A/N: After all her other friends had cancelled, Emma expected a quiet Christmas Eve with her friends, the Nolans. What she did NOT expect was Killian Jones on her doorstep with a bottle of rum, Mary Margaret to become mysteriously 'sick' at the last minute, and a series of presents delivered to her door.
[This is my little riff on the "all our friends are sick (or at least 'sick') for our group's annual holiday dinner so it's just the two of us and wow does this seem romantic or am i just overthinking it" AU]
**MERRY CHRISTMAS TO MY GUTTER FLOWER SECRET SANTA**
Emma puttered around the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the appetizers. It didn't count so much as cooking per se - more like arranging. She'd managed a lovely fruit and cheese tray, crudites with dip, and a bowl filled with bright red and green tortilla chips. All she needed was David's legendary homemade guacamole for the chips and Mary Margaret's trademark hot buttered rum mix, and the spread would be complete.
She was just about to get down the glassware when the buzzer sounded for the front door. Glancing at the clock on the DVR, she had a fleeting thought that it was rare for David and Mary Margaret Nolan to be early, even by a few minutes. Still, she shrugged it off and pressed the button on the call box to let them in, then turned her attention back to retrieving the glasses, knowing full well it would take them a few minutes to trudge up the five flights of stairs to reach her apartment.
The annual Christmas Eve dinner was her favorite, or more accurately, her only holiday tradition. Emma Swan didn't really do Christmas in general. Growing up, she'd rarely spent two Christmases in the same placement, be it with foster parents or a group home, and she learned very early on that Santa loses track of you if you keep moving around. It only took a couple of Christmas mornings with no presents under the tree bearing an "Emma" tag (or with no presents at all), before she decided Christmas was not for a lost little girl.
Life was different now. The lost girl was all grown up. She had friends who cared for her like family, an apartment she loved with a real gas log fireplace (living on the top floor of a building with no elevator had to have some bonus to it, right?), and a job that - while not glamorous - paid the bills and she was good at. Emma finally felt as if she was building a real life for herself.
Every Christmas Eve, she and her friends would get together for a huge, decadent dinner at David and Mary Margaret's house, and Emma looked forward to it each year. It was her reminder to herself of how far she had come. But, this year… Well, this year it seemed nearly everyone else had other plans. Ruby and Victor were off on a ski vacation. Kristoff had finally proposed to Anna, so Elsa had gone back to her hometown to help her sister start planning the wedding.
Perhaps most disappointing of all, Killian had gotten word yesterday that his brother Liam's wife had gone into labor three weeks early, so he was hopping on a plane to London to go meet his new little niece. Not that Emma was disappointed he was going to see his family. Of course not, she was thrilled for him about that. It's just that she would, well, miss him - his teasing banter and stupid innuendos and their easy camaraderie. Killian had become such a fixture in her life over the last three years, a comforting constant, that she didn't quite know what to do with herself when he was away.
They loved each other as friends do. Not the other kind of love - God, no. That kind of love was dangerous. She'd tried it once - ages ago before she'd met Killian - and the spectacular heartbreak she'd received for her efforts taught her that kind of love was not for her.
No, this kind of love was strong, warm, calming - like the way his arms felt around her when they hugged. It was actually a bit unusual for Emma, how physically affectionate she and Killian had become. She wasn't typically a touchy-feely person, but laying her head on his shoulder when they snuggled on the couch to watch a movie, slipping an arm around his waist when they stood side by side, kissing his cheek in greeting? It all just seemed to flow naturally.
He had his own little habits of touching her as well - all completely innocent mind you. Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear (whether or not it was actually out of place), grazing a knuckle down her arm as she passed, guiding her with his palm pressed gently to the small of her back when they walked together. She could admit to herself that she liked his touch. One might even say she reveled in it. (If one was being honest with oneself, one might say craved.)
Oh, who the hell was she kidding? She was pitifully in love with him. The dangerous, scary kind of love, but there was no way she would ever let him know. He wasn't for her and never would be because obviously if something were meant to happen between the two of them, it would have by now. Well… something had almost happened once, on the night they'd met - exactly three years ago tonight. But nothing since.
That is, almost nothing. There had been times that she thought maybe - just maybe - she wasn't alone in her feelings for him. When his slate blue eyes twinkled at her as he smiled, when he licked his lips nervously if she stood too close... But no. No, friendship was better. Friendship was safe. It didn't threaten the defenses she'd so carefully constructed around her heart. It was much better to keep Killian as a friend than to risk the heartbreak of losing him forever, right?
Emma sighed heavily, shaking off that train of thought, and forced herself to focus on her party preparations. Since most of their usual crew was unavailable, Emma had convinced Mary Margaret and David to cancel the big fancy dinner and instead invited the couple over to her place for simple snacks and cocktails. Mary Margaret had agreed on the condition that they still be allowed to contribute to the food and drink. A knock on the door told her that her friends and their respective culinary contributions had finally arrived.
Emma smiled broadly and pulled open the door. "Merry Chri- Oh!" Her breath caught and she blinked rapidly at the sight before her, a familiar rush of heat flooding through her from head to toe. Killian Jones stood in her doorway with snow dusting his black hair and dark peacoat, and a liquor bottle in his hand. Possessed by a sudden desire to brush the snow from his hair with her fingers, Emma tightened her grip on the door handle and spluttered the first words that popped into her head. "You're not David and Mary Margaret!"
Killian's eyes crinkled at the corners, his dimples deepening as he cracked a wry grin. "Try not to sound too disappointed, love," he answered, his deep, lilting voice sending little tingles of electricity up her spine. "I've brought the rum, as ordered, if that helps."
Emma furrowed her brows in confusion, her brain struggling to catch up to the unexpected turn of events. "As ordered?"
"Yes," he replied patiently with a slow nod of his head. "I called Dave when my flight got cancelled to tell him I could make it to dinner after all, and he told me the festivities had been moved here. And that I should bring the rum." He waited a beat, pressing his mouth into a thin line. Then with a tilt of his head and an arched dark eyebrow, he indicated the doorway which Emma was still blocking. "Ah, mind if I come in then?"
With a small shake of her head to snap herself back to attention, Emma stepped to the side and held the door open. "Right. Yes. Of course. Sorry," she stammered. "Come on in."
And with a quick peck of his lips on her forehead that may or may not have made her stomach do flip-flops, Killian Jones entered her apartment.
Killian strode past Emma into the kitchen with as much of his customary swagger as he could manage, needing a moment to compose himself. Bloody hell, did she really have to wear that sweater? The icy white cashmere gave her fair skin an angelic glow, the soft material draping elegantly around the curve of her hips. He ached to simply snatch her up and suck her plump lower lip between his teeth until she mewled like a kitten, but he restrained himself allowing only for a chaste kiss to her brow.
He'd fancied Emma since they met at David and Mary Margaret's Christmas Eve party three years ago. They'd shared one glorious, shining moment after dinner that night in the tiny living room of the Nolan's apartment. He and Emma were engaged in a rather heated discussion on the merits of various 80's rock bands (because Yazoo? Honestly, Swan...), when Ruby attempted to squeeze behind Emma in the crowded space, jostling her in the process. Emma lost her balance and fell forward, and before he could blink, they were pressed intimately together. Hip to hip, chest to chest, her small hands clutching his ribs for balance, his arms looped around her waist for support. Time seemed to stop as she looked up at him, a lovely flush of pink tinting her cheeks. Her eyes continued past his face to the ceiling, and he followed her gaze to the cluster of green leaves and white berries suspended over their heads. Mistletoe. It was a bloody Christmas miracle. His eyes fell to her lush, red mouth and they each began to lean in, but before their lips could meet, a very inebriated Anna gestured a tad too wildly amidst her animated chatter and flung eggnog all over Emma's back, effectively shattering the moment forever.
In the three years since, they'd never managed to recover that perfect convergence of timing and chemistry, but that hadn't stopped him from falling madly and inexorably in love with her - her strength, her wit, the heart of gold she tried to hide behind walls of titanium. He didn't know whether she returned his feelings. Sure, they exchanged flirtatious banter (in fact one of his favorite pass times was seeing just how lurid an innuendo he could throw her way before she rolled her eyes and swatted him), and it did seem lately that the crook of his arm had become her preferred resting spot. It was all wonderful - he wouldn't trade a minute - but there was nothing that ever rose above an "affectionate friends" level. And yet...
And yet there had been enough times when he caught a certain smile on her face, when her gaze or touch had lingered, when she hugged him a second or two longer than necessary. It gave him hope.
He planned to finally tell her tonight on the third anniversary of the day they met (they day they almost kissed), praying to any deity who would listen that she wouldn't run like hell when he did. When Liam called yesterday to tell him he was going to be an uncle in a few hours, he'd taken it as a sign from the universe that once again the timing was wrong, and booked the next available flight to London.
As he finished his packing earlier this afternoon, the airline contacted him to tell him all flights in and out of Heathrow were grounded due to a blizzard across the pond and now… Now he didn't know what to think. She certainly hadn't seemed all that pleased to see him.
Maybe I was right before about the timing being off, he told himself. He knew his Swan - knew the hurt she'd endured growing up, the heartbreak she'd suffered at the hands of her first "love" (though he hesitated to use the word in regard to that relationship). Above all he knew that if he made a grand confession to her when the timing wasn't right, she would panic. He couldn't risk her shutting him out completely. He'd held his tongue for three years now. What was one more night?
He set the rum bottle on the kitchen counter (sorely tempted to take a little nip to steady himself) and shucked off his coat, hanging it on the back of a chair at the small dining table. Emma's ringing cell phone caught his attention, and he turned to look in her direction. Yes. He was definitely going to need a shot of that rum.
Emma had her back to him as she chatted, phone pressed to her ear, and his hatred of her sweater was further confirmed. From this side he could see that it was split up the back, wrapping slightly at the nape of her neck, but falling open from the middle of her back to the top of her jeans leaving a perfect triangle of creamy skin tantalizingly bare.
Overcome with a desire to trail his fingertips over that expanse of skin, to press his palm firmly at the small of her back and pull her close, he made the quick decision to give his hands something more innocent to do. So, he wandered over to the bar where she'd set out some hors d'oeuvres, and grabbed a handful of chips. And if this vantage point allowed him to enjoy a rather lovely view while he munched, that couldn't possibly hurt anything, could it?
Emma became suddenly wary when David's picture appeared on her phone screen.
She accepted the call, and David's voice came on the line. "Emma, I hate to do this to you at the last minute, but we're gonna have to bail on our plans tonight. Mary Margaret's come down with some kind of stomach bug, and I need to stay here and take care of her."
"Ugh, poor thing. That really sucks," Emma answered.
"Yeah, well. I mean she is pretty high-maintenance when she's sick, but I'll manage," David quipped.
"I meant poor her, not poor you, jackass."
"You know I can actually hear you rolling your eyes through the phone, right?"
"Good. You deserve it," Emma replied with a chuckle. "Hey, don't worry about bailing, alright? I just hope she gets to feeling better!"
"I hope so, too. To make it up to you, we're having all your Christmas presents sent over to your place."
"David, you know I'm not a Christmas person. You really didn't have to-" Emma began to protest, but David cut her off.
"Yes. We did. They should start showing up soon." David paused and Emma could hear Mary Margaret's muffled voice in the background before he came back on the line. "Is Killian there yet?"
"Yeah, he got here just a few minutes ago. Thanks for the heads-up, by the way." She cut her eyes over to the kitchen to see the person in question helping himself to the crudites.
David ignored her snarky tone. "Great. We're sending a thing or two for him as well."
"Okay…" Emma answered, not really knowing what else to say.
"Hey, I've gotta go take care of my girl now. There are noises coming from the bathroom that sound like a wounded velociraptor-"
"Ew!" Emma interjected, her face scrunching in disgust. "And on that lovely imagery, goodbye David."
She disconnected the call, then set her phone down with a sigh and turned her attention back to Killian who was munching away on the snacks she'd set out. Involuntarily her eyes swept over him. He'd removed his coat, and she could now fully appreciate the way his midnight blue sweater molded to his chest and broad shoulders. The hand he wasn't using to feed himself was hitched on his belt buckle drawing her gaze strategically to certain areas. He stuffed one last bite of a chip in his mouth and gave her one of his ridiculous smirks as he casually licked the salt from his fingers. Emma swallowed hard. Smug bastard.
She cleared her throat, finally finding her voice. "That was David. Mary Margaret is apparently sick, and they aren't coming. Did he mention that to you when you talked to him?" Emma asked as she crossed the living room to lean against a bar stool at the opposite end of the bar.
"No, but that was a few hours ago…" He furrowed his brow, then shrugged. "Maybe her illness came on suddenly?"
"Maybe. Still seems weird." Emma replied, snatching a grape off a platter and popping it in her mouth. "I guess I've got you all to myself tonight, Jones." Emma's cheeks reddened as she realized how her words must've sounded. "That is, unless you just want to go home," she added quickly. "I mean, you don't have to -"
"Easy, Swan," Killian interrupted, his voice teasing. "I'd like to stay. You're rather decent company when you're not rolling your eyes at me." He paused to pluck a grape off the bar. "But you're a rubbish catch. Think fast, Swan!" He tossed the grape at her, and Emma flinched angrily as it bounced off her nose.
"Hey!" Emma shouted, bending down to pick up the fallen grape from where it lay on the floor between them. "That was a cheap shot." She stood up straight and jabbed an annoyed index finger into Killian's chest. "I happen to be a fantastic catch, I'll have you know."
For a moment, Killian's eyes bored into hers. "Too right, lass," he replied, an unexpected touch of sincerity coloring his voice. Emma became keenly aware that the hand she'd used to threaten Killian only a second ago, had traitorously relaxed and was now resting flat above his heart. She turned the gesture into an awkward double pat, and withdrew her hand taking a step away from him to more neutral territory.
"So, anyway, David also mentioned that he and Mary Margaret are having some presents sent over for us. No idea what that's about."
As if on cue, the call box buzzed. Emma pressed the intercom button, and a garbled voice annouced, "Delivery for Killian Jones?"
Emma raised her eyebrows at Killian, feeling both wary and intrigued. "I guess the first one's for you, Jones. Let's see what it is."
Shortly thereafter, a teenage boy arrived on Emma's doorstep with a small cooler in hand. He waived away Killian's offer of a tip, saying that he was already tipped by the sender. Killian carried the cooler over to the couch, placing it on the coffee table. Emma settled down near him, and he quirked an eyebrow at her. "Care to do the honors, Swan?"
"Oh, I wouldn't dare," Emma replied, gesturing to the little note that read "Killian" in Mary Margaret's pristine penmanship taped to the top of the cooler.
He plucked off the note setting it aside, and Emma nestled closer to him to get a better view of the mysterious gift. Right. That was why. Nothing at all to do with the warm press of his thigh against hers. As he leaned forward, his hand grazed her knee, the unexpected contact raising goosebumps on her skin.
Killain raised the lid to find a small container of Mary Margaret's hot buttered rum mix. He picked up the note and read it silently, then with a chuckle, handed it to Emma for her perusal.
"I know you've got rum, so why don't you fix the lady a drink? - MM"
"Why not indeed?" Killian said with a wink, then gave her thigh a little squeeze as he stood and trotted off to the kitchen to put on the kettle.
Killian walked carefully back into the living room with two steaming mugs in hand when Emma's call box buzzed again. Emma, for her own part, had just turned on the gas, and was busy getting a fire going in the fireplace.
She glanced up at him from her crouched position by the hearth, eyes round in supplication. "Would you get that?"
He nodded, placing the drinks on the coffee table, and moved to the door to buzz in the second delivery person. As he hovered by the door, his eyes wandered over to Emma again. The lass honestly didn't have a bad side, but this vantage point certainly gave him an eyeful. He couldn't say at that moment which he hated more, the sweater now falling even further open to reveal the better part of her lower back, or the infernally tight jeans hugging every curve of her pert little arse, which - coincidentally - seemed to be making his own jeans fit a tad more snugly themselves. He tore his eyes away, and thought quite seriously about his favorite football club until the moment passed.
Thankful for the distraction of a knock on the door, he opened it to find a messenger bearing a snowman-emblazoned gift bag, the handles tied together with red and green curlicues of ribbon. He glanced at the note and called out, "Swan! It's for you!"
The fire now cheerfully blazing away, Emma bounded over to where Killian stood, snatched the note - clearly labeled with her name this time - and read it aloud.
"Why not entertain your British guest with a British comedy? - MM"
Killian peeked into the bag and upon seeing the black plastic edge of a movie case, assumed he was about to be regaled with Monty Python or perhaps Mr. Bean. He hoped it wasn't "The Full Monty". There was just something about the lead actor in that film that set his teeth on edge.
Emma picked at the ribbons with her fingernails until they finally gave way, and plucked the case out of the bag to scan the title. She tilted her head, her face scrunched in consideration as she turned her wrist to show him the cover. "Love Actually."
A British comedy, true, though certainly not the most obvious one. More or less appropriate for the occasion, since it was a Christmas film, but still…
"Do you get the creeping sensation that maybe our good friends the Nolans are up to something?" Emma's words echoed his own thoughts perfectly, the tension in the air growing thicker by the second.
Killian scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tell he knew that she would notice. He forced himself to drop his hand and put on his most lecherous smirk. "It does seem to be getting a bit romantic in here, doesn't it?" he purred giving the final 't' a little pop for emphasis. He stepped closer to her, turning slightly to the side as he reached her so their shoulders brushed (he could feel more than hear her breath catch), and gesturing to the room with a sweep of his arm. "Rum, firelight, a 'date' movie, our friends conveniently detained." He lowered his head to whisper in her ear. "Are you trying to seduce me, Swan?"
He was laying it on pretty thick, he knew, but he had to do something to deflect, lest she see right through him. Emma's responding indignant scoff and the slap of the movie case against his chest told him his trick had worked.
"Get over yourself, pretty boy," Emma huffed and flounced over to the couch, kicking off her shoes and grabbing her mug along the way. Cradling her drink in both hands she reclined against one arm of the sofa, stretching her long legs out across the cushions so there was barely any room left for a second person to sit.
"I prefer dashing rapscallion, love," he retorted in mock affront.
She took a long sip from her mug, humming contentedly, then set it down on the table again. She rolled onto her side and looked over at him, her long blond curls trailing down across her collarbone.
"Fine," Emma deadpanned. "Then dash over here and put the movie on."
"As the lady wishes."
They were an hour into the movie when the next delivery arrived. Somehow, they'd ended up wrapped up together under a blanket on the couch. She'd been cold. She certainly wasn't cold anymore.
Her head leaned back against his chest, one of his arms around her shoulders, the fingers of his other hand lazily tracing back and forth over the skin on the inside of her forearm. And maybe it was incredibly soothing, and maybe she was snuggling into him. Just a little bit. But, the sound of the buzzer broke the spell and Emma practically leapt from the couch to answer it.
A Christmas tree. They'd sent her a friggin' Christmas tree. She directed the delivery guy and Killian as the two men shuffled the tree into the apartment, setting it up as far away from the fireplace as possible. While they worked, Emma looked at the note that the messenger had handed her. This one had no name written on the outside, but she recognized David's scrawl when she unfolded it.
"A pine tree. In honor of all the years you've spent pining. Don't think we didn't know. - D"
Emma's eyes widened in horror as all the blood in her body rushed to her face. She shoved the note into her pocket before Killian could see it, and tried to keep her heart from pounding right out of her ribcage.
Oh, God, she thought frantically. They know. They know and they did this and now Killian is going to know. Have I been that obvious? What if he knows already and he just hasn't said anything because he doesn't want to humiliate me?
Emma's fight or flight response kicked into overdrive, but she had no place to run. She was already in her own apartment, and if she suddenly kicked Killian out now with no explanation he'd think she was a lunatic. No. She needed to calm the hell down. She could play it cool. She just hoped he didn't ask about the note.
"So what's the note say?" Two seconds. It had been exactly two seconds since the door clicked shut behind the delivery guy. That was all the reprieve she was going to get.
"Ehn." Emma gave a half-shrug and flicked her hand dismissively. "Just David being David. Nothing interesting."
Wrong move. Killian stilled, his eyes raking over her. "So then let me read it," he purred with a feline tilt of his head. He narrowed his eyes at her dangerously, their blue depths twinkling with mischief.
"I already threw it away," Emma lied, trying vainly to school her features into an impassive mask, though she knew her face (and neck and chest) must be red as a lobster.
Killian began to move toward her with a predatory grace, raising one long finger to waggle at her in accusation. "No, no, no, no. No." He paused flicking his eyes down to her hip and back up. "I can see it sticking out of your front pocket. That's bad form, Swan. Now what are you hiding?"
By this time he was crowding way into Emma's personal space, so close she could feel the heat rolling off his body. Just as he reached out to grab the note from her, Emma turned and darted away toward the kitchen. Running was a ridiculous and juvenile move, but rather than call her out, he huffed a laugh and chased after her.
Around the kitchen island, through the small dining area, past the tree, between the couch and coffee table, past the fireplace, and back to the kitchen again she ran, Killian hot on her heels. Just as she reached the island again, she felt a tug at the waist of her jeans and found herself being pulled backward. Killian had snagged her by the belt loop and she was now trapped - caged between his arms, the contrast of the cold granite countertop digging into her back and the warmth of his body so very, very close to hers making her shiver.
Their eyes locked for a moment as they both panted for breath. "Thanks for the exercise, lass. I do so love a challenge. Now. Let's have a look at that note then, shall we?"
As his eyes made their way down to her jeans, Emma would've sworn they lingered on her mouth just a hint of a moment. He slowly slid his fingers into her front pocket and withdrew the slip of paper. Terrified to watch his face and unable to run away again, Emma made herself simply focus on the way the soft, dark hair at his neck curled around his ear as he read.
Bloody buggering hell!
Killian was sure he'd blanched white as a ghost, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. They knew.
They knew I've been pining for Emma, and now she knows because of bloody Dave, and she didn't want me to see the note so I wouldn't know that she knew. Because she obviously isn't interested, and she didn't want to ruin our friendship and UGH! I'm such a tosser. No. DAVE is such a tosser.
Killian dropped his arms to his side in defeat and stepped back from Emma, unable to meet her eyes. "Emma, I'm -" he shook his head sadly. "I'm so, so sorry."
Finally hazarding a glance at her face, his heart clenched to find her on the verge of tears, her eyes cast down to the floor. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I never meant for you to find out this way. I feel like such an arse."
Emma's eyes flicked suddenly up to his, her brows knitting together. "Wait. What? Killian, that note was for me. The delivery guy handed it to me."
She licked her lips nervously, and Killian felt his breathing shallow. "What was it you never meant for me to find out?" she asked, her voice low and measured.
Killian's pulse thundered in his ears, and his brain felt like a rusty old engine that wouldn't quite crank. Emma thought the note was for her. Then that means that - Suddenly his thoughts roared to life and began zooming through his mind like a Ferrari.
Killian swallowed hard and couldn't suppress the grin that threatened to split his face. Emma must have come to the same realization he had because her eyes, still glassy with unshed tears, now glowed with something new that looked an awful lot like hope.
She stood up straight and took a step toward him. He closed the rest of the distance between them and reached for her, his palms skating over the softness of her sweater to find the bare skin at the small of her back, pressing her small, lithe body against his the way he'd been dreaming all night - hell, the way he'd been dreaming for three years.
Emma raised up on her toes, sliding her fingers up his shoulders to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, and he turned his head to graze his lips against the delicate flesh at the inside of her wrist, savoring the warmth of her pulse which seemed to be racing just as fast as his. His eyes swept over her face, utterly unable to believe that this was real, relishing once again how perfectly they fit together, just as they had exactly three years ago tonight.
Killian lowered his head slowly, and she lifted hers to meet him, their lips mere centimeters apart. Closing his eyes, his mouth ghosted against hers, "I suppose I never meant for you to find out that-"
The call box buzzed insistently, and Emma dropped her head onto his shoulder with an exasperated laugh. She raised her face to look at him again, and pressed one finger to his lips. "To be continued," she asserted and wriggled out of his grasp.
She returned with a small, square box, not much bigger than her fist. No note, at least not taped to the outside as with all the others. Emma and Killian looked at each other with amused trepidation. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "What do you say, Swan? On three?"
Emma nodded, and they counted together, each lifting one side of the lid after the third count. Inside was a neatly printed note that read, "In case you two still haven't kissed by now, here's your excuse. - D & MM"
Under the note lay a sprig of mistletoe.
They both burst into a fit of laughter, Emma snaking her arm around Killian's waist for support, his hand drifting naturally to her shoulder to draw her closer to his side. As her giggles subsided, Emma leaned her head against Killian's chest, craning her neck to bat her eyelashes innocently at him. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say our friends were trying to hook us up, Jones."
"I believe you're right, Swan, and they're being about as subtle as a sledgehammer about it."
Emma turned so they faced each other again, wrapping her other arm around his waist, while Killian reached behind her to grab the mistletoe from it's box on the counter.
"So, what should we do with this then?" he asked, his voice gravelly and suggestive. He raised the sprig in the air, dangling it over their heads. "It was addressed to both of us, so I suppose we ought to share it."
"Mm-hm," Emma hummed in agreement, a slow smile spreading across her lovely face. She moved closer to him, eyes fixed on his mouth. Her hands crept up his chest to subtly push him, walking him backwards.
"Would be bad form not to. Since they went to so much trouble for us and all."
"Mm," she hummed again, nodding seriously, a frisky glint sparkling in her green eyes along with something else that was more than Killian had dared to hope for.
"And really we-" he was cut off by the swipe of her thumb across his lower lip as her delicate hand cupped his jaw, and he realized she'd back him against a wall.
"Killian?"
"Yes, love?" he breathed, a wry smile curling his lips just a hairsbreadth away from hers.
Her nose bumped playfully against his. "Lose the mistletoe and just kiss me already."
At her command, he dropped the sprig, closing the final distance between. Their lips connected, gentle and hesitant at first as though each still feared that they may lose this moment yet again, but one slide of his tongue across her lips, one soft moan in the back of her throat was all it took. The dam burst, and three years worth of pent up emotion flooded through them. Suddenly they were drowning in each other, drinking each other in and pouring every drop of unspoken feeling into the kiss. But it wasn't enough. Kissing him was the coward's way out, and Emma needed to finally be brave.
She pulled back panting, and his lips chased hers, their breaths mingling as she smiled shyly. She waited until his eyes met hers. She needed to show him, for him to see that her barriers were finally down, to see the vulnerability left in their place. To her utter amazement, she saw the same openness and trust and love reflected back at her in his gaze.
"Killian, I- I'm in love with you," she said hopefully, the words barely escaping her before his lips crashed into hers again, firm and insistent.
He pulled back briefly, their eyes locking once more, and Emma's knees nearly gave out at the sheer joy in his smile. "I love you, too," he answered, his voice a low rumble she felt in every part of her. He dove back in for another searing kiss - "I've wanted," - and another - "to tell you," - and another - "for so long."
Emma's fingers twisted in the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged, pulling him down to trail her lips against the corded muscle of his throat. Hungry - possessive even - because finally, finally this was for her. He was hers, this wonderful man in her arms, and now that she'd truly had a taste of him, her craving for his touch was more powerful than ever.
He groaned in pleasure, the sound filling her body with heat as his strong arms wrapped her ever more tightly in his embrace, his hands digging into her exposed back. The contrasting sensations of his warm calloused fingers and the biting cold metal of his rings sent shockwaves of electricity down her spine, but still she needed more. He nipped at her collarbone, his scruffy beard scraping her tender skin, and she cried out, his name escaping her lips a fervent plea.
"Hold on to me, love," Killian whispered. His hands cupped her ass and he lifted her, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. She gasped, feeling the hard ridge of his arousal right where she was aching for him, but his lips found hers again, swallowing her moan.
He carried her over to the counter and set her carefully down, her ankles still locked behind his back, and she flexed, pressing with her heel to hold him closer within the V of her thighs. His hand tangled in her hair, angling her head as his mouth slanted over hers. Their lips moved together in every kind of kiss - tender, passionate, playful, reverent.
Every caress of his tongue and nip of his teeth stoked the fire in her veins. His hips rolled against hers, finding a perfect rhythm as he hit just the right spot again and again, the pressure building within her until she teetered precipitously close to the edge. This was crazy. She hadn't come like this - rutting against someone like a horny teenager - since she couldn't remember when. But it felt so damn good, she almost didn't care. Almost…
When they broke for breath, she pulled away leaving enough space between them so she could think straight. He blinked at her for a second, caught somewhere between lust and confusion, and she couldn't help but grin at the sight of him. His hair was an unruly mess thanks to her wandering fingers, his blue eyes nearly black with desire, lips kiss-swollen. He was absolutely adorable, and she thrilled at the idea that this was a sight she could actually allow herself to get used to.
His eyes zeroed in on her mouth, and he moved to resume his plundering, but she stopped him with a hand against his chest.
"Killian, wait." A brief flash of worry crossed his features, but she soldiered on. "I don't want our first time together to involve me freezing my ass off on a granite countertop." The matter-of-fact statement belied by the twinkling mirth in her eyes.
His expression softened, quickly morphing into a devilish smirk. Emma unwrapped her legs from his hips, and he took a step back. She hopped lightly from the counter, then dipped to grab the discarded bundle of mistletoe off the floor.
"Besides," she teased, idly twisting it in her fingers. "I think I know exactly where I want to hang this." She quirked an eyebrow at him and sauntered off to her bedroom, pausing at the doorway to throw her best come-hither gaze at Killian over her shoulder.
He shook his head once in disbelief, then a wicked gleam lit his eyes. He rubbed his chin, seeming to contemplate the delicious possibilities, then thumbed at the corner of his mouth, growling an "Oh, yes," under his breath before following eagerly after her.
Hours later, they lay tangled in Emma's snowflake-printed flannel sheets, a sprig of mistletoe tied to her wrought iron headboard, and the pale light of the moon through her bedroom window painting their bodies in shades of blue and silver. After falling apart in each other's arms time and again, they were each now content to simply enjoy these quiet moments talking, touching, loving.
Feeling more complete and at peace than she ever had, exhaustion began to take hold of Emma. She rolled over in Killian's embrace, her head cradled on one bicep, his other arm around her waist. She snuggled back against him, relishing the feeling of his bare skin against hers, and he buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in. Her heavy-lidded eyes glanced over to her night stand and caught sight of her alarm clock.
"Hey," she said, threading her fingers through his where they lay draped across her stomach and giving them a squeeze. "It's after midnight." At his sleepy "Hm?" she elaborated, "It's Christmas."
"Happy Christmas, my love," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
"Merry Christmas, Killian."
She sighed heavily, furrowing her brow in thought, and he must've noticed the change in her demeanor because he nudged her to roll over to face him again, raising himself up on one elbow to look at her.
"What's the matter?" he asked, and kissed the space between her eyebrows to soothe the lines away.
"Nothing, I guess, it's just that…" she shrugged, "I wish I had something to give you. I've never been much of a Christmas person, but now - Well, let's just say now I'm rethinking a lot of things." A small, almost shy smile curled her lips.
He returned her grin with a broader one of his own, and flipped onto his back beckoning her to nestle into the crook of his arm, which she gladly obliged. She lay her head on his chest, not minding at all the way his dusting of dark chest hair tickled her cheek, and let herself be lulled by the steady beat of his heart.
"Swan," he began as he lazily toyed with a strand of her hair, "since the day we met, the only thing I have ever wanted you to give me was your heart."
Her breath caught and she raised her head to look up at him, nuzzling her nose against his jawline. "Well, then you're in luck, Jones," she replied. "It's for you."