A blown tire, (and a flat spare tire) and damn it's one am and they are stuck in the middle of nowhere.
[Well, not quite. They managed to pull off the highway just in time and there in the distance she can make out a neon flashing 'Motel' sign.]
So with one baby and a grouchy teenager in tow, Emma, her parents and her, um, boyfriend (is she too old to call him that?) - find themselves checking into the Sunny View motel rather than arriving at the more luxurious surroundings of the cabin they had rented in the woods. (David had wanted to go camping, Mary Margaret insisted she had spent enough time sleeping outdoors in the Enchanted Forest - this was the compromise).
"It's only a couple more hours from here. We'll rest up, get a tire in the morning and be hiking through the forest in no time." Although he was her father, Emma could never quite understand how he could be so cheerful at such a late hour.
And of course there are only three rooms left, and of course Henry refused to share ('I need my privacy, mom' - she'd resisted the urge to snort).
She takes the faded gold key with oversized keychain that told her their room was called 'The Nook'. Trying to avoid Killian's amused smirk, she follows her parents along the hall and makes sure Henry is settled ('Mom, they don't have cable' was the first complaint) then goes to the next room where Killian is waiting outside.
"Don't get any ideas," she whispers as the door swings open and he follows her inside, "Henry is just next door."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he replies smoothly.
"Crap," Emma mutters when she sees the bed. It's barely more than a single (and still takes up half the space - she sees where the room got it's name from).
"Well love, being cold shall not be a concern this evening."
Emma rolls her eyes as she shrugs off her jacket and toes off her boots. His seemingly neverending series of quips secretly make her smile, but of course she doesn't want him to know that.
A minute later, she had stripped down to her panties and tank top (wishing she had remembered to grab the bag from the car with her pajamas in it - well, kinda). Killian had already slipped beneath the covers. He was wearing the new underwear she had bought him ("Boxer briefs?" he had asked when he read the packaging, "Am I supposed to start some kind of fight in these?") and not much else. Lying on his side he is facing her, a teasing smile on his face as he pats the small patch of space remaining. "Come to bed, love."
She flicks off the bedside lamp and crawls under the thick, down comforter. Quickly he wraps his arm around her and hugs her body against his. His skin is searingly hot on her back and he brings his legs up underneath hers (she can feel the muscles of his thighs and a small beam of pleasure ripples through her, though she buries it quickly).
"'Night Killian."
"Goodnight," he whispers - just against her ear, his breath skating over her skin. She shivers a little.
It's really quiet in the motel room. She can hear the sound of her baby brother gurgling faintly in the distance, but everything else is still. There is a an analogue alarm clock on the bedside table and when the minutes flip over the sound echoes at a disproportionate volume.
Behind her, Killian is breathing steadily. His arm around her seems to relax a little, softening its grip and sliding back over her hip. His fingers find the bare strip of skin between her panties and tank top, she groans softly when he starts to brush against her hip bone, riding up her shirt and nuzzling against her neck ever so slightly.
She slips her her right hand under the pillow where her head lies and the left one moves to cover his, gently cupping it as it lays in the hollow of her waist and she can't help but rock her hips, just a little.
And damn, it's getting hot.
And Henry is just next door.
She catches a breath when he slides her hair from her shoulder and presses his damp lips against the exposed skin.
"Killian," she whines, in weak protest, her body betraying her when her neck arches to give his better access.
It's gentle, at first. Emma lets out a small, contented sigh.
What's the harm, she wonders - tightening her grip on his hand, subconsciously easing it upwards - a few kisses won't hurt-
Then his fingers graze the underside of her breast. She feels her nipples instantly tighten, his touch magnetic almost.
"Oh."
She tries to be quiet, but it's almost a whine.
His hand snakes up to cup her breast, his lips pressing into the place where neck meets shoulder. She releases his fingers, reaching back and guiding her own hand under the soft cotton of his underwear and pressing against the curve of his ass (one of her favorite features of his).
It's his turn to gasp.
"Swan," he growls, almost in warning. Her reply is to press back her hips. She smiles when she feels his hardness digging into her back.
Shit, she wants him.
No, her rational mind says.
"We shouldn't," she whispers.
But he is already toying with her breasts, his other hand is bundled up in her hair, tugging her back a little so he can reach her lips.
And they are kissing and, fuck, he's such a good kisser. His tongue is warm and his lips soft and full and she really could kiss him for hours (isn't she too old for that-?).
Reluctantly, she pulls her hand from his underwear and rolls to face him, not breaking the kiss; trying not to roll off the edge of the bed. He stops a second and nudges his nose against hers. How his blue eyes can be so afire, she'll never know. There's enough light coming through the curtains that she can't miss the intensity. But more than that she feels the pull and tug that only comes from being around him. She's drowning in something that she can't describe. It's a mixture of him and her and something else - something magic - that's potent and intoxicating and turning her body to mush.
The next kiss is softer. He's dragging her tank top higher. They break apart so he can pull it over her head-
[And they need to be quiet.]
She presses her bare breasts against his chest and, fuck, it feels good. All lean muscle and soft hair - so damn masculine that she can't help but melt (even more, that is). Her arms wrap around his neck.
He slides a leg between hers and his erection is now pushing into her stomach. She wants to touch him so badly-
First, she traces the outline through the material.
[He lets out a soft - 'umph']
When she reaches inside for him, she finds his tip damp. She slides her palm over it, letting the precum coat her skin before she slides down to grip him.
He's hot and thick and so damn hard - she starts to rock against his leg that's between her thighs, angling her hips to find the right kind of friction.
Just as he starts to roll her onto her back, the bed creaks. Both freeze. Emma swallows heavily, her hand still on his cock, his halfway between slipping into her panties.
After a second, she nods and he smiles, reaching in for another kiss. His fingers slide into her wetness. She knew she was very wet and enjoys the little groan and muttered 'fuck' from him, before their lips meet. Without ceremony, he quickly has a finger pumping into her, curving and reaching for her g-spot, while his thumb rubs her clit and she both hates him and loves him in that moment for just how quickly he makes her ready to come.
She's aching inside. His fingers aren't enough. His cock in her hand is teasing her and she squeezes him just a bit hard, biting her lip as he stops his kiss.
She's a goner. His fingers still stroke her and she lets her lids flutter closed. "I want you inside me when I come," she tells him.
[And damn him he doesn't stop - making her hover in a state between aroused and totally fucked].
Wriggling (reluctantly) away from his touch, she kicks away the comforter. She hooks her thumbs into the sides of her panties and pushes them down her legs, pressing back her ass, knowing the moonlight is giving him a fine view, before looking and cooing over her shoulder as if to say, 'well?'.
There's a little rustling as he pushes down his underwear (just enough so his cock is free) then his hands grab her waist and pull her back, his erection sliding between her legs, coated quickly in her wetness. She presses her thighs together for a second.
Both of his hands reach around to cup her breasts (she loves that) and she reaches between them, nudging him to her entrance until he slips inside cleanly, easing some of the ache that has built up within her. Fuck, he feels good.
Then he is kneading the flesh of her breasts and she is rocking against him, taking him deep. It's actually a little painful, but in a good way. He's just that little bit too big, but the full feeling is too divine to stop.
They rock against each other in tandem. You'd really think they had been doing this for years, not months, the way they seemed to be able to anticipate what each other needed. A twist here, a pause, faster, slower, faster-
Her wetness coats her thighs (and his), the slide is easy and she reaches down to touch her clit. He's toying with her nipples and she can feel the sweat rolling off him.
"Oh God-" she whispers, trying to resist the urge to ride wildly against him (they have to be quiet!).
But somehow, having to not make noise was making this even more of a turn on. Every breath, every slap of skin against skin, every soft groan heightened her senses until it felt like the room was gone and there was nothing but him and her. She could feel her orgasm building up - in her gut, in her toes-
"Emma-" he warns.
She presses harder back into each thrust.
Then, fuck, it feels like she is falling into some deep dark hole. She's weightless. Her body is cramping, she feels her toes curl and the muscles of her stomach ripple as he gives a last few shuddering thrusts.
The quiet is back, except for their heavy breathing. She doesn't have the energy to move and seemingly neither does he. He softens and slips out of her and then they press their bodies together again.
Sleep comes easily this time.
/
"So kid, did you sleep well?" Emma asks, as they wait for the car.
"Yeah, I fell asleep listening to my iPod. I hate it when it's too quiet."
Emma smiles and exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Killian, who raises his eyebrows in reply.
She sees the car coming around the corner from the main road, David is driving; it now has four, functioning tires.
"And what about you," she coos as Mary Margaret arrives with her baby brother, taking hold of his tiny hand and smiling.
"He was an angel," her mother replied as the car pulls up. Henry and Killian step forward and load Neal's stroller and baby bag into the trunk. "I had a little trouble though." Emma stops and looks at the other woman's face. "Thin walls," she whispers, before walking toward the car and leaving Emma open mouthed.
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