It was blessedly quiet.
Killian sank further back into the couch cushions, pulling Emma with him as he went. She snuffled and pushed her face into his chest but otherwise didn't stir. He smiled as he looked down at her, a mess of blond curls falling over them both. He twined his fingers around a lock before moving to settle his hand at her elbow where it rested on his stomach. He gave a few lazy strokes of his thumb against her arm, listening to the sound of her breath as it stirred his chest hair.
The movie on her laptop continued to play below them, casting a blue glow through the room. However, Killian had long ago lost interest in the images playing across its screen. Instead his eyes followed the strong lines of wood that graced the walls and doorways of the room. He began to wonder what they might look like with the paint stripped bare and the wood stained mahogany. He caught himself when his eye moved to the wallpaper and he realized he was trying to determine how many layers were be built upon the walls.
They'd not discussed staying here. Returning from New York, they'd spent the past few nights aboard the Jolly; the warm, clear weather that signaled the approaching summer enticing them to her deck, keeping them there until they were too tired to head elsewhere. But they were here now. That had to mean something, he thought.
When he looked down at her again, he was greeted by her staring back up at him. She slid her hand up his stomach as she watched him, finally resting it next to where her chin sat on his breast bone. He brought his own up to curl over hers, threading them together.
"Can we keep it?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
"Huh?" she mumbled, her voice still tinged with sleep. She rested her head back down on his chest, eyes drifting closed.
Killian brought her hand to his lips before letting go to trace along her jaw, his thumb caressing her cheek.
"I know it may no longer be ideal, having borne witness to some of our lesser moments..." he trailed off
"You want to live in a place that serves as the gate to Hell?" she asked, without opening her eyes.
He smiled and kissed her head. "You forget, love, that's what it was in the Underworld. It need not – would not – be that here." He saw a hint of a smile play at the corner of her mouth and moved to press his thumb along the crease it produced.
She opened her eyes and inched up to bring her face to his, her lips a hair's breadth from his own. He pressed his hook into the small of her back, urging her the last bit forward. When her lips finally slid over his, he sighed and raked his hand through her hair. Angling her head as he titled his own, he pressed his tongue between her lips, curling along hers when they met. It was slow, and languid, each taking their time to remap a well-worn course.
Pulling back to take a breath, he laid his forehead against her own. After a moment, she peered up at him and said, "Wherever you want to be,
Killian. I'll follow."
He smiled back at her, moving back in, resting his lips on hers but not closing around them. "I'd still like to make this home, if it is all right with you, Emma."
She didn't respond, but gave him her consent in the seal her lips against his, in the curl of her hand at his waist, and in the tangle of her legs with his own.