Despite the furnace that she was sweltering in, just a glance out the window told her it was the North fricking Pole outside. Snow was falling from the sky, coating the ground in the fine white dust that to so many said holidays, hot cocoa and raging hot fires. It would be nice though if the apartment's thermostat agreed that raging hot did not equate to so fricking hot it was like the air was on fire.
Outside the apartment a wave of cool air hit her. It was truly disconcerting. As she made her way down the stairs, she felt the air get colder and colder. She shivered slightly. Thankfully the snow that was falling was hardly a blizzard, as the soft flakes dusted the ground. Each step crackled underfoot. Emma Swan did not have a favorite season, or a favorite weather pattern, but she did love the crunch of snow underfoot. All she wanted to do was walk, inhale the snow-filled air deep into her lungs and try and find some form of tiredness that would overcome temperature.
Her walk was going well, she wasn't thinking and exhaustion was beginning to overcome her. She was at the point of turning and heading back when she heard the gentle crash of waves and realized her feet had carried her to the docks. This was not her intention. This was not part of her plan. Whatever feelings, no thoughts, she had had about him since that moment were not enough to subconsciously carry her here, (despite the fact they evidently had). Cursing herself she thought briefly about ignoring temptation and heading back, but looking at the ship before her, she knew she couldn't. She had to speak to him. These thoughts had to be resolved. And the only way they could be resolved was her seeking him out and saying the things to him he never gave her a chance to say when they escaped Neverland.
The moment she was on deck her eyes sought him. It took her a few moments but eventually she saw him sitting against the mast staring up at the sky.
"If you're wondering what I'm doing, I'm trying to memorize the constellations of this world." He rasped, not looking up and taking a swig from his flask.
"How did you know I was here?" You haven't seen this guy in a week, you've been thinking about him constantly, dreaming about him every night and all you can think to say is how did you know I'm here? Really Emma?! Yeah, her subconscious needed to be dealt with if that was how she was going to react to his first words.
He chuckled, raising himself from the deck. "I didn't know it was you, love, just that somebody came aboard my ship without consent." He said taking a few steps towards her. "What can I do for you this fine evening?" He queried with a mock bow.
Emma scolded herself again. What had her feet been thinking taking her here? What had her brain been thinking when she consciously decided to continue the journey to him? He was nothing more than an arrogant ass, and in this moment he was trying her patience. But he had a mighty fine ass the devil in her brain whispered.
"Come come now Swan, don't stand on ceremony. Speak." He was still mocking her.
"I came to see you." She got out after one too many beats.
"Well that part was obvious." He retorted. "Well you've seen me now, so I say it's time you go. Wouldn't want anyone to wonder where you are." There was venom in his words that she had never heard before. He turned away from her, walking away.
"That's not the only reason I came." She spat, following him. "They never had a chance to thank you." For some reason, the term 'I' suddenly became foreign.
Emma Swan did not bow to her emotions; how could she when she did not feel anything? Love was an emotion that for a long time she had viewed as a weakness, it was, in a twisted way, Cora who showed her how it was truly strength. But that was family. She was saving her mother, her son, everyone she loved in that moment; it had nothing to do with romance. In this moment, saying 'I' suddenly exposed her to the side she was definitely not comfortable with, especially with him standing before her. She wanted to face him, to thank him for his help in Neverland, that part was true, but suddenly every single word she threw at him was filled with emotion, and for Emma, that was speaking a completely new language. Saying 'thank you' was only going to lead to unwanted (and highly sort after) complications.
It was a turn in the conversation. He stopped walking and faced her, a mask gracing his features. "They had no reason to thank me. I did nothing." He spoke quietly, walking past her, back in the direction he had just come.
She breathed heavily, her heart suddenly thundering at him. How had he missed that? 'They' means me, you moron! "Nothing?" She scoffed, following him a step behind. "You have a funny way of doing nothing. First you helped us get to Neverland, then you saved my father's life-"
"Which you already thanked me for." He cut in, the ghost of a smirk gracing his features.
"Then you saved my mother's life-"
"Which your father thanked me for." He cut in again, grazing his left cheek.
"You saved Neal's life, which you easily did not have to do-"
"I wasn't going to let him die like that." He bit in not looking at her.
"You saved Henry."
He stopped walking, and turned to properly face her. "I'm not sure what adventure you were on, but there were about seven or eight of us that got your boy off that island."
But Emma was finding her voice. Each statement had filled her with a determination that nothing he said could stop her. "You helped; you didn't have to, but you did. And you saved me." She whispered, in an effort to tell him without words the thoughts that had been plaguing her for the past week. It worked because whilst he opened his mouth to retort, he closed it almost immediately after, his eyes finding hers and boring in.
"When did I save you?" He asked after a beat, stepping close to her, invading her space. "You weren't hanging off a cliff, nor where you being sucked into a portal to an unknown world. You weren't dying; you didn't have hidden arrows flying at you. When did I save you?"
She stepped toward him closing the gap between them. "By waking something up in me that I didn't think existed anymore." She spoke as she moved closer to him, her brain clearly out of control.
His eyebrows jumped. "Oh? And what was that?"
"Love." She breathed unthinking before kissing him.
She found, as their lips met, that she didn't care that she had just exposed herself onto a silver platter. She didn't care that she had just dropped her walls for the first time in years, didn't care that he had won – like he had said he would – and didn't care that he had proved he was right about her. He was a stranger who had seen through her mask from almost the moment that they met. He was the smug bastard who had called her out repeatedly, read her bluff on numerous occasions and known exactly what cards she was holding. Neal knew how to read her, once. And she him, but recently she had found that their minds weren't in sync the way they once had been. He didn't know anymore what she was thinking as she ate her ice cream, didn't know what her eyebrow jump meant as she tasted Granny's new Chicken Parmigiana (she'd changed the cheese). And likewise, she hadn't been able to read him. She thought back to what it had been like when they first met. He knew she was a kid with issues, knew she had walls, and he had effectively overcome them within a short space of time. But then he broke her heart and her walls doubled, no tripled in size. Hook on the other hand, met her, and immediately unsettled her. He rattled her walls, attempted to scale them, and then discovered a shovel. She was making a decision, she was making a choice. She wanted the man who found the shovel, not the man who was trying the same old tricks to scale higher and tougher walls.
It took Hook a moment to realize what was going on. This was nothing like the kiss they had shared in Neverland, which spoke volumes. Their arms wrapped around their bodies, grabbing hair, skin, clothing and anything else. Yes this kiss was different; it was leading somewhere. His hands – well hand and hook – slid down her sides to her hips as he turned them and pressed them back against the mast. His hook found a slither of her skin exposed between her shirt and her jeans that elicited a gasp and a shiver; his hand trailed up her body and finished at her breast. That feeling broke their kiss as she pulled her face away from him. He too, took a step back, sensing that he had overstepped his bounds.
"Forgive me, I was out of line." He bit his lip turning half away, trying to ease the tension.
Before he was out of her reach she grabbed his hand and pulled him back to her, putting his hand back where it had left a temporary cold patch. "Not out of line, nowhere near the line." She whispered, finding his lips again.
That proved to be all the encouragement he needed. Their mouths dueled each other, tongues fighting for supremacy as their hands set about fighting the garments they were covered in; the only times their lips parted was when an article of clothing was pulled over their respective heads. Emma, who had climbed up his body, suddenly realized that they weren't on deck anymore; they were in his dimly lit cabin. Her clothes were on the floor by her feet. Emma examined him as he moved about the room lighting a few lanterns; his eyes, his brow, his chin, his lips, his jaw. She wanted to see a twitch, something that would reveal his hand, but he wasn't giving her anything. He stepped back to her, a smirk raising his lips. His eyes met hers as he returned to being within an inch of her body. She realized that this was his hand.
His mouth was on hers again, gently pushing her back to the bed. When she felt it hit the back of her calves she fell back on top of hit. He didn't fall on top of her like she expected he would, rather, he dropped to the floor, removing her boots. She sat up, her eyes meeting his as he blindly worked her boots. Once her feet were free she lay back; he remained stoic above her, so she slid her feet up his chest and stomach, feeling him beneath his shirt.
He chuckled, removing his shirt, revealing his torso. Emma saw more tattoos, scars and recent wounds that still hadn't healed. She sat back up, meaning to trace one or more of the long scars with her lips, but he never gave her the chance. His lips found hers as he pushed her back into the covers, and instantly, everything went blank.
She wasn't entirely sure how quickly he had her stripped of every article of clothing she had on, only that it was faster than she had experienced. She ground her hips against his, against the mound beneath his trousers, eliciting another guttural moan that again went straight to her core. He leant up, so he was kneeling, pulling her into his lap. His hand slipped between their bodies, his hook glancing her side. She felt his fingers continue the work his moans had started. She gasped at the contact; his fingers were evidently skilled.
"Hook." She breathed as his fingers worked her close, only to pull away at the last second.
He would count the whimper that slipped from her as being whimper one of the evening. But she wouldn't be whimpering long in her present state, as his fingers moved to himself, undoing the ties of his pants before shrugging them down. Before the moment could part and before Emma had a chance to realize what was happening he dove inside of her. Their eyes found each other, their mouths open, both surprised at the response this moment brought about in the other. But it didn't last long as their bodies overtook; their hips working against the other, their lips finding each other. Emma found it difficult to comprehend what was happening as she reached her peak almost immediately against him.
Hook chuckled against her, not relenting and continuing to thrust high and deep into her.
"Shut up." Emma moaned, hitting his shoulder. "It's been a while."
"Well love, get used to it. You've got hours ahead of you." He smiled, his eyebrows waggling.
They remained locked together, bodies working in tandem, reaching the peak they both were desperate to achieve. The force of it made them collapse back against the bed, their breathing was heavy. They lay against each other for a few moments; their lips locked together, their hands lazily exploring the other's body before he effortlessly slid them up the bed before sliding back down her body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake.
Her lungs were only just back to taking in oxygen at a regular rate when she felt his mouth at her core. Men had sucked her clit before, oh yes, and one or two of them had known what it was they were doing. Hook didn't just know what he was doing, he excelled. His lips, his teeth, his tongue, united as an army against her helpless nub. She had no answers for the onslaught he brought as his fingers joined the party by playing with her entrance. She grabbed at his head, fisting his hair as her hips bounced. Her body contracted, her back arched, her head slid down the bed, her jaw locked open as her orgasm hit her with a ferocity she had not been anticipating. Her heart was pounding; electricity was coursing through her nervous system. She moaned and whimpered repeatedly as she came down from her high, her body relaxing. When she finally found his eyes again, they were looking up at her sparkling, his chin resting against her pubic bone.
"Disappointed?" He smirked.
She shook her head weakly. "Not possible." She mumbled, reaching for him.
He didn't fight her, his lips finding hers. Emma groaned as she tasted herself on his lips, his tongue. She had experienced him inside of her, an orgasm (pair of) alike any other. But what his mouth had just done to her had her realizing that maybe he had been holding back. She couldn't fathom what it was going to be like to experience more of him, especially knowing he had promised hours of it. Right now however, all he was doing was torturing her. She wanted more; wanted him to touch her, wanted him inside her, wanted him to pound her into oblivion. But all he was doing was lying on top of her, his tongue probing her mouth, his hook sliding up and down her side whilst his fingers, still slick with her juices, played with her breast, playing with her nipple, nothing more (not that she was complaining or anything, hell she would happily let his skilled hands, well hand, play with her body for hours, but right now she wanted more!). With her breath restored, she felt her strength returning as well.
"I hate you." She whispered, tearing her lips away from his.
"Why?" He asked with a quizzical brow.
"Because you're torturing me, and I don't like being tortured." She responded, somewhat forcefully.
He chuckled again. "Years ago, I leant a thing or two about women from a lovely lady by the name of Scarlett. She taught me, not only, how to make a woman whimper and moan, but also how to make yourself truly memorable." He explained.
"Really? Well that Scarlett sure knew how to teach a man a thing or two about women." She retorted, flipping them over.
"Hey she didn't teach me everything." He interrupted, not fighting her as she slid down his body. "I haven't shown you the other think I know how to do with my teeth." His eyebrows waggled again – there appeared to be no stopping them.
Emma hesitated briefly, but chose to let it slide as she moved to continue what she was doing. "I just want to know one thing." She asked him.
"Anything." He breathed, his breath catching in his throat as she slid ever lower.
"Did she know how to do this?" She didn't give him a chance to respond as she lowered her mouth onto him.
His body sunk into the bed as a loud groan escaped his lips as her tongue worked his shaft and her lips slid lower. Performing felatio used to be something Emma Swan had no problem with; she even felt she was quite talented. Then she had developed an 'arrangement' with a man who was bigger than what she was used to. She didn't mind the rough sex; it had been a brilliant distraction from the life she was living at the time. What she had minded, was that whenever she slunk to her knees before him, he would grab hold of her head and force her to take him deeper than what she could. Ever since then it had been an activity that she had avoided. Now however, she was going to make full use of her 'forgotten' talent. His hips bucked into her, whilst one hand at his base controlled how much of him she took in, not allowing herself to be affected. It was his turn now to grab her head, fisting her hair as her mouth and fingers worked in perfect unison.
"Gods Emma!" He moaned as she moved her hand and took him all the way into her mouth.
With a quick flick of her tongue he came undone, with a deep guttural roar. His breathing was heavy as she lifted herself off of him, throwing her head back and gulping him down.
"Did you just...?" He stared as her eyes returned to his.
"Mmmhmm." She nodded.
He leaned up to catch her lips, bruising them with their ferocity, and flipping her over, he continued to hungrily devour her mouth. Yes, this night was far from being over.
"You know you're not as big as I thought." She mumbled, as his lips left hers and made their way to the hollow of her neck.
He stopped what he was doing and looked down at her. Evidently he didn't see the insult some men would have felt at the words she had just delivered.
"Well, I learnt a long time ago that I was not gifted like some men. But Scarlett made me realize that sometimes it's not about the size of the tool, but how the tool is used." He said as he simultaneously slid inside of her.
"No, not when it can make me feel like that." She moaned, arching her back, leaning up and catching his lips.
He returned her kisses eagerly. His thrusts were slow, agonizingly so. He wanted to draw this out, make her scream louder than a man ever had before. His teacher was right, size counts for nothing if you don't know how to make a woman scream, and Emma knew that to be true. And Hook was by no means tiny, hell he had more size on him then it seemed. Every time he filled her all she felt was a man who knew exactly what was necessary.
"God Killian!" She cried out as his pace gradually increased.
He paused above her, his eyes full of something that wasn't just lust. "Say that again." He commanded.
"God Killian." She breathed.
"Again."
"Killian." She whispered.
"Again." His hips thrust against her.
"Killian." She moaned.
"Again." He thrust.
"Killian." She cried.
She continued crying out his name, louder and louder, as he continued to thrust deep and hard into her. His lips slid to her neck, then up to her ears, biting down on her lobe. He felt moisture on his cheek, saw tears leak from her eyes. He didn't stop. They drove him further. Drove him harder. He pinned her arms on either side of her head as he moved faster and faster; as she came closer to her abyss, so too did he. He bit down on his lip as she clamped around him. He wasn't going to come yet, not when she wasn't anywhere near the point he wanted her to be.
"Gods Emma." He moaned, catching her lips in a lazy kiss as he fought to keep his composure, she was not making it at all easy.
It had been a long time since Emma Swan had found true pleasure in sex. She was not one to list her partners, but with most of them, it was all about the moment, it was all about the climax. She didn't need to be filled completely, and she definitely didn't need to feel love or even care for the other person. They would roll around in the bed, each getting what they needed from that moment and doing nothing, or at least very little for the other person. To do something for the other person meant care was felt, and Emma Swan knew that care had no place in the bedroom of sex for sex's sake. In fact, it had been a truly long time since a man had made a very conscious effort to pleasure her in the way that Hook was now; and back then it hadn't been anywhere near as good. It was truly disconcerting, especially as she opened her eyes and caught the look he was sending her.
His hips slowed, but did not lose their intensity, in fact if anything, with their eyes locked together the intensity only intensified. He was answering the unasked question of what it meant to care about the partner. With each deep thrust into her he was showing her what sex felt like when both parties cared, no loved each other. Her mind might not have the ability to comprehend that small epiphany in the present moment – hell all epiphanies experienced during sex should be taken with a grain of salt – but her body was well ahead of her. Each kiss, each caress, each bite, each whimper, each thrust, each nail that lifted flesh was screaming a truth at her that she was going to have to face soon.
But that truth would have to wait as she felt a tsunami enticing her to the coast line. She tried to keep her eyes open but it proved impossible. Her body was contorting beneath him; her legs were locked around his waist, her back arched up into him. She was reaching the point of her second climax; she could see the tsunami approaching in the distance. She wanted him to stop as something more powerful than she had ever imagined hit her. And yet, the idea of him stopping infuriated her – if he did his head was going to roll. Her jaw locked open again in a silent scream as he brought her back to that place that thus far in her life only his mouth had brought her to.
"Don't hold back; scream for me." He whispered into her ear, knowing he wasn't going to be able to hold himself back again.
"Oh God Killian." She cried.
"Louder Emma." He whispered.
It seemed that hearing her name was the trigger. A noise that she was certain was meant to be 'oh my god yes Killian' erupted from her mouth. His lips planted over hers, proving itself the final touch. They could not hold back any longer as they exploded against each other. Their bodies shining from the energy spent, their insides on fire from the energy they had both received, they collapsed against each other.
"So hours huh?" She breathed against him, after what felt like hours, whimpering slightly as she felt him withdraw from her.
He lifted his head from her neck and waggled his eyebrows. "You seem disappointed."
"Just not sure how we can keep this up." She mumbled.
His body slid sideways off of her, his chest still heaving, although nothing like what it had been. "Don't you trust me?" He growled, a sound that instantly went to her groin.
"Never." She smiled.
He chuckled, catching her lips with his, his hand sliding across her body, playing with her breasts, than sliding down her body.
"I don't think I can go again." She moaned, feeling his hand between her thighs.
"Trust me." He breathed into her ear.
She groaned as his deft fingers moved about seamlessly, he whispered her name, it sounded like a lullaby, making her feel warm, soft, protected. In that moment she knew, whatever feelings she might have for this man, this night was not going to be a one off. Moreover, as the night wore on and she found herself not sure if she was counting times or orgasms, she increasingly knew that this man, whilst he had burrowed beneath her defenses, was actively destroying them from the inside out. In the morning, she would allow herself to panic at what he was doing to her, but right now, she was going to do nothing more than enjoy it.
~88888~
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