When the heinous time known as 'morning' came around, Emma was surprised at how warm she was. It was only after a few seconds of consciousness did she realise that she was not alone in bed, but a very naked man was behind her, a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Confusion washed over her as her sleep addled brain tried to make sense of the situation: it was morning, she never stayed until morning and this was definitely her bedroom; it was her bedroom and she never had someone over as it was easier to avo-shiiiit!
Last night flooded back to her, hitting her even worse than New Year's. Springing upright, Emma felt Killian stir next to her.
"Hey! Jones! Up!" she violently shook him, desperate to get him out.
"Emma," Jesus fucking Christ that man's morning voice did things to her, though nowhere near as bad as him saying her name las-
No! Bad brain!
"Out!" She screeched, throwing his clothes at him.
"Swan, wha-" he mumbled.
"I said out, Jones. Are you deaf?"
He smirked, "Well you were pretty loud-"
"Get out!" The bastard took his damn time putting his clothes on, to the point where all he had was boxers and half a pant leg on and she grasped his arm and dragged him towards the door.
"Oi! Watch the nails, love," his face was screwed up as he tumbled behind her, tripping over the step-up as well as nearly falling over the carpet.
She threw him out the door, hissing, "Do. Not. Call. Me. That."
The door promptly slammed.
Killian wasn't sure how long he spent staring at the door, eyes tracing the faded-gold '7B', his brain trying to catch up with what the bloody hell just happened.
'Gods you were an arse last night.'
'But she kissed me…'
'But she had had quite a bit to drink.'
'That might just have been the greatest night of my life.'
'She is going to kill you! Or worse: never talk to you again.'
'She can't avoid you forever; you have the same group of friends and her door is about three yards away from yours.'
'I can always find another pub - or I could just leave.'
'You are not leaving just because this bloody stubborn woman has walls so high that she can't even begin to admit her feelings for you.'
'Yeah...wait what? Feelings? Since when?'
'Well she wouldn't have kept you around if she didn't like you.'
'Not strictly true, maybe she was just tired of trying to get you to bugger off.'
'Maybe she just likes my friendship?'
'Yes, dumbo, because last night was just friendly wasn't it?'
Killian ran his hand over his face, trying to chase away these thoughts, internally debating with himself. He knew Emma had her heart guarded tight, but he'd like to think that he was steadily climbing those walls - that, if nothing else, last night proved that she was starting to let him in - that he was getting to her. If her letting him in was a step-by-step process then surely this was another? Letting him explore her physically-
But gods above he wanted more. He wanted to know every nook and cranny of her; physically, mentally, emotionally...he wanted it all. He longed to hold her and kiss her and support her and laugh and smile and joke.
Vividly, he recalled a conversation in the library with Rose: "you're afraid" "I certainly didn't take you for a quitter" "I'm not a coward" "Can't quit what you never started".
He was right: he wasn't a coward; but he was also wrong: he'd started on Emma Swan since he first laid eyes on her.
If she didn't want to face him for a while he could live with that; he'd respect her wishes. But now he's putting effort into winning her heart - and he will win it.
'Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!'
'Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!'
'Are you done? My head hurts.'
'How could you be so stupid?'
'Haven't we already covered the stupid thing?'
'I was drunk!'
'You weren't that drunk! You were damn curious, AGAIN! Look what happened to the cat!'
'But satisfaction brought it back - and I'd say she was plenty satisfied last night.'
'Shut up.'
' Besides, if you were drunk enough you probably would've forgotten most of last night - which you clearly haven't considering you're agonising over every detail.'
'No I'm not.'
'Reason Number Twelve.'
'Just forget about last night! Avoid him!'
'How? It's not like I'm practised at running into one-night stands!'
'One night stand? You like him you idiot!'
'Congratulations, you've let him in! Now no matter what you're going to get your heart broken.'
'What if it turns out ok?'
'It won't, because nothing else is going to happen; there are no feelings.'
'Lies.'
'Lies.'
'I'm not thinking about this, I'm not thinking about this…'
'Get out of Egypt and away from denial.'
'I'm not in denial!'
'Really? Then why are you thinking about how great it was? Was it not some of, if not the best sex of your life?'
'It doesn't matter, because you're going to ignore him.'
'Do you really want to explain to Rose and CeCe why though?'
'I want to stop thinking about it.'
'Then stop!'
'Then stop!'
'Then shut up!'
Emma hit her head against the wall. As much as she loathes to admit, she'd been pondering about this since she met him- the man got under her skin so easily - and last night was so similar to that night, the unresolved sexual tension finally exploded. To be honest, it was probably the best sex she'd ever had, something she'd rather put down to his skill than the possibility of feelings. To be honest, her body screamed at her to do it again; she could always attempt a friend with benefits situation, but knew that never ended well, that it would probably become more; yet a small part of her begged the question: 'Would that be so bad?' 'Shut up Hope, you don't know shit!'
To be honest? She wanted to hide in her room until he left just like everyone else. To be honest, she wanted to leave.
But to be honest she wanted to stay; she wanted to stay with him.
To be honest she was terrified.
Mr. Wilkies silently observed the young man who appeared quite trouble in the middle of the hallway. He'd emerged when he heard a door slam shut, discovering a distressed Killian Jones facing 7B.
Eventually, he turned back to 7C, probably realising he was only half dressed, or that staring at doors do not magically open them. Smirking, Mr. Wilkies trotted across the hall and knocked on 7D. The door swung open and a fully dressed, overly cheery for the morning (and life in general) Martha greeted him.
"Mr. Wilkies, dear! How are you?"
"I know you heard," he cut to the chase, he wanted to go back to sleep as soon as possible, "I'll have my twenty dollars now."
Martha sighed, trotting back inside for a moment, "I'm not a betting person Mr. Wilkies, but you seem to enjoy it. I'm glad you won. I hope those two kids hit it off," she beamed.
"From the yelling we heard last night it seems they have some issues to work through," he took the money. "A pleasure as always, Martha. Maybe with the next lot of neighbours you'll come out victorious."
"Muffin?" she held out a basket, (her pockets must be like Mary Poppins) but he'd already gone.
As much fun as the unobservant Martha was to bet with, she was highly annoying, almost to the point he wished he could ignore her completely.
Almost. Speculating over Mr Jones and Miss Swan was just far too entertaining.
A/N: I'm beginning to really like Mr. J. Wilkies (who's name I realised mysteriously disappeared in previous chapters but I've fixed it now)
Also, would anyone be interested in seeing some 'deleted scenes' from this fic?
Hope you enjoyed!
