I'm caught with Olympic fever and also several fic prompts to fill all in one go. A fic in two parts.


The first time he saw her was on the monitors in the arena adjacent to Maracanã. Will was busy griping in his ear about the order of entry while Robin made sympathetic noises to try and shut him up - not their fault that Brazilian Portuguese put the Americans before Team GB - but a flash of blonde hair and an overwhelmed (but brilliant) smile on the broadcast distracted Killian from Will's language woes. This, naturally, did not go unnoticed, and Will's own attention was diverted from the Parade of Nations to taking the piss out of Killian.

Killian had to remind himself several time that an Olympic-level rugby player could kick his sorry arse up and down the beachfront several times without breaking a sweat, and took the abuse with grace and no fisticuffs.

"He's just looking for a friendly face to keep him company when we take our leave," Robin said at one point, valiantly trying to save Killian from Will's teasing.

At this point they'd started to move across the grounds towards Maracanã, to take their place in line for the grand show. Robin did have a point - he was competing in the morning and Will had practice; both had chosen to walk in the parade under the condition of leaving immediately after to be well-rested. Killian, on the other hand, had several days before competing and hadn't gotten to know many of the others on Team GB well. Will merely shrugged. "Don't matter, bloody dog's been here four days and already trying to bed the competition."

"If they didn't want us to bed each other, as you so chastely put it," Killian said, undoing another button on his shirt - didn't this country know it was supposed to be winter here? - and wishing he could completely remove the blazer, "the planning committee wouldn't have provided us with so many means to do so safely."

That part was true. It was by no means a secret that most of the athletes here would celebrate their wins or mourn their losses with each other in their beds - if it wasn't expected, the 450,000 condoms in the athlete's village were certainly going to go to waste - and why shouldn't they? The top athletes in the world gathered in one place, all of them attractive and in the best shape of their lives? It was no wonder if libidos ran a bit high. Containing the spread of potential STIs and headline-grabbing viruses aside, it was better to play it safe than have countries vying for dibs on the super-athlete babies that might come from an unprotected coupling.

Will opened his mouth to retort, but an overly cheerful Brazilian volunteer was shoving little Union flags into their hands and Killian remembered almost too late to take his phone out to record the moment they were announced; Liam was somewhere over the Atlantic, unable to make it for the ceremony, but as Killian's first event wasn't until Wednesday so he didn't mind it so much. It wasn't as if there wouldn't be recordings of it all over the internet soon enough anyway.

Most of their entrance and the rest of the ceremony was a blur. The stadium was loud and conversations had to be shouted to be heard; Killian lost track of Will and Robin soon after they were allowed to roam with the other athletes, but he was sure they'd left to go back to their rooms. He knew Will could probably practice with less sleep but Robin needed steady arms to stand a chance against the Koreans in archery, so he didn't begrudge them in the least.

Killian wandered amongst the crowd as the rest of the world quite literally poured into the stadium; he turned on the charm to hide the awe he felt at meeting some of the athletes he'd watched in London four years ago, he took selfies for himself and with others who - by some grace of God - thought of him as someone of admirable skill, and he had an idle thought in the back of his mind about finding that blonde American with the overwhelmed yet brilliant smile.

Though, as he made his way towards Team USA, he realized his plan may have a few faults - namely in that most of the team seemed to be overwhelmed, that there were several brilliant smiles sent his way by both men and women, and that approximately half of them seemed to be blonde. And with more than five hundred people on the American side alone, it might take some time to find his mysterious lady.

Well, Killian mused with a shrug, he did always love a challenge. He wouldn't be in the biggest competition in the world if he didn't.


Emma tied off her braided ponytail with a bit more force than necessary, her nerves finally getting the better of her. It was rough coming into the Olympics in the shadow of the golden girls - though since Misty had retired and Kerri was competing with April, most of the media focus was on the new team comprised of former rivals. What little was spared to Emma and Elsa was focused on "the narrative" - the foster sisters who could be twins, the girls from rural Minnesota who hadn't seen an ocean in person until they were sixteen, the girls who thought they could outshine the golden girls; and those were the nice narratives. Emma's heard it all at this point and learned to tune most of it out as gibberish, but to hear over and over again how they were too young, too inexperienced, nowhere in the same league as Kerri or April…

Sometimes the media was worse than the actual competition.

Something must have shown on her face, because Elsa dropped her towel over Emma's head. "We wouldn't be here if we didn't deserve it," she said as Emma removed the towel with a scowl, hoping it hadn't pulled any hairs loose. "They're trying to psych you out."

"I know," Emma mumbled, reaching into her bag for her iPod.

"Do you know, or are you trying to placate me?" Elsa asked.

Emma sighed, then let her sister's words sink in. After a moment, she looked up, meeting Elsa's eyes. "I know," she said, more confidently this time.

Elsa nodded. "Good. Now slap those headphones on and let's watch the competition get crushed."

Emma did so; she'd gotten over how ridiculous she looked with the giant headphones on a long time ago. Sacrificing her vanity for the sake of noise-canceling headphones seemed a small price to pay if it meant less time for the crowds to get to her. Slinging her water bottle over her shoulder and her towel in hand, Emma followed her sister out to the stands.


"Mate, we don't even have a beach volleyball team," Killian said, trailing behind Robin as they made their way to Copacabana.

"True, yes, but my Olympics are over and yours are a few days from now, so let's enjoy ourselves a bit. The Australians are competing tonight; they're still part of the commonwealth, we'll show some support, aye?" Robin asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Killian nodded, still a bit reluctant but determined to keep Robin company tonight; he'd seen Liam earlier in the day, but the jet lag caught up with him and that left Killian with time to spare in the evening. Robin's wife Regina was at home with their two boys - Roland had come down with the chicken pox and Henry had volunteer hours to fill before term began - so that left Killian to help his friend nurse his sore pride at being eliminated on day one of competition. If that meant watching attractive women beat a volleyball around for a few hours instead of drowning sorrows at the bottom of a pint, then that would be Killian's cross to bear.

He'd had no luck so far in locating the mysterious woman from last night, but that didn't mean much. She could have been in any number of the smaller events that took place over the course of the day; he doubted very much that a swimmer would have marched in the parade, but look at that Phelps fellow. Perhaps she'd come in and walked right back out again. Or perhaps she'd been watching friends compete or training for her later events. There were plenty of reasons why he had yet to cross paths with her, and there were still almost two full weeks left to seek her out.

"Oh good, we're just in time," Robin said as they hurried into the athlete's section. "Looks like they're up against the Americans."

Killian glanced down at the field as he sat on the bleachers, then did a double take. The two American women looked remarkably similar, but as the one woman turned to discuss something with an official, he realized it was her.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

Robin made a move to speak, then made a noise of understanding. "You don't set your sights low, mate."

"Where's the fun in that?" Killian murmured, suddenly much more interested in the event to come.

It didn't take long to figure out her name was Emma Swan, that her teammate was her sister Elsa Adgarssen, and that this was their first Olympics. And it took even less time for Killian to decide that, while he definitely appreciated every part of her form that was helpfully visible thanks to their uniform, he would have to offer his thanks to whichever deity that had decided Emma Swan deserved miles of tanned and toned legs. Her left knee was taped fairly heavily, while her sister's shoulder on her serving arm suffered the same treatment, and it seemed to hinder her slightly when it came to spiking. Elsa seemed to take the jumps more often - and well, she rarely hit out-of-bounds - while Emma spent a lot of her time either setting Elsa up or diving to keep the ball alive, so to speak.

After enough dives, he understood why her knee was taped. She played hard, and she played well.

Killian wondered passively if her leg injury hindered her as much as his hand injury did. Thankfully, fencing really only required one hand and his good hand at that, whereas Emma Swan needed both of her legs to compete.

Admittedly, it didn't appear to hinder her too much. Team USA walked away from the match with a hearty win, Emma and her sister jumping on each other and hugging like they'd won a medal already. As they disappeared back into the locker rooms, Killian was seized with the urge to leave a message for her to meet him outside after. Or would that be considered too forward?

He asked Robin point blank, and his friend had the gall to laugh. "You have got it bad, don't you?"

"Yes or no, Rob, it's not that hard."

Robin just shook his head, grinning. "All right, lad, I'll enable you. Go on - but don't get your head up your arse too much over the lady, you've got matches in three days!" he called as Killian got up and headed back towards the stairs.

He knew that; while everyone was fairly well aware of the condom situation in the athlete's village, most of the athletes were choosing to pass until their events finished. Killian's coaches had made comments about wasted energy during practice that morning, but quite honestly Killian couldn't see the difference between a one-nighter with a woman he'd met at a pub followed up by rolling out of bed the next morning for training or a competition, and this.

Then again, this was only the biggest competition of his life, the culmination of everything he'd been working for since uni, the second chance after being unable to compete in the 2012 trials after the accident that had damaged his left hand. So perhaps he did see their point.

Slightly.

There was a woman standing outside of the locker room entrance and judging by her looks he could only assume this was Emma and Elsa's mother. The woman nodded towards Killian's Team GB windbreaker. "I didn't think the Brits had a volleyball team this year," she said.

Killian scratched under his ear, a nervous tic he'd never quite been able to shake. "Aye, we don't. I was, ah, hoping to congratulate your daughters on their victory."

The woman's sidelong gaze made him a bit uncomfortable, as if she could read his mind and knew all his secrets. After a moment, her face relaxed as she smiled. "Elsa's my niece, Emma's my adopted daughter. The media likes to simplify things."

"Aye," Killian said, nodding and unsure what else to say to that.

She stuck her hand out and he took it, pleasantly surprised by her firm grip. "Ingrid Fisher. And I have a feeling you aren't here to see both of my girls," she added, a knowing look in her eye.

"Killian Jones," he said, dropping her hand. "You'd be right, but it would be bad form to compliment one while leaving out the other."

Ingrid's smile would baffle even the most competent of Mona Lisa's scholars. "Now, let's see," she said, stepping back and looking him over. "Not a swimmer, they're all cloistered in the aquatic center for the next week. You're not slim enough to be in equestrian, though your calves could put you in track and field… You'd make a good high-jumper or pole-vaulter, Mr. Jones."

He barked a laugh at that. He suspected that pole-vaulters needed two good hands to get themselves over the bar, but didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to it. "My thanks, Ms. Fisher, but I fence."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, how wonderful! I was in the fencing club when I was in college, back when the dinosaurs took us to school."

He laughed at that, as she'd meant him to, and found himself in a pleasant discussion for the next several minutes. It was quite nice to talk with someone who knew the vernacular who he wasn't directly competing with or had trained with for years, even if most of Ingrid's exposure since university had been past Olympic events. He was in the middle of discussing his training regimen when voices sounded from the locker room. "I'm starting to see what Lily meant by that hourglass joke," one woman was saying. "I swear I've never had so much sand up my - oh!"

Emma Swan stopped short at the door, causing Elsa Adgarssen to run right into her from behind. Killian's eyes met Emma's and he was quite enchanted to discover that, instead of the expected blue, they were a deep green. "Swan," he said, unable to stop the grin from spreading on his face. "At last."

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded him with a bit of confusion and not an insignificant amount of suspicion. "Do I know you?"

He shook his head. "Apologies, no. My name is Killian Jones, I just wanted to congratulate you and your sister on your victory tonight."

He stuck out his hand and she took it with some caution. Ingrid traded a look with Elsa. "Elsa, dear, Mr. Jones had something he wished to discuss with Emma - privately." At that, Emma looked at her mother with some alarm; Ingrid just smiled. "We'll wait for you outside, sweetheart, don't worry."

Killian was sure her family was hardly out of earshot before Emma asked him bluntly, "What could you possibly have to discuss with me? I'm not facing any of your teammates, we don't play the same sport, I've only heard your name in passing -"

"Ah, so you've heard of me," Killian interrupted her litany of excuses for leaving the conversation early. "I'm flattered, love." She glared at him for that, crossing her arms over her chest; he didn't need to tell himself not to look, the Team USA windbreaker was just as unflattering to the form as the Team GB one. Undeterred by her body language, he continued, "Rest assured, Swan, I have no intentions on your honor tonight. I merely wanted to congratulate you on your performance and introduce myself."

"Tonight," Emma repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Meaning you have intentions on another night?"

He canted his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow up. "Perhaps. However, seeing as we both have continuing events over the next several days, it may be wise to channel our energies towards our purpose for being here."

"Uh-huh," she said flatly.

"However," he continued, "should you find yourself in need of company at mealtimes, please consider this a standing invitation to join me at any time."

The other eyebrow went up this time as she regarded him distrustfully. "And your other intentions?" she asked.

He grinned. He found himself appreciating that she wasn't immediately taking him up on anything yet she wasn't playing games either. She saw right through him and kept straight to the point - it was refreshing, to say the least. "As I said, Swan. We're both here for a reason and I daresay your coaches have had the same discussions with you as mine have in regards to energy conservation - and not in the way the opening ceremonies preached last night. Share a meal or two with me, we'll talk and get to know one another like civilized people who happen to eat an absurd amount of calories per day. Doubtless we'll find something in common. And if you find yourself in need of a partner to celebrate or to vent frustrations with… My services are on the table."

She stared at him for a long moment, her face hard to get a good read on. Finally, she glanced away, a wry twist to her mouth. "You always think that stuff about everyone hooking up is just media bullshit, sensationalizing one or two couples - what was Sochi supposed to be, the Tinder Olympics?"

Killian snorted, turning and gesturing for her to lead the way down the hall. "I believe so, though that could be due to the dead of winter in Russia requiring people to share body heat."

Emma made a sound like a laugh that was quickly covered by a cough. "Well, Killian Jones, I have a pretty relentless schedule over the next two weeks; if I make it that far we don't medal until next Thursday. Think you can keep your interest for that long?"

He stumbled slightly, realizing that she was giving him an inch. He'd do his best to not take the whole mile, to get to know Emma Swan with the obscenely short white shorts and the glowing tanned skin. He swallowed, then glanced down, appreciating her sandal choice and that she'd gotten a pedicure in red, white, and blue. "For you, love, I've all the time in the world."


She surprised herself by taking him up on the offer for mealtime company. Elsa had made friends with some of the others on the team and while Emma liked them well enough, she found herself vividly reliving high school and feeling like the pity friend. Even if he'd approached her with the intention of eventually hooking up, at least Killian seemed interested in her and not as an afterthought. She met his friends Will - rugby sevens - and Robin - archery, already knocked out - and also found herself in the company of a tiny Australian gymnast who went by Tink and an equestrian rider named Belle; the two seemed to come in a pair, though Emma got the feeling that Will's intentions towards Belle were very like Killian's intentions towards Emma herself.

As for Killian himself, Emma found herself actually enjoying his company. He didn't make passes at her or pressure her into anything - he flirted a bit, but after a while she noticed he seemed to do that with everyone. Even after the others would leave to their respective coaching sessions or competitions, he talked to her, asked questions, tried to get to know her.

Normally, she clammed up when people tried to pry, and at first she did. But Killian was patient with her, changing the subject until she relaxed and answered the earlier question. She did her best to ask questions of her own, but it felt useless: Killian seemed more than happy to fill her in on details about himself, whether she asked him to or not.

For a guy who probably still wanted to get into her pants, at least he was good company.

It wasn't all fun and games - well, it was, but her definition of fun and games was heading out onto the courts and kicking some ass. It would have been nice to hang out and get to know some of the other athletes better - that was what half of the point of the Olympics was about, after all, fostering the international community - but she was also there to do a job. She was there to win games and prove that she and Elsa weren't just the second team, that they deserved to be there just as much as Kerri and April, and that they were a force to be reckoned with.

For the most part, they succeeded.

She had Wednesday afternoon and evening off and found herself at the Carioca Arena to watch Killian's competition; she was a little jealous that his entire competition would be over, at the latest, by 9pm and all in one day, but she would also be the first to admit that she was talking through the irritation of an ice pack Saran wrapped to her knee.

Elsa had one on her shoulder, but her lucky ass of a sister seemed to be immune to the cold.

The nice thing about the Carioca was that it was dark, most of the attention focused on the playing field in the middle. Even with her Team USA gear on and the obvious "I Play Sports, Look At My Ice Packs, I Got Injured Playing Sports" sign on her leg, no one seemed inclined to comment or ask questions and Emma would rather put that up as the atmosphere rather than no one knowing who she was.

It was better that way.

So much of her life had been spent on the courts, honing her skills and perfecting her form, that Emma found herself bewildered while watching the fencing. She knew absolutely nothing about it, just that her mom had done it for fun at school and that Killian had tried to be in shape for the London Olympics and something had kept him from competing. So she settled in, watching closely, and hoping she didn't annoy her neighbors too much if she asked a question or two.

Over the course of the evening, she learned there were several different types of fencing, and the two competing tonight were individual foils and sabres. Sabres seemed flashier to her untrained eye, and it was weird to see all the gear they had to wear for something that wasn't even going to draw blood. The helmets and what felt like half the arena lighting up to prove who struck first seemed like a genius move, though, because Emma was sure the competitors moved too fast for even a trained judge to see clearly.

She wasn't expecting Killian to be so fast though. He liked to taunt, drawing his opponent back and catching him off guard from a false sense of security. He won a few matches that way. It took a while for his opponents to catch on, but by the time the gold medal match came around, Killian's opponent knew most of his tricks.

But Killian knew his opponent's as well.

Emma kept forgetting to breathe, every time the judge called them to arms she'd hold her breath - as if not disturbing the moment somehow might let him win. (She was an athlete, she had her superstitions, it came in a package deal with the job.) It was tense, points going back and forth, ties broken and matched up again.

It came down to one point.

Emma was on her feet, too full of nerves to sit any longer, waiting for the signal. She sucked in a breath as the buzzer sounded - Killian moved first, probably hoping to catch the Romanian off-guard, but it was over in half a second when the buzzer sounded again. The Romanian's sabre had moved almost without notice, jabbing Killian before Killian's own sabre could land.

She sat, feeling both glad that he'd lasted this long and sad on his behalf for coming in second. There was a saying about silver medalists, that many were disappointed that they had come so close to gold, whereas bronze were just happy to be on the podium. She wrestled with these feelings as they cleaned up and got the medal presentation ready, wondering how she might feel if she made it through to next week and came in second.

She probably should have thought of this before, but it always seemed like too much bad luck to consider anything further than the next day's game. Now that she had these conflicting feelings just because someone she knew was going through this…

Emma thought it was probably better to keep her head down, focus on the next game and nothing further. It would keep the inevitable disappointment at bay.

Still, she felt an odd sense of pride as Killian was awarded his silver medal. They'd really only traded the basics about their athletic history - she knew that he saw this as his second chance, that he'd been training for this for years, and maybe that was why she felt pride swelling in her chest as he almost absently reached up to fiddle with the circle of silver hanging on its bright lanyard.

His second chance, his first Olympics, and he would come away from it as the second-best in the entire world.

That wasn't anything to sneeze at.

As the flags were raised and the Romanian national anthem swelled over the speakers, Emma had the oddest sensation that Killian knew she was there - she hadn't mentioned she would come to watch him at all. When he glanced out at the stands, though, he paused right in the section she was in; maybe she was being silly and maybe he knew someone else in this general area, but something told her that the happy grin on his face wasn't just because he was about to have his picture taken a million (more) times.

She should have trusted her gut.

She knew where the locker rooms were - all of the athletes had gotten tours of all of the local facilities when they'd arrived, whether they'd compete there or not - and slowly made her way down to congratulate him. She felt like she owed him that much, as he'd done the same for her first win - even if that match hadn't been nearly as important as medaling, just staying afloat until the next match.

She wasn't even halfway down the hall when he spotted her as he came out of the locker room, a huge duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He broke into that same happy grin as he dropped his gear on the floor and jogged down the hall to meet her. Emma opened her mouth to congratulate him, but her words were immediately swallowed up when he pulled her in close and kissed her.

Every coherent thought in her head evaporated as all of her focus zeroed in on the feeling of his mouth against hers. The touch of his tongue against her lips sent a jolt of want down her spine, the shock of it causing her mouth to yield to his. His tongue slid along hers and her legs tingled all the way down to her toes, everywhere his body pressed against hers feeling like it was aflame.

Her awareness spread with that fire. He'd shaved that morning, the five o'clock shadow prickly against the skin of her chin, and he smelled like he'd spent nine hours competing for an Olympic medal - but Emma was an athlete and while she could say with confidence that sweat didn't turn her on, she couldn't say the same about the acts that had gone into building up that sweat. She'd seen him fight hard, battle for the silver that hung around his neck and that she felt pressed between her breasts.

She'd been too caught up in the newness and the learning to realize that watching Killian fence was probably the most arousing thing she'd seen in years.

His hands pressed against her back, sliding tentatively downwards and then back up to a safer area. Emma pushed back, kissing him harder as her own hands slid down his back to grab his ass - the hall was mostly deserted and it wasn't as if anyone there had never seen anyone making out after winning an Olympic medal.

She started to pull back slightly, give herself room to breathe and also to ask just why one of his ass cheeks felt bigger and firmer than the other, but Killian muttered a hoarse "No" before pulling her back to him.

God, she was drowning in this, dizzy from the passion and hardly aware of what was happening until her back hit the wall. She felt one of his hands grab her thigh, lifting her leg up to wrap around his waist, and she felt him hard against her core. Emma moaned into his mouth, rolling her hips up against his and craving more of that friction, that feeling that made her legs watery and her skin burn.

Killian was moving her other leg up, trying to press her against the wall and hold her against him at the same time, and Emma was happily complying, when someone down the hall cleared their throat loudly and pointedly. Emma's heart leapt into her throat as Killian broke off their kiss immediately, though he still held her up by her thighs and her arms stayed around his neck. He glanced down the hall and seemed to relax ever-so-slightly in recognition. "Liam."


Part 2 coming soon, reviews feed the muse! Thanks for reading!