Prompt:Either Killian marveling at the fact that he can simply touch Emma whenever he wants now that they are in a relationship or Killian forgetting that he can touch her and Emma constantly having to guide him to.
He opened his eyes heavy with sleep, to realise that he was lying down next to a beautiful blonde, her locks resting on the pillow of the bed. Her features were softened by her state of peace. He still couldn't believe it, convinced that it was just a very good dream, the one where Emma Swan was sharing his bed on the Jolly Roger. He pulled her close to him, to persuade himself that it wasn't just a dream, that she had chose him and that it really was her next to him. He often had the urge to touch her to be sure of it, and even if he was completely sure, he couldn't help but to touch her, he was addicted to the warmth of her skin.
Ever since he acknowledged the feelings he had for her in Neverland, his feet always led him to Emma; he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Everywhere she went, he went, ready to protect from any danger, even if he knew that she could take care of herself. In their time in Neverland, he memorized the scent that was uniquely her, a mix of vanilla and this indescribable aroma that was her skin. He would find any excuse to invade her personal space just to get whiff of her. When her lips touched mine, he knew he could never keep himself away from her, she was intoxicating, but he respected her wishes when she withdrew herself, knowing that she wasn't ready.
The year he spent apart from her was torture, keeping his promise and thinking about her everyday. Her eyes, that small smile full of hope that she cast him before leaving the town line, and the warmth of her skin. He dreamt countless time of finding her; taking her in his arms and never letting her go. When he found her in New York, it took every fibber in his body to restrain himself from taking her in his arms, because he knew that maybe she was ready for him and the love he had to offer her. It was a bloody torture to be near her without being able to touch her, so he contented himself with what he did best, invading her personal space.
One night, she came to see him in his quarters, with a soft knock to his door she alerted him of her presence. Her body was tense and she had this nervous look in her eyes. Seeing her that state worried him, so he went to her, putting his hand on one of her arms to comfort her, hesitating if he should pull her in my arms. Before he could ponder on that thought, she took him in her arms. He could feel the warmth of her body and took in the smell of skin, the one he memorized. She kissed him, pouring everything she had to tell him without the use of words, he knew that she wasn't ready to say them out loud, and like him, her actions spoke louder than words. He waited patiently for her for so long that, that night, his hand and mouth were everywhere, touching every inch of her body, drinking in her scent, and savouring her skin.
After that night, he couldn't stop himself from touching her, always reminding himself that she was his. By the looks she gave him, and the way her body responded to him he knew that she didn't mind. Especially if she did the same with him, always finding an excuse to be near him and touch him. Both reminding themselves that she was his and he was hers.