CS post date.
…
They are quite a pair, she muses as they watch mindless movies on Netflix, Killian's arm draped across her shoulders, fingers toying with the ends of her hair that is now hanging in loose waves around her face. Her dress is torn and stained with mud and flecks of blood, her legs cold and tucked up under her. On his part, his shirt is sitting wide open, a clean white dressing stuck across a wound where, earlier in the evening, an icicle was propelled at him.
The screen flashes images but, truly, neither of them is really paying attention. Emma's still wrapped up in the fact that Killian has both of his hands, that he made that effort just for her for their date. And oh what a date it had been but, she supposes, when the Snow Queen and Will Scarlet live in the same town that you do, there's not much to be done about the ever-looming excitement on the horizon. She feels sorry for Will briefly, getting caught in the middle of a battle that isn't his but, in the end, they're all facing that same woe really.
Her fingers trace around the edge of the dressing, face turning up to see that his eyes aren't even trained on the screen anymore. "You okay?" she asks for the umpteenth time. He's only just got his hand back and it's already suffered its first bruises.
His answering nod is already occurring before she has the question completely out. "Darling, I couldn't be more okay."
He cradles her head with both of his hands, drawing her up. She had always wondered what it would feel like to have both of his hands on her and, she has to say, it feels like home. And she knows that Killian feels that way too, that the hook many be an extension of him and a big part of his past, but this hand represents who he is trying to become, who he is for her.
He kisses her forehead and the tip of her nose, his hands sliding into her hair and pulling her in to meet her lips. Her neck is tilted backwards and it is easy for her to raise on her knees to meet the deepness of his kiss. As his hands trail down her neck and onto her back, she lifts one knee over his legs, sinking into his lap, her own hands bracing on the back of his neck.
It's a sweet kind of torture that they're both too exhausted to let this go any further tonight but, at the same time, this gentle exploration is just as intimate as undressing. She can taste his tenderness, can feel his care radiating off him in waves and, even as they break apart for a moment to catch their breath, every part of her knows that he will never be too far from her.
Their foreheads rest together, their eyes still closed, just breathing each other in as his hands trace every part of her that they can reach. She feels goosebumps rise on her skin as his hands reach her knees and push back up underneath the hem of her dress. But he keeps it modest, sliding them back down and then up her sides, over her ribs and, finally, into her hair, cradling her head.
"Can we just stay like this?" she whispers.
His lips graze hers just barely when he nods, "For as long as you want."
It's this part of their date that's her favourite, this stolen moment of quiet in the loft. Everyone else is long asleep and it's just her and him. He tilts her head in his hands, pressing his lips along her jawline and down her neck. With a smile of content washing over her features, she says, "Forever might work," the notion of always not scaring her half as much as it used to.