Was just having a mild stress out over life tonight and this got written. Thank you to Captain Swan for effectively talking me down :)
Hope you guys enjoy, let me know!
…
Every Day is so Wonderful (then suddenly, it's hard to breathe)
…
Her body is war torn and broken. Peeling skin from burns she can't even remember, a bandage wrapped around her shoulder where she'd been struck by a spell that had sent her head spinning and a dressing on her ribs where the claws of a winged monkey had dug in.
She's a right mess.
Her fingers skim over each injury, watching herself in the full length mirror next to her bed. She's wearing a crop top and panties, anything else too much to bear on her skin at the moment. They've been in battle for weeks. Fighting and retreating just to repeat the cycle. Some nights the town had been protected, other nights everything had been a nightmare as the witch's shrill cackle had marked injury after injury.
But it's over. For now, at least.
It may all turn out that they've been caught in the eye of the tornado of hate and war the witch has created, but right at this time, it's a moment to breathe. She reaches up slowly, trying not to over extend her injuries, but needing to get her hair off her neck.
She winces, her muscles sore and her skin tight, turning from the mirror and walking to her door. She knows it's late, but she could have sworn she'd heard movement out in the loft not too long ago. If Mary Margaret could just get her hair up for her…
She pulls on her door, and gasps, surprised to see Killian Jones standing right in front of her, a hand raised in preparation to knock.
"Hook! What are you doing here?" then noticing that every light in the loft is in fact turned off and everyone is asleep, she adds, "How the hell did you get in?"
"Pirate, remember?" He's wearing a devilish smirk that makes her remember exactly how little she's wearing, but she refuses to let it get to her, standing slightly taller as though in a challenge.
Then, rolling her eyes at their childishness, she asks, "Actually. You might be able to help." She ushers him into her room, making her way back to her mirror and standing in front of it. "You go behind me. I need to put my hair up before I suffocate in it."
It's probably not her finest move, enlisting a one handed pirate to pull her hair into a ponytail, but he's eager to help and she really does want her hair off her neck. "I can only use my left hand, so if you take this," she hands him the hair band, "and loop it over my hair, then pass it to me…" She nods as he completes the first step. She twists the band and sends it back to him and soon enough her hair is up in a slightly lopsided ponytail.
She breathes a sigh of relief. It's only such a small thing, but it makes her feel better.
Killian runs his hook through her hair, smoothing out a few sections before looking at her through the mirror and smiling, "There we go, beautiful."
And she doesn't mean to scoff, but she's spent the last weeks coming to grips with the amount of scars she's going to have and she knows she looks anything but beautiful right now.
The pirate frowns at her obvious objection, taking a chance and reaching out to sit his hand on her shoulder, stepping closer in behind her and pulling her back into him. It's the most intimate position they've found themselves in, vulnerable and open and finally seeing the truth of each other's feelings reflected in the mirror before them.
His hand runs down her bare arm. "Emma, Emma, Emma," he chides, slipping his arm around her waist, "When will you understand that every single thing about you is beautiful?"
And despite being practically naked in front of him, it's his words that make her blush.
His voice is hot in her ear as he leans closer still, a quiet rumble coupled with his calloused fingers gliding across one of the currently rare sections of unmarked skin on her belly, "You are stunning."
He takes a chance, tilting his head and pressing his lips to her pulse point.
And that does her in. Her head turns and she captures his lips with her own, trying desperately to move and face him, but she feels the cool metal of his hook press into her hip and turn her back around to keep on facing the mirror. And really, when he's already sending shivers of pleasure through her body, she's powerless to resist.
Her body rocks back into his as his hand wanders up a little, cupping her breast through her crop top, rolling his thumb over a nipple and sending another shockwave through her. She breaks away on a moan, breathing heavily as her eyes search out his. "What are you-"
But he cuts her off with another brief kiss. "Watch," he says, nodding towards the mirror.
She's almost shocked when she looks back and notices how wanton and lust-filled she appears. Her chest is heaving beneath his hand, her lips red and swollen, her legs parts slightly, hips rocking back into his as she bites her lip.
His hand leaves her breast, travelling down and stilling at the band of her underwear. His eyes lock onto hers in the mirror and she just barely nods before his fingers slip beneath the elastic.
"Oh god," she moans, pushing her hips forward, trying to get him closer, but he holds back a second longer and when he finally slides a solitary finger along her sensitive skin, her knees almost buckle.
"Gods, Emma," he whispers in her ear, only heightening the experience, "You will never understand how wonderful you are in this moment."
And this is why she needs a pirate in her life. To speak to her like this, to make her heart hum and break the sorrow in her soul. "More," she whispers, relishing in the perfect way he circles her clit.
She feels lighter than she has in weeks, months even, his fingers doing delicious things to her, dipping inside and pulling out in a slow rhythm. "I love you," he breathes, and it doesn't even surprise her that he does. She feels like she's known forever. This is right, this is how it has always meant to be.
He doesn't expect to hear it back, which is why when she utters the words, "Me too," on a moan, he nearly stills in shock. But she's close, he can feel it. And stopping now would be torture.
You don't torture what you love.
Her head drops back on his shoulder as he pushes two fingers inside of her, alternating between fast and slow and pressing at that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.
She rises up on her toes and pushes down on his hand, trying to find the right friction and at the same time, trying to make this last. He smiles and kisses her neck, his scruff scratching on her overheated skin and sending electricity running through her veins.
Her hand reaches down to hold his wrist, pressing his hand hard against her, crying out as the tension begins to break around her, her body shuddering as she gasps, her lips falling open, her eyes slamming shut.
He can feel her muscles clenching around his fingers, his thumb still rubbing in soft circles around her clit to bring her down as her feet drop down from her toes to the floor.
She's practically whimpering as she opens her eyes, meeting his desire filled gaze in their reflection, his hand still cupping her warmly under her panties and his hook pressing solidly into her hip.
She smiles and it's the first time in so long that it has felt genuine.
He drops his head, nuzzling her neck again with soft nips to her skin, "If there really truly is one thing to have emerged from this war that is beautiful, I've found it."
She lets her head fall back once more, turning and kissing his lips before asking, "And what would that be?"
He smiles to match hers, "Us."