A/N: So this chapter ticks just about every content warning (who am I kidding, it's all of them, ie mentions of alcohol abuse, of violence, and sex). You're about to embark on a real rollercoaster and I'm sure there will be screaming and perhaps some fear too so this is simply a fair warning to brace yourselves. Am I doing a good job of selling this chapter? Yes? No? I'm sure you're curious now so just start reading. I do really like this chapter, I'll even go a step further in saying that it is actually one of my favorite ones so... Enjoy? It won't be as bad as I depict it here, don't worry.
Shout out to my betas acourtoftruelove and ofshipsandswans for always supporting me and my writing. For reasons I will later reveal, I was most anxious about this chapter. They managed to convince that what I wrote was good and realistic and prevented me from scratching the whole thing, so thank you bbis.
And I can of course not forget the artistic shady-swan-jones who used her talent to create fitting and great art! You can view, like, reblog, admire it on my tumblr or hers!
Emma had done most of what she needed to do, most of what was written down on her mental checklist of redemption, but one thing remained. The most important thing was left unchecked: talking to Killian.
Talking to him and telling him what she'd done and ask him for forgiveness. Without, all of the other things were useless, not worth it.
It was time to mend things.
-/-
If only she knew how exactly.
Killian had told her in pretty clear and unambiguous words that he would call the cops if he saw her again and this mission was worth a lot but it wasn't worth being taken into custody or receiving a restraining order, which would definitely complicate matters.
This called for tactics and a clear plan, but her mind was painfully empty, no idea in sight. She used to pride herself on having a knack for strategizing, for analyzing a situation and figuring out all the risks that came with it and adjusting the plan accordingly. Where she normally had several, she couldn't even come up with a plan A.
And while she wanted to be frustrated with herself, Emma could see or sense the cause of it all.
She was afraid. Scared, terrified, fearful, whatever Thesaurus alternative you wanted to use. Before, she risked getting physically hurt, something superficial, a bruised leg, maybe a sprained ankle but she could handle that. Use an icepack against the swelling and some cream against the bruising and after a few days the worst would have passed.
But what was there to fix a broken heart? How long would that take?
She knew how long it had taken with Neal; she wasn't even sure her heart had entirely healed yet, nor that it ever would. The heartbreak she'd suffered then had been unexpected. Her life had gone from good—great even—to abysmal. And all of it was Neal's fault, she was not to blame, she hadn't done anything wrong—except for the petty thefts but that was another story altogether. He had left her . He had betrayed her . So her sorrow was fueled with anger and her heart was temporarily patched with ire.
This, however, was different than then. This was all her doing. Her betrayal. Her secrets. The thought she could've prevented her fragile heart from being on the line again made her want to fight as hard as she could to keep it from ever being hurt again, from shattering his in the process.
So a slow and steady approach it was.
-/-
Slowly and steadily stalking him, that is.
Well, not stalking. Surveilling was a better term. Although she wasn't exactly employed or asked to do so, so maybe that did categorize as a stalker. Shit, it didn't exactly make her seem sane and collected.
She was not so coincidentally walking behind him?
So, either way, that was what she was doing and had been doing for the past six days. Walking and gathering the courage to go up to him, and walking and losing said courage. Walking and considering leaving London altogether, and walking and convincing herself to stay.
A lot of walking basically.
Killian had mostly resumed the routine he had before he met her. Go to work at a certain hour, return at the end of the day. One big change, however, was that he was spending all of his evenings at The Merry Men. He wasn't that much of a heavy drinker and going from how he'd told her about his complicated relationship with alcohol, she knew this wasn't a positive evolution. What could she do about it, though?
Tell him to stop? Ask him what had brought on this change in routine? Both impossible when he didn't want to speak to or see her anymore.
The only thing she could do was be a silent surveyor, a vigilante of some sorts but instead of protecting a whole city, she was only covetously focused on him.
Well, until a man caught her attention, that is. He was dressed in head-to-toe black and walked a couple of feet behind Killian as he was walking home from Fika. Even though his eyes were shielded by dark sunglasses, Emma could still see that they were solely fixated on Killian. Intensely fixated. The man's lips were a thin line, his brow creased in concentration, something bordering on anger. It—he—definitely meant no good news, Emma could deduct that much. Killian entered his apartment building and the stranger vanished as fast as he'd appeared.
Was she even sure of it? Was the dude not just experiencing a bad migraine, or maybe he was trying to think where he knew Killian from.
Yes.
She was sure. She'd been in contact with bad people long enough to pick up their behavior, to see the signs.
She hoped he would stay away, but when Killian left for The Merry Men that night and the man clad in black became his shadow again, she knew this was serious.
He was here for Killian.
Not just here for him, but here to hurt him. This had Gold's fingerprints all over it. She thought quitting would've helped, would've stopped Gold from attempting to harm Killian, but who was she kidding? The man was hellbent on destroying lives and had, for some reason, singled out Killian. Well, she knew the reason, more or less. She'd just thought that her threats were more powerful than this.
Killian went inside the pub and Emma wanted to follow him, but she couldn't. He had threatened to call the cops before and if she was arrested, she would have absolutely no way to protect him.
The man with the sunglasses followed him and entered as well. He wouldn't do anything inside, too many witnesses, a possibility of security cameras recording whatever offense he was planning to do. No, he only followed inside not to lose his lead.
The temperatures dropped and while it wasn't anything like the Boston variety of cold, Emma definitely was not appropriately dressed. She shivered and wrapped her hands around her body as she stood in the shadows, watching the patch of light around the entrance and exit of the bar like a hawk.
Why was he still here? He should go home; if there was any time to follow his strict schedule, it was now. Now, so that he didn't spend more time outside than necessary, that he'd be out of harm's way as soon as possible. Emma's felt her chest tighten, the worry coiling inside.
The door opened and a couple walked out, so set on displaying a really extreme amount of PDA that she averted her eyes for a moment.
Go home, go home, go home. Come on, Killian
The door opened and a group of drunken men walked out, Emma shielding herself into the shadows a little more. She'd rather not be assaulted today—or any day for that matter.
Her feet impatiently tapped on the ground.
Killian, go home.
He didn't listen. Of course.
The door stayed shut.
It was nearing ten o'clock and while normally, for a night out that would be considered an early night, she hoped that Killian would realize that he 1. was all alone, 2. had to walk all the way back, and 3. was expected to be at Fika at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.
It took an additional ten minutes before the door opened to reveal Killian, hair messy and cheeks tinged in the cold light of the moon. The waggle in his stead told Emma he had drunk a fair amount of alcohol, too much to be safe in general, definitely too much with a shady dude in his wake.
And like he was summoned, the stranger followed Killian outside, Emma very much aware of his presence and Killian very much oblivious to it.
It only took seconds before the situation went from bad and risky to absolutely terrible.
The man launched into a sprint chasing a wobbling Killian and knocked him to the ground, defenseless and powerless. He was not even able to put his hands out in front of him to break his fall, going head first. She could hear him hit the ground from where she was standing, hear the dull thud reverberating off the stony ground.
It wasn't enough for the man. It wasn't enough that he'd managed to knock him over and possibly knock out, the nasty look on his round face told her that this was not a half-finished business situation. He'd continue until either Killian had gotten the message or she had. Emma didn't want to know what that equated in Gold's mind.
Gold's minion lifted his foot and prepared to kick the fallen Killian with an immense force. Emma ran for dear life, attempting to reach them before the man was able to hurt him anymore.
Everything slowed down.
The man snarled as his leg swung, closer and closer to where Killian lay. He was still not moving, his body lying limp on the cobblestones. She moved her gaze upwards, back to the man. Right now she had to prevent any additional harm, she couldn't help him if the stranger could continue hurting him. The arch of the foot had not been completed yet, the dark boot had not reached its target yet.
The attacker was bigger and heavier than she was, meaning it would take a lot of effort to manage to knock him down. At least she had the element of surprise and he'd be easier to bring out of balance with his foot in the air. Her feet pushed off of the ground and the moving force of her body hit his. The impact affected the both of them. He stumbled, ending up on the ground a few feet away from Killian and she scrambled to not suffer the same fate, hands outstretched to regain her balance. His expression screamed anger and bewilderment. He hadn't counted on Emma interfering, using his own tactic on him.
He struggled to rise again, trying to push himself off the ground again to no doubt continue attacking them, but she would not let him.
"Leave!" she screamed. She was intrepid, for a moment she didn't care about the man being larger and heavier than she was. The only thing that mattered was getting out of there unharmed. Or not more harmed she thought, the unconscious Killian playing in the back of her mind. "I will scream until everyone in this entire neighborhood is awake." Grabbing her phone she unlocked it to quickly snap a picture of the man before her. "I'll call the cops and show them this picture, I'm sure it won't take them long to find you." The attacker's concern was tangible, her words disconcerting. She bet Gold would do terrible things to him if he managed to get himself caught and risk his actions leading back to his boss. "Don't you dare bother us again." It came out in a growl, making it even more of a warning.
The man scurried away, as much of a rat as his employer was.
She watched him, eyes trained on his moving back as he disappeared from the scene. In an instant Emma turned around, kneeling next to Killian's unconscious body. "Killian." She shook his shoulders. "Killian!" Her hand searched for his wrist and tried to focus on a steady pulsing under his skin. When she detected one, she sighed in relief. At least he wasn't dead.
One slight problem, however. What was she going to do with an unconscious Killian? Bring him inside to Robin to let him wake up before vanishing herself? He wouldn't get home that way and what if Gold's minion did not heed her warning and just came back?
It was her job to get him home.
She searched for her phone in the pocket of her hoodie before she remembered she'd put it in her back pocket. Clicking the device to life and inserting her password, Emma looked for the number of a taxi service. She found one fairly quickly and dialed the number, waiting until the dialing tone made place for a human voice. Finally, a man's voice crackled along the line, welcoming her to the service and asking how he could be of service. She answered the question by replying she was in need of a cab and stated the address she was currently seated and Killian was currently lain. The man assured her it was no problem and one of their drivers would reach her in ten minutes, wishing her a pleasant evening before the line was broken off.
Hopefully, Killian would wake up before the cab arrived because she was in no mood to explain that situation to the unsuspecting cab driver that came to pick them up. She began shaking him again, the method proving to be successful this time as he flinched in response, his face distorted as he groaned.
She inspected his head but, despite the hard fall, there was not a speck of blood nor any sign of swelling or discoloration. He got lucky.
His return to consciousness was slow and time-consuming and by the time the street lit up due to the cab's headlights, he was more or less sitting upright but his eyes stayed closed, Emma guessed it was to ward off the headache that followed the hit.
The cabbie stopped the car and got out, his face worriedly scanning the both of them stuck on the sidewalk.
"D' you order a cab?" he asked, his grey-streaked eyebrows creasing.
"Yes," Emma answered, a saccharine smile appearing on her face. "My boyfriend got a little too drunk and we have to get home." The apology was palpable in her voice.
"D' you need some help?" He nodded at Killian's slumped form.
"If you'd be so kind." She stood up, wiping some dirt off her pants, before turning to Killian and grabbing his left arm, the cab driver hurrying to join her and grabbing his right.
"No worries, lass," he assured her as they slowly carried him to the car. The door opened and with a gentle touch, they placed him inside. Once the door shut again, Emma hurried to the other side of the vehicle to get in as well.
She told their driver the address and he nodded, putting the key into the slot and igniting the engine. The car roared to life. Her eyes kept drifting to Killian, the worry etched on her face, in the set of her mouth and the lines on her forehead. It only took about five minutes to reach Killian's place, the driver stepping out again to help support Killian to the entrance of his building.
She thanked him, handing him his fare with an added bonus of a generous tip and the man bowed his head in gratitude as he accepted his payment.
"He's lucky to have you."
She smiled, the movement of her lips not completely genuine and watched the driver leave again.
Emma was certain Killian would disagree.
They went inside. Emma looked up at the stairs and sighed. This again. She'd hoped that the last time she had to support—carry—him upstairs would be in fact the only time but it seemed that she would not be that fortunate.
Who needed a gym membership when she could help 178 lbs up two flights of stairs on a regular basis?
There was a jingle of keys as she accidentally brushed against his jacket and Emma smiled. At least some aspect of this could be easy. She fished out the keys, slid one into the lock and let out a content sigh when she'd picked the right one, right off the bat.
Flicking on the lights, she led Killian into his own apartment. She didn't know if she could make it to the bed like this, but the couch was close and comfortable enough for him to recover. He appeared to agree as he sighed once his body hit the soft leather and burrowed himself into the sofa. She stood and watched him fall asleep.
She could leave now.
He was safe in his apartment.
But was it really morally responsible to go away now? She couldn't just leave without really making sure he was okay. And so she sat down in a comfortable-looking chair that stood next to the sofa. Her curiosity pulled at her to go and explore his place, find objects and things she hadn't caught last time but she willed her body to stay put. She had no right to, she hadn't been invited, she wasn't even on good terms with Killian right now. He wouldn't appreciate it if he saw her snooping around, would think it was only a part of her former job again. She stayed seated.
Until there was movement on the couch again.
"Killian, easy," she said as she saw him trying to get up, a disoriented look across his expression. "You got knocked out and I brought you to your apartment," Emma continued speaking, trying to explain.
He looked at her, his eyes first clear and untarnished, before a darkness swept over, before he remembered everything.
"Thank you, my one and only savior," he snided.
"Killian, come on, don't." She tried to approach but he wouldn't let her, contorting his body so he could avoid her touch.
He nearly fell down in the process, the alcohol still in his system and not having recovered from the knockout hit yet.
"I don't care that you don't want to be here with me right now, but you're staying put, Killian Jones or so help me God. You're drunk, you got KO'd. The last thing you should do is strain yourself. Unless you want to end up unconscious on the floor. If that's the case, be my guest." She waved to embellish her statement. What a risk she was taking, what a gamble that Killian wouldn't just be headstrong and stubborn and do exactly that. She knew him, however, or she liked to think she knew him and while he had his stubborn moments—nothing compared to hers of course—Killian was also smart, often calculated, so while he could use this situation to prove a point, he wouldn't risk his own life like that; he was a survivor after all. He'd told her that so many times.
While not particularly content with the situation, by the way his lips stayed closed and his body stilled, Emma figured that he did see she had a point.
She walked over to the kitchen, filled a glass with water and handed it to him before settling back into her chair.
A couple of newspapers lay on a tiny coffee table next to it and to battle the awkwardness and to prevent herself from staring at Killian the entire time, she opened one, her gaze racing over the headlines to determine what she'd find interesting to read about.
She'd almost gotten to the end of the last one, all in silence with only the occasional rustling of paper against her fingers. A grunt reached her ears and Emma left the newspaper as it was, eyes traveling to the source.
"Are you feeling alright? Do you need a painkiller?"
"I'm fine." Emma couldn't keep the incredulous look from taking over her expression. "Truly," he reassured, standing up from the couch in one swift motion.
She stood up as well.
"Do you need proof?" he questioned.
"No, of course not," she opposed, sounding beaten because of his bitterness. "I guess I'll get going then."
Killian said nothing in return, no acknowledgment of her statement or approval of her departure.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw him peer out the window, shoulders tense and hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans. She walked away from the door.
"What happened between you and Gold that made him hate you so much?"
If she was deciding to leave him alone for good and stop meddling in this trainwreck of a situation, she had to know everything. There was a missing chunk in this narrative; things didn't add up. Why would Gold go for such drastic measures as to kill a man, to take his life as some kind of retribution, a fair revenge?
It stayed quiet and that didn't come as a surprise. Why would he even bother to reply? He'd made it perfectly clear that this, whatever it might be and might have been, was over.
She should go home.
Staying here only bothered him and hurt her.
Silently, she bid him goodbye one last time, resuming the path she'd previously abandoned. She'd miss him but at least he was safe, at least she'd been there to protect him tonight. She could add one positive thing to her résumé.
Her hand went to the door handle but stopped mid-air as the silence was finally broken. She whirled around.
"I had an affair with Milah, Gold's wife," he answered, still facing the dark view of the city.
Emma wasn't expecting that answer at all and for a second, she was happy he wasn't looking at her. Her expression was all over the place as she processed the fact that he did want to talk to her while attempting to wrap her mind around the image of Killian sleeping with Gold's wife. She'd never heard anyone mention a Mrs. Gold and as far as she knew, Gold didn't wear a wedding ring, though the mention of an affair might explain that.
If it hadn't been Killian himself telling her, she would deem it an impossible rumor, ungrounded and untrue. For all his talk of honor and good form, sleeping with a married woman strayed far from that. So either he was not who he pretended to be or there was even more to this story. She could sense it was the latter, her gut had never once detected something was off, her mind had never once caught a lie.
"I didn't care that she was married, not when we were so absolutely in love and when she made me feel like I'd never felt before. She was going to leave her husband, but before she could, he caught wind of the affair and it is safe to say he wasn't very pleased with it. He wanted me out of the picture and set up a trap to kill me. What he didn't count on, however, was Liam being the one driving instead of me." Emma covered her mouth with her hand. He didn't have to tell her what the outcome of that plan was: Liam lifeless and Killian hand-less and without a brother. "Even though the other driver was identified and put into jail, I knew he was the real culprit. I asked Milah to gather proof, to tell him she'd left me and that I was nothing more than a distraction, so he'd begin to trust her again. This went on for months but Milah came back one day, convinced that he had figured it out. We had to stop. She did have one last piece of information: Gold was leaving Boston to move to London."
"Where is Milah now?"
At last, Killian abandoned the window and turned around, running his hand through his dark locks. He looked exhausted.
"Gone." It felt like Emma's heart stopped beating. "Disappeared into thin air. We'd always talked about traveling the world and I take it she's doing just that," he said, not one trace of resentment in his voice, instead something akin to gratitude. She let out a small sigh, thankful herself that no more people had met their end in this feud.
His explanation played again in her head, slowly filling in the gaps like concrete being poured over a battered road. Her forehead creased and she went in search of his eyes.
" That's why you moved back to London? To keep researching Gold and to build up a case? You lied to me?"
Her accusations stirred something loose in him, a spark igniting in the dull blue of his irises.
"I wasn't bloody well going to tell a girl I just met and fancied that I moved here because of a feud with my brother's murderer. I might've hidden the real reason why I returned to England, but the rest of it was all real. And, to be quite honest, Swan, you don't get to be all bloody judgemental." He pointed a finger at her. "You've done too much to earn that right. Including conniving with my arch nemesis."
Emma felt her own temper rise, slowly but surely taking hold of her body and thoughts, revealing everything she'd been wanting to say but hadn't had the chance to or had the courage for.
"You wanna talk about it?" She walked towards him, eyes wide. "Let's. What the fuck do you want me to say? That I was selfish, only thinking of myself? That I didn't know? Because, yes, that's true, it's what happened. I regret it, though, trust me. I've been alone my entire life, fighting to survive, to get somewhere in life."
And she'd made some bad decisions along the way, but who in her situation didn't? Staying alone, an orphan, homeless wasn't an option.
"You haven't been the only person in this whole fucking world to get hurt, Emma. You know about me, about my youth, about my brother. I told you all of that and still, you continued to lie. You want to blame that on a crappy childhood, sure go ahead. But that doesn't excuse all of your actions."
It should've been the yelling or the clench in his jaw or his balled fists but in the end, the only thing that truly scared her were his words. How they seemed to exclamate the truth and nothing but it. And as the reality of the situation hit her—as the truth was brought to the surface—so had the tears.
She was crying like she was the one who had gotten betrayed, as if she were the one who had been lied to for weeks on end.
Holy fuck, what the hell was wrong with her?
He was inching towards the door again, clearly planning to force her to leave and never let her back in. She could sense it. He was done.
"Please don't make me leave," she begged, hating how she sounded, how weak.
A sob escaped her lips, her hand immediately smothering the sound. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried; an actual crying fit. She was never overtly emotional. She had a tight leash on her emotions and was able to master them, to contain them. But it seemed this whole situation—the yelling, the betrayal, the want—had eviscerated that. It had dissolved the strings she used to control and left a chaos of loose, jumping, and roaming feelings.
Killian stopped.
"I'm just tired, Swan," he admitted, his shoulders moving in a shrug, his hand covering his face. "I don't know what you want me to do."
Emma didn't either. Not with the defeat in his voice. Not with the empty apologies in hers.
In silence, she watched him, the warm tears rolling down her cheeks with no obstruction, no sound.
"You know what the worst part is?" He looked up again while speaking, his eyes registering her tears. "Even though you've only lied to me these past weeks, the worst part of it all was when you decided to throw yourself into harm's way today to save me."
He struggled with his words, with what she'd done, she could see it. His breathing was too vehement for him to be calm and collected. He shielded his eyes by placing his hand on his forehead, worriedly rubbing his temples.
"And to top it off: you only did it to atone for what you did, to save your own skin."
Her hand wiped some of the tears off her cheek.
"I did it for you." Emma had to stifle the displeasure. She understood why he would think that, how her behavior had led him to believe she was as selfish as they came, ready to throw others under the bus for her own gain.
Maybe she was once. Slightly too selfish for her own good, always focused on her own survival, first and foremost. She had learned to share and open up with her friends back in Boston but her solitude here had triggered the instinct that was buried deep inside again. And that had led to this mess. This absolute clusterfuck of a mess.
"I did it for you," she repeated, softer, more vulnerable. Emma couldn't think of anything else than that one sentence, those five words.
For him. And selfishly for herself as well, but not to protect herself. To protect someone she cared so, so much for. Enough to cast her self-preservation aside and risk everything.
He looked up at her words, a question swirling around the blue of his irises.
"I know it doesn't atone for what I've done and that wasn't why I did it. I only did it to save you."
His forehead crinkled in confusion.
"I cannot for the life of me figure you out, Emma. What do you want?"
At that moment, she chose honesty, even if it was painful or confusing or unsatisfactory. Like the answer she gave to his question.
"I don't know."
"How can you not know?" he questioned angrily. "Was it all an act then? Scripted and rehearsed and you don't know what to do now? Have you run out of stage directions and lines?"
"I didn't pretend, okay!" she yelled, fed up with him second-guessing her actual, true feelings. "The touches, the smiles, that wasn't part of an act. That was me. And it hurt doing what I did. I considered quitting so many times but I'd signed a contract and I was still able to make a clean break. And then—" She cut herself off with a profound sigh, closing her eyes as the sound came out of her mouth.
"And then what?"
"I fe—I started caring about you and Gold started threatening me, forcing me to continue. At the Tottenham match, when I got a work call—" She saw Killian think back of the moment, try to recall it. "—it was him. That's why I acted so strange afterward, why I didn't answer your texts anymore. I didn't want to hurt you." Her hand wiped a tear away. She'd tried, she really had. "The problem was that I was hurting you either way, by staying because that led to this and by staying away because I would've broken your heart. I hate him for that," she spat and took a breath. She sniffed before continuing with a more quiet voice. "Hate myself for it."
Killian watched her, not a word of reaction, not a word of dismay coming out of his mouth. She so wished it would, that the silence wasn't just filled with the sound of her crying. It said enough, though. She had done it again.
She had no excuses left.
No friends.
No family.
No one.
Back to where she started, but the clean slate did not feel liberating or rejuvenating. It just felt empty. Lonely. She hadn't felt that in quite a while. Even before, there was the tiniest kernel of hope that their rift was only temporary and that they'd, at some point, resume their journey. She had no idea where it was going but she had been curious to find out. No more of that now, however. Roadblock, access denied. It was time to let Killian go and let him explore new places, new options. Things that could actually make him happy. She knew that Gold lurking would deter him from actual happiness. Being on the run was no way to live, she could attest to that.
The least she could do was make sure Gold didn't ruin any more lives.
"I promise I will make sure Gold leaves you alone."
"No."
"Killian," she attempted to reason. How did he not see that it would be for the best?
"No." The word was harsh and curt, his eyes strict and commanding as he approached her, far from the playfulness that once resided in them. "I cannot lose anyone else at the hands of that vile bastard. I cannot lose you, Emma. Even though you're not mine to lose."
He stood so close to her, she had to lift her head to look him in the eyes. What she saw there only made her heart beat faster, her breathing more hurried, the feeling inhabiting her body stronger.
"I am yours."
His breath was hot on her skin; his eyes darted across her face, pausing by her lips before moving back upwards along her tear-stained cheeks. They stared into each other's eyes and the electricity crackled along Emma's arms.
She wasn't exactly sure who took that final step and bridged that final gap, but one moment they were staring at one another and the next their lips were touching.
And it was the culmination of four months of yearning, of all of the anger and fear, of every "will they, won't they" moment and thought, of every smile and every lingering touch.
So much emotion that it consumed her, it consumed him.
It was a heated battle for control, the give and take. It was rushed, the both of them hurrying to explore everything there was to explore as if it could be taken away any second. Their teeth clashing, their tongues dancing. And all she wanted was more. More of this, more of him.
Her hands tangled into the hair at his nape, inching higher in the smooth, longer locks. His arm was snug around her waist and his hand disappeared in her hair. Her breathing accelerated; the oxygen she was getting wasn't enough when her body was burning through it, burning for him.
She bit his lip and he groaned, a guttural sound that in one sweep sent all of the heat downwards. He lifted her legs in response, pulling her even closer while his hand slipped under her clothes. Emma locked her ankles around his waist, never breaking the connection of their lips. He carried her to where she assumed the bedroom was, no trace of his earlier injury in his steady and powerful step. He used his foot to open the door. His hand and prosthetic were engaged in fondling the curve of her hips and massaging her supple skin in a way that she wanted his fingers everywhere along her body, wanted every region to go through the same feeling of delight.
She was wearing too many clothes.
In a careful act of balancing, anchoring her weight on one arm while the other slid out of the sleeve of her dark hoody, she attempted to remedy that. Successfully, as the garment unceremoniously hit the ground after some more wriggling. Her attention went back to the fusion of their lips, the push and pull. Killian closed the door and pressed Emma against it, giving the both of them more leverage and balance. She gathered the fabric of his shirt in her hands, forcing him to come impossibly closer. The wooden door was not treating her back well, so she slightly shifted her hips to find a more comfortable angle. It elicited an unexpected moan from Killian, the sound reverberating against her teeth. And so she did it again, the same effect following swiftly. A smirk appeared on her lips and he whispered something she couldn't decipher before moving them to the bed.
He slowly laid her down on the bed, his hair brushing against Emma's forehead as they continued to kiss, discover what other spots made them quiver and whimper all the while still being fully clothed.
There was no mistake to be made in where this would lead once they actively began to take off their clothes, in how everything would change once they did and they both seemed to come to that realization at the same time.
The kiss broke at last and as soon as his lips left hers, she only wanted to chase that lost sensation again, restore the warm connection that had tingled along the sensitive surface of her lips. Killian went to sit on his knees and Emma sat upwards to be on equal footing. For the first time since, their eyes met. Pupils blown wide, there was barely any blue to be discerned in his eyes but there was something else. Vulnerability. And the emotion he exuded, she probably mirrored.
It only confirmed how much she wanted this, had wanted this for ages. Not to just fuck someone, but for it to mean something more, so much more. She wanted him and only him.
She saw the question appear in his eyes and she nodded before slowly kissing him again, cradling his cheeks, the light stubble coarse against her palms. It was the opposite of their earlier kisses; it was slow, tender and unhurried. The only thing that was left after they worked off seething fire. It was still there but subdued, embers that were at the end of their life, softly dying but still smoldering, still carrying that essence of warmth.
She reached for the oversized T-shirt she was wearing and lifted it over her head, exposing her simple black bra. Killian pressed his lips down on her collarbone, tracing it with his tongue as Emma buried her hand back into his hair. A gasp escaped her lips. As the soft cotton of his shirt rubbed against her bare skin, she opened her eyes. He still had his shirt on. Not for long, if it depended on her. She grabbed the hem and lifted it, Killian helping by raising his arms and allowing her to take the shirt off. Haphazardly, she threw it somewhere in the room, her focus completely usurped by the glorious chest in front of her.
After some fiddling behind her back, Killian managed to unhook her bra fairly easily which for some reason turned her on even more. The bands slid off before Emma, again, launched the garment away from the bed, not even remotely caring where it landed. He pampered her with kisses all over her chest, some more rough than others with his tongue coming in and soothing her throbbing skin.
Thinking that he deserved some attention and pleasure too, her fingers roughly raked through his chest hair before she claimed his lips again. Her hands continued to roam, scratching along the trail of hair that ventured south. She came across the button of his pants and undid it, together with opening the zipper to relieve some tension, much appreciated going off of Killian's sigh. As he rushed to take his pants off, Emma went to her own pair and removed it.
He looked like a man with a purpose as he watched her, half-naked in his bed, and approached her. It didn't take long for Emma to discover what the purpose was as his teeth got rid of the final piece of clothing on her body. "Oh," she mouthed. The pleasure took hold of her and she licked her lips as breathing became harder and harder, as the waves of pleasure soared higher and then crashed.
He let her catch her breath as he simply lay next to her, watching her, occasionally brushing a stray hair away from her forehead, caressing the apple of her cheek, grazing her swollen lips. She looked at him, noting the tenderness and he softly smiled before planting a butterfly kiss on her forehead, then both of her cheeks, on the freckles of her nose before ending on her mouth. Emma kissed back, more fervently than Killian had planned the kiss to be and set everything—the burning and lust—back into motion.
It was back to wanting everything and all.
It was back to needing him.
-/-
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling. There wasn't anything to see, the darkness had swallowed every feature and detail of the room. And yet, it was the nothingness that kept her from sleeping, that let her imbue every haunting thought and magnify it, project it on a dark canvas.
She couldn't think.
Killian's hand across her stomach felt too warm, too crushing.
She couldn't breathe.
Emma slid out of his hold, slowly and carefully to not interrupt his peaceful slumber, and left the bed.
I know, I know I've done it again. Sorry. Here's a fun fact to distract you: this is actually the first time I've written anything remotely M territory. I'm usually a kiss and fade to black kinda gal but for some reason, the CSBB challenge wasn't enough for me and I had to throw in a personalized one as well. Again, I'm grateful for my wonderful betas and their support which led me to conquer two challenges instead of one.
I'd love to hear your thoughts. Until next week, friends!