A/N: Thank you all so much for your favorites, follows and kind reviews. I love seeing them! If anyone out there has any prompt ideas/requests, feel free to post them in a review or find jennsavvi on tumblr. That said, here's a little speck of fluff to tide you over after last night's episode :)
Definitely, Maybe
(rated T for implied sexual activity)
She wakes to the feeling of a warm arm slipping around her waist, and when a pair of lips press softly into the crook of her neck, she freezes, eyes snapping open.
"It's just me," comes a quiet murmur next to her ear, and she feels her body melt back into relaxation at the familiar voice.
Killian resumes tracing his lips up and down the line of her neck, and she takes a moment to just feel. It's been so long since she's done this, since she's opened her arms and her bed and her heart, and she expects to feel the aching twinge of regret, but she doesn't, not even when his hand slips up over her ribs to rest on that place where she knows her pulse is beating out a rhythm of words all its own.
"Did you sleep well?" he asks, and the whispered words tickle the shell of her ear. She nods, bringing her fingers up to tangle in his.
"Did you?"
He hums an affirmative into her hair, nose nudging her when he nods. "Better than I have in ages, my love."
His words send a thrill through her body, and the addition of those two possessive letters in front of the endearment she's become so used to hearing sets her heart racing. She's heard him say it before, will hear it again, certainly, but it carries more weight than usual in the stillness of this first morning-after.
"Emma?" he questions, and it's only then that she realizes her body's gone stiff again. She makes a conscious effort to loosen her muscles, and rolls in his arms to smile sheepishly up at him.
"Sorry," she says softly. "Old habits."
She reaches up to run a thumb over his lips, and he presses a kiss to her knuckle. "You don't have anything to run from this time. I'll not hurt you."
It's become a mantra of sorts, his promise to her that he vows over and over in the words that he speaks and the things that he does and the way that she knows—just knows, without him having to say anything—that he loves her, probably more than anyone's ever loved her in her whole life.
"I know."
She smiles, sliding her hand back through his hair to pull him down for a long, languid kiss. His tongue slips against hers, and even though her body aches and she really wants nothing more than to take a hot shower, she feels the want start to pool between her legs.
He kisses her like he can't get enough of her, and it breaks her heart a little bit to think that he'd spent all that time—stubborn, foolish man that he is—thinking he'd never get to kiss her like this again.
Oxygen becomes a necessity at some point, however, and she breaks away to heave in gasping breaths of air. His lips are kiss-bitten red, the apples of his cheeks stained the most delectable pink, and her hands have absolutely wrecked his hair, but he's beautiful in that way that twists in her chest, and she pulls him closer so that she can rest her forehead against the skin of his neck.
"Do you want to get up?"
His voice is raw and thick around both lust and love, and it makes her shiver a little bit to hear it. She glances over at the clock, briefly, and notes with satisfaction that they still have a couple of hours before Henry will be up and looking for her. She knows that, eventually, they'll have to start their day; they'll have to trek down the stairs to the diner and meet her parents for breakfast, and they'll have to fan out and start picking up the pieces of what's left of Storybrooke, but it's only just a quarter after five, and they can afford to stay in bed a little longer.
He doesn't question when she pushes him gently onto his back and rolls to straddle his hips. His hand comes up to hold her steady, and she bites her lip when they start to move because she thinks that maybe she loves him—and maybe it's less of a think and more of a know, and less of a maybe and more of a definitely—but she doesn't quite have the words to say it, at least not the way he does, and so she lets her body do all the talking, and when she falls apart, he's still right there, arms wrapped around her tight, his lips already knitting her back together.