There's something about the way he does it, she thinks, the way he wraps his tongue around the words. They're obviously foreign, but Killian is determined to learn exactly how to make them roll off his tongue. She is entranced by it. Venez ici, he says, holding out his hand, and she doesn't need to know what he's saying to know that it's an invitation. They are standing out back of the apartments after a long night of whiskey and dancing and a bold declaration to learn fluent French.
Killian normally got drunk to forget, forget his current troubles, his past regrets. Anytime she has seen him drunk before it's been a warning sign, and she's taken great care to avoid drinking with him. Tonight was different, he was in a good mood and after their first jack and coke he still wasn't brooding so she deemed it safe to have another. They laughed in their friends living room, 'salon,' he reminded her, and when the music started they both jumped up to start dancing. It was innocent at first, two friends being silly and moving in whatever way the music inspired, but soon her back was to his front and his crotch was rubbing deliciously against her while they let the music take over them in a whole new way.
Eventually they managed to sneak outside into the cool night air for a smoke break and she took advantage of his downturned eyes to marvel at the gift that was his mouth while he lit his cigarette. The gorgeous way his lips parted slightly, before gently wrapping around the filter. The way his lips pursed ever so slightly while he sucked in air so the flame would meet the tobacco and give it life. The moment was fleeting as always, and he looked up to hold the lighter out for her to take a turn. She tried to mimic his actions, sure that she could never look as hot doing something so simple, but she didn't notice the little gasp that come unexpectedly from Killian.
He had done some research. Going to the bathroom is always a good excuse to pull out your phone and do something you don't want people to see. He was going to put that research to use, he couldn't handle it any more. It's not the sort of decision that he would normally make whilst drunk, or ever, he thinks, not since Milah. So he lets the phrase roll off his tongue, just to see what happens.
"Vous êtes plus belle que l'or, vous avez mon cœur, Emma."
She doesn't know what he's saying, besides her name, but gods she could watch that tongue wrap around the words for as long as she lives. It seems awkward for him to say, like he memorized it in a hurry. But something about the accent he already has, combined with this unknown language makes his mouth do things she never thought possible. What I'd like to do with that tongue she thinks, before deciding to stop that train of thought right there. We've never been drunk together, don't ruin it first time, Swan. But then he moves towards her and repeats that phrase, softer this time, nearly a whisper.
She giggles, and in return he smiles a disarming smile at her. She blushes, busying herself with the cigarette she'd nearly forgotten about. He remembers his as well, and they stand in comfortable silence as the cigarettes get shorter and shorter. The awkward pacing that happens to both of them while smoking has brought them closer together, she's leaning with her back against the wall, him with his left shoulder near her right, and he's looking at her with all the adoration he can muster, and she's red all over but looking at him the same way.
He leans towards her ear, and whispers the phrase one last time, his voice barely audible, but she can tell he knows just how to move his tongue in time with the words now, and it flows seamlessly from his lips to her very soul. It's got her feeling confident, and so she takes a risk and turns her head so she can place a chaste kiss on his jaw.
It is his undoing. He drops his still burning cigarette, not bothering to see where it's landed. He takes the steps required to be standing in front of her instead of next to her and cradles her face in both of his hands, finally kissing her with all of the passion and love that he's kept hidden away for months.
Her cigarette falls out of sheer surprise, but it doesn't take her long to decide that this is what she wants, and she's kissing him back with the same reckless abandon. One of her arms is around his back, the other tangled in his hair, both clutching him to her. I could stay here forever she thinks. I will never let her go he pledges to himself. And before long her lips part and that oh so talented tongue of his is mapping out every centimetre of her mouth, and she is putty in his arms. She's mapping out his mouth too, committing every bit of it to memory. It's turned into a slow kiss, they're taking their time with this learning process.
He tastes like cigarettes and rum, she tastes like cigarettes and whiskey, and both of them have a new favourite taste. His stubble is scraping against her chin and cheeks, and she doesn't mind. She will never mind. They stay there for gods know how long, all mouth and tongue and hands and finally. Nothing could stop them now, this is too right. It's where they're supposed to be. They both ignore the sound of the door opening and closing, too caught up in each other. They ignore the scandalized gasp they hear from somewhere around the door.
"You've got to be kidding me!" The voice, Snow they think in unison, shouts. Let her be shocked!
"You two SMOKE?!" She continues, and they finally break the kiss because neither can stop laughing.