Author's Notes: Prepare for well-deserved fluff. I regret nothing.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Chapter 28
Killian was sure he was well on his way to dying again.
Which, considering he had been dead only hours before, should concern him far more than it actually did.
He collapsed back onto the bed, chest heaving, as he ran a shaky hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "Bloody hell, love," he gasped. "Have some mercy on a pirate."
Emma laughed lowly in her throat, and he flinched when his thoroughly used cock still managed to twitch. He'd lost count of how many times he'd had her, though he thought they had to be somewhere near six. Soft morning light poured through the windows, and Killian honestly couldn't remember if he'd slept a wink. Anytime he thought he'd finally managed it, he would suddenly find himself awake and gasping.
This time it had been due to a pair of spectacularly talented lips.
Of course, that wasn't to say that he was entirely innocent. He would forever cherish the memory of his fingers sliding into Emma's wet heat and her sleepy whispers of more and fuck and Killian before she finally woke up enough to throw her leg behind his and guide him home.
But that particular round had to have been at least three hours ago, and he knew there were at least two more rounds before and after.
Devilish, teasing hands skimmed over his chest, nails lightly dragging when they reached the soft, smooth skin of his hips. He knew he should grab her wrists in case she planned to coax him into another round—because by the gods, he was certain another orgasm would finally finish him off for good—but he still didn't dare make a move to stop her.
He'd never refuse her, and if he just so happened to die, well, it was a bloody brilliant way to go.
Emma smirked from where she sat, straddling his hips like she owned him. She watched him twitch beneath her, muscles rippling wherever her hands roamed and teased. Watching his abdominals clench was quickly becoming one of her favorite pastimes, and she couldn't decide whether it was the thin trail of dark hair, the pale skin, or the deep V of his hips that she loved more. Or maybe it was all three and the fact that they led to another part of him that she was also terribly fond of.
She teasingly ran a single nail along his hipbone, grinning when Killian finally opened his eyes to glare half-heartedly at her. "If you're going to torture me, the least you could do is bloody well get on with it," he complained. "The waiting is worse."
"Relax, Captain," she cajoled as she leaned forward to brush a kiss over his lips. "I'm through with you for now."
Killian groaned even as he smiled. "Bloody hell," he sighed, kissing her again, lips slow and unhurried. Emma eventually had to break the kiss because she was smiling too much to continue it properly. She childishly pecked his cheek before she sat back up and her hands resumed their wandering.
This time her touch lacked any teasing. Instead, it was curious. It was hardly the first time she had seen him bare-chested, yet she felt so incredibly close to him now that the familiar sight just looked different. New. Her fingers naturally sought out the inconsistencies, the pale and rough patches of skin that spoke of stories she didn't know, pain he'd endured without her. She traced each scar and wondered.
Her fingers lingered on one that looked the most painful. It was low on his abdomen, mottled and thick and pale. One of his oldest. "I was still on Silver's ship when that happened." The sound of his voice made her head snap up to look at him. He'd only spoken of his indentured servitude the once, when he'd told her about his father. "We sailed into a bloody awful storm," he said, his eyes glazed with the past as he stared at the ceiling. "Lightning struck the main mast. Snapped it clear in half. One of the splinters stuck me."
Emma traced the wound that was easily the size of a half-dollar. "That's one hell of a splinter," she said, and he chuckled.
"Aye. Bloody bitch to remove. The ship's surgeon didn't much like me and was none too gentle picking out all the little bits." His smile faded somewhat as he continued, "I still remember Liam's face when he had to hold me down so they could cauterize it. Only time I can remember him crying."
"How old were you?"
"Sixteen."
Emma made sure not to show just how much his answer pained her. She could picture him, a younger him, perhaps with longer hair and the faintest bit of patchy scruff on his jaw, screaming on a dirty, bloody cot as a hot blade was pressed into his flesh. Without a word, she bent down and kissed the scar before moving on to one on his opposite hip. It was thick and a dark pink, far newer, and she ran her thumb along it.
"Much less interesting, that one," he murmured, his hand covering hers. "Got meself in a spot of trouble in a tavern."
Emma cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? What happened? Did they catch you cheating at dice?"
To her amusement, her words caused him to flush and look away from her. "Not . . . exactly, no."
She leaned forward, her hand gently tugging on his necklace. "What did you do?"
If he had been upright, he would have scratched behind his ear in that nervous, embarrassed way of his that she secretly thought was cute. As it was, he was reduced to simply blushing deeper and admitting, in strangled, hesitant voice, "Well, I . . . Swan, you know that I wasn't always so . . . devoted . . . to, ah, anyone . . ."
Emma smirked. "Who was she?"
"I . . . Lillian? Laura? Something like—bloody hell, stop looking at me like that, Swan."
"I can't," she giggled. "You're as red as a tomato. God, what did you do to her?"
"Nothing she didn't like," he responded smartly, even a bit smug, which only made her roll her eyes, until he once again began to squirm. "I just might've . . . drunkenly, mind you . . . promised to marry her, which honestly, wasn't my brightest idea since she was already married to the tanner, wanted a child, my child—she said she liked my eyes and other . . . things."
Emma stared at him with half a smile as she tried to figure out just where his story was going and wondering if it would be better if she never found out. "I'm almost too scared to ask what you did, now," she admitted.
Killian winced. "Well, her husband might have learned of our indiscretions and found us in my room the next morning . . ." he started and Emma promptly hung her head as he continued, ". . . and I was awfully hungover and couldn't bloody remember half the night, and then she was yelling that we were eloping and that she was already pregnant, and well, her husband was rather upset . . ."
She tapped the scar. "So, angry husband?"
Killian flushed. "Actually I stumbled into the doorway and gouged it on a loose nail trying to make a break for it and get me pants on at the same time," he said, making her laugh entirely against her will. "I never drank that much again." Emma continued to laugh, and he whined, "Swan, I told you that in complete trust. You're not supposed to bloody laugh."
She slapped a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry," she apologized, before snorting and collapsing onto his chest in a fit of giggles. Killian sighed heavily, even as his own lips twitched. "I'm sorry," Emma managed again. "It's . . . that's just . . . you're so much cooler than that, babe."
All sense of embarrassment left him at her endearment. It was a rare thing to coax it out of her, but every time he managed, he wanted to strut like a peacock and wear it like a banner. Babe. It was different pet name, he thought it likely more common in her realm, in her time, but that made it better to hear it now. He'd never been babe to anyone. He'd hardly been Killian to anyone.
And yet, to Emma, he got to be both.
He smiled when she still kissed the scar despite its backstory. Then she moved on to the others. Some he didn't even remember. His arms were dotted with thin lines from different nicks from too many swordfights over the years, and there was one cut that wrapped from his right armpit towards his nipple that he'd actually received from a misfired harpoon.
Emma kissed each one in turn until there was only one left, the newest of the lot, freshly healed and still a little red. She gently traced the long, angry mark that curved along his ribs. "And this one?" she asked.
"Aye, that one was entirely a blonde witch's fault," he murmured. "She'd put me under a spell, see. Most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, eyes green as the sea after a storm. Made me begin to remember the man I'd been." His hand wrapped around hers and brought it to his lips. "You can hardly fault a man for being a tad distracted when the lass decides to join a fight amidships."
"The lass was worried."
"The lass should have spared her Captain a fright." He slowly sat up, though he kept their clasped hands between them. "He loved her even then," he said. "Even if he didn't know it, and it would have killed him to lose her."
Emma smiled faintly. "I'm not going anywhere, you know," she said.
"Good."
He kissed her then, groaning at the roll of her hips that was already so familiar. Emma pulled him closer, burying her face in his neck as she began to suck and nip at the tender flesh that was already marked as hers. She rolled her hips again once her mouth was at his ear. "Make love to me, Killian," she breathed.
His answer was instant.
"As you wish."
Three weeks had passed when a raven landed on the wheel. Emma stared at the bird in surprise, her hands still gripping the spokes. She nearly shooed the bird away until she caught sight of the small leaf of parchment tied to its leg. Cautiously—hey, she still was fairly knew to magic and fancy carrier pigeons—Emma reached out to take the note. The bird did not react when she untied the missive from its leg, and once the bird saw its message delivered, took flight as abruptly as it had landed.
Emma eyed the black wax seal warily, brushing her thumb over the skull and crossbones imprint for a heavy moment before tearing open the letter. The ink was smudged slightly, the paper crinkled from sea spray, but Emma easily made out the neat, flourishing signature at the bottom: Elizabeth Swann. She scanned the letter hesitantly, feeling her gut drop for a brief second before she took a deep breath, folded the letter, and called Smee up to take the helm.
It was odd for her, to give orders to men that she still saw as Killian's crew. It was even odder, however, to watch said men hasten to obey her. She wasn't sure she liked it, didn't think she was meant to be a leader, but Killian insisted that by pirate code, as his . . . his girlfriend? No. Partner? Whatever. She was the Mistress of the Jolly Roger, and her word carried just as much weight as his own.
He liked to add, as well, that she had brilliantly proved her mettle during what was already being called the Battle of the Brethren, and any man who didn't respect her skill didn't belong on his ship.
Killian was in his quarters behind his desk, ink-stained fingers flipping through leafs of parchment just like the one in her hand. It had surprised her that despite being a pirate, the supposed scourge of the seven seas, Captain Killian Jones still couldn't escape paperwork. His ledger was open in front of him, and she wondered if the numbers were the cause of his glare.
A glare that melted, however, when she came down the stairs.
His gentle smile at the sight of her still made her want to blush. She didn't know if she'd ever get used to that soft twinkle in his eyes whenever he looked at her, but she knew she never wanted to see it go. "Miss me already?" he teased as she rounded the desk, sinking into his lap just as he reached for her. He hummed as he buried his face in her neck, lips skimming over her collarbone. He sighed against her skin, but instead of sounding content, he seemed tired.
Emma thoughtlessly began to slide her fingers through his hair, nails scraping gently at his scalp. "What's wrong?" she asked.
Killian sighed again as he pulled away from her, taking a hand from her waist to run over his face in frustration. "We haven't had much chance to work as of late," he said. "What with my git of a grandfather and his ex-lover mucking about. Supplies are low."
Emma turned away from him to glance at the ledger book. She frowned. "I know money works differently here, but that looks like more than enough to refit the ship."
It looked like enough to refit many ships.
Who'd have thought she'd find a rich guy?
She glanced back at Killian who grimaced, "Aye, love. I just . . ."
"What?"
Killian sighed as he trailed a hand up her arm to her shoulder. He nudged her long braid so he could pull her shirt open just enough to run his thumb over her freshly healed bullet wound. The skin was hot and tender. Fragile. Like if he pressed hard enough it would rip open and coat her side in blood just as it had the first time.
"The men won't be patient forever," he said eventually. "They'll want a score, and by rights, I owe them one. Leading them into a bloody war like I did, getting half of them killed, getting you hurt . . ."
"None of that was your fault, Killian."
"Perhaps not," he allowed, though Emma knew by his tone that he was humoring her. "Yet it changes nothing, in the end. I owe the lads some gold, but for once, I . . ." He looked up at her rueful, yet torn. "I'm not thinking about gold."
Emma tilted her head. "What are you thinking about?"
"That island I promised you."
Her eyes snapped to his, and Killian knew that she understood. "You'd . . ." She trailed off as she stared at him, searching for the truth, and he watched her flicker through an array of emotions—shock, confusion, disbelief, and then, finally, that shy love she wasn't used to letting him see. "You'd do that?" she finally managed. "You'd give up the Jolly for me?"
"Aye."
They'd shared many kisses by now. Killian thought for sure that he'd already memorized every single way their lips could move together, but this one was different. It tasted different. He couldn't describe it, but he knew it was special, this moment, and when it was over he felt a brief pang of loss. He chased her lips, trying to find that undefinable, sweet feeling again, but Emma stopped him by saying, "I love you."
He smiled.
"And that's why I can't let you do this," she added, and he frowned. "You love the sea, Killian. It's part of you. It's what makes you you," she smiled shyly, "and I love every part of you."
Killian's chest swelled even as he said, "You deserve more than this life, Swan. I'm wanted in four different realms for a litany of crimes I don't regret. Five different kingdoms in this realm alone would see me hang—"
"Hey, let me worry about what I deserve," Emma interrupted. "And no one in any kingdom or realm is getting their hands on you." She cupped his jaw, tracing the scar on his cheek. "Not while I'm around, anyway."
"I'm not worried about me."
"I know."
Killian turned his face into her hand, his nose grazing the soft flesh of her wrist. A faint scent of cinnamon clung to her, as warm and inviting as the heat of her skin, and he tenderly pressed a kiss there. "I'll make you a deal, Swan," he said.
Emma's brows rose playfully. "Can I negotiate?"
"Pirate."
"I learned from the best."
Killian smirked, both smug and fond as he stared at her. "Five years," he proposed. "We sail for five years, take what we will, and then we'll have this conversation again."
Emma tilted her head to the side as she studied him, eyes slightly narrowed, curious and confused. "Five years," she repeated after a moment. "I can't see you giving up all those adventures."
"Perhaps, love, there are other adventures." His eyes dropped without his permission to her stomach as his hand slipped from her waist to brush the flat, taut skin. "Quieter ones," he continued softly, hesitantly daring to meet her eyes. His heart thumped heavily in his chest at her wide, stunned gaze. "Yeah?" he asked gently.
He wanted kids. Emma tried to wrap her mind around it. She really, really tried, but she just kept getting stuck on images of little black-haired, blue-eyed pirates chasing each other with wooden swords across the deck of the Jolly. Then the image changed to blonde-haired, green-eyed children, and she felt a sudden and sharp pang for the child she'd already had, that she'd given away. What did he look like? Or she?
Killian didn't know. He didn't know what he was asking of her, and a familiar well of panic began to creep under her skin. She wanted to run. She suddenly, viciously, wanted to run as far as she possibly could. Killian's hands tightened on her waist, and she tried to take a deep breath, but suddenly all she could see was a narrow bed and plain walls and a thick blanket cradled in a doctor's arms—a blanket that kept crying and wriggling like it was desperate to reach her.
"Emma." Killian's hands cradled her face. She stared right through him, eyes glazed with remembered pain. "Emma, love, come back to me." She blinked and shuddered. "That's it, Swan," he soothed once she was looking at him and seeing him. "Where did you go?"
Emma blinked harshly and shook her head slightly before she took a deep breath, managing a feeble smile. "Nowhere," she said before agreeing, "five years sounds good."
Killian nearly pursued the subject. He almost asked—no, demanded—to know whatever sharp turn her thoughts had taken. Instead, he clenched his jaw before giving her a small, close-lipped smile and a little nod. "Aye," he agreed, noting the way she relaxed when she realized he was willing to let it drop. It only heightened his curiosity. "Now," he said, dropping his eyes to the parchment she'd laid on his desk. "What did you originally mean to tell me?"
Emma reached back to grab the letter. She handed it to him and watched as he read it with a growing frown. Once he was finished, he tossed it away with a curse. "Bloody hell," he said.
"Is it smart to go back so soon?" Emma asked, picking up the letter to reread it, as if it had an answer hidden in code. "I mean, it's been, what? Three weeks?"
"She needs to reassert her power," Killian said. "And I, well we, I suppose, are rather big players, given recent events."
"She needs us on her side."
"Aye, that she does."
Emma frowned as Killian's eyes narrowed as he glared at the note. "We are, aren't we?" she asked. "On her side."
"We're always going to be on our side, Swan."
"And it would be better for our side to be on her side," she said. "It makes sense, Killian, and you know it. Besides, Elizabeth and Jack took our side not too long ago. We owe them."
Killian glanced at the letter once more before he sighed, "So be it, then. Tell Smee to set a new course. We're going back to Shipwreck Cove."
And thus, the drama begins anew. We have fallout to deal with. Lots of people died. Power vacuums abound.
Next time . . . "How the bloody hell do you ignore that?" - Elizabeth
