Lightning Strikes the Heart [3/4]
A Frenemies AU, set in modern times.
*Warnings for this chapter*: Language, sexually explicit content
As always, art is my the incredible swankkat on tumblr and beta read by accio-ambition also on tumblr.
I am so thrilled with the response to this story! I'm so glad that you guys are as hyped for Captain Swan makeouts as I am! Thanks for the wonderful reviews, favorites and follows, can't wait to see what ya'll think of this one! (;
PART THREE
The holidays pass with little incident. Killian has Christmas dinner with David and Mary Margaret. Emma and Henry spend the day with Henry's father's side of the family; Killian doesn't see them again until Regina and Robin's New Year's Eve party.
The party is extraordinarily boring. It's the first year in a long time he doesn't bring a date or drag his brother to the party. He thought about inviting Carolyn the assistant wedding planner, but he wasn't quite that desperate. It doesn't take him long to wish that he did; it takes great strength not to show how much it bothers him when he spots Emma and Graham making out on Regina's balcony just shortly after midnight.
Killian then spends the first half of January trying to figure out if he's grown up at all. He's still going after women and drinking more than he should on a night out, but the rush he used to get just isn't there anymore. It's boring and stagnant. He thinks that David was right: maybe he isn't happy with his old life. It doesn't seem so tried and true anymore, especially now that he had that moment with Emma. He wants more. Not that he wants domestication, but he wants stability—someone to come home to at the end of the day and he knows if they could get passed their animosity, Emma could be the one.
It's only worse because it's clear Emma does not want the same thing.
Emma flits in and out of his life. He accepts that she's busy being a working, single mother, but he's finding it harder to handle this time around. Emma's initial awkwardness dissolved quickly and they've reverted back to their pseudo-friendship. The sexual tension is still there, but Emma doesn't seem to notice and it stays perfectly platonic. She parries his innuendos and implications without flinching, even sometimes smiling when he says something particularly sly. She's still sexy as ever, intimidating and strong, and so very unattainable.
Killian tries his best to put it aside, but his duties as Best Man make it difficult. The wedding is fast approaching—even though there's still almost four months left—and that means Emma is working with him at every step. They're busier than ever helping Mary Margaret and David prepare, especially since they all have full time jobs.
Killian's spends his free time designing the wedding bands. He spends many nights hunched over his desk, tinkering with different settings and stones to create the perfect bands.
That's the easy part.
Even the rest of the wedding prep is simple enough. There's still enough time left that Mary Margaret is pleasant to be around, and he willingly attends tux fittings, meal tastings, and even a meeting once or twice with the wedding planner.
No, the hard part is working with her. He had thought he was going to get away scot-free: he would plan the bachelor party, she would plan the bachelorette, he would plan his toast and get David ready to be married, and Emma would do the same for Mary Margaret. Easy.
He never expected the future Nolans would want a Jack and Jill combined bachelor party. Thinking about it, he really should have expected it, they have all the same friends and neither has any desire to be with anyone else. So now, he's stuck working with Emma to put together the perfect winter wonderland weekend getaway.
They've figured out the general plan so far: they've rented a cabin up in Vermont that can fit at least ten people, a handful of Mary Margaret and David's friends have already agreed to go, and the package includes activities at the local ski resort. It's not quite as rustic as they hoped, but they're sure this is exactly what the couple is looking for.
It's just the details that they need to sort out and that's what has gotten him most tied up in knots. Today, he's meeting Emma for a cake testing. It's planned—mostly because Mary Margaret and David couldn't make it, so they're going in their stead, but he knows they'll spend most of it figuring out details and planning the trip. He's fine with it, he swears. It's not like he's kind of viewing this like it's anything more than a very platonic dessert meeting between friends.
(But he kind of is.)
So that's how he finds himself leaning against the rough wall of the Two Little Red Hens bakery, waiting to meet Emma, shielding himself from the cold late January wind and trying not to pitch a fit at Mr. Smee's utter incompetence.
"It's on my workbench, near the files, next to the lamp...no,no the other lamp. On the other side of my tools...not in the pile, Jesus, it's in plain sight—" He rubs his fingers over his eyes. If Mr. Smee, can't find the design for Ms. O'Sullivan's very expensive three-tier necklaces, he might not even be able to stick around.
"You watched me put it away. How can you possibly not know where it is?" He sighs as his colleague mumbles excuses. He slowly opens his eyes to look upward into the smoggy, grey sky. He wonders if it'd disappoint Emma if he had to leave. She had been surprisingly positive about the Jack and Jill ordeal; she had even been the one to suggest that they could handle the cake testing together and that it would be better to kill two birds with one stone.
There's a faint honking and he turns absently, catching sight of a familiar blonde walking toward him instantly. Emma spots him at about the same time, hurrying her pace and waving. Killian musters up a smile for her, turning the phone away so he can properly greet her without Smee getting nosy. "Swan, you're looking lovely today."
She nods, an embarrassed smile appearing on her lips. She points at the phone. "Working lunch?"
He rolls his eyes. "One minute. I swear." She grins and he interrupts Smee mid-whine. "I need go. You need to find the design—Oh, it was on my desk. Oops. Carry on then, I'll be back before your lunch."
She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment as he hangs up and tucks the phone in his pocket. He feels obliged to explain himself. "Apparently, my workspace is very messy and Mr. Smee can't follow directions."
She shakes her head. He expects something derogatory to come out of her mouth, but it's not. "Leroy is just like that. Brilliant detective, street smart and tough as nails, but he can't follow directions to save his life."
"And I may have been a little hasty putting away the designs to get here in time. I didn't want to be late."
Emma smiles. "Didn't wanna miss any time with me, huh?"
"Never. I despise spending time with you." Killian jokes, eliciting a chuckle like he hoped.
"Wasn't that long ago that we would do anything to avoid each other," Emma says. "Never thought I'd say it, but I think we might be friends now, Killian."
"Never thought I'd see the day." He gestures for her to follow him before things can get awkward and they rush into the soothing warmth of the bakery.
"Me either." She laughs. "I think they have a name for us: Friends by circumstance."
It's packed wall to wall with customers, so they press themselves close as they try to make their way to the cash register. The glass case is emptying fast, but Killian can see a long line of bakers behind the counter preparing fresh stock. The fresh smell of baking bread and pies is almost enough to transport him back years to his mother's small bakery, but he stays grounded with the pressure of Emma's fingertips on his elbow.
Finally, after some subtle elbow nudging and pushing, they make it to the front. Emm takes charge, tapping the counter to get someone's attention. "We're here for the Blanchard-Nolan appointment at 12:30."
"Blanchard-Nolan wedding cake tasting?" one of the girls behind the counter asks, meticulously wrapping two apple turnovers, stashing them in a box, and slapping on a sticker. "Number 420!" She nods at them as the customer steps up. "You're the couple? No problem give us a minute and someone will seat you."
The girl moves on to the next customer before either of them can correct her. They don't bother to as they shuffled aside and press to the side wall to avoid getting crushed by an arguing family.
Emma laughs. "You wouldn't believe how many times they assume I'm marrying David." They both wince. "I see him like my brother most of the times. It's so weird."
"It's worse when they think I'm marrying Mary Margaret. She's picked me up so many times after drunken nights out, she might as well be my mother." Emma nods hastily in agreement, probably thinking of her own misadventures.
"I guess pretending to marry you isn't the worst thing that could happen to me," Emma says. Her words are light and joking, so Killian chuckles beside her.
"I would have to agree, Snookums," with great caution, wraps his arm playfully around her shoulder and lets it settle when she doesn't instantly scream or hit him. "We would make an excellent pretend couple."
"It would freak out all of our friends," Emma says.
"Our tentative friendship already blows most of their minds," Killian counters with a shrug. "If we wound up dating or, God forbid, marrying, I think several would die of shock."
Emma starts to answer, but is quickly cut off when a teenager in a bright red apron, out of breath and wearing a tight smile, stops next to them. "Blanchard-Nolan? Come with me we have a table ready for you."
She gestures for them to follow her, and Killian jokingly waves for Emma to go in front of him, "After you, love."
Emma makes a face in exasperation, but follows the server behind a curtained section of the store they didn't notice upon entering. It's much quieter and cozier, and they take seats with much relief.
"I'm so sorry for the wait," the server apologizes with an embarrassed smile. "I'm Holly. For your wedding, we have the cake options you selected. I'll bring out the first option for you in just a few minutes."
Killian takes a second to absorb it. He didn't know there were pre-selected options and he certainly didn't want this server to think they would be deciding on the cake today. Most importantly, he didn't think the server would think it was their wedding.
"I don't think you—"
"We're not—"
Both he and Emma try to speak as one, Killian stifles a smile and gestures for her to continue. She does: "We're the Maid of Honor and Best Man. We're here in the place of the Bride and Groom. We're not actually together."
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Holly reddens in embarrassment. "I didn't realize it. I see so many couples every day. Plus, you're cute together that I just assumed.. I'll get your cakes." She shuffles off to get them the first option, leaving him and Emma to exchange uncomfortable looks.
"We play it off too well, I suppose," Killian says lightly. "Good to know."
Emma laughs, the sudden tension between them easing. "Just in case?"
"I do have dual citizenship. What if it gets revoked? I might need to marry someone in a pinch." Killian shrugs. "Now I know you're not a bad option."
"It doesn't work like that." He rolls his eyes and makes a gesture like he doesn't care. "I would definitely not be your first choice."
"You might be."
"Yeah, in your wildest fantasy, right?" Emma jests, pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.
"My wildest fantasy would definitely not be marrying someone in a pinch to stay in the country," Killian sighs, his mind conjuring images he's supposed to not be indulging in. "I'm thinking more like a lot of candles and rose petals and maybe silk ties or handcuffs."
"Much more imaginative," Emma murmurs, eyes growing a little wide, "true romantic at heart. You're in charge of decorating Mary Margaret and David's suite."
"Gladly." Killian sniffs. "What's your idea of romance? Drinking beers with the boys and watching sports?"
"I am a proud football fan. The Patriots are the best."
"That's not real football."
"That's soccer." Emma tugs her beanie off, smoothing any frizziness and pulls her hair into a low ponytail.
Killian is almost disgusted and starts to answer, but Holly appears with the first cake. It's a traditional buttercream cake. Both he and Emma surprisingly agree that even though Mary Margaret and David would like it, it's too heavy for a summer wedding. They mark it down as a weak 'maybe'. The next is a red velvet cake with delicious cream cheese frosting. Despite how much Killian enjoys it, they again agree it's too much for a summer wedding and David would never appreciate the rich chocolate. It's a strong 'no'.
The arrival of the third cake prompts a groan from both of them. It's not that the cake is disgusting; in fact, it's the opposite. The cake is lemon with blueberry filling, the bakery's best-seller.
Killian can pack away a lot of food, but not like this. Emma looks similarly unimpressed. She presses a hand to her mouth as she swallows hard. "I apologize for anything I ever said about you fattening me up. I think I just gained twenty pounds right now."
Holly places the two plates in front of them, each slice a reasonably-sized sample.
"I didn't think David even liked lemon," Emma half whispers. They each take a sip, swishing water around their mouths.
Killian shrugs helplessly but digs into the cake anyway. He's not a big fan of lemon cake, he finds, even though lemon bars used to be a dessert specialty of his. He's not a fan of the blueberry puree either. It's certainly refreshing, but it doesn't agree with his taste buds. He leaves half of it, waiting for Emma to finish hers.
"I like it," she declares, popping the last bit of it in her mouth and closing her eyes in revelry. "Four out of five stars. Definitely better than straight buttercream one."
He makes a face. "Too much lemon."
Emma stops scraping her plate for the last bits of cream. "It's a lemon blueberry cake. What did you expect it to taste like?" She neatly sucks on her fork, hollowing her cheeks and forcing Killian to look away before something uncomfortable happens. She doesn't seem to notice what she's doing. "Get off the red velvet train. They are never going to pick it."
"I know what I like," he offers with a shrug, pushing his unfinished slice of cake to her when she starts frowning at him. She brightens instantly and he continues, sipping on his water. "That chocolate ganache was heavenly."
"That chocolate stuff? Too rich for me." She pops a bite in her mouth, nearly groaning in pleasure when the frosting melts in her mouth. "God, how do you not like this cake?"
He knows it's rhetorical and doesn't answer. Instead, he watches Emma almost make love to the slice of cake in front of her. He wonders if she always sounds like this when she eats orgasmic food. Tearing his mind from that thought, Killian answers with an exaggerated snobbish sniff that makes her laugh. "I'm sorry your taste buds are not as refined as mine, Emma."
"Really." Emma scoffs. She sips her water and eyes him carefully. "You know, I thought Mary Margaret was lying to protect you when she said she didn't help you with the muffins. Maybe you do actually know your stuff."
"Because of my use of ganache?" Killian laughs. "I suppose I am a man of many talents."
Emma raises an eyebrow, thinking very hard about it. "You really made all of those muffins and scones? You didn't buy them from a bakery or use Mary Margaret?"
"I made everything from scratch," Killian says, feeling almost embarrassed that she believes it as truth now, even though she's known it the whole time.
"I can't even boil water without setting off my fire alarm." She snorts, shaking her head. "How do you know all this? Everything tastes like it should have been freshly made at my favorite bakery."
"My mother," Killian says with more lightness in his voice than he feels. He waits for Holly to place the newest cakes in front of them—peanut butter and chocolate chip with chocolate sponge—and leave before he continues. "She co-owned a bakery in London. I used to help her sometimes." It isn't possible for him to describe it. He doesn't know if he could ever describe the peace he felt in his mother's kitchen, the long days he spent folding dough, surrounded by the scent of rising bread and fruit purees and the sound of his mother singing her favorite old Irish songs.
Emma seems to get that somehow. She doesn't answer at first, picking up her new fork and twirling it through her fingers. "She taught you well then because you're food is phenomenal."
"She taught me everything I know about baking," Killian explains. "She died when I was twelve."
"I'm sorry," she says hesitantly.
Killian smiles. "It was a long time ago, Emma." He picks up his own fork and takes a tentative bite. The peanut butter tastes chalky in his mouth. He speaks softly like it's an afterthought, even though it's hardly ever far from the forefront of his thoughts. "Liam never liked it, but I always found it soothing."
"Mary Margaret tried to teach me once," Emma says, voice light and eyes conveying her sorrow more than any words can. Her fork twitches in her grasp and Killian thinks for one wild second that she's going to try to grab his hand, but she doesn't and wraps her fingers even more tightly around her fork. He shakes it off and she keeps speaking like nothing ever happened. "You can probably guess how awful it went. I'm not allowed to cook in her kitchen ever again."
"Well, Mary Margaret is very protective of her kitchen. I don't blame her." Killian laughs and Emma takes a big bite of her cake in response. He waits until she swallows to ask, "What do you think of this one?"
"I'm not sure." She takes another bite, chewing it more slowly to taste every flavor she can. "Too much peanut butter for me, but then again, Mary Margaret is a fanatic so I'll go with a maybe."
"It is their wedding," Killian says gently. "Let's get to the next cake. I don't know how much more I can eat."
"I'm glad I didn't go to lunch beforehand," Emma agrees with a groan. "I better not have to chase any stupid criminals after this. I won't make it half a block."
"Only one more left!" he cheers.
"And we haven't even talked about the getaway weekend yet."
"Funny, I thought we'd run out of things to talk about." She hums in agreement.
"We can talk to each other, we can joke with each other," Emma lists, tapping her fork against the plate. "I can't believe we might actually be friends, Killian."
"I told you it would happen."
"Don't be so smug," she says, "I guess we just had to give each other a chance, huh?"
"Our best friends have brought us together. It's like something out of a movie." Killian slouches in the chair to give his food baby more space. He grins broadly at her. "I think I won our challenge."
"Our challenge?" she asks, narrowing her eyes. She stops looking at him briefly to lay her eyes on the final piece of cake—an elaborate chocolate cake with cannoli cream filling.
"That I could be a reasonable civil human being."
Emma hums, taking a slow, large bite of cake. She eats carefully, and he worries for a second that maybe he's misinterpreted everything, but then he ignores that because he's been nothing but a gentleman.
"We're doing well," Killian elaborates when she still doesn't speak. "Just look at us."
"Well, we're definitely not a couple of lovebirds out of a movie," Emma finally says. "And this cake is delicious. Try it."
She points to his untouched cake and he blinks. He was too concerned to explain himself that he hadn't even touch it yet. He goes to follow her example, but there's a scream from the front that makes them both jump. He leans back so he can peek around the wall; there's a spill on the floor and a young child crying. He puts the pieces together and turns back to Emma. "It's nothing, just a spill-"
His hand hits the table in just the wrong place, clipping his plate. In what seems like slow motion, his cake and plate go flying, slamming onto the floor with an ugly splat. "Oh no, that was the cannoli cake."
Emma winces across the table and tries to look for their server, but Holly is nowhere in sight. Exchanging looks, the pair knows she's probably at the front trying to clean up the spill before the shop gets even busier. For a second, it seems like Killian won't get to try the last piece, but Emma pushes her cake toward him. "We can share. I can't eat a full piece by myself anyway."
"Taking pity on me, eh?"
"Everyone loves cannoli cream." She smiles. "Plus, Mary Margaret and David need your input on what cake to get. I can't be the only one voting on this cake."
"Too right." He takes a small bite to savor the taste and smiles immediately. "This tastes heavenly. I love cannolis."
"Strong yes?" Emma asks.
He agrees. "Saved the best for last."
They eat the cake methodically, each taking a piece that's reasonably small. As they get closer to the end, Killian's nerves start buzzing: who will eat the last piece? Under any normal circumstance, Killian would offer it to her, he is a gentleman, but this cake is phenomenal.
When they do get to the last, very small bit of cake left, Emma glances from him to the cake and smile. "Who wants it?"
Killian waits a beat, knowing what he must do. "It's yours."
"I had the first bite before you lost your cake."
"And I lost my cake. I forfeit my chance to eat the last bite."
Emma nods, eventually agreeing, and scoops it up. It hovers near her mouth for a long time before she suddenly offers it to him, her fork hovering in front of his lips. "Eat up, Killian."
He doesn't think, leaning forward, and letting her slide it into his mouth. The flavors alone are enough to make him moan in pleasure, but suddenly the cake testing is much more intimate and heart-stopping then it was ever supposed to be. It takes everything he has to not actually groan out loud.
"That cake is just delicious," Killian says finally when she's removed the utensil and has scooted back to her side of the table. The moment passes as both of them try to recover. Emma looks a little out of sorts and it pleases him in a non-platonic kind of way. "I hope they choose that one."
"The best choice." Emma nods in agreement, face a bit more pink than it was before. She immediately pushes aside her plate. Clearing her throat and pushing her hair out of her face, she reluctantly meets his eyes. "So, about the weekend..."
They delve into details about the weekend getaway, and their plates are soon replaced by steaming cups of coffee. By the time they've worked out the details of the getaway, their coffee cups are empty and they're read to make their way back to work.
They drag their feet to put on coats, beanies, and scarves. They push their way through the crowd still flooding the bakery's front and stop before the door. It's begun to lightly snow again, but it's not yet covering the sidewalk and it still looks pretty. With a great sigh, Killian pushes the door open and gestures for Emma to walk out in front of him. She waits for him and they begin the slow walk back to their offices.
Most of New York is returning from their lunch break, and even this far uptown the sidewalks are packed with businessfolk. They stick close together, hoping not to be caught in the tidal wave headed in the opposite direction. There's no such luck, of course. A group of hurrying businessmen that are paying no attention to the poor pedestrians in their path, slam hard into Emma, nearly pushing her into the busy roadway. Killian reacts quickly, lunging to grab her, to yank her hard back toward him, tugging her to his side so she doesn't fall into the path of a city bus. He has a hand clasped around hers and presses her close to his chest until the group of them pass and the coast is clear. He holds her more tighter than necessary, but she's also clutching him to slow her adrenaline now that the situation is over.
"Are you alright?" Killian asks, not daring to loosen his grip while he has the chance. The city hasn't stopped moving around them, but Killian's broad enough that they have a moment to pause. Emma hesitantly pushes herself away from him, hand slipping slowly from his hold and glances away quickly from his concerned eyes.
"I'm fine. Thank you." She brushes herself off as they continue walking. Emma chuckles. "I can handle myself though. It's not the first time I've been almost stampeded."
"I forgot," he says. "You're the formidable Detective Swan, capable of making all criminals crumble and piss their pants."
"Only some," she quips, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "But really: thank you, I didn't even notice them behind me. That's pretty poor detective work."
"You were occupied," he answers easily. "All that cake and good company. You're finally letting down your guard around me."
"I guess so," she says quietly.
"It's not a bad thing, Swan."
She scoffs. "It's been a bad thing my whole life."
"Give me a shot." Killian doesn't quite beg, but he has never wanted so desperately for Emma to try. "I can prove you wrong. I won't disappoint you."
She watches him for a second, a sad smile on her face. "That's what I'm afraid of." She clears her throat and speeds up her space so they can reach the corner faster. She follows the crowd crossing east.
"You're going the wrong way!" Killian calls.
"I'm not!" she shouts back, turning around to face him. "I forgot something at home. I'm heading there before I go back to work. I'll see you around!"
"Until next time," he says softly, knowing she can't hear him anyway. He doesn't even register that the crosswalk changes until he's bumped rudely by a few pedestrians. He follows them numbly, mind buzzing with questions and musings. He almost postive Emma is going the wrong way, or taking the long way to avoid him.
It almost hurts worse than their mistletoe kiss.
"Why on Earth did we need to take your tiny yellow bug all the way up to Vermont?"
"You don't drive. I happen to have a car. Take what you have and be grateful we don't have to lug all this stuff up to the resort on a train."
"It's not my fault I never learned to drive," Killian protests. He tries to sit up a little straighter and very nearly beams himself on the top of the car. He's not a very large man, but her car is too damn small. "I've had no need to drive."
"So then you're stuck with me, Jones." Emma smiles at him obnoxiously, turning the radio up louder and singing along to latest annoying pop ballad.
It's too early to deal with her singing, so Killian turns away from Emma to watch more hills and more cows pass by. They're about halfway there and the drive hasn't been smooth. They left at six AM to make it to the ski resort hours before the rest of the party is showing up. They have buckets of groceries, games, decorations for the house, and decorations for Mary Margaret and David's suite.
It had been difficult to sneak away and find time to get everything together without Mary Margaret and David knowing, but somehow they had managed. With a little extra help from Leroy, Regina, and Robin, they were packed and on the road for Vermont early.
And now, almost three hours later, Killian is ready for the trip to be over. Thankfully, city traffic hadn't been awful—Swan's a pretty incredible driver—but once they reached Connecticut, the drive had become miserable. One, he never realized how rural some parts of Connecticut were; two, Swan's little yellow bug was old fashioned inside and out; and three, Emma would not let him touch the radio. They had been listening to unbearably awful pop songs the entire trip.
He wants to die.
He's tried small talk, whistling, anything to drown out the sound, but it's useless. It's either too early for her to care or she just wants to torture him with pop music and off-key singing.
Despite their blossoming friendship, Killian's betting on the latter.
It's a blessing when they stop at a rest stop near the border of Massachusetts and Vermont and step out to stretch their legs. They snag breakfast sandwiches and more coffee—bland, bitter coffee—and take seats by the window for a quick bite before they have to get back to the road.
Emma's idly flipping through her phone as she munches on her breakfast sandwich, probably checking for messages or notifications from Henry, when Killian pops a question.
"Tell me, Emma, what is with your ungodly obsession with prepubescent pop music?"
She doesn't stop scrolling through her phone, swallows the bite of food and glances at him. "I have a preteen. As much as Henry is obsessed with dinosaurs, Star Wars, and books, he's still practically in love with that girl Lila from that British girl group 'Tiny Tangle'." She waits a beat and shrugs. "And I like it."
"That's what I was looking for." Killian explodes with laughter and set his bagel on the tabletop before he drops it. "I can't believe it. You - hard-hitting, strong-willed Emma Swan - loves teeny bop music."
"They're not autonomous," she says grouchily. "Let me guess, you're a man of classic rock or folk music."
"I do appreciate some folk," he says, sipping his coffee and taking another bite. "But I actually prefer alternative rock or jazz when I'm working."
"See? We all have different tastes," Emma huffs, crumbling up her napkins and standing up. "I just prefer pop. It makes me feel good."
"I just meant it was different than expected. What other weird interests do you have? Don't be shy, Emma. Are you a fan of water aerobics or basket weaving?" He follows behind her, tearing off the last bit of bagel. "We can really get to know each other better in this next hour and a half."
"I'd rather not," she decides with a shudder. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom. I'll meet you at the car."
It's abrupt, no doubt, and Killian is a little affronted by her rudeness, but he feels better when they restart their road trip. Emma approaches the car with two fresh coffees.
"Peace offering?" Her sheepish smile is beyond adorable when normally it's like pulling teeth to get her to apologize. She holds out the coffee. Expecting the same gritty black coffee from before, he's pleasantly surprised when he smells cinnamon and vanilla.
"Is this gourmet?" he jokes, taking a sip and reveling in the caffeine.
"I wish," she laughs. "I think I can sniff out the best coffee anywhere I go. I figured we deserved it."
"That we do." He holds out his cup and she reluctantly bumps it for cheers. There's a shift in the air; she seems calmer than she was before, so he tries again as she starts the car. "So, what are your hobbies, Ms. Swan, beyond cop and mother?"
She rolls her eyes, but actually lowers the radio, giving him a pointed look. She keeps it low for the rest of the trip, just the right volume for them to keep up a steady stream of chatter for most of the trip.
Apparently a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich and a new cup of coffee is just enough to change Emma's mood. He's keen to remember that.
The rest of the trip is uneventful, and they make it to the resort in record time. Their exclusive cabin is even better than anticipated with more than six bedrooms total (with twin and queen beds included), a grand master suite, huge kitchen, and living area. They put away the food, and set up with less than an hour to spare before the rest of the party shows up.
Mary Margaret and David are speechless when they arrive with Leroy, Ruby, and Elsa in tow. The rest of their friends slowly trickle in, and by dinnertime, they're all drinking, laughing, and partying more than any of them are used to.
Mary Margaret is sticking to cosmopolitans instead of her old favorite tequila sunrise, and David is no longer the Shot King of 're all able to put back a hefty amount of booze, but none of them can party anymore like their college days. It's both a relief and a harsh reminder of their old about two in the morning, Killian teeters up the stairs arm in arm with David. He drops him off into a giggling Mary Margaret's waiting arms and finishes the walk down the hall by himself.
None of them wake before nine the next morning, which is a blessing since most of them normally rise much earlier for work. Killian stumbles into the kitchen on the heels of Ruby and Elsa and is instantly granted a cup of Regina's actually gourmet coffee and a plateful of Robin's delicious French toast. They have a plan for the day: a morning to ski or snow tube, a huge lunch, an afternoon to ice skate and a fancy dinner out on the town. It takes a little bit of time for the plan to kick in—they are a little more hungover than expected—but soon enough they're heading up the mountain for ski lessons.
Those who've skied before - David and Mary Margaret among them - head to the intermediate slope as soon as they reach the mountain. Killian sticks to the bunny slope and is pretty proud when he manages to mostly get the hang of it. As a city boy, his time in nature is pretty slim and it's quite an achievement. He does fall down more than he stays up, and he's perfectly content to head back to their cabin for a well-deserved lunch break.
Although lunch is delicious, the thought of ice skating - especially on such a full stomach - is even less exciting than skiing.
It's not that he's never tried it before: it's just that he's only ever gotten as far as clinging to the wall. He's never taken dates ice skating, and he's not very thrilled to demonstrate how pathetic he is to the entire bridal party. Winter sports are just not his thing; if Mary Margaret and David hadn't wanted a winter wonderland escape he would have suggested Las Vegas or a beach resort. He could have handled that. Ice skating is just not for him.
For Emma though, she's perfectly at home on the ice. She ties her skates expertly, steps onto the ice, and starts racing around with Elsa at her side within seconds.
He hates it. Killian gingerly gets to his feet once his skates are laced and follows the crowd to the entrance, wobbling all the way. He hates it before he even reaches the ice.
Killian clutches the railing the second he steps out and basically pulls himself along the way. He's got a nice shuffle step going and he's almost proud of himself when he's nearly bowled over by a four year old in a tutu. She's laughing and chasing an older girl who's lazily spinning and skating on one foot. He makes his decisions right then and there to head back to the cabin and never come out. He turns and nearly loses his balance. It's a miracle he makes it the ten feet back to the entrance without falling.
"Leaving so soon?" He doesn't hear her approach and tilts dangerously when he hears her voice and jumps. Emma grabs him firmly by his jacket and pushes him to the short wall to clutch with both hands.
"I'm afraid for the children. I'm a menace on skates, love."
"I doubt that."
"It's true," Killian protests. "I'm awful."
"You can't be worse than Henry," she says reasonably. "Come on, Killian. You're a big boy." He finds that he can't deny her anything when her smile is that wide. He nods and reluctantly lets go of the wall. Emma comes a bit closer and holds out her mitten-covered hand. "I'll even let you hold my hand."
He gasps. "Scandalous, Swan."
She shushes him. "We're friends now, aren't we? I'm just helping out a friend."
Killian raises an eyebrow, but takes her hand soundly, clutching it as they step out from the wall. She tries to move them out further and he resists. "Do we have to go that far out already? I'm going to fall and definitely break something."
"Really." At his blank stare, she sighs. Her voice softens and he imagines she uses it when she's trying to explain something to Henry. "We need more space to get your momentum going. We can't stay on the wall forever."
"I'd very much like to."
"We can't. That's not fun at all," she insists. She squeezes his hand. "Haven't you ever skated?"
"I mean I have. Just very badly." He winces. "Liam tried to teach me when I was younger but it didn't end well and from there I just never went."
"You're in luck. I taught Henry and Mary Margaret. I can easily teach you how to skate." Killian's skeptical, catching a glimpse of Mary Margaret wrapped around David as they skate, but he's not quite sure if that's because she needs the support, or if they're just that in love.
"Don't worry, Killian. You can do it. We've already been sort of skating." True to her word, they have been. They've technically shuffled—not skated—about twenty feet from the entrance. She slides out in front of him and takes both hands in hers.
Killian takes them uneasily, already feeling his feet slide from beneath him. He lurches and Emma grabs him, steadying him with those police muscles she's got buried under layers of sweater and jacket. He tries to laugh it off. "Maybe I'm just playing you, love. I'm just doing this to make you hold my hands and touch me. I've always known how to skate."
Emma laughs. "I don't think even you can pretend to be this bad."
"I just need to get my sea legs," he huffs, struggling to pull away from her. It doesn't work and he curses under his breath. He's always been stubborn, but he's not sure he can win this battle. He would feel more humiliated, but strangely enough, he doesn't. "I told you children should fear me on the ice."
"You're like a baby giraffe learning to walk," Emma giggles, pulling him forward. "Oh, I need to document this. Henry's gonna love it."
"Don't you dare. I've already taken a hit to my pride."
"Oh, I won't." Emma nods to their friends that are scattered around the rink. "But Regina might." Regina and Robin are skating just a few feet behind them with nearly identical amused expressions. "Or maybe Leroy will do it. It would be a hit around the precinct." Leroy speeds passed them with more flexibility than Killian ever imagined the stout man might have.
Killian grumbles and tries to get away from her, but she holds tighter. "I'm just kidding. Relax," she soothes him, "No one is recording you."
"Maybe not recording, but certainly laughing at me."
"And maybe they are," Emma says. "Who cares? You're learning."
Killian grumbles some more, clinging to her and taking very small steps. She sighs. "It's good thing I'm here to help. You're gonna break an ankle this way. Your technique is awful."
"I don't have a technique."
"Exactly." She lets go of one hand, coming to his side to demonstrate for him. "The problem is that you're trying to walk, not skate. Push your feet, Killian. You can't take your feet off of the ice. You have to glide."
"Easy for you to say." Still, Killian shuffles beside her. He tries, he really does, but it's something he's never done before and all he can envision are broken bones from his inevitable fall.
In a surprising twist, Emma is a wonderful teacher. She's patient and thorough, stopping and correcting when he falls back into his hopeless shuffle, and encouraging when he falls not once, but three separate times. Eventually, he starts to get it. Killian listens to her advice, pushing his feet one at a time and gliding in a mostly uneven rhythm. It's not smooth sailing, and he's not nearly as graceful as Emma, but he manages.
They skate aimlessly for a while, following the flow of the crowd. They tease Robin and Regina—now that Killian can skate, he actually is a menace—and race Elsa and Ruby around the rink. When they finally catch up with Mary Margaret and David, Emma attempts to drop his hand, but Killian flashes her a smile and tightens his grip as they approach their friends. "I might fall. You can't let go yet."
She doesn't let go, even when the couple shares smug smiles. Mary Margaret is watching them carefully, in that innocent way of hers and Killian can almost feel the stress raising Emma's blood pressure. Thankfully, neither David nor Mary Margaret comment on their hand holding or her sudden change of heart. It's refreshing, considering that Killian knows most of the group must be bugging out over their sudden friendship. Killian's grateful there isn't too much backlash; he's still surprised Emma even offered in the first place.
They drift off eventually from the couple, skating separate ways when things get stale. Killian's starting to get a little bit more bolder, taking more risks now that he's learned most of the tricks. Emma tries to show him how to skate backwards, but it doesn't work well. He's growing bored: little children are able to skate passed at dazzling speeds, perform jumps and twirls, and he can't even stop correctly. He's antsy to try something more difficult.
It becomes hard to ignore when a couple weaves in and out of crowd and performs a jump and catch trick to the awe of the other skaters. Emma catches his expression.
"Don't even think about it."
"But Emma—"
"You couldn't even move off the wall an hour ago. Not a chance," she interrupts, throwing her arm out to grab him before he can slam into three unsuspecting teenagers. He spins, sliding back over to her with a pout on his face. "There is no way that I'm going to trust my life in your hands."
"I'm trustworthy. You taught me well. I'm practically a pro now." Killian tries to spin, wobbling precariously the whole time. It does nothing to help his case. She snorts in laughter. "Come on, love. Just once."
She's still protesting as they move further away from the crowd, but he's gripping her hand and she's not pulling away. Emma's laughing, oblivious to the fact that he's still going to do it. "Look, Jones. It's not that I don't trust you, but let's try something easier first."
"We can handle it, Emma. It'll be simple—"
And that's when it happens.
Of course, that's when Killian glides over a particularly choppy piece of the ice. It catches him off guard and as he falls visions of their bloody death surface. He tumbles helplessly into Emma and she falls too. They crash hard and his breath expels in a painful whoosh as he lands with his back on the ice and she lands on him.
It's not like the movies where she's pressed chest to chest in a delicate fashion. Emma is on top of him, sprawled with her entire body weight on his chest and very sore back. In a strange way, he's thrilled. He can feel her chest heaving from her adrenaline, and he wonders if she can feel his own heart pounding in his chest.
She scrambles to get off of him, trying to shift her total body weight. He stifles a groan and she winces, stopping just in case her movement is making the pain worse. "Are you okay? I told you we couldn't do anything too complicated."
Killian meets her eyes, basking in the concern. Her weight is warm and welcome, no matter how much he hurts. It's a thrill just to be able to touch her like this.
Emma takes his silence as a problem though. She takes one hand and wraps it around the back of his head, feeling anxiously for blood or lumps. "Killian, say something. Are you alright? Did you hit your head?"
He almost laughs; her mothering touch is overzealous and adorable. She tries to get off of him again, more gingerly this time, but he denies her. Killian wraps an arm around her waist pressing her as close to him as possible. "Normally, I prefer other more enjoyable activities with a woman on top."
"You are the worst," Emma groans. "Absolutely disgusting."
"I'm teasing you." He tests her, sliding a hand to the small of her back. She doesn't tense or resist.
"Don't touch me like that," she voice is uncertain. "You know better."
"If you really wanted to move, you could." He licks his lips. They're so close to each other he could reach across the minute space right now and kiss her. "But you don't want to."
"I do." But her words are empty and she makes no move to leave her position sprawled on his body.
"Come on, Swan. I just pathetically wiped out in front of everyone. Don't you want to make me feel better?"
"It wasn't that pathetic."
"It was. I'm achy and sad now, Emma. You don't want to move off of me."
"Killian," she starts. Her green eyes are shining, wide and dilated, staring into his soul. Something is different. Something is changing. "I want—"
"Killian! Emma!" Both jump at the sound of their names, turning unexpectedly. They had been so absorbed with each other they didn't even realize they were drawing a crowd of curious onlookers and their friends who had witnessed the fall.
David comes to a halt beside their sprawled bodies and his concerned expression turns to something more intrigued. "We saw you fall. I was coming to check you guys out, but if I'm interrupting something." He catches Killian's eye and raises an eyebrow. "I can just leave you two alone."
"You're not interrupting anything," Emma says. She very easily slides out from Killian's grasp then. "I was just making sure he didn't break anything when he fell."
"You did fall pretty hard," David says, crouching down beside Killian.
"I'm fine, just banged up."
"Killian! Are you guys okay? That was such a bad fall." Mary Margaret slides into their group, stumbling at the last second and gripping Emma for support.
"I'm aware," he grumbles. "It wasn't on purpose."
"You cushioned Emma's fall," Mary Margaret says. "That was really sweet of you."
"I tried my best," Killian gripes. Emma doesn't look at him,focuses on wrapping her arm around Mary Margaret to steady her. They start talking about something and Killian sighs. He throws out a hand and David stands up, gripping it tightly to pull him up. "Let's head back to the cabin. I think I'm going to need to try that hot tub tonight."
They gingerly get to their feet and follow slowly behind the other pair. Emma doesn't make it obvious, but she glances back to check on him.
He catches her eye every time.
Killian doesn't know David's watching him. His friend squeezes the shoulder he's got wrapped around for support. "You're in deep, Killian."
Killian groans. He feels more pathetic that David knows just how bad it is than falling so awfully in front of the crowd. "I know."
The walk to the cabin isn't long, but by the time they get there, Killian's bruises become very apparent. He's sore all over - particularly his back, chest and tailbone. He heads straight to his room to change and meets David and Mary Margaret in the pool room. He's a little sad that Emma isn't there as well, but he puts it aside when he sinks into the piping hot water and his troubles vanish.
Not more than five minutes later, the sliding door to the pool room opens and Emma appears in a blissfully tiny black bikini. The room is chilly and she saunters across the floor, nearly leaping into the hot tub. She sits across from him, hair bunched at the top of her head with loose blonde waves dangling out of the sides. She smiles at him across the way, sharing a sip of Mary Margaret's cocktail before diving into a wedding conversation.
Despite his bruises, Killian's heart feels light. He catches David's eye, who's watching them closely. David scoots toward him, eyes twinkling as he whispers, "I don't think you're in deep alone anymore, my friend."
Killian's elation from Emma's presence only carries him so far. By the time dinner rolls around, the whole group is sluggish from an exciting day of exercise; even Ruby and Will, the usual party animals, are dragging. It doesn't look like the great night out is going to go as planned, but somehow, none of them seem to mind.
It's a good night instead. They stay in, drink more liquor than they should, and play all their old college drinking games. David is still the reigning Flip Cup champion, Leroy is the target of their wrath during F*ck You Pyramid, and Ruby is the only one who remembers all the rules in Kings.
Killian struggles to do his very best. The bruises and his general exhaustion from performing more physical activity than usual impedes his performance, and he and David wind up losing a few too many rounds of beer pong because his aim is quite poor.
Like the night before, the drinking slowly winds down. Killian's one of the first to head to bed—something that surprises even him—but he's achy and exhausted to his core. He changes into his flannel sleep clothes, downs a glass of water, and flops on his bed. He falls asleep in minutes.
It doesn't last.
It seems like it's only been seconds when he wakes to the sound of women's loud laughter. He tries to keep his eyes tightly shut - he's warm and sleepy, he could definitely fall back to sleep - but the girls—Ruby and Elsa, he realizes—are loud and very, very drunk.
They're giggling and talking loudly in the adjoining bathroom. Killian can hear every word they say about Elsa's on-again, off-again girlfriend. He has enough when Ruby starts to give her tips about how to better pleasure her girlfriend.
He buries his head under his pillow, pressing it to his ears. He doesn't wanna think about oral sex or any kind of sex when he's stuck like a love sick puppy to Emma Swan. His dick aches just thinking about how it would feel pleasuring Emma.
Killian groans. He wants to rut his hips against the mattress, stick his hand down his pants, and rub one out to the vision of his tongue licking her warm, wet clit, but he won't. He's thought about it before, envisioned how he would perform for her, how exactly he'd throw her legs over her shoulders, kiss every inch of her upper thighs until he reached her groin. How he'd lick her clit in quick, heavy strokes, suck her lower lips, and make her come.
But that was just for quick release. This is different. This is possible now that even David has concluded she's acting different. He wants her more than ever before, but now, especially that she's not even five feet down the hall, it feels a tiny bit awkward. (He'd much rather have the real thing than a fantasy).It feels perverse to jerk off to the thoughts of pleasuring her (to delete).
(Though the vision of her going down on him is almost just as good. She would sink to her knees, smirk on her pretty, painted red lips, and suck him dry. She would know just how to swirl her tongue around the tip, and exactly how to fondle his balls. In minutes - if he lasted that long - she would leave him breathless.)
Killian throws himself out of bed before he gets any more heated. He tears off his shirt and feels instantly cooler bare chested. His cock is semi-hard, thick and heavy in his briefs, but he tries his best to ignore it, taking a deep, grounding breath.
It's only one thirty; he hadn't even been asleep for forty minutes and now he's wide awake. He's not going to lay in his bed and wait. It never works. He needs something to calm down—maybe a drink. He opens his door just a little, listening for noise. It sounds like Ruby and Elsa have retreated to their shared room, and the rest of the group have probably gone to bed.
Killian's a little disappointed he won't be able to rejoin the party, but he heads downstairs anyway, hoping a nice, cool drink will be enough to will his boner away and put him to bed.
He makes his way to the kitchen, yawning and running fingers through his messy hair. He pads to the fridge, nudging it open and keeping it propped until he figures out if he wants more alcohol or a glass of water.
Killian finally decides on a glass of Leroy's good whiskey. He's pulling out the bottle and trying to find a clean glass when he spots the shadow. The shadow is definitely female, hair piled on top of her head and leaning against the wide glass window that has a beautiful view of the mountain range. It scares him at first—he thought everyone was asleep—but that quickly subsides when he realizes it's none other than Emma Swan.
He pours a second glass and thinks about saying something, but she doesn't even glance away from the window or make any notice of hearing him.
He sneaks up on her. "Penny for your thoughts?"
Emma jumps a mile, spinning around with wild eyes. She calms down when she sees him, smile blossoming on her face, visibly relieved. "Killian, you scared the crap out of me."
"Sorry, love." He holds out the glass in apology and she takes it. "You were just so lost in thought. I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's okay."
The silence resumes and Killian takes a seat in one of the cozy chairs positioned near the window. Emma's humming very quietly to herself, clutching the glass and staring out the bay window. He follows Emma's line of sight and takes in the natural beauty. There's not much artificial light and the sky is dark and clear, dotted with bright pinpricks of stars. The moon is a barely visible sliver on the horizon, and the mountains but the stars are bright and gorgeous. He wishes he knew how to find constellations so he could show her.
"I don't wanna be afraid."
Killian tears his eyes away from the window and turns to Emma. She's facing him, skin nearly translucent in the dark. She's still wearing her clothes from earlier after the hot tub: dark green sweater, skinny jeans and bare feet. She speaks again. "I don't want to be afraid anymore, Killian."
"Afraid of what, love?"
"Being left alone. Losing everything I am." She pauses, voice small. "You."
"Why would you be afraid of me?" He sighs, that old irritation building beneath his skin. "If it's about what happened—"
"No, no, Killian." She reaches forward, wobbling just a little bit and takes his hand. He's in shock immediately, sputtering gibberish at her. "Killian, that's not what I'm afraid of." She runs her free hand over her face, breathing out harshly. "I can't believe I'm telling you this."
"Telling me what?" Killian's mildly concerned. Emma's never this open, mouth shut like a steel trap whenever it comes to her feelings and deepest thoughts—unless she's drunk. "Emma, sweetheart, are you alright? Are you drunk?"
"Drunk?" she echos. "Maybe a little bit to get over...inhibitions."
"We should stop, then," he says abruptly, feeling crushed but knowing he'd only feel horribly guilty if he didn't stop himself now. "I don't want you to say or do anything you might regret."
He starts to get up and she stops him by slumping on the arm of his chair. "No, I know I won't say anything if I'm sober and I've been holding this in for too long."
"Emma, darling, please."
"I want to. I promise." She presses one hand to his stubble, running the tips of her fingers across his cheek. It's soothing. "I've done a lot of thinking over the last few weeks, especially after the cake testing and I've been trying to ignore how I feel about you."
"I'm just too hard to resist." He winks at her, giving her hand an extra squeeze to ease some of her tension. She smiles and he feels accomplished.
"Shut up. I'm trying to communicate with you. Mary Margaret just about beat it into my head."
"She's good at that."
She glares as he interrupts again, and he mimes zipping his lips. "Anyway, I know I was harsh in the beginning. I expected you not to change and you've surprised me."
He smiles broadly and she smacks him on his bare shoulder. He clasps her hand to his skin, interlocking their fingers and pulling her towards him. She tumbles into his lap, but she doesn't wiggle out. If anything, she takes a grounding breath and actually makes herself more comfortable in his lap.
"Never in a million years did I ever think I would hear those words come out of your mouth." Killian laughs. When he woke up he expected to drink alone, and fall back asleep. A tiresome event that been happening more than it should. "I didn't think you could feel the same way about me."
"I'm trying. The last real relationship I was in ended in heartbreak, pregnancy, and eventually, Neal's death. I'm not exactly a good candidate for a long term relationship."
"And you think I am?"
"Nope." She giggles. "It's been a really long time for both of us."
"Then, I guess we're perfect for each other."
She stops and stares him right in the eyes. In the dim light, it's hard to see, but her eyes are dilated, dark pupils lined with silvery green. "I think so."
His heart clenches. Every time he looks at her he gets chills, butterflies flutter madly in his stomach. If it wasn't so wonderful, it would be absolutely maddening. He likes her so, so much. "I will wait, Emma, as long as you need."
"I don't want to wait," she pouts. She bites her lip in frustration, squeezing her eyes shut. He thinks she's beautiful in the faint moonlight. "I'm sick of waiting. I have needs."
Flashes of her and Graham getting along swimmingly give him pause. "And I assumed you were taking care of them."
"We were friends with benefits, but not anymore."
Killian raises an eyebrow. "Do I want to know?"
"Nope." She pops then 'p' and doesn't elaborate.
"So, what do you want then, Emma? Tell me."
Killian wants her to say him. He wants to sweep her up in his arms and wreck her senseless every night for the rest of their lives, but his life isn't a fantasy, so he would just settle for being able to hold her in his arms. She's wobbly, drunk, and not thinking clearly. It's best that nothing happen between them.
...Right?
Emma licks her lips, staring into his eyes. "I want you."
Killian stands strong. "You're drunk, Emma. I can't take advantage of you. We should head to bed."
Strong hands grip his wrist. "I'm not that drunk. My head's clear, Killian, and I want you."
He takes too long. She lunges forward, pressing her mouth to his. It's instinctual to wrap one of his large hands around the back of her head. He draws her closer, deepening the kiss. There's a desperation in her, wet and wild, ravaging his mouth to find what's she's looking for. Kissing Emma is better than he remembered, even better than some of his private fantasies.
Emma tastes like liquor still, like the sweet cocktails Mary Margaret made her drink. She's not gentle, tongue roving immediately, hands clutching him like she needs something to hold onto. He kisses her back with everything he has before slowly breaking away and moving his hands to wrap around her.
In one smooth motion, he stands and lifts her into his arms. She wraps her legs smoothly around him.
Killian doesn't know how they make it to the bedroom without waking up the whole cabin. They stagger, laughing all the way, to Killian room—it's closer than Emma's—and throw open the door. It bangs against the wall, but they don't notice. He throws her on the bed, stripping his pants in one motion.
Emma reaches for him and laughs. He cups a protective hand around his dick, giving her a harsh look.
"No," she stops him, tugging his hand away. "I forgot that you would be uncircumcised." He tries to pull her hand away from her, pride bruised—most of his other conquests are excited that he's a foreigner—and intends to get her to focus on something else.
She stops him, eyes wide and lips painted in a yearning smirk. "I like it."
Emma pounces on him, hand reaching for his cock with the same determination that leads her on a regular basis. The first touch is almost too much; the way she holds his cock in her hand, loose as she travels but firm around the base. Killian can't take it. He pulls away, climbing on top of her. He helps her yank off her sweatshirt and pins her hands above her head so he can drag his body along hers without her interrupting.
She does anyway, planting her lips, those fucking lips, on his neck. She drags them across his scruff, hot breath trailing over his neck as she nips, kisses, and bites.
He's never wanted her so bad. Kissing and dry humping isn't possibly enough to satisfy him. He brushes his hand against the band of her pajama pants and waits until they pull apart for a second to ask, "May I?"
Emma pulls away from him just long enough to scramble to unbutton her pants. Creamy, pale skin appears and within seconds she's naked, laid out on the bed. She's beautiful, of course - every human body is - but Emma's lithe figure sends shivers right down his spine. She's muscular and lean with just a little belly left from her pregnancy with Henry.
He loves it, and doesn't resist the urge to touch or kiss every inch of her. Killian can feel the strength beneath her skin, the tight knitted muscle of her arms and thighs. He wonders wildly for a second how much she works out, if he could watch her, and if he could drag her into bed and fuck her senseless afterwards.
He's nearly salivating.
She's shaking beneath his lips, spreading her legs and reaching her own hand between them. He's entranced by the way she touches herself, follows along until he pushes her hand away and digs in himself.
Emma's squirming in seconds and he switches his fingers for his tongue. She's slick and wet as he tongues her, swirling and licking everywhere he can reach. Emma whines, eyes fluttering. She whispers instructions as he gets her closer. Emma hasn't even touched him and he's hard as a rock.
When she comes, twitching and panting, he nearly does too. He's thankful that he's able to hold off, but it's a very close call, when one of his dreams is laying in front of him limp and satisfied.
Emma returns the favor, wrapping a firm hand around his dick when he slides beside her on his queen bed. The sensation rocks him, makes him suck in his breath and try to focus on anything else. She swirls her hand just right, tightening around the base and sliding her hand up to the tip.
She follows his lead, replacing her hand with her mouth. Emma licks, sucks, and swirls her tongue in all the right ways.
It only takes bare minutes before he throws her off of him and jumps off the bed, digging through his duffel. Emma leans up on his pillows, long legs spread while she waits. Triumphantly, he finds a condom and turns back to her. Wrapping his own hand around his slick cock, he rolls it on and jumps back in bed.
The sex itself doesn't last very long. They rock, moan, and thrust together, eyes locked and lips pressed together. They roll around in the bed, switching to their favorite positions, and the intensity is incredible, maybe even beyond what he's ever felt. She's dripping wet, even with the condom, and when she starts moaning, loudly crescendoing as he thrusts, he's done for.
She slides off of him, and he cleans himself up while she redresses. They don't speak and Killian tries not to feel awkward with his small, flaccid dick hanging out.
"Stay the night?" he asks.
She stops mid-tugging up her pants and turns to him, biting her lip to hide a smile. She doesn't answer right away. "Not gonna kick me out?"
"Definitely not."
He pulls his briefs back on, sliding into one side of the bed. He waits until she kicks off her pants and tosses her clothes onto the small wooden chair by the dresser to turn off the dim light by the bed. She flops into the bed beside him.
Killian turns on his side, facing her. "Alright, Swan?"
"Yeah, I'm alright." She scoots closer to him, back to his chest. He presses close, intertwining a leg and wrapping an arm around her stomach. He thinks about reaching up to clutch her breast, but he thinks that might be a little too much. Killian pauses, purposely twitching his dick—her butt is pressed against him—and thinks, a hand on her breast is nothing.
He does just that and settles comfortably in his pillows. He and Emma lapse into the silence.
It's almost two-thirty in the morning and he's awake trying to process. Killian's stomach is still full of butterflies, heart giving him palpitations because Emma is laying in bed beside him.
He's had probably hundreds of one night stands, all of which have ended with either him leaving or her kicking him out of bed. Killian's struck with wonder. They can sleep together all night.
Of course they'll need to talk in the morning, but for now everything is wonderful.
Despite her trust issues, Emma has no problem sleeping. Killian had wondered if she would be tentative, or if she'd make excuses and head back to her room, but Emma surprises him. She passes out within a few minutes and later, when Killian is daydreaming about their first vacation together, she snorts in her sleep and rolls out of his arms. She nudges him out of the way with her legs and spreads across the bed.
He's strangely endeared by her, and it takes a minute for him to shake himself out of the urge to push her blonde hair out of her face and maybe stroke the soft skin of her cheek. Killian doesn't want to wake her though - none of them have slept enough lately - and instead follows her lead: flops on his belly, and clears his mind.
For the first time in months, Killian falls asleep easily and worry-free.
"Oh, Killian, I just can't imagine our lives any different."
She's wearing what looks like an old Southern bell dress, tight white corset leading to a billowing cornflower blue and white skirt. She can barely fit in the chair opposite him. Perched on her head, hiding half of her blonde curls and shadowing her face, is a large, wide-rimmed sunhat.
"My dearest, do not cry." He speaks in a nearly identical Southern accent. It doesn't seem odd at first, but then as he continues, it sounds worse to his ears. He leans forward, pushing aside his teacup and a plate of biscuits so he can grasp her gloved hands.
"I will always love you, but I can't stay."
"Killian." It's not Emma's voice that says his name and he jerks his head toward the doorway of the parlor. David is standing, hands behind his back dressed sharply in a tuxedo. "Killian."
"Killian!"
He startles awake. There's a large lump by his leg, tapping him incessantly and although he wants to turn away, there's another lump on his other side. He groans. He knows the voice now. "David, when did you adopt such a large, annoying cat?"
"Hey! I am not a cat!" Mary Margaret pokes him hard in the stomach and he turns back around, swatting her. "It's almost eleven. We have a long day ahead of us and no one is up yet. You were just the first stop. We're heading to the spa soon."
"Right, right." He buries his head back under his pillow and ignores Mary Margaret's heavy sigh. David says something, but Killian doesn't hear it, pressing his cheek into the mattress and trying his best to recall his dream. It was a weird one he remembered that much. Leroy was in it—dressed as a old timey criminal but he didn't know why, David was there in his wedding attire, and Emma was there in a huge dress and she—
Emma.
Emma.
His heart is pounding in his chest. How could he forget about Emma sleeping in his bed, resting her head on his pillow, tucking her cold feet between his? The last bit of his sleepiness is drained out of him and panic sets in. Where is Emma? He can't smell her perfume. He reaches over and the sheets beside him are cool. He knows that she isn't beside him or Mary Margaret would have cried in joy, but he is still filled with panic.
There's an easy explanation, he knows that. Emma's room is right down the hall. She must have woken early in the morning, and crept back to her room to sleep without bothering him.
Swallowing hard, he slowly turns over without opening his eyes. He knows Mary Margaret is gone, the lump at his one side is gone. David, however, is still sitting beside him. "Rough night? You look like you didn't sleep at all."
"That fall, mate. I messed up my back pretty bad and I had a hard time sleeping." He sits up and accepts the hot cup of coffee David or Mary Margaret had placed on his nightstand when he was buried in his pillows.
"Ahh, you should have taken something," David says mildly. His eyes are narrowed, watching Killian carefully. "But I don't think that's it, huh?" When Killian doesn't answer, he chuckles. "I knew it. So who was it?"
Killian nearly chokes on his coffee. As he coughs, he thinks about denying it, but there's no one in the world that knows him better than David. He puts the coffee down and turns to his best friend. "Emma."
David starts. "No, really, Killian, honestly. I was your roommate. I've seen you the morning after more times than any woman. Don't joke like that."
Killian smirks. To be honest, he doesn't know quite how it happened himself, but he's always been a risk-taker and he helped Emma take a risk last night. It was a good decision and he doesn't regret it one bit. "I'm not lying, Dave. I was with Emma." David is stunned and doesn't speak. "Things are different. You saw it yourself."
"She is acting different," David muses. He takes a sip of his own coffee, musing on the thought.
"I can't believe it, mate," Killian says, softly. "David, you know how I've felt about her and it happened. We spent the night together. She slept beside me. She confessed that she had feelings about me too." Killian runs his fingers through his already messy hair, heaving a great sigh. "It feels like a dream."
It feels good that something wonderful for him has come out of these last few months. He can't believe that his brother has been dead for less than six months and all of the awfulness—the despair and pain of losing his only living blood relative—feels less overwhelming, less painful with the knowledge that there are good things coming to him. And Emma Swan is one of them.
"I can't believe it, mate."
David clears his throat. "Me neither. Killian."
Killian can't believe it. All of the worries he had last night seem far away. When he meets up with Emma for breakfast before hitting the spa, they'll talk it out. He's not worried about what will come. He's charmed her once: there's not doubt that he can sweep her off her feet.
He puts his mug on the nightstand, throwing off his covers and stretching. He bounds to the windows with a new pep in his step and throws open the curtains. It's a grey, dreary, cold February day, but it doesn't matter to Killian. "Maybe things are turning around, David. Isn't it a great day, Dave?"
David isn't look at him though, staring instead into the depths of his dark, nearly black coffee. Just as Killian had knew that day that something wonderful had happened (their engagement), he knew today that something absolutely miserable had happened.
There's a pit in his stomach when he asks, "David? Why isn't it going to be a good day?"
David doesn't answer right away, scrunching his face and scratching the back of his head. "Emma left."
"What?"
David explains. Something about needing to get Henry to a play date, or needing to catch up with work, but all of it goes in one ear and out the other. Killian hears nothing but pitiful excuses.
"She left?"
He must have interrupted David. His friend trails off, a tired, worried expression on his face. He looks much older than barely thirty. He takes a deep breath and tries again. "This morning before anyone was up. She left me and Mary Margaret a note. We just thought something came up. You know how it is."
"Yeah." He nods agreeably. Killian's been on the receiving end of Mary Margaret's complaints and worries when David forgivably had to leave her during a dinner for police business. He sits down unsteadily at the end of the bed. "Why weren't you or Leroy called away too?"
David can't meet his eyes. "I don't know."
Killian can practically hear David connecting the dots for Emma's departure, and he can't deny it hurts. He feels emasculated and stupid now; he thought they shared a moment. He thought that it meant something to her.
"Fuck." Killian feels run through, empty and torn apart. He had thought about it before that Emma wouldn't be able to handle it, that she would dump and run like he's done so many times before, but he didn't think it would happen, especially after last night.
"I don't think you should worry about it yet," David assures him. He clasps a heavy hand on Killian's shoulder, in an effort to be comforting. "We don't know what happened. Maybe our boss needed her to finish up paperwork or Henry needed her. We can't know."
"Right as always, Dave," Killian says with a glint of anger. He doesn't believe it, but it's the best he can offer. He knows, deep down what this whole situation means. "And if it is about me? That she—"
The unspoken doesn't want me hangs in the air and David promptly ignores it. "Then we will figure it out. Give it some time, my friend. If it is about you, then we'll handle it."
Handle it, like Emma's rejection is just another problem. Killian takes a deep breath, squashing the achy hurt and allowing his always available anger to rise. "I don't want to give her time to figure it out,"he seethes. "I want to know now."
"Unless you plan on leaving a bunch of angry voicemails that she won't answer—because of actual paperwork or because she's avoiding you—you're not going to get too far," David says matter of factly. "Give it some time. Get dressed. Have a massage and try to relax. When we get home, we'll deal with it."
"Fine," Killian huffs, throwing his hands in the air.
"Come on. We'll meet in the kitchen in a few," David says. He gets to his feet, collecting their dirtied coffee cups as he goes. Killian notices that even David is still in his flannel pajamas. David starts backing out of the room, but stops and smirks at Killian. "Just think: you'll be half-naked and getting a massage by a beautiful woman."
He tries to smile as he dresses and packs up his things—they're leaving the resort right after to head home, but he can't quite muster any enthusiasm. Killian is sure that Emma left because of him. He tries to text her, just a casual hey but he gets no response back. Despite David's warning, he tries to call her too. It goes unanswered. He had thought that they would have a talk that they would have some kind of grown up discussion and figure out what they were.
He's not in an especially good mood when he meets the others. Everyone is curious about Emma, and his sour mood is indicative of something gone wrong. Most of the group, once they get handle of his mood—and after Mary Margaret shares that Emma had to leave early—steer clear of him. Robin tries to make him laugh, but when it ultimately fails, claps him on the shoulder and leaves him to stew on his own.
His massage is not at all relaxing, and when he heads back to the city, stuffed in David's tiny sedan instead of Emma's yellow bug, his mood only gets worse.