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i need you tonight

Summary: As the Dark One, Emma's gotten used to the long, lonely nights. But after Killian's memories of being a Dark One are returned, this one seems extra lonely. But when he suddenly appears to her, maybe they're both looking for some companionship. A/N: So I was listening to Millennium by the Backstreet Boys for the first time in decades and when "I Need You Tonight" came on, I just got hit with all the Dark Captain Swan feelz. So. Have some Dark CS smut. Hope you like it! (thanks as always to @optomisticgirl for the beta!) [If the AO3 link doesn't work right away, it should in a bit!] rated M | 3.4k | AO3

The night seemed to stretch endlessly in front of Emma. As she lay on the plush bed in her new bedroom—fully clothed, atop the covers, because why bother tucking in when she couldn’t sleep?—she watched the light from the moon, rendered pale by window curtains, slowly move across the opposite wall.

Each night had all been like that for the past few weeks, since they got back to Storybrooke, but this one was dragging especially hard. (They’d definitely gone faster when there wasn’t a digital alarm clock ticking away the minutes. And she was all out of dreamcatcher materials.)

But this time, it was probably because she’d finally had to own up to what she’d done. God, she’d been so close to fixing it all—

—Had she been, though? Because even if she had managed to rid them both of the darkness (and eliminate Zelena at the same time), she’d still have to come to terms with the fact she’d gone against Killian’s wishes in Camelot. It was worth it to her—she’d do it again, whatever it took to save him, to keep him—but he clearly thought otherwise.

Part of her was angry with him. Did he not love her enough to want to stay with her? After all she’d done for everyone—and everything he fought through and gave up to be with her—he’d really give up so easily?

But she still wasn’t sure if that feeling was genuine, or if that was the Darkness silently whispering in her ear. Visions of Dark Ones past weren’t plaguing her as much as they used to; she didn’t know if that was good or bad. Maybe it was just proof that she’d finally joined them.

She sighed and rolled onto her side, for what it was worth, somehow not ruining her severe braided bun. The leather jacket wasn’t the most comfortable to recline in, but it didn’t really matter; maybe it was some kind of penance for what she’d done—if she believed in that sort of thing. The Darkness certainly didn’t.

No, the Darkness was the opposite—hedonistic and self-centered. Emma was long used to going without and putting her wants aside for others; for the first time, she’d felt she had license to indulge—not on innocuous things like a large order of onion rings or an extra scoop of ice cream, but the things she really wanted: this house, for example (and what it represented); saving Killian, obviously; and not hesitating to engage her sexual desires.

God, even now; why had she decided to wear such tight pants? Just the slightest odd movement brushed between her legs in just the right way to make her crave more. She could take care of it herself, but that wouldn’t be as satisfying. But of course, the only person who she wanted was the one who was least likely to help her right now. (He’d more than obliged back in Camelot—before…everything.)

Ugh. Now she shifted uncomfortably; she needed a diversion. It was a little ironic that, for a while there, she’d been trying to get rid of those ancient Dark One voices and visions haunting her; now, she’d almost welcome the specter of Rumpelstiltskin, just for the distraction. Nimue, Zoso, that weird feral hog thing—anyone.

“How about me?”

She sat bolt upright at the voice—faster than humanly possible—and zeroed in on the source immediately.

Killian stood in the far corner of the room, opposite the window—hiding in the shadows. She wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the dim light or a flex of his own magic, but his eyes seemed to shine bright blue even in the dark.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice scratchy with disuse—though that was also kind of just how she sounded now, as if the Darkness had roughened her vocal cords, too. “I thought you were busy opening the portal to hell.”

“Oh, that’s still on my to-do list,” he quipped back, then pushed away from the wall, hips first. “But I might be able to squeeze in something—or someone—else.”

“I’d think I was the last person you’d want to see.”

“Aye,” he said plainly. “And yet—here I am.”

“Why?” If he was just here to taunt her, she wished he’d leave, regardless of the fact she was still happy to see him.

“How lucky for you that you’ve existed thus far as a Dark One and not felt the tug of a summons.”

Shit. She hadn’t intended that. “I wanted any one but you,” she blurted.

He scoffed. “No you didn’t.”

She didn’t have a response for that—not a truthful one, at least, and she’d been withholding that enough.

“Cozy room you have here,” he went on, eyes scanning around the space as he sauntered closer, his fingers casually dancing over the hilt of Excalibur. “When I saw the real estate listing, this is more how I pictured the interior; must have missed the part about a cave dungeon in the basement.”

“I told you—”

“Nothing,” he finished, angrily, now standing in front of her. It was definitely magic illuminating his irises, because they still beamed an angry blue even though he was backlit by the window. “You’ve said nothing that can explain yourself, love, so don’t try now.”

“Then why did you even bother coming here? You could have left.”

“And miss a prime opportunity to gloat?” He arched an eyebrow and gave a sideways smirk, the one that made his dimple cut through his scruff, but there was nothing playful about it like there usually was. “You know, I spent so many restless nights since we returned to Storybrooke—tossing and turning and wondering why I couldn’t just fall asleep. I chalked it up to you: the fact I didn’t know how to free you—if you even wanted to be freed; missing the feel of you in my arms. Longing to be with you…in other ways.” His gaze drifted down her body to the way her thighs were squeezed together. “Seems you at least know that feeling.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, sounding much more vulnerable than intended—but there was no hiding her desire; not from him—not ever.

“And why should I do anything to help you with that?” he asked, almost angrily.

“You don’t have to,” she answered quietly, looking away; the intensity of his gaze was finally too much to bear. “I can handle it myself.”

“I know you can.” She felt something like voyeuristic pleasure coming off of him; was that how he knew to come in the first place? Was there more to their connection than she realized? “I would take much joy in watching your attempts to satisfy yourself, knowing full well you’d never get there—not really.”

“And let me guess—you’d beat one off while I edged myself for ages?” she snapped back, looking back up at him.

He leaned closer, invading her space until all she could see was his eyes. “I would. But what fun would that be?”

Not a moment later, his lips were pressing against hers—almost tentatively, as if asking permission, but she wasted no time in kissing him back. Instinctively, her hands found his waist and she pulled him closer; she squeezed, unafraid of hurting him for a change, because she wasn’t used to feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. It was kind of odd that his clothing choices finally swayed towards soft now that he was invulnerable, but maybe that was the point—he didn’t need his armor anymore.

Meanwhile, her armor was on even thicker; his hand also settled at her side, but tensed against the stiff crocodilian leather of her jacket. “Off,” he whispered—a command she was all too eager to follow.

She didn’t bother breaking the kiss; she just flicked her hand and stripped herself almost bare, down to the black lacy lingerie she’d taken to wearing lately. Wearing it had always made her feel confident—it was her go-to for a honeytrap—but she’d been waiting for an encounter like this in which to show it off (though she’d hoped it would have been before his memories of Camelot were returned).

She stood and pressed herself against him, quickly becoming aware of the fact that he too was aroused. He groaned mid-kiss as she arched her pelvis against the bulge in his jeans, and she smiled against his lips.

He might hate her, but apparently, he still wanted her.

“Almost,” he murmured, breaking the kiss but barely moving away. He reached up to her temple, and then she felt his magic wash over her, somehow both cool and warm—like a sea breeze in the summer sun. His long fingers followed the wave of enchantment, freeing her hair from its severe confines.

Her locks had been bleached white since that day in the meadow, but now her curls hung as they always had around her face, settling on her bare shoulders. Other than that day on the Jolly Roger, she’d used her pulled-back hair as armor as much as her clothes; this made her feel even more vulnerable than being only in her undergarments did.

“Much better,” he hummed in appreciation, and then began to trail kisses down her jaw to her neck; she had to bite back a giggle (seriously, a giggle? It really was a good thing no other Dark One had shown up) at the tickle of his thicker beard against her sensitive skin. Meanwhile, her hands drifted to his chest, like they usually did in these moments.

He shucked off his coat while sucking at her pulse point, making her spine arch with pleasure. Her hands trailed after the shed garment, relishing the feel of his muscles under his shirt, tracing the dips of his collarbones; she couldn’t normally do that with his waistcoats.

His hand was still tangled in her hair as she reached back up and began to unbutton his top. She barely even thought about it—it had just become part of their evening routine whenever they stayed together, whether they were being intimate or not. He stilled briefly when she undid the first one; she paused, much like he had earlier, asking permission. But he simply began kissing her shoulder again so she plowed on.

He was fully capable of undressing himself, but god, did she love to do it. She’d be damned (probably literally) if this was the last time she ever did it, but she was still going to savor this moment of almost domestic bliss in the middle of…everything.

The way his chest hair, his pecs, and then his abs gradually revealed themselves as her fingers slow-danced down his torso always felt like unwrapping a delicious treat—especially once she got to his belt and the waistband of his pants, and had to undo those, too, to untuck his shirt.

She also took advantage of the opportunity to trace the curve of his ass as her hands slipped under his jeans to remove the tail of his shirt. And smirked when she realized he had nothing on underneath. She (gently) dug her nails into his cheeks to bring him close again; his subsequent gasp made her belly flip—in a good way.

It had been a while since she had any positive, normal—human—reaction like that; she welcomed it for that reason, too.

It felt like old times as she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, sliding it down his biceps and over his brace while he guided the straps of her bra off, then deftly unhooked the back clasp and tossed the garment aside. She relished the opportunity to press close to him again, swallowing at the brush of his chest hair against her nipples, as she tugged his jeans down over his narrow hips. They fell to the floor quickly, pulled down by the weight of Excalibur, which hit the carpet with a heavy thud.

His suddenly free erection pressed against her core, but only for a moment before he gently pushed her back against the bed, forcing her to sit as he stepped out of his shoes and wiggled off his pants. (She’d never known there could be something adorable about a waiting cock wiggling—and she didn’t dare voice it now—but…well, it was.)

Then he was on top of her, pressing her back onto the mattress and kissing her within an inch of her life. It was probably a good thing they were immortal at the moment, because they weren’t stopping to take a breath.

He gripped her waist and she buried her fingers in his shaggy locks—something she’d been longing to do ever since he stopped cutting it in Camelot. It was silky soft and gave her more to hold on to than she normally had, letting her angle him just where she wanted him. Everywhere they touched felt like sparks against her skin, stoking the fire growing in her center.

She was starting to get desperate for some friction. Actually, it seemed like they both were; there was a sense of urgency to this whole encounter that wasn’t their usual style. But given the way things were, she didn’t really care—she just wanted him. And so she arched her pelvis against his, feeling the brush of his cock against the lace of her panties; it almost touched where she wanted but—not quite.

“Eager, are we?” he purred, and then she felt his fingers flex against her side—but also felt that warm-cool sensation as a result of his magic, and realized the lace was now gone. She then shivered—it felt like his thumb was pressing on her clit, but his hand was still on her waist.

“That’s a n-nice t-trick,” she stammered, as the pressure changed.

“I’ve been hoping to try this,” he replied, then returned his attentions to her mouth, his hand wandering up to her breast—but still there was the sensation of his fingers dancing outside her entrance.

She gave in to sensations—not that there was much else she could do. Her hands gripped the quilt just to give her an anchor in the wave of bliss that was about to wash over her. Oh god, she was so close; she could feel her walls beginning to tighten, that spool of pleasure fully wound inside her—just a few more (invisible) strokes—

And then it slowly dissipated. She blinked—she hadn’t even realized she was squinting her eyes shut—and saw him hovering over her smugly. “I couldn’t let you come that easily, could I?” he teased. There was a familiar amount of humor in his tone, but edged with the malice that had colored it since he remembered their shared curse.

Well, two could play this game. She drew the fingers of her right hand into a circle and squeezed the air; his ensuing hiss told her that he felt the mimicked sensation on his cock. So she did it again—a few times, actually—until he too was on the brink of release, head thrown back, the cords of his neck on display as he panted, and then let go.

“Oh, you saucy little—” His words were cut off by her grabbing his shoulders and pulling his mouth to hers once more; it was nice to know she was always capable of kissing away his sassy one-liners.

It didn’t take long for them both to get keyed up again—not that they’d really come down at all—and as good as the brush of his length against her folds felt, she wanted more. Given the increasingly erratic pace of his kisses and breaths, he did, too.

Before she could say anything, though, he spoke up.

“Emma, I need—”

She stilled, gripping his shoulders. He hadn’t called her Emma since his memories returned. It was always ‘Swan’ or ‘love’, the haze of the Darkness coloring even his pet names.

But when she cupped his face and looked in his eyes this time, there was nothing blocking her view—just the pure blue she’d come to love. This was him, entirely.

“Killian, yes—I need you, too,” she answered, near tears.

Without further pause, he moved back and slid in perfectly. They stopped for a moment there, feeling the initial relief of being together.

She looked up and he was squinting his eyes and shaking his head a bit—as if trying to stay in the moment but something wanted to pull him away. She had a good feeling she knew what. So she reached up to brush away the hair that had fallen over his face, then placed her free hand on his other cheek. “Hey,” she murmured. “Stay with me.”

He relaxed at her touch and opened his eyes. “Always,” he said softly, voice rough with emotion. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said urgently, and found his lips once more.

They began to move simultaneously, not wasting any further moments as they chased a shared release. She pressed her heels into his backside, urging him on, but it didn’t take long until she was there, cresting over the edge of bliss and free falling down the other side. The only thing holding her to reality was Killian’s warm skin under her hands; she could tell by the way he stilled shortly after that he’d found his own release, too.

She held on to him tight. He pulled out, but stayed close, too, as if she was his anchor in the storm—and wasn’t that kind of what they were to each other, especially in this moment?

What lay ahead—for them, for everyone—she didn’t know. But right now, she had this, and she wasn’t letting it go.

For a while there—she was decidedly not looking at the alarm clock, so she didn’t know (or care) how long exactly—they lay entwined, breathing in sync. She honestly hadn’t paid attention to her own heart beat in weeks, but when she placed her ear against his chest, she heard the reassuring thump-thump of his that gave her hope they’d both get out of this relatively unscathed.

If their hearts still beat for each other, then what on earth could separate them?

Eventually, though, he shifted away from her and rose from the bed. A flick of his wrist cleaned the residue of their encounter from both of them and, facing away from her, he grabbed his jeans from where they’d been left and pulled them back on.

“You don’t have to go,” she told him, bringing her knees to her chest as she perched on the edge of the mattress. (If she was sad to see his ass get covered up in denim, well, that was her business.)

No sooner had he redone the clasp of his sword belt when his shirt and jacket also reappeared on his form. He turned around, and she stilled a bit, almost sadly—the warmth that had been in eyes just before they came was gone; the Darkness was back in its place.

“I don’t have to, no—but I want to,” he said, unfeelingly. “Things to do, people to see—you know how it is. But thank you for the distraction, love. See you ‘round.”

The dark red smoke she’d come to recognize as his color of magic surrounded him, and then he was gone.

Well. Fuck.

Really, she should have expected it to end this way. There was still so much crap for them to get through. But…couldn’t they have had just this one night?

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, an echo of where she was earlier. Her body was cool to the touch, but she didn’t shiver; still, she got under the covers, if only because it was what she was used to.

Out of habit, she stuck to one side of the bed. She looked over at the empty half. She’d fix this soon enough, and he’d be back at her side.

A glance at the clock told her she had plenty of time left tonight to mull it over. At least she was able to think it over a bit more clearly, without her libido getting in the way. (That’s what she was telling herself, at least.)

And that’s how she spent the rest of the night: watching the moonlight continue to make its way across the wall—trying to make sure she didn’t spend another night restless and alone.

—————————————-

thanks for reading! Tagging some friends (including the fabulous and supportive Word Forge): @ohmightydevviepuu @shireness-says @iverna @thejollyroger-writer @wistfulcynic @phiralovesloki @initiala @idoltina

@xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @colinoeyebrows @pirateherokillian @annytecture @stubblesandwich @wingedlioness @scientificapricot @snowbellewells @searchingwardrobes @jrob64

[hope those worked!]

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