Chapter 5: Poprocks and Coke
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It shouldn't be this easy...
Emma thinks later that night, tangled up in bed with Killian Jones. He's sleeping and she's processing the day more than she's watching him, but only because she thinks it's creepy to watch people sleep and it's too dark in her bedroom to do it anyway. What she wants to do is stretch him out and explore him, inspect every single one of his tattoos, and ask him to explain them all, kissing every delicious inch of him as she goes.
Should've lit a candle. Or maybe hung some Christmas lights.
Christmas lights take her back to the bar, when he was kissing her on the pool table, when he picked her up, when her legs were wrapped around him and she thought she'd surely burn to death. He must have asked her if she was sure at least half a dozen times between the truck and the front door and the bedroom before he'd finally had his way with her. Emma grinned, biting her lip. The intensity of his passion and want interspersed with his careful attentiveness was almost enough to drive her insane in the moment, but she found it charming, like everything else about him. And while she hadn't really planned to end up here, she can't say she's disappointed. Not even a little bit.
It's a relief in more ways than she can count- this thing with Killian Jones. He likes her, she likes him, and for now it's seamless. There's no baggage. No games. No bullshit. No swiping right or left. No DMs. No horror stories.
At least, not yet… she thinks. Just because it's easy now doesn't mean it always will be. And just because he seems like an open book doesn't mean he really is. He could be a very good liar. He could be a lot of things.
She might be smitten, but she's still Emma Swan and twenty-eight years of cynicism and mistrust isn't going to just disappear overnight cause some guy likes her.
He stirs slightly, rolling towards her and throwing an arm around her waist. She smiles and curls her body into his, because she doesn't really believe he's just some guy. Much to her surprise, she's finding herself believing more and more in the possibility of a happy ending. And that's good enough for now.
Finally, she lets sleep and the irresistible warmth of him claim her.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
He has his way with her again in the morning before they decide to head downstairs for coffee and some kind of sustenance. He can't find his pants and it's freezing cold in the drafty hundred year old craftsman home she rents, because of course it is. Emma digs in her closet and finds a pair of oversized sweatpants. They're black, but they say "PINK" on the backside in a large, bold, black and white cheetah print. She snickers as she watches Killian inspect them with a raised eyebrow but then he shrugs and tugs them on anyway, finding his undershirt on the floor in the hallway and sure he'll find another one of his several top layers as he retraces the path they took to her bedroom last night.
Neither of them are particularly skilled in the kitchen and Emma doesn't keep much in the way of breakfast food around- late nights at the bar don't usually leave her eager to fiddle about with eggs and bacon in the morning. They discuss going out, but neither of them feels like leaving, so they decide to settle for cereal and milk.
Killian thinks to himself that nothing about the time he spends with Emma Swan feels the slightest bit like settling.
Emma's pet cat slinks into the room and Killian brightens.
"I didn't know you had a cat, Swan!" He lowers his hand toward the ground and rubs his fingers together to draw its attention. Emma shrugs, waving dismissively. "What's its name?"
"Her name is Sid and don't bother. She doesn't like people."
"Like her owner then?" Killian teases, flashing a smile at her.
"Exactly," Emma confirms, taking a ridiculously big bite of cereal. Much to her surprise, Sid actually sniffs with interest in Killian's general direction before turning away to circle the leg of Emma's chair.
"Bet I'll prove the exception," He says with a smug look on his face.
"That's what they all say," She says with a sigh of mock resignation.
"Worked for you," He taunts, winking at her and blowing a kiss.
"That's what they all say," She repeats, trying not to laugh. He scoffs and clicks his tongue at her in mock derision and she smiles, taking another bite of food, pleased to knock him down a peg.
"Sid, like Sid Vicious?" He sits up again, leaving the cat to make up her own mind about him.
"Mm hmm," Emma says, her mouth full.
"Why are you so bloody cool, Swan?" He asks. She smirks at that and rolls her eyes, happily munching away. "I mean, despite picking the wrong male member of The Sex Pistols to name your female cat after."
"What do you mean? Sid Vicious is The Sex Pistols."
"No, love, Sid Vicious destroyed The Sex Pistols."
"Are you kidding me? He made them. They wouldn't have been anything without him."
"Swan, he literally didn't know how to play his instrument and he was so messed up on dope, he only did one song on their one bloody album." Emma narrows her eyes at him but can't help the smile spreading across her face. "What?" He asks, smiling back.
"You're so cute when you're wrong."
The practically evil grin he flashes her before scooping her up in his arms is enough to make her squeal and flail about, half-heartedly trying to fend him off as the cat goes running for cover. They wind up on the couch in her living room and what starts as a playful battle quickly turns heated. And while Killian looks totally ridiculous in her sweatpants, she can't deny the amount of satisfaction she gets from having such easy access to him or how much she enjoys watching him come apart. Almost as much as she enjoys letting him do the same to her.
They finally settle, tugging their clothes back into place. Killian grabs a blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it over them both.
"Your house is bloody freezing, love," He says, stroking her hair as she tucks herself into his side.
"Well, I tried that plastic window insulation stuff last year, but I couldn't stand the way it looked."
"The way it looked?" He asks, confused. She nods.
"Winter here is depressing enough without some crinkly plastic on your windows."
"It shouldn't-" He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, knowing his tendency to want things ship-shape is making him more irritable than the situation actually calls for. He also realizes that while he's completely besotted with Emma Swan, she has a much more laid back approach to life and he'll need to adapt if they're going to make this work. She gives him a quizzical look as she watches the wheels turning in his head and he smiles and strokes her cheek. "You're doing it wrong, darling." She smirks, climbing into his lap.
"There's one I've never heard before." He chuckles at her obvious innuendo and laces their fingers together, bringing her hands to his mouth and brushing them with his lips.
The cat leaps nimbly onto the couch, glaring at each of them with half-hearted disdain before climbing onto Kilian's chest and settling there. Emma sits back, dumbfounded and guffaws.
"See, I told you, love," He says, smiling smugly as he gently rubs behind Sid's ear and receives a happy purr in response, "Juuuuuust like her owner."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Killian is reluctant to go, especially when Emma drops a not-so-subtle hint that she'd like to take a shower and she'd like him to join her. But he has an appointment with a client in an hour and he knows he'll never make it in time if he takes her up on that.
So he lingers in the doorway and kisses her until she's too breathless to tease him anymore. He's not eager to leave, but he is eager to leave her wanting, which isn't kind, but he wouldn't do it if he didn't fully intend to finish what he's started later.
She doesn't have to work, so she promises to meet him at his place at seven-thirty.
She's reasonably sure she won't be able to think about anything else.
He's certain he won't either.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Killian's at home in his apartment and he's somehow managed to take the fastest shower of his life, despite the images his brain continually conjures of Emma joining him there. He gets a text that his client is going to be an hour late. He sighs and scrubs his hands over his face, rethinking his plan for the session so he won't run over on time and be late for his date with Emma.
She deserves his full and prompt attention. And if he has his way, she'll get nothing less.
He uses the extra time to tidy up a bit and figure out if he has the sort of things she might want if she stays the night. And if he has his way, she will.
He clicks a concealed button on the bottom of his phone and a little gold stylus pops out. He smiles, knowing she'd tease him about it if she were here. He uses it to make a note about picking up some coffee and milk. Cereal, he has, but not milk, and not much else besides junk food. He usually just eats at work, keeping his fridge at the Jolly Roger fairly well stocked, but generally relying on takeout if he's hungry at home.
He shoots her a text.
"What do you like to eat, Swan?"
She smiles when it pops up on her phone.
"Anything. Not picky."
He scratches his head at that. He knows she likes cereal. He wants to give her more than cereal. She deserves more than cereal. The notification pops up on his phone.
"We don't have to eat."
There's a little winking smiley face at the end of the text she sends and Killian grins, pressing his tongue against his cheek as he considers several dirty ways he could respond to that. But his phone buzzes in his hand again before he can decide on one.
"I mean I could eat at home. 7:30 is a little late for dinner. Get your mind out of the gutter, Jones."
He laughs out loud at that.
"Caught me red handed." He replies with a winking emoji.
"Of course I did, pirate." There's a little kissing smiley face at the end of her text and he grins like the cat that got the canary. "Whatever you have is fine. See you soon."
He wonders how in the world he ever got so lucky. He glances at the clock on the corner of the screen and knows he has to leave now if he's going to be on time. He's never felt reluctant to go to work before… that is, since he opened the Jolly Roger. She's always been his pride and joy. Now he has another and his heart feels fuller for it, rather than split between them.
"Not soon enough."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Emma is overcome with the irresistible urge to hang Christmas lights in her bedroom. And her kitchen. And maybe around the couch in her living room. Really everywhere she's been with Killian in her house.
She's never been the kind of person who decorates for Christmas. The only remotely festive thing she owns are a fuzzy pair of pajama pants, black with green plaid and little Grinch faces all over them. They were a gift from Mary Margaret and David a few years back, but she can't hang those on the wall and they surely don't remind her of the way she feels when she's with Killian Jones.
Which is how she decides to text Mary Margaret, the Christmas Queen herself, and ask if she can borrow a few strands of lights. Her boss is only too happy to help and that is how she winds up driving home with four huge boxes of God only knows what.
Emma has a sudden crippling fear that she's accidentally walked onto the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie and can't bring herself to open them.
Maybe I'll wait until Killian's here. We could do it together. But if it's all glittery snowmen and little Precious Moments cherubim…
She realizes the idea sounds even more like a Hallmark Christmas movie than just rummaging through the boxes for the damn lights herself and banishing whatever else Mary Margaret sent to the basement.
Sure enough, right at the top of the first box staring up at her is a little shepherd boy figurine with the creepy, sad-looking black eyes that are supposed to be cute. Emma laughs and wipes her brow with her forearm.
Oh Mary Margaret…
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Killian's in a sour mood. He should have been done with his client's session over an hour ago, but Will Scarlett was very much later than he expected. He should have cancelled the appointment all together, but he was a loyal client and he was dating Killian's receptionist, Anastasia, and he knew from experience not to cross that girl.
He'd taken a quick break to call Emma, apologize for the change of plans, and asked her to meet him at the shop instead. She agreed, of course, telling him she was excited to have a chance to watch him work.
She was late. She'd sent him a text, apologizing. The snow was falling heavily and that made for slow-going traffic, which was no surprise to any Minnesotan. He told her not to worry, to take her time and drive safely, and he'd see her whenever she got there.
But every minute that passed without Emma Swan walking through the front door of his shop set Killian's teeth on edge.
What kind of car does she drive? What if it's one of those little lightweight hybrid things all the eco-friendly Minnesotans love so much? They don't handle worth a damn in this kind of snow. What if she doesn't have snow tires?
In the end, it's all for naught.
"A blonde in an old Jeep just pulled up," Anastasia calls out unceremoniously from the front desk and Killian feels all his anxious fears melt away.
She breezes in, brushing the snow off her coat, stomping her boots clean and wiping them on the mat. The girl behind the counter shoots her a scathing look, pursing her lips at all the snow she's brought into the shop- her responsibility to clean, no doubt.
Emma hangs her coat on a rack that looks like it's made from Captain Hook's favorite prosthetics and gives the other girl an answering look that's something halfway between an apology and 'what the hell else am I supposed to do?'
"That you, Swan?" Killian calls out from the other room.
"Yeah!" She calls back, following the sound of his voice, "Sorry, I'm late. I stopped for food at the bar. Thought you might be hungry, working overtime and all."
He looks up from his work and flashes her a thousand watt smile.
"You're a golden goddess," He says, popping up from his station and craning his neck over a waist-high privacy wall for a quick kiss, which she happily grants him.
"That's my fault," says the man stretched out on his side on Killian's table, "Sorry, love."
"Yes it is," Killian agrees as he resumes his seat, but it lacks none of his earlier irritation. "Got about ten minutes left here. Alright, Scarlett?" Will gives him a look like a kicked puppy dog but nods and curls his arm behind his head before closing his eyes and settling in.
"Ribs?" Emma says incredulously, "Ouch."
"Yeah, six straight hours of it," the man on the table complains.
"You were two bloody hours late," Killian says, "You were supposed to get breaks. So if your ribs are extra sore tomorrow, then it's only what you deserve."
He hears the sound of Anastasia the receptionist grumbling about people getting what they deserve as she cleans a little too aggressively in the entryway. Killian makes a note to dial back the hostility towards the bloody fool on his table. That girl's got an inexplicable weakness for Scarlett and she's been known to break expensive things when she's angry. He's thought several times about finding a replacement, but he's actually a bit scared of her and never cared enough to try.
Emma rests her forearms on the ledge of the wall, watching him work, listening to the low buzzing sound his machine makes as he goes in for some shading near the bottom of his work.
It's a swirl of black and grey characters from Alice in Wonderland stretching along his left side, as if they're all falling down the rabbit hole together. There's the White Rabbit, the Mad Hatter, some card guards, the Cheshire Cat, Alice, the Red Queen- who looks a bit different, wearing a very skimpy dress, and...
"Oh!" Emma exclaims in surprise, glancing at the girl in the entryway who's now emptying a dust pan of rock salt into the trash bin, "It's you!"
The girl at the front desk purses her overlined lips in something that looks more like a grimace than a smile, but Emma can see the girl is pleased anyway.
"Yeah," Will chuckles nervously, "That's me girl!"
"Stop moving, Scarlett. This thing actually hurts if I stab you with it."
"Inn't that what you've been doing this whole time, mate?"
Killian raises an eyebrow at this, keeping his eyes trained on his work as he goes.
"You know I'm actually known not just for my skill, but also my gentleness with the tools of my trade. I could show you the difference if you like?"
Will hisses as Killian gently and expertly shades an area directly over bone.
"Nah, that's alright."
The scary girl from the front room comes to join them and actually smiles at the man on the table.
"It looks so good, babe," She practically purrs. Emma rolls her eyes, but doesn't miss the small smile that plays about Killian's lips at the complement.
It isn't long before Emma realizes she could happily watch Killian work like this all day. The peaceful buzzing sound of his machine, the way his ultra bright work light makes his crystal blue eyes look ethereal and other-worldly, the way his tongue presses against his cheek when he's concentrating, even the backwards facing ball cap he's wearing to keep his hair out of his eyes. There's something oddly rhythmic and magical, watching him focus on creating a specific detail, wipe away the excess ink to reveal it, and then go in again.
Too soon for her liking, he breaks the spell, pushing himself off the table, and rolling backwards in his chair to the other side of his work station. He grabs a bottle of Green Soap and gently douses Will's torso with the liquid. The other man gasps at first and then seems to relax at the feel of it, cool liquid on inflamed skin. Next, Killian grabs the biggest bottle of Aquaphor Emma has ever seen and applies a liberal coat to the artfully created open wound on his side. He wraps it in plastic, applying a few pieces of medical tape here and there to keep it from sliding around, and then takes off his black gloves and tosses them in the trash.
"On your way, sailor," Killian says with a smile that shows he's satisfied with his work. Will smiles and thanks him and apologizes to Emma at least dozen times on his way out the door. It's sweet, even if it is a little annoying that he hasn't left yet and the food is getting cold. Finally, Anastasia practically drags him out the door. Killian locks it behind them, looking through the window to see them off safely.
Cheery multi-colored Christmas lights twinkle around the window frames and sweep across the front desk, but there are also tiny white illuminated skull-and-crossbones tangled in with the garland and Emma laughs when she notices them.
"Nightmare Before Christmas?" Emma teases.
"Never much cared for it, love," He replies, heading back to his workstation to clean up.
"No, I meant the lights in the front of your shop." He laughs.
"I'm a pirate, Swan, not a pumpkin king."
"Right. Sorry." She says with a grin, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth.
"Cold, Swan?" He asks as he dons a fresh pair of black gloves and begins the meticulous process of cleaning his machines before he'll put them away in their respective cases.
"A little," She admits reluctantly, sure he'll have some kind of chiding remark for her about her inappropriate winter wear.
"I've a hoodie on the back of the chair at the front desk if you want it. It'll take me a bit to get this all sorted and then I'd love some of that delectable bar food you brought for us." He gives her a saucy wink and she shakes her head as she goes, because of course he manages to make even that sound sexy.
She finds the hoodie on the back of the chair as he said. It's black, of course- his signature color. There's a compass on the sleeve, and "Jolly Roger Tattoo" on the chest, and an impressive and somewhat familiar looking drawing of a huge ship on the back.
She pulls it on and zips it up and lets out a blissful sigh- not only is it impossibly soft, thick, and warm, but it smells like him and she hopes he isn't attached to it because he's never getting it back. It's too big for her, of course, but she doesn't mind. She sits down on a leather couch in the entryway and takes the opportunity to look through the books that are nearly laid out on the table in front of it. They're portfolios- his and the other artists who work here. All of them are impressive and she begins to understand why there are so many award plaques on the walls.
"See something you like, love?" He startles her, standing there in the doorway.
"I think so," She says, smiling up at him and narrowing her eyes, "I'm not sure."
"You think so?" He saunters toward her and leans over, bracing one hand on top of the couch and tangling the other in her hair. "Must not be looking close enough."
She hums in reply as he kisses her thoroughly. She sighs with relief because she's wanted this all day. He breaks the kiss and brushes his nose against hers. It's tender and it makes her smile even wider.
"I think I'm starting to."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A/N: Thanks so much to everyone leaving reviews! They really help me keep going. Also not gonna lie, I'm obsessed with this picture in my head of tattoo artist Killian, so they're probably going to be spending a lot of time in the shop. The title of this chapter is a Green Day song I feel like has this version of CS vibes aaaaalllll over it. Hope you're loving it!