He wakes with a smile lingering on his lips - one he has worn since he sank into the seat of his car the night before.
It's a lazy, punch-drunk kinda smile - you could call it goofy - but he enjoys the way it feels, the way his lips curve and the usual heaviness on his shoulders seems to lift. For a moment, he is invincible.
His skin still hums from her touch. The blissful calm of his release lasted much longer than usual, carrying him into a peaceful night of sleep.
The day seems fresher somehow - the light brighter, the air sweeter…
Thinking to the night before, he begins to burn a fever.
Memories wash over him. Her taste. The sounds she made… The feel of her unravelling before his very eyes fuels the want in his loins. He wants more. She's a drug and he's already addicted. He sinks his feet to the floor and pads to the bathroom; working out his frustration as the hot water peals down his back.
/
The hour before Henry will return should be spent on the usual Saturday chores. Instead, she lingers in bed, wrapping the soft cotton sheets around her body.
She's spent.
Once he left, she'd floated off to bed.
Now, she lies in the early autumn light that peeks through her window, running the evening through her mind. It feels surreal. She thinks she might have imagined the whole thing-
But then she arches her back and feels the familiar ache inside where his fingers worked their magic and she knows it wasn't a dream. So she smiles and lays her head back on the pillow, letting the feeling linger, just a little longer.
/
He calls. And it's a little awkward and stilted and short-
(But her heart is still racing and a shot of adrenaline is running icily through her veins, flushing her cheeks as she rakes her fingers through her hair).
He seems nervous. She's certainly shy - a little embarrassed about the shared intimacy of the night before, a little unsure that he doesn't regret it.
When he mentions coffee, the tension in her shoulders relaxes.
He doesn't regret it.
They are going to meet tomorrow, in the afternoon, when she can leave Henry for an hour or two to do his homework (though she knows he will probably play video games instead). She thinks he's smiling now. It's the lift at the end of each sentence.
She can't help but smile too.
/
He should wait, he tells himself. Play it cool.
But he rang her just before nine anyway.
She sounds tired and is a little quiet (for a second he thought she was going to say it was all a mistake-)
The awkwardness wears away and he finds himself asking her for coffee.
He holds his breath.
(God, really he wants to drive round there straight away…)
"Sure," she replies.
(His heart skips a beat).
She tells him Henry will be back soon, so reluctantly, he bids her adieu.
"See you later, Killian," she whispers.
He memorises the way she says his name. Her tongue seems to wrap around each syllable, caressing it softly.
He likes the way she says his name.
/
He sits, waiting for Robin, spinning his racquet between his hands, he stares at the lacquered wooden floor of the squash court. Checking his watch, he sighs. Late, as per usual.
It's unusually quiet for a Saturday morning. He can hear the ticking of the second hand of his watch. He's a little tired, rubbing his face with one hand as he straightens up. After calling Emma (his stomach clenches pleasantly whenever he thinks of her) he had showered and headed to meet Robin for their weekly squash game. He had been tempted to blow it off - to stay in bed a little longer and let the memories of the night before wash over him. But the little nagging doubt that had been bothering him - the one that told him he needed to speak to his friend about their bet - had him pulling on his sneakers and heading out of the door before his mind had time to argue.
"Sorry mate!" Robin announces as he breezes into the room, closing the glass door behind him as he tosses his gym bag to the floor. "I was-"
"With Regina," Killian finishes, flashing his friend a look until Robin smirks and nods his head.
"You know me too well."
"Your behaviour is nothing if not expected when it comes to that woman." Killian adds as he stands and starts to stretch his legs.
"You're one to talk," Robin snorts. "I believe that the 'predictable' is your middle name?"
It smarts a little, the words. Robin is busy unpacking his racquet and he contemplates the meaning of what his friend said. He was right - Killian Jones was easy to read. A one trick pony, his father would have said. And it had served him well these past years.
Killian shrugs, brushing off his friend's words - perhaps now was not the time for detailed introspection.
"Come on, let's play."
It's a hard fought match. Killian is taking out his growing internal frustration on the small rubber ball, slicing it with his racquet as it approaches, sending it hurtling towards the wall where it quickly rebounds back to Robin, keeping him on his toes.
There's little talk. Killian grunts a little with the effort of each hit. Sweat is running down his face - dripping from his chin to the floor or his t-shirt. He absentmindedly swipes a hand through his sodden hair as he returns Robin's serve - a little more powerfully that he intended so that it scarcely misses Robin's head - instead careening towards the glass wall behind them, Robin barely moving out of the way in time.
"Jesus, Killian - trying to kill me?"
Chest heaving, Killian shakes his head and manages to squeeze out, "Sorry."
Frowning for a second, Robin rolls his eyes and then walks over to where he left his water bottle.
"Spill it, Jones."
Killian turns and gives him a confused look, "Huh?"
Robin takes a drink and bends down to pick up the errant squash ball. "Whatever the hell has gotten you in this goddamn mood."
"I'm not in a mood," Killian retorts, squaring up to his friend, relishing the whole extra inch of height he had.
"Alright," Robin quips, "Then should I go find a safety helmet from somewhere? Or would whole body padding be more appropriate?"
He didn't want to smile. He really, really didn't… But Robin had this way of making light of any situation that made it impossible to keep a serious face when around him.
"Ah, so the mask slips…" Robin teased.
"Sorry," he repeats, the sincerity that was lacking earlier returning with full force as he sat back down on the bench at the rear of the court and dug out his own water bottle. "I had a bit of a night, last night."
"Ruby?"
"No," Killian sighed, shaking his head.
"Ah, Miss Swan then I take it? Don't tell me the bet's over all ready? I was sure-"
Killian glanced up at the other man. "If you mean have I slept with her," he begins, before hesitating, "Then no. I haven't."
"Well then that poses many interesting questions as to why you seem in such a quandary."
Pausing, Killian takes a quick sip of the water. It's lukewarm now after an hour in his bag. He swills it around his mouth before reluctantly swallowing. Why is it so hard to tell his friend that he actually likes this woman? That he wanted out of their silly game? That he didn't see her as a fun project any more, but something else- What, though, he wasn't so sure.
"What mate?" Robin asked with concern.
"You wont laugh?"
(God, he feels like a teenager talking about his first crush, waiting for the judgement of his pubescent friends-)
"Now I'm worried-"
"And I feel like a prize prick," Killian grumbles. He interlaces his fingers before looking up. "Last night, after the dance, I took Emma home-"
"Annndd?" Robin urged.
"Short version, I think the bet is a bad idea." He avoids Robin's gaze, instead squaring his jaw and studying the tiny hairs that layer the back of his hands.
"Is this you conceding defeat-"
"Certainly not-"
"So you-"
Killian presses his eyes shut. "There were some activities that involved the removal of clothes."
"Come on Killian, it's not like you to play coy about sex-"
"Maybe this is different," he replies quietly.
He hears Robin move to sit beside him. "You like her?"
"Yeah." (He's surprised how easy it was to say that.)
He feels strangely nervous. Telling his closest friend he is attracted to a woman should not be so difficult - should it? There was a pause of a few seconds as both digested the words.
Robin was the one to break it.
"I never thought I'd see the day-"
Killian groaned, "Don't-"
The hand on his shoulder stilled the words. "I was trying to say, mate, I never thought I'd see this happen. You - hung up on a woman. It suits you."
Swallowing his brief annoyance, he licked his lips quickly. "So I'm hung up?"
"It's written all over your face. And the frustration with which you hit that ball. I have a date tonight you know - can't be damaging the money maker." He gestured to his face, a cheesy grin gracing his lips.
Killian softly punches Robin on the arm, both men laughing lightly until silence descended.
"So," Killian begins, "The bet-"
"Let's call this one void. But you owe me."
Robin stands and reaches out his hand. They briefly shake before picking up their racquets. "And now it's time for me to show you how an arse whooping is really done."
Without comment, Killian resumes his earlier position.
He's thankful that Robin didn't pry to deeply. He's grateful he didn't delve to much into his reasons for calling off the bet or his intentions towards Emma Swan.
Mainly, because he wasn't even sure himself yet.
/
It's the epitome of a lazy day. Henry is back by 10:30. They make pancakes while he regales her with tales of all the 'cool' video games his friend has and that his mom made them real ice cream milkshakes before bed.
She smiles as he talks. It makes her so happy to see him settle into life in this small town so well. It could easily have gone the other way. Henry never fails to make her proud and the way he has handled this move has solidified this feeling more firmly in her heart.
A little later, she's washing dishes, staring out the window at the duck egg blue of the late autumn sky. The dishwasher stands idle. She finds the pleasure of cleaning a dirty dish quite therapeutic when she has the time. As she rinses a plate under the tap a memory of the night before flashes through her mind. Her chest flushes hot as she remembers the feel of Killian's lips on her skin and the way her stomach lurched when he pressed his fingers into her flesh.
It takes a deep breath to compose herself. She pulls off the washing up gloves she was wearing and tosses them aside. Smiling to herself, she turns and rests against the sink. How long had it been since a guy had made her feel like this? Too long. She's missed it - that jittery, excited feeling, the little rush of anticipation when they enter your thoughts.
And then she wishes she had someone to tell. Someone to talk to about what had happened last night. Someone to tell her that she wasn't crazy wanting to pursue something with this man and wash away any lingering doubts. For the first time since moving she feels a little lonely. She thinks about calling someone but hesitates.
But who? Back home her social life revolved around work. But it's not like she can exactly call Regina for a chat about her love life. She runs a few names through her head and draws a blank. It suddenly occurs to her that what she needs right now is a friend.
Walking back into the lounge she ponders her situation. Until now her lack of close female companionship had never been a problem. She was busy with work and Henry- But now she has time on her hands. Henry is getting older and although she has been promoted, working in head office was so much more relaxed than she was used to.
Before she could think better of it, she grabbed her phone from where she left it on the couch.
Hey Mary Margaret, it's Emma Swan from the PTA. I was wondering if you are free for a coffee later?
A/N so a short chapter which has been incredibly hard to write - my muse is being very uncooperative! And can I say a thank you to everyone for reading, following and reviewing. Your support makes all this worthwhile.