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Behind The Curtain (1/3)

Rated M for implied smut.

For my CSSS giftee @captainswanseven. A series of three canon compliant scenes based on her headcanons.

Happy (belated) Christmas and (early) New Year to all. Thank you to @ladyciaramiggles for the last minute read through.

Current plan is to post part 2 on 27th and part 3 on 29th, so see you soon!

AO3

Part 1: Swan Tattoo

Emma tiptoes down the stairs of the loft, feeling at least ten years younger than she actually is. Surely most 29 year olds don’t have to sneak past their parents to meet their sort-of boyfriend.

Not that she’d worried about that sort of thing when she’d been a teenager. Most of her foster parents simply wouldn’t have noticed if she’d decided to leave in the middle of the night.

Large blue eyes meet her at the bottom of the stairs and she smiles, taking in her brother’s angelic face.

“Hey you.” She whispers across the room, checking that their parents haven’t been disturbed. “What are you doing awake?”

Neal grins, wide and gummy and kicks his blanket off in excitement. Emma moves over to the crib, placing one hand on Neal’s stomach and using the index finger of the other to stroke down his nose softly. It calms him and it’s only a few moments before his eyes begin to drift closed.

“You’re one of the lucky ones.” She tells her brother as she cautiously moves her hands away from him, praying he won’t reawaken before she’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind her and Emma feels a rush of exhilaration run through her. She’s made it out of the loft without her parents realising and she has to stop herself from galloping down the stairs like a giddy five year old and skipping through the street to Granny’s.

The front entrance is dark and no doubt locked, but the rear door, leading directly to the corridor of bedrooms is held only on a keypad- and she doubts there’s anyone in Storybrooke that doesn’t know the code.

Hook’s room is quiet, and she wonders briefly whether she misunderstood his earlier message and is about to embarrass herself horribly. Just as she’s hovering, undecided, with her hand up to knock, the door swings open to reveal Hook in all his modern clad glory, half a smirk on his lips and an eyebrow raised.

“Swan.”

“Hook, I-” She stammers, suddenly feeling like an awkward teenager again.

“Were you planning on knocking today or waiting for the next crisis to arise?” He asks sarcastically and she finds her feet again, rolling her eyes at him before entering the room, making sure her shoulder knocks his arm in passing.

The room is nothing like Emma imagined- it’s one of Granny’s standard rooms, true, but Hook’s been here long enough that it’s also full of hints of him. The bed is against one wall; a single clad in floral print, and a desk filled with books and papers and… is that a quill… opposite. A wardrobe crowds the door to the ensuite, leaving maybe two square metres of floor space to play with. And he’s filled that with a coffee table and two chairs, one of which he motions for her to take as she shrugs off her jacket.

“Your message was rather vague.” Emma opens with as they settle in their seats. “Meet me at my quarters at your convenience- I’ll be waiting?”

“Well,” He begins. “Your schedule hardly allows for a fixed appointment.” He smiles weakly at her and she aches for something to do with her hands other than nervously picking at a chipped nail.

“You could have been waiting a long time.” She teases, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“I had faith you’d find a way to fit me in.” It could so easily be an innuendo, but the way he says it is perfectly straight and the sentiment melts through her. He has faith in her; always has, and it warms her.

Hook reaches across the table to where he’s left two glasses. They clang together as he pulls them towards him and she realises with a start that he’s just as nervous as she is. Since their date their time together has been sparse and filled with action and now, alone, safe, the air is heavy between them. Unbidden her eyes flicker over to the bed and she knows he’s caught her by the upturned lip and downcast gaze that greets her when she looks back to him.

“I didn’t ask you here to-”

“I know.” She cuts him off quickly and the air between them threatens to turn awkward again.

“Although if you’re offering…” The way he says it, chest puffed out and grin in place, cuts through the tension and a laugh falls from her lips. He always knows just what to say or do to put her at ease. He chuckles back at her.

“What are you drinking Swan?”

“Is there any option other than rum?” She asks teasingly.

“I have what I’m assured is a very good Merlot.” He reaches behind him to grab the bottle before presenting it with a flourish. “Of course I have no bloody idea what a Merlot is… I asked for wine.” Her smile has only widened at his self-depreciation.

“Merlot is good.” She watches him pour then waves a hand around the room. “You seem to have settled in here.”

“Aye. The amenities are more than satisfactory. Although the host could be a little less… involved.” His meaning is clear from his tone and she laughs again.

“Granny being a little too hands on?”

“Have no fear Swan- she’s not my type.”

“Oh I know.” The words slip out unbidden and she slaps her free hand over her mouth almost immediately. With a grin he reaches up and pulls it away, entwining their fingers as he lowers them to the table.

“What about you? Any admirers I should know of?” He’s teasing and she answers in kind.

“Oh there’s one- can’t keep his eyes off me.”

“He sounds like a rogue.”

“I can handle him.”

“I’m sure you can.” He grins and she realises they wear matching expressions. She feels more relaxed now- the wine and the company beginning to work their magic on her. Hook brushes his thumb over her wrist. “Tell me about this?” He motions to her tattoo and she freezes for a moment, the gut instinct to hide the details of her briefly overriding the calm she felt previously. She quashes the panic and forces herself to open a little more to him.

“I was young, it was before I met Neal. I had it done in some sleazy back alley place- I just walked in with the money and the decision and picked out the first design that called to me.”

“Why here?” He presses lightly on her wrist.

“It was the first thing I saved up for and paid for myself that wasn’t a necessity. I wanted it to be somewhere I could see it. A reminder I was going to make it.”

“Did it work?” He asks, his voice almost earnest in its integrity and she takes a moment to think through her answer.

“I’m here, so I guess it did.” She shrugs before continuing. “There were plenty of days I struggled to get through but for the most part they’re gone now.” He nods in understanding.

“My vengeance was all I had for a long time. I told myself that it was for Milah, but I know now that it was a lot more selfish than that.” She runs her free hand over his shirt sleeve where she knows the tattoo of Milah’s name is. There’s a lot she could say, but it would all sound empty and she knows he won’t appreciate it.

“I have another.” She changes the subject with a playful grin and he takes the bait with a relieved glint in his eyes.

“Oh really? I can’t say I’ve noticed.” He shifts forward in his chair, his eyes dipping deliberately to the neckline of her sweater. “Perhaps it’s somewhere more… concealed?” Despite having expected the reaction she feels her cheeks heat as his gaze slowly climbs to her lips. She steadies her breathing before pulling their joined hands to lift the hem of her top, exposing her abdomen where the silhouettes of two birds are inked.

The larger bird sits, head turned upwards to the smaller one in flight. She drags his index finger over the rough skin at the stationary bird’s feet.

“I got it right after I came out of prison. I had a stretch mark here that served as a branch. The birds are-”

“You and Henry.” He finishes for her and she gapes. Not even Mary Margaret had realised the significance the one time she’d seen it. She should really stop being surprised by him given the amount of times that he’s shown that he understands her, but every time it’s a surprise.

Emma closes the tiny gap between them, kissing him solidly. It’s still so new between them that it’s exciting, but it’s also beginning to be a little bit familiar; she knows the taste of his tongue now, the roll of his lips, the way his hook will press lightly into her as he holds himself back. She doesn’t want him to hold back any more.

Eventually they break apart, slightly breathless, both smiling and she struggles for a moment for a cohesive thought. She doesn’t think she’s the only one.

“What about you?” She asks eventually, eager to turn the conversation away from herself and distract herself from his fingers still absently stroking over her abdomen. “I’m sure you must have more tattoos than just the one?”

“I do.” He says simply before ducking his head. Emma’s surprised; it’s not usual for Killian to hide anything from her and she’s always known instantly when he tries. Right now he’s avoiding giving her a more detailed answer and it only intrigues her. He’s not a shy person and given how clear he’s made his intentions he must have expected her to see any tattoo he has at some point.

“Can I see it?” She asks in the end. Instead of answering he stands and begins to unbutton his shirt. She wonders what he’s doing before she catches a glimpse of something peeking out from the opening and is compelled to rise to her own feet. Without thinking about her actions she pushes back his shirt to examine the tattoo over his right pectoral. It’s large, easily the size of her hand and obscured slightly beneath his chest hair. She thinks it’s a dragon at first with its spread wings and elegantly stretched neck, but as she takes in the curve of its head, tapering down to its dainty beak she realises.

“It’s a swan.” She sighs. It’s the most beautiful tattoo she’s ever seen and she can’t stop from tracing over its outline.

“Aye.” Her fingers take in it all, from the head almost at his shoulder, the wings spread from collarbone to ribs, down to the tail and feet next to his nipple. Even without his previous hesitation and the burning look he’s giving her now the meaning of the swan over his heart couldn’t be more obvious.

“Why here?” She almost whispers, repeating his question from earlier.

“I was never going to see you again.” His voice breaks on the words. “But this time there was no one to blame; it just was. The tattoo was just for me- I didn’t need it on display like Milah’s, I just needed to have it- to remember the feelings you evoked in me: The desire to be a better man, to care about others, to be a part of a family.” She thinks now about how hard it must have been for him- to have been ripped from the hope he’d found in her and then, when he’d found a way back to her, for her to not remember anything of their connection.

Because there had always been a connection, life having dealt them hands that ensured that they understood each other. But they’re both here, now and, she thinks, on the same page. She stops moving her fingers and instead splays her hand over his chest, leaning against him as she reaches up to kiss him.

It’s hot and heavy, all tongues and teeth and this time she doesn’t feel his hook pressing into her hip as he restrains himself but instead instead it runs down her side and under the curve of her ass. It feels perfect.

“Emma.” His voice is breathy against her lips and she feels that pleasant sensation low in her abdomen that precedes arousal.

“Killian.” She answers and it’s clearly enough encouragement for him to proceed, to take the lead and wrap both arms around her, lifting her just enough to move her to the bed and lie her gently back on it. Her right hand hasn’t left his chest and as he lowers himself onto her it becomes trapped at an angle that should be unpleasant, but she can’t find it in her to pull it away, the sensation of his roughened skin beneath her fingers combined with the steady beat of his heart soothing her soul even as her body becomes heated.

There’s no real hurry in their actions, both content for the first few minutes to simply enjoy kissing and it’s only when her free hand begins to wander over the bunched muscles of his back that they become more heated and purposeful. He pulls her sweater and tank over her head delicately, forcing her hand to leave his chest and instead begin to explore the lines and planes of his stomach. He’s clearly puzzled by her bra but once she’s shown him the catch it takes him seconds to remove it.

She’s never really found breast play arousing, preferring in her previous liaisons to move quickly to the final act, but it’s clear that Killian has no intention of rushing through and as he lavishes her chest with attention she begins to find the sensations enjoyable- to the point that she finds small gasps and mewls falling from her lips.

“That’s it Emma,” Killian’s voice is low and encouraging, not a command but a request, “Let me hear you, tell me what you want.”

But she’s always been more for showing than telling and she snakes her hand around the back of his neck to tug lightly on his hair, urging him to lean back on his haunches as she rises to her feet and almost runs to the bathroom. In her brief stay at Granny’s she had found the collection of condoms under the sink slightly baffling but she now thanks Ruby’s forethought as she grabs one and returns to the bedroom, finding Killian on his feet, both hurt and confusion on his features.

“Emma, are you-”

“I’m not running.” She says simply, realising that he had no idea where she was going or why. She holds up the small purple packet and although he clearly has no idea what it is he accepts her words and acquieses as she urges him back to the bed. Eagerly she removes both of their pants and underwear before sitting him on the bed and leaning him against the wall, climbing over him on her knees.

His hands move delicately over her as she uses her mouth to trace his swan tattoo in the same way she had done previously with her fingers. Both of them are holding back, knowing that this first time is different to any previous one they’ve had and wanting to savour the experience. His fingers drag inside her at the same time as she bites down on his nipple and they both groan, their gazes meeting and silently agreeing that they’ve had enough foreplay.

Once the condom is open it’s clear that he understands its use and allows her to position it, then he moves both his arms to encircle her and gently guide her movements while she places one on his shoulder and grips his brace lightly with the other. After a few false starts they work well together, his words softly encouraging her while she builds them both higher. She crashes her lips to his as she feels him peak inside her, following him moments later.

She feels no hurry to leave afterwards and is happy to lie in his arms, crushed to his side as they struggle to untuck then pull the covers over them without either of them falling from the narrow bed. He’s clumsy with his hook in a way she’s never seen before until she realises he’s self conscious of the brace and his arm below it. She has to lean over to find a hair tie in her jeans pocket when her hair decides that the combination of sweat and static is enough to give it a life of its own. It’s awkward and ridiculous and perfect.

And when there’s still the urge to listen to his stories and to share hers in return three hours later she realises that just maybe she’s one of the lucky ones too.

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