A/N: My contribution for CS Fluff Month - it might POSSIBLY become something more at a later date, but for now, it's just a super-long one-shot that can stand on its own. Enjoy!
Emma was annoyed before she even stepped foot into the classroom. She didn't know how Ruby and Mary Margaret had talked her into this. She wasn't here for drama classes, but Ruby had assured her it would be an easy A, and it would fill up those extra two credit hours she desperately needed. Still. Emma didn't really know the first thing about acting, and she was sure to stick out in a class that was probably full of actual theater majors. She was going to kill Ruby, that much, she was sure of.
She made her way past the other students, to where Ruby and Mary Margaret sat, whispering and giggling together. Mary Margaret smiled brightly when she saw Emma, waving her over. "You owe me ten bucks, Ruby," she said, holding out her hand, to which the other brunette rolled her eyes, digging in her purse for the cash.
"Ten bucks for what?" Emma asked, sitting down and slinging her bag over the back of her chair.
"Ruby here thought you'd chicken out," Mary Margaret said, "but I knew better."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Well, I didn't really know that chickening out was an option," she retorted dryly. "Or else I would have."
Ruby gave her a look. "It'll be fun, you'll see! And super easy. August says the professor partners you up at the beginning of the term, and every week, you and your partner get a new scene to do. That's literally the class. How much easier can it get?" August was Ruby's cousin, a couple years older than them, and not exactly a font of useful information. The last time they'd listened to something he'd suggested, Ruby and Emma had ended up drunk on some homemade concoction of his, on the roof of the science building, completely freaking out. Campus police had been called, and the three of them - Mary Margaret had been there as well, though much less intoxicated - had spent the night in the drunk tank, until Mary Margaret had gotten her boyfriend, David, to come bail them out.
Emma sighed begrudgingly. The class didn't sound too bad. And she supposed if she could partner with Mary Margaret or Ruby, they'd get through it all right. She sort of hated the idea of acting out scenes in front of all these people though. A quick glance around the room gave Emma a good stock of what they were working with. She was really hoping to get paired with Mary Margaret, and leave Ruby to deal with one of the other shifty-looking characters in the room. Ruby was much better at dealing with people, of all walks of life.
The professor entered a few minutes later, and the class grew silent. He was a middle-aged man, not unpleasant-looking. He started talking about the history of theater, and Emma felt herself zoning out. This was completely not her field of interest, and she really just wanted to get the assignment and go. She was thankful this was just a Friday afternoon class, and that she wouldn't have to worry about it more often than that - aside from the time spent rehearsing the scenes every week. But really, how hard could it be?
An hour and a half later, and Emma was cursing herself and her friends, and pretty much everyone in the vicinity. Ruby and Mary Margaret were giving her sympathetic faces - they'd been partnered together, the bitches. But apparently, it had been "Emma draws the short straw" day, because the guy she'd been partnered with - a Killian Jones - hadn't even been in class.
"Maybe he was sick or something?" Mary Margaret said helpfully as they gathered their things.
But Ruby was tapping her bright red lips thoughtfully. "No, no, I know that name ... he's the lead guitarist in this band that plays at the bar on the weekends!" She gave Emma a grin then, and Emma didn't like the wolfish nature of that grin. "He's probably just hungover."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Terrific. Glad that you think it's funny. My grade is contingent on some guitar playing asshole who can't even show up for class!" She looked down miserably at the assignment she'd been given. "We'll be lucky if he even speaks English, let alone fucking Shakespeare."
Ruby put her hands on Emma's shoulders, turning her around to face her. "Will you relax, Ems?" she said, giving her a look. "It's the first damn day, so the guy didn't show up? Big deal! Look, the band he's in is playing at the bar tonight, why don't you and Mary Margaret come down and you can chat him up then, and tell him all about how contingent your grades are on his ass." There was that grin again. Emma didn't know what Ruby was up to, but she didn't like it, not one little bit. "Come on, what else are you gonna do tonight? It's Friday."
"I have three tests next week ... " Emma started, before Ruby covered her mouth with her hand. Emma glared at her and fought off the urge to bite her friend's palm.
"Shhh, Emma," Ruby said, shaking her head firmly. "Friday night. Cute guys in a band playing at the bar. And if you'd rather - one of those cute guys is necessary to you maintaining that lofty GPA you so prize."
Mary Margaret was watching the whole exchange as though she were watching the most fascinating sporting event she'd ever seen. Emma rolled her eyes. "You too, Mary Margaret?"
Mary Margaret gave her an almost apologetic smile. "Well ... Ruby keeps saying the band is really good ... and it's the beginning of our senior year ... we should be celebrating! And David said he was gonna go and ... "
Emma threw her hands up in the air. "Whatever, fine, we'll go! But I'm only doing this because I have to talk to this jackass." She smacked her hand against the paper with her partner and scene assignments, before she walked off, leaving the two of them to plot whatever stupid idea they'd have for her next. Which she absolutely would not go along with this time.
The line to get into the bar was already out the door and extending down the sidewalk out front when the three of them arrived at The Jolly Roger - the most popular bar among the college crowd - shortly after nine that night. Emma had somehow let Ruby talk her into letting her do her makeup and hair, and she was immediately regretting the decision, even though David, sweetheart that he was, had assured her she looked "great".
"I look like a hooker," Emma muttered darkly, slumping down in the drivers seat of her little yellow bug. Ruby had somehow managed to talk her into wearing a semi-sheer silver top that had glitter woven into the fabric, so it seemed to spark whenever the light hit her just right. She'd paired it with a pair of tight, dark-wash jeans and a knee-high pair of boots. Her hair had been curled and fell in loose golden waves around her shoulders, and her makeup - wayyy more than she usually wore - had been applied with Ruby's deft hands.
"Well, you look pricey, if that's what you are," Ruby said with a pat on her shoulder. Emma growled under her breath, and Ruby just laughed as Emma parked the car and they made their way to join the drunken masses waiting to get into the bar.
"How exactly am I supposed to talk to the guy in this riot?" Emma asked, giving Ruby a look. Mary Margaret would be no help to her right now, she and David hadn't seen each other all summer, so they were fairly busy "catching up". Gross.
"You wait til they finish the first set, and you buy him a beer. He likes Guinness," Ruby said with a shrug, and Emma narrowed her eyes. "I work here, remember? I know what the bands like. Trust me, he'll talk to you."
"How can you be so sure?" Emma asked, arching a brow.
"You're a hot female," Ruby said with a laugh, as if that explained everything.
"Seriously?" Emma rolled her eyes. "He sounds like a fucking prize."
"Emma, give the guy a chance before you go getting all judgy about him," Ruby said, sighing in exasperation. "He's actually pretty nice. You push everyone away before you even give them a shot. So he missed the first class. You yourself said you almost didn't show up." Emma started to retort, but by then, they had reached the doors and the bouncers were demanding ID. Emma showed hers and stepped inside, waiting for her friends to join her.
The bar was a lot more crowded than she could ever remember it being, not that she'd really ever been here a whole lot - she'd always put studying above anything else. She had to admit though, there was a sort of energy in the air, it had her feeling a little buzzed, and she hadn't even had a drink yet.
Ruby sidled up beside her then, taking her by the arm and leading her through the crowd. She seemed to be scanning the room for someone, but then, Ruby did that all the time when they were here. She knew everyone. "Ooh, Emma, go get us a couple drinks," she said then, "I need to run to the little girls' room." She pressed some bills into Emma's hand before darting off, leaving Emma without much choice.
Sighing, Emma pushed her way through the crowd, squeezing her way to the bar and finding herself next to a tall, dark-haired guy wearing a black leather jacket and perfectly fitting jeans. She would have been lying if she said she didn't check out the rearview, just a little. She tapped her hand on the bar as she finally got up there, waiting for the bartender to pay attention to her, but he was too busy flirting with a chesty redhead at the other end.
Emma rolled her eyes, groaning inwardly. "Fucking typical," she muttered, tapping the bartop again.
"Bloody fucking nightmare, isn't it?" a voice from beside her spoke up then, and with a start, Emma realized it was the guy whose ass she'd been admiring, not two seconds ago. Her eyes widened a bit as she looked up into his face.
Holy shit.
He was, without a doubt, the most attractive man she'd ever laid eyes on. His hair was dark, just the right length, sorta unkempt, like he'd just run his fingers through it and left it. He had the perfect amount of scruff along his jawline - Emma had always admired a man with facial hair - and his eyes. They were so blue that even in the darkness of the bar, she felt like she could drown in them.
She realized, too late, that she'd been staring, and quickly looked away, glad that her blush probably wouldn't be noticeable. She heard him give a little chuckle, and the sound was dark and rich and kind of invited you to think bad things. "If you're wondering who it is you have to sleep with to get serviced around here, love," he said, and his voice was thickly accented, "you can always start with me and we'll see how it goes from there." He cast an appraising look her way, and Emma narrowed her eyes, immediately on the defensive now.
"Classy," she retorted then, feeling much more in her element now that the guy was behaving like a world-class jackass. "Does that line work for you a lot?"
"Dunno," he said with a cheeky smirk, leaning against the bar. "You can always let me know in the morning."
Emma gave him a disbelieving look. "Or I can let you know right now," she said, leaning in and widening her eyes a little.
"Well, I'm down for it if you are," he shot back, just as quickly, and Emma would give him points for his wit ... but not for his game.
"Suddenly, I'm not at all thirsty any more," she said, shaking her head and turning to walk away from the bar.
Ruby was right behind her though, giving her a quizzical look. "Where are you going? Did you talk to him about it?"
"What are you talking about, Ruby?" Emma asked, wanting nothing more than to be far away from the hot bastard and his innuendos. Not because they disgusted her, no, rather because they kinda did the opposite. He had a voice that made her think of dark places and it didn't help that he was easily the most attractive person she'd ever clamped eyes on.
And that wasn't something that Emma had ever really cared about before.
"I sent you over there, because I saw Killian," Ruby explained. "You were talking, I just assumed you ... "
Emma whirled then, looking back at the guy, who was still smirking at her in a way that made her feel like she might as well be naked. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she spat, turning back to Ruby, lowering her voice, not that it mattered. It was too loud in here for anything she said to be overheard. "That's Killian Jones?" Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest, but when she turned back to look at him again, he'd disappeared somewhere in the crowd.
"Yeah," Ruby was saying. "You are going to have to talk to him, you know. Unless you want to fail Drama."
Emma grumbled something, marching back up to the bar. She was gonna need a lot of booze for this shit. The bartender finally deemed her worthy then, and came over to take her order for hers and Ruby's drinks, but when she pulled out her billfold, he waved it away. "Already taken care of," he said, nodding off in the direction of the stage where Killian was getting set up with the rest of his band.
"He bought my drinks?" Emma asked incredulously, to which the bartender shrugged, as if he couldn't believe it either. Real nice.
"He said put whatever you wanted on his tab."
Emma rolled her eyes, slamming some bills down on the countertop and taking her drinks. "Tell him thanks but no thanks." She shook her head, feeling a little ... uneased by the whole situation. It was so presumptuous and infuriating. And he probably did this all the time. He was probably buying drinks for every stupid girl in the bar.
Her drink sloshed over the rim of her plastic cup when she sat it down on the table that David and Mary Margaret had managed to snag for them, and Ruby arched a brow. "What's wrong?" Mary Margaret asked, all concern and wide eyes.
"I hate people," Emma muttered, before turning to David. "Would you buy drinks for some girl you just met?"
Ruby started laughing, but Emma silenced her with a stony glare.
"Well," David drawled slowly, letting his arm slip around Mary Margaret's shoulders. Ugh. "It would depend on the girl, I suppose."
"Emma, what's the big deal?" Ruby asked then, shaking her head in disbelief at her friend. "Obviously he saw something he liked." She waggled her brows.
"I don't care!" Emma said, "I didn't tell him to ... I didn't even introduce myself, I ... "
Ruby slung her arm around Emma's shoulders. "You're not used to the attention. But you better get used to it, 'cuz you'll be spending a lot of time with his this semester."
Emma groaned inwardly. "Maybe I'll just drop the class," she mumbled pathetically.
"Like hell you will," Mary Margaret said then, and Emma blinked at the vehemence in her usually quiet friend's voice. "Look, Emma, it's a good thing for you to take this class. You've been here for four years and you haven't done anything memorable at all."
"That's not true!" Emma protested, which earned her blank looks from the three other people at the table. "Oh, whatever. I'm here to get a degree not a boyfriend."
"It's possible to do both," Ruby said with a shrug.
Luckily, the conversation wasn't able to continue, because the band started up then. Emma slumped down into the seat in the corner, trying not to glare at anyone and everyone in the place. She really just wanted to be home, but she knew she wasn't going to be able to leave without the others, and she was going to have to talk to Killian fucking Jones at some point, as well. Maybe he'd drop the class ...
In spite of herself, she found herself watching him, more than any of the other band members. The way his fingers moved over the strings of his guitar had her shifting in her seat more than once, and she hoped no one was noticing. There were a few times she was sure he was looking right at her, but she knew that was stupid. He couldn't see out in the crowd with the lights on the stage. And why would he look at her anyway?
They finished their first set with a cover of the Black Crows' "She Talks to Angels," and Emma was beyond certain at this point that those blue eyes of his were zeroed in on her, somehow. With a grumble, she made her way back to the bar to get another drink - her fourth now, and she was planning on making it a double.
Once again, the bartender was ignoring her, and it was really starting to piss her off. Everything about tonight was pissing her off, to be honest. She barely registered that the music had ended until she felt someone come up behind her.
"Oi!" Emma groaned inwardly, not wanting to turn around and see him. "There's a lady here needing servicing."
Emma turned around, giving him a look. "Will you stop saying that?" she told him.
"Why? It's the truth, innit?" He gave her a cheeky smirk that she sorta wanted to punch right off his face.
Or kiss.
Damn it, Emma.
"I don't mind waiting, it's fine," she muttered then, sighing heavily and gritting her teeth. "You're Killian Jones, aren't you?"
"Ah, so you have heard of me," he said with a grin.
"If you're taking drama with Professor Gold, then yeah, I've heard of you," Emma retorted blandly.
"Oh, right, I knew I was forgetting something today." He looked down at her. "You're in that class?"
"Apparently so," Emma said, shaking her head. "Look, the thing is that we got partnered and we have to do this scene next Friday and I ... " He wasn't even listening. He was waving and shouting something at one of his friends across the bar, and Emma exhaled heavily. This was a fucking nightmare already. "Forget it. I'll see about getting reassigned or something."
"No, wait, I'm sorry, love, what were you saying?" He'd turned those blue eyes back on her once again and Emma found herself unable to look away. "Who got partnered?"
"We did." She gestured between the two of them. "You and I. We have to do scenes together ... "
The smile on his face was genuine then, not the cocky smirk from before, and Emma felt her breath catch in her throat. "Well, then, that's a whole new set of incentives for me to actually show up for class."
"Yeah, well, I'd really appreciate it if you would," Emma said coolly. "Seeing as I don't really want to fail something as stupid as drama."
A look of realization dawned on his face then. "You came down here looking for me this evening, didn't you?" he asked her, overly pleased with that fact, if you asked her.
"No!" Emma said quickly, too quickly. "I mean, my friends wanted to come out anyway and it just so happened that you were going to be here and ... well, I don't have a choice, I had to talk to you."
"You do have a way with words, lass," he said lightly, still grinning down at her.
Emma gritted her teeth, trying her best not to be swayed by the blueness of his eyes, the assuredness of his smile. She wasn't here to be distracted by a pretty face. "Look ... I don't know what you think is ... going on here, but I'm not actually here to flirt with you. I would like to get a decent grade in this class and if you're willing to do your part, great, if not, I'll just ... "
"Oi, relax, love," Killian said, holding up his hands in surrendering gesture, a laugh in his voice. "You've plead your case, loud and clear. Do you know the coffeehouse on Abrams Street?"
Emma blinked at that. The place he was referring to was a little hole in the wall cafe, one of her personal favorites, but not a place any of her friends would ever go with her, saying it was "sketchy". "Yeah ... I know it," she said, averting her gaze.
"I'll meet you there at nine tomorrow morning," he said, and his tone was much more serious then.
Emma gave him a look, still unsure at this turn of events. "You'll be awake at nine, after all this?" she asked him, gesturing around the loud bar, knowing that his band still had another set to play.
Killian's face went thoughtful then and he grinned at her, the same cheeky grin from before. "Too right, lass. Better make it ten." He tapped the tip of her nose and she fought off the urge to slap his hand away. "Do we have an accordance, then?"
Emma wondered how much of the old-fashioned speech was genuine, and how much was affected for the benefit of whatever female he was trying to impress at the time. Sighing heavily she nodded. "Yeah. I'll be there. Just make sure you actually show up this time."
"Oh," he said, leaning forward then, his face close enough that she could feel his breath dancing across her own skin, and yet, for some reason that even she couldn't fathom, she didn't back up. "What happens if I don't?" he asked lowly, a dark light in his eyes that promised all sorts of things that Emma really shouldn't be thinking about.
"Why don't you try me and find out?" Emma asked, arching a brow, though she had no idea where the person saying the words had even come from. Something about him had ignited something in her - a side to her that she didn't often (or ever) let out.
The smirk on his face was positively sinful then, and all Emma could think about was a myriad of ways to wipe it from his face - most of which, again, involved things she shouldn't be thinking about at all. "Perhaps I will," he breathed out, and Emma's heart stuttered in her chest as he leaned in even closer, his lips close enough to hers that she could almost taste the whiskey he'd already drank.
It would be so easy to close that distance - but that was not something that Emma did. She didn't just kiss random strangers in bars. Though she'd never really encountered a stranger quite like this one. She felt almost magnetically drawn to him, and pulling away just didn't seem to be an option.
She swallowed thickly, noted the way his gaze had dropped to her lips, and she knew there was no way to stop - this, whatever the hell it was, from happening. And, even more disturbingly, she didn't want to. Ruby was right, after all. When was the last time Emma had done anything just because it felt good?
The second his lips touched hers, Emma realized the fault in her little plan. Because kissing him, even in the middle of this smoke-filled, crowded bar, the taste of whiskey lingering on his lips, mingling with the rum from her own drink, felt better than anything had a right to, and she knew if she didn't stop soon, she might not at all.
Her hands had moved of their own accord, fingers curling in the front of his leather jacket, as she tilted her head, parting her lips beneath his. There was no doubt about it, she'd never kissed anyone with more command over it than he had. He kissed her like he'd invented kissing, and he'd just been waiting for her to show up. She swore she heard him groan, or maybe that was her, and she felt his hand moving to cup the back of her head, fingers tangling in her blonde curls.
She pulled back then, drawing a ragged breath, eyes still closed, as though she were savoring the moment. "That was ... " he whispered lowly, and Emma started to speak, but was interrupted by a loud crash.
Her eyes flew open, the reality of the situation dawning on her as the rest of the world came back into focus - starting with the blue of his eyes, and growing from there. Behind him, a dark-haired waitress was kneeling on the ground, picking up a trayful of dropped drinks - that must have been the crash.
Emma felt like maybe she should be thanking the clumsy waitress, but instead used the confusion of the moment to pull back from Killian, who now wore a puzzled expression on his handsome face. "Where are you going?" he asked her, and she looked at him apologetically.
"I shouldn't have ... " Emma shook her head, trying to clear the haze of want and hunger that had taken hold of her thoughts then. "I'm sorry ... I don't ... I'm drunk and I ... " It was a lie, of course, she had barely had two drinks in the past hour, but it was a good excuse, one she was going to cling to to explain the sudden madness that had taken hold of her.
She felt him reach for her hand then, but she slipped her wrist from his grasp and took a step, wanting to just disappear into the crowd and forget any of this had happened, when his voice reached her once again.
"See you tomorrow then, love," and when she whipped her head around to face him, he was grinning at her, eyebrow arched in a way that told her she was not going to be allowed to forget this any time soon.
Fantastic.
vVv
Emma seriously considered not showing up the next morning. She didn't really need drama, she could find another elective to fill up the two credit hours she needed to round out her schedule. She could easily drop the class, right?
But if she didn't show up, that bastard would think that he'd gotten to her, and she wasn't about to give his smug, cocky ass the satisfaction. She had managed to avoid Ruby pretty effectively since the previous night, which was good. She wasn't sure if any of her friends had witnessed her momentary lapse of sanity, but she really wasn't up for answering questions about it, either way.
How the hell could she really explain it, anyway? He'd been there, and he looked like ... well, that, and in the moment, kissing him had seen like a marvelous idea. And she couldn't really say that she regretted the kiss. That had been a mind-blowing kiss, and she found herself running her fingertips over her lips after the fact, as if she could still feel him there.
That had been the first kiss she'd had in a very long time that had left her craving more.
That wasn't the point though. The point was that it wasn't like her. And she shouldn't have done it. And she didn't know why she had. And the idea of seeing him again - of working with him - well, it terrified her.
Mostly because she had no idea what it all meant. And Emma never did things that she hadn't thought through and weighed out the pros and cons of. Just closing her eyes and jumping had never been something she was very good at.
It was nine-forty-five when she arrived at the coffeehouse. She didn't expect him to be there early, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she looked around, seeing no sign of him. She curled her arms protectively around the two photocopies of the scene from "The Taming of the Shrew" that they'd been assigned and made her way over to a corner booth. She sat down on the side that allowed her to see the entrance, so she'd know when - if - he arrived.
She hadn't bothered to do anything fancy with herself, though part of her had wanted to do the stupid girl thing. But she had tamped that down immediately. She wasn't here for that, and she'd worked too long and too hard to let herself get distracted now. So she was wearing her thick-rimmed glasses, her hair up in a messy ponytail, a big, shapeless grey cardigan over a plain white tank top, and a pair of old, ripped up jeans. Nothing sparkly or alluring about this outfit. With any luck, he'd take one look at her like this and realize he'd made a huge mistake.
A waitress came by and Emma ordered hot cocoa with cinnamon - she never had been big on coffee, it tended to make her jittery. She chewed nervously on her thumbnail, her eyes glancing at the clock on the wall - it was nearly ten o'clock. It was too much to hope that he might not show up at all, wasn't it? That would make this whole thing ever so much easier - she could drop the class with no qualms whatsoever if he wasn't willing to put any effort into it.
But, as luck would have it, right at ten, he sauntered in the door, and the sonofabitch was even more handsome than Emma remembered from the night before. He was wearing the same leather bomber jacket he'd worn at the bar, and his jeans were tight, fitted in all the right places, places Emma did not need to be staring at, and she quickly averted her eyes, hoping maybe he wouldn't see her.
No such luck. Even though he was wearing aviators, Emma could tell the precise moment he zeroed in on her, while he was chatting up the waitress, an easy, lazy grin on his face. Ugh. Now she felt even more stupid. The guy was a total player - if she hadn't kissed him last night, no doubt some other willing female would have.
The idea didn't make her feel better, like it was supposed to.
He made his way over to the booth, sitting down across from her and pulling the sunglasses off as he did. His eyes looked a little bleary, as though he'd just woken up, and his hair was tousled, as though he'd just rolled out of bed. Or someone's fingers had been running through it.
Emma tried not to think about that.
"And here I thought you were going to stand me up," he said, giving her a wink.
"Why would I do that?" Emma asked, jutting her chin a little defiantly, shoving one of the copies of the scene toward him. "I want to get a decent grade in this stupid class." Maybe she could feign ignorance about the kiss. Maybe he had been so drunk, that he wouldn't remember it.
A girl could dream.
"Shakespeare?" he said, raising a brow, and Emma breathed an inward sigh of relief - he wasn't pushing about the damned kiss, thank God.
"I didn't pick it," Emma said, shrugging. "We were all assigned different scenes."
"Well, this is a great one," he said easily, flashing a grin at the waitress when she brought them over their drinks. He cast a glance at Emma's mug, arching a brow at her. "Is that really hot cocoa?" he asked her, an amused tone coloring his words, making his voice sound even richer than it normally did. Which was just entirely unfair.
"Is there a problem?" she asked him giving him a scathing look.
"Are you twelve?" he retorted, still smirking.
"Do you typically kiss twelve-year-olds in bars?" The words were out before she really thought them through, and immediately she regretted that she'd ever learned how to speak in the first place.
"Ah, so you do remember," he said, the smirk on his face going almost feral then, as he pointed at her as though he'd won some sort of victory. "Then you must also remember that you never did introduce yourself. Is this normal behavior for you?"
Emma felt her face flush bright red at his words - it was true. She'd confronted him, already knowing his name - but she'd never given him her own. Wow, the previous night had been just full of good decisions on her part, hadn't it? "My name's Emma," she muttered lamely, even though it hardly seemed important now. "Emma Swan."
"Emma," he repeated, and there was something almost lascivious about the way her name sounded when he drawled it out like that. "It's nice to meet you ... officially. Emma."
Emma's eyes finally looked back up at him, her face a mask of stoicism. "Whatever. We don't have to do the thing. Last night was ... I don't normally do that. And I don't plan to repeat it. So can we just ... focus on what we're here for?"
Killian held up his hands in mock surrender once again. "If the lady insists," he said, and Emma rolled her eyes. "Though, I don't suppose you've ever heard the saying about all work and no play ... "
"I'm not playing with you, buddy, so save it," Emma said, leaning forward and lowering her voice.
He didn't say anything, he just raised his brow at her suggestively, his gaze dropping back to her lips. Emma sat back immediately.
"Enough. Can we just ... get through this?"
With an affected sigh, Killian picked up the copy of the scene they were to read, a small grin forming on his lips. Emma wasn't sure she entirely liked that grin ... or what it entailed, but he seemed to be doing what she'd asked, so she wasn't about to say anything.
Killian stood up then, and Emma thought he meant to leave, until he turned to face her, setting the paper down on the table as he did. It was only when he started reciting the lines that Emma realized - he didn't even need the script, he already knew it. He didn't seem to care that the other patrons were watching him now, and really, he had no reason to care - he was wonderful.
"Am I supposed to be surprised that you have a flair for the dramatic?" Emma asked him dryly, not wanting to let on how impressive he actually was.
Without missing a beat, he continued with Petruchio's lines, completely in character as he pulled her to her feet then. "Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry."
Emma blinked, momentarily transfixed by him, before shaking her head and looking down at the script, trying to find the spot he was at. "Oh! Um ... If I be waspish, best beware my sting," she said haughtily - the fact that he was so good made her want to be better, not to be shown up by him.
He regarded her with that same impish look he was so good at. "My remedy then, is to pluck it out." He leaned in closer at the word "pluck", and it was all Emma could do not to back up - he was good at invading her personal space, but in this case - it was entirely justified for the scene. Though the effect it was having on her, she was sure, he could tell.
She glanced quickly at the next line. "Ay, if the fool could find where it lies," she retorted, finding it easy to adopt Katherine's scathing tone - it was one she herself was quite familiar with.
Killian grinned wickedly, and it was both the character and the man, and Emma could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest. "Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?" He leaned in, his breath once again dancing over her face, the grin never leaving his lips. "In his tail."
Emma gritted her teeth. "In his tongue," she retorted, her voice a bit lower than it had been before.
"Whose tongue?" Killian's eyes were flickering over her face and Emma's breath was hitched in her throat.
"Yours, if you talk of tails. And so, farewell." Emma used the moment to turn from him, giving herself a respite from the rush of things he caused her to feel.
He laughed then, and the sound made Emma turn back to look at him, watching him with fascination. "What, with my tongue in your tail?" He drawled out the line, each word sounding almost filthy with the way he said them, as he took a step forward, very effectively invading her personal space, tapping the tip of her nose again, like he'd done the night before. "Nay, come again, Good Kate - I am a gentleman." He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, his eyes raking over her as he did.
The other customers in the cafe burst out laughing, and Emma could feel her cheeks blazing once more, her hand slamming down on the tabletop loudly. Of all the scenes to be stuck with - with him - Emma wasn't sure how she was supposed to endure a week of this, of him.
Killian seemed to be oblivious to her emotional distress, instead giving an overly dramatic bow to the rest of the coffeeshop. Emma rolled her eyes, exhaling heavily. "Are you finished?" she asked him, arms crossed over her chest.
"I think that went quite well for a first read-through, don't you, love?" he asked, grinning at her as if he didn't have a care in the world. He leaned against the edge of the table, studying her. "Don't look at me like that," he said. "I didn't pick the scene any more than you did. But there's no reason to act so prim and proper all of a sudden." He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear then. "You did have your tongue down my throat last night, darling," he whispered huskily.
Emma jerked back from him as though she'd been burned, her eyes flashing angrily. "I hate to break it to you," she said coolly, "but that kiss didn't mean anything."
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."
"Shut up," she snapped, reaching to gather her things. She was out the door before he could stop her, but she couldn't say she was all that surprised when he came up behind her. His hand on her wrist stopped her in her tracks and she looked up at him. "What?"
"Why don't you consider giving me a chance before writing me off as the worst human around, hmm, love?" he said, and the humor was gone from his expression then. All she saw in those blue eyes of his was sincerity.
Emma sighed heavily. "And how do you want me to do that?" she asked him.
He let go of her wrist then, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shrugging slightly. "Have dinner with me. Get to know me. It might make this semester in class go easier if you aren't plotting my death every five seconds."
Emma wasn't sure if she should laugh or scream. Was he serious? He wanted to have dinner? With her? "What'd you lose a bet or something?" she asked him.
"No," he said levelly, giving her a look that clearly said he thought she was a half-wit. "Why don't you try something new, darling - called trust. Come to dinner with me, the worst that will happen is that you get free food out of the deal."
"I ... " Emma said, before shaking her head. She couldn't go to dinner with him. This was everything she'd been trying to avoid for so long now. She didn't need this sort of complication in her life, she certainly didn't need him as anything more than her drama partner, no matter what her heart was saying - that he could well be something amazing, given half a chance. She didn't have time for that. "I can't. I really think we should just ... "
But she didn't get to finish her sentence. With a muttered "Bloody hell, woman," from him as her only warning, he had his mouth crashed against hers before she could get another word out. His hands were cupping her cheeks, warm against her skin as his tongue explored her mouth, tangled with her own, made her feel weak in the knees. The papers she'd been holding in her hands skittered to the ground as she found herself returning his kiss - not sure what had brought it on, but knowing that she really didn't want it to stop.
But he did. He stopped, well before Emma was ready for him to, and she wasn't proud of the little whine of frustration that escaped her lips when he did. He gave a rueful little chuckle at that. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much, love?" he asked her, his hands still on her face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.
"All the time," she breathed out, her vision a little hazy as she looked at him. Her heart was hammering crazily in her chest, and for the first time in as long as she could remember - she was tired of being cautious, careful Emma, always doing what was expected of her. She had no idea if this was the wrong thing, or the right thing, but it was her choice, and it was what she wanted. "Why don't you pick me up at seven?" she asked him, eyes flickering to his as a small smirk formed on her lips.
"As you wish," he said with a grin, before kissing her again.