You asked for more, and here you have more! kmomof4 and profdanglaisstuff this is for you. I needed to write something down today and you gave me a pretext to do so and to answer your pleas.
This won't turn into a MC, I can't do that when I'm overwhelmed already and I'm a sloth writer (no, me writing such short ficlets is not proof that I'm a fast one), but I might add more bits of life to this 'verse. In the meantime, enjoy this angsty-feelsy interlude-
(Also forgive any mistake, this is the first time I actually continue something I wrote in present tense.)
If you want, hit me up on my tumblr at darkcolinodonorgasm.
Enjoy ;)
A wave of his hand, just a touch of his magic and the sunlight could easily disappear behind closed curtains.
There's a problem, however: he doesn't want to. Not when the sun is making Emma's hair pure gold, glowing in the dim light like fire. With the tip of his fingers he traces the line of her spine, keeping his touch light enough for her not to wake up yet.
Killian feels… happy, almost. He's never felt that way, his heart full of light instead of darkness, even though it still lingers, black tentacles wrapping around it, trying to overcome and beat the light in vain.
They've not been… lovers for long, only a few months, but what she makes him feel still manages to turn his world upside down. It scares him, it scares the darkness, but Killian knows this feeling is wort fighting for.
«Go back to sleep,» comes her sleepy grumble, her head burrowing in his chest even further. A chuckle dies in his throat, his fingers never stop moving along their path.
«You forget, darling, I don't sleep.» His voice is tinged with sadness: he'd love to close his eyes and dream of her, to find her light in the dark of his subconscious, his only way to escape the darkness.
Is that why Dark Ones don't sleep, to be able to escape their demons, sacrificing their dreams to impede the darkness of taking hold of them?
Emma hums in disagreement. «You're wrong: you could sleep, you just don't want to. Or feel the need to.»
He doesn't reply, his fingers still moving over her skin. The fire in the hearth is still crackling: though he doesn't need it, Emma does, dragon riders can be many things, but not a dragon itself. It's a tad counterproductive, since she's naked from the waist up, the thick blankets pooled around her hips. Beneath them, her legs are tangled up with his.
«May I ask you something?»
Her whine makes him chuckle softly. Emma is definitely not a morning person, unlike him. It's strange: though his body don't miss the way he used to wake up with the sun, his mind and heart do.
When he thinks she's gone back to sleep, she nods sleepily against his chest.
During their time together they talked a lot, sometimes barely touching the topic of their relationship, sometimes merely spending their time together, Killian showing off his magic and Emma learning a few tricks from him. That's what happens when someone with magic grows up never learning how to control and use it. He's yet to discover what happened to Emma, he knows she's an orphan, that her beloved late dragon was more of a mother to her than her actual mother ever was. Not by choice, however, that much he knows.
His eyes roam over her figure, the stars on her skin shining. He never understood what those shiny freckles mean. Truth is, until he met her, he never bothered, his knowledge about dragon riders decidedly limited. If there's something Killian Jones never gave up, is his innate curiosity. And right now, he was hungry of information.
«How do dragons recognize their rider? How do they know where to find them, and when do they?»
The way Emma's fingers tighten in his chest hair tells him she wasn't expecting this kind of question. Killian waits, and waits, and after a few moments, Emma exhales a shaky breath, ruffling his chest hair and sending shivers down his spine and blood runs south at the innocent stimulation. He bites his cheek, almost drawing blood as he tries to placate his desire.
She moves around a bit, settling her cheek better over his chest. Absentmindedly, her fingers start to draw abstract designs on the soft flesh of his stomach. Killian gulps. «Mal never actually explained it to me,» she begins in a soft whisper, her eyes still closed, «not because she didn't know how the bond works, but because she couldn't explain it. She-» Emma wets her lips. «She said it was like explaining love: how do you do that? How do you explain love?»
The question fills the silence, echoing after Emma stops talking. For a few moments, neither of them speaks, both trying to find an answer to that inquiry.
«What I do know, however,» she continues, nosing his abdomen, the tip of her nose impossibly icy, «is that dragons show up when the rider isn't yet born. It could be a shock if they are the first rider the family, which is why dragons are usually kept as far away as possible. Can't say I can blame them, hadn't I been raised knowing who I was, I would have feared the sudden appearance of a dragon in my garden, too.»
Her laugh is bitter, and Killian suspects why. Much like him, she knows who she is, what her name and purpose are, but not who she really is, the roots she has not enough to delineate a certain future.
«Dragons can spend centuries waiting for their rider to be born. There's no competition, but if a dragon hears the call, they heed it with the utmost respect, taking the title with honour.»
Emma opens her eyes, settling on her side but still pressed tightly against Killian. She obscures the sun, both figuratively and literally. There's no other way to describe the effect she has on him.
«It falls upon the dragons to ultimately train the riders, especially after the Order has been decommissioned. I'm sure you know I'm the last rider still alive. Truth is, I never met another. And as you must know, I'm much older than I look. The last rider died just before my fourth birthday, or so Mal told me.»
He sees her licking her lips, her gaze shift and her walls rise around her. She still needs time to open up, but Killian is a patient man, he can wait.
«I was eight when my parents died and I was forced to flee,» Emma declares hesitantly, sharing a tiny crumb of her past with him. «Mal brought me somewhere safe, and she just… raised me.» She snorts, probably remembering a funny fact Killian desires to know, but stops himself from asking. «Dragons and riders are companions for life, we're deeply connected to each other, but for them everything is amplified. We can feel what they feel and vice versa. Sometimes, with the right spell, I could even see through Mal's eyes, becoming one with her.»
Killian swallows, wondering how it would be to lose someone you share such a deep connection with. He once thought he was in love, but he never felt the way he does now, with Emma, alive. What would he do if he lost her, he wonders. He truly hopes he never has to find out.
He decides to focus on her sadness, on the lump he knows has formed in her throat from the way her voice wavers. Soon, he knows, she'll search an escape in him. Killian doesn't feel used, not when he knows she isn't actually using him, not always their dalliances start out of desperation. There's desire, there's sentiment, and sometimes they both wish it was only out of grief. But it isn't, which is why they keep going back to each other. They need to feel something, they always had the need to feel alive, and now they finally can.
«Would you be able to ride another dragon?» Killian wonders, trying not to get distracted by the way her body moves against his, her foot running up and down his calf. Trying being the keyword here.
Emma sighs and shakes her head. «I could, but I would never be connected to them in the way I was Mal.» She frowns for a moment, but it's gone in a blink. Killian doesn't ask, but one day he will. A pout forms on her lips, and Killian knows it's over. For now. «You woke me up, Captain, and I hate waking up this early.»
He bites his lower lip to keep himself from smiling. He fails. Rolling over, Killian covers her body with his, his nose brushing against her cheek. «Perhaps I can make it up to you,» he whispers hoarsely, pressing a kiss on the corner of her mouth, and down, down, until he can settle between her soft but strong thighs, making her forget every worry that might fill her head. Killian manages to make her forget her own name.
The way she snuggles up to him when they're both sweaty and panting tells him and his heart it wasn't only a way to forget.
Perhaps it never was.