A/N: A smutty little something-something for in-spirational's birthday. College professors that all the students ship together au.
He really doesn't know what on earth "shipping" means when he hears it the first time, innocently leaning back in his chair reading student essays as he waits for his office hours to be done for the day. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, though, and then he's paying less attention to the essay in his hand and more attention to the conversation that Henry and Grace are having in the graduate students' office located just across the small hallway from his own office. That's the only reason he's listening in. It certainly has nothing to do with who they would pair him with. And definitely not because he's interested in who they would pair a certain Creative Writing professor with.
He's just proving that the GAs have too much time on their hands by listening in.
"How about Professor Jones?" he hears Henry ask, and his ears perk up.
"Maybe the new librarian? Belle?" Grace responds after a moment. Killian controls his facial expression, because Belle is lovely, but no.
"Nah. I think she has the hots for Professor Gold, believe it or not."
Grace gasps with the dramatic gossip and Killian's jaw drops open as his eyebrows furrow together. The age difference of the two in question is considerable, but they wouldn't be the first in the department, and they probably won't be the last. The English department has always been lush with scandalous matchups, after all.
"Okay then, how about Killian and Mary Margaret?"
There's a noise from Henry at Grace's suggestion, and Killian inwardly laughs. Mary Margaret is very married, has been married for five years to a Criminal Justice professor with a jawline and disposition like that of Prince Charming. Dave is also one hell of a cook, and every other Sunday, Killian gets to sit down with them, along with—
"Jones and Swan," Henry says. "Have you seen the way Killian looks at her? And how Emma looks right back when he turns away?"
He was unaware that his expressions were so open, but what's this about the way Emma looks at him?
"Emma doesn't even know Killian exists," Grace counters. Ouch. "And Killian just looks at her like a puppy waiting for attention." Double ouch!
Thankfully, Killian knows that not to be the total truth. No one in the department, other than Mary Margaret, seems to know that the two of them were in grad school together, and quite close whilst there.
"Emma just has walls higher than China," Henry says plainly. It's hard to tell if that is, in actuality, an exaggeration or the honest-to-god truth. Maybe even an understatement, when he thinks of how long it took him and Emma to become friends.
"That must be one hell of a paper if it's earning that expression," comes the voice and Killian looks up to see Emma gracing his doorway. He fumbles for words for a second, noticing first and foremost that the conversation from across the small hallway has gone quiet.
"Ah, office hours and midterm essays," he finally responds.
Emma makes a noise of understanding as she grimaces. "Drinks tonight to celebrate the midway point?"
He looks up fast, stunned that she's asking outright as they usually don't see each other outside of the office except for the bi-monthly dinners at the Blanchard/Nolan household, and in his haste he thinks he catches it: the look Emma gives him in return, and he thinks it must look a lot like his own.
"But of course, Swan. Come find me when you're free for the day," he says with a bright smile.
Once Emma has cleared from his doorway, Killian leans back in his chair enough to peek through the open door of the grad assistants' office. He meets the knowing looks of Henry and Grace, both of them smirking. With Killian still looking straight at them, Grace turns back to Henry.
"Yep. I ship it."
In a move of giddy excitement, Killian winks at them before toeing his door shut.
They'd both been perched on the couch against the back wall, the same couch that Emma and Killian were known to frequent when the all-nighters got to be too much, or they had rare downtime between teaching and their own course-work. Mary Margaret has a picture of the two of them curled up beneath the blanket she brought in during their years in the program, Killian extending his middle finger from around her waist with his face buried in her hair.
She kissed him, once. Just once. And that time was enough for Killian to know that he wanted to taste her lips for tall the rest of his days, but she had pulled back and away, retreating to the other side of the office before he could even find the world beneath his feet again.
If he believed in fate, he would've said that's why he's back teaching British Literature and why Emma was already there teaching creative writing when he got hired in. The expression on his face the day he ran into her in the office supply room was surely one for the books.
He thanks the stars that it's Friday, as he and Emma head down the hill to the only good bar on campus just before dinner. They eat, and one drink turns into two, and then a third.
They talk about grad school, and their respective doctoral programs. They talk about their classmates and what they'll bring to the next group dinner. They talk about their semesters and their students, both the good and the bad, and they talk about everything else they can think of except the one and only kiss they shared what feels like decades ago.
Before he knows it, it's midnight and he's walking her back to her car, the small faculty section of the parking deck empty save for their vehicles. He doesn't remember her grabbing his hand, but he swings their arms forward and back as they amble along. It feels a lot like their time as students together and he's more than okay with the nostalgia.
"Well," he says as they round the stairwell to stand next to her car. "I guess this is goodnight, then." He's reluctant to let her hand go and walk away, and it must show on his face, because she abandons her search for her keys in favor of grabbing one of the lapels of his jacket and hauling him towards her, meeting his surprised lips with her own. He's immobile for the space of a heartbeat until his arms wrap around her, one hand burying into her hair as he tilts her head to make the most of it.
Whether it's the rush of midterms and their celebratory mood or the pent up chemistry they've always been harboring finally breaking free, he finds the kiss spinning wildly out of control when she shuffles them until his back hits the concrete wall of the stairwell.
"What's—is this—?" It's as close to a sentence as Killian can manage, but Emma gets enough of a message because she leans back to look him in the eye when she says her next words.
"I already know that the gentleman and the scoundrel are about to war it out in your mind, so just know that this is how I should've responded after the first time I kissed you."
"I am always a gentleman, love. The scoundrel side of me, as you've put it, is just an added bonus." He punctuates this statement by pulling her flush against him. Her hands end up on his shoulders, fingers tightening as he makes sure she's straddling one of his thighs when he uses his leverage on her hips to grind her against him.
"Killian," she exhales his name sharply as he continues the subtle movements. He murmurs against her neck for her to continue, but his quest is met with another breathy "Killian" as her eyes flutter closed. She manages to say it one more time, right as his hands slide from her hips into her back pockets, and this time he can feel her nails through his shirt.
"Yes, Swan?" he asks, setting a steady tempo.
"Don't stop," she finally gasps as her lips find his again.
"As you wish," he says before rotating them and resuming his movements, this time with a little more control as his small thrusts are pushing right where it matters. He bites his lower lip briefly at how positively sinful she looks and how he feels like a student instead of a tenure-track professor, but then he goes back to focus on a spot behind her ear that makes her shiver while his hands wander under her shirt to press against smooth, warm skin. His teeth tug at her earlobe and her hands mimic his earlier actions, slipping into his back pockets and anchoring him against her, as if he'd be insane enough to abandon her at this point. Not when he's hard and wanting. Not when he's sure that if it's this good with their clothes on, then he'll only last seconds if they get to try this again with their clothes off. And certainly not when Emma's breathing has increased in pace and her quiet encouragements are becoming much more desperate, much more frequent, until she stills suddenly. Her lips press together as her eyes shut tightly and he keeps rocking into her to help her ride out the orgasm.
He's going to have to drive home with an erection, but it was worth it to now have her relaxing into his arms, her chuckle low and just as arousing and anything else about her. She's the one biting her lip this time and Killian takes the opportunity to run a hand along her jaw, thumb brushing briefly into the small cleft in her chin.
"Wanna come back to my place for coffee?" Emma asks after another moment.
And of course he goes, and of course he discovers what Emma's version of coffee is when she's sliding down the length of his body where it's splayed out on the floor of her entryway, and her mouth is engulfing him, and the fire is burning through his veins as her name falls from his lips on repeat.
He returns the favor, multiple times, after they've actually had that coffee and he's carried her off to her bed.
"So," she starts sometime after their bodies have cooled and the sky is just beginning to lighten outside her windows. "On a scale of one to Gold and Belle, how scandalous do you think dry-humping in the parking deck rates on the English department scale?"
"Dry-humping? Probably only a three or four. But if we upgrade to actual penetration and not signing the non-disclosure forms, then we can probably call it an eight." He nibbles his way across her shoulder blade as his open palm caresses her stomach. "Also, the grad students apparently ship us."
Once again, Emma's chuckle is low and husky and if his body were not so thoroughly sated and exhausted, he's pretty sure he would want to take her yet again.
"I know. They had that same conversation outside my door on Monday. I think they figured it would take me a couple days to finally figure out my emotions and act on them."
Killian just grins against her skin and makes a mental note to find a way to thank those damn meddlesome students at some point.
When they redesigned the English department over the summer, there was one thing Killian was incredibly glad for: the department decided against the glass doors.
Had they gone that particular route, then he wouldn't be where he is right now, with his teeth leaving subtle dent marks in the neckline of Emma's camisole as she slides down onto his cock, her skirt flared around their laps and her underwear pulled to the side for ease of access.
It's eight in the morning and the only people in the office yet are the student worker at the front desk and a few of the tenured professors, all heading off to their classrooms to teach and thus not noticing that Killian's office light is on and the door is locked.
His chair is threatening to roll from under them and his legs are already wobbling with the effort to keep it steady.
"Swan," he warns quietly.
"I know, I just want to feel this for a moment and then we can go against the door or on the desk or whatever way you want to do this but just gimme a minute," she whispers in his ear.
"Bloody hell, Swan, you will be the end of me."
"How long until the grad students get here? We could revisit the couch and do what we should've done years ago on it," she suggests.
He hisses out a few more obscenities as she shifts, pushing the back of the chair against the desk so she can grip the solid surface. The chair stops rolling, his legs stop wobbling, and Emma sets a brutal pace that has him biting her shirt again in an attempt to keep quiet.
"You like this game," she quietly exclaims a moment later. "Where else would you have me, Killian? The fishbowl after hours with all the blinds drawn up? Knowing that anyone in the office could walk through and see you fucking me on the conference table?"
One of his hands snakes up her shirt to alternately tease her nipples through her bra, the other anchors on her hip to keep them both steady.
Killian's head falls back against the chair and Emma's forehead drops against his.
"How about the supply room, Killian? On the counter next to the comdoc forms or would you like to bend me over the copier?"
He uses the hand on her hip to deliver a swift and muted slap to her ass, but a breathy moan still escapes her and she claps a hand over her mouth. They both still, listening for any sounds that someone could've heard them before Emma starts up again, slow rolls of her hips over and over.
His hands find their way under her skirt, and while one finds its way to the smooth skin just above the back of her knee, the other ends up just above where they're joined to thumb at her clit. There is nothing more glorious than seeing Emma Swan succumb to the throes of passion.
"How about," Killian starts to suggest, "in our bed, in the privacy of our own home, where I can strip you bare and worship you from head to toe?" At the same time, he shifts his hips to change the angle and thrusts up into her. It takes just a few more thrusts before she falls apart, burying her face against his neck as she swears up a storm. Her release triggers his own and he holds her down in place as they both come back down to earth.
"Sounds perfect," Emma murmurs when she's regained her breath. "Next time the bookstore fucks up your order, just make handouts and deal with it at a reasonable hour so I can make love to you at home, okay?" She smiles, bright and easy, before kissing him soundly.
"As you wish, my love," he responds, and gathers her close to kiss her again.
Within minutes, they're cleaned up and put back together, and Killian is very thankful for his secret fiance's foresight to bring along changes of any clothing necessary as she tucks the possibly-ruined panties she walked in wearing into an inner pocket of his gym bag.
Their "I love you"s are whispered against each other's lips before Killian unlocks the door and opens it for her, only to come face to face with Henry about to enter the grad assistants' office.
"Good morning Dr. Swan, Dr. Jones." He gives them another knowing smile (just as smug and knowledgeable as it has been for the last year of their relationship) and tips his head in greeting before slipping through the open door at his back.
He walks straight to the plush couch against the back wall and sits down, pulling out his work and flicking his gaze back to the couple still frozen in front of Killian's office door. They snap out of it and Emma whispers a quick goodbye before scurrying away, smile blooming on her lips once more.
Killian turns to head back to his desk, but Henry's voice calls out to him once more.
"Dr. Jones?"
"Killian, lad. I'll never be used to the formality."
"Well, Killian. Thanks for the new couch. But why again did you donate it to our office?"
"The official story is that I found one I liked better and knew this office was in need of updating, but I suspect you know the real reason, don't you? Also, Violet is a new GA, right?" Henry nods in response and his smile shifts to something Killian instantly recognizes. He leans in to the office with a conspiratorial whisper. "You and her? I ship it."
Henry's face goes red and Killian hums a happy tune as he closes his office door once more.