This was originally going to be longer, but this is heavy on the feels so I will save the next part for the next chapter...
Silences don't have to be either awkward or comfortable.
There is that strange middle ground where the parties involved are both lost in their own singularity and not indulging in analysis of their lack of discourse.
So this was how the evening had passed between them. A quiet dinner in the restaurant below the apartment-hotel. Soft lounge music eased away the minutes, occasionally peppered with the scratch of silverware on porcelain or a comment on the food or wine.
As she ate, regret rolled over Emma's shoulders and hugged her tight around her middle. Long forgotten emotions were being dredged up from where she had hidden them and she felt her stomach squeeze into waves of nausea as she tried to push down her salad.
Thoughts of her past - mostly Neal and the baby - weighed heavily on her after she had managed to keep them hidden for so long. It was the first time she had indulged her memory in months. Usually she managed to keep these feelings locked up inside as she moved from day to day. Perhaps it was because she had been given time to think this weekend. Or perhaps it had something to do with him.
Emma fidgeted in her seat as Killian paid the bill. She looked across the table through her thick lashes as he smiled at the waiter before rising. He seemed as much lost in thought as she was: maybe he was angry after their earlier conversation? She couldn't tell.
"Let's go," he said. It wasn't a command or even a request. It was an empty statement - resigned almost. Her stomach twisted as she thought back to how she had spoken to him that afternoon. The past few days had turned into such a mess.
So much for easy money, she mused before following him as he left.
Sleep was fitful.
She wished she had just gone.
He hadn't touched her when they had returned. After a quick shower she had found the room dark and Killian lying facing the window. In silent acknowledgement, she had slipped under the cool covers and tried to sleep.
But she couldn't. Her mind was too full.
She hated herself. This wasn't anything new to her, but it seemed harsher in the unfamiliar surroundings of the faceless hotel room.
For years, each passing week seemed to have added a new item to the list of things Emma Swan regretted or loathed about herself. She seemed to be sliding down a slippery slope of becoming something she'd rather not dwell on.
Yet the searing pain that rose when she thought about her son was the hardest pain and far worse than any self-loathing. It mingled with the still bitter rejection of him.
Feeling hollow and flat, the swirling anxiety was making her head ache.
Giving up trying to sleep, she grabbed a pillow and trudged over to the window, curling up into a ball on a chair as she watched the twinkling city lights.
"Emma?"
It's still dark, she thought, through the haze of sleep.
"Are you okay?"
Prying her eyes open, she turned in the direction of the voice.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed. Hair mussed from sleep. He was looking at her strangely, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.
"I couldn't sleep," she whispered, feeling all the irony in her managing to drop off while twisted up on the chair.
He rubbed his face. "Come back to bed."
He slid under the sheets and moved until there was enough space for her to crawl in beside him.
Quietly she followed, pulling the blanket up and slipping her hands under the cool pillow.
When his arm came around her waist she gasped, heat flashing over her skin as he tugged her back against him.
"Shhh," he murmured, "Relax."
His face was buried into her neck, nuzzling through her hair. His thumb began to rub the bare skin of her stomach. The muscles in her stomach contracted quickly as she froze in his arms.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. This was becoming regular thing, she thought wryly.
"Why?" he whispered into her neck.
Really, she ought to shrug this off. She knew that. Just make an excuse and drift off. Instead, she rolled to face him, shifting in his arms until they were face to face.
Every breath she took seemed heavy and loud. His hand was on her hip now, the other arm stretched out beneath her head.
"I'm just… sorry," she repeated, giving him a weak smile. "This isn't quite how I pictured this turning out-"
"Me either," he quickly added, his voice low and soft, his fingers dusting up and down over her hip.
"I guess I wasn't the greatest investment."
"I wouldn't say that," he smiled. And she smiled back; for the first time in hours the mood lifted and that little fight going on in her mind paused briefly. "I don't do this, you know?"
"Do what?" she asked.
"Go to strip clubs. Find…women that way-"
She blushed deeply, shame flooding her. She felt cheap and nasty for a moment. That's what she was, some woman from a strip club. So that's what he thought of her…
"But somehow I felt this urge to go there. And then-"
"-And then…" she echoed, her eyes dropping.
Hell she hated herself in that moment. How had she come to this? Selling herself - for a dance or something more - had seemed such an easy way to make money. But now it felt like the hardest thing in the world.
"Why are you this way, Emma? I wasn't lying when I said you intrigued me. I saw it - still see it - in your eyes."
The intimacy of the soft bed and dark room lulled her into a hazy sense of security.
"I don't like talking about myself," she admitted quietly. She took a few more soft breaths before continuing. "You were right. I have no family. No real friends. But it's fine," she quickly added.
He didn't say anything at first, just looked at her. Those blue eyes roamed over her face and asked questions of their own.
"Talk to me," he urged in soft tones.
The nerves were making her fidget. Restless legs came into contact with his and were quickly entwined as she chewed on her lip. The soft hair of his muscular legs was strangely comforting as they wrapped around her calves.
"I'm not a good person, Killian. I'm bad news." Her words spoke of self-loathing and bitterness.
"Why?" he pressed gently.
Emma rubbed her forehead against the pillow. The arm slung under her neck curved around to wrap around her shoulders and she stiffened again at his touch.
Slowly sighing, she let him draw her eyes to his again.
"I've not talked about this for years. Years," she emphasized, raising her brow, "But I guess since in a few hours I'll never see you again and I've been the worst investment you've ever made-"
"Shhh," he hushed, pressing his thumb to her lip.
Suddenly all she wanted to do then was hit him in frustration - all his fake tenderness and care! She hated how some people could so easily lie and fake emotion… Neal, her mind screamed. Because, seriously, who could give a damn about her? Her real parents hadn't - leaving her outside a hospital. Her foster parents had just seen her as a money pot. And every man she had ever got close to had taken what he wanted and ran away.
Yet still she had an overwhelming urge to let this out before it tore her apart.
"Talk."
So she let it all spill out.
"I was young. And naive. I let this guy - Neal - well, he played me. God I was stupid." Her brow creased, "He was some petty criminal and he kept letting me down. All the time. And I let him do that. Over and over." She squeezed her eyes shut until his hand started to stroke her shoulder and the tension at the base of her neck started to fade.
"He skipped out. I ended up in Juvie when the police raided our shitty apartment and found what he'd left behind."
The memory was so strong, the sick feeling that had consumed her when was sentenced came back as fresh as that day. That anxiety that had pervaded her when the bailiffs took her down to the cells began to consume her. She could smell the stale urine and tobacco that hung in the air in the basement of the court and remembered how helpless and alone she had felt.
'And?" he asked. He was teasing the details from her. He knew there was more to her story.
"And…ever since then I've drifted from one shitty job and one shitty guy to another. Until I decided that I make the decisions in my life, and I decide what's best for Emma. So I do what I want, live how I want and it's best if other people stay out of my way."
Frowning, she raised her fists to his chest. The corners of her eyes were damp. Her mouth was pinched. Killian still held her silently, both hands slowly stroking her skin.
"And…" she sighed, dipping her head, "I had a son. It was his."
His fingers tightened and she heard him sigh, "Emma…"
"It was a long time ago." She shook her head, "I gave him up for adoption." A brief smile flickered as let herself remember his face - his big brown eyes and curl of fine hair. "I tracked him down a few years ago. He's happy, I think. He was adopted by a good family…"
"But that's not the point," he whispered as silent tears started to run down her face. "Come here," he said as he pulled her close and for once she didn't protest. Instead she let her crying dampen his chest and his arms hold her tight.
Letting it all out hurt. She had not talked of him in over ten years. The private eye who had tracked him down had drained her savings but she needed to know he was safe. And happy. That she had done something right.
But the hollow emptiness inside was still there and with his arms around her she let herself indulge in self-pity and regret; let herself cry and hurt and be angry.
"You're not a bad person, Emma."
"How would you know?" she sniffed into his chest.
"I told you before. I get you. We're alike, you and I."
She rubbed her damp eyes with her hands. "So you think you know me, then?" she replied with a small laugh.
"Actually, I think I have more questions than I had before about you."
Looking up she saw his soft smile. His eyes were crinkled at the corners. One hand rose and he started to ease her hair back from her forehead.
"But the one thing I know is you are good."
Emma wanted to laugh. Push him back and roll out of bed. Just tug on her jeans and run away.
Because was he serious?
His expression was soft, mouth curling slightly, a tiny crease between his brows as he stared intently into her eyes. And despite herself, she decided in that moment - just for that moment - she would believe him.
"You're the first person to ever say that."
"Well you've clearly met a lot of stupid people, Emma."
Her soft little chuckles filled the air at his attempt at a joke.
"I don't regret this weekend," he whispered, catching her by surprise while his fingers curved around the base of her neck.
She closed her eyes and just let herself feel. Soft fingers dusting over the nape of her neck. The warmth of his body radiating against her. His breath as it swept down the small gap between their bodies and tickled her skin.
"Me neither," she admitted.
Her mind was still raw from all her earlier introspection. But the spiraling of her thoughts towards lower and lower depths stopped as they lay together.
And, wanting to stretch this moment out that little bit longer, she arched her back and reached her lips up to his. Strangely he hesitated for a second. Doubt clouded her mind - was he rejecting her? Did he not want her now - after what she had said? Did he-
Those thoughts were cut short by a kiss.
Initiated by her, fired by him. Fingers threading through her hair, her arms looping around his neck, pressing their bodies tighter together as they spoke unspeakable words with their lips and tongues.
Her arms pulled him closer and her fingers twisted in the simple silver chain around his neck.
With a gentle push, he was rolling her onto her back and cupping her head in his hands. Briefly he nudged her face with his nose and layered kisses along her cheek while she wrapped her legs more tightly into his.
It had been a long time since she had indulged in just kissing someone. Perhaps not since she was a teenager, in fact. Things were quicker now, when she bothered to find a man for the night (just the night). Kissing is a luxury when you have an itch to scratch.
But now she enjoyed it. The way his tongue slid over hers, almost lazily, caressing her mouth - almost lovingly - whilst his fingers traced the curves of her face. Occasionally he would rest his forehead against hers and she could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her skin and the pounding of his heart against her chest. And she just wanted to pull him closer and build a memory of what it might be like to have someone care for her.
Because Emma was under no illusions. They were two lonely, somewhat broken people sharing in a moment where they could ease each other's pain. It was almost therapy, she briefly thought. Until his hands slid down her back, making her arch upwards, and under her underwear, dancing over her ass and squeezing it gently.
"Mmm," she moaned into his mouth.
He picked up his head and met her eyes - silently asking for permission, slowly rolling his hips into hers so she could feel his hardness.
And strangely, it didn't feel all about lust. It didn't feel all about sex. It was something else… A need for a connection with someone - something real and nice in the midst of a fucked up life.
She helped him slide her panties down and wordlessly wrapped her thighs around his hips. Still he paused and nudged his face towards hers.
"Make me feel. One more time?" she asked quietly.
His eyes sank closed, as he pushed into her. So slowly she could feel every moment as he advanced, opening her up like he had her secrets. Crossing her ankles she pulled him closer and ran her lips along his jaw, tightening her muscles around him as she just let herself indulge in sensation.
It took a rocking of her hips to urge him to move. Slipping back and forth, just tiny movements, but each one was so intense she thought she was cracking apart from the inside out.
Then his thumb was circling her clit and warm fingers of delight were shooting along her limbs and curling in her belly. Something was building inside her, almost lazily. Each thrust she met with a roll of her hips. Deeper. She wanted him deeper and harder and more-
"Oh Emma…" he whispered.
A slick of sweat spread over them. She kicked off the covers with her foot and took to gripping his shoulders, digging in her nails until he opened his eyes.
Quickly, something passed between them. A thought. A feeling. She bit her lips and swung her head to the side.
It was too much.
With his palm, he pushed her face back to his.
"Look at me," he urged.
All she could do was breathe.
It was far too much.
Suddenly she could feel him everywhere. From the tips of her toes to the base of her neck. Her limbs felt loose and numb. Light heat bubbled inside her.
Oh God, then he was kissing her again.
It was far, far too much now.
Every sense assaulted, she couldn't move.
He was kissing her harder. Her mind was swirling.
He felt so damn good, pushing inside her and holding her tight and making her feel like she might actually be worthy of this kind of care and attention…
Until her release sparked. Her breath came in hitches. He thrust harder and she cried out. He was shaking as he came, face against her neck. "Emma," he panted while his hands dug into her hair.
"Killian," she whispered, as immediately tears came to her eyes.
So this was what it could be like.
Though he was pressing against her with his full weight, she felt shallow and light - a mere imprint of her earlier self who had been weighed down with the worries of the world.
She recorded the moment. The feel of him against her. The blank satisfaction of her mind. The dim morning light. The feel of the cotton sheets. The sound of his breathing.
She wanted to remember.
The door shut quietly.
Her heart raced as she crept away down the hallway, aggressively pressing the elevator call button as she looked over her shoulder. Finally the doors swung open and she fell inside.
Selecting 'L' she pulled her coat tighter and dug her hands in her purse. Just her phone, a lipstick and her wallet. She thought back to the envelope thick with cash that she had left on the bureau and hoped he would find it. And maybe even understand.
As soon as she arrived in the lobby, she dashed quickly out into the cool light morning air, running away as fast as her legs could carry her.
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