Emma had reached her breaking point. Maybe it was the scratch of Aurora's voice, or the unrelenting tapping of her fingernails on the lunch table. It could have been the crappy lighting in the cafeteria, flickering and stirring up migraines throughout the student body. Hell, it might have been Mary Margaret and David fawning over each other at the end of the bench, with disgustingly sweet smiles across their faces.
Or, more likely, it was Killian Jones that finally set her off.
Aurora's constant bragging about her latest romantic interests had gone from bad to worse, and Emma wasn't sure how much more she could tolerate. Scratch that- she was exactly sure how much she could tolerate, and the line was drawn quite firmly around the infuriating senior that had been pestering her all year in English class.
She was used to annoying attention from boys, of course. The term "hot blonde" tended to follow her around the halls of Storybrooke High ominously, as well as in every other boring school she'd been unceremoniously shoved through during her many years jumping across state lines in the foster system. Jones' attentions had rarely been upsetting, though, veering more into the territory of 'why are you looking at me like that, all I did was let you borrow a pencil, and don't lick your lips so damn obscenely, Jones, this is Macbeth, not a porno, and don't poke my arm in the middle of class, Killian, I'm trying to focus, but God, it's so much harder to focus on Shakespeare and AP English literature when there's a cocky boy with a strong accent and even stronger aftershave sitting so close, making her swoon with a vocabulary that made her question if he was really just a year older, or more like 500.
In short, Killian had managed to worm his way into Emma's head, and she found herself unreasonably concerned with the way Aurora was talking about him.
"I mean, god, those eyes. I can't wait until he gets over the whole 'hard-to-get' act and finally asks me out."
Emma nearly choked on her water as her tawny-haired classmate talked, eyeing the boy in question. He was sitting with his friends right outside the cafeteria doors, the big glass windows giving the both of them a perfect view of his leather jacket and dorky grin. Not even his hearty laugh, which was normally infectious, could force any emotion but distaste onto her face.
"I wouldn't call it hard to get," Emma grumbled, gulping down another swig of water to wash the bad taste out of her mouth. It didn't go away.
Aurora didn't seem to hear what Emma said, or if she had, she ignored it, continuing,
"I wonder what he's like in bed."
Emma really does choke on her water, that time, whirling on the other girl with an incredulous look.
"Seriously?" She deadpanned. She didn't want to hear about Jones' nightly habits, and she most certainly didn't want to hear about those habits with other women.
Aurora at least had the decency to look affronted, raising her hands in surrender.
"I'm just saying, the whole school is wondering. I heard that he messed around with Tink last year- didn't you hear what she said?"
Emma gripped her water bottle a little too tight, and her knuckles started to turn white around the crinkling plastic. Gossip was not her main priority. It wasn't even a priority. Not that Jones was a priority, either, and that damn accent and ridiculously cute scar on his cheek had no say in the matter. Obviously.
"She said she felt like she was floating the whole time. He's like a god," Aurora continued in a low voice, "Definitely knows what do do with those hands. I'd bet they'd feel even better on me."
Mary Margaret jumped in,
"Oh, don't be silly. It's not about ability, it's about sharing that amazing connection with a person," and she turned to stare dreamily at David, who blushed profusely at his girlfriend's antics.
Mary Margaret was Emma's best friend, despite not having known her for very long. The year in Storybrooke was Emma's longest stay in any city before, and she hadn't started making serious friendships until at least 4 months in. Nevertheless, she trusted Mary Margaret, and David was something of a big brother figure, and why the hell was she talking to Aurora, anyways?
The older girl was fanning herself dramatically, and sweeping her mouth with her tongue as if thinking about Jones was too much to bear.
Emma scoffed, but she still got a heavy feeling in her stomach, like something was sinking. Then, she became unreasonably furious about the idea of Killian's hands on anyone but her, because that calloused touch was hers, dammit, and that longing way he stared in class belonged to her, and she was the one he called 'love', and 'pet', and 'sweetheart', 'darling', 'princess', 'Swan', and those pet names and innuendos were for Emma, not some snotty girl that sat near her at lunch and got over every crush within a month or two.
Not that Emma had a crush, or anything.
Aurora grinned salaciously, triumphantly jutting out her chin.
"Well, I've got that connection with him. I even heard him talking about me in the hall last week."
Emma had gone quiet, wishing more than anything that she could disappear. Since when did Killian talk to Aurora? If you had asked Emma, she was the one he was always flirting with, whispering huskily in her ear about how "If Macbeth was really about temptation, than the three witches should be replaced by a beautiful siren, with sparkling green eyes and such a rosy blush as your own," leaning into her space to trail a finger down her arm, and "If you told me my fate, I'd find myself resigned to it as though it was the command of a goddess."
This was Killian Jones, who always got yelled at in class by the teacher for being late, and proudly smarting off about how his dog ate his homework, "or something along those lines, right, Mr. Gold?", and Emma was the only one in the class who knew that Killian didn't even have a dog, and he hated Mr. Gold because he was "the one English teacher who could take the life out of poetry". Emma was the one he was always saying hello to in hallways, or flirting with in the lunch line, and Killian was the one to raise a concerned eyebrow and fit a comforting hand around Emma's when she grew stiff at the mention of family permission slips for the field trip to Arts and Culture Museum in class. He was the one to catch her in the library crying because her foster parents had told her to find somewhere else to stay for the night and she barely knew anyone yet, and he never mentioned it again but he let her stay at his place for the night and his older brother and caretaker, Liam, had been strangely understanding and kind. Killian's bed sheets had been insanely comfortable and his blanket and the sweatshirt he let her borrow smelled like him, and if she woke in the morning curled into his embrace with his arm wrapped possessively around her waist, she didn't say anything about it at breakfast, and things went on like normal, but if anyone at storybrooke high had that "connection" with Killian Jones, it was surely Emma. Right?
Jones himself was struggling to breathe outside, his laughter taking over his body in fits as his one of his best friends, Will, pranced around the lunch yard with a lunch box on his head.
Mary Margaret eyed Emma sympathetically (because no matter how much Emma denied it, she had it bad for the youngest Jones).
"What did he say?" Mary Margaret asked Aurora, after sending a final soft glance to Emma, who was studiously picking at her fingernails and feigning disinterest.
"He said I was 'the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on'. Whined some nonsense about how I'm not interested in him, too, but I had to get to class, so I left before I heard anything else."
That jealousy was pricking at Emma's chest again, whispering aggressive words in her head. She couldn't stop herself from asking,
"Are you sure he was talking about you?"
Aurora looked offended and bit back a little harshly,
"Of course! Who else could he have been talking about?"
The table fell into an awkward silence and the defensiveness that came from her years fighting for affection sparked to life in her mouth.
"Well, did he say your name?"
Aurora narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Well, no, but it was obvious. Envy looks bad on you, Emma."
Mary Margaret sensed her friend's conflict and spoke up,
"Okay, okay, relax. Emma's not envious, there's no need to get upset, here."
But, the ball was already rolling in Aurora's head, and she went in for another attack.
"What, you think he likes you? Trust me, Swan, you're not his type. Everyone knows he's an intellectual, he wouldn't go for a blonde."
For a brief second, the loneliness and self-doubt that she was so accustomed to wiggled around in the back of her head. Maybe it was just an act he put on, and maybe he flirted like that with everyone, and maybe-
Emma stood, the sound of her chair screeching on the lunchroom floor. Mary Margaret and David looked at her with wide eyes, but Emma's stubborn nature had flared back to life.
She didn't bother looking back to Aurora's challenging stare, turning on her heel and marching towards the cafeteria door. Killian was lounging on the bench with the rest of his friends: Robin, Will, a few other troublemakers that proudly proclaimed themselves 'The Merry Men'. His hair was messy and tangled as per usual, black strands ghosting over his face and his boyish features. The closer she got, the more adrenaline pounded in her ears. This wasn't a stranger, she reminded herself, this was Killian, who talked like an 18th century pirate and was constantly finding ways to fluster her, brushing tendrils of blonde hair out of her face and joking in that annoying banter of his. She pushed the doors open with unnecessary force, stomping her way to him. The dusting of hair that peeked out from the top of his henley was darker than the stubble that adorned his face, and it made Emma swallow harshly. He had forgotten to shave again, apparently, which wasn't helping her wariness. She tried to show none of it, though, planting herself firmly in the pavement in front of him. He looked up to her with the usual mischief in his eyes, raising an eyebrow and twisting up the corner of his mouth.
"Swan! To what do I owe the pleasure?" He drawled in that playful tone, and she took one look at the lit up expression on his face before she was done for.
With one last nervous twitch of her fingers, she grabbed two fistfulls of his shirt and dragged his mouth to hers, bending forward to meet him where he sat. He grunted in shock, but his lips were soft and pliant as they met her own, shock quickly replaced by a forceful wave of response as he moved energetically against her, his hand coming up to tangle itself in her hair. She hummed against him unconsciously, and it wasn't until she felt his tongue pressing at her bottom lip for entrance, and his other hand tugging incessantly on the material of her ratty t-shirt that she registered the hollering and whistling from his friends.
"About bloody time," Will laughed, but how could anyone expect her to to snap back at the other boy when Killian was moving to stand, pressing her body tightly against his, roughly using her small gasp of surprise as permission to tangle his tongue with hers, pushing forward into the warmth of her mouth and wrapping a muscled arm around her torso- and oh god, he tastes like coffee, and his chest and biceps have some serious muscles, she realizes, and since when is she so damn fond of coffee, anyways, and-
She pulled away from his mouth before she could get too overwhelmed, putting some much needed space between them. They both panted heavily, and apparently, it wasn't much space, because his eyebrows were drawn tightly together in awe, and he was blinking rapidly, his lips red and swollen, mere inches from her face. He still had a tight hold on her hips, and her hand was gripping the collar of his jacket, but they were breathing in the same heated air, and she heard herself murmur,
"Do you like blondes?"
He laughed softly, leaning in to kiss her again with all the honesty he could muster, and she forgot to breathe the minute she regained contact with that whiplash tongue of his. It was gentle and toe-curling, this time, and her ponytail felt a lot looser than it did a few minutes ago. When he pulled back, he was nodding and beaming at her, a chuckle still rumbling from his chest.
"I like you," he clarified quietly against her mouth, and her knees nearled buckled. She was still self-conscious, but she didn't need to turn around to know that Aurora was furiously balling her hands into fists on the other side of the cafeteria window, and marching off to complain to someone else, and that was good enough for Emma, because Killian wasn't an intellectual, he was an idiot, but he was certainly her idiot.
"Good." She replied, defiantly rolling her shoulders to straighten her posture, nodding curtly and turning on her heel to head back to her friends at their lunch table. Killian couldn't move to follow her, though, because he was still struck frozen in his place, mind running a million miles a minute, and Robin and Will were both giving him solid punches to the arm in congratulations.
"She's the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on," He had told Robin in a quieted corner of the bustling school hallway, dropping his gaze to his shoes in resignation. "And she doesn't give a damn about me."
The other boy chuckled and patted Killian on the shoulder.
"You're both dumb as rocks. It'll be okay, mate. Just be patient."
Killian huffed and shook his head, because he was pretty sure he loved Emma, and she was hot-headed and rolled her eyes at every advance of his, and even if she did like him back, she was too defensive to ever admit it, so, "How could this possibly be okay, Robin?"
He found out, rather quickly, how it could 'possibly be okay' in the form of a spilled drink all over his shirt that some auburn haired girl had poured on him angrily the next month. He had no idea as to why the lass was upset with him, but it didn't really matter because Emma helped to clean him up in the school supply closet with paper towels from the girls' bathroom, and eventually he just took it off, because it was just Emma and him in the little closet, and she couldn't say she minded all that much, and he didn't really need the shirt for what they were doing, anyway.
