3. Fairytale for captainkillianswan. Rated M.
Prompt: I was thinking fluffy? With also some CS x Henry maybe? Thanks so much lovely! 3
(also added per request: a baby girl named Alex)
The alarm clock went off in Emma's ear with a sound like a bomb. She wasn't so much woken as detonated into consciousness, from somewhere deep in a murky dream, lifting her head out of the pillows with a sound like a concussed hippopotamus. Blindly, she groped around in the general direction of the side table, but couldn't find it. Instead, she felt motion in the quilts next to her, a large warm body leaning over her, and a crunch, an electronic device squealing in protest then abruptly going silent, and a distinct aroma of scorched metal innards.
"Really, Killian?" Emma moaned. Not that she was terribly surprised. This one had lasted a whopping two months; no matter how often she tried to teach him the mysteries of a snooze button, his first reaction when it went off was to flip a wig and smash it with his hook. She had to admit, if she had lived her entire life without one, that might be her first impulse too (hell, she had lived her entire life with one, and it still was). But since she was getting tired of ducking into Dark Star Pharmacy and embarrassedly explaining to Sneezy (or Clark, as he still preferred to call himself) that she needed another one, she wished he would go a little easier on the poor things. It had crossed her mind that this might have something to do with him being Captain Hook and all, what with his canonical antipathy for timepieces, but since as far as she knew, Gold had never swallowed a clock, this might just be part of the stories that they had gotten wrong. (They had never mentioned the fact that Captain Hook was a hot-as-hell, textbook tall-dark-handsome-and-shady guyliner-loving magnificent rogue named Killian Jones, either. Or that she was going to end up marrying him, settling down, and watching him attempt to adjust to Storybrooke suburbia, usually with amusing/facepalming results such as these.)
"Sorry, love," he said from above her, not sounding very sorry. "I hate the sodding things."
"You and the rest of us." Emma yawned mightily, still unable to return to the world of the living. Then again, since she was the mother of a fourteen-year-old high school freshman who ate everything in the house and an energetic two-year-old cherub who had inherited every drop of her father's talent for hell-raising, as well as working full time, as well as humoring Killian's insistence that he teach her how to swordfight just in case… it was actually surprising that she could ever wake up at all. She felt perpetually exhausted, so much that it had crossed her mind to wonder if she was pregnant again; she damn well enjoyed being intimate with her pirate and the two of them weren't always up on the birth control. But the test she'd taken yesterday had come back negative, so it must just be general blah. This gross February weather wasn't helping. It was a good thing it was the shortest month of the year, but it always felt twenty-eight days too long. Who had invented February, anyway?
"Mom!" Henry bellowed from down the hall, voice cracking halfway through the word, to the accompaniment of a gale of childish giggles from his little sister. "Alex is in the trunk again!"
Emma groaned. She wasn't surprised that they were up – how was it that both her children were such confounded morning people? Even Killian, on the occasions that he wasn't annihilating unsuspecting electronics, sprang out of bed with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. Whereas she wasn't functional before at least three cups of coffee, and even then, had to stumble via echolocation to the kitchen. "Then get her out of it!"
Henry started to answer, but was interrupted by a crash. The trunk in this case was particularly bad, since that was where they kept the swords and spellbooks and other dangerous items; it was supposed to be locked up, but this was the offspring of Killian Jones and Emma Swan you were talking about. If the girl wanted in, she got in.
Emma swore and struggled to exert enough energy to sit up, but Killian threw back the covers and jumped out. "Don't worry, darling. I've got it."
"I love you," Emma mumbled, regretting the loss of his warm presence next to her but pleased that he had taken matters into his own hands. She heard him striding down the hall and, no doubt, putting on his fearsome face. It was theoretically harder to misbehave when your parent was Captain Hook, but while Killian liked to style himself a stern disciplinarian, Alexandra Mary Margaret Jones had her father wrapped, twice, around her chubby little finger. As for Henry, he adored his stepfather, but he had long ago learned the fine art of manipulating him. Send Killian in to chastise Henry for staying up too late and playing too many mind-melting alien video games, and pretty soon they'd be chilling together long into the night. Well, it wasn't every day that you got to grow up in the same household as the Scourge of the Seas, a three-hundred-plus-year-old pirate who had bedtime stories to put every other suburban father to shame (as well as being almost comically inappropriate for a fourteen-year-old).
As for the hook part, it was still in effect, as proved by the demise of the latest alarm clock. She'd halfheartedly tried to persuade Killian to get a nice prosthetic from the hospital, especially as it would have come in handy (har) when dealing with a rambunctious toddler, but while he'd worn it for a while, he'd eventually gotten bored with it and gone back to the hook. It was too much part of him to leave it behind forever, he said. And besides, when he did decide to show his teeth, there was nothing like a hook for inspiring instant fear in the kids. Killian didn't keep it sharp anymore, as there wasn't really call to murder anyone, but they didn't have to know that.
Thinking of this made a sleepy smile cross Emma's lips. She might be exhausted, but she really had gotten unfathomably lucky. And since she did want to get up and see Henry before he ran off to school, awkwardly attempting to court Grace Hatter under the eagle eye of Jefferson, she rolled over and stood up, stretching her arms over her head and hearing an alarming array of cracks. Thirty-two wasn't exactly geriatric age, but she'd been going hard recently.
Something else to think about later. She pulled her bathrobe on over her tank top and pajama pants and padded down the hall. They'd finally moved out of the loft apartment when Alex was born, partly for more space and partly because they were tired of Henry almost catching them every time they were getting down and dirty; since the bedroom and kitchen were connected in the old apartment, the lack of a door had become a serious issue. They were reduced to heading to the Jolly Roger every time they wanted a night with no chance of being disturbed, and leaving Henry home alone by himself, even if he insisted it was fine, was still not entirely copasetic with Emma's mama-bear sensibilities. Even if he didn't burn the house down or accidentally discover porn, it still felt cheap to ditch him so she could sneak off and hook up with Hook.
Fortunately, however, that was no longer an issue, and while they had to take care with Alex and her suspicious aptitude at getting into locked things such as doors, their sex life had not at all suffered since becoming, quote unquote, real parents. If anything, it had gotten even hotter; the clandestine sneaking around added a spice of the forbidden to the whole thing. And when Emma had given birth to their daughter, when Killian had been in the delivery room with her and barking at the nurses every time she moaned in pain from a contraction, when he finally held his own child in his arms after three hundred years of loneliness, madness, vengeance, and rage… Killian had always looked at Emma as if she was the rarest and most beautiful thing on earth, the only woman who existed, but after Alex was born, when their little family became four, she could say without a doubt that she knew her husband worshiped the ground she walked on. The best part was, she could say the same for him.
Emma smiled to herself again as she stepped into the kitchen and beheld the scene. Henry was sitting at the breakfast bar, gangly legs dangling off the stool – he had grown six inches in three months, and his clothes were perpetually too small for him – and shoveling industrial quantities of cornflakes down the hatch like he expected them to try to escape. As for Killian, he had Alex in his arms, successfully distracting her from her attempted entre into the trunk, and she was giggling madly, her mop of dark hair tangled in her face. At Emma's entrance, both of them looked up and grinned at her with identical baby-blue eyes and angelically devilish expressions.
"Cut it out, you two," Emma warned them, crossing over to kiss them anyway. She had wondered a few times what it was going to be like when Alex was old enough to date; Killian would be the total archetype of the father who lay in wait on the porch with a shotgun on his lap, interrogating the awkward pimpled suitor to within an inch of his life. She had a feeling he would sharpen his hook for that occasion. And otherwise make it as hard for the boy as possible, to see if he'd fight for her. Alex was definitely not going to think he hung the moon by the time that day rolled around, but it was a long way away. Thankfully. She wasn't ready for it either.
"You're in a hurry," Emma said instead, turning to her son. "What's the big rush?"
"I, uh." Henry cleared his throat with a squeak. "It's, um, you probably remember, Valentine's Day. And I sort of promised I'd meet Grace and walk her to school."
Emma did her best to hide her amused expression. Henry had recently decided that he was far too cool and worldly to continue taking the bus, a change of heart entirely coincident with his new interest in Grace. Speaking of terrifying potential fathers-in-law. Jefferson probably wouldn't actually stab Henry with a pair of scissors, but the "Mad" part of his alter ego was as warranted as the "Hook" part of her dear spouse's. "Oh, yeah, it is, isn't it?" she said, blinking. "Well, er… good luck with that, then."
Killian snorted, causing a luminescent blush to shoot up Henry's ears. He hunched as defensively as a turkey on the lam from hunters. "We're just friends."
"No, lad, but that's quite all right. Fair play to you." Shifting his daughter to his other arm, Killian strode to the breakfast bar to administer a manly clap on the back to his stepson, almost causing Henry to inhale a cornflake. "Ladies' man in the making. Chip off the old block."
Emma shot a narrow glare at her husband. "Do not give him ideas."
"What ideas?" Killian and Henry said in unison.
"Never mind," Emma said with a sigh, biting her cheek to keep from laughing, then set about making breakfast for herself and Killian. Soon the aroma of eggs, sausages, and French toast filled the kitchen, comfortably fogging up the cold windows, and she smacked Henry's shoulder lightly when he eyed it with all the pathos of a condemned man awaiting his last meal. "You already had yours, buckaroo. Besides, it's 7:15. I seem to recall you had a hot date waiting."
Henry shot a glance at the clock, spluttered, and exploded off the stool like a gunshot, pelting down the hall to the bathroom and slamming the door shut. Various incoherent ejaculations drifted out, causing Killian to cock an eyebrow and look concerned, and Emma met his eyes and put a finger to her lips. He nodded solemnly and attempted to interest Alex in eating her own breakfast without sending it everywhere, a task which was meeting with only moderate success.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door burst open again and Henry sprinted out, hair flattened down with a wet comb to within an inch of its life and breath now minty-fresh. He crammed on his coat, seized his backpack, and yelled, "Bye, Mom! Bye, Killian! I'llbehomesometimethisafternoo nexpectmewhenyouseeme! Later!"
The front door slammed behind him, and he was to be observed galumphing away down the sidewalk, long strides eating up the distance, and Emma felt a sweetly painful pang at seeing how grown-up he was now (though for sure, not as much as he liked to think). Regina was still in his life, of course, and his grandparents; Henry spent almost every weekend at David and Mary Margaret's place, and could handle a sword and a horse as well as any fairytale prince. There were times when Emma wondered if they were, in fact, going to go back to the Enchanted Forest someday, and she didn't know how that made her feel. Henry's life was entirely here, he wasn't going to take well to any attempt to deprive him of his aliens and video games, and she herself was a thoroughly modern girl with attachments to conveniences like hair dryers, cell phones, and birth control pills. She and Killian were definitely not opposed to having more children, as evidenced by the fact that she sometimes forgot to take them, but she preferred to keep her own agency in the matter. Emma's life had always been about choice, in the moments either where she made them or was not allowed to, the moment where she'd chosen Killian.
"What's the matter, love?" He nudged her shoulder. "You have that look."
"Nothing, really." Emma smiled at him and tossed down the dregs of her mug. One of the good things (among many) about being married to this man meant that at least she got her day started with a kick. The first time she'd taken him to Storybrooke Coffee & Tea, Killian had been loudly scornful of the prissy percolators and latte art and four-dollar caramel macchiatos; coffee in his world was a coarse black substance similar to tar or straight whiskey in its intensity. Therefore, whenever they had guests over, Emma had to make the after-dinner beverages.
Emma finished her breakfast and leaned over to kiss him one more time. "Don't get into trouble," she reminded him, as he blinked at her innocently. Killian wasn't really a house-husband, but as Emma had a full time job as the sheriff, he was nonetheless the one usually in charge of Alex. No wonder she'd already acquired so many bad habits.
Emma grabbed the keys and headed out to the car, then drove into town and passed a mostly uneventful day at work. Storybrooke had been almost peaceful since they'd defeated Cora, although of course never entirely quiescent; these were people used to settling disputes by fighting it out, after all. And she definitely wasn't Gold's favorite person, what with her being married to Hook and everything, so she was sure that there were plenty of things she never got to hear about. But once Killian had become part of the Charming family, and the father of David and Mary Margaret's granddaughter, he was in. Watching David and Killian tag-team an opponent together, swords out and/or guns blazing, was pretty much a thing of wonder.
Emma clocked out at five and started to get back in the car to head home. But to her surprise, she discovered a note on the dash, which hadn't been there when she left that morning. It contained nothing but the sketch of a ship.
She looked at it, looked at it again, then grinned. She swung behind the wheel and backed out, but instead of driving back home, she headed for the marina instead.
The Jolly Roger was moored up at the end of the pier in its usual place. Now that all the spells had been removed from it, Killian didn't go off as much as he used to; when it was enchanted, he could sail it by himself, but now that it was just a regular wood-and-canvas ship, he needed the rest of his crew. Not that that was entirely a problem, as they were certainly up for piling aboard and ransacking the Maine coast, but while the residual curse that kept people in Storybrooke was broken or at least severely weakened, leaving for too long still caused amnesia in varying degrees. And since the last thing Emma needed was them all forgetting who they were here, and just going hog-wild on the pirate kick, she had somehow neglected to tell them this.
She parked and walked down the marina to the ship, knocked on the hull, and climbed aboard. Looking around curiously, she saw that the deck looked deserted, and wondered if she'd somehow been mistaken about the note. But she didn't think –
At that moment, a fairy light started to shine on the top of the mast. Just one at first, and then in a cascading waterfall of multicolored glow, raced down the rigging, bathing the entire ship in its iridescent shimmer. The worn timbers looked almost golden, the stars sparkling on the dark water. She looked up at it in total wonder, then jumped and turned when a voice spoke from behind her.
"Like it, lass?"
Emma looked over to see Killian stepping out from the shadows, grinning so broadly that he appeared about to split his face. He was dressed in full leather; she hadn't seen him in it for a while, as it was for obvious reasons impractical when chasing a hellion two-year-old. As he sauntered toward her, she could see both the devil-may-care scoundrel she'd first encountered in the Enchanted Forest, and the man she'd chosen, her lover, her partner, her rival, her soulmate. Of all the ridiculous things, he'd lived long enough to find her, and she'd found him.
"I see you're speechless," Hook murmured, reaching her, slipping his arms around her waist, and bending to kiss her neck. "That doesn't happen very often, my beautiful blonde harpy."
"You just called me a harpy!"
"You've called me far worse," he pointed out, smirking.
"I have never called you anything you didn't deserve." Emma slid her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest, hearing his heart thumping solidly beneath her ear. "Where are the kids?"
"Dropped them with your parents."
"Aren't they trying to have Valentine's Day too?"
"Darling, I do suppose you've noticed that I'm not the only reason our dear little Miss Alexandra Jones is spoiled to within an inch of her life? They were utterly delighted to spend time with their grandchildren and have dinner with them. Take note of this, as you won't hear me say it again, but there are advantages to exploiting the pure nobility and good hearts of your in-laws."
"Pirate," Emma mumbled, snuggling closer. He kissed her hair, and the two of them stood swaying on the deck, just holding each other. Then he stepped back, took her by the hand, and led her into his cabin, the place where they'd enjoyed so many encounters before moving to the house. It too was shrouded in ethereal, glittering beauty, candles seemingly floating in the air without support. Wherever Killian had found this magic, she was willing to bet it wasn't Gold.
"Where did you…?"
"Fairies, love," he said, endeavoring mightily to look only modestly smug. "I still know a few."
Emma cocked an eyebrow at him and moved to sit at the ornate table, which had been cleared of the usual stacks of rubbish that accumulated on it and set with a lavish dinner for two instead. He uncorked the wine with his hook, flicked it off the end, and gallantly poured her a glass; she giggled and toasted him as he supplied himself with his own. "To you, Captain Jones."
"To you, Captain Swan-Jones." They clinked and drank.
Dinner was delicious, enough so that Emma was certain Killian hadn't made it himself; apart from burning coffee, his culinary talents extended to using a can opener (his hook) and tearing open packaging (also with his hook). But she saw no cause to complain, and after three glasses of wine apiece, both of them were agreeably tipsy. That was when the night's real entertainment could begin, when he could stand her in the middle of the cabin and slowly, tenderly undress her piece by piece, for once without ripping any of it, worshiping with kisses every new stretch of skin he uncovered. Then when she was down to the, so to speak, bare essentials, it was her turn.
One thing Emma alternately loved (or hated, depending on the situation) was the sheer bloody complexity of getting Killian out of his pirate outfit. There were ornate buttons, esoteric fastenings, leather, more leather, sometimes even the occasional frill of lace or silk, and as she didn't have a hook for a hand, just ripping it straight off him wasn't an option. She took her time as he had with her, kissing his ankle, the long corded calf, his thigh furred with dark hair, the place where his hip joined his leg, the deep vee of his abdominal muscles and the hard plane of his stomach. She loved how beautiful he was; on a completely shallow level, she didn't think she'd ever seen a more perfectly constituted specimen of the human male. But more than that, she loved who he was. It hadn't come easy. His thirst for revenge had almost destroyed him, as well as causing pain and harm to other people she cared about. She had certainly not approved of everything he'd done, the choices he'd made, but that was the thing about stories, about fairytales. No matter how much they got wrong, there was still so much they got right.
Emma finished her work, sat back on her heels, and looked up at him. Killian Jones in the nude was really one of the universe's finest accomplishments, especially when he was standing rooted to the spot, trembling; if he knew the rosary, he would certainly be reciting it over and over. She grinned maliciously at him, then, leaning in slow and luxuriously, took him in her mouth.
Killian jerked, uttered an incoherent noise, and grabbed a fistful of her hair, sliding the silky blonde locks through his fingers and pulling her closer to him. She quirked an eyebrow again, her lips being occupied, and put her hands behind his thighs, running them up and down. She flicked him with her tongue, causing even more entertaining noises, and reached up with one hand to hold tight to his hook, connecting them through flesh and bone and its cool curve of metal, a familiar part of him now, not an alien threat. Moved to taste him deeper, to explore him, to join him.
Killian groaned, rocking back and forth on his heels, pawing at her with his good hand. He seemed to be trying to get away, to return some of the pleasure to her before he went over the edge, but she had no intention of letting him do so. She kept on mercilessly tonguing him, adding the faintest scrape of teeth, working with her lips, until at last he groaned again and lost control, jerking and shuddering as he spilled himself.
Emma swallowed, then pulled away, breathing hard and grinning. Running her hands up his legs again, sliding her entire body close against him as she stood, she whispered in his ear, "Isn't that what harpies do?Seduce you?"
"I believe – you're thinking of a – siren, darling." Killian shuddered again, lips tangling in her sweaty hair. "Harpies – merely devour them alive. So actually – you're not far wrong."
Emma kissed him, then nipped at his ear, burying her face in his neck as he wrapped both arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet, carrying her toward the recesses of the expansive, silk-sheeted bed. They toppled onto it together, kissing and giggling like a pair of teenagers, growling at each other, wrestling, until they collapsed onto each other and just lay there, intimately entangled and having no intention of leaving the bed until morning came. If then.
"Hope my parents… mmm… didn't mind taking the kids for the night," Emma murmured. "That might be… a little awkward."
"Your parents are remarkably inventive people, love." Killian anchored his arm over her shoulders. "And quite frankly… I could care less… if your father should be denied in his, ahem, objective… so long as… I get mine."
"Selfish bastard."
"Pirate." He nipped her throat.
Emma laughed again, and rolled him over onto his back. "No sword to jab you with, I'm afraid," she breathed, climbing atop him and straddling him, pressing her hands on her shoulders and looking down at him, there, there, hers, hers. "But trust me… you are going to feel it."