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First Time - Captain Swan Fanfiction

"First Time"

Once Upon A Time: Captain Swan Fanfiction

Emma Swan x Killian Jones

Set somewhere around season 4, some thoughts I had to get down on paper of how the two of them might come together. Comments welcome!

Rating: M for smut

It starts simply.

He stops by for dinner. She smiles and lets him in with Henry right behind her, grinning at the two of them. The boy’s face is so hopeful.

Most nights they dine together, staying in at her apartment with Henry and sitting around the table. Other nights they sit on the couch and share snacks while watching one of Henry’s movies, a fascinating technological concept. Occasionally they eat out together. Every time, it feels so much like family it makes his heart clench.

Some days, Henry is away at Regina’s, and it’s just the two of them. And then it becomes something different. Something more.

The space between them feels smaller, and time slows. When she glances up at him, a faint blush lighting up her cheeks, the heat takes hold of him. A heat all too familiar, burning brighter every time she looks at him, touches him, or calls out his name.

He hasn’t touched her since that night at the diner’s, not aside from the lingering goodnight kisses they share on her doorstep. The heat is almost too much, but he doesn’t want to scare her. Doesn’t want to rush her. He’s waited 300 years to find her; he’s not going to mess it up now by moving too fast.

After their return from the past, he takes up residence with Robin and his family, giving her the time and space she needs, but being with her every moment that he can. Because doing otherwise is unthinkable. He needs her.

It’s simple: let her set the pace, ensure she is ready. It’s simple, until it isn’t.

Tonight, Henry is away and he is that much more aware of her. He steps into her small apartment, brushing past her and he can’t escape the vanilla and woman scent that she is. The flames burn hotter. He clenches his fist and holds it at bay.

“Felt like staying in tonight.” She shrugs.

“Fine by me love.”

Their eyes meet, and he thinks he sees the same heat mirrored in her eyes, but she looks away before he can be sure.

He can smell spaghetti coming from the kitchen, a dish he’s learned to love since she introduced him to it. He steps in to help, and once their hands are full of plates and food, she seems to relax somewhat. As much as she can, at least, with the current snowstorm that has Storybrooke buried.

The conversation is short and light over dinner. He wants to touch her, the urge so strong he’s barely realized he’s reached across and taken her hand until she stops mid-sentence.

“-And I just-”

She looks startled, but her hand grips him back and she moves closer. Then, she says it.

“Killian.” Her voice is a blend of frustration and hope.

It undoes him.

Slowly, gently, he leans over and takes her lips with his. It’s tender at first, just like at the diner, slow and loving and sweet. Until it bursts into something frenzied and hot. She has her hands in his hair, breathing short and fast, and they’re both leaning across their chairs, as close to each other as possible.

It would be comical, if it wasn’t so maddening. He needs more of her.

When they break apart, he slides his hand through her hair, long golden locks ever so soft in his coarse grip. Precious.

He should go, before he takes all that he wants. Her needs come first, always.

But he can’t bring himself to pull away.

/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/

She can’t think of anything but him, and it makes her feel guilty.

She has responsibilities, messes to fix, and a child to worry about. With the snowstorm, Regina’s fury, and Henry turning into a teenager, she has far too much to do to be thinking of him.

Yet every night, when he kisses her goodnight, it gets that much harder to let him go.

He doesn’t push and she’s grateful, when her doubts aren’t running wild in her brain trying to wreak havoc. Part of her still doubts the happiness is real.

At first, she’d held her breath, waiting to see what would tear this apart like everything else has fallen apart in her life. But it’s been weeks. Weeks of nothing but happiness, and desire, and emotions she can’t put a name to just yet.

And every night when he says goodbye she clings to him more, and they linger in the hallway wrapped in each other for that much longer.

It isn’t enough, and that night as he sits with her and smoothes away her worries with his confident assurances that she’ll figure everything out, she makes a decision.

She’s sick of goodbyes.

“We’d better clean up.”

She backs away from his piercing gaze and the heat in his eyes that sets her insides alight. She needs calm, a deep breath to center herself, but she knows this is right. Knows that tonight, she doesn’t want to walk him out to the hallway to say goodbye.

“Of course.”

And even one-handed he never complains, helping her to clean and put everything away as deftly any two-handed person. Tender emotions swamp her, bringing a lump to her throat. Is this all really hers? Can she really have this, and enjoy these feelings?

“At least it’s stopped snowing, love.”

He’s looking out the window over her sink, at the late summer sun slowly setting behind the snow-covered outline of Storybrooke. He will leave soon, unless she can stop him. She remembers something.

“Henry had something he wanted to give you last time but forgot. I think I left it in my room.”

She knows she did.

She steps down the hallway knowing he’ll follow, feeling his eyes on her back. She feels it like a caress that brings a flush to her skin and a shiver snaking down her spine. She stops just inside her room, the bed at the center of the space drawing all her secret wants to the surface of her thoughts.

When she turns back to him as he steps into the room, she notices a tension around his eyes, blue flashing with intensity before it’s gone, hidden beneath his smile.

“What does the boy have for me then?”

She picks up the old flip-phone Henry found and hands it to him. Smart phones and hooks didn’t quite agree, if his last phone was anything to go by. Henry had thought old-fashioned buttons might be of better use to him, functional with both hand and hook. He looks delighted, pocketing it and passing on thanks. He is about to turn and leave when she stops him.

“Wait.”

“Swan?”

Her hand is in the crook of his elbow as he turns back to her, and for once she doesn’t hide the yearning in her eyes.

“Emma.”

The silence surrounds them, then falls away with the whisper of a word.

“Stay,” she says.

He steps into her space, eyes sparking, the smell of leather and Killian making her dizzy. He takes her head gently in his hand, but when their lips meet, it isn’t gentle. It’s consuming.

She can’t help but lean into him as his lips take hers, her front pressed to his. His hand cups the back of her head as he takes control of the kiss, sending thrills of feminine pleasure through her. Their breaths mingle as their tongues tangle endlessly together. She’s lost track of her hands, sifting them through his hair, clenching his leather jacket, clinging to his back to remain standing.

She feels his need and rejoices in it, feels it in the way he holds her like he never wants to let go, in the way he devours her. She’s a living flame, lighting up for him and glowing hotter. A moan escapes her and he groans in response, pressing her back and against the wall beside the door. Her hands slide into his coat slowly, carefully, before pushing it down and off his shoulders, making it fall to the floor.

The shirt he wears underneath is so thin she can feel his muscles beneath her hands. He pulls back for a brief moment, and the look he gives her is scorching. She needs him.

“Emma.”

So much expression in one word. She knows he’s asking for permission but can’t think enough to put a coherent sentence together.

“Yes.”

It’s all he needs.

His lips travel down her neck to her throat, tantalizing her, teeth nipping at her tender skin as hand and hook move to her blouse. Before she can explain that the clasps are backwards, she hears the rip of fabric as his hook pulls it apart, shredding it.

“I’ll fix tha-”

“-Later.” She reassures him. She has enough shirts anyway.

His lips find hers again, and his hand slides down the bare skin of her neck, then down her side to her stomach. She revels in the textures, the cool metal of the rings he wears and the rough calluses from hands used to hard work.

When he pulls away to look at her, he’s standing between her legs with his fingers swirling patterns across her skin. His gaze is mesmerizing, a mix of lust, awe, and confusion as he glances down at the bra she’s wearing.

“Beautiful.”

One of his fingers boldly traces the lower cup of her bra. She feels it through the fabric like a slice of heat, rushing to her core. She pulls her arms from around his neck, a wonderful flutter going through her at his undisguised admiration for what he sees.

And yet, without moving, without going any further, he looks back up at her again, and she knows he’s checking on her. Checking she is still OK with this.

And that is what makes her want to give him everything.

/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/

His breathing is harsh as he struggles to take in the moment. Still terrified it’s a dream, a figment of his imagination that couldn’t ever come true. But she’s still there, warm, solid, and sweet in his arms. She nods at him, and he can feel something change in him, his world forever altered.

She is his world.

He misses her arms at his neck, clinging to him the same way he can’t let go of her. She reaches her hands around behind her back, and before he can wonder what she’s doing, the little scrap of fabric covering her breasts falls away. He has no words.

She is perfection.

Before the torrent grips him and drowns him in her, he takes a moment to study her, fingers gently tracing the outer curve of a breast. This moment is imprinted in his brain, the memory one he will cling to until his death, one that no curse or magic could ever wipe away.

He steps forward, backing her completely flat against the wall and pressing his hips into hers. She melts into him, unresisting. Her arms come right back to his neck and she kisses him, madly, wildly. He lets her for a brief moment, before he breaks the kiss and moves to the skin at the base of her neck.

He makes a vow to himself, on the lives of his crew and the ship he loved and lost, that he will know every inch of her better than she knows herself.

He starts with her throat.

She lets out a breathy moan before she can pull it back, and he files the knowledge away as his lips and tongue travel down, slowly and carefully, to an exposed breast.

“Killian.”

Gods above, he loves how she says his name. He wants to make her say it like that, gasping and husky, every day and night.

He palms her other breast as her hands tighten in his hair, then slide down shakily to his shirt, struggling to pull it open.

She is liquid under him, thrumming and arching as he tastes her and explores. He can’t get enough of her like this. He takes all of her.

The faintest thought of clarity travels through his brain, even as his need blazes in an inferno he is too weak to fight. Is it too much? Too soon? Too good?

Her moan cuts those thoughts short as she rubs against him. It steals away his doubts with a fiery burst of pleasure.

Her fingers snake underneath his shirt to explore his chest, nails scratching lightly and deliciously across his abdominal muscles down to his breeches.

He can’t come undone. Not yet.

He nearly dies when he forces himself to pull away from her.

Their eyes meet, and he sees confusion in hers. He doesn’t want her to doubt him, doesn’t want her to question his need for her. So he shares it all with his eyes while he untwists and removes his hook, then strips his shirt off over his head.

She smiles a tiny, satisfied smile and he nearly loses it.

He needs to remain in control, take things slow.

When he steps back into her space, his hand finds the clasps at the waist of her jeans as his lips trace the upper curve of her breast.

Never has he cursed the loss of his hand more than in this moment, when he can’t feel as much of her as he needs to feel.

She is bold too, as her fingers study every line and curve of his back, then slide down to grip his buttocks through his breeches. He fights but can’t hold back a groan as they arch together, her body pressing against his with the tiny, awful scraps of material still separating them.

He finally separates the material at her waist, a thrill of victory lancing through him as she helps him pull the tight breeches she favors down and off her body. Only a scrap of dark lace stands between him and the pale perfection of her.

He tries to remember the last time he’s felt so overwhelmed, so terrified, happy, and desperate, but he can’t. She is unlike anything. She is everything.

‘We should-”

She motions to the bed but he can’t. He’ll go too fast, and they shouldn’t be moving this quickly. He holds her hand back with his, pressing it against the warm skin of her hip as he lowers, tasting and memorizing the planes of her stomach and the gentle curve of her hipbones.

Her breaths are short and fast, and he can feel the tremble in her fingers still locked with his. Her other hand always returns to his hair, anchoring him against her where he is all too happy to stay.

His left forearm braces against the wall behind her as he nips at the lace with his teeth, sliding the last tiny scrap off her and meeting her gaze.

/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/

She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t.

But when he looks up at her, all teasing gone and a look of pure adoration and desire lighting up his infuriatingly handsome features, her protests crumble.

His hand slides down her bare hip, up and down leaving goose bumps in its place. When he kisses her hipbone, she feels the light scratch of his beard and she feels like screaming from the rightness of it, the unfairness of it. The tease.

She wants to make him pay.

But first she wants him to touch her.

She’s standing there naked in front of him, and he lingers and caresses, kisses and explores without ever nearing the part that craves him most. And he damn well knows it.

She wants to urge him on but she doesn’t want to voice how desperate she is.

So instead she decides to take matters into her own hands.

As his lips and tongue torture her with their slow, languorous exploration of the curve of her hip, her free hand slides up to take hold of her right breast. His blue eyes are tumultuous and wicked when he glances up at her, knowing. His lips quirk in the tiniest smile before he finally lowers and tastes the part of her that needs him most.

She can’t disguise her need then, not when he’s tasting the wet heat of her that craves him, and his hand has lifted to caress the breast she’d left untouched. Playing fair, even when he’s being oh-so-wicked.

She keens when his tongue presses against that spot, nearly standing up on tiptoe as she momentarily forgets how to breathe. When he groans against her core, she shudders as the deep, primal sound resonates through her. She isn’t sure how much more of this she can take.

Her hands fall away from herself, back to his hair, clinging to him. And when his hand finally joins his mouth and he lets one long finger enter her, she’s so thankful she moved so far away from her parents as she lets out a harsh, freeing moan.

Because with him, it’s so much more than simply scratching an itch. In his every action, every moment, she feels him loving her, caring for every part of her and it’s petrifying and liberating and too overwhelming for her to process.

She aches for him and as he draws out her cries and makes her cling to him, she hears in his grunts and the way he grips her skin just a little too tightly that he feels it just as strongly. He’s just as vulnerable, and that makes everything just a little more okay.

If they can find their way together, she doesn’t need to be so afraid.

When she comes apart in his arms, he whispers her name reverently across her skin. “Emma….”

Not ‘Swan’ or ‘love’ or any of his other endearments for her. He rarely calls her that, she’s noticed, unless it’s just the two of them in their private, intimate moments. She’s grown so used to it, the way he saves it, that it feels precious, makes everything so much more intense.

As he moves to stand she nearly sags, shaky legs struggling to keep her standing as she’s still shivering from her release. It would be so easy to stop now, to leave it at that and resume another day. His eyes, dark and anxious, are watching her, strong arms anchoring her against the wall to keep her steady. Even now, he sees to her needs first.

She can’t leave it at that.

She may not be able to say the words he deserves to hear, but she can show him. With her love, her body, and her actions, she can tell him how much he means to her.

Allowing herself to catch her breath, she lets him see her emotions swirling in her eyes. With a final breath and straightening of her shoulders, she’s ready.

Pushing off the wall, she steps into his space. His look is assessing, checking to see what she wants and needs. She wants to wipe that away, to take away his hesitance and control to see him simply lost for her, the way she is for him.

So she backs him up to the bed. One eyebrow raises in question but he says nothing, leaving her in charge.

She is all too happy to lead on.

/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/+/

When the backs of his knees hit the bed sheets, his heart races as thoughts of her wrapped around him become entangled in his mind. He fights to wipe them away, needing to remain in control, to hold back so whenever she decides this is enough he can pull back. But she hasn’t, not yet.

Her hands lift to explore his chest, nails and soft palms tantalizing him with her warmth and the faint electricity that always lights up his skin when they touch. Her look is playful, a look he treasures, because right now she isn’t the savior, or the daughter, or the mother. She is a woman, his woman, and the only other person in the world besides him.

She leans closer to him and he moves forward for a kiss but she bypasses his lips, dropping careful kisses along his cheeks, chin, ear, down his neck and over to one shoulder.

He needs to taste her.

With a final step, the front of her nude body comes into contact with his bare chest and he hisses in pleasurable shock at the power of it, the rightness. He’d never thought, never imagined…did not believe it could be like this. For all his bravado, he’d doubted for so long that he could have this, hold her like this, and the reality is more than he’d dreamed. Almost too much for his mind to process.

His hand finds its rightful place at the small of her back, her pert nipples pressing into his skin nearly driving him mad. His lips seek hers out roughly for a consuming kiss, and he can already feel control slipping away.

He tries to focus on his breathing to remain calm. She chooses that moment to bring her hands to his breeches, fingers working the laces quickly and efficiently and pushing them open and down. When he’s free, breeches falling down to his ankles, she takes a step back.

He doesn’t dare move, and she studies him, slowly and carefully looking at every inch of him, and she isn’t hiding her appreciation for him. The little grin that quirks up a corner of her lips sends a pang through his gut. She is too beautiful, too precious for him, and he’s broken so many things…

Before his thoughts travel too far into the darkness, she steps back closer to him, both hands coming to his shoulders and pushing him back. He falls against the bed, and before he can let out the breath he’d been holding, she follows him down and straddles him.

“Gods, Emma.” He pulls her head down for a kiss and swallows their cries of pleasure as her core rubs against his length. Her hands grip the sheets beside his head as she rocks gently above him, her little moans becoming louder and more frequent, driving him to the edge.

Still, he fights to keep control. It’s all for her, only and always for her.

“Killian….” They no need words, they no longer have words. But they understand each other. He hears her need, and her encouragement, in the way she says his name between gasps. His breaths are harsher, rougher as his hand lowers to grip her hip, trying to slow her down.

In response she grinds against him and he nearly sees stars.

“Emma,” he warns. He knows he should be telling her to wait, to slow down, but he can’t bloody get enough of her and his greedy senses savor every tiny detail.

But the one thing he doesn’t count on, the one thing that breaks him, is when she leans down, breasts brushing against his chest and her hot center caressing his length, and whispers one word: “Please.”

He shatters. With a violent roar, he pulls her closer to him, rolling over so he’s on top of her, his length pressing into her wetness. Her eyes are glittering and there’s no doubt in them that she wants this, she wants him in this moment which is right and good because he doesn’t know how to stop any more. Not when she clings to him and shares her need with him.

Her arms wrap around his neck and her legs wrap around his hips, drawing him closer. With a harsh breath, control gone, he pulls back from her, then presses forward, guiding his length fully into her in one harsh thrust.

Her cry of pleasure echoes on his skin and travels through him as he sets a hard pace, pulling out and pressing back in more desperately each time as she clings to him more. They’re completely lost in each other, unsure where one starts and the other ends.

She coaxes him closer, harder, higher, as her legs pull him closer to her with each thrust. His left arm braces himself on the bed, holding himself above her as he moves, and he tastes each groan and gasp of pleasure of hers with their frenzied kisses.

Her nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, tiny pinpricks of pain pushing his pleasure higher. This woman will surely be the death of him, but it will be an end well worth the journey. When she’s close, her body trembles beneath him, inner muscles locking tighter around him. Her blonde hair is spread out like a siren across the sheets beneath them and her sea-green eyes are full of the feelings she’s too afraid to speak, but he knows.

When her pleasure crests and breaks, body tightening like a bow and shivering around him, she lifts her hands to the sides of his face and cries out his name. The sound is one that will replay in his mind forever, branded in his memory.

He follows not too long after, unable to contain his release any longer. Pumping harshly within her, he rocks through the climax and every little aftershock, and she rocks with him, milking everything out of him.

With a harsh breath, he falls to the bed beside her and pulls her against his chest, unable to let go of her. She grips him just as fervently.

They are still half off the bed, with her nude form wrapped around him and his breeches trapped at his ankles, and he’s so full of happiness and relief that he can’t help smiling.

And when he looks down at her curled against him, and sees her sweet, secret smile beaming back up at him, he’s gone.

He is hers, completely.

But that’s okay, because there’s nowhere he’d rather be in the world, and it’s just that simple.

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