Have a little Christmas on your September Saturday night :)
She's never had a boyfriend before. Always the ugly duckling and the odd one out. Always the orphan without a friend, let alone the kind of friend that actually wants to, like, kiss her and spend time with her and take her on dates.
Killian's the best at coming up with dates that don't cost a lot of money because neither of them has any in the first place. He takes her stargazing, cooks her dinner at his and his brother's apartment (Liam's always a good sport about it, ruffling his little brother's hair and going in the other room to watch soccer; or football, as they always remind her), he's picks her flowers from the Widow Lucas's garden (with her express permission, mind you). But most of all he spends time with her. Listens to her. Makes her laugh.
He makes her happy. Beyond happy.
When Christmas comes around they've officially been dating for almost two months, and it doesn't seem like a long time, and it isn't, but to them it feels like an eternity, like there was never a point in their lives where they didn't know each other, where they didn't love one another.
Love. She hasn't told him yet, that she thinks she might love him. That she thinks he's it for her. Her one and only true love. She never believed in that type of thing before, never believed in her own happy ending, but with Killian, it doesn't seem miles away anymore, it seems like it's here.
She's happy. And he's a very large part of why.
"What are you doing for Christmas?" He asks her on their last walk home from school before winter break. He's got her gloved hand tightly wound with his, idly rubbing his thumb along her own.
Emma shrugs, "Ruth's cooking some big Christmas brunch and then Mary Margaret is coming over later in the evening to bake cookies and exchange gifts with David."
"So you're free for dinner then, aye?" He nudges her with his shoulder, a wide grin on his face and Emma smiles back, free and happy.
"What do you have planned, Jones?"
"Liam has to work Christmas evening, says that the docking yard needs a set of eyes to watch over it all, make sure nothing goes awry, and no ones around trying to cause any type of disturbance or foul play. I thought maybe you could come over and I could make you dinner? Watch a movie?"
"That sounds like it could be arranged."
He laughs heartily, disconnecting their hands and flinging one arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to his side, the rough slide of wool against wool sending a shiver down her spine. She catches his hand where it rests on her shoulder, bringing the back of it to her mouth and kissing it lightly. He beams down at her, before tugging her even closer, and pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.
There's snow falling and it's well below freezing. Her socks are wet and her nose is a vibrant red. Her ears are numb and there's' a burning in her legs from all the exertion, but when she looks at his face, with snowflakes collecting in his thick eyelashes, framing his blue, blue eyes, she's never felt warmer.
When Christmas Eve arrives Killian calls her right before she falls asleep, letting her know exactly what time to come over tomorrow, and promising her that she won't regret it. (She already knows she won't)
"Merry Christmas, Emma." He whispers right before hanging up, and she swears it's like he's here, his breath warm on her ear.
"Merry Christmas, Killian." It's breathy and quiet, barely audible.
It sounds a lot like 'I love you,".
She arrives at Killian's around eight in the evening, and it's been snowing non-stop for hours. The roads are covered in snow and she almost fell twice on her way over, slipping and sliding along the narrow sidewalks.
She's wearing snow boots but she brought a bag with a nicer pair of gold flats in them. She picked her outfit tonight to be particularly festive, with a bright red skirt (a big bow cinching at the waist because Mary Margaret helped her pick it out) and a long-sleeved, white lace shirt. Her hair is curled in big, loose waves, and she kept her makeup light but did put on a shine of red lip gloss. Killian told her once that red was his favorite color, so she's hoping that she's able to pull it off.
When she gets to the house Killian opens the door before she can even knock, and the warmth from the foyer floods out onto the porch, brightening her face and warming her heart all at once.
She can faintly hear some Christmas music in the background, but she can't make it out and frankly she doesn't want to as Killian picks her up in his arms, spinning her around before setting her back down, capturing her lips with his own. He pulls back quickly, much to Emma's dismay, and her feelings on the ending of the kiss must be obvious because he chuckles at her, before sweetly kissing her forehead, and ushering her through the door.
"You look stunning, love." He whispers in her ear, and she feels herself blush as red as the skirt she's wearing.
"Thank you," She whispers, not quite meeting his eyes, still so unused to being complimented so often.
The house smells delicious, and Emma's mouth starts to water instantly. She thought she was still full from Ruth's massive brunch, but apparently not.
"What are you cooking, master chef?"
He smirks at her, winking before turning back around and leading her toward the kitchen. "It's a surprise my dear Swan."
Her heart stutters (as it always does) at the possessive way in which he says her name. My Swan. My dearest Emma. My darling. All of them make her heart swoop and her mind scream at her to just tell him. Tell him that she loves him.
She plops herself down on a stool in the kitchen, watching as Killian goes to check something in the oven. That's when she notices that he's wearing an apron. An apron with lots, and lots of candy canes on it.
She starts laughing before she can stop herself because her big, strong, flirty Killian Jones is wearing an apron with candy canes and...little rudolphs on it.
He turns towards her with a look of confusion on his face but he catches on quickly.
"Oi! It's not wise to laugh at a man who's cooking you dinner, darling."
But now she's bent over, tears leaking from her eyes, only because he looks so perfectly affronted by her laughter.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gets out in between large, laboring breaths. "I was just caught off guard is all."
He scoffs, a look of mock anger on his face, before turning back around to close the oven, and now she's worried that he might actually be angry at her, that it's not mock anger at all, but very, very real anger. Her laughing stops abruptly, and she's berating herself viciously because she ruins everything. This is why no one ever wanted her because she's such a total, and complete fuck up.
He turns around at her silence eventually, and she can't stop the tears that are leaking from her eyes, because dammit she's ruined Christmas.
"Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?" He asks, his voice soft but laced with worry, and he makes his way around the small island in the kitchen, coming to stand in front of where she sits on the stool, and his arms go around her immediately, and he's still got oven mitts on, and she's ruining everything.
She tries to push him away, but he just holds on tighter, cradling her head against his chest and flinging one of his oven mitts onto the counter so that he can card his fingers through her hair.
"Shh, it's alright love, it's alright." His comforting words and lilting voice just have her sobbing, her whole body shaking and this is so stupid, she thinks. He's holding you! He's not angry! But her stupid, petty mind can't wrap itself around that thought, instead, the mantra of 'not good enough, stupid, stupid, stupid' is just repeating over and over again in her head.
"Darling, what's wrong?" He sounds a bit panicked now like he doesn't know what to do and he's still running his hand through her hair, his other arm wrapped tightly around her.
"I'm sorry," she finally gets out, in between hiccups and sniffles. Killian grabs a tissue from a table in the corner, using it to gently dab around her eyes before handing it to her, letting her blow her nose while he rubs her back gently.
"What are you sorry for, lass? You've done nothing wrong."
"I laughed at your apron, and you're probably mad at me, and I wasn't trying to make fun of you, it was just a funny image because you're so cocky and flirty and," He chuckles at that, but otherwise stays silent, letting her continue, "and I don't think it's weird that you're wearing it, because you're being so kind and you're cooking me dinner and you look very handsome wearing it! But I didn't mean to make you angry and I thought I'd ruined the night and then I couldn't stop crying and I actually did ruin the night and I'm just a mess." Her eyes started leaking again before she could get all the way through the explanation, and he's kissing her forehead gently while she silently cries.
"You think I look handsome?" He says, laughter in his voice and she hiccups a laugh around her tears, hitting him on the chest for being so incorrigible.
"Emma I wasn't mad at you, I was just teasing, darling." He lifts her chin up with his finger and looks down at her with his eyes bright and blue. "You could never ruin Christmas. My Christmas is perfect with you just being here."
She smiles up weakly at him, and he returns it with one of his own, a smile soft and gentle, full lips and dimples flashing.
He leans down to kiss her softly, his lips sliding against her own, and she feels light and whole and happy.
"I'm sorry," she mutters once more when they separate, but he shushes her immediately.
"Nothing to apologize for, my love." He turns around after kissing her on the forehead, checking the oven again, and so he doesn't catch the way she stiffens when he calls her his love.
Maybe she heard him wrong. Maybe he never said the "my" part, because he's called her love multiple times but he's never called her his love.
She doesn't have much more time to reflect on it though because before she knows it Killian is ushering her into the dining room, which is really just a tiny alcove off the kitchen, with a table big enough for maybe three people. She's seen the space before, has eaten dinner with both him and Liam there, but she gasps when she sees it this time.
The table is covered with a white cloth, and there're candles lit in the center, the lights flickering off of them and casting a glow onto both of their faces. He's set the table properly, with two salad plates, dinner plates, silverware, and even cloth napkins. She's not sure how he did all of this, but she turns toward him and he's smiling at her shyly, scratching behind his ear.
"It's some of my mother's things. We tried to save all that we could, and well, these were the plates and napkins that she used when we had Christmas dinner back home." He shrugs like it's not a big deal when it really, absolutely is.
"I love it." She says, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight, trying not to cry again over how absolutely sweet and amazing this silly, wonderful, loving, beautiful boy is. "Thank you."
He's beaming at her when he pulls away to go and get the food. "Anything for my Swan." He kisses her cheek swiftly, hurrying back into the kitchen and leaving her to stand and stare at all that he's done for her. She's wringing her hands tightly because she has to tell him, she's not sure she can hold it in any longer. She loves him. She loves Killian Jones. Loves him so much she might burst if she doesn't tell him.
He comes back seconds later, carrying out a bowl of salad that he sets down on the table before pulling her chair back for her, pushing it in and kissing her shoulder once he's done. She shivers at the contact, and he's got a smirk on his face as he serves the salad.
They eat dinner slowly, Emma telling him about her morning and the very large brunch that Ruth made. Telling him about how much David freaked out over getting a gift for Mary Margaret, and how he ended up just hand making and painting her an ornament that said "Our first Christmas", and how Mary Margaret cried for a solid twenty minutes after he gave it to her.
Killian laughs along with her, holding her hand across the table from time to time. The dinner is fantastic. Killian used one of his mother's old recipes for pork loin, stuffed with blue cheese and pears and rosemary, and he made mashed potatoes and asparagus, tying it all together with a homemade apple cake. (extra cinnamon).
After dinner, he asks her if she wants to watch a movie, to which she quickly agrees, but wishes that she'd brought more comfortable clothes. Killian notices her hesitation, because of course he does, and offers her a pair of his pajama pants and a sweatshirt, and that's how she ends up laying down on Killian's bed, wearing red flannel pajama bottoms, a large gray sweatshirt, and watching "It's a Wonderful Life" with two mugs of hot chocolate and cinnamon resting on the nightstand.
Killian strung Christmas lights on his back wall, and every time she looks up from where they're lying she sees a multi-colored world of blues and reds and greens and pinks, and she smiles so that her teeth can be a rainbow too.
He's got her hand clasped in his own and he's rubbing nonsense patterns on her skin, when she just turns to him, during the prom scene, and lays it all out on the line.
"I love you." She whispers, eyes watching as his widen before turning toward her. He sits up almost immediately, before hovering over her, hands planted on opposite sides of her head.
"You mean that?" he asks, and she can barely hear him over the sound of "Lasso the Moon", but she nods anyway, biting her lip and trying not to grin at the look on his face.
"Oh, Emma," He says, before leaning down to brush his lips against her own, "I love you."
He kisses her again and again and again, and things get heated quickly until his fingers are inching under her (his) sweater and she can feel her breaths getting shallower because god does she want this.
He looks at her imploringly, asking permission and she acquiesces, nodding her head swiftly before helping him take the sweatshirt off, leaving her in nothing but her bra, soft cotton and patterned in snowflakes. He chuckles at that, tracing the edges of the material, making her shiver.
"Seems I'm not the only one with a fondness for seasonal patterns."
"Shut up," She says, before reaching behind her and unsnapping the clasp, pulling the fabric away from her chest and letting it drop to the floor. That does, in fact, shut him up.
He reaches for her breast and he's being so, so gentle, cupping both of them in his hands before leaning back down to kiss her.
In no time they're both devoid of clothing, fumbling around one another and trying to make everything go perfectly. They struggle with the condom for what feels like hours but eventually they figure it out and they can't stop touching one another.
When they finally come together Emma's looking up at the lights on the ceiling, wondering if seeing stars is really such a cliché after all.
After, when the t.v.'s muted and the lights are off (albeit the Christmas ones, still shining brightly on the ceiling), and their tangled together, skin against skin, his arm around her and his lips muttering a string of 'I love you's' into her neck, she can faintly hear the music from downstairs that he forgot to shut off. And as the lines of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" drift up the stairs towards them, Frank Sinatra's voice crooning on and on, she thinks that maybe yeah, there's merit to this song, to this holiday, because even though she has to get up and go home soon, get up and leave Killian, she feels, for once, like all her troubles are truly miles (and miles) away.
It's been a month since the night in the bar. It's been a month since Killian told her that he wants her. It's been a month, and nothing's really changed. She thought he might come to her and do as he promised, explain to her why he left her all those years ago in the first place, but it's been complete radio silence from his end unless she initiates it first (which she rarely does).
She sees him on her way out the door, sees him on her way in, sometimes catches him on her lunch break as she comes home for a quick snack, muttering 'hello's' and 'how are you?'s' but other than that, nothing.
The one instance she can remember where the spoke more than a few words to one another was Thanksgiving day as she left to go over to Mary Margaret and David's. She'd seen him in the hallway, just entering his apartment.
"Hey." She'd said, surprising him as he turned around, one large brown bag clutched against his chest, cradled in his arm. "What are your plans for the holiday?"
He'd chuckled at that, "'Fraid I don't have plans, good ol' Brit that I am."
"Ah, I forgot," she'd said, a smile on her face as she had absentmindedly jangled her keys in her hands. "You poor English men don't get to celebrate the glorious holiday of Thanksgiving. You're all missing out, seriously."
He'd laugh at that that, a big, real, laugh. "Aye, can't ruin the holiday for you Yanks, so we'll just let you have your fun."
"Well, Happy Thursday then!" She had called as she made her way down the first few steps.
She had vaguely heard him call back to her, something akin to "And the happiest of Thanksgivings to you, Swan." before she'd heard his apartment door open and shut.
Her Thanksgiving was okay.
A week before Christmas she gets a call from David, letting her know that he and Mary Margaret had a late change of Christmas plans and that they now had to drive up to New York to spend Christmas with Mary Margaret's step-mother and her new fiance.
"You guys are seriously abandoning me for Christmas?" There isn't much fire behind her words, more like a joking lilt, but her heart plummets at the thought of being alone on the holiday.
"You can always come with, Emma, but it's going to be rather boring and it's a really long drive."
Emma hates car rides, especially if she isn't driving, she always gets sick when the drive is more than an hour long.
"I guess this means I'll be working the Christmas shift?"
"Just the day shift, you can just keep your cell phone on at night, just in case, though you probably won't need it, nothing happen on Christmas, only Christmas Eve."
"I have the Christmas Eve shift too, right?"
"Please?" David begs, trying to convey his puppy dog face through the telephone, and of course, Emma will work the shift, she just loves giving her brother a hard time.
"Yeah, yeah, have fun in NY."
"You're the best, Emma, seriously."
"I know, I know." she waves off his compliments, even if he can't see her physically doing so.
Emma hangs up the phone with both a sense of relief and a sense of disappointment. She hasn't been a fan of Christmas for a very, very long time, so not having to fake happiness around her brother and sister-in-law is partially a godsend, but being alone, well that never feels great, no matter her feelings for the holiday.
She sighs, going back to watching her movie, begging and praying and hoping that this holiday season goes by quickly.
On Christmas, Eve Emma spends the entire day out answering calls. Someone crashed their truck into a mailbox, someone had a wreath stolen, someone else stole someone's wreath. It was a disaster day, one of the worst Christmas Eve's she'd ever worked. She gets home around one in the morning on Christmas day, settling down in her bed for a five-hour nap before getting up once more to start another holiday shift.
By noon on Christmas day, she's bored out of her mind, flipping through her fifth Better Homes magazine, scoffing at the ridiculous decorations that some people put in their houses. She's still got nine hours to go and she feels like she might be going insane.
When 12:30 rolls around she's literally damning David to hell when there's a knock on her office door.
"Deputy," comes the lilting accent of Killian Jones, all dressed in leather and boots, looking at her with an amused grin on his face. "Bad form to damn your coworkers, and family members, to the eternal suffering I would say, and on Christmas no less."
Emma sits up straight from her slouched position, trying not to look like such a complete slob. "Yeah, well, he should think about that before sticking me with both holiday shifts. What's that?" She points at the bag that Killian's holding in his right hand.
"Ah, this," he proclaims, loud and boisterous like he's announcing some grand entree at a fancy restaurant rather than a brown sack of most likely greasy and unhealthy food. "Is some homemade lunch choices for Storybrooke's finest and most dedicated officer of the law."
He sets the bag down on her desk, smirking down on the stack of eight Better Home magazines, "We have, grilled cheese," before he can finish she's reaching for the tin-foil wrapped square, dying for some bread and cheese, but he pulls it out of her reach, 'Ah, ah, ah, Swan, patience. Let me explain the damn dish before you grab at it."
"Fine," Emma mutters under her breath, looking at him with pouting eyes, to which he just chuckles at before getting back to his one-man, theatrical lunch show.
"Grilled cheese, made with brioche, cheddar cheese, a hint of provolone, and the finest turkey that you can get on short notice from the deli." Her mouth is practically watering at the prospect of eating that delicious sandwich, but Killian just sets in back in the bag before continuing. "A bag of potato chips from aisle number 7 in our very own local grocery, and...drum roll please, Swan."
Emma sighs dramatically, annoyed that she's not eating the food yet, before lightly tapping her fingers down on her desk, creating the drum roll he so specifically asked for.
"Home baked, with love and holiday spirit, your favorite, chocolate chip and toffee cookies."
Emma literally squeals at that, jumping up from her seat and grabbing the package of what looks to be half a dozen cookies from Killian's grip.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." she says through a mouthful of cookie.
"You're welcome, love," Killian says through his laughter, but the moment he sees her flinch at his word choice his smile and his laughter disappears in record time like it's very own Christmas miracle.
"Sorry." She says before she can stop herself, because that apology is not sincere in any way. She's not sorry for how his flippant use of the word bothers her, because it's not her fault that it does, it's his.
"Not a problem, Swan." He says through clenched teeth, and she rolls her eyes at his words because he shouldn't be angry at her, he has no right to be angry at her.
"You can't honestly be mad at me for that? Like it's somehow my fault that you ruined me for any type of love?" She knows that's not true, that there's been a long string of people that have ruined her for love. All those families that gave her up, Neal, Graham, Walsh, all of them ruined her, but Killian did too, he was just one of the first.
He breathes in sharply through his nose at her accusation. His jaw clenched and eyes brimming with fury. "I'll leave you to it, then." He turns to go, but Emma's not going to be left feeling like shit like it's her fault somehow that now the day is ruined.
"You're honestly mad at me right now? If you should be mad at anyone it should be you!" She yells at him as he takes two steps down the hallway, but at her words, he turns quickly toward her again.
"I bloody well am angry with myself Emma! I've been furious with myself for over a decade now!" His voice has raised considerably and she's half afraid that the station's next door neighbors, Storybrooke's loan servicer, is going to file a complaint but then she remembers it's Christmas day and no one's around, all the other stores and shops are empty.
"Angry with yourself because now you can't fix things with me so easily? Can't rope me back in with your pretty words? Angry with yourself because I'm not falling for it anymore?" Lies, lies, lies, she's still down on the ground, she's been fallen since her senior year and there's no coming back up. She loves Killian, she always has, and always will, but she's just so angry that he ended that, and she can't stop the words from coming, from spewing out of her mouth like vomit.
"Angry with myself because I bloody well let the woman I love go, and I can't fix it! Because she'll never trust me again, and I gave up the best thing in my life in exchange for-" He stops then, breathing heavy, chest heaving before his face falls, and his eyes start to water. She feels like crying too, might do it actually, but he continues then, stopping any of her thoughts from coming to fruition, "Merry Christmas, Emma." He turns then, walks down the hallway and leaves, and she can hear the door slam just as she falls back into her chair, cradling her face in her hands and trying desperately not to cry.
It takes her twenty minutes or so to get her act together, pushing her fight with Killian to the back of her mind. She wishes she hadn't started it, but she's so angry at him. He said he wanted her, but he hasn't made an effort to prove that until now.
She's not sure if she should eat the food he's made, but her stomach gets the better of her and she reaches for the bag that's sitting on the edge of her desk.
She reaches inside for the sandwich and the chips, but her fingers brush to paper. She looks down into the bag, grabbing a piece of lined notebook paper, with her name written elegantly on the outside of it, all looping letters and dark ink.
She feels anger sweeping over her, that he's writing her letters now like they're together or like he has a right to. She opens the paper quickly, not really caring about what's inside (or at least telling herself that).
Emma,
Merry Christmas, darling. I'm sorry if I've been a bit distant this past month but it seems like you needed your space. I wanted to give that to you. But now I think that maybe that wasn't the best course of action. I'd like to spend more time with you lass like to be your friend again, like to be worthy of you again. So I'll shorten that distance for you, and I'm hoping you'll do that same. I'd do anything for you Emma, hell, I'd lasso the moon for you.
Merry Christmas, Swan,
Killian
Emma can feel tears in her eyes immediately, and she clutches the notes to her chest as they fall. She wishes, wishes desperately that things could be different. That he'd never left her, that they could have spent years growing together rather than apart, because she loves him, more than he'll ever know, but she's so, so scared. And if she heard correctly he just told her he loves her too, not loved, but loves her.
The woman I love.
She finishes her lunch with one hand, note crushed tightly in the other, she's not letting it go.
By nine she's off, and she's heading back to the bar.
The lights are off when she gets there, but she's able to slip inside easily, locking the door behind her and making her way up the steps.
There's no light coming out from underneath Killian's door so she just heads to her own, collapsing back on her bed and falling asleep to the sound of her refrigerator humming.
No Frank Sinatra this year.
She wakes up to the sound of Killian crying, whimpering in his sleep. She bolts upright and her heart breaks as she looks at the clock and realizes it's only 11:00, still Christmas, and she's only been asleep for about an hour.
Emma thinks she might ignore it, that maybe he'll wake up and he'll be okay, but as the minutes tick by he's still thrashing about and she makes the decision to get up and go over there.
His door is unlocked, and as she pads her way into his apartment a small gasp escapes her. There are Christmas lights everywhere. Strung from the ceiling and hanging from the mantle. Brightly colored orbs decorating his apartment.
He's bathed in rainbow as she makes her way over to his bed, watching as he continues to whimper, and he's clutching his stump to his chest, like it's in pain, like he's in pain.
"Killian," she whispers, but it doesn't wake him and she knows she's going to have to actually touch him to wake him up. "Killian, please wake up." She shakes his shoulder gently and he wakes with a start, nearly knocking her off the bed.
"Emma?" he asks, catching sight of her and she nods in response, to which he sighs heavily. "I'm sorry for waking you again, bloody hell, I'm sorry." He runs his hand through his hair aggressively.
"Hey, it's okay." She says, laying a hand on his forearm. He looks down on her hand on his skin and she suppresses a shiver at the way he's looking at her like he wants nothing more than to hold her drag her back into his bed.
She wants that too.
"I'm sorry about earlier, Swan, I shouldn't have said any of that, I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that and-"
"Did you mean it?"
"Mean what?" He asks, confusion evident on his face, brow furrowed.
"The part where you said I'm the woman you love, present-tense." She looks down, not able to meet his eyes.
"Oh Swan," He tips her chin up, making her look at him and his eyes are sincere, his voice steady, "I've loved you since the day I met you. Since before I even knew your name."
She lets out a sigh that sounds just like a sob and then she's leaning in, touching her lips to his.
He sighs against her mouth, tugging her closer until she falls on top of him, and then he's kissing her fiercely, running his tongue along the seam of her lips, begging her to open for him, and when she does his tongue slides into her mouth, tasting her and she whimpers at the sensation while he groans, their harsh breaths filling the air.
She moves to take his shirt off and he stops her before she can get it past his midsection, "Emma, are you sure?"
She's silent for a beat before she whispers her confirmation against his lips: "I don't want the moon, Killian, I just want you."
That's all the confirmation that he needs before he's tugging her own shirt off, moving to unclasp her bra before he realizes she's not wearing one and he groans loudly at the sight, taking both her breasts into his hands.
"God, you're so beautiful, so bloody gorgeous." He says against the skin of her neck as he presses kisses there, and she can't respond, can't compliment him either because she's too lost in the feel of him, in the way he's touching her and she wants to drown in it, wants it to never end.
He finally gets the rest of his clothes off while he works on devoiding her of her pants, pulling her underwear down until she's bare before him and usually she'd be slightly embarrassed by now, maybe a little shy, but not with him, never with Killian.
He kisses his way down her body, tasting her and making her come alive with all the things that he's doing, all the ways that he's making her sing. But she knows how to make him sing too, and when she takes him into her mouth he's at loss for words, mumbling incoherent praise at her.
And when they come together she feels like she could fly, and when he actually sets her alight, with words of love on his lips, he follows shortly after, burying his face into her neck.
They're both damp and sweaty, clinging to each other under the covers of his bed, and the lights on the ceiling are illuminating their sweat-soaked skin, and it's then, while he's looking down at her, slowly drifting to sleep, that she lets the words out, that she tells him the truth. And yes she's giving him every ounce of power that she has, all the power that he can use to break her, but she doesn't care anymore.
"I love you," She whispers against his lips, eyes drooping in sleep.
He responds enthusiastically, eyes bright and grin wide (he doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the night).
Neither of them gets to sleep until it's well past Christmas day.