a new little thing that is for captnbellamy who asked me for neighbours au for the cs secret valentines over on tumblr.

It's not that she hates her neighbour.

She hates a lot of people and her neighbour doesn't even come close.

Irritation? Annoyance? Sure. But hatred? Bit of a far stretch.

Emma doesn't really know him all that well, has barely passed him twice in the hallway that separates them and he seemed okay - cocky and confident but was that any different to all the other men out there?

At the present moment, however, she was pretty god damn certain that she did hate him and she was moments away from storming up those stairs and strangling him herself. Consequences be dammed.

Because, seriously? Was having a shower at three fucking am seriously necessary? She doubted it.

Killian Jones was seriously a royal pain in her ass.

Innuendo's always flying from his lips, left right and centre. Honestly, she had more than one reason to want him dead and it was sounding even better by the second.

And that was how Emma Swan ended up marching up to his apartment, furry on her face as she stomped, a growl on her lips.

She stands there knocking for at least two minutes, knuckle knocking repetitively against his wooden door, impatiently as she tapped her foot.

God! Could he hurry up?

She hears a low growl coming from the inside, followed by something that she's sure is supposed to be, "Just give me a bloody minute."

(She still wants to kill him.)

But-

She falters slightly when he answers the door, his jaw clenched tight and his eyes narrowed, glaring down at her. That isn't what catches her attention, however. It's the towel that is wrapped loosely around his waist, the droplets of water that is beading down his very muscular chest as it turns out, a trail of dark hair leading south.

(She wants to map that trail of with her lips, her teeth - anything.)

Damn. He just had to be attractive. Didn't he?

She gulps, forcing her eyes upwards and she's met with a dark stare and a smirk that clearly says he knew she was checking him out.

She snarls, gritting her teeth.

"What's with the 3 am shower?" she bites out.

He looks taken back at that, confusion flitting across his face.

"Excuse me?"

Emma narrows her eyes.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

His head tips to the side as though he's trying to read her, eyes flashing over his face before his smile widens slightly, tongue pushing up against his front teeth before he speaks.

"Ah," he says. "The prickly blonde from across the hall." Another grin. "Should have expected you at some point, I suppose, love."

She hates the way he says it, the way he assumes she's a done deal.

She glares, finger pointing towards him for emphasis as she narrows her eyes.

(And crap, maybe she shouldn't have done that, not with the way their skin comes into contact.)

"Just take a shower at a normal time like everybody else in this god damn building," she demands.

Killian for his part doesn't falter, merely grins back at her.

"Why not?" he asks innocent, right hand coming up to rest against the doorway as he leans towards her and she tries not to flinch at the way he smells, the way he's suddenly surrounding her, consuming her.

And god, she needs to get out.

Preferably before she does something stupid. Like jump his bones.

Bad idea, she tells herself. Bad, bad, bad idea, Emma!

"You know why," she growls. "Just keep the shower schedule to a normal time. Okay, Jones? Some of us actually like to sleep."

He says something but she's too distracted by the way his lips move, the way the dimple in his left cheek protrudes to catch it.

"Hm?"

She focuses as he repeats himself and tries to ignore the smug grin on his face.

(It's too big to blame ignorance.)

"How'd you know my name, love?"

She freezes and then shrugs.

"New neighbour," she says. "Just curious," she settles for.

"Didn't know you cared that much," he murmurs.

Her eyes narrow again.

"I don't," she says determinedly. "New York and all that. Didn't want to run the chance of living across the hall from a rapist. You hear all those stories of that girl and she just didn't know. Didn't really want to risk the chance of being killed in my sleep. You know?"

The smile still doesn't move from his lips.

"That I do, love," he settles for saying in return with a raised eyebrow.

It's then that she realises that she came here for a purpose.

"Anyway," she says heavily. "Just keep the shower time down. Okay?"

He hums under his breath and takes a step forward with that god damn infuriating grin on his lips.

"You know what, Emma Swan?" he asks, clearly rhetorical as his blue eyes dance up at her.

And she can't help it, she hums back, eyes glued to his as he steps into her personal space. She's tempted (beyond tempted) to take a step back but she raises her head, staring him straight on as she refuses to be intimidated.

"I don't think I will," he tells her, voice low and husky.

His hand reaches forward for her, fingers twirling around her hair as his eyes quickly scan her form before they land back on hers.

"Especially not if it leads to these," he pauses, "encounters," his accent deliciously curls around the syllables, "With a lovely lass such as yourself, love."

She glares, eyes hardening as her lips press into a firm line.

"Well, love," she says mockingly, her finger twisting around his as he pulls on a long strand of her blonde curls until she bend it sharply, a painful cry escaping him as he immediately drops it.

Her eyes flash up to his as he stares back at her, clearly dumbfounded.

"You better," she finishes, tone threatening.

He's staring back at her, wander in his eyes and she's surprised to see a small smile edging up on his lips.

(Most guys would take that as a blow to the ego.)

(Not him apparently.)

(But again, he doesn't exactly seem out of the ordinary so why is she surprised?)

(Wishful thinking, she guesses.)

"You are a tough lass, aren't you?" he murmurs, eyes bright.

"Keep having showers at 3 am," she starts, a menacing tone to her voice, "And you'll find out exactly how tough."

"Was that supposed to be an innuendo?" he smirks at the thought, "Because let me tell you, Swan, that's how it sounded."

She pokes her finger back into his chest.

"Keep the showers to before 11," she tells him. The or else goes unsaid.

His eyes gleam at the unspoken challenge, his lips parting as his thumb presses over his chin and his teeth sparkle in the dark light.

"We'll see," he murmurs.

She wants to fight him, she does. Believe Emma, she really does.

But it's got to be nearly 4 am at this point and she's beyond exhausted - chasing down guys who refuse to pay will do that to you, but still - so she gives in, sighing loudly. Besides, she has no doubts that she can prove him wrong at any other time of day. And it's not like he's going to be taking any more showers tonight. So, at least she can't get a few hours sleep.

"I guess we will," she murmurs back though it's less soft than his and she's glaring (albeit tiredly) at him.

He smirks.

"Then, I guess I'll be seeing you soon, my dear, Swan."

She's still glaring at nothing as she turns around, a huff on her lips as she storms back to her own place.

She hears a loud chuckle echoing throughout the hallway even as she reaches her handle.

"Swan?"

Her head turns, eyes catching his as his eyes stare back and there's more than a tint of mischief dancing in them and when he smirks, she's honestly half expecting the innuendo to fall from his lips.

"I hope you sleep well," he tells her, which is innocent enough so she shrugs.

"Thanks," she says though it's weary.

And she knows why when he stretches, a low groan escaping his lips as his head tips backwards, exposing the length of his throat that has her thighs clenching together and then his towel slips a little bit too far down.

Her eyes widen and she knows if anyone was watching, they must find the entire situation comical.

His head suddenly snaps back up and her eyes suddenly flash back up to his, gulping as she tries to pretend she wasn't suddenly checking him out.

Then, the bastard winks - he actually winks - at her before his lips part.

"I'll be seeing you sooner rather than later," he tells her again, that false innocence back in his tone. "I do intend to discover how peaceful," his lips curl around the final word sinfully, "your much need sleep will be, Swan."

A slammed door is the only response he gets.

(She gets all the way back to her room, the sight of him half naked permanently etched in her brain as she chucks her boots into the corner before she practically collapses into her bed before something sinks in.)

(How the hell did he know her name?)