Inspired by a certain dark-haired Irishman playing in a charity soccer game.

playing footy

"You owe me big time for this."

Elsa tossed her gym bag in the backseat and climbed a bit awkwardly into the Bug, pulling the door shut behind her, "Believe me, Emma, I will make it up to you, I promise."

Emma threw the car into gear and started to back out, not even bothering to check for oncoming traffic. There was no oncoming traffic, it was six am on a Saturday and the streets were completely deserted. As well they should be, because who aside from her somewhat uptight roommate was up at six am on a Saturday? Emma hadn't been, not after she'd only come home to their shared apartment less than five hours earlier after another fruitless stakeout for her latest skip. She'd been sleeping very well in her flannel pyjamas and the eyeliner she hadn't bothered to wipe off when Elsa had burst into her room and woke her up, explaining breathlessly that her car wouldn't start and she needed a ride. She would have just given her the keys but Elsa couldn't drive stick, so Emma had thrown her hair up in a messy topknot and quickly swapped the pyjamas for yoga pants and a tank while Elsa paced outside the bathroom and called for her to hurry.

She fumbled in her own bag for her sunglasses as she drove, swearing under her breath when she remembered that they were sitting on top of her dresser. It was too fucking early, and if Elsa wasn't her best friend in addition to being her roommate, she would still be sleeping peacefully instead of squinting into the rising sun and praying there would be an open Starbucks somewhere on the way to the park where Elsa's adult recreational soccer team held their practices three times a week. She'd tried to get Emma to sign up with her, but while Emma enjoyed the Monday evening boxing classes they did together at the Y, she wasn't getting up at six am to go kick around a ball and get grass stains on all her T-shirts. Soccer was for kids, anyway, David and Mary Margaret's kid played soccer and Mary Margaret was the perfect soccer mom with her cooler all neatly packed with orange slices and Gatorade for every game, along with a Thermos of herbal tea for herself. Emma was more into lime wedges and tequila than oranges and tea, although when she parked her Bug and got out with the giant Starbucks cup (venti latte with an extra shot cause it was fucking six am and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top) that Elsa had bought for her clutched in her hand, she had to admit that maybe she'd been a little too quick to judge. Elsa's team was co-ed, and it looked like there was some definite eye candy among them running around on the field. Including the one who was jogging towards them with a welcoming smile, dark hair, slim hips in white athletic shorts and a blue T-shirt that matched his eyes.

"You'll find it a tad difficult to play footy in those, love."

Emma looked down at her shoes, she'd grabbed them while still half-asleep and saw that they were the fuck-me heels she'd worn to the bar last night in hopes of luring her skip in with the tried and true honey trap, instead of the flip-flops she'd meant to wear.

"Footy?" she repeated, confused, watching Tall, Dark and Handsome's (cause he definitely was) smile grow wider.

"Football," he explained, stressing the word and she suddenly woke up a bit more and realized that he had an English accent, "You know, the game where you kick a black and white ball with your foot? I pity the poor ball who falls afoul of those, you're liable to stab it right to death."

"Emma's not playing, she just gave me a ride today cause my car wouldn't start," Elsa piped in, pulling her own sneakers out of her gym bag, "Killian, this is my roommate, Emma Swan. Emma, this is Killian Jones."

"That's Captain Jones, if you please, Elsa."

Elsa rolled her eyes, "Killian is the team captain."

"Nice to meet you, Killian."

Emma stuck out her free hand and his smile went a bit tight-lipped while he gave a shrug, looking down his arm. She followed his eyes and saw that he had a cuff of some kind on his wrist and below it was...nothing. He was missing his left hand. Elsa had not mentioned the hot English captain of her soccer team at all, let alone the one-handed hot English captain of her soccer team. Emma might have forgotten her sunglasses, and mistook stilettos for flip flops, but the caffeine must have woken her up enough to seamlessly switch the Starbucks to her other hand so he could shake her left hand with his right.

"The pleasure is all mine, Emma Swan."

She felt his thumb brush the inside of her wrist and then he pulled back, gesturing to a set of bleachers next to the field and inviting her to sit and watch their practice.

"You don't have to Emma, I can catch a ride home with someone, or take the bus."

Emma watched Killian kick a soccer ball towards a sandy-haired man who was sitting on the grass with a jaunty call of, "On your feet for the captain!" that sent a pleasant tingle right down her spine.

"Well, since I'm already up, might as well stick around for a bit."

Just before the practice started in earnest Killian looked over at the bleachers and when their eyes met his lips pulled up in a grin and he actually winked.

Cheeky, one-handed hot English captain of the soccer team. Or footy.

Whatever.

Emma watched them run sprints up and down the field, following Elsa's platinum blonde braid for a while before her gaze would slip over to Killian's dark hair. Sprints gave way to maneuvering the ball down a line of orange cones, weaving it around them before kicking it into the net. Some of the players were slower than others, it was just a recreational league, after all, but when it was Killian's turn Emma could tell that he clearly knew what he was doing, even though she knew jack shit about soccer. The ball was a blur between his feet, and he didn't just kick the ball into the net, he tipped it up with his foot and then head-butted it right into the net.

Cheeky, show-off hot one-handed English soccer captain.

Ridiculously hot, even in dorky white athletic shorts and his socks pulled up almost to his knees. Emma wished she'd brushed out her hair and put on some lipgloss, but at least a quick check using her phone as a mirror showed that her leftover eyeliner actually looked pretty good and at least she'd chosen a fitted, scoop-necked tank that showed off her cleavage when she unzipped her hoodie just a little bit more.

She swore Killian did a double-take the next time he ran past her, once they'd split into two groups and started playing an actual game. A few minutes later he scored, kicking the ball high into the net and raising both arms in celebration. Elsa and the sandy-haired man both gave him hugs and claps on the back, and Emma lifted her Starbucks cup and gave him a nod when his gaze met hers again, her own smile lifting her lips.

Killian's group won, although Elsa had also scored a goal for the other side that had her usually pale face flushed with pride and Emma cheering from the bleachers. Her roommate was normally the shy, anxious type, so Emma was shocked when she actually pulled off her shirt Brandi Chastain-style and brandished it over her head, leaving her in nothing but her shorts and ice-blue sports bra.

"Okay, now that was worth getting up at the asscrack of dawn for," Emma said when the game wrapped up and Elsa jogged over with a water bottle in hand a towel slung around her neck.

"It was my first goal!" Elsa beamed.

"Good form!"

Killian Jones joined them, pulling up his own T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and revealing toned abs and a happy trail that disappeared into his shorts. Emma really, really wished she hadn't forgotten her sunglasses when he dropped the shirt back down and caught her looking.

Cheeky, show-off, smirking hot one-handed English soccer captain.

Another group was taking the field while they talked, a different league with American footballs and helmets under their arms instead of soccer balls and shin guards. Emma heard a few snide comments about soccer being nothing but a kid's game, and even though she'd thought the same thing herself only about an hour ago she felt herself scowl alongside Killian. One of them tossed a football to another with his back to them, pretending to kick the ground as if her was kicking a soccer ball and then turning to laugh along with his asshole friends. Emma felt the breath catch in her throat at the sight of his face.

It was her skip.

The empty Starbucks cup and her fuck-me heels all went flying and she heard a startled exclamation of, "Emma!" but she was already sprinting down the grass on bare feet, running full out and tackling the guy from behind. He started yelling, and then his friends started yelling and the next thing Emma knew she was surrounded on all sides by people from Elsa's soccer league, including the sandy-haired man who had one of the football players in a headlock and a seriously pissed-off looking Killian Jones.

"Watch it, mate," he hissed, pushing another one of the skip's friends back when he tried to get to close to where she had him pinned to the ground with a knee in his back.

It took a little while to get everything straightened out, Elsa called David with Emma's phone while Killian and the man whose name she quickly learned was Robin kept the skip's friends at bay with the help of the rest of the soccer players. By the time David showed up with Graham to take the man into custody (he was crying and had snot dripping down his face by then, a far cry from the smooth-talking con artist who had defrauded several women by romancing them and then opening up credit cards and loans in their names behind their backs) and the paperwork had all been filled in to get Emma her bounty for catching him, it was nearly noon.

"Well," Emma said to Elsa, gulping down water from a bottle that Killian had silently handed her after Arthur had been bundled into the back of David's squad car, "I guess I owe you big time, since I've been trying to track down that jerk for weeks without success."

"You can start buy buying me lunch at Granny's. I'm starving."

Her own stomach rumbled and she nodded, suddenly famished as well, "You're on."

"Any way I can talk you into joining my team? Cause if you can chase down a ball like you just chased him down…wow. That was something else. Just who are you, Swan?"

She was used to guys who found what she did for a living weird and off-putting, having a hard time imagining a hot blonde could successfully chase down scumbag bail jumpers. Emma felt her hackles rise and she shot back, "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Perhaps I would."

But he didn't seem weirded out or put off, if anything, he seemed...sincere. And from the way he was looking at her while Elsa packed her gym bag...Emma glanced down and saw that his dorky white athletic shorts weren't quite baggy enough to hide a clear sign that he really, really, wasn't put off by it at all.

They all wound up at Granny's for lunch, Emma, Elsa, Killian and Robin, who were friends outside the league and had also shared a car to the park that morning. They'd changed into clean T-shirts and track pants to wear into the diner and Elsa had swapped her sneakers for the flip flops in her gym bag, but Emma was still stuck in her stilettoes.

Stilettoes that ran teasingly up and down Killian's calf under the table, making his Adam's apple bob in his throat and those blue eyes darken to a dangerous glint that made Emma's nipples tighten to hard points under her tank top and her pulse surge between her legs.

She might know jack shit about footy, but she was pretty damn good at footsie, if she did say so herself.

Elsa's car was fixed by the following Saturday, but it was Killian who drove her to practice at six am. It only made sense, since he'd stayed over the previous night in their apartment, in Emma's bed after their date, those slim hips positioned square between her thighs and that happy trail pressed to her stomach. His one hand made her see stars while that English accent whispered the most deliciously dirty things in her ear, a smirk crossing his face when she fell apart underneath him.

She got him back though, pressing her feet to the firm curve just under his ass and calling him "Captain" while she squeezed her inner muscles around him. His whole body seized and jerked in her arms, dark head falling to her shoulder and a shudder ripping through him along with a low cry of, "Bloody fucking hell, Emma."

Oh yeah, she owed Elsa big time for this, that was for sure.