Girl, love your Lucifer fics! I read them over at AO3 and was surprised to see you're Pinoy!! YEAH!! BTW, if you're from MM or Luzon area and affected by the earthquake, hope you and yours are safe. Ingat!
Hi anon! Omgggg, THANK YOU! Hell yeah I am haha so so soooo happy to hear from a fellow Pinoy that you’re a Lucifer fan and enjoy my work, literal heart eyes emoji right now hehe.
Taga Visayas ako pero di ko masyado naramdaman yung earthquake, thank God. I hope you and your family are safe as well!
holy moly guys it is 11:20-ish where i am and i was listening to this queen's cover and now i've been wildly struck by an idea for a part 2 of An Interlude in The Rain and it features a drunk!Gilbert and a dose of angst and i am ready to write this asdfghhjjkkl
p.s. it'll be called I Love You, Hello and i hope you stay tuned ;)
darlin’ you got to let me know (should i stay or should i go?)
A snippet of a pretty woman au that no one asked for.
Also on ff.net | AO3
~oOo~
“Three days.”
“Huh.”
“And you will be paid. Handsomely.”
She cocks her head to the side. “How handsomely are we talking here?”
He purses his lips though she senses it’s more out of amusement than of irritation at her. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip in a leisurely move that still seems too calculated to be anything but deliberate, and yet it’s with Herculean effort that she not bite her own lips and let out a soft moan in response to the sight.
“$6,000.”
Her face gives nothing away but internally, she crows, well shit.
The left corner of his mouth tips up into a crooked smile, as if he knows what she’s thinking. She should be annoyed as hell, but… but, the smile brings out the dimple in his cheek despite the scruff that lines his face and she finds that she’s abso-fucking-lutely fuckstruck.
Double shit, she thinks.
He holds his hand out, fingers uncurling slowly and inching towards her space. “Do we have an accord?”
Six fucking grand, Christ. Is the sky blue? Is water wet?
But still, her face is a blank canvas.
“Fine,” then she narrows her eyes at him. “But this isn’t Pretty Woman. You’re not Richard Gere looking to sweep me off my feet and I’m not Julia Roberts looking to be swept off my feet. This isn’t some movie or a goddamn fairy tale. Got it?”
He scoffs, and rolls his eyes for good measure. “Of course not. Julia Roberts stayed for a week. I asked for a weekend. Also,” his smile takes a smug turn then, “I am more devilishly handsome than Richard Gere and you, my dear,” this time she’s certain the way his eyes leisurely sweep the length of her body is intentional, “are most definitely more… enchanting than Julia Roberts.”
His perusal ends in an intense inspection of her lips, and it makes her roll her eyes.
“Whatever,” she returns though her lips quirk upwards in poorly concealed humor. But before he can comment on it, she continues with, “Deal.”
“Aye?”
His eyebrows do a dance atop his forehead that should not be endearing but by god it is and just what the hell has she gotten herself into?
She gives a near imperceptible shake of her head as if she can dislodge the crazy thoughts up there. Then she glares at him like it’s his fault.
(Because it is)
“Did I stutter?” She looks at his still outstretched hand and also because she has apparently arrived in Crazy Station she might as well board the train too.
So she takes it.
Gives it a quick shake.
(Tries to ignore the way electricity shoots up her arm at the contact)
(Or the way her skin warms and her blood sings when, instead of giving it a shake too, he raises it to his lips where he bestows a lingering kiss upon her knuckles)
(A kiss that is hardly chaste, if that hint of tongue is anything to go by)
She’s quick to withdraw and if he’s offended by the action, he’s got a funny way of showing it because there’s a shit-eating grin on his face and an excitable bounce to his step when he nears her.
“Oh, love,” the grin turns soft suddenly, as he tucks a stray lock behind her ear. Her breath catches. “It’s sure to be an interesting weekend.”
She doesn’t reply. Just tries to swallow the acquiescence that burns in her throat in lieu of the thought that pushes itself to the forefront of her mind once more.
Just what the hell has she gotten herself into?
~oOo~
Should I keep going? Thoughts? :) Title taken from The Clash cause it’s currently stuck in my head.
Summary: Set in the episode that killed us all (I’m talking about you 4x09!), Killian’s thoughts as he says goodbye to Emma.
AN: I know everyone and their Snow Queen aunt has done this and a part of me is Rebel Wilson from Pitch Perfect shouting, “ENOUGH!!!” accompanied by arms a flailing.
But apparently I am a masochist.
So.
Here.
Have a drabble thingy.
Title taken from OneRepublic’s song “Feel Again” which is the song I’m gonna be playing WHEN Killian gets his heart back.
~oOo~
“Killian, I’m not a tearful goodbye person,” she says, and for a moment he fears she might not allow him this one chance to say goodbye like circumstance has dealt him so many times before. But she continues with, “but maybe just this once.”
And then she is grabbing his face and pulling him in for a kiss and he is simply gone.
He doesn’t have his heart to begin with, but he has his mind, his body and his soul. Yet when Emma kisses him, a kiss he feels itself searing into all the three parts that are making his being, he just knows…
It doesn’t belong to him anymore.
So he pours all that he has left into that kiss, what little and wasted it is, wishing that he could tell her what he is truly feeling instead of this enduring hollow ache inside him.
I’m sorry.
I failed you.
I just wanted to be better.
I wanted to be yours.
I am yours.
I’m sorry.
And when she breaks the kiss to hug him closer, he pursues a trail of kisses to her wet cheek, her neck and her shoulder, muffling the words that bubble like acid on his tongue, burning to come out but unable to. Instead, he settles for silently breathing the words into her skin with his lips.
You can do this.
Don’t give up.
You’re beautiful, Swan,
I’m so damn sorry.
The words are bitter and not enough but it will have to do because this is all the time he has left for.
Their foreheads touch and they take a moment longer to breathe each other in as long as possible before they inevitably have to pull away.
It’s too soon for him, everything about this is, for while Emma believes they will see each other again the reality is he is on borrowed time.
So he opens his eyes and looks at her… studies her face for what is most definitely the last time for him and commits every curve, line and freckle that map her face and tell him her story.
So beautiful, he thinks again, and so strong, because despite her red-rimmed eyes, the erratic beating of her pulse that he felt when he kissed her neck and her downturned lips, he has never seen her more fierce and brave and powerful as she is now.
He wishes he was there to watch her, his fearless pirate princess, defeat the Snow Queen but it is his own fault that he can no longer be privy to such events and the tracks of Emma’s tears against his scruffed cheek are a reminder of his mistake to trust the Dark One, leading him to his current predicament.
I’m sorry, he tries one more time. I’m sorry that I am to die without telling you how I truly feel because you deserve to know, lass. He clenches his jaw. But not like this.
He tries and he tries to get the words out but he’s long learned that it is an attempt at futility. While his feelings have not completely gone, it has become increasingly difficult to convey his emotions when they are but a dull roar in his chest, akin to a faded photograph in his memory.
But it doesn’t stop him from trying anyway.
I love you.
He wants to say.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
“Goodbye,” is what comes out.
And he knows his eyes are dimmed and his voice is flat.
Summary: Post 4x02 fun! Emma wakes up to Killian cooking, his hook replaced by a whisk.
AN: Based on a tweet of Colin’s wherein someone asked him if Killian had lost his hook, what would he replace it with? And of course, Colin – being the cheeky idiot that he is – answered with ‘whisk’ so… I think you all know where I’m going with this. Enjoy!
~oOo~
There is a chipping noise and she wakes up a sweaty, quivering mess.
Lines of perspiration gather at her palms and she can’t stop them from shaking, despite being engulfed in heat.
She absentmindedly wonders what prompted her from her sleep but finds she is still too dazed to care at the moment. With a hand rubbing at her temples, vestiges of her dreams play behind her closed eyelids – Elsa calling her name and begging her not to sleep, Killian’s desperate cries as his hook chips away at the ice wall, her father’s strong voice carrying through the walkie, Killian’s arms around her, Henry smiling brightly at her as he hands her a mug of hot cocoa, Killian’s hand at her hair, Killian’s fingers entwined with her own, Killian’s breath, warm at her head, Killian’s heartbeat, strong and steady beneath her cheek and Killian, Killian, Killian.
Her heart races and her eyes open when she realizes with a vague sort of panic that the chipping noise from her dreams is no mere echo, but a persisting sound and that they aren’t actually dreams but memories and also, Killian is not around.
She sits up and endeavors to climb out of the mountains of sheets, coats and varying warming garments draped upon her person – movements still stiff and sluggish from sleep and well, nearly being frozen to death. In that time though, her heart rate has slowed down to a staccato as opposed to the forte of a beat it was earlier and she begins to distinguish that the sound is not so much as a chipping. Rather, it is more like a clinking noise – like metal clanging quickly against ceramic – and it is emanating from the kitchen.
She half crawls out of her man-made heating pile, hands outstretched as she pulls herself out, and nearly groans at the delicious way her joints pop from the movement but is cautious, in case there is an intruder in her home.
Emma stands without a sound and sees the dark line of a figure against the dim lighting scattered across the apartment, back to her as the person busies himself (definitely a man as his hair is cut and shoulders are broad) with something at the counter by the sink.
He shifts towards her, the island the only thing separating them, and she is prepared for a fight despite being weaponless and bone-achingly tired when the tell-tale ‘whoosh’ sound of leather billowing against feet and faint smell of rum, sea, spice and Granny’s lemon-scented soap hit her.
All the breath leaves her in relief.
“Killian.”
He looks startled for a split second before he drops the item he was holding harshly against the table beneath the island and is immediately at her side.
“Emma? What are you doing up, lass?”
She is confused for a moment because, she thinks, why shouldn’t I be up? She is about to ask him out loud when she glances at the window across the living room, the same one Regina’s messenger bird had tapped at, and is surprised to note that it’s not even dawn yet – the sky still purple and its edges only beginning to tinge with the orange and pink that signal the arrival of a new day.
“Are you alright?”
Her gaze snaps back to his, her eyes drinking him in, the heat from his touch making her skin tingle despite the leather jacket, the sight of the sky and it hits her like a ton of bricks.
He stayed the night.
“You’re… you’re still here.”
This time, it is him who looks at her confusedly. “Aye.” He says, as he nods his head once, slowly.
She tries to swallow the lump that rises to her throat because he stayed the night. He stayed the night.
She can’t remember the last time, apart from Neal and even then he had left in the end, that anyone’s ever just stayed, for her. She eyes the bed from across the kitchen and sees that it is untouched and she looks back at him, and she searches her mind for the last time she saw him.
He was at her side, kneeling beside the chair she was deposited upon, hand rubbing soothingly up and down her back, forehead touching hers, breathing as she did, his brace beneath her palms, his heartbeat against her cheek…
And then they are here and she finally notices the frown on his lips, the furrows between his brows, the line at his forehead and the shadows underneath his eyes.
“You haven’t slept,” she concludes, the slightly harsh edge to her tone concealing the concern she truly feels for him.
He scratches at his ear and ducks his head in a move that she’s come to associate with him feeling either nervous or uncomfortable.
“I couldn’t.”
She stares at him incredulously. “Why? Aren’t you tired?”
He shakes his head in exasperation, but there is fondness there too. “You were the one trapped in an ice cave and you think I’m the one who should be tired?”
“But… the bed is right there. You could have taken it!”
“Swan, I will not take the bed while you sleep on this wretched excuse of a chair.”
Right, the gentleman thing.
“Well, what have you been doing with all your time then?”
He scratches at his ear again.
“Killian…” she says warningly.
He rolls his eyes though his cheeks and the tips of his ears are tinged red. “Fine,” he huffs, “if you must know, after your parents had called Granny to set up a room for Elsa and she had gone, they retired for the night. I… asked to stay with you. Your father agreed–”
“Really?”
The look he gives her, all eyebrow raised and eyes coated in disbelief, seems to communicate, ‘Have you no faith in me, Swan?’
“He and I have come to an understanding. Your mother on the other hand…”
She laughs. “What’s the matter, pirate? Finally found someone you couldn’t charm with your good looks and your winning personality?” she asks sarcastically.
He is obviously put out but continues as if she hadn’t spoken and she wants to giggle some more. “Anyway. Henry had bid his goodnight as well – he’s certainly grown hasn’t he? (her heart flutters at the pride and affection in his voice) – and it was only the two of us left. I admit…”
His eyes don’t meet hers as he trails off in an indistinct mutter and she asks him to repeat himself.
“I may have… watched you… sleep. For most of the night.”
His face is turned away and etched in a grimace, probably feeling appalled at what he just revealed and thinking she would feel the same.
And maybe she should be creeped out. After all, Killian could have been staring at the sight of her pale, drooling and with sleep lines all over her face. It was not a pretty sight and considerably not prettier with Killian watching her in that state.
But the thing is… the thing is.
She’s not bothered by it at all.
Cause if she looked anything like the gross picture in her head and he still stayed the night then… then it’s not a bad thing. In fact, she thinks, it’s sweet and thoughtful and oh god he cares. There’s a warmth pooling in her chest and a buzzing in her head and she thinks it might be another one of her walls coming down thanks to him.
So she takes a step closer to him to wind her arms around his neck and she smiles at the way his arms nestle instinctively at her hips.
(They’ve not gone out on a proper date, the kind with dinner and champagne as he mentioned earlier, and already it feels like they’ve been doing… this, whatever it is, for forever)
She takes full pleasure in the way his eyes widen, his face turns an even brighter shade of red and his lips part and she wants to take those lips between hers and kiss him till there’s no concept of time between them but she holds back cause there’s probably more to his story.
“You were in the kitchen when I found you though. What were you up to?”
“Ah, right.” His face goes red again (she doesn’t think she’s seen him any redder in the entire time she’s known him) and clears his throat. “Suffice it to say, having skipped dinner, I felt a tad famished. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve helped myself to your icebox and stove.”
She can’t hide the fact that she’s impressed he knows what a fridge is or that he even knows how to operate a stove.
“You seem to be doing quite well here, 21st Century Man. Care to tell me what you’re whipping up?”
He chuckles, albeit nervously. “It’s funny you mentioned it, lass, I ah…”
It’s then that he steps back and raises his hook except it’s not a hook that’s usually sitting on his brace but a–
Her eyes are saucers and her jaw has officially reached the floor.
“Is that… is that a whisk?”
“Uh…”
“Oh my god, it is. It’s a whisk.”
“Yes, well–”
She grabs the arm that holds the brace and yanks it to her, making him stumble though Emma doesn’t notice.
“How did you make it fit?”
“The round shape at the bottom of the whisk’s handle… turns out it fits the mechanism for my brace perfectly.”
She lets go of him abruptly and walks briskly to the other side of the island, recalling the clinking noise that rose her and the item he had dropped when he saw her and it all falls into place.
She turns wide, excited eyes to his and his face softens, a little of the embarrassment fading away to be replaced with a gentle expression.
“What do you say, lass? Care for the Captain to, as you say, whip you up a sailor’s omelet?”
Before she can reply, still a little stunned to be honest, he is already brushing past her and positioning himself with his good hand at the bowl and he manipulating the whisk in a way that would take her years to perfect (she imagines, he’s had quite a lot of time to master it).
Well, she really couldn’t say no.
~oOo~
The eggs are a tad salty, reminiscent of the sea, and he says they ought to be accompanied by fish in order to get that authentic, seafaring feel.
But it was made by Killian’s hand in a bid to take care of her (like he’s constantly done since Neverland) and so to her, it is perfect.
It is as he is disposing the egg shells, washing the pan, the dish and the whisk (God, the whisk, she’ll never be over it) that he used that he mentions he will be out the door once she’s finished eating and properly settled, at the bed this time, once more.
“I believe I’ve overstayed your parents’ hospitality.”
The sky is finally colored in vibrant shades of red and orange as the first hint of the sun’s rays run the length of the room and hit Killian’s figure in a way that sets him all aglow and she drinks him in, wishing she could capture this moment, this feeling forever.
Cause she might be imagining it, since less than an hour ago she was hot and sweaty, but she feels the last of the cold leave her, replaced by that warmth again, pooling at her chest and engulfing her from the tips of her toes to her fingers and she just melts.
So she asks him to stay and he faces her abruptly, eyes searching hers for a hint of a lie and she looks right at him, not hiding anything.
He gulps.
“Is this what you want?”
She says nothing because she knows that he knows exactly what she wants.
(Open book)
Instead, she closes the distance between them and does what she finally longed to do since they had been reunited by the ice wall.
She kisses him. It is sweet and passionate and fire and longing and she kisses him.
She kisses him till there is no concept of time between them.
He kisses her back with equal fervor.
And he stays.
~oOo~
Not long after, when they’ve finally pulled away from each other enough to catch their breath, there is movement upstairs signaling that her parents are awake.
Killian simply presses one more kiss to her forehead and proceeds to take out another bowl, four eggs, the pan and whisk, setting the hook aside once again.
She changes into a fresh new set of clothes and this is how David and Mary Margaret find them – Emma setting the table and Killian whisking away in a corner by the stove.
Emma gestures quickly to her parents to sit after her mother and father fuss over her health and her mother sets Neal down. She coos at her brother and internally giggles at the shocked look in both her parents’ eyes when Killian sets a plate of omelets for each of them.
He says nothing to Charming but bends low by Mary Margaret’s side as he places her dish down. She looks at him and he winks at her and says, “Milady,” in a way that reminds Emma and, seemingly, her mother of the day they ventured to the beanstalk, since Mary Margaret is wearing the same expression of annoyance and suspicion.
But Emma detects the twitch at the corner of her mother’s mouth that tells her it is a valiant excuse to hide her amusement and she thinks Killian might actually be winning her mother over.
He heads to Emma’s side and instantly she entwines their fingers just like she had done last night, never being much for hand holding before but finding that she doesn’t quite mind doing it all the time as long as it’s with him.
She shivers with delight when he gives her hand a small squeeze and he turns to her in concern.
“What is it? Are you cold?”
She’s happy, really but she nods all the same and leans into him, looking for any excuse to touch him.
“It’s alright lass,” he says as he drapes his arm across her shoulders. “I’ll keep you warm.”
“Will you stay until Henry wakes up? He would go nuts, seeing you with a whisk on instead of a hook!”
His arm tightens around her and he whispers in her ear, “I’ll stay however long you want me to, Emma.”
He pulls back and grins at her and she wants to joke out, Even forever? but the words are stuck in her throat and she ends up gazing at him with a little fear but a lot of hope.
She imagines he can read it in her eyes though, when his gaze never wavers and he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
Yes, he breathes.
~oOo~
AN: It’s so cheesy but I didn’t know how to end this and basically, I am fluff.
Summary: And he wants to say that he does know her, because when he looks at her it is like he is looking at a reflection; except Emma is clear and sharp whereas he is nothing but a distorted image in a cracked mirror.
3x02 Killian introspection.
~oOo~
"Excellent show of patience, love." He can’t help the proud smile that snakes its way to his face as he breaks out the rum from his pocket. "And that’s what defeats a nasty, little boy."
Her lips quirk up in a crooked smile and she lets out a laugh that sounds both relieved and pained as she eyes the map in her hands. “I hope so.”
The smile turns sarcastic when she sees him holding the flask out to her. She puts up a hand in exasperation as she motions towards it. “Is rum your solution to everything?”
"It certainly doesn’t hurt," and as if to make a point, he takes a swig from the flagon and lets out a pleased moan.
This time when he holds it out to her, she takes it as well as a moderate sip of rum.
"So just how did you unlock the map?"
He is eyeing the item in question in her hand, but from his peripheral he sees her lick her lips and his gaze is drawn to the movement, the slow running of her tongue along her upper lip hypnotizing him.
"I did what Pan asked."
Then she is speaking and he draws himself to his full height and meets her gaze head on when he asks, “Just who are you, Swan?”
He knows she won’t answer him but he asks anyway.
Well, he thinks contrarily, she will answer but it will be in an evasive manner. He knows as sure as he knows the color of his eyes and the back of his hand that she will brush him off. He is aware, perhaps more than anyone in their little makeshift crew, the power of Neverland. There is no future in a place that stands still and so it preys on your fears, your weaknesses and the things you’d rather was left in the past and he can see how that power causes Emma to put her guard on and her walls up, higher than ever.
He knows because once upon a time, a time when he spent 300 years in this God-forsaken place stewing in his revenge, a time when he let a little boy with Milah’s eyes and Milah’s spirit, that same little boy who held his second chance, slip through his fingers – he was very much the same.
But he has to try, you see. He is so very desperate for her to open up, to let even a sliver of herself show through her walls because this is not what he wants for her. Emma offered him a second chance, a purpose, one that is actually worth living for and so he endeavors to do the same for this bright and beautiful girl who reminds him too much of himself.
And true enough, as she hands him back his flask, she replies with a “Wouldn’t you like to know?” that he senses is meant to be in jest but ends up coming out in a more solemn and vulnerable tone, like she is genuinely curious to find out if he really wants to know.
And he wants to say that he does know her, because when he looks at her it is like he is looking at a reflection; except Emma is clear and sharp whereas he is nothing but a distorted image in a cracked mirror.
But it doesn’t stop them from seeing each other – from feeling that simmering chemistry between them.
He knows she feels it too cause of the way she shuts down when he gets much, much too close, like he is now.
It is in that instance that he feels the moment of vulnerability between them start to dissipate, when she realizes their proximity and the intensity of his gaze. Her eyes widen and instantaneously, the walls that she allowed to crumble for a split second start building itself again.
Already, he is bereft of her presence before she has the mind to leave.
But in that moment their eyes meet, he can see the cracks in her walls, discernable only to him and that more than anything, gives him hope.
He wants to tell her she doesn’t have to hide from him, wishes more than anything that she wouldn’t feel the need to hide at all, he feels the words bubbling in his mouth.
She must sense it too cause then she takes a miniscule step back.
So instead he says, “Perhaps I would,” and watches her walk away from him time and time again, praying to a God he doesn’t believe in for the day she doesn’t have to.
Summary: Just a story about two people – a regular girl and a regular guy, a day to themselves and a beginning for an end. CS AU.
Rated S for Smuff. Like, lots of smuff. No really, like, a lot.
Warning: Contains GoT Season 4 Finale spoilers. Nothing ground breaking but there is mention of some minor scenes. You'll know when to skip when you see it.
~oOo~
He loves this time of day.
It is so quiet that not even the birds dare rattle the silence with their chirping just yet. The sunlight streams from one of their many windows (he revels in the natural light, reminds him of the sea and open air and space) behind him and rises beyond the horizon steadily, but then the light hits her body a certain way and instantly, she is illuminated.
And it might be a tad creepy but he loves watching her sleep, her sure breaths and the steady rise and fall of her chest bringing him the greatest comfort. She hasn't had the easiest life (the lost girl to his lost boy, he once told her) but in this state, with the rays bouncing off the tendrils of her hair turning them into gold and bathing her skin in light, there is not a trace of her hardships – just warmth and innocence and peace.
It is the calm before the storm, he thinks, usually. But there will be no storm today, echoes in his mind happily, as the room is slowly suffused in orange then yellow until green is all he can see for her eyes open to meet his.
"Good morning Emma." He whispers with a soft smile.
The lower half of her face is buried in her pillow, but the crinkles around her eyes tell him she is smiling too and he chuckles, tucking an errant strand behind her ear.
"Do you know what day it is today?" He says, voice still lowered so as not to disturb the peace (there will be no storm today).
Her eyes widen and she inhales deeply, as if surprised. She seems frozen, unblinking, not breathing even and he is concerned because what has her all seized up and surely he didn't mean to alarm her or make her think she'd forgotten something monumentally important and god damn it there will be no storm today.
So he cups her cheek and starts speaking urgently, "Emma, love, what's wrong? Are you all right? I didn't mean to upset you, that was a stupid way to start the day, I just meant–I mean, there is nothing important today, absolutely nothing, today is just –"
He doesn't get to finish (some part of him grateful she stopped his ramblings) because then she is laughing and straddling him and hitting him with the pillow and shaking the bed and–
"Nothing. No obligations, no reports, no work… nothing. Killian," she sighs his name, breathless with what, he can now tell, is excitement and decidedly not dread.
(No storm, no storm)
"It's both our day off."
He exhales in relief because she is laughing again and peppering his face with kisses. "You're an idiot."
He returns those kisses slowly, lazily, running his nose along her jaw and ignoring her last comment.
(He knows she loves it, loves him, anyway)
"No perps, no court room proceedings, no late night working, no paper work... Just us. Free… even if just for a day."
He pecks the tip of her nose and rubs his thumb across the apple of her cheek, her smile radiant and blinding.
"Whatever shall we do today, my love?"
"Anything. Anything and everything."
She giggles then, a mischievous gleam entering her eyes but before he can even question her on it, she is hitting him with a pillow again and he is forced to flip her over until she is underneath him, in order to defend himself. Her giggles turn into moans when he pins her hands above her head with one of his own while the other begins its sensual descent down the length of her body, popping the buttons of her pajama top in its wake.
"Anything, you say?" He murmurs as he trails wet kisses along every inch of her skin he has exposed. She nods and exhales a shaky breath when he settles between her legs and moves his hips in a way that rubs her right there.
"And everything." She sighs.
"Aye, as you wish."
She smiles because she loves it when he says that and he loves that smile but loves it more when he kisses her, finally, and they make love fast and hard and when they are spent and sated – for now – he thinks there will be a storm today after all.
He finds he doesn't really mind as long as that storm is Emma Swan.
~oOo~
For breakfast, they make pancakes in their underwear.
(Well, he is in his boxers while she, at least, had the decency to wear her underwear and one of the many white, button-up shirts he uses for work)
(She knows what it does to him, that it turns him on)
But most of the batter ends up landing in a pile of mess on the floor as they try – and fail, rather spectacularly – their hands at flipping them.
("You're English, aren't you supposed to be good at this?"
"Where the bloody hell did you get that idea?"
"Seriously? You guys have pancake day!"
"Yes well, not every Brit is born with a flair in the kitchen, nor a particular taste for Shrove Tuesday."
"Obviously.")
They end up rummaging the remains of their pancake (five second rule, after all) and fry it the regular way. The pancakes in question though, are so far from regular. They manage to scrape enough pancake batter from the frying pan and the floor to create one whole muddled pancake and it is literally so jumbled they call them panscrambled instead because they resemble scrambled eggs (and they’re being generous, it’s that nasty looking).
But Emma puts a generous amount of butter, whipped cream and maple syrup on their panscrambled that it ends up tasting phenomenal anyway and they take turns stuffing their faces or eating out of each other’s forks, fingers and numerous alternate body parts.
(Because what’s a day off without a food fight, and no it is not erotic – maple syrup and sex unquestionably not sexy)
(But licking it off the other’s face is another matter entirely)
However, a day off doesn’t mean they’re allowed to turn the apartment into a pigsty so they take a reprieve from the fun to give way for cleaning up. It all goes well until Killian decides to douse her with water using the kitchen sink bidet and it’s downhill from there because she retaliates by flinging the remains of her bucket of water at him and soon enough they are sopping wet.
He gasps in shock and she points at him.
“Hey now, you started it!”
He wipes the water from his lashes and licks his lips when he meets her gaze, a challenge in his eyes. “Oh darling, you’re going to pay for that.”
Before she can reply, he is hoisting her over his shoulder and leading her to the bathroom shouting, “Apologize you mutinous wench!” and she is trying to stifle her laughs by pounding on his ass and yelling, “Never you wretched pirate!”
He returns the gesture with a mild slap to her ass before saying, “I prefer dashing rapscallion.” Another pound to his ass. “Scoundrel?”
She laughs because he knows what that line does to her, how it makes her giggle like a schoolgirl and takes her back to their first encounter.
Then they are in the bathroom, clothes discarded and shower on to the nearly hottest setting. This time their kiss is unhurried and their love making playful and leisurely. He brings a hand between their bodies to rub at her bundle of nerves and before she comes she is grasping his face between her hands and whispering, “I’m so glad you found me.”
He groans and she swallows it with her kisses and then they are falling, falling but they are together and it feels just like magic every time.
~oOo~
They order pizza for lunch – Emma actually wears a shirt and PJs because she is an adult but Killian changes into a new pair of undergarments, so when Killian opens the door, the pizza boy is treated to his naked upper body and Peter Pan themed boxers – and then slide and wiggle across the apartment using their socks (Risky Business style).
When that’s done and Killian is disposing the pizza box in the bin hole in the hall outside their apartment, Emma grabs a cereal bowl, two spoons, a box of sugar wafer cones and two cartons of ice cream – one flavored chocolate and the other cookie butter – and places them onto a tray before marching into their living room.
She hears Killian enter the room, shouts, “Dessert!” and soon enough he is Risky Business sliding his way to her.
“You have everything?” He asks her, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a little boy on Christmas Eve just aching to open his presents.
She replies with an amused smirk, saying, “Naturally.”
“Then I’ll get the telly started.”
“GoT?” She asks, her eyes wide and brows raised eagerly.
He nods firmly. “GoT.”
They are big fans of Game of Thrones and have the last three episodes on DVR yet have been unable to watch it due to their demanding jobs (he a lawyer in criminal law and she a bail bondsperson). Emma seems to read his mind that now is as good a time as any to marathon it and so he sets it up. Soon enough the sounds of an old school television switching on and a brief instrumental chorus meet her ears and she sees HBO’s logo paused on screen.
Her lover jumps onto the couch next to her just as she finishes crushing three sugar wafer cones to tiny pieces into the bowl.
“Thank God that hiatus is over.”
“Thank God we found the time to watch the last few episodes straight. I’ve been dying to know what happens next!”
“Think we’ll get to see more of Sansa and Little Finger?” He cringes then. “That is certainly an odd pair.”
“Doubt it. I don’t know about you, but something about those last few scenes felt very… finale to me.”
He nods pensively. “True.”
“I’m more interested to see what happens between Jon Snow and Ygritte. Inevitable betrayal, much?” She grimaces then and he knows how the thought makes her uncomfortable so he stills her hands, which continue to crush cones, and brings them to his lips to place a kiss upon them.
Their gazes lock and he has yet to lift his lips from the silkiness of her skin and he tries to convey the depth of his loyalty to her without using words.
She’s always been a woman of action, his Swan.
She places her forehead upon his, rubs her nose along the bridge of his and he knows she understands.
“Only one way to find out, yeah?”
Things like open book and exposed, vulnerable, run through her mind and she smiles gratefully at him.
“First things first though.”
His grin is wicked. “Oh, I like the way you think Swan.”
They let go and she takes a spoon and the cookie butter ice cream then hands it to him. She gets her own spoon and opens her half-gallon sized carton of chocolate ice cream just as he sprinkles pieces of the crushed sugar wafer cones on top.
She sees that his is already sprinkled with the wafer cones so she steals a bite of his cookie butter ice cream.
“Yum,” She sighs as she licks her spoon.
“Careful lass,” he murmurs as he leans back and spreads his legs to accommodate her. She settles between his legs with her back against his chest, and he runs his nose along her shoulder and the column of her neck. “You could bring a man to his death just by the sounds that come out of that pretty little mouth.”
“You love my pretty little mouth.” She moves her head to expose more of her neck to him, loving the feel of his hot breath against her equally feverish skin.
“Indeed,” he is nibbling her ear now and her eyes flutter closed. “But you know what I love more?"
“Hmm?” She can hardly pay attention to a word he’s saying when he is running his hand up her side, the curve of her breast, her shoulder, her arm…
“When I do this.”
And he grabs her carton then replaces it with his. Before she can react, he is gobbling down monster bites of her ice cream till no cone pieces are even left.
“You jackass!”
She semi turns around to hit him in the chest, but it is half-hearted because he is laughing so hard and so is she and the sound is a symphony in their otherwise silent apartment.
“You’re lucky I like cookie butter too.”
He simply chuckles in reply and she settles against his chest once more.
And that is how they spend the next four hours, watching the last three episodes of Game of Thrones, legs entwined in the couch, lips occasionally finding any exposed skin and swapping gasps, laughs and cartons of ice cream.
~oOo~
They are in the part of the final episode of the season, where Lady Brienne of Tarth finds Arya with the Hound, when Killian nudges her with a gentle kiss to the spot beneath the shell of her ear, then across her knuckles where their hands are entwined.
“You’re wrong, you know.”
Emma keeps her eyes focused on the screen but replies out of the corner of her mouth, attention mostly held by the scene in front of her that is showing the confrontation between Brienne and Clegane. It is so gripping and intense she almost wishes Killian would just speak later but she is curious to know what he’s on about because it is Killian and he always has something interesting and witty, if not downright idiotic, to say and it amuses her to no end.
“About what?”
“About what you said earlier, about us.”
“Hmm…”
Clegane and Brienne are drawing their swords and beating the living shit out of each other and it is awesome that she gasps in amazement (Brienne hits the Hound in the balls and he hits her right back in the baby maker and it isn’t fair but damn does the guy have guts).
“I didn’t find you lass,”
Killian smiles before whispering, “We found each other.”
She smiles too.
(Even when Brienne goes Mike Tyson on the Hound and bites his ear off)
She’s wrong about another thing as well, though.
When Killian opens his mouth, he has the ability to say interesting, witty and even idiotic things.
But he can also say the loveliest sentiments and she falls deeper for him every time.
~oOo~
It is a little over 4pm when they finish the series.
Their ice cream cartons rest empty on their coffee table as Emma rises to switch the television off.
She shakes her head.
“That was fucking awesome.”
“I agree, their best finale yet.”
Emma stretches just as Killian stands and he takes the opportunity to slip his hand around her waist as her shirt rides up to expose the skin of her stomach (he strokes his thumb in little circles by her hips). She wraps her arms around his neck.
“Killian…” She whispers.
“Yes love?”
She presses her forehead against his and closes her eyes, breathing in as he breathes out and trying to find the right words to tell him what she needs to say.
“Hey, hey,” Killian cups her face between his hands and tilts her head up gently so that she is looking him in the eyes.
“What is it lass? You can tell me anything and we’ll sort it out, together. You know that, yeah?”
She nods and the downward crinkles around her eyes tell him that she is still worried but she’s always been a tough lass and he is sure that whatever it is that’s bothering her, she will tell him at her own time.
“I just, I don’t know how to say it any other way so I’ll just…” and she exhales a shaky breath, “say it.”
Killian nods and waits with baited breath as she finds the right moment to articulate what she feels.
She stutters. “I…I…” then blows the loose lock of hair away from her face, a futile endeavor, she realizes when it just falls right back into place. He laughs and tucks it behind her ear like he always does that she appreciates.
“Come on Swan, out with it. The suspense is killing me!”
“Fine!” She huffs and mumbles something indecipherable out of the corner of her mouth.
He looks at her bewilderedly. “What?”
“I’mcravingforyourturkey.” She says it all in one breath and he almost doesn’t understand, but he catches the tail end of her sentence and bursts into raucous laughter, bent at the waist and a hand on her shoulder.
She crosses her arms in mock annoyance but can’t keep it up, not when he looks like this, his entire face is lit up that even his eyes are smiling.
“Whaaaaat?” She pouts like a child and it makes him smile even harder (if that’s even possible) and gods above does he love this lass.
“I just really like your turkey, okay?”
He kisses the tip of her nose.
“Okay.”
And it’s not even close to November, but he’ll find a way.
For her, always.
~oOo~
Despite the lack of a Thanksgiving holiday and the absence of Christmas cheer, miracles indeed do happen.
Thanks to Google, they are able to locate a meat shop that not only delivers meat but actually has a turkey that’s thawed and ready to go.
(And so another delivery boy’s eyes are treated to Killian’s boxer clad self.)
But he dons a t-shirt just as he puts the extra stuffing in the oven to bake, having put it together while waiting for the turkey. But because Emma is a major klutz in the kitchen and absolutely no help, she stays securely seated on their island counter and is content to watch her man take care of their dinner.
The radio is on, easy going tunes wafting from their surround sound speakers and she smiles when he starts humming along the song playing as he puts the turkey on a roasting pan and starts covering it in butter and salt.
(“All it really needs, Swan.”)
She sees the way his muscles ripple beneath his white shirt as he turns the turkey over, how his hips and foot bounce to the rhythm of the music and she has never been more thankful of Killian’s distaste for fluorescent lighting because the sun is setting and turning everything aglow including him. The light touches Killian’s hair and wraps his body and he is on fire but he is so beautiful and he is so damn attractive, cooking her dinner which is why it’s not her fault, she is so not responsible for her next actions.
She stands and crosses the kitchen to stand behind him. Next thing he knows she is wrapping her arms around him, hands on his chest and lips attached to his neck. She feels rather than hears his chuckles, too focused on running her hands along his front and inhaling his intoxicating scent which is a combination of laundry soap and musk and entirely Killian, so enticing that she wants to bottle him up and breathe him in forever.
“Nearly done, love. Just a bit more stuffing for the bird then–”
His next words are cut off when she breathes, “I want you. Now.”
He gulps when she retreats from him to take off her shirt. She has never seen anyone move so fast in her life – he shoves the turkey in with the force of a giant that it clangs against the back of the oven then nearly sets the timer over 30 minutes in his haste to wind it – that she is tempted to giggle.
But then he is kneeling in front of her, tugging her pajamas and her underwear down with one hand on one side and teeth in the other. The feel of his scruff moving slowly down her thighs as he plants kisses along every exposed skin has her feeling hot and sensitive and she should probably be ashamed at the way her breathing shallows and how her moans come out whiny and desperate, but his mouth is right where she wants it and soon enough she forgets her name, how to breathe and everything else.
Everything except for the way she feels – happy and incandescent – and soon enough she is tumbling over the edge, Killian’s name on the tip of her tongue.
~oOo~
The timer dings and they are a sweaty, jumbled mess on the floor, a tangle of limbs only visible if one were to peek at them from the kitchen island counter.
They both laugh at the sound, clutching each other tighter and kissing a little longer.
However, Killian sighs and kisses the tip of her nose in apology before untangling himself from her and getting up. “Sorry love, but unless you ordered for burnt turkey, I have to get up and turn it over.”
He flashes her a charming grin as he swipes his boxers and shirt from the floor and puts them on and she is sad to see his naked self gone but finds it in her to forgive him when she is reminded about dinner.
She sighs and his head turns to the sound.
“Something the matter?”
Emma shakes her head.
“Why are you so good to me?” She asks because she really doesn’t understand how someone like her – an orphan, damaged goods, burned, guarded, cold, loner, sad, unlovable, abandoned, unwanted Emma – could somehow end up with a guy as wonderful as Killian, kind, lovable, passionate, adventurous, dashing Killian.
And they’ve been over this a thousand times before and it’s not that she’s doubting Killian’s love for her, but this is Emma and everything she touches turns to dust and isn’t long before they are floating away and it’s much too much, too many times abandoned and unwanted that it is difficult to feel secure despite her intense pleasure at her life right now and the past is clawing at her and she is drowning, drowning–
Her head is bowed so she doesn’t see the way his eyes soften and that he is making his way to her until he is stepping between her legs and lifting her chin up to meet his eyes.
“What brought this on?”
She groans softly and drops her forehead against his chest and he lets her. His arms around her are an automatic response and elicits a small smile from her that is gone as soon as it reaches her lips.
“It’s just… everything is so wonderful and sometimes it feels… unreal. All my life…” This time she raises her head and tangles her fingers into the chest hair that is peeking from his V-neck, refusing to meet his eyes. “All my life people have come into my life only to high tail out of it the moment things get hard. I learned early on not to let anyone in until I did and it ended with me in jail, thinking I should have known better.” At this reminder, his grip on her waist tightens, still feeling undeniable rage at the man who let this happen to her. She smiles again, slightly, at the comfort that action brings her. “Then you happened to me, slowly and all at once. You scaled my walls and there was nothing I could do to stop you because I wanted it. I wanted you. After being alone for so long… you made me want more and I’ve never been so happy. For that I thank you.”
His heart swells at her words because Emma Swan was never one for words. She is a woman of action, which is why he acknowledges the importance of this moment. She is willingly sharing a part of her and the space in his heart that holds her name just grows even larger at the wonder of her.
This should be a happy occasion, yet he can’t help but notice the gloom that engulfs her and he senses there is more, so he prods her.
“But?”
She sighs and finally leans her head up to look at him because of course he can tell there is more to what she has already said.
“But I’m just wondering… Can I really be this happy? Am I even allowed to be this happy, after everything I’ve been through? And could this possibly last? If we fall apart, I would never recover Killian.”
His name is a sob in her lips and he shouldn’t but he laughs and soon enough she is smacking him in the chest in annoyance.
“What the hell Killian!?”
She shoves him and moves to step away from the stool and his arms but he grabs her by the waist and plants her bum firmly on the chair.
She glares and thinks, stupid arms, stupid muscles and stupid masculine strength.
“Something funny bozzo?”
His chuckles die down but his grin does not. He knows that she could beat his ass easily but he doesn’t step away from her, only smoothens the hair away from her face before cupping it and it makes her rethink her violent tendencies.
Finally, he shakes his head.
“Nothing lass but, sometimes I think you forget that the reason we work so well together is because you and I understand each other.”
Her eyes widen in realization when it hits her and she feels stupid and guilty for not seeing it immediately. He’s an orphan just like her whose mother died at childbirth and father left soon afterwards since he couldn’t stand the sight of him. His brother raised him and it was all well until Liam joined the Navy and died in service a year later. He met Milah and things were wonderful for the first time in a long time until he found out that she was married, which was why she was unwilling to take it to the next level with him, nothing but a toy to play with to her until she was tired of him.
And she did, tire of him that is.
She suddenly feels foolish.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He kisses her forehead. “Don’t be, cause you’ve articulated my fears as well.”
“You’re scared of the same things too?”
“Of course.” He entwines their fingers. “But you know how I keep those fears at bay?”
She shakes her head, feeling very much like a child, wrapped up and cradled in the circle of his arms. “How?”
It is nearly nightfall but his smile is the sun and the sight warms her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
“I look at you. When the fears get too much, I just take one look at you and it all melts away. I love you, Swan. I love you. And nothing else matters.”
At the words, the smile that erupts on her face is finally a genuine one and he thumbs the dimple on her chin fondly and she is just so beautiful it would hurt if it didn’t feel so good.
“So to answer your question,” and he becomes serious, “yes Swan, you are allowed to be happy, if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you. You deserve everything that is good in this world, everything that will make you feel unabashedly happy. But to answer your other question, no, this content we feel won’t always last. There will be bumps along the way, we will have our bad days, and the hurdles will be so huge it might even feel unconquerable. But nobody ever said that love was easy and we do so love our challenges, right?”
A small bubble of laughter escapes her mouth as she nods, loving where this conversation is going.
“What matters is, we’ll do this together. After all, we make quite the team.”
“Except when cooking.”
He laughs. “Except when cooking.” Then he rubs his nose along hers. “We’re both here, Emma. You got me and I’ve got you. I’ve got you, lass. We’re both where we belong, so just breathe my love. Just breathe, with me.”
Yes, she thinks, when the fears are so overwhelming and she feels that drowning sensation take over she’ll just look at him, at her side where he always is, where he is seemingly meant to be, and he will pull her from the waters and she just needs to breathe.
She wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him to her, lining her body to his so that they meld and she gets what he means about belonging because he is hers and she is his and they just belong with each other and she can’t believe her luck, but she looks into his eyes and it’s enough to make her believe that indeed, she can have this and God is she thankful.
He is kissing the corner of her mouth when he says, “We have about 25 minutes before the turkey is fully cooked.”
“Gee, what to do with all that time?”
She is sucking on his pulse point, the fingers of her right hand making a trail downwards towards the top of his boxers and slipping it inside and it is clear to him she knows what she will do.
He groans and mutters something that she strongly suspects is “I love kitchen sex,” before saying, in a louder albeit husky voice, “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
And then she is dropping onto her knees this time, a wicked grin playing on her lips as she takes him into her hands.
“You might be right.”
~oOo~
They have sex then they have dinner, although Killian feels this is bad form, seeing as he already had dessert before the meal proper and Emma teases him though it holds a hint of a challenge.
“Done already, pirate? And here I thought you’d be up for at least one more round of… dessert before bed. After all, what’s a meal without one?”
She is on her way back from the sink as she says this (having finished washing their dishes) and passes by him where he is still seated on the table (after putting away the food into its proper containers) to get to the living room when he pulls her till she is unceremoniously dropped onto his lap.
“Hey!”
“You’ll pay for that later, you little minx.” He pinches her side playfully and she squirms because it tickles. “I can’t wait.”
“But first, a dance?”
He pushes her to her feet gently and she is an awful dancer, but she can’t deny Killian anything when he’s looking at her like that, like she’s the center of the universe and the only thing keeping him afloat.
She loves it when he looks at her like that, which is more often than not.
So yes, she is a terrible dancer, two left feet and tripping all over, but when Killian leads them to the middle of their apartment, bringing her hands around his neck and his around her waist, she finds that he is truly the center of her universe and that his gravity will keep her on her toes.
The music is fast-paced but they continue to sway until finally, the DJ trims things down and starts dishing out slow songs. They just continue to cling to each other, her face buried in his neck and his nose buried in her hair and they are perfectly aligned that no one could ever tell looking at them where one begins and the other ends.
"I don't want this day to end." Emma says with a regretful sigh.
His hold on her tightens, bordering on painful but it doesn’t bother her. What does bother her is that he is trembling slightly, and she wouldn’t have noticed if they weren’t so close. She opens her mouth to call him on it but doesn’t get the chance to because he is already speaking.
“Unfortunately, it must. But Emma, I know what surely never has to end.”
She pulls her head back enough to see his face, and they are so close that their breaths mingle and noses bump but she can read his eyes. There is apprehension there, yes, but there is also a dawning in his beautiful, cerulean, gaze, an excitement, a realization and whatever it is it seems to make him buzz with delight because his pupils dilate and his breathing shallows and she just wants to know, know, know.
“What’s that?”
“Our time, our life together.”
Her breathing too becomes shallow and she can feel her heart start to race as fast as she can feel his through the cotton of his shirt where her hand is pressed against his chest and she asks even though she knows the question.
“What… what are you trying to say?”
“Marry me.”
She gasps, “What?” just to confirm even though she knows she heard him perfectly right the first time.
He just grins and repeats it with an even firmer tone. “Marry me.”
He laughs and then he is peppering her face with kisses accompanied by a chorus of, “Marry me, marry me” along her skin and she doesn’t even have to say it, given by the way she also tightens her hold on him and the way the laughter bubbles out of her mouth, lively and louder than any other time she has ever laughed.
Then she is kissing him back in equal fervor with a chorus of her own except it is choir of “Yes, yes, yes” and their lips meet and she knows she is imagining it, knows that she is drunk on this feeling, of love and life and happiness but she swears that something erupts from the two of them the moment their lips touch, something like a burst of warmth, a ring of light, and magic.
Though she suspects it’s simply her heart bursting out of her chest and straight into Killian’s hands.
It should have scared her given her current state not even hours ago but she remembers to breathe and look and feel and she knows this is right.
She can have this, and now it’s forever.
It isn’t the most orthodox way of proposing, there is no ring, no dropping down on one knee or big gesture. But Emma appreciates the little things way more than she could the big and this is perfect because she is here and he is here and that’s all she really needs.
She leads him to the bedroom and both are peeling their clothes slowly from their body because they’ve got time, they may need to go back to work tomorrow but yes they’ve got time.
They’ve got the rest of their lives.
So when they make love, it is gentle and relaxed, a gradual and burning crescendo of bodies coming together before falling apart.
She comes before him, and he draws it out with his languid but deliberate thrusts and it has her arching her back and pressing their chests together. He is close so she kisses the space above his heart where she likes to think her name is carved and he comes undone.
Later, when their breaths are steady and their lids heavy with near-sleep and they are wrapped up in each other, legs entwined and chests breathing in sync, she kisses his knuckles where their hands are intertwined and she thanks him for that moment their fingers brushed, the moment their eyes met, their hands touched and his decision to stick around and just stay.
“No one’s ever just stayed for me before.”
“Well get used to it lass, cause now you’re stuck with me forever.”
She smiles, whispers that she doesn’t mind and falls asleep to the lilt of his voice lulling her, “I’ve got you, my beautiful Swan.”
~oOo~
2 and a half years ago…
They meet when he is still a paralegal, on the verge of taking his board exam and she just finally getting back on her feet after countless job interviews and jobs she’d been fired from and finding something she’s actually good at until finally she has (yeah, a stint in prison and a fucking betrayal does that to you), starting on her bail bondsperson career.
It is a chance meeting in a café, fingers brushing when both of them reach for the same, last piece of baguette.
Emma isn’t in the mood this particular day and is ready to bite this jackass’ head off (it is irrational and misplaced anger, some part of her acknowledges, but it is god damned early and she is a newbie at her job, isn’t that adept at catching the perps just yet and more often than not they escape her and it is frustrating to no end) because she is starving and hell if this douche steals her baguette from her and god damn it why can’t things go right for once?
But then she looks up and all anger fades from her mind when she meets tousled black locks and GQ model scruff and baby blue eyes and damn it but she is screwed.
“Whoops, sorry lass, didn’t see you there.”
He’s got an accent and it’s English, she thinks. And I am so screwed.
Then, and this is the clincher, he gives her a once over, head to toe – slow and languid, like he’s taking his time peeling off each article of clothing from her (and more) and she feels so exposed in more ways than one.
“Though I’m not quite sure how I managed that seeing as how you’re certainly a vision.”
He smirks and that snaps her out of her (what she hopes is) casual eye-raping of this man (though by the blush rising in her cheeks and the shit-eating grin he wears, she’s not fooling anybody) and into self-defense mode.
She sighs in irritation and makes to turn away (she has no time for this, no matter how hot the guy is) when he catches her by the shoulder, holding his hand out.
“I’m Killian by the way, Killian Jones.”
She looks at his outstretched hand (thinks, trouble, trouble) and rolls her eyes.
“And I’m not interested.”
She turns away again but his hand on her own stops her this time. She eyes the hand then him but he doesn’t seem inclined to let go.
“Perhaps not in me but surely you’ll want your baguette?”
She eyes the loaf and just then, her stomach grumbles, the craving for this particular bread too strong. He laughs and she should be insulted but the sound of it coupled by the feeling of her hand encased in his big and firm one and really, hunger (yes, she tells herself, blame it on the hunger) does funny things to her insides and what she is now realizing, her brain.
“Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. You buy the baguette and I’ll buy the hot chocolate.”
Her mouth drops then because how the hell would he know about the hot chocolate?
Her wide eyes and stunned silence alarms him for he goes, “Unless you prefer something else? A coffee?”
That snaps her back into her motor skills and she is speaking again. “How… how did you know I would prefer hot chocolate?”
The question surprises him it seems because it takes him a moment to answer, but not before doing that once over look again that leaves her feeling bare and vulnerable and she should pull away because the last time she did this she was burned and trouble, trouble.
But he is stepping closer and murmuring, “It was a guess, one I was hoping would be correct. There’s something about you…”
She gulps and he must read the tension on her face (how, how, how is he doing that?) because he backs down and the moment is over.
He is back to being cool and flirty.
“So how about that deal, love? You may not be interested in me, but you’ll find that I’m quite the persuasive type. I do, after all, work in the line of persuasion.”
It is her turn to give him a once over and she takes in the brief case in his other hand and the perfectly tailored suit and she takes a stab in the dark.
“What are you, a lawyer?”
His smile is bright and excited, like he is elated at the thought of her knowing something about him. “Aye. Or well, soon I will be. After I pass the board exam.”
It is then she notices that he still hasn’t let go of her hand (and neither has she) when he brings them closer to each other. “So, care to share a baguette and a cuppa with a perfect stranger?”
“Yeah, a perfect stranger who could be a crazy person or a stalker… or both.”
“I prefer dashing rapscallion.” He raises an eyebrow at her unamused face. “Scoundrel?”
She tries not to be affected by his charms or his good looks or the fact that he just might be winning her over but it is proving to be very, very difficult, considering it is like he’s looking right through her now (any other guy would have given up by now and she reasons that’s how she likes it, or used to like it till him) and he still hasn’t let go of her hand.
He says there’s something about her but she thinks he’s wrong because there’s something about him, about the look in his eyes that tries too hard to hide what she is sure is reflected in her eyes as well and they’re both putting up a façade and she shouldn’t be drawn to him but she is and she wants to just fall, fall, fall but then Neal enters her mind and she has to take a deep breath.
One last chance, she thinks, for his sake.
“Give me one good reason not to punch you in the face.”
He laughs like she just told a good joke and not just threatened to dent his handsome face – because damn, he really is attractive.
(Belatedly, she realizes that he could quite possibly sue her for assault if she ever did punch him and that he’d win because he’s a lawyer or at least soon-to-be one and fuck no not again)
“Ah come on love, take a leap of faith?”
She weighs her options. On the one hand, she could leave this café, baguette-less and hot chocolate-less but then she’d be free of this idiot.
Tempting…
But on the other, she could take this guy’s offer of easy (though she has a feeling nothing about this will be easy if he keeps reading her like this) conversation and have a full and warm stomach to boot.
She thinks about the last time she ever just sat with someone for no other reason than to talk or share a drink, not considering the smatter of drinks she took from one-night stands, and it takes her to Neal.
Again.
But hell, it’s been ten years since that fiasco and she convinces herself she’s moved on and yet here she is, a loner and so wary and for god’s sake, ten years and suddenly which option to take becomes glaringly obvious.
She grabs the plastic wrapped baguette from the basket and sighs, as if in defeat.
“Make sure my hot chocolate has cinnamon sprinkled on top of it.”
His entire face lights up and dear god her insides and her brain and yet, the regret never comes crashing down (even if it is too soon to tell, she’s usually keen on these things).
She’s walking away when he tugs her back with the hand he has yet to let go of.
(It is weird, after months, years, of not being held but not entirely uncomfortable)
“Your name lass, I still don’t know your name.”
“Emma Swan.”
He grins.
“And just who are you, Swan?”
And for the first time, she returns that grin with a flirty one of her own and replies cheekily, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
His reply is quick and serious as his gaze becomes hooded, “Perhaps I would.”
She should probably hold something because she’s drowning in the intensity of his eyes and it’s best she walk away. Like, away, away and preferably right now.
But their hands are entwined and she’s leading him to a booth in the corner of the café, away from curious looks and prying ears, and he is dropping his briefcase and pulling up a chair for her (“A gentleman, huh?” “Always.”) and she is feeling nervous and giddy but he is smiling, smiling and she is being reckless but there is something in the way he looks at her, like she is an open book to him, that makes her feel like she’s drowning and floating at the same time and she forgets how to breathe.
She plays it cool though, reminds him, “Don’t forget the cinnamon,” when he motions toward the register.
“Aye,” he replies with a wink, walking backwards and never once letting go of her hand until they are too far apart to touch.
“As you wish.”
~oOo~
Inspired by the song, “She’s So Perfect” by 5 Seconds of Summer that mentions American Apparel underwear which inspired the underwear scenes. That song is so. damn. catchy!
This was written for CS AU Week and I started at the beginning of the week but didn’t finish on time and just added and added and soon enough it’s 7000 words and I’m sitting here like, “What just happened?” O.o
Anyway, hope you enjoyed the pointless fluff and slight mention of sexy times! ;)
I have had a sudden influx of followers so to each and every one of you who have graced me with their time, THANK YOU!!! As a gift, I have a little more than a couple of cs fics on the way for you which I'll get around to finishing when life stops being such a bother. Translation: hopefully soon! So to everyone who's followed me, I love you all and if you need someone to talk to, know that I'm here for you, no matter what the subject. (Even the nitty gritty ones guys, I'm not squeamish) (Haha) Have a great day you beautiful people you!
