You know by now, I'm fucking evil and live for imperfect disaster smut, so give me a lockjaw fic, ya betch
I’m so not shocked you sent this. Setting it in that same “Not All That (But Has Potential)” verse that I wrote for you back in January because why the fuck not, fully commit to a disaster sex verse.
Not to blow her own horn - all puns fully intended - but Emma thinks she’s pretty good at giving blow jobs.
She’s perfected her technique over the years, exactly how hard and fast to suck to bring any man to his knees. It’s a power trip, kind of - the way she can make any macho man completely fall apart, reduced to gasps and all other matter of unintelligible noises.
Killian Jones is no exception.
Killian is shameless in his appreciation of her efforts, a soundtrack of moans bouncing off the walls of his apartment that makes Emma grin around his cock, utterly pleased with herself. One of his hands has made it into her hair, tugging at the strands in a way that she’s shocked her hair binder has withstood. She likes it, though; the knowledge of how thoroughly she’s wrecking him was more than enough to start arousal simmering in her veins, and Killian tugging on her hair only heightens is.
The problem is, she gets cocky. Pun less intended.
It’s stupid, because she’s not some college sorority girl just learning how to give a blow job for the first time. She knows to mix it up between hands and mouths to give her jaw a bit of a break. But in the rush of watching Killian fall apart above her, she forgets, too caught up in trying to draw out ever last noise of pleasure.
It strikes suddenly - the tell-tale clenching of her jaw muscles, as if they’re protesting being held open for so long by all contracting all at once. Emma squeaks out a pained noise and immediately retreats from her attempts to take every inch of him within her mouth.
To his credit, that snaps Killian out of his pleasure immediately. His eyes snap open and search out where Emma crouches, cradling her jaw. “Are you alright, love?”
If it wasn’t such a stupid question, Emma would be touched by the amount of concern coloring his voice. As it is, she just shoots him a baleful look.
“Yeah, I guess that was kind of a stupid thing to ask,” he mutters, before reaching to pull Emma back up his body. “C’mere, love, let me help.”
That’s what gets her - the way he tenderly massages the join of her jaw, trying to coax the muscles back into relaxation.
Holy shit, she loves him.
They’ve only been officially dating for a few months, and this is such a ridiculous time to come to the realization - while dealing with lockjaw, seriously, what the fuck - but that’s the truth. He cares for her more than anyone else ever has, and makes sure to show it - not just like this, but every day, with her favorite pastries and silly little texts and everything else.
Under his gentle, warm pressure, her muscles stop seizing, and Emma takes the moment to try and work out her jaw. Still, Killian peers at her in concern.
“Are you feeling better, Swan?” It’s almost unbearably gentle, just like the man she’s learned he can be.
“Fine,” she croaks, before nodding towards his crotch. “The blow job is kind of off the table now, but I can...”
“Don’t worry about it, love,” Killian interrupts. “I think that now, I’d rather just have a cuddle.”
Works for her. Call her weird, but something about lockjaw just kills the mood. Now that she’s had her epiphany, this would probably be the time to tell him, but instead Emma just curls into Killian’s side. “Thank you for being so good to me,” she murmurs into his collarbone. It’s close enough.
“Of course, darling. It’s nothing less than you deserve.”
She’ll tell him tomorrow.
