moving about her space.
She's right. Her apartment is much more modern than his. The wallpaper from his eating area that haunts his dreams is gone from her walls. He knows from his previous visits over the last week that her appliances are updated, as well. In a haze of wistful sleepiness, he imagines moving into this apartment someday down the line. It's only been thirteen days since she showed up at his door looking for coffee, but he has no intentions of letting go any time soon. He registers that the water has turned off and he can hear her approaching the couch where he's still lounging.
"Killian? You're not sleeping, are you?"
"No love, just resting my eyes."
"Maybe you should unrest them so we can have our own celebration now," she says, and the tone is one that speaks of forbidden desires. He has learned the very different voices Emma uses over the last two weeks. He thinks of that awful movie about a date with some actor that she loves and how the main male character can state all of his love's smiles. He is slowly taking catalogue of all of Emma's voices. This particular voice means that he's about to be a very lucky man.
When he opens his eyes, he immediately groans, because there she stands in her graduation gown, the cap placed back on her head (tassel to the left as is the proper way to place it now), and as far as he can tell, there's nothing else under the gown. She's even gone so far to drape her summa cum laude stole around her shoulders again, but the gown is unzipped to her bellybutton with nothing but skin showing. She's holding two Chinet cups and a bottle of the cheap champagne they sell at the QuickStop around the corner.
"Sorry it's not the good stuff, but I have to start budgeting."
"You expect me to notice the quality of the champagne when you're standing like that? Really now, Swan."
She grins, slow and wide, and hands him the cups while she rips the foil off the top of the bottle. It may be cheap, but it still has the wire cage holding in the cork, and she makes quick work of twisting that off before carefully easing the cork out.
"What? No popping the cork and spraying champagne everywhere?"
"Does it look like I would appreciate that kind of mess in my apartment?" she shoots back, finally getting the cork out with one last pop and then she's carefully pouring some in each of the cups. She sets the bottle out of the way on the floor and hands Killian one of the cups. "To your future with the Jolly Roger Research Facilities," Emma toasts.
"To your grad school application getting accepted, along with that assistantship," he counters.
"And to us. May we be happy, and our enemies know it," she finishes quietly. She clicks her cup against his when he sits up and they both drink. She's still standing in front of where he's sitting on the couch and when he finishes before she does, he reaches out to pull her into his lap. The gesture is purely comfort at first, because he doesn't know how long he can restrain himself when he knows she's naked beneath the gown she looked so proper in earlier in the day.
He takes the moment he can hold back, instead, to simply wrap his arms around her waist and lean his forehead against her shoulder. She sips her drink slower, sliding her free hand into his hair and relaxing against his body. Tipping the last of the cup into her mouth, she turns briefly to place the cup next to Killian's on her coffee table before resuming her position. Both of her arms go around his shoulders this time, her head mirroring his position and resting against his shoulder.
Despite the intentions Emma may have had when she came back into the room, Killian can't bring himself to break the moment of serenity they've found. Even after classes were over and the last essays had been turned in, they were constantly moving. The past week has been a flurry of activity for both of them, with Emma securing a job with Ruby until she starts her graduate studies and Killian preparing to start his new employment.
They went out on their first official date to celebrate their final grades, ending the evening with only a goodnight kiss and sticking to their plan to take things slower. They slipped some time in to watch movies in between everything else, especially the after-semester cleaning that they discovered they had in common.
It really shouldn't have surprised either of them, then, when they fell asleep instead. From sitting upright together, they slowly managed to lay down, curling around each other.
When they wake in the morning, Killian blames her couch for being too comfortable, claiming that they wouldn't have encountered that problem on his. Emma still manages to make every fantasy he never knew he had about graduation gowns come true.
(Side Note: You will never see me write a celebration without there being Chinet cups and an actual toast included. It's just the way I roll...)