That photoset of Colin with iphone - it's Killian and Emma has just sent him dirty, filthy message.
The thin magic box he holds in his hand (a phone, according to Swan and her lad), is a wonder. Heâs found that itâs a quite useful tool in communication (vocal and visual, and it even acts as a telegram service), plus Henryâs shown him how to play pirate dice on it (bloody brilliant). It hurts his eyes and gives him a headache if he stares at it too long, but itâs one of this worldâs finer developments (aside from running â heated â water, pizza and their horseless carriages), if you ask him.
Heâs just recently discovering its other uses too, like the little portraits (instant portraits â how very clever) he and Swan and Henry often take â smiling faces, silly faces, serious faces (that make Swan laugh â he adores her laugh). Swanâs even shown him how to message the pictures back and forth to each other (he likes it best when she sends the ones of her smiling, loves the way her eyes crinkle around the edges and her dimples crease her cheeks).Â
Heâs strolling idly along the pier one morning, taking in the sea air (missing the Jolly â it still aches sometimes, but with every brush of Emmaâs hand against his and every press of her lips to his and every smile and laugh she gifts to him, it aches less and less), when his phone beeps with the familiar tone of a telegram message. He stares down at the screen, Swanâs name labeled on the pop-up notification, and he grins â wide and happy and heart-squeezing.
He suspects he knows what itâs about. Heâd left before the dawn that morning, dropping a kiss to each of her closed eyelids before nudging his mouth against hers. Sheâd sighed and murmured in her sleep, her lips curved up at the corners and heâd twisted an errant curl of her sunshine-gold hair around his finger before heâd departed.
He doesnât make a habit of it, sneaking off like a thief in the night, not when Swanâs bed is so warm and her kisses so insistent (Stay, Killian. Stay.) and her body so perfect and welcoming, but some days he just craves a little bit of the water â the sound of the waves lapping against the docks, the cry of the seagulls overhead, the breath of the breeze against his cheeks and ruffling his air, the beat of the sun on his skin. Heâd spent centuries this way, to suddenly be so far from it, well, it was still an adjustment he was making.
Hey you, everything okay?Â
The message is casual, but he can sense the anxiety there â too many years of abandonment and heartache creeping up and worrying her. His sweet, darling lass. She still seemed to have no idea how utterly wrapped around her finger she had him (perhaps it was for the best, it would be bloody dangerous for her to have that information), and as much as you couldnât take the sea out of the pirate, Killian would still make the same choice over and over again â heâd still choose her.Â
He doesnât realize it, but heâs already stopped in his tracks, already felt the pull of home as he turns and starts back the way he came.Â
Just fine, love. Wanted a little air.Â
He sees the three little dots indicating that sheâs typing back and when the message â or rather portrait â comes through, he can feel his mouth actually water and the blood in his veins, curling and twisting with sudden desire, shoot straight downwards.
Itâs a picture of her in bed, head nestled against her pillow, hair spilling across the white case, a sly, wicked little smirk gracing her lips, shoulders bare, the tops of her breasts teasing and tantalizing in the frame.
Come back to bed, her message reads.
Killian curses, swallowing thickly as he picks up the pace. Bloody hell. Sheâs never sent one of those before. His phone chimes again.
Iâll make it worth your while.
Oh, heâs no doubt about that. He breaks into a jog, stumbling off the curb as he crosses the street back into town.
I had a dream about you, she replies. We were in the shower, your hands were all over me â touching, caressingâŠmmmm it was so good.
He swears again, feels a rush of heat shoot down his spine as an ache builds deep in his belly while his memory conjures the familiar honeyed tang of her. Fucking hell.
Heâs sprinting now, racing across the sidewalk despite the abrupt tightness and discomfort of his jeans. Heâs thinking about replying, honestly, he is, but thenâŠ
You used your mouthâŠTWICE, is the next message that comes in.
He barrels through the door of her apartment building, takes the stairs two at time, then fumbles with the lock on her door as curses spill profusely from his lips. By the time he gets inside, heâs trembling with need and his heart feels near to bursting.
The way he wants her is absurd, and surely should have diminished even marginally after the way theyâd ravaged each other the first two weeks once theyâd reached that point in their relationship, but as he barges into her bedroom and catches the first glimpse of her laid out before him (like a bloody treasure) â all bare skin and siren green eyes and come-hither smiles with a hand on her breast and the other rubbing slowly at her clit (Gods above) â he knows without a doubt that he will never stop wanting her this way, or ever for that matter.
âTook you long enough,â she says, breath smoky as she bites her lip and arches into her touch.
He wastes no time shucking his jacket and shirt before heâs climbing onto the bed and crawling over her, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he could reach on his way up.
âBloody beautiful,â he murmurs, licking across her unattended breast, tongue swirling over the hard bud before biting gently at the swell and making her gasp.
âKillian,â she whines.
âI know, love, I know,â he soothes, hands trailing up her legs.
âDid you have a good walk?â she asks (her breath hitches when his fingertips trail lightly along her inner thigh and he gently moves her hand away to replace it with his).
The rest of her thoughts are forgotten when pushes a finger into her and makes her hips lift off the bed, his name and a string of curses falling from her lips.
âIt was quite lovely along the coast this morning,â he smiles, loving the way her eyes flutter close and her skin flushes rosy. âBut Iâm more interested in this dream of yours.â
âThank God,â she tells him, giving in to the pleasure and rolling her hips against his hand when he slips out and pushes two fingers back into her, curving them in just the way she likes.
âSo I used my mouth, did I?â he chuckles.
âTwice."Â She nods and whimpers as his teeth graze across her collarbone and he continues to pump his fingers in and out of her. "And then I used mine on you.â
He groans in response before crushing his mouth over hers, grinning when he feels her smile against his lips just before she breaks into another gasp. He starts to work his way back down, mouth peppering kisses along the way, and he wonders if he can make it three.
