A/N A slightly darker companion piece to 'The Jacket'. This episode's got me in a writing mood! Enjoy, let me know what you think. Love! XO
"Goodnight, Emma." Killian watched as the door swung close and his love disappeared, the lock clicking behind her. He sagged against the stair rail and raised his eyes skywards, the rush of heat she had left behind her still rushing through his veins.
He wanted her. He wanted to take her and cradle her head as he lowered her onto a bed and ravished her, kissing those pretty pink lips until he was the only thing she could taste.
Killian shifted uncomfortably, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. His right hand pulsed, and for a moment, the world glowed red.
He wanted her. A growl escaped his lips.
Killian shook himself, hard. He pushed himself upward and stumbled down the stairs, trying to ignore the throbbing of his groin and the enchantment Emma had weaved around him.
The cool night air hit him, and finally, he could breathe.
"I think I love that woman." He muttered, boots clacking as he walked down the street. A shiver passed over him, rushing under his skin and making him sigh, a want almost driving him to turn around. Another shiver passed over him, though this one was from the cold.
"Though I'm questioning giving her my jacket." Killian's chuckle was deep, steeped in the night and the passion flowing through his veins.
Her lips on his—it had been magic, it had been magnetic. They could have charged through her living room and ignored her parents completely. He could have carried her into her bedroom and kissed her until the world ended.
Another cool breeze whipped past his face. Killian rolled his eyes as he strolled into Granny's Inn. "This is doing wonderful things for my condition." He grumbled, walking gingerly up the stairs. He struggled to fish the keys out of his pocket, everything pressed tight and far too close.
Killian shoved the key into the lock and nearly took the door down shoving it open. It slammed shut behind him, a deafening roar in the quiet night.
His window was open. The curtains blew into his room with the gentle breeze and played at his feet. Killian shut the thing with a tired smirk, flexing his right hand and wondering. He ran his left through his hair and sighed, settling on the edge of the bed.
The empty bed.
The bed that Emma Swan was not in.
Killian groaned.
"I could have suggested this." He moaned, falling back and settling into the comforter. "Blast, I'm a fool." Emma was probably already settled back in her family's arms, up laughing with that pretty mouth and smirking, just to drive him mad.
"Gods." He swore. Everything ached for her—his cock pulsed, desperate for friction, for her hand to stroke him upward and upward until he couldn't see straight.
"Fuck it." Killian undid the ties to his pants and sighed with relief, letting his cock bob out. He was hard, so hard—it was a miracle he hadn't pinned her to that wall, after all.
Killian took himself in hand and started to stroke, letting his mind take him back to the stairwell, to Emma's eyes, to her touch, to her.
She was beautiful. She was always beautiful, but tonight, all pink and sweet, like a dessert he was forbidden to touch. But he did touch her, tracing his hands over her skin and holding her hands, wrapping an arm around her waist and feeling her sigh.
He imagined burying both hands in her hair, feeling the silk of it fall over his skin as he kissed her, bruising her lips and catching her tongue with his. She tasted like heaven and cinnamon and sin, and gods above, he adored her. Killian stroked himself faster, faster, thumbing over his head.
She'd be better at this than him, he'd imagined, although a year alone had made him well acquainted with his hand. Emma, though, Emma was good at everything she did. She'd take him in hand and watch him struggle, teasing him with a tiniest touch before letting him go, panting and desperate.
He was panting and desperate, and it wasn't her here.
She would lick her way down his chest and twist her fingers across his treasure trails, her pale hands against the dark hair making him whimper.
"Emma," he breathed, her ghost smirking up at him from her knees. "Gods, Emma, Emma, Emma."
She could take him in her mouth or she could not, but he knew she'd do everything in her power to tease him, to make him shake and shudder for her touch. She's lean him back on the blankets and he would lose himself in her.
Killian twisted his wrist and gasped, beautiful eyes burnt into his and parted lips ghosting across his skin. There was heat, there was red, and—
There was cum on the comforter.
Killian lay on his back and sucked in air, keeping his eyes closed. Emma's face danced before his eyes, disappearing slowly into the darkness, just like she had.
A sharp twist of red flashed, and anger surged in his belly like nothing before. Nobody would take her away from him, nobody—
Killian froze. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
He sat up with a sigh, stretching and shoving his pants all the way to the ground. Slowly, he made his way towards the bathroom, grumbling softly about the comforter and the chill of the night. He made eye contact with his reflection and winced, the light in his eyes almost feverish, almost sick.
His stomach twisted with something almost like guilt. His right hand clenched tight as he turned on the water, washing himself clean.
A walk would clear his head, he decided, determinedly not meeting his own gaze. A walk, and maybe a trip to the pawnshop.
Killian sighed and turned off the water, a part of him still aching, deep and keen and pure. He looked at his bed, rumpled from his own body, and wished, begged for Emma to appear, curled up in the blankets and sleeping peacefully.
"I think I might love this woman." He said once more, running a hand over his face. Something squeezed his heart, and he nearly sobbed, the red at the edge of his gaze so terribly, terribly wrong.
He was out the door a moment later, disappearing into the night.