After the scene at the hospital, it hadn't taken long for David and Mary-Margaret to come clean about their relationship. They didn't surprise anyone. Regina had even cried out a heartfelt "finally!" when Mary-Margaret had told her friends she'd been dating David in secret for a few weeks. She'd been anxious about how Emma was going to react, but surprisingly enough, her friend had been quite cool about it. She'd even made a playful comment about how Mary-Margaret was able to keep a secret after all, and she truly didn't seem to hold a grudge for the lack of transparency from her best friend and her cousin. It worried Mary-Margaret a little. She figured everyone was still not over the shock of the assault and two young adults fooling around in secret didn't seem that dramatic in comparison. Also, finals were approaching. Everyone had a lot on their plates. Emma's plate in particular was beginning to look like a big mess of recklessly stacked dirty dishes and she was too tired to really get angry at anything anymore. She needed a break. And she needed her friends. Now was not the time to get her feelings hurt over secrets that weren't even her own.
Especially when those were flying over her head like vultures, spying on her every movement, waiting to dive in and attack. She could keep throwing rocks at them, hoping they'd miraculously fly away – or, she could actually face them and get it over with.
And if she couldn't fix everything that was wrong with her life – or her mind – just with good intentions and a snap of her fingers, she could try to deal with each problem at a time, starting with the one that was the most doable (although not the most pleasant): to swallow her pride and apologize to the guy whose feelings she had hurt trying to play tough when really all it had done was sending her straight to a place of constant unease and guilt for the past two weeks.
She had thought of confronting him on campus, but she didn't feel comfortable talking to him in public or making a dramatic scene out of it. Instead, she ceased the much more casual opportunity and promised David she'd show up at his place next Friday night, hoping that after a couple hours of banter in the joyful mood of David's get-togethers, she'd get some alone time with Killian and would be able to tell him that she was sorry. That scenario seemed like something she could handle. It was chill and safe enough. Baby steps. Hell, she'd even cut her hand on glass again if she had to.
"Baby I don't mind that you spent so much time with your band, I get it, you're an artist – all I'm saying is I wish you cared about me at least half as much as you care about stupid new drummer's sticks."
Robin did his best to look like he wasn't about to snap but the way he violently drove his car in every turn, both hands holding onto the wheel like it was a stress ball begged to differ.
"They're called drumsticks, Marianne," he told his girlfriend, tired of having to go over that conversation for the third time that day. His eyes met Regina's in the rearview mirror, and she smiled back at him from the backseat, equally irritated by his girlfriend's whining. Sure, it was easy and unfair to portray Marianne as the bad guy. Truth was, if you asked Regina, it boiled down to her and Robin being an awful couple.
"Yeah, whatever. Do you need to drive like this? I feel nauseous."
"I guess if you hadn't made me wait for forty minutes in front of your house, we'd have more time ahead of us."
Regina shared a glance with Emma who was sitting on the other side of the rear seat and mimed a rope to hang herself with. A few seconds later, Emma's phone buzzed in her hand.
"D'you think one of these days the good Lord will grant us the long overdue miracle of seeing them finally break up?"
Regina always knew her way around overdramatic phrasing.
"I think they like it. Just do what I do: turn it off completely. I can't even hear them anymore."
She could. She just tried really hard not to. That was what she got for wanting to be ecologically aware and hop into Robin's car instead of driving her own to David's house.
"Believe me, I tried," Regina replied, "I swear to God, I'm this close to seducing him into leaving her."
Emma giggled. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?" She pressed 'send' and immediately got a death stare from her friend.
"Hell, no. I'd only be doing it for the greater good."
"Are you sure? Robin's your type." Emma teased.
Regina's small nervous laugh only seemed to confirm Emma's statement. "Please. Wood boy? He smells like forest."
The blonde rolled her eyes in a smile, amused by her friend's restless snarkiness. Yes, Robin's father had a wooden furniture shop where Robin worked at on the weekends but saying he smelled like forest was just another one of Regina's far-fetched, mean girl mockery. "See that's funny, because I'd personally never notice such a detail about Robin."
Regina didn't bother to respond and flipped her middle finger to Emma instead, accessorizing it with a cynical smile.
Robin parked in David's alley and the four of them got out of the car. Emma knew Mary-Margaret and Ruby were already there. Killian said he'd join them later in the evening. She wondered what he was up to, then quickly dismissed that thought, aware that wondering about Killian's whereabouts was another area she shouldn't be venturing in. She greeted her friends and her cousin, happy to see the bruises on his throat had significantly reduced in color and size, and his usual positive attitude had fairly resurfaced. She grabbed a beer and sat comfortably on the couch, ready to enjoy an entire evening of nothing but pleasant, drama-free quality time with her closest friends.
That was, until Killian appeared in the living room's doorframe an hour later, and the flustered look on his face, the unusual mess that was the back of his hair and the cheesy smile on his lips let very little to the imagination as to what he had been doing exactly before getting here. Emma gulped. It was Friday night after all.
"What did I miss?" Killian asked in a clearly fake-casual voice as he awkwardly gesticulated to take his shoes off and join the group around the coffee table.
He added a new pack of fresh beers to the homemade buffet (alcohol, soda and chips). Emma emptied hers in one sip, attentive eyes analyzing him in silence.
"Marianne's take on gluten-free diets," Regina informed with the same phony voice she used every time she mentioned Robin's girlfriend. "Fascinating, really."
Killian gave her a long nod, painfully aware of Emma's gaze all over him, doing his best to avoid it for now. Both his hands were on his hips as he remained silent, a posture no one had ever seen him take before. He might as well have walked in with a 'I just had sex' sign on his forehead.
"What were you doing?" Ruby said, her words rolling on her tongue in a suggestive tone.
Seven pairs of eyes were now on him, like civil jury at a trial. Killian chuckled, embarrassed, not use to everyone giving so much attention to his Friday nights activities. It's not like he hadn't been with anyone since moving to the States. But tonight, for some reason, the whole gang seemed to care.
"No one," Killian shrugged, then quickly realized his mistake and corrected, "I mean, nothing."
Emma fumed. He was doing it on purpose. He was undoubtedly doing it on purpose, just to rub in everyone's face that great Killian Jones was such a heartthrob that it was no big deal for him to get a quickie from some pretty stranger somewhere in town before joining them here.
Or was it a stranger?
Had she been pretentious enough to think she was the only one getting special attention from blue-eyed British Dom Juan over there?
It didn't matter anyway. She'd come here to have fun with her friends and apologize to Killian for being unnecessarily mean. His dating life was none of her business. Plus, maybe if she hadn't disappointed him on purpose two weeks ago, she'd be the one he'd spend most of his afternoons with by now. Tonight was a little too late for inappropriate possessiveness.
When Killian took a seat on the couch next to Emma, she relaxed her shoulders and took a deep breath, trying hard to focus on the taste of beer in her mouth and the new conversation Ruby had started, and not on the image of her former study partner receiving oral sex on some parking lot. Maybe it had been passionate lovemaking in a king size bed – the ones with the stupid transparent drapes and the crafted wooden timbers. Whatever the answer was, she didn't want to know. And with an ankle in a splint, it probably hadn't been that crazy anyway.
"How's your leg?" Emma turned to him and asked while the rest of the group had started discussing their plans for the upcoming New Year's Eve.
"Uh," Killian cleared his throat, "I'm still walking around like an elderly pirate with a wooden foot but it hurts a little less. Doctors said I'll be able to get the splint off in a couple weeks."
Emma nodded, eyes set on his ankle so they weren't in his own. "I guess you're just gonna have to avoid any… brutal activities 'til then."
He laughed softly, readjusting his elbow on the couch so he could face her better – even though, of course, Emma's eyes remained fixated in front of her. "I know I look kind of badass," Emma immediately laughed at his cheesy choice of words, "but I don't get into fights that often, so I should be fine."
Emma shrugged and took a sip of beer as she talked, "There are other kind of activities."
Oh, so that was what she meant. A devilish grin formed on Killian's face. "You're worried about my health now, Swan?"
She shot him a brief glance of hazel eyes before replying in a snort, "Please. I just hope I won't have to come pick you up at the hospital every other day."
"As much as I think that's a lie and you'd love to do that," her classmate joked, "I happen to have relatives I can call. So, you've got nothing to worry about. Or was that really what bothered you?"
She heard the tone in his voice, sweet and provocative, letting her know that he had once again identified what she was secretly feeling – although her previous remark about 'brutal activities' had been pretty clear. Emma smiled, vanquished. She gave a look around to make sure the rest of the group wasn't paying much attention to their conversation and asked Killian, "Who was it?"
He acknowledged how confident she wanted to sound, trying hard to filter out any sense of jealousy or bitterness, and she did quite well. She would've probably fooled most people – but not him. If a part of him was flattered, another one took her question as a little punch in the guts. Guilt. It was confusing.
He wasn't really proud of it, that was for sure. Casual sex with strangers or fellow students was ok when his relationship with Emma could be vulgarly summed up to undesirable feelings and one special moment in a bathroom, several weeks ago. But after he had made her feel guilty about running away from him, got her to confess and practically begged her to trust him, well… he hadn't broken any rules, but still. It didn't feel right.
"No one," Killian shrugged in a timid smile, silently begging her not to linger on the topic. She didn't listen. She never did.
"Oh, come on," Emma chuckled, even bumped her shoulder softly in his as to prove to him she didn't mind at all. "If it was worth worsening an injury, it had to be someone special. Or are you that desperate?"
Now she was toying with his ego. Calling a man desperate was rarely well-received. Especially when it was true.
Desperate to get his mind off of her.
He clicked his tongue as he looked at her, his heart tightening in his chest at the sight of her face trying so hard to look aloof when the way she bit her lips showed nothing but nervousness.
He shouldn't feel that guilty. They weren't together. And it had barely even been sex, more like messy foreplays in the ladies bathroom of a bar with a girl he had hooked up with a couple months before. Nothing to make a big deal out of. The truth was maybe Killian wouldn't feel so guilty if he had done it for the right reasons – to actually want to have sex in a bathroom stall and nothing else. Maybe he felt guilty and stupid because he had done it out of spite.
Which was a level he wished he hadn't stooped to.
"Just some girl in a bar… I'm sorry, Swan, it didn't mean anything. And it doesn't happen that much either. I mean, I don't –"
"Hey," Emma cut him, the palm of her hand raised in the air as to create a physical separation between them, "What are you apologizing for? Sleep with whoever you want, buddy."
"Buddy?" Killian mocked, slightly unsettled by the term. "You're clearly not fine with this."
"I'm more than fine." She stopped looking at him and took a long sip of beer.
"It doesn't change anything I told you."
"I said I'm fine."
She wasn't laughing so much anymore, and Killian chose to let it go. Their friends were starting to pay attention and drama wouldn't be welcomed tonight. Tonight they would be happy, and relaxed, and they would have fun. So, instead of staring at Emma until she snapped, Killian straightened up on his seat to get closer to the table and announced, "Do you guys know whiskey-poker? It's like strip-poker, but instead of taking your clothes off, you finish your drink. You'll love it."
They loved it a little too much. For some unknown reason, Emma accepted defeat with little to no complain and gladly finished every drink she was given. After an hour, she had found what she had been looking for; inebriety, and the happiness that came with it.
After a couple hours, that went away and left its place to another kind of inebriety.
Nausea. Headache. A bit of self-loathing.
Mary-Margaret had watched cautiously as Emma had emptied more drinks that she could stomach, then, as excepted, had walked her to the bathroom and held her hair as she had thrown up the last four glasses of vodka and coke her liver didn't feel like dealing with.
"You should rest," the brunette told her friend once she was done cleaning herself up and they were both sitting on the bathroom's floor.
Emma pressed her head against the cool, tiled wall and sighed deeply. "I know. I'm barely awake right now."
"I don't only mean tonight. You should take some time off."
There was a small pause, then Emma smiled and very slowly – because the world was still spinning – turned her head to face Mary-Margaret, "Well, I can't very well go on vacation three weeks before the final exams."
David's girlfriend tilted her head, granting Emma a knowing roll of her eyes, "You know what I meant. Just… try to cut yourself some slack. It's no use being so hard on yourself all the time if you end up throwing in your cousin's toilets every weekend."
They laughed. It was harsh, but it was true. "Yeah, you're right. After all, there must be nicer ways to blow off steam on weekends. I should ask Killian for advice."
Mary-Margaret couldn't help but notice the not-so-subtle shade of bitterness in her voice. She chuckled softly, thinking Emma had to be still quite inebriated and very much tired to willingly go on that slippery slope of a conversation. "Oh, I'm sure Killian would have many ideas of ways you guys could blow off some steam on weekends. Or any day, for that matter," she teased.
Emma grunted, nonetheless amused. "That's not what I meant."
"Sure." Mary-Margaret mocked.
They sat there in silence a little while longer, Emma having no other choice but to wait patiently for the room to stop spinning. It did slow down, and so did her heartbeat, until it started racing again for a couple seconds when someone knocked on the door and Killian's face appeared in the doorframe.
"Swan? You ok?" He asked, and she couldn't tell if he was concerned or amused. A little bit of both.
"I'm great. I hate your game. I'm never playing it again."
She moved painfully to grab the bottle of water that was still waiting by the toilets she had previously vomited in, secretly hoping she didn't look too horrible now that he was staring at her. She prayed he didn't get the foolish idea of taking a seat next to her.
That was exactly what he did.
Emma grunted when Mary-Margaret got back up on her feet, patting her friend's shoulder as to apologize. "Call me if you need anything. I'll be in the living room."
The blonde winced, knowing damn well Mary-Margaret hadn't chosen to leave the bathroom at this particular moment for no reason. Well, Emma had indeed meant to talk to Killian while it was just the two of them. Now was a perfect opportunity. And the way the boy was looking at her now, calm and collected, like patiently waiting for her to say something almost gave her the impression he knew. Well, it wasn't actually possible. Sure he was good at reading her, but he couldn't be that good now, could he?
"I'm sorry my game made you sick," the boy said, trying his best to sound sincere, although it would have probably worked better if he had done it without the smug expression on his face.
Emma let out a soft laugh.
Then, she took a deep breath and slowly, she turned her head to face him. For the very first time since they had met, she allowed herself to linger into his eyes, contemplating every shade of blue in them. A powerful wave of instant warmth and comfort invaded her seeing the way he just looked at her, and she asked herself how on earth she could have ever wanted to hurt such a man. How could she not trust him?
And how bad would it hurt if she did?
They hadn't moved for several seconds before she finally broke the silence, chuckling softly like a teenage girl waving her crush hello in the hallways. He had never seen her do that. The thrill he got when she did also gave him a sudden feeling of being thirteen.
"What?" Killian grinned, genuinely confused.
"Nothing." Her eyes met his again and she added in a whisper before she lost the courage to say it, "I'm sorry, too." He wasn't sure what she was sorry about, so she cleared her voice and confessed, "for, hm – for being… weird, with you." His brows were still frowned. Damn it. "For giving you mixed signals. For pushing you away. I didn't mean to – you know… Hurt you like that."
She surprised herself for not breaking eye contact as she spoke, and it actually felt good, not running away for a moment. Even better, Killian's face didn't flinch once with a sudden rush of overconfidence, or confusion. He got it. And he was not being an ass about it. Amazing.
It didn't last very long.
"So, enlighten me there for a sec if you don't mind, Swan –,"
She threw her head back and laughed, "Oh, here it is."
"Do you agree," he spoke very slowly, "Do you agree you have been, from time to time, flirting with me?"
"Yes."
Another pause. Emma's head was leaned back on the cool wall. She remained still, forcing herself to breathe slowly. It wasn't that hard, actually. She felt calmer in that instant than she did most of the time during the past few weeks.
Killian, on the other hand, got a bit disoriented by her unusual openness, and changed position nervously on the floor, bringing one knee closer to his chest so he rest his arm on it, as to appear unbothered. It didn't fool her.
"And you're freaked out because you're unfamiliar with the concept?" He teased.
Emma shook her head with a smile. "No." He was about to ask more of her but she didn't let him the time to, "It's just that I usually don't… care."
Killian stopped breathing for a second, just the time to take it in, make sure he had heard her right. He had. It shouldn't be much, but it was huge. The way Emma was staring at him now, just waiting for him to react, unsure of what he would say but taking a risk anyway, trusting him not to get back at her now that he clearly could.
He chose not to say anything but simply smile, praying heavens he wasn't blushing too hard and that his chest wasn't breathing too heavily. Ten minutes ago, he was a careless young man playing a stupid drinking game with his friends after he had spent the first part of his evening having sex in a bathroom stall. Now, he was everything but careless. As a matter of fact, he was the exact opposite: he was sitting on the floor of a bathroom with a girl way too good for him giving him a little attention and he had never cared so much. Bewitching really was the word. He had to have been put under some spell.
They found themselves gazing in each other's eyes again a little too long, comforted in the intimacy of the bathroom – like they had been before. Killian had a million questions popping in his head and he couldn't help but ask, no matter how long of a shot it was, "So you've never cared about a guy before?"
Emma sighed softly, not thrilled to diverge on that topic but she answered anyway, "I have. Let's say I'm not used to people sticking around. Last time wasn't even that long time ago and it's just… I guess I don't feel like going through it, all over again."
His hand clenched into a fist as his heart squeezed from seeing her close her eyes, trying to shake that baggage off her shoulders. How could any man with a sane mind want to abandon her? Was that why he had such a hard time proving her he was trustworthy? Because of another man's foolish choices?
Killian knew putting all the blame on some other guy wasn't brilliant. He also knew that tickling feeling he suddenly felt in his guts definitely had something to do with jealousy. Still, the thought was infuriating. With a graver voice, he asked, "Were you in love with him?"
Emma turned to face him once again, this time her eyes clearly letting him know his words had triggered something inside of her. They were agitated, unsure. She redirected them in front of her and replied with a snort, "Why do you care?"
"Humor me."
He wasn't smiling anymore. There was something else in his voice, on his face. He wasn't really severe. Just… brutally honest. It was a not so subtle reminder for Emma that both of them were walking on thin ice. "Yeah," she said after the few seconds of silence she needed to bring herself to admit it. "I was. And he left me, and I got my heart broken. Is that enough humor for you?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, Emma, but I'm glad to hear it."
Her heart jumped in her chest when her name rolled off his tongue, reassured by the softer tone his voice had taken back. She didn't know if she loved it or hated it, the way her body responded to the every vibration of his voice. Trying hard to hide the effect he had on her, as always, she repeated with a frown, "You're glad I got my heart broken?"
"If it can be broken," Killian started, bringing his face a few inches closer to hers as to almost whisper in her ear, "It means it still works."
Their faces were dangerously close now. Emma attempted to downplay the proximity by rolling her eyes at his last sentence, although the cautiously crafted poesy in it had done its trick in her head. "I guess I never thought of it that way," she muttered as his eyes followed the every motion of her lips.
"You're welcome," he teased in what should be a cocky comeback, like an old reflex, except there was nothing cocky on his face now. His eyes were devouring her, his hands burning from the desire to hold her, because she was so close, and clearly tempting him, almost like challenging him to give in first.
He wanted to. He didn't care about winning anyway. He was the one chasing after her, that had been pretty clear since the very first day and he was okay with it. What he wasn't confident about, was whether or not she wanted him to. He was fine with struggling a little: he liked a challenge. But he wouldn't chase a girl who didn't want to be chased. With Emma, it was always hard to know. She had just basically admitted she liked him back. Her face was a few inches from his, her eyes wouldn't leave his own, and yet he still felt unsure. Sometimes it felt like he had her, and the next minute she was gone. And when he did have her so close, the last thing he wanted was for her to go away.
"What are you doing to me, Swan?" Killian whispered, shaking his head very slightly. It wasn't an actual question, more like a pleading.
Emma gave him a soft smile, the tip of her fingers brushing his hand on the floor. "Be patient," she said, almost like a promise, before she got up on her feet, stepped over him and disappeared in the hallway, leaving him once more, cursed to repeat her words in a loop in his head, with four walls and a bathtub as sole company.
"I've got all the time in the world," Killian joked to himself. "Unless some other guy attacks me in a dead-end and kills me."
"So… You really saved his life?"
She was joking around, but the tone in her voice didn't sound like much joking.
Her arms were crossed on her chest, her body leant against the doorframe of his bedroom, and he couldn't help but think that at any moment now she could choose to close the door behind her and walk towards him just like she could decide to walk out and leave him there without looking back, which was a funny image to think about, since it was a perfect illustration of what she had been doing to him ever since they'd met.
"Does it surprise you?" Killian returned, genuinely curious of her response.
Emma paused for a second before she finally decided to take a few steps away from the entrance and closer to where he stood, letting the door just slightly open behind her. "Well, you and David aren't exactly… how do you say it? Mates."
He chuckled softly at her poor imitation of his accent, amused – touched, even – by the sparkle of complicity in her eyes. Tipsy Emma was sloppy and relaxed and it was a heartwarming show to witness. Killian figured his unusual sensitivity to such foolish details might have also had something to do with his own inebriation. Nevermind the fact that he hadn't been drinking in over an hour.
Emma watched as Killian stepped towards her, until his body was not more than a few inches from hers. His left arm grazed her shoulder as he closed the door behind her and handed her what looked like a large, black T-shirt. She took it, enjoying the bolt of electricity she felt when their fingers brushed for a second.
"Doesn't mean I'll leave your cousin to get beaten up in a cutthroat street."
Emma gulped, still trying to process his sudden closeness as if it hadn't just triggered at least ten different spots on her body, and focused on maintaining Killian's gaze. Damn those blue irises of his. Even in the dark, they were impossible to ignore.
"Thank you," she finally said in a serious, sincere voice.
"Well," Killian looked down and chuckled, and she knew by that gesture he was about to say something stupid that would make her blush. "Perhaps gratitude's in order now."
He had joined his line with a suggestive touch of his finger on his bottom lip, an unashamed smirk growing dangerously on his angel face.
Emma couldn't hold back a brief, amused smile. "Yeah. That's what the 'thank you' was for."
Killian took a step closer although she hadn't realized it was even possible. His breath teased the skin of her neck as he whispered in her ear. "Come on. That's all your cousin's life's worth to you?"
He was drunk.
So was she.
They were both drunk, nonchalantly flirting against his bedroom's door and she had to admit, she was having fun. That was what she had come looking for when she had decided to join Killian and his group at the dining table earlier in the evening, even shoving people aside so he'd see nothing and no one else but her, torturing him first with playful eyes and a direct view on her breast, then with a wandering hand on his thigh every time she'd lean over the table for a barely justified reason.
That was what she had come to get.
An alluring, shamelessly sexual Killian Jones, enveloping her in his embrace like hot water streaming down her body after a long hard day, the raspy tone and accent of his voice playing a devilishly pleasurable music to her ear, telling her to just let go and lose herself into him completely.
She wanted to.
A part of her had always wanted to, since the very beginning. It had gotten more and more difficult to shut down as weeks went by, and special moments with Killian seemed to accumulate, making their mutual pining for each other nearly impossible to dismiss.
Emma's eyes traveled from his gaze to the curve of his eyebrows, the tiny drops of sweat pearling on his temp, the strong lines of his jaw to the softer one of his Adam's apple, and finally ended on his torso, his unbuttoned shirt revealing the promise of a firm, heavy breathing chest and soft chest hair grazing a skin she now felt the urge to caress.
She wanted this.
She wanted him.
Still, maybe she could make him work for it just a little longer, not because he really had to, but because the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice were just too delicious to say goodbye to just yet.
"Please," Emma grinned. "You couldn't handle it."
And with sharpness and an allure so typical she should've seen it coming, Killian returned proudly, "Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it."
She didn't know if it was the whiskey, the look in his eyes or the charming thickness of his accent when he had clicked his tongue on the word 'handle', but somewhere in the middle of his sentence, she completely lost it. She stared at him for a single second as she made up her mind and then she was done thinking.
The T-shirt fell to the ground as both her hands reached for the tails of his shirt, holding onto them strongly because she knew what she was about to do would make her head even dizzier. She got up on her toes, closed her eyes, and then her lips met his, hungry and passionate, so much that he was caught off guard and had no other choice but to give up all control. His hands were held in the air a few inches from her body, desperate to touch her but afraid that if he did she'd fade away like a mirage. Instead he let her take the lead, had to anyway, because she was possessing him entirely as her mouth moved on his, her skin hot and burning against his and her tongue tempting him before he willingly let it in, using his own to caress hers as soon as he got the chance, still struggling to wrap his head around what was happening now.
It was incredible. She was incredible.
He even took a step back, and she tightened her grip around the fabric of his shirt, starving for his lips and anything else she could take of him now; his scent, his breath, the moans. She felt like she could never stop. There was nothing else animating her but the solid, consuming, time-stopping desire to just kiss him, and she knew in that moment she hadn't even realized how much she had wanted to until she did.
She led the kiss for quite a long time, but when she tried to push him towards the bed, Killian resisted, grabbed her by the hips and made her step backwards until her back hit the door. He deepened the kiss as he pressed her against it, and she couldn't help but moan a little into his mouth as she felt his fingertips dig into her skin. Slowly, his hands left her body to hold hers, and raised them above her head, using one hand to lock her wrists together in that position as the other dropped back to her hips, and then grabbed her thigh as his mouth moved to her neck. If she had any hope to keep in control when she had first kissed him, those hopes were now completely gone, as she was merely gasping for air, trying to resist the urge to arch her hips harder into him, appreciating with an intensity that was almost painful every single one of his touches and kisses. Oh, he was good. Annoyingly good. She wouldn't complain.
The hand he had pressed onto her wrists motioned back to her hips as he kneeled in front of her, making quick work of her pants' zipper and sliding the fabric down her legs. He took a look at her as he approached her panties and the expression he saw on her face just made it harder for him not to take her right here right now against the door. He wanted to take his time, he really did, but this was eager and sloppy and unsure, and he didn't care. He didn't care for their moment to be a perfect choreography, he didn't care to impress or to perform. He wanted her. Like he had never wanted anyone before. With other girls, he always thought a lot, thought too much, anticipating his every move and word, already tinkering about feedback, or the story that would be told to curious friends afterwards. Only now he could realize that the reason he usually did this was because he cared about his image more than the experience in itself. Now it was different. Emma was different. He didn't care about perfect, he cared about sincere. Authentic, passionate, spontaneous. He wasn't leading on, he was giving in. He didn't want to think anymore, she was taking all the space in his brain.
So instead of teasing like he usually did, he figured he had all the time to make slow, intimate love to her in the years to come, since his years would now always be hers. She deserved a thousand times more than a quick fuck at a party, and he wished he had the strength to collect himself and do better than that, but this desire didn't feel like longing for a quick fuck – it felt like wanting to give her everything he was, everything she made him feel, how much she had made him feel ever since he had first laid eyes on her. It wasn't a quick fuck, it was devotion, like a pleading, a desperate need to abandon himself into her completely.
He looked up.
The eyes he'd been tormenting her with these last five months, teasing her, engaging her, making her laugh, making her mad… Those same eyes were searching for her own and it was basically all she could see of his face now because his finger had brushed her underwear aside and his mouth had found her slit, tongue everything but timid, confidently caressing her clit, and he had to hold her into place against the door and move her left leg over his shoulder so she didn't lose her balance. She gasped as his lips and tongue moved against her skin, on the parts of her body that felt more sensitive than it ever did, hot and wet and messy but good, so good she thought she might cry. This was almost selfish, that pleasure she was feeling, wishing for him never to stop, never to go anywhere and do anything else than taking her in his mouth. Did he have any idea how incredible he was at this? He probably did, although she couldn't detect any pretentiousness in his attitude. He looked… hungry. Hungry and thirsty for her, holding her hips and thighs tight in his grip like he was scared she'd go away. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the pressure of those past months washing over her now, transforming into this intense wave of satisfaction and relief. She didn't know, and she couldn't care less. She'd even come now if it came to it, nevermind what he might think of her if she did. She'd let him know how much she loved it, she'd let him know anything from now on as long as he kept on doing this.
"Killian…", she whispered, unsure if it had been out loud or in her head.
"Emma," he muffled against her skin, and the vibration from his voice did a pleasant trick against the hot skin of her sex. The way he had said her name wasn't a moan, it was a response, like reporting for duty, waiting for her to talk to him as though her wants and needs were the single most important thing in the world.
"Killian, bed."
It felt almost painful when he got back up, leaving her inner thighs suddenly cold and lonely, and her clit swollen, aching for more. Killian got rid of his pants while Emma threw her soiled shirt away. He lifted her from the ground and into his arms, her legs immediately finding their place around his waist. He kissed her, in the same messy, urgent way they kissed before, managing to find his way backwards to the bed. She urged him to move to the middle of the mattress so that his back was leaning against the bed frame and she could straddle him properly, a position she had pictured the both of them in an awkward number of times during their homework sessions. She smiled as she pressed herself against him, enjoying the feeling of his erection pushing into her inner thighs, begging to be revealed. And it didn't have to beg for long, because Emma maneuvered to get rid of his boxers, almost scratching his skin in the process, and couldn't help but stare as she saw his bare sex for the first time. He barely noticed, too busy to attack her neck with sloppy kisses and bites, his left hand wandering in those golden blond curls of hers, his right confidently grasping her ass – he was wide aware that was an opportunity that wouldn't show itself many more times. She pulled his hair backwards and forced him to look at her as she wet her hand and lowered it back to wrap her fingers around his erection, stroking him slowly but firmly, making him gasp and grumble in obscene British vulgarities. "Swan…", he managed to mouth, eyes shut and head falling back, "Swan, either we do this now or we won't be able to for a while."
He barely got the time to finish his sentence that she locked lips with him again, before murmuring in his ear, "Then take me already."
He swore he almost came just because of this line. Instead he reached for the bottom drawer of his nightstand, praying to all the gods he hadn't run out of condoms. Emma, too, held her breath as his hand roamed into a mess of boxes and pieces of paper, but both of them resumed their frenetic movements as soon as a condom surfaced. Killian ripped out the packaging and tried to unfold the damn thing, but impatience and sweaty hands complicated the process. "Bloody hell," he growled and Emma took it from him, urgently handling it and placing it around Killian's pulsating cock. She pressed her knees into the mattress to lift herself up, just enough so that she could slide him inside her, slow at first, then faster and deeper, digging her nails in the skin of his bare shoulders while he was now the one to moan louder and louder, unable to comprehend how a girl, a single girl, could drive him that crazy.
"Oh, fuck," he panted in a higher pitch than usual, "fuck, fuck, fu–" Emma pressed her palm against his mouth to cover the sound, both aroused and amused to see Killian completely lose it. He gently grabbed her wrist to free his mouth and used it to kiss her instead, his moans muffled against her lips. "You're bloody brilliant, Swan. You know that? You are… God, you are – ha…"
Emma shifted her position, straightened up on her knees as to take even more control of the pace, her chest now a few inches from Killian's face. Then and only then he realized she was still wearing a bra, and he corrected that mistake in a split second, unbuttoning the strip and letting the fabric fall on the sheets behind her back. He cupped one of her breasts, brushed his thumb over the erected, pink nipple, still unsure whether all of this was real or if he would wake up and suffer the worst frustration he's ever known. Except it was real, they were really having sex, or more exactly she was fucking him, sweaty, eager and beautiful, so beautiful against him, finding her rhythm around his cock, and pressing her hand onto his so he'd grab her breast harder. He obeyed, pinched the nipple before kissing it, than licking it entirely, pinching the other, biting and caressing and taking in every bit of skin he could lay his hands and face on. He had known from the very beginning he wouldn't be able to last very long, but now it was clearer than ever. "Emma," he muttered, out of breath. God, she loved it. The way he said her name, the way the letters rolled on his tongue. She didn't answer right away, just so he'd say it again. "Emma, wait."
"What?"
His eyes were shut, both his hands holding on to the sheets in tight grips and his head arched back, exposing the defined lines of his jaw, his throat, his collarbone, his chest rising hard and fast from the intensity of the moment. She kept on moving him inside of her as he spoke, "I think I'm going to cum. I'm sorry, I… I'm going to cum."
She couldn't believe how vulnerable he was now, opened up and sincere, happy to grant her all control. She almost felt guilty for doubting him before, constantly judging and analyzing whether he had good or bad intentions. They were good, they had to be. He was good. This was good. So good she wondered why they hadn't done it sooner.
"It's okay," she reassured him softly, "I don't mind if you come. I want you to come."
Truth was, she felt like she could come any second now. A brush of his fingertip on her clit and that would be it for her. So she resumed her movements, sliding him in and out deep inside of her, delighting in every stroke, every thrust, every kiss he landed on her skin. As she felt him begin to shake under her legs, she moved her hand to her sex and started caressing it, managing to find her clit and touching it without getting in the way of his cock. Soon she felt her orgasm coming, strong but volatile, and rubbed herself more aggressively, scared to lose the feeling. "Please don't stop," she pleaded Killian, "Please fuck me, just keep fucking me, please –"
She grabbed the bed frame, knuckles clenching around the timber as she hid her face in his neck, letting the pleasure possess her body completely. She panted, collected herself as her heart slowed down, although not ready to let go of Killian yet. With the little strength that she had left, she lifted her pelvis as to resume the strokes, determined to feel him come against her.
"Swan, you don't have to…", Killian panted but she shut him up by fastening the rhythm, getting a deep, raspy moan out of him.
"I want to."
And she kissed him, harder and deeper than ever, caressing every bit of skin she could find. His shoulders, his torso, his waist… now she cursed the position they were in for not making it possible for her to reach his ass. She ended up grabbing his hair, pulling on it just a little bit, allowing herself to linger in his scent while she could. Killian stiffened below her, desperately thrusting his last strokes, aware he was allowing her to see him come like he hadn't come in a while, if ever; exposed, panting and moaning loud, trembling under her body. With a last, deep thrust his orgasm came, and they kept their lips pressed intimately against each other as sperm made its way out of his body, depriving him of any capacity to think or speak for a while.
It was like swimming out of the water to the surface. The world that had previously vanished rebuilt itself around them, sounds and smells other than their own becoming a reality again. The music. The party. The people downstairs. New Year's Eve. January. Second semester. University. Courses, homework, priorities, responsibilities, time flying by so quick and life being so uncertain and people not trustworthy and young love being naïve and foolish and terrifying and –
"That was…", Killian whispered against her lips, his eyes still shut but his mouth slightly opened as he was still gasping for air.
Emma stared at him, felt her heart sink into her flesh and her entire body tremble with excruciating fear. Should she stay and hold him a bit longer? Should she run far away from his house? Should she kiss him again? Would he like that? Would he call? He would have to call, they run into each other constantly. There was no avoiding her. Should she avoid him? Avoid the shit show that could be the future of their relationship? Could she handle it? Was she ready? Was she capable of such a thing anyway?
"A one time thing," Emma said.
Slowly, she got off of him and out of the bed, reached for her pants and her shirt on the floor and put them on at a surprising speed. Killian seemed frozen, chest still heavy and body still exposed. In fact, he was now painfully aware of how naked he was, and how vulnerable he had been with Emma just then, and the way she was rushing to get herself together and leave the room made him consider he might have had hallucinated the whole damn thing. But he hadn't. And this was fine. Emma panicking, it didn't mean she didn't care, he knew that now. He would've been a fool to expect her to stay by his side and act all smitten right afterwards. Her wanting to leave did not erase everything that had just happened between them. He was sure of that. Or was he trying to reassure himself?
"Don't follow me. Wait for a few minutes, pretend you left to freshen up or something," she commanded as she reached for the doorknob, then awkwardly locked eyes with his. Her mouth was twisting in a confused expression, torn between guilt, empathy and fear. She paused for a while, like hesitating, then finally turned around, stepped out and let the door slam shut after her. Killian stared at where Emma had stood a second earlier, willing her to come back, climb in bed and curl up in his arms. Except she wouldn't. He knew that, too. He was alone, now. His bedroom had never felt so dark and empty. When he finally replied, she was already too far away to hear him.
"As you wish."