Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3234203.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Once_Upon_a_Time_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Captain_Hook_|_Killian_Jones/Emma_Swan
  Character:
      Emma_Swan, Captain_Hook_|_Killian_Jones
  Additional Tags:
      Bondage, Rope_Bondage, Bondage_and_Discipline, Blood_Kink, Sexual
      Violence
  Collections:
      Black_Swans_&_Red_Hooks
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-01-26 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 38208
****** The Princess Training Diaries ******
by Wordsmith_Storyweaver
Summary
     Set in Storybrooke after their return from Neverland, Emma Swan and
     Killian Jones discover just how much they have in common... Whoever
     knew that a pirate would be the one to turn a bounty hunter into a
     proper princess? Disclaimer: This fic contains mature themes, strong
     language, and a whole lot of kinky sex. Please heed the rating
     warning.
***** A Drink Called Loneliness *****
…they're sharing a drink they call loneliness,
but it's better than drinking alone…
Emma walks into the Rabbit Hole for the first time to get a drink. Normally,
she'd just head over to Granny's where the usual supply caters to her need for
adult refreshment, but there's just something about the way she feels tonight
that makes her want to avoid the normal cheery faces at the beloved diner.
Truth be told, she wants to be surrounded by something different, something
unfamiliar. There's a wholesome cleanness, a warm and friendly atmosphere
that's great and all, but in her current mood it strikes her as false,
cloyingly sweet; she wants dirty, gritty, harsh, and real. After all the shit
that went down in Neverland, you'd think she'd be craving a little normalcy, a
little cheery brightness. But in its own way, the dive bar is entirely
comfortable and familiar to her; it reminds her of her old life, the one where
she didn't give a damn and didn't get hurt. A swanky, jazzed-up version of
"People Are Strange," floats out of the jukebox near the pool table and
cigarette smoke hangs in the air like old drapes. The drink specials are
written on a blackboard that's so covered in chalk it's practically white now,
and ancient fliers for ladies' night are still offering Jell-o shots of all
things. The low lighting and the dark, dank smells remind her of all the shady,
seedy places she would go hunting for bail jumpers. And even though a part of
her is glad that she doesn't do that anymore, she finds that she misses the
curious lack of pretension in hideouts like this; people of all shapes come
here to forget their troubles, to stop pretending to be anything except the
fucked-up loners and confidence men that they really are on the inside…And
right now, even if it's only for an hour or so, she wants to shed away all of
the constricting skins, the rigid masks that are holding her down right now.
Mother. Henry had managed to survive Neverland somehow, escaping from Greg and
Tamara, hiding out with Mermaids and Selkies of all creatures. But he'd also
been scarred, his childhood cut short—by Neal's death, the constant threat of
discovery and capture, and then Regina and Rumplestiltskin's near misses with
death. Apparently, their magic worked just fine in that hell dimension…
unfortunately, every successive spell cast made the magician weaker and weaker,
draining them of life and vitality. Not that it had affected her, but then
again, she hadn't been using her magic to turn Shadows and Lost Ones into
actual, still-living Roman Candles. Despite being warned that healing spells
were far too complex for her limited discipline, she'd brought them back from
the brink, for Henry's sake. She'd used more magic in fixing their bodies than
she ever had before, and with no dreaded price coming due just yet, Emma was on
pins and needles. And now, the kid had terrible nightmares no matter which
house he was in or how many lights were left on the dispel the ghosts in his
mind. Sleep and rest were strangers in the Swan/Nolan apartment, leaving
everyone emotionally and physically exhausted; but a worried Emma most of all.
Daughter. She and her parents had bonded, strangely enough. They had supported
her when she had broken down, instinctively knowing she would need to. Emma had
spent her entire life looking for her family, and just when she thought
everything was going great and becoming a normal family routine, Neal had been
killed by his faux-fiancé and then Henry had been taken. But the establishment
of a new rapport with Mom and Dad had come with a price—namely, Snow's
persistent attempts to get her to talk about her feelings and her
relationships. Primarily her failed romance with Neal, but also her growing
friendship with a certain Captain. David had been less pushy, less touchy-
feely; but she could sense that deep down, he was missing the kind of father-
daughter connection that only comes with being there from day one. It was a
silent, unbearable pressure, and it was driving her up the walls. She missed
her best friend, Mary Margaret, but also Ruby, Ashley, and Belle; they'd all
been too preoccupied with their own lives and troubles to listen to Emma's. So,
as much as they had steadily been growing closer, she once again feels a gap
widening between them; there's so much that they missed out on, so is it even
possible for them to ever fully understand her?
Sheriff. The moment they had gotten back… Well, coming home to a fully re-
established war counsel, hell-bent on finding a way to restore magic to Anton's
charred bean field had been interesting to say the least. The dwarves had found
more fairy dust, but it wasn't enough for what they needed. And apparently,
David's adoptive father and King Midas had banded together for a hostile take-
over of the town. Thankfully, the council members—led by Belle, Granny, Archie,
and Leroy—had managed to rally enough troops to suppress the rebellion; but
plenty of people had been lost or injured during the intense street warfare,
and a lot of homes and businesses had been destroyed. It was a cluster-fuck of
epic proportions, and one that everyone seemed that she would magically fix
immediately (no pun intended). She was the Savior, she who had brought back all
their happy endings… Surely reestablishing law and order as well as tracking
down the criminals was an easy feat after something like that!
Because being all things to everyone is nowhere near simple, Emma sits down
next to an old man at the bar who has a gin and tonic cradled close to his
chest, hoping that there's enough Jack or Johnny behind the counter to quiet
the voices for a little while. She orders two doubles and quickly slams back
the first, savoring the harsh fire that slides from her throat down to her
belly and then all the way back up her spine. The harsh bite of the alcohol
stings the very tip of her tongue before coating her mouth in a pleasant,
buzzing numbness. She loves the way the whiskey hits her system, releasing all
the tension in her neck and shoulders almost immediately. Because she's been so
busy, running around putting out metaphorical fires and taking care of everyone
else's problems, she hadn't gotten the chance to eat anything since breakfast.
So, the liquor numbs her up quickly, making her feel just a little bit as if
she's floating. "…faces come out of the rain, when you're strange; and no one
remembers your name, when you're strange…"
She lifts the second glass in a toast to the oblivious old man. "Here's to
forgetting my own fucking name for a while."
A throaty chuckle sounds next to her right ear and a wall of heat is suddenly
at her back as the sip from her second double slides down just a touch more
sensually than the first. Instead of the numbness, the lack of awareness she
came searching for, her body has become hyper-sensitive to everything. A
familiar voice purrs out low, a rumbling she can feel vibrating through the air
and along her skin. "As if that were even possible, lass."
Normally, she would control the shiver that his presence and words send
skittering across every inch of her skin, but the whiskey already has a hold on
her. She fights the glide of his voice, like the soft brush of a hand up her
spine, but she can't control the flush of heat followed by goose-bumps that
race along her neck and chest. Nor can she infuse quite enough venom and steel
into her words to counteract her breathy delivery. "I don't know about that,
Hook. Some cat must have dragged your ass in out of the rain tonight, so why
shouldn't the rest of the song come true?"
She throws back the rest of her double and motions the bartender for another.
Killian Jones slides onto the stool next to her, smoothly, like he does
everything else. She scoffs internally at the thought, but can't deny the truth
of it. In the short amount of time they've been back in Maine, he's completely
adapted to modern life and modern clothing. Mostly. He reaches into the pocket
of his black leather pants and pulls out a stack of gold coins, placing it on
the bar. Who the fuck in Storybrooke sells pants like that?! Because, damn!
"Just set down a bottle of rum for me, mate. And this should cover whatever the
lady's drinking." The bartender doesn't flinch, doesn't blink, doesn't tell him
that you need American dollar bills to buy your alcohol here; he just slips his
hand over the doubloons and puts the requested bottle and a glass in their
place. Jones pours himself a good measure before clinking his glass against
hers and staring at her over the rim. "Having a reputation across the realms
for cruelty and barbarism tends to encourage people to see things your way
rather quickly, princess."
He takes a healthy swallow of his own particular poison, tongue darting out
lazily and swiping up the bit that lingers on his lips. For a moment, all she
can do is stare and remember, but then the grin that starts to tug at the edges
reminds her that she's not even supposed to be looking, never mind obsessively
thinking about touching. "I'll pay for my own drinks, Hook. Thanks. I already
owe you for the ride to Neverland and your help finding Henry; I don't like
having debts hanging over my head."
"And just who says you're obligated to me in any way, love? I don't recall
asking for any favors, or demanding payment for the… liberal use you made of my
many considerable talents and services." His eyes shine with mischief as Emma
finally glances his direction; a mistake, because now she can help but take in
and appreciate how good he looks. She can tell from the cut, quality of
leather, and the zipper that the pants are definitely not the ones he wore on
the ship. They also fit like a second skin, making her wonder how the hell he
got anything into his pocket, let alone a ton of ancient coins. Black t-shirt,
black button-down that he's left open, and black leather jacket complete his
normal monochromatic look. It's a good color for him, but worse, he knows it.
"The fact that you haven't asked for anything just makes me more concerned; so
while we're on the subject, what is it that you want, Hook?" Emma tosses back
more whiskey, tongue sweeping out to catch the stray drops that fall on her
lips. His eyes track the movement, but stay focused on her now glistening skin.
She grins herself, pleased that despite the alcohol, she's more than a match
for him in this game.
"For starters, I'll have you use the name I introduced myself with. If I'm to
truly give up on my quest for revenge against Rumplestiltskin, I believe it's
time to set the old alias aside. Especially with you. Second, stop acting like
we weren't best mates there, lass. You used to enjoy drinking and having a
laugh with me, and don't say it was the lack of company and the constant
danger. But you've been off hunting down Midas and George all bloody day and
night since we returned… So, I've missed you, love. I used to see you nearly
every second of every day, and now, I might as well be a phantom for all the
attention I get in this town. Most people here fear me, the rest avoid me. But
you've always treated me like the man and not some legend. Is it so hard to
believe that I miss that? That I miss you?"
Emma feels a stab of guilt at his words. He's right—practically every night
when everyone else went to sleep, Killian Jones had stayed up with her so she
didn't have to drink alone. Rum had lead to stories about their respective
pasts, his as a corsair and hers on both sides of the law. It had also led to
games of Pieces-of-Eight (quarters being in short supply on the Jolly Roger),
truth or dare, and singing contests… He'd managed to help her forget the
seriousness of the situation and have fun for a change, all while keeping his
flirting to a minimum. But the moment she had gotten Henry back home, he'd
returned somewhat to his normal overly-amorous self. Combined with her old
feelings and new ones regarding the pirate… well, it had been easier to throw
herself into work and pretend to be busy just so she could avoid him.
But she knows that giving in to him, telling him that he's right will only make
him more overbearing and persuasive. "You've just missed having a captive
audience." She reaches for her next glass, but he puts his hand over the top of
it.
"Lying to yourself again, princess? I thought we were done with attempting to
deceive each other."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"You kissed me, Emma." He quietly lets the words sink in to her alcohol buzz,
enough that she knows that the bartender heard everything before he less than
stealthily walked away. She mutters a curse and drops her head into her hands.
"All the lies in the world won't make me disappear,
love. You cornered me in my cabin, backed me up against the wall, and
kissed me. You can't go back to pretending after something like that, lass. Not
now that I know you want me as much as I desire you. But more to the point, I
won't let you."
His good hand clamps around her arm, managing to both lift and spin her toward
him at the same time. There's more whiskey in her system than she's had in a
long time and it's combined with an empty stomach, so her legs wobble, sending
her straight into his arms. "What d'you think you're doing?"
"Claiming my reward and clearing your debt. All I want is for you to dance with
me, sweet Emma. Just one dance, and then we meet as equals on even ground." He
reaches around to the hand that grabbed his waist when she fell and pulls it to
his chest, leaving the other on his left arm. He snakes his hook around her
back, pressing her closer as they rock back and forth to the music.
"Can't dance, Jones. You saw how long it took me to walk on your ship without
falling on my ass."
"Well luckily for you, I can. Just let me lead, love. I'll take care of
everything. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Or your exquisitely perfect
ass." True to his word, he never lets her go and doesn't let her trip and fall.
Her body fits perfectly with his, surrounded by his arms and his heat. She
hasn't really had the need or a chance to think about it in a long time, but it
always surprises her how warm he is compared to her. Too many cold nights alone
have left her unprepared, yearning, for the consuming fire that is Killian
Jones. "…like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more. Other
dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you…"
The words of the song swirl briefly through her mind, but she's much too
distracted to focus on the music. His eyes are like deep pools of water, except
hot and boiling intensely; she's always been afraid that if she fell into them,
she'd either burn up or drown. And right now, neither fate seems like a bad way
to go. "See anything you like, lass?" His words distract her, pulling her gaze
and her thoughts down to his lips. She knows that he'll taste like rum, dark
and spicy, that his tongue will feel warm and sweet against hers. She bites
down on her lower lip and moans, remembering just how good that one kiss made
her feel, how much she'd wanted more.
"Gods, Emma, why are you fighting this? Do you think I can't tell exactly how
much you want me? You think I can't smell your desire? I can sense it, just
under your perfume, love. It's earthy and intoxicating, especially knowing that
it's because of me." He slips his hand down her ass, fingers toying with the
edge of her too-short skirt, flirting near the top of her thigh-high tights.
"If I touched you, I'd bet my ship that you'd already be wet from all that need
that's been building up inside you. Would you like that, lass? Do you want me
to find out right here, right now whether or not you're ready, just aching for
me? What is it you want from me?"
She can't stop the trembling in her whole body, or what his light touch and his
words are doing to her. He's rolled his hips forward into hers more than once,
so she knows that the primal sexual need flowing through the air isn't one-
sided. She whimpers when the tip of one finger brushes the silky skin of her
thigh. Even with whiskey in her system, she can't quite explain what she needs,
and her silence is clearly frustrating him and draining away the last of his
patience. Gripping her tighter with his left arm, he reaches up and wraps her
long ponytail around his hand. He watches her eyes start to glaze over with
pleasure as he pulls her hair smoothly, yet firmly, and knows with sudden
clarity what she really wants from him. She's pushed him to his breaking point
not because she doesn't know, but because no one has ever realized that she
needs to be pushed back in return; any others who tried to play this game with
her came up against her iron will and retreated. They didn't realize the molten
heat beneath the steel core that would cause her to bend—if they knew what they
were doing. He bends down closer to her ear, lips and tongue softly teasing the
shell and lobe. He grips her wrist in his hand and wrenches her arm high
against her back, while trapping her inescapably against his body. "Do you want
me to just take what I want from you, sweet Emma? Shall I pluck your strings as
I choose? Is that what you desire from me?"
When she finally speaks, her voice comes out in the neediest, sexiest whisper
he's ever heard. "God, yes." He tugs harshly, tightening his grip on her arm
and pulling a mewl of pleasure from the back of her throat.
"Yes what, princess?"
"Yes, Killian. I want you to take me."
He growls in her ear before licking the skin right behind it, causing her to
shiver even more. "Normally, I prefer "captain," love, but I think this time
I'll make an exception. I've been longing to hear you say my name just like
that, and I'm going to thoroughly enjoy making you use it over, and over, and
over. And over." The song ends, but their dance is far from done.
He keeps his hook and left arm around her waist, practically dragging her out
of the Rabbit Hole and into the night. As soon as they make it outside, he pins
her back against the brick wall, kissing her roughly. She moans around his
tongue, loving the hot, spicy taste of him, a combination now of rum and
whiskey. Just as unexpectedly as he started it, he ends the kiss, pulling her
back into his body and striding quickly down the dark streets toward the docks.
In no time at all, they are climbing aboard his ship; he offers her his hand, a
gentleman as always. But instead of helping her step down onto the deck, he
uses her temporary height advantage to wrap her legs around his waist. Emma
lets out a little yelp of surprise; she only does it because she's been
drinking, and he thinks it's the most adorable thing she's ever done. But he
refuses to let his softer emotions out with her just yet. She wants him to
dominate and control her now…the time for more gentle persuasion will be later.
He puts her back against the mainmast, grinding his hips up into hers. "Do you
have any idea how often I pictured us right here, lass? Having you absolutely,
gloriously bare beneath the sunlight or starlight? Hearing you crying out in
pleasure along with the harmony of the waves and the wind? I went to bed hard
every night after you left my cabin, wanting more than anything to drag you
back and fuck you senseless. And yet every night, you came back, knowing what
you did to me, leaving me unsated, unsatisfied. Didn't you? No fucking lies
tonight, Emma! Every word that passes through those lips had better be truth."
He pulls her head back, forcing her to look at him. "I didn't want to know, but
I did. I was afraid to feel, and I knew I couldn't hide it from you. So I kept
pretending because pretending is safe."
"And how safe do you feel now, princess? Are you afraid of me?"
"Yes. Because you make me feel alive, Killian. I've been surviving for so long
that I've forgotten what really living feels like. And I'm terrified that once
I start again, you'll leave me."
He kisses her roughly again, their moans and whimpers ringing, intertwining in
the night air in the most glorious symphony he's ever heard. "I've waited for
you for hundreds of years, love. And I've spent the last six months and more
fighting for you, so I bloody well won't be packing it in any time soon. You
hear me, Swan? I'm going to play you tonight, make you sing for me. You're a
fucking glorious instrument, Emma, and I will discover every note, every high
and low that you are capable of producing. And when I'm done, you'll be so
absolutely fucking ruined that no one else will do. Only fools put their mark
where other's can see—I'm going to brand your very soul, princess, and you will
damn well love every minute of it."
He lets her stand for a second before kneeling down and tipping her over his
shoulder. Emma giggles. "Isn't this the part where my bosoms should be heaving
and I swoon in your arms? Kind of hard to do with a shoulder bone in my
stomach." He slaps her ass, catching the exposed skin at the tops of her thigh-
highs, causing her to moan out his name. When he finally enters the cabin, he
kicks the door shut behind them and sets her back on her feet. He ensures that
she's steady, but then stalks away from her over to his desk. He rummages
through the middle drawer, shooting her a warning glare to stay put when she
starts to walk toward him. Silently, she watches him as he goes around to all
of the lanterns, lighting them and adjusting the wicks, all without a word.
Once he finishes with the last one, he faces her.
He cocks his head to the side, as if studying her of the angles of the light.
He nods to himself, satisfied, then goes back to his desk, sits in his chair,
and props up his feet. "You will obey every order without question or
commentary. You will use my proper name, or my rank if you prefer. You will
only speak when I give you leave, and no lies. This is your last chance to back
out, Swan; and even though it pains me to be on this side of the room, I do not
want to risk any possibility of coercion or misunderstandings between us,
darling. Do you accept these terms?"
The intensity, the command in his voice only contribute to the pulsing need in
her belly. "Yes, Killian. Please-"
In an instant he is by her side again, hand fisted around her ponytail. "You'll
do plenty more begging before the night is out, lass. Before we begin, I
imagine you'll say the word "stop" more than once, although "don't" will
probably be attached to it somewhere. So you know you can stop me at any time,
what is your Safe word?" His grin actually reminds her of Ruby, wolfish and
hungry.
"Ocean."
"Good. Now then, lass. Strip for me." He leans back against the wall, arms
crossed over his chest, watching her expectantly. Emma nods, but then flashes
him a wicked grin of her own before sashaying over to his desk. She stops about
a yard away, sliding her right foot up along her left leg and kicking it up to
rest on the solid edge. Slowly, she runs both hands down the sides of her thigh
to her knee, the left catching the zipper and letting it come undone. She slips
her foot out, pointing her toes and tossing the boot to the side. She repeats
the same slow removal with the left, knowing that he's getting a peek at her
black, lacy panties for the first time. She turns around, leaning firmly
against the edge. The coat and scarf hit the floor quickly, but she takes her
time with the shirt, sliding her hands along her stomach and breasts.
Killian hasn't moved a millimeter, but his breathing is becoming shallower and
more rapid. Hooking her thumbs in the band of one of her tights, she rolls down
and removes one and then the other. Down to just her skirt, bra, and panties,
he finally moves away from the wall. Tugging at the zipper at her side, he
moves back around the desk. "This next love, then leave the rest on."
She grins to herself, letting her chest follow her hands as she's slipping the
skirt down her legs. But she turns around quickly when she hears the clanking
of something metal hitting the desk. He's on his knees, clearly securing the
end of a chain somewhere, when she recognizes the manacle attached. AND the
handcuffs sitting next to it. She almost asks him if that's what she thinks it
is, but remembers just in time that she's not allowed to speak. She looks at
him and sees him watching her, a slight pout forming. "Damn! I was really
looking forward to punishing you for a slip of the tongue. Well, soon enough I
suppose. These, are because you seemed quite fond of using them at the
infirmary—even after you knew I could pick them. And this, is to give you a
visual reminder for whenever you find yourself chained to your desk at work."
He locks the handcuffs around her wrists, careful to leave some give, kissing
the palm of each hand before placing them flat on the wooden surface. Next, he
closes the manacle around the small chain that links her cuffs together, which
reaches just to the edge of the desk when pulled taut. There's nothing within
her reach that can help her pick any of these locks; she is entirely at his
mercy. Instead of feeling trapped or frightened, Emma is insanely turned on at
the thought of being helpless with this man; because, in a way, she never had a
prayer of escaping this moment with him. Destiny. Inevitability. As the savior,
these words frighten her; with Killian, they make all the sense in the world.
"Don't fight a single sound or reaction, Swan. I want to know exactly how what
I'm doing to you is making you feel." He nudges at her leg with one of his
booted feet, indicating to spread them wider apart. She gasps and her
fingernails dig into the wood when he thrusts his hips into her ass, letting
her feel his erection through his leather and her lace. He slides the cool
metal curve of his hook up her spine, sending chills across her skin and making
her nipples even harder. She drops her head and whimpers at the torture,
cautiously rubbing back against him to feel his hardness and his heat near her
core. He slaps her ass roughly, forcing a cry from her lips. "You only think
you're ready and eager now, princess…"
Emma loses all track of time. The only measures are the things that Killian is
doing to her body: spanking her roughly, then running a soothing hand along the
reddened skin; undoing her bra and letting it remain where it falls, at her
elbows; massaging and pinching her nipples with his good hand, or rolling steel
against them as they strain, impossibly hard for the merest touch; lightly
slapping the front of her wet panties, flickering touches to her clit that have
her wound impossibly tight; talking all the while in detail about every little
thing before he does it, heightening her anticipation and the sensations when
he finally puts action to his words. Over and over again, she says his name,
begging him.
"Say it, lass. What is it you want from me?" He pulls her head back at a
painful angle, but Emma is lost in the haze already—any change is pure ecstasy.
"Please, Killian. Please take me. Please fuck me, Killian, because I need you
so badly." Then, blissfully, she hears him swear under his breath and his
clothes hitting the floor. He tugs at her hips, ripping the panties off of her
with his hook and slamming his cock inside her. She screams his name, an orgasm
hitting her at the feel of him fully inside her. But instead of letting her
float on the high, he forces her to ride it hard, thrusting deep and hitting
that perfect spot over and over. She digs her fingernails into the wood of his
desk, the only connection to the world she has except for him. She bites her
lower lip, desperately trying to stay quiet, but every time her pussy contracts
around him, every time his cock fills and stretches her to her limits, she
can't help but whimper or mewl like a creature in heat. She was already
dripping from the spanking, but now she can feel her juices slowly slipping
down her thighs. He reaches down around her waist, chest pressed fully against
her back, and rubs her folds and clit with his hook. She moans at the
difference in temperature and the feel of his weight against her; she's even
more trapped that she was a moment ago, and she fucking loves it!
He straightens up, causing her to cry out at the loss of his heat. She doesn't
see it, but he flicks his tongue along the curved steel, tasting her, before
smearing her own desire along the skin of her ass. She's a vision of sweat-
sheened skin and tumbled curls, arms and back stretched out like she's abased
herself, supplicant to some ancient deity. Her ecstasy a result of his worship
of her body. "Gods, princess! So hot, wet, and tight. Tell me you've been
dreaming about this."
"Yes, Killian, every fucking night. Even when we were on this ship, sleeping on
that shitty bunk, I thought about coming back in here and letting you do this
to me! I—I—I've wanted you since—the Enchanted Forest! You saw me, and wanted
me, not the savior, but me. No one has ever made me feel wanted like that. And
God! When you came after us to Storybrooke, I knew. I knew that one day, I
wouldn't be able to stop myself from letting you fuck me. Oh, god, Killian!"
He presses his chest to her back, still pumping into her ruthlessly, changing
the angle of his penetration. He buries the tip of his hook in the desk next to
her hand, using it as leverage to thrust harder still; he's all but lifting her
off her feet every single time, forcing her up on tiptoe. Every thrust forces a
moan, a curse, his name past her lips. At the perfect instant, he bites down
into her left shoulder and pinches her clit simultaneously. "Killian!" If her
first orgasm was a thunderstorm, this one is a tsunami. She clenches so tight
around him that he has no choice but to join her. Stars explode behind both
their eyes, and he catches her before she can collapse to the floor. Despite
being entirely blind from the intensity of it all, he manages to drape them
both across his desk before temporarily blacking out himself.
===============================================================================
 
She wakes up to the feel of cool linen sheets beneath her back and a
particularly sensual pair of lips brushing along her wrist. She opens her eyes
and hot blue ones are watching her intently. "Welcome back home, princess."
There's so much happiness and love in those four words… The old Emma Swan would
be panicked, running for the hills by now. But she only smiles up at him,
brushing the longer strands of hair away from his face before leaning up to
capture his lips with hers. "It's good to be home."
 
***** The Beginning *****
Emma wakes up in a pirate's bed that seems to be missing its pirate at the
moment. She stretches her muscles, noticing that they're sore in the best way
possible: like she's had a great work-out or been thoroughly fucked, both of
which are emphatically true. The strangest part about it all is that there's no
guilt or shame attached to her memories of what happened last night. She
doesn't regret letting the infamous Captain Hook chain her up, or any of the
other erotic things she let him do. The breaking down of her walls, the
destruction of the dam holding back the sexual tension could have happened
between them any number of ways, but deep down, she knows that this way was
best. She has so many people who rely on her to be in charge, to always be the
one with the answers, to always be in control… For once, she was able to just
be herself—uncertain and scared and desperate for someone else to have the
power. It felt liberating because it was what she wanted and needed. She didn't
have to have all the answers; she didn't need to be anyone's savior; she just
gave herself over to the feelings that Emma Swan had denied existed for far too
long. Every single moment last night had been devoted to exploring the extremes
of pleasure that Killian and she could reach together.
She notices a folded piece of parchment on his pillow with her name scrawled on
the outside.
My dearest Swan,
I had thought to wake you slowly, kissing my way down that exquisite body of
yours before burying my tongue in your quim and tasting you for the first time.
Alas, you looked so peaceful in repose that I couldn't bear to rouse you. Rest
assured, lass, I am eagerly awaiting the moment you do awaken so that we may
continue your training. Cast a concealment spell over the ship and then come to
me precisely as you are.
K. Jones
Emma cannot stop the frisson of excitement and anticipation that flows down her
spine. She's always been so controlled, so in control of everything in her
life, ever since Neal… Not only is her attraction to Killian unexpected in its
intensity, so is her absolutely overwhelming desire to please him. She's not
sick and twisted to want his dominance; she just feels a fierce need to bring
pleasure and light to a man who has spent so much time in darkness and despair.
And she knows him well enough that he has secret thoughts and yearnings of his
own lurking beneath the surface. She's seen the whip scars on his back, and
there are far too many to account for any insubordinations on his part when he
was younger. He told her the story of his mother's death and his father's
betrayal. His life could never be described as anything except harsh, in more
ways than the one's he's willingly shared.
===============================================================================
 
"I know that we more or less agreed you were the one in charge here, but I
swear Jones, if you don't get that amazingly sexy ass of your back here right
this second, I'm using my magic to turn you into a frog!" After breaking away
from their kiss, he had all but leaped out of bed, rummaging through his desk
as if there wasn't an insanely horny (still!) and thoroughly naked princess in
his bed. Emma sits up all the way, letting his sheets pool around her waist,
and begins pouting at him adorably. He chuckled at her threat, but his face
sobers a bit when she wiggles her fingers at him. He quirks an eyebrow
questioningly, but seems to have found what he was looking for. His expression
then shifts to calculating as he stalks toward the bed, a swagger in every step
that emphasizes the pull and release of his thigh muscles, focusing Emma's
attention on his groin. He grins at her distraction and the way her tongue
darts out across her lips; it's a sensual, yet innocent expression that lights
up her face, as if she's thinking about his cock like it's a sweet treat. Now
that she's hiding and denying nothing, she's even easier to read.
"Just my ass? Besides, love, you do realize that you will then be forced to
kiss said frog in order to break the spell. Magic can do terrible things to a
man… I might be out of commission for days, weeks even. Unable to service you
in the slightest of ways. And wouldn't that be positively tragic for you?" He
draws close, kneeling on the bed in front of her, barely brushing his nose
along hers. But then he sits, snags her right hand with his hook, and sets a
small tin on the sheets next to him. "Help a one-handed man, would you love?"
She frowns, but does what he asks, opening the tin to reveal a clean smelling
ointment of some kind. "What is this?"
"Something to make sure your skin doesn't scar. It's something I concocted in
Neverland; soothes burns, especially ones caused by recalcitrant princesses
pulling too hard on their restraints." He clucks his tongue as he examines the
spots where some of her skin was rubbed raw by the handcuffs, but then dips his
fingers into the ointment and massages it into the reddened flesh. Just like on
the beanstalk when he cleaned and wrapped her cut hand, Emma is flustered at
the care and attention inherent in his gesture—flustered and terribly aroused.
She doesn't think he means it to have this effect on her, but the painful truth
is that even simple touches are rare for her. Sure, she's gotten better at
touching others or receiving hugs, but someone else touching her skin is
entirely different; and she can feel a growing hunger for more after years of
denying herself this particular pleasure.
"And how would you know that it works in this particular instance?" She's
breathless from his ministrations, but also slightly afraid of the answer. It's
one thing to know in theory that your lover has been with a lot of women in his
300 plus years…
"Because I have personal experience with the kinds of wounds restraints can
leave. And you've seen and felt the scars on my back, love." He turns his wrist
a bit so she can see the old, silvered skin where it healed imperfectly. "I
swore that no woman of mine would ever suffer any permanent damage while being
submissive to me. Others I have come across were neither so considerate nor
kind. No more talk of that for tonight, lass."
He wags a finger at her when she would have pursued another line of
questioning. Instead, he places the top back on the tin and tosses it onto the
floor. She giggles at his carelessness, but stops when she notices just how
close his face is to hers and how intense his focus on her has become. "Now, I
believe my services were required by my princess?"
She nods her head slightly before opening her mouth to his kiss. In direct
contrast to everything else that happened tonight, he slowly tastes her. Other
than barely-there, inadvertent brushes of his chest against hers, they only
touch each other with their lips and where his hand rests on her cheek. It's a
gentle, thorough exploration that has her breathless and seeing stars within
minutes. Despite two orgasms the literally rocked her world, Emma finds that
her body, like her mind, is not quite done with her pirate yet. She whimpers, a
sound full of frustration and longing as she pulls back a bit from his lips.
"Please."
He has the nerve to smirk before plunging his tongue back into her mouth and
thoroughly ravaging her. She's always prided herself on her own self-control,
but it's torture and takes everything within her to stay put and not touch him.
"Please what, Emma love?"
===============================================================================
 
Oh, yes… Killian Jones definitely has his darker desires, but like the
gentleman he is, he's seeing to hers first. She lost count of how many times he
made her come last night, and the final one had shattered her so completely
that she slipped over the edge into a sated, exhausted sleep. But despite his
clearly unwavering focus on her pleasure, she can't resist being a little
cheeky, or testing his limits in some way. She takes a deep breath, willing the
magic out of her body and around the ship. It's not entirely comfortable or
easy for her, but Regina and Rumplestiltskin both promised that with time, it
will just feel natural to her. Spell in place, she pulls the sheet off his bed
and wraps it around her torso before heading up on deck. For once, the sun is
shining and it actually feels a touch warm, but she's still grateful for the
little protection that the soft linen provides. The breeze is fresh and salty,
stirring her tumbled curls playfully and tugging the fabric around and against
her body.
"I believe that you were given very specific instructions, princess. One of the
first things you must learn is to control your natural impulse to do whatever
notion suits your mood and fancy. A proper lady obeys without question or
hesitation when her master issues a command." She starts to turn, but he moves
fast enough to catch her off-guard again. His left arm and hook slip around her
waist, and his hand forces her chin up and to the right, the angle just this
side of uncomfortable. He runs his thumb over her lips, eyes darkening as he
stares down at her. "Insubordination results in punishment, princess. We will
discuss your disobedience and appropriate chastisement later. For now, how did
you sleep, love?"
She smiles and closes her eyes, reveling in the feel of his calluses on the
soft skin of her jaw and cheek and leaning further into the touch like a cat
rubs against its owner. "Slept good. After reading your note, I feel very sorry
for not waking up before you though."
He smiles and places a gentle, chaste kiss on her lips, holding her carefully
yet firmly in place with his hand. His eyes are still dark with lust, but they
manage to sparkle playfully as well. "And what would you have done if you had
risen before me, lass?"
"With your permission, Captain?" She quirks an eyebrow at him, waiting for his
approval; he chuckles, not quite sure what game she's playing at, and nods his
agreement. Part of the roles they have chosen requires not complete abjection
or lack of agency on her part, but rather on him allowing or agreeing to her
choices. She grabs his hook with her left hand, using it to help peel away the
sheet as she walks toward the mast, towing him along with her. She hears him
swallow and try to stifle a curse when she's completely naked in the sunlight.
"If I had woken up first, I'm sure I would have just watched you for a while. I
don't think I've ever seen you completely relaxed before, and I would hope that
after giving me an orgasm so intense that I passed out you would have had a
pretty damn amazing one as well." She looks at him questioningly as she gently
backs him up against the mast. He leans toward her, briefly brushing his nose
against hers before nipping at her earlobe.
"The best ever, love."
She places her hands on his chest and carefully pushes him back, her smile
brighter than he's ever seen it. "Good to know. But if I was up first, I
wouldn't have known that. And it would have been slowly eating at my mind
whether or not it had been as good for you as it was for me. I wouldn't have
had all these laces to undo, so I would have just started by gently stroking
back and forth. Barely even touching you, just using my fingertips, really. But
then I would have reached down a little further…"
His breath hisses through his teeth; he's been so distracted by the visual
image she's been painting for him that he didn't realize just how quickly she
did away with the laces in question. Next time, the bloody Minx'll have to use
her teeth! She's being incredibly gentle, cupping his balls and carefully
massaging one and then the other with her thumb. Her movements also cause her
arm to just barely brush against his aching, straining shaft. "And do you know
what I'd have to do next, Killian? I'd just have to taste you because there
have been times, alone at night, when I imagined just how it would feel to wrap
my lips around your cock. It's not something I normally think about or want to
do for a man, but I've never been able to get that question out of my head—what
does he taste like? Can I satisfy my curiosity, Killian?"
It's as if she's reading his mind, knowing what he has planned for her later.
But gods have mercy on him if it isn't the single most sensual thing he's ever
experienced—a princess begging him if she can get down on her knees to pleasure
him! He pulls her close and kisses her, invading and plundering her mouth with
his tongue. She latches on to him and starts humming, something he's never had
a woman do with him in all his years. Suddenly, he's frantic to allow her to do
exactly what she wants. He breaks away from her and whispers, "gods, yes!"
Emma immediately complies, gracefully kneeling and looking up at him. She never
breaks eye contact with him as she grips the base with her right hand and
slowly slides the length of his cock into her mouth. It takes all of his
considerable will-power not to shout because nothing has ever felt as good as
the warm heat of his Swan. Last night she had been frantic and uncontrolled,
but this is something else entirely. Her movements and actions are all
tentative and curious, like someone who has rarely or never done something like
this for a lover. He sees even more submission in the act, which makes each
lick of her tongue, each nip of her teeth, each moan of pleasure that much more
exquisite to him. Only he has been allowed to see her like this, a thought that
fills him with primal, masculine satisfaction.
Watching his cock slide in and out of her mouth nearly undoes him, but he can't
look away from the enjoyment, the pure bliss on her face. Her cheeks are
flushed and rosy, her eyes often closed in savoring her own pleasure, but more
often than not, she's looking up, green eyes open and drinking in his every
response. And gods her lips! Soft and pliant to his kiss, they wrap around his
shaft and head as tight as the hand that's working his base—a double assault on
him that has his mind spinning. "Spread your legs wide and lean back a touch,
princess. I want to watch you pleasure yourself while you continue to pleasure
me."
He sees a flash of defiance and annoyance cross her features, but a raised
eyebrow from him assures her compliance. She leans back, ass now resting on her
bare feet as she spreads herself open. He can see her folds and clit are
flushed, red and pink, and her thighs glisten slightly with sweat and her own
wetness. He gently digs his fingers into her hair, guiding her mouth back to
the tip, controlling how she takes him. He watches as her own fingers slip down
between her legs, coating them in her juices. "Imagine mine in their place,
love. What would I do to you?"
Despite the shallowness of his thrusts, he can feel her lips form a smile
around him. Her left hand, which had been resting on his thigh for balance,
moves down to join its mate. She parts her folds and plunges two fingers inside
herself, thrusting and circling them before pulling them out all the way. She's
showing him just how wet it's made her, just how turned on she gets by sucking
on his cock. She continues, using her left thumb to rub her clit while riding
her own fingers. And when she starts humming again, he gets so close to the
edge and realizes that if he has any intentions of continuing her "education,"
he needs to stop her erotic assault on his senses. When he pulls out of her
mouth, he does so unexpectedly, causing her to make a loud, wet pop.
Emma starts to laugh, and, as much as it pains him to, he places a finger
against her now red and swollen lips. "Hush, love. Wouldn't want you making so
much noise and rendering your little concealment spell useless." She starts to
smile, until she hears the busy sounds of the marina around them. Fishermen are
walking back and forth along the docks, heading to and from their boats. The
shift is changing at the cannery. All around them, dozens of people are
completely oblivious to the presence of the Jolly Roger and what is occurring
on its deck.
"The next part of teaching you proper decorum for a lady is the value of
silence and discretion." He helps her up to her feet and leads her up the steps
toward the helm. "I'm going to fuck you, princess, right here. So that every
bloody time I go anywhere on my ship, I can remember the feel of your hot,
tight pussy. But, you have to remember to be quiet. If anyone guesses that you
are here, if anyone hears you, then I'll have to punish you some more.
Understood?"
Emma nods, whimpering slightly when he wraps one of her legs around his waist
and rubs his erection against her. "Ssshhh…" This is all the warning he gives
her before impaling her on his cock. She throws her head back on a silent
scream as he thrust into her, hard and high. She can't help the occasional
whimper or moan because of how fast and wild he is, bucking up into her. But
not only this, she's still tight after years of self-denial, and he has her
stretched and filled to her limits. She can feel him hitting that perfect spot,
every single time, as if he has a map to all the pleasure zones on her body.
All she can do is hold on and ride him, clinging to him desperately with her
arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. And then he slips his hand
down to her clit, and she starts seeing stars.
They're both panting now, quietly sharing every breath. The world continues to
move around them, but they are oblivious to everything except for the point
where their bodies are locked tight together. Emma has no idea where all of
this stamina is coming from, because rather than slowing down, his thrust are
coming on stronger and deeper than before. She whimpers, leaning forward to
create some more friction, but also to plead for his kiss. When he invades her
mouth, she latches on to his tongue with her teeth, then sucks on it hard, as
if it were his cock; her moan is mostly captured by him, but the mewling sounds
coming out of her throat are becoming more urgent. She can feel her walls start
fluttering, starting to clench around him. "I'm close, so close. Please let me
come, Killian. Please come with me." She whispers it, but she might just as
well have shouted; they've been so cautious in their desperation that any words
sound louder than they are. His next few thrusts drive her back painfully into
the wood of the helm, but they are perfectly timed to bring on her orgasm and
his.
Like the night before, they positively collapse from the power of their
combined release. He manages to kneel and bring her with him before they both
sprawl together on the deck. While trying to slow their breathing and recover,
they hear several pairs of footstep on the docks nearby.
"…Well there goes that plan."
"David, maybe she just needed some time away. Who knows? She seemed to enjoy
sailing, and they DID become good friends. Maybe they just took his ship out
for a bit?"
"It's not like Emma to just waltz off on her own without a word to anyone. She
has responsibilities, Snow!"
"That's just it, David! She isn't used to everyone needing her 24/7! She'll be
fine…"
The Charmings' voice and footsteps fade off into the distance, allowing Killian
and Emma to breathe again. "Well, love, as much as I'll admit I want all and
sundry to know that you're mine, I must say I'm pleased we were quiet enough
that I don't need to ask for your hand at sword point."
She laughs, a sound that does funny things to his heart and his groin. His
princess crawls over to him, straddles his hips, and leans down to kiss his
nose. "Who says I'd have you, pirate?" She barely stifles a shriek and a giggle
when he flips her over onto her back and pins her down with his body.
"I'd say that you did, lass."
 
***** A Plethora of Firsts *****
Killian tilts his head to the side, both examining and admiring his handiwork.
Emma's breathing hitches under his intense scrutiny, even more flustered,
aroused, and slightly embarrassed than the moment he issued his first command
on her arrival at his new home…
===============================================================================
 
Earlier that day…
Although the Jolly Roger has been his home for centuries, he started looking
for a place in Storybrooke to call his own almost immediately. He's no fool and
knows that it will take time for stories of his deeds in Neverland to filter
down to all of the townsfolk; hell, he may never be able to prove himself to
any of these people. But their approval or hatred truly means nothing to him in
the grand scheme of things, because this is where Emma lives… And after that
first night together, he cannot fathom living out his days anywhere but where
she is. Because he knows that just a taste of that passion isn't going to be
enough to satisfy either of them. So, he suffers the stony glares in silence as
he goes about his business in the town. Thankfully, the few merchants whose
shops he actually enters are obliging as opposed to rude (his gold spending
just as easily as the paper bills or plastic chips that everyone else uses), or
downright chatty and helpful in the case of Esmeralda at her establishment,
Fortune's Favors.
He still hasn't had a chance to learn how to operate a car, much less acquire
one, so he walks back to his cabin with his purchases. The place is rustic, but
still superior to many accommodations found back in the Enchanted Forest; he
definitely plans to make changes and improvements, but for now, he simply
enjoys the feeling of having a place of his own and the few comforts within his
current reach. Granted, he had to deal with the Crocodile in order to find and
rent the house, but compared to the bliss of setting up a place that is all for
him and Emma, a space where there are no memories except for the ones he will
be creating with her… Striking a bargain with Rumplestiltskin was an easy
choice when it came right down to it.
He carefully lays out his purchases on the table in the kitchen, sorting them
methodically and running through his plans for the evening one final time…
===============================================================================
 
Right before Emma and David could finish up their last reports before lunch,
Moe French's spindly-thin assistant staggers into the station carrying a
ridiculously elaborate arrangement of flowers. Both father and daughter stare
at each other for a few seconds before shooting up off their feet to "help" the
florist. Thankfully, David doesn't spot the card first, so she snatches it out
of the little plastic holder. Only then does she actually help by clearing
several stacks of files and papers off of her desk and laying them haphazardly
on David's. To call this a bouquet would do it an injustice. First, she can't
even see the vase that the flowers are in, but it's got to be more than just
your standard cylinder or inverse pyramid. The Calla Lily flowers are massive
and most prominent, their delicate white curves gently spilling out their soft
fragrance; then, there are several sprays of pink and purple freesia, as well
as pink apple blossoms; though it's not nighttime, a few jasmines are scattered
in there as well, a scent Emma can fairly easily identify; but the last ones
she spots are the most curious: three bright yellow tulips that stand out
because of their color, but also somehow pull everything together harmoniously.
A lot of thought and effort went into this particular choice and arrangement of
the flowers.
She thanks and tips an exhausted looking Mr. Lightman before turning the card
over in her hand. She recognizes the cursive instantly—a fluttering sensation
starts in her chest while warmth begins to flare to life in a much more
southerly location. He's gone through a lot of public trouble and effort for
her in sending these flowers; they haven't talked about keeping their
relationship a secret, nor have they been trying to hide exactly. They've
simply been enjoying the quiet specialness of being the only people in the
world who know about their connection. The display is clearly his less than
subtle way of telling her how he wants things to be; sending them to the
sheriff's station means that he wants her father in particular to know how he
feels and his intentions. Again, Emma expects the familiar panic, the urge to
run away from Killian and everything he wants, to spring up and grip her by the
throat. It would be truly unnatural if she didn't have any doubts or fears
about making things work with him or about changing the way others see him. But
if, even for one moment, she ever doubted him, his actions in Neverland and
beyond have proved to her that he is a good man.
My dearest Emma, did you know that every single flower and plant has a very
specific meaning attached? It seems to me that for all the knowledge your world
has accumulated, there is much that has been lost or forgotten with time.
Suffice to say, I mean every word, every thought, every emotion. You needn't
share our secret with your family if you aren't ready, love, but I hope that
soon you will be. Meet me tonight at the address below; I believe the phrase is
that I have a date planned for us.
Your servant always,
Killian Jones
There are so many emotions rolling around inside her that Emma has no idea how
she feels about any of it. Never has one man given her so many things before.
Even before he truly knew her, he was ready to swear his allegiance and would
have allowed her to keep the compass. He gave her the last bean, and then
offered his ship and expertise in order to help her rescue her son; he gave her
a sword so she could fight; he offered her rum and companionship so she could
stay sane; he put his life on the line far too many times to count… And now
he's giving her space and time to decide whether or not their relationship is a
dirty little secret or something she will share with everyone else in her
world. While she and David are at lunch, she types "flower meanings" into her
favorite search engine and goes hunting for answers.
Apple blossoms signify a promise made and kept; freesia represent a spirited
person or sense of free-spiritedness; jasmine stands for grace and elegance;
calla lilies were once exclusively grown for royal celebrations and were a
carefully guarded secret among the specially licensed gardeners who grew
them;andyellow tulips denote that the sender is hopelessly in love…
===============================================================================
 
"What do you mean, you have a date with him?" Snow leans against the door
frame, watching her daughter get dressed for the evening. Because her mother
won't leave until she gets an answer, Emma reluctantly takes a breath to
explain.
"You've been on one before, you know? With a certain mad scientist? And with
Dad; which, if you haven't yet since the curse was broken, you should really
try sometime. With all of us living in this loft, you guys could use some
alone…"
"We were cursed!"
"Mom! I'm not judging or anything. I'm just saying that I am going out on a
date. With Killian Jones. What is so complicated about that?"
"Well… It's just that… As much as I've been expecting this, I suppose the fact
that it's actually happening comes as a bit of a shock to me. You're trusting
someone and letting them in. And really, I hope you don't get me wrong because
that's fantastic. I just never imagined that my daughter would end up with
someone who wasn't a noble or a royal of some kind. I mean, I know that we
aren't in the Enchanted Forest and that the United States doesn't have any
monarchies, not that they'd recognize us as such. But I also never imagined
that Captain Hook would end up as my son-in-law either, so I suppose anything
is possible."
"Mary Margaret! First, it's a date, not a wedding. Second, take a deep breath.
Third, you really need to stop calling him Hook; that's not his name. And
fourth, I know that you missed out on the whole parenting thing with me, but
I'm a big girl now. I have a kid of my own; who I spend time with is really not
your decision. Besides all this, I've never felt like a princess before—I was
never adored and loved and treated as anything special in any of the homes I
lived in, and frankly, Neal was no prince either. I'm not saying any of this to
hurt you, Mom. What I'm trying to say is that the way Killian looks at me, the
way he makes me feel—well, that's the closest I've ever come to any of that. He
treats me like a woman deserves to be treated, makes me feel like a woman while
giving me the respect of an equal. I don't know where things are headed with
him, but I know that with him, I'll be a partner and not a pawn or an
amusement. He's not playing me, or using me, and we have a lot in common… So,
while I appreciate that this might be difficult for you, can you please
trust me to know what I'm doing?"
===============================================================================
 
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew that they were true. Snow
had started tearing up and rushed over to hug her, but Emma had felt completely
blindsided. She's pretty certain she's never used the words "feel" or "feeling"
quite so many times in her entire life, but there's no denying the effect that
Killian Jones has on her—he makes her feel. And not just in the physical, mind-
blowingly, amazing sex way; somewhere between here and Neverland and the
Enchanted Forest, cracks in her walls started forming for the dashing yet
damaged man. He's gotten so far past her defenses that he even has her thinking
is clichés now!
But if she's being honest with herself—and really, since that night at the
Rabbit Hole, letting Killian take control and dominate her, she's dropped a lot
of her own lies and pretences—she knows that the deep emotional currents, the
feelings and attachments are hardly one-sided. He's clearly desired her from
the moment they met, but the connectedness, the yearning to be understood and
accepted by her has been evident since that confession in Rumplestiltskin's
jail cell. He wouldn't have left her behind; he would have helped her steal the
wardrobe ashes and escape to Storybrooke. It was her fear and abandonment
issues that kept them apart for far too long. The question remains: will she
let her pride and fears continue to stand in the way?
She hasn't even fully had time to answer her own question when she's walking
around the edge of a pond to a familiar looking cabin in the woods. Not too
long ago, before the curse broke, she followed Gold here and arrested him for
assaulting Belle's father. Only this time, she knows that Killian is waiting
for her inside and that something entirely different will happen. She shakes
her head, willingly the less than pleasant memories away so that they don't mar
the present. Light spills out of the windows, reflecting in the lightly
rippling surface of the water, but it's much warmer, more alive than anything
electricity can provide. She stands there for several minutes, just staring,
until she sorts through and recognizes the emotions coursing through
her—anticipation, of both the nervous and excited variety. It's been so long
since she's been on a real date, one that wasn't part of her job or involved
skipping out on the check; plus, she has no idea what Killian's expectations
are for all of this or how he even knew what a date was. But in the end, her
desire to see him, to be near him wins out over any anxieties that linger in
her mind. She did, after all, go through her own bit of trouble for tonight.
She makes her way toward the house, stepping carefully up onto the front porch
and looking in at the window. Clearly, Killian has managed a few changes
already or has no real concept of rooms and interior decorating. Theoretically,
this room is supposed to be a living room of some sort, but he has other ideas
in mind for it. She has no idea how he managed to move his bed here from the
ship, but the familiar headboard, pillows, and bedding glow prominently in a
pool of candlelight. The fireplace has a cheerful blaze going, adding to the
warm lighting in the room, and Emma can even feel the heat through the pane of
glass. Not entirely certain whether or not there's another entrance, she knocks
on the door and waits. "I was worried there for a moment, lass. You looked
ready to bolt; afraid I might've had to give chase. Would you have let me catch
you, princess?"
Emma gasps, startled again by his ability to remain absolutely silent and
still. It had been an unnerving skill to see in action in the jungles of
Neverland; however, an erotic thrill slides through her body, knowing that he
could have done any number of things to her before she would have had time to
react. The possibilities are… endlessly enthralling to contemplate. A blush
heats her cheekbones as one such scenario flits through her mind, the prospect
far from frightening. She looks down demurely, but stalks toward him with an
exaggerated sway to her hips. "If I really wanted to escape, I don't think my
shoes are at all right for getting me away fast enough, not to mention needing
to go through the woods. And when you finally caught me, who knows what sort of
damage might have been done to my dress? You see, I'm supposed to meet this
pirate for a date he asked me out on, and I bought a new outfit and everything.
Do you know where I can find him?"
Killian doesn't move from his place in the shadows as she slips her hand onto
his chest and molds her curves along the length of his body. From this angle,
he can see the exposed tops of her breasts and a hint of delicate light blue
lace under the black of her long coat. As she walked up to the cabin, he'd
gotten more than an eye-full of her long, bare legs; he's never seen them
exposed outside of his bedroom (and the deck of the Jolly Roger, but that
doesn't really count), and he feels an unexpected wrench of jealousy in his gut
and chest. The mere thought of another man seeing what belongs to him fires a
primal need to mark and claim Emma—a far from gentlemanly urge and a side of
him that only his Swan has ever managed to tap into. She challenges him in so
many ways, the least of which is in maintaining his finely-honed, hard-won
control. Hence the trappings of power-plays and games, the elaborate courting
gestures, and the carefully planned scene; even his choice of clothing was
deliberately selected to remind him that his darkest side needs to remain
locked away, for now. She deserves far more than he believes he can ever give
her—it is her desires, her needs that must be met first.
"There might be one lurking about somewhere. Surely his loss is my gain. He's a
fool to ever let such a beautiful woman out of his sight, and his bed." Killian
never breaks eye contact as he kisses her wrist and then the faint scar that's
still visible on the palm of her hand. "Thank you for coming, sweet Emma."
"Were you afraid that I wouldn't?"
"Terrified, love. I fear very few things anymore, having seen more than my
share of the horrific; but I am petrified every moment that I'm not with you. I
spent far too many nights dreaming of you, lass… I'm never quite sure if you're
real or still a part of my fantasies." He pulls her hand up to his cheek and
holds it there, skimming his nose along the sensitive skin of her wrist again.
Because his eyes are closed, he doesn't see the moment of heartbreak, the
sympathy that brims in her eyes at his words. He's not hiding behind them this
time, but he still has a way with them that she will never be able to match;
and it saddens her to no end, not just that he seems to believe it, but that
she despairs of ever finding the right phrases, the perfect words she longs to
say.
"When I first got here, and I didn't believe that I was the savior, I told
Henry that I wasn't a character in some book—that I was a real person. Now,
show me your new place, and then I'll prove to you just how real I am." He
smiles down at her, extending his left arm for her in perfect gentlemanly
fashion. She accepts it with a smile of her own and a very shallow curtsy, then
follows him into the cabin. The warm air inside wraps around her comfortingly,
making it all the easier to want to remove her coat. Killian stands behind her,
hand and hook lightly resting on her shoulders, ready to take it from her. She
turns her head to catch his eye, winks, and then slowly unbuttons the jacket.
The satin lining allows it to slip easily away from her skin and from the pale
periwinkle dress. It's dainty and delicate, yet somehow it suits her; she'll
never be able to sword fight in it or wear a gun with it, but it highlights the
flare of her hips, the curve of her thighs, and the narrowing of her waist. The
long lace sleeves cover her arms while also revealing tantalizing glimpses of
creamy skin. He's never before loved and loathed a woman's garment in such
equal measure, nor has he ever been so eager for its removal.
===============================================================================
 
The conversation on the porch was nearly two hours, a nice meal, and all of her
clothes ago. Now, the only things she's wearing are the cerulean silk ropes
Killian used to tie her wrists and elbows together and bound around her breasts
and torso. Instead of commanding her to strip, he had asked her if he could
pose and draw her. Having been a child used to hard decisions on the streets,
she had traded on her looks and posed for a few semi-nude pictures for a
photography class at a local community college in the various places she lived
a time or two. She's never been ashamed of it, preferring survival over an
exalted sense of pride, but she's also never seen herself as the kind of beauty
that artists yearn to capture. It was that look in his eyes, hungry and
compelling, that made her agree. Then with an aching, patient slowness, as if
committing every second of it to memory, he striped her completely. When she
was standing in nothing except her high heels, he had pulled the length of rope
out and shown it to her. He let her feel the slide of the silken cord over her
skin, describing in detail exactly how she would be posed. She was free to say
no, but she could sense how much he really wanted this and agreed.
Now, she's on her knees on his bed, back bowed so that her hips and breasts are
thrust out and upwards; her hair cascades down her arms, not quite concealing
the bright blue bindings. Her head is tilted slightly to the right, lips parted
just so; her eyes are half-closed, so she can watch him as his hand flies
across the parchment. His gaze burns over every inch of her, never wavering,
never leaving her exposed skin. She can almost feel it, brushing along her
entire body. Her thigh muscles and back are feeling the strain, but she keeps
still as she's been told to. Instead of embarrassed or ashamed, the only thing
Emma feels is his worship, his devoted adoration of every curve and line of her
body and every recess of her soul. Seemingly tied up and helpless, she has
never felt more empowered and feminine than she does right now. The rope feels
decadent against her skin, travelling as it does between and then under her
breasts, forcing them up and restricting the blood-flow just enough that every
heartbeat becomes a sensual experience.
But the strain must be showing a little bit because he puts his pencil and the
portfolio down on a side table and walks over to her. He wraps his left arm
around her back and pulls her straight into his chest. The midnight blue silk
of his shirt brushes against her tightly bound breasts so sensuously that her
nipples immediately harden at the whispered touch. She moans as his right hand
cups the back of her head and then trails down her neck and shoulders, kneading
away the spots of tension hidden there. "Thank you, Emma. You've done very well
so far. I know that exhibitionism isn't your style, so it means all the more to
mean that you consented to pose. However, there is still the little matter of
your disobedience on my ship; so, as a reward for your good behavior now, you
get to choose what I'll use after your spanking. You can sit a little more
comfortably and stretch your legs."
He places a soft kiss on her lips and then again on the tip of her nose before
walking over to a cabinet set in the wall. "The cane is light and flexible. It
won't break the skin, but it should raise some bright red lines. The flogger
has several strips of leather. We'll take it easy, but you might get a few
welts. The crop might bring out a bruise or two, but nothing out of the
ordinary. Or, there's a paddle or my hand."
They all have possibilities, but she already knows which one she wants him to
try first. "The crop, please. Captain." She pauses only slightly and with a
mischievous sparkle in her eye. She's seeking his limits again, wanting to see
how far into the pain he can take her. It's the true test of a Dom, to know
precisely how much their Sub can really take without willfully hurting
themselves or going too far in an effort to please. Emma, on the other hand, is
genuinely curious; no one had ever dared to question her dominance, her iron
will, and self-control. She'd never met anyone for whom she wanted to bend,
wanted to be supple and pliant for, until Killian. Much of the pain in her life
has been dark and emotional; now, she wants to learn how it can dance on the
knife's edge with pleasure.
"Very well. For your spanking, I'll have you over my knee. I do believe twenty
was the number agreed upon, yes?"
"Yes, Captain." As they discussed the other day—in the midst and the aftermath
of a night and a day worth of taunting, teasing, love making, and fucking—he
issues a command and expects that it will be followed immediately. Walking
toward where he's seated, she's entirely aware of her body and the power that
it has over him. With her hands bound behind her back like this, she needs and
accepts his help getting into the proper position. Her face is turned to the
left, looking at him, cheek resting on his leather-clad thigh. His left arm is
stretched across her bound wrists, and she is able to hold on to his hook. Her
feet are planted on the ground, legs slightly apart. The second she's in
position, his hand descends hard on her ass, forcing a gasp from her. "One."
He changes everything with each spank—placement, time between slaps, force—but
after each one he runs his hand soothingly along her reddening skin. It's the
contrast, the anticipation that have her panting and gasping in pleasure rather
than discomfort. By seven, Emma can already feel her own moist heat begin
trailing down her upper thighs. At the twentieth, her body is ready to topple
over the edge into bliss, and she all but collapses on Killian. He can see hazy
green through slitted eyelids as she leans in to rub her face along his stomach
and waistband. He chuckles at her display of eagerness and affection.
"Insatiable minx."
"Only for you, Captain. Only with you." His heart clenches because there's
something about the way she says it that makes it sound like she's saying so
much more.
"Back up on the bed, princess. Just as you were before." He helps her up and
steadies her on her feet before rising and walking over to the cabinet to
retrieve the crop. He flexes it a bit, then swings it to get the measure of the
instrument. "Now, this will make a sound somewhere between a thud and a crack,
depending on where it strikes you. We aren't going to go with a set number, so
be very vocal. I want to know exactly where you are at every step of the way.
Ocean still puts everything to a stop, so, what tells me that you are
uncomfortable?"
"Sky."
He smiles at her smug grin, but then fists her hair in his hand. The glassy
haze of pleasure reasserts itself in her eyes at his show of power. Gods! But
she's so responsive for him! He kisses her bruisingly, matching the duel of
tongues to the controlled violence of their desire for each other. Killian
pulls away quickly, just as eager to play her as she is willing to be played.
He starts with a swift, yet gentle strike to each of her breasts. Emma hisses,
then moans. "It stings at first, but then I can feel heat come up to the
surface of my skin. It's like, when I know you're watching me across a room, my
whole body warms up, but it's just where you struck me."
He stalks back and forth, peppering her skin with cracks of the crop. Each
strike of the leather against her flesh bringing more whimpers, more moans, but
never a hint of anything but pleasure. Rosy blushes stain her porcelain skin,
all along her thighs and stomach like white and red petals. His lashes are
precise in their pressure, not once causing a welt or bruise to blossom. "Are
you wet for me already, Emma?" He trails the crop down between her breasts,
across her stomach, and slips it between her spread thighs. She starts panting
as he touches the leather to her folds and clit. He knows the answer, but he
loves hearing dirty, wicked thoughts fly out of that sinfully beautiful mouth
of hers.
"Yes, Killian! Since you started my spanking. I almost came when you finished
punishing me." Another moan breaks past her lips as he continues taunting her.
He takes the crop away, examining it with a seemingly jaded eye; her juices
cover a significant portion of the leather, revealing just how thoroughly,
wantonly turned-on Emma is.
"But you didn't?" She shakes her head, pouting adorably. "Good. Then come for
me now."
He carefully, delicately lashes her folds and clit. Like a sculptor using just
the right amount of pressure to chisel away the last imperfection, Killian
increases the swiftness of his gentle strikes until she's screaming his name
and collapsing onto her side on the bed. He tosses the crop carelessly on the
comforter, making quick work of the knots binding her. She is absolutely
boneless as he frees her, gathers her in his arms, and places her gently under
the covers. He strips quickly and joins her, his only intent to hold her as the
power of her orgasm rides her. But he underestimates his Emma.
Far sooner than he imagined possible—in fact, no sooner than he had gotten her
head settled on his chest—she straddles his waist. "Get back here, lass. What
do you think you're-"
She places a finger on his lips, then leans in to kiss him. Compared with what
just passed between them, it's a slow, languorously innocent meeting of lips
and tongues; but there's something wildly unknown about it that sets him on
edge. Emma pulls back, eyes glowing green, a wickedly sensual smile on her
face. "Let me thank you properly, Killian love."
She gently guides his cock inside her, slowly inching her way down in a way
that drives him frantic with need. When he's fully home, she grinds her hips
against his. And then she's riding him with her body and with magic. He feels
an answering spark of pleasure in his body wherever he touches her. He arcs his
hips up to meet her every downward stroke. Their mating dance takes on a
reckless pace, a desperate and needy race to neither knows just what. Emma
looks like a goddess come to earth, green-fired eyes and golden hair rippling
around her body in a magical wind. She's so beautiful she makes his heart ache,
and all he ever wants to do is worship her.
He wraps his arms around her, rolling them over without ever skipping a beat.
Her legs entwine with his before wrapping around his waist. He kisses her
throat, her breasts, her lips while whispering prayers and odes and praise. She
reaches for the hand that's buried in her hair and laces their fingers
together. She contracts and flutters around him, clearly so close to orgasm
again in the white-hot connection between them. His only thought in the instant
before she pulls him under with her is that he is somehow home with this divine
princess, with this woman-goddess the rest of the world knows as Emma Swan. And
then bright blinding light followed by darkness followed by a warm golden glow
descends.
Killian vaguely remembers rolling to the side and settling Emma next to him.
They both simply bask in the sound of the other breathing, of the feel of
cooling skin against skin for several long minutes. He notices all of a sudden
that she's smiling up at him, the most dazzling and happiest glow on her face.
"Gods, love! I swear to myself that you could never be more beautiful than in
that moment, and then you prove me wrong!"
She snuggles her face into his chest, blush flaming down her face and neck.
When he lifts her chin back up, she actually giggles. But then a seriousness
slightly dims the joy shining out of her. "I told my parents about our date.
And of course my Mom wanted to have "a talk" with me about it. Not my point.
Anyway, I realized something, and you know I'm horrible with words. Actions are
much more my thing…"
She looks embarrassed and trips over some of what she says, especially when
confusion and uncertainty crosses his features. But then she pointedly looks at
the hand that's cupping her cheek and playing with her tumbled locks. The left
hand that hasn't stopped touching her from the moment her magic fully healed
him. Killian stares first at it, then at her in speechless awe. "You make me
feel like I belong; I was a part of something before, but I always felt like I
stood on the outside. And with you, I know that's never going to happen. You
make me feel adored and special and whole, Killian."
Emma hides her face against his chest again because the wonder and happiness
and joy and love radiating off of him is just too much. But he's having none of
that. He flips her off, eliciting a startled squeal from his earthy goddess.
And then his body pins hers to the mattress, and he threads their fingers
together for the first time. When she finally opens her eyes, she gasps because
Killian's are now an electric silver-blue. Almost as if… He chuckles before
placing gentle kisses along her neck and collarbone, punctuating each with a
whispered "thank you."
 
***** Courting and Corsets *****
Killian wakes with the dawn, as usual, but it's the cold that really breaks
through the fog of sleep. He carefully slips out of the still warm bed, tucking
the blankets around Emma to ward off the chill before going over to the
fireplace and stirring the coals back to life. Putting on more wood and
ensuring that the blaze returns quickly is a much easier task now that he has
both hands. He shakes his head in wonder yet again; not that he's surprised
that Emma's magic could heal him, but in awe at her ability to do so with
willpower alone. Magics of this caliber, this intensity are rare in any realm,
let alone one that doesn't naturally have any of its own. Which means that the
only thing Emma could possibly have drawn on to fuel her spell was the depth
and power of her love for him. Despite the chill in the air, that single
thought warms him more than any fire ever could. It's also why he was entirely
unsurprised when she all but passed out afterward and never stirred once last
night. After adding a few more logs to make certain of a roaring fire to heat
up the room, he quickly returns to their bed. She whimpers a bit when he pulls
the covers away, but a contented purr comes out of her throat when his body
slides in next to hers. He grins wickedly because the sound reminds him of
something he's wanted since he first set eyes on his irresistible Swan.
===============================================================================
 
Emma has never felt more relaxed and boneless than she does right now, lying on
a tropical beach. She can hear the rush and hiss of the waves as they sneak in
to caress the shore and her toes. The grainy sand is powder soft and warm
beneath her fingers and the rest of her skin. The air smells of coconuts, rain,
and some delicate exotic floral that she can't place, with and undertone of a
dark, spicy rum. Shore birds chirp and chatter excitedly, while seagulls
screech. And the sun is just the right side of hot, so that her skin feels
flushed and is just beginning to sweat. Over all of this, she feels a blissful
sense of rightness, safety, and peace; they are rare emotions for her, so she
savors every second of it.
"As well you should. You've spent far too much time caring for others, ensuring
someone else's happiness… Let someone take care of you for a change;
let me take care of you, lass."
She smiles, unsurprised that Killian Jones has found her in her dreams; he's
had a place in them for far longer than her waking mind would ever admit to,
but his presence has always come hand-in-hand with that sense of comfort and
security. Emma has never felt threatened by him here, which always complicated
her emotions while dealing with him in everyday life. But it's just his voice
she hears this time and is enjoying this sensation of floating so much that she
can't find the energy to look for him. Instead, she whispers his name.
The waves have continued to rise, lapping around her legs with a soothing
warmth. The water slips higher, caressing her fingers, her arms; tendrils of it
slide over the plane of her stomach. It swirls around her breast, moist heat
massaging her skin and tugging on her flushed and sensitive flesh. Even in
dreams, her body can't deny the elemental, visceral need she has for him; she
moans, wishing he were the one doing these thing to her, the one touching her
in all the right places.
===============================================================================
 
He's certain that if she were awake, Emma might laugh at what he assumes would
be a fairly ridiculous sight—the blankets covering a fully grown man hiding
somewhere near her feet. Part of him secretly hopes she wakes sooner rather
than later because he loves it when she sounds like the young, carefree woman
she has never been allowed to be. But having her still asleep has its
advantages too—he can discover some of her more sensitive spots, her preferred
erogenous zones without a conscious filter. And he plans a very thorough
exploration. He begins with touch, lightly tracing patterns over her skin with
his fingertips. Strange as it may sound, her feet don't seem to be all that
sensitive. But a lick to her ankle produces a breathy sigh that sounds like his
name. He grins at this first success, cataloguing it for later. A kiss place on
her knee while lightly massaging her tensed thigh elicits a delightful whimper.
By the time he's lavished attention to both, she's becoming a bit restless. Her
fingertips to shoulders are next; Killian has never set out to literally
worship every inch of a woman's body before, and though the process might seems
painstaking, he's thoroughly enjoying every second.
At this point, he allows more of his weight to press against her body, so that
her unconscious mind knows he's there. He kneads both of her breasts, catching
the nipple of one in his mouth. Her hands slowly slide across his arms and
shoulders, digging in to his hair and pressing his head closer. Emma's
movements are still sluggish and weak, meaning she's probably right on the edge
of dreaming and waking. "Emma lass, are you with me yet? Time to wake, love."
He nuzzles her breasts and belly, hoping for a ticklish spot but coming up
empty handed. So to speak. He groans, desperate for her to be awake and aware
so that he can finally taste her. He wants to see her face, her eyes as he does
it. He firmly slips one of her legs over his shoulder and rubs his nose and
stubble against the inside of her thigh. Finally, Emma can't contain her
breathless laughter anymore. "Okay, okay! God, that tickles, Killian!"
Her eyes are soft and hazy when she finally opens them, but they quickly widen
in shock. "Killian, your—oh, god!"
Whatever she had been planning to say turns into a strangled moan as he licks
her and sucks her clit into his mouth. She fists her hands in the sheets,
trying her best to hold on as his hot tongue sweeps inside. His right hand and
arm are stretched across her stomach, pinning her to the bed while his left has
a firm grip on her ass. But Emma can feel him everywhere! Rationally, she knows
exactly where Killian Jones is, but her body is telling her that his fingers
are tweaking her nipples, his lips are kissing her collarbone, and that it's
not his tongue thrusting in and hitting that perfect spot. Pleasure bombards
her from every angle and catapults her into orgasm. When she opens her eyes,
he's leaning over her; he has one of her hands pressed to his face and is
breathing in her scent at her wrist. "Well, that beats an alarm clock, I
guess."
"You wound me, love. I thought you would think it far superior to that wretched
noise I've heard from your communication device." She gasps when he finally
looks at her because his eyes, so striking before, are now a vivid, electrified
blue. But instead of worrying about what it all means, she pulls him down for a
kiss. She flips him over with her legs and rubs her wet folds along him length,
making him throw back his head and groan. "Gods, you'll be the death of me, I
swear! Although to be fair, you were warned. I do believe I mentioned that I
wanted to wake you exactly like this. To worship and pleasure the most
beautiful woman in all the realms."
Emma scoffs and looks away from his too adoring gaze. "You don't have to keep
saying things like that. I mean, I know that you believe all those pretty
words, but we both know there's nothing really special about me. And besides,
it's not like you need to keep giving me lines when I'm already sleeping with
you."
There's a moment of profound silence before a growl rumbles deep in his chest
and rips its way out of his throat. She looks back at him, shocked to see anger
contorting his features and the magic rapidly dimming from his eyes. Killian
pulls her roughly to his chest and rolls them over, knocking the wind out of
her and trapping her down against the mattress. The weight of his body and of
his emotions knocks the breath from her lungs.
"Nothing special? Pretty words? Did you really just fucking say that to me,
Swan? You want to talk about special? Was there anyone else in this bloody town
who could have made Captain Hook want to come in like a sodding knight in
shining fucking armor to save it? Could anyone else have asked him to go to
Neverland, a place he bloody well swore he'd never return to, to search for one
small boy who meant bugger all to him? A lad who is the Evil Queen's son and
the Dark One's grandson no less? In all the long, miserable lifetimes of his
existence, has there ever been any woman who makes him wish to go back and undo
all the crimes, all the mistakes? Just so she can be his first everything, so
he can be a better man—one who deserves the amazing, rare treasure that is her
love. Could anyone else have so completely loved a man that by the power of
that love and the strength of her stubborn will that it should be so, she
healed every single part of him and re-made him into someone worthy? And
beautiful?"
Killian pushes away from her harshly, rising up out of the tangled mess of
their bed like some primal god of wrath. Though she's still processing his
words and fury, the sight of his very naked body stalking away sends a thrill
of pleasure across every inch of her skin. He grabs his portfolio and, after
pulling most of the parchment out, strides back to her and flings the pages
onto the blankets. He glares at her with arms crossed over his chest, daring
her to pick the drawings up or to contradict him. Emma audibly gulps before
reaching out to gather up the abused papers, because she's never seen or heard
him this livid before. But if his palpable anger is unexpected, what she sees
on the parchment positively shocks her. The first one is clearly from last
night when he had her posed. Even though it's not in color, her body is
recognizably her own and very life like. Her face looks radiant, as if lit from
the inside and burning with ecstasy; the way he captured her hair reminds her
of Renaissance paintings of Venus, cascading waves of freshly tumbled curls, as
if lover has just tousled them and left the frame; she looks strong, lean
muscles clearly defined in her arms and thighs, yet intensely and definitively
feminine in her strength. A powerful, sensual, exotic creature.
But this is not the only one; there are many, just as painstakingly drawn and
meticulous, especially in their rendering of her face. One is a study of her
and Henry walking down Main Street; one where she's sitting at her desk,
nibbling on her lower lip while writing up a report; one where she's kneeling
down and hugging her son, face suffused with a peaceful, joyous look of
contentment. And then there are several of her asleep, clearly in her own room
at the loft. Like the drawings from last night, she's nude, but everything is
covered, merely hinted at by the drape of the sheet over her body. Each one
shows her in a different position and with a different expression, as if he
caught her while dreaming. And yes, the details of her breasts and lower
stomach are noticeably present, but his pencil also managed to convey a sense
of something imperfectly seen, something unknowable and mysteriously sensual.
And, undeniably beautiful. "Oh, my god, Killian! These are—Do I really—When did
you—How?"
He takes the sketches from her, placing them thoughtlessly on the bed. He
cradles her face in his hands and begins kissing along her jaw. "Yes, they are
exquisitely, erotically, innocently, naively, gorgeous because they are of you,
lass. Yes, you are heart-shatteringly beautiful—all the more so because you do
not see yourself properly. As to the when… well, I ask your forgiveness for
spying on you, but those were done before you knew I had arrived from the
Enchanted Forest. You bested me thrice, Emma, and I bloody well couldn't get
you out of my head! So, those first few days, before Cora kidnapped the
Cricket, I spent my days and nights watching you. I wanted to know more about
you, everything there was to know; and also, to ensure that she wouldn't
retaliate against you in any way." All this was said as he continued setting
fire to her body, brushing lips along her face, neck, and shoulders. His hands
held her in place while tracing along her arms, back, and breasts gently. And
slowly, he moved to curl around her, pressing her back to his chest and letting
her feel the hard, growing length of his erection.
"Here I was, finally close to getting my revenge, and all I could think about
was you, you saucy wench. It's not just this—your delicious, creamy skin or
your captivating eyes or any other enthralling part that belongs to you—your
beauty is far more than such external and shallow shows, lass. Your soul,
darling, is the most ensnaring, enchanting, beautiful thing about you because
you love so passionately and deeply. I'm proof of that. So, the next time you
doubt any of my compliments' sincerity, whenever you dismiss my words as mere
empty flattery, remember this moment; because if I ever hear you say anything
like that again, no matter where we find ourselves in that instant I will take
you across my knee and deliver a spanking you won't soon forget!" He bites her
shoulder and then swipes his tongue along her reddened skin, causing her to
moan and throw her head back against his chest. He cups one of her breasts,
fingers caressing the sensitive areola while his thumb teases her hardening
nipple. His other hand smoothes down her stomach massaging lightly and ever
lower. Emma tilts her head to the side, catching his still-burning gaze.
She reaches her hand around his neck, pulling his face down to hers to capture
him with a searing kiss. She consumes him as if starved, whimpering low in her
throat when he responds with equal passion. He groans when she bites down hard
on his low lip, drawing blood in her fierce hunger for him. But before he can
retaliate, she yanks on the hair that's now trapped in her grip. "I need you
inside me, Jones! Take me just like this—Now!"
He complies in an instant, lifting her up with both hands on her hips; he moans
when her hand wraps around his cock, and she teases her folds with it. A thrust
of his hips distracts her momentarily, but it reminds her of what she begged
him for only seconds ago. And then his thoughts scatter to the four winds as
she surrounds him in tight, wet heat, her sheath clamping around him. That
first moment of being inside her, the very beginning of their dance toward the
stars, leaves him absolutely stunned. No words could ever describe the physical
sensation, let alone the internal feeling of wonder—that the universe itself
smiles on them and blesses the utter perfection it has achieved in bringing
these two bodies and souls together. Every thrust of his cock, every panting
mewl that spills from her lips, every pump of their hips that crashes them
harmoniously together expands far beyond the permeable confines of flesh, blood
, and soul. Like land and sea colliding, she takes him in and holds him close,
releasing him only to embrace him again.
He grips her breasts tight, covering them both with the palms of his hands
while pressing her further against him. He licks and nips at the shell of her
ear and earlobe before sucking on the soft skin right behind it. "Touch
yourself, lass. I want to see you tease your clit—I know you're aching to. I've
got you; I won't let you go." Her one hand is still fisted in his hair, but the
other had wrapped around him and is gripping his ass. She slowly lets go of his
abused mane, sliding her fingers along the stubble of his jaw. The continue an
agonizing trail down her body before reaching that small bundle of nerves. But
she surprises him yet again, besting him as only his Emma can do. She slips a
finger on either side of her folds, so that they brush his cock every time he
thrusts up into her. They are coated with her arousal in an instant, while she
uses to moisten her thumb which she uses to stimulate her clit. The extra
friction and extra pressure she exerts with this has him throwing his own head
back and panting, hitching every so often as he feels the different types and
intensities of muscles contracting around him. Leaning forward and resting his
head in the crook of her neck, he takes a deep cleansing breath and then
increases his speed, pumping hard and fast.
"Yes! Fuck, yes! Just… mmmm! Killian, yes!" He can tell that she's close, not
only because of what her body is doing, squeezing his cock in a tightening iron
grip, but because she's becoming vocal. She makes him work for every sound, but
dragging words out of her takes a command or true focus of his every skill. And
then neither of them can take the build of pressure any longer; she explodes
and sucks him down the whirlpool with her. Light bursts out from under their
skins, bathing them in a truly divine afterglow. Sharing the same heartbeat,
the same body, the same breath, the same skin, they slowly come down from the
high still touching everywhere that they can reach.
===============================================================================
 
After finally getting out of bed and taking a thorough shower, which wouldn't
have taken so long if Killian hadn't innocently pointed out that they could
share without ravishing each other again (which ended up not being true), they
walked over to the apartment so Emma could change. They are now heading over to
Fortune's Favors, where he claims that he has a surprise for her. Before they
left his cabin, she had offered to go clothes shopping with him, but a quick
check to his wardrobe revealed that either much of what he used to wear still
sort of works in this town or that he's found places to get what he needs
already. Today, instead of leather, he's wearing a pair of dark blue jeans—less
comfortable than leather, but better equipped to conceal his automatic reaction
to her presence at his side, according to him. And now that he doesn't have to
worry about sailing through sudden storms, sweaters and jackets have become
options for everyday wear.
The chimes near the door stir in the wind when they enter the shop. "Make
yourself at home, Killian. Be with you in a minute." Emma looks over at him,
and he shrugs, an incredulous smile on his face.
"She's a bit…different, Esmeralda. Might be a bit off her rocker, but good at
what she does."
A black-haired beauty sweeps out from the back room, colorful skirt swirling
around her obviously long legs. She glides up to them both, wags a finger at
Killian, and grips one of Emma's palms in her hands. "You better not be taking
my name in vain now, my dear! I did, after all, predict that you would find and
bind your true love with that blue silk chord, and here she is! Why, Sheriff
Swan! Isn't that just too perfect! Oh, and don't worry—your father will be all
bark and no bite, where this scalawag is concerned; saved the Prince's life a
time or two too many for him to do otherwise. Just… you might want to avoid the
spring—far too chilly a time of year for a wedding at sea. But where was I? Oh,
yes! I got the bolts from the hold, Captain, and I have just the fabrics for
her from both your selections and mine. Just get me her measurements and I'll
have one picked out in a trice! And then I'll get started on all the others. So
much work to be done…"
Her voice fades as she heads to a different room, this time off to the side and
behind a bead curtain. Killian can't help but laugh at the expression on Emma's
face. "She's a gypsy, lass. Sees the future and all? Why else name her shop
Fortune's Favors?"
"This is a sex shop—lots of favors being handed out."
"True, but it's also because she can tell people's cards, let them know if
fortune will favor them or not. But, the reason we are here is because we have
thus far neglected a very important part of your training, my lady."
"And that would be?"
"Corsets." His grin widens when she groans at the word. "Now, based on your
reaction, I take it you've worn one. However, I do not believe the benefits of
wearing them have ever been fully and properly explained to you."
He takes both of her hands in his and leads her back to the dressing room.
There is a small raised platform in front of three mirrors, basket of sewing
supplies on the ground next to it. On a clothes hook next to one of the mirrors
is a tape measure. Smile still on his face, he kisses the tip of her nose and
starts helping her unbutton her blouse. "A corset, when properly fitted and
worn correctly is a tool of seduction, for both the wearer and the remover.
Imagine, if you will, that every single morning, I had to watch you cover up
all of that luscious, delectable skin and then help you to lace it up. My
fingers constantly brushing along your back, your shoulders, your ass… Knowing
all day precisely what you're wearing under your clothes."
He slips the shirt from her shoulders, placing it on a peg without looking and
reaching for the tape measure. He wraps it around her breasts, right at the
point where her nipples are peeking through the lace of her bra, and then under
her breasts as well. "If you wear corsets often enough, you'll have perfect
posture, which means your back is stretched and limber at a moment's notice.
Now, some foolish, vain women have the idea of cheating nature, forcing their
bodies into a smaller shape with corsets. But one perfectly fitted just for you
should be barely noticeable at all. It also trains your lungs how take deep,
cleansing breaths quickly."
He slides the tape measure across her ribs and stomach, stopping just above the
waist of her jeans. He clicks his tongue in disapproval, then hooks a finger
into the belt loops of her jeans and pulls her flush against him. His lips
brush across her forehead while his nimble hands make quick work of her button
and zipper. Then he's pulling them off her legs, kneeling in front of her as he
does. She went with simple flats instead of boots, so in seconds, she is down
to just her bra and panties. "And then, of course, unwrapping you from it at
the end of the night, massaging your skin to make sure that it remains supple
and pliant."
He drags hot, open-mouthed kisses along the skin of her stomach, teasing her
navel with his tongue as he takes the final measurements around her waist and
hips. "Killian, we can't. We're in public."
He chuckles darkly. "I may be a novice in your world, love, but even I
recognize what Esmeralda left for us. Might have foreseen what would happen if
she left us alone in a room together for any length of time." He nods to the
platform and, sure enough, there's a bright foil condom wrapper next to the
sewing basket. Emma blushes, hiding her face against his chest, but not quite
managing to stifle a giggle.
 
***** With His Hands *****
In the old garden shed that he has now converted into his own workshop, Killian
sands down a cross-piece of wood for his latest project. One of the many nice
things about having two hands once more is that fixing and building has become
a possibility again. He'd never openly complained about it to anyone, but every
time the crew was obliged to make repairs to any part of the Jolly Roger, it
had gutted him. She was his vessel, damn it! He'd poured more money, sweat,
tears, and blood into her than any other man on board, and yet, he could no
longer tend to her wounds when she needed him. But then, along came Emma. And
now that he does have his hand again and his life has truly begun, he's
rediscovered that love of putting things to rights. His work on his own home
had attracted the interest of the Prince and Snow White, who both expressed
admiration for the detailed work and craftsmanship he was able to achieve when
they stopped by for a "chat". Strangely, this had been his entre, his ticket
into the good graces of the citizens of Storybrooke. Perhaps because the Curse
had frozen everything, leaving no room for real improvement and change, there
hadn't been a real call for the more specialized skills associated with
construction work.
Thankfully over the years, his thirst for knowledge and information had led him
to learn how to manipulate more than just wood. He hadn't completely lied to
Emma and the others when he had claimed to be a blacksmith; indeed, he'd worked
a forge before, making nails and other tools and metal bits necessary to
repairs on a ship. Thus, he could in fact make intricate knobs, fire screens,
wrought iron, and other metalwork flourishes. He's also picked up stonework and
rock polishing at some point along the way, enabling him to make decorative
odds and ends from the various lands and realms he'd visited. Individually,
these skills would probably have been completely useless to him, except as the
hobby he's always considered them. But one day, about two weeks after he began
officially courting Emma and a day after their Majesties had dropped by to see
his place, he'd gotten a visit from Kurt Bacon, one of three brothers who owned
the only construction company in Storybrooke. He and his brothers, Kyle and
Kenny, offered him a job as their master craftsman, carpenter, and mason.
Obviously, they would pay him, but they'd also teach him the other aspects of
the business that he didn't already know—like how to install plumbing and
electrical.
Thus, within six weeks of their escape from Neverland and one month of being
with his Swan, Killian Jones finds himself in this thoroughly enviable position
in his life. He has his ship and the sea whenever he misses the endless blue
horizon, but he's also tethered here on land now, not trapped, but connected.
He belongs here and for the first time in many, many long years, he is a part
of something entirely good, pure, and true. As he smoothes the wooden surface,
making it like satin or glass to the touch, he is able to think about all of
the many ways that Emma has helped to ground him, to bring him home safely
through the dark, terrible storm that was his life before her.
===============================================================================
 
Three and a half Weeks Ago
"Are you sure you want to do this, Killian?" They stood in the kitchen talking,
him with his back to the island while Emma actually fluttered around nervously
getting snicker doodle cookies and hot cocoa ready for Henry. It was his
favorite after-school snack anyway, so it wasn't like she was bribing him, but
she did want him to be in a good mood. The can of whipped cream, cinnamon
stick, and ground cinnamon all stood by ready to be added once the chocolate
drink was set for the finishing touches.
"Lass, I have never been more certain of anything in my life. He's the single
most important man in your world, and I need his respect and his acceptance,
almost as much as I needed yours. He's your family, and you really just found
them all; I won't get in the way of that, love. He's quite intelligent, you
know, and if he doesn't figure it out on his own then someone will end up
informing him. This is a small town, Emma love; secrets will out, and remember
what we decided about keeping things from each other."
"But what if he says "no" or he has to think about it? He can be pretty
persuasive and intimidating when he wants to be."
He smiles at her because it's really adorable how flustered she is by their
plan. Clearly, she wants their relationship to have the Charming family stamp
of approval just as badly as Killian does. He places his hands to her cheeks,
still not sure that he'll ever get used to being able to fully touch her, but
damn certain that he'll never take it for granted. "Emma, you healed me, gave
me my bloody hand back because you love me so much. That's a powerful statement
to the way we feel about each other. If he can't see that, then I will just
have to prove to him that I'm very, truly, seriously, earnestly in love with
you."
He didn't kiss her, even though he desperately wanted to, because they hear a
key turn in the lock at that precise moment. Emma moves toward the stove to
pour the hot water, and Henry walks through the green door. "Hey, Mom! Grams
said she had some workbooks to grade, so she said I could walk home by myself.
I hope that okay. Hey Captain! What are you doing here?"
"Well, I stopped by to see your Mum and you, actually. How did your lessons go
today?" They had already talked about their approach to this discussion and
honesty had always been top priority on their list. Aside from not having a
chance to get to know him well personally, Killian had learned much about Henry
from his mothers and grandparents while they searched for him in Neverland, and
he had a little firsthand experience with how bright and quick the lad was.
"They were fine, I guess. What do you mean to see us?"
"What I mean, Henry, is that I would like to talk to you about something.
You're a smart young man—your Mum told me so when we were looking for you, but
I've seen it more than once with my own eyes. I also know how much you value
honesty, so here goes. I would like your permission to pay court to your
mother. Now, I know that things work a bit differently in this land, but no
matter where we are, family is incredibly important. And as you are the man of
this family, I thought it best to speak with you about it."
Henry takes a sip of his cocoa, the tiniest bit of whipped cream and cinnamon
clinging to the top left corner of his lip. If this conversation and the look
in the boy's eye weren't so serious, Killian might have been tempted to laugh.
"What about Gramps? Why haven't you asked him? Or have you already?"
After a quick nod from Emma, he continues. "Your mother and I discussed just
that. David does know how I feel about your Mum, but as much as she is his
child, she is also an adult; she has a son of her own and supports herself,
which in our world's terms means she's independent of her parents' rule.
However, your mother's life revolves, quite naturally so, around you; so, you
are the person most effected by my courtship of her. Now I-"
He pauses, choking up a bit on the next words because he doesn't quite know how
to say things. He motions Emma over, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek and
squeezing her hand with his. "Could you give us a moment alone, lass?"
She nods, understanding that talking about Neal will be difficult for him
despite having already told her the story. After dropping a kiss on Henry's
head, she goes upstairs to her room. He watches her leave, adoring the way she
moves, much more gracefully than she would ever give herself credit for. "Lad,
I know that the past two months and more have been quite chaotic and very
difficult for you. I only knew your father for a short time, when he was a boy.
I regret the way we parted, and I am very sorry that he is gone. Losing him
like that, after you had just found him—I truly wish that you had been able to
get to know him better. But one thing he did teach me was how important family
is, how loyal. I love Emma, Henry, more than anyone else I have ever loved, and
when the time is right, and I believe it won't scare her to death, I want to
ask her to marry me. I want us—you, me, and her—to be a family. Life hasn't
exactly always been kind to the three of us, and I think that together, we can
make each other stronger than we are separately."
===============================================================================
 
Killian smiles to himself when he remembers that moment of truth, when Henry
really spoke to him man to man. The lad had looked at a nearby photograph of
his mother and grandmother. "I've seen the way my grandparents are. You know,
the way they watch each other when the other isn't looking. You do that with my
mom all the time, and she does it with you. She deserves that—more than anyone,
my mom deserves a happy ending. Can you promise me that you'll give her that?"
"In all honesty lad, I can't. But if you've noticed how the Prince and Snow
White act around each other, then you should have caught on to the real secret
by now. True Love doesn't get a happy ending because it lasts forever, beyond
time and death." Henry had looked at him very seriously for a long, pregnant
moment, before declaring that he was hired, so long as he was "cool" with his
expectations for siblings. He now lists it among the highlights of his
life—finding understanding, compassion, and acceptance being offered to him by
a young boy. He and the lad have a long road ahead of them before they truly
can become family, but he can practically see those bonds of love between them
beginning to grow, link by link. Killian remembers another child, one who he
only saw as a link to the past and a way to resurrect and live out some
fanciful dream. In time, he would have accepted the reality and responsibility
of being a parent if he had been given the opportunity. But with Henry, all his
thoughts are focused on the future and on building something new.
Much like the cabin he is currently improving and the skills he is acquiring
that will help him with his long term plans. And also like the new piece he's
working on today; constructing something to be used exclusively for his and
Emma's personal enjoyment naturally brings with it a sensual anticipation, but
also a quieter emotion—a contented peace that he's never known with anyone
else. Granted, his Swan has also driven him mad with lust and to distraction
finding ways to prove to he just how much he adores her. Like asking her to
teach him how to use a camera—he still loves drawing her, glorious expanses of
naked creamy skin captured with charcoal and ink, but the photographs require
their own set of skills that heighten the erotic experience for the both of
them. Killian grins, still looking at the wood grains before his eyes, but
remembering her attempt to teach him how to use another unfamiliar bit of
technology.
===============================================================================
 
Two Weeks Ago
"Okay, Killian now. This is the shifter: R is reverse, for when you need to
back up; then you have gears 1 through 5, those are the different speeds. This
here is the parking brake, which keeps the car from rolling away. Down at my
feet are the three pedals, and the best way to remember them is A, B,
C—accelerator, brake, and clutch. Now, I'm going to start the car, making sure
that my right foot is on the brake and my left is on the clutch. Now, when I
want to change gears is when I press down on the clutch; so, we can shift it
into first. I'm going to release the parking brake and slowly press down on the
accelerator while I slowly release the clutch. Got it."
"I think so, lass, but I can't quite see." He unbuckled his seatbelt, scooting
closer to Emma and placing his chin lightly on her shoulder. When she looked
over out of the corner of her eye, his gaze was dutifully locked on the pedals.
"Ah, yes that's better."
"Okay, when you need to stop, like at the light or a stop sign, you have to
press down on the clutch first and then on the brake pedal as well. If you
forget, you can stall out the engine, which will make you stop, but it damages
the gears and everything over time. Now when you're wanting to go faster, some
people will say different things—you have to shift gears based on the number of
rpm's or every 10 miles per hour—but each car is slightly different. You'll
sort of feel it when the engine is ready for you to shift, through your hands
and feet." Killian hasn't twitched a muscle, but he is giving her plenty of
room to move and operate the car, so she does her best to ignore him and starts
driving. She had insisted on going out into the now abandoned bean field, since
it was relatively flat now and there was no chance of him running into anyone
else. Running into trees might be another matter, but she's pretty confident
that when she lets him behind the wheel, she'll be able to stop them with the
parking brake should anything go wrong.
"You never cease to amaze me with your knowledge, lass. I mean, I know that
these "cars" are quite common in your world and that many people know how to
use one. But it's truly astounding how easy you make it look. It's
quite…enthralling." His intensely focused, burning attention is most
definitely NOT on the pedals or shifters right now. Emma swallows harshly,
desperately trying to be a good teacher.
"Okay, did you feel that? That sort of whine? It means that the engine is ready
to shift gears, so you press on the clutch, shift into 2nd gear, and accelerate
while gently letting up on the clutch." She feels a couple of questing fingers
brush against her right knee, causing her whole leg to jerk up and let off of
the accelerator.
"I'm not entirely certain that I did, Emma love. Should we try it again? Maybe
next time I'll feel it." His right hand slides up her thigh, fingers and pinkie
massaging in circles along the inside. With just his thumb, he manages to flick
open the button on her jeans and rubs the pad along the waistband of her
panties. She sucks in a tight, strangled breath when he rubs his nose, catlike,
along her jaw and ear; his warm breaths caress their way along her throat and
down to her chest. He's barely touching her and has gotten her as hot as a
cheerleader on prom night! What the fuck, Swan?! Head in the game!
"Number one, you need to not distract the driver; I really don't want to have
to explain to my Dad how we landed his truck in a ditch. Number two, emphasis
on My Dad's Truck. Now, focus Jones."
She hears the sound of her zipper being undone, then feels his warm, calloused
fingers dip below her panty line and start seeking out her—dear God! "Oh, I am
positively riveted, darling. In fact, I was so attentive and focused on our
lesson that I specifically requested the loan of this vehicle on account of
certain fortuitous features. If you had bothered to note my sincere
consideration of details, you would have seen that there are a few items of
creature comfort ready and waiting in the…bed of this very truck."
He grins at her ingenuity because she manages to put the car in park, turn of
the engine, and start ravenously kissing him in a matter of seconds. Contrary
to her assertion only moments ago, she unbuckles her seatbelt and straddles his
lap, deepening the duel between their tongues. Killian grips her waist in his
hands, loving the way her curves feel against his palms, womanly and sensual. A
whimper is startled from his throat when she grinds down on him, making him
strain even harder against his jeans. "I thought you didn't enjoy the idea of
me fucking you in your father's truck, lass."
"I was just pointing out that we shouldn't, not that I hadn't been fantasizing
about it." She opens the door and quickly exits the cab, dragging Killian along
with her. When she pulls down the tailgate, she finds a couple of folded up
blankets, some pillows, and a picnic basket. But before she can scramble up, he
pulls her back against him, digging his fingers into her curls and bringing her
lips back to his. He sweeps his hot tongue inside her mouth, then sucks on her
lower lip. He repeats this move several times, keeping her on her toes with the
length of time he savors her mouth or how hard he bites down and sucks. He
wraps her legs around his waist, pressing her back up against the truck and
removing her boots and socks with a practiced ease. She leans back, lifting her
hips so he can rip away her jeans and panties. It only takes him moments to
undo his own pants and slip them down his hips enough to release his cock.
The metal of the truck is cold against her bare ass, but Killian is all heat,
especially once he thrusts up inside her with a strangled gasp. "Fuck, Emma!
Always so wet and ready for me. Do you have any idea what this does to me,
lass? Knowing that any time I want to just bury myself inside your tight quim,
I can? Do you know what that does to a man, never needing to doubt just how
much his lover wants him?  I  do this to you, Emma! I make you feel wanton and
wickedly sensual. Do you know what kind of fucking amazing high that is?"
She smiles up at him, clenching her muscles tighter around him, clamping her
pussy around his cock like a vice and making him moan. She grips her legs
around his waist and digs her heels into his firm ass, using her own strength
and the power of his thrust to practically impale herself on him. It's a
glorious blending of pleasure and pain when he hits the very end of her, the
deepest spot in her body for him. If she hadn't planned it, hadn't purposely
bit down on her lip, it's the type of pleasure that would have had her
screaming and writhing helplessly. She pushes herself up onto her arms,
bringing their faces closer together. "Almost as good as knowing that I drive
you crazy, that with one look or touch or the right word, I can make you so
hard that you can't see straight."
The change in angle of penetration and the fact that she hasn't stopped
clenching her walls around him almost has him coming, makes his vision begin to
tunnel and blur around the edges. He continues to pump into her ruthlessly
though, chasing his own orgasm as if his life depended on it. "I know what
you're doing, lass. You're trying to bring me to my knees and make me beg you
to come with me. But you're forgetting one thing."
"Oh yeah? And what's that, Jones?"
Killian fists her ponytail in his left hand, keeping his bruising grip on her
hip with his right. He leans down, letting the friction of his body and the
fabric of his jeans roughly stimulate her clit. "I'm the Captain, love, and I
give the orders. Now be a good girl and fall apart for me." He latches onto one
of her hardened nipples through the fabric of her t-shirt and bra. And then
with three perfectly timed thrusts right across her g-spot, he sends her flying
and quickly joins her. She screams his name, not caring who might be out in the
woods, who might be around to accidentally see or hear them. He comes hard,
pulsing several times as her pussy keeps clamping down on his cock with her
aftershocks. He buries his head in her chest, chanting her name over and over
like a benediction. Emma is still floating, arms and legs weakly clinging to
him, when he recovers. Wrapping one arm around her tightly, he levers himself
up into the bed of the truck, rolling so that she rests on top of him. He
reaches over his head for one of the blankets and drapes it over the both of
them.
A little more one-armed finessing gets a pillow in place and the second blanket
ready, so that when he rolls her to the side, she's both cushioned and covered.
He quickly does up his jeans before going searching for their scattered
clothes.
===============================================================================
 
He still hasn't figured out how to drive yet, mostly because he can walk most
places he needs to get to, or there are plenty of others willing to give him a
ride if he needs one. He jokingly told the Prince that his instructor was far
too distracted and distracting when he had asked how the lessons had gone. It
had earned him a punch in the arm from Emma and a reluctantly amused glare from
David, but the other man was too clearly exultant about the glow of happiness
in his daughter's face, the joy that radiated out shamelessly from under her
skin. Killian knows that so long as he makes her happy, Charming won't say one
word against his relationship with his daughter; which works out well for him,
since, as he told the other man, he plans on making Emma happy for the rest of
her life.
He finally sets the brush down on the lid from the varnish can, casting a
critical eye on the piece. He wipes his hands off on an old rag and starts
putting everything away when a familiar pair of arms wraps around his waist.
"How long have you been standing there watching me, lass?"
She rubs her face along his back, nose slightly tickling him; not that he'd
ever admit it and give her any extra ammunition against him! She already owns
him body and soul, so gods only know what she'd make him agree to if she
discovers that he's ticklish. "Mmmm… Long enough. I like watching you work with
your amazing, skilled, talented, beautiful hands."
He halts the progress of hers, which have been attempting to untuck his shirt
from his pants. "Oh really? And is there something in particular you were
wanting the aforementioned capable, gifted, and well-endowed hands to be
working on?"
Emma sucks her lower lip into her mouth before grinning wickedly and softly
whispering. "So many things, baby. So many, many, naughty things."
 
***** Look At Me *****
"Look at me, love." She shakes her head while still hiding her face against his
chest. He brushes her hair back behind her ears and notices that they are
flushed and red to the very tips. "Are you embarrassed that Esmeralda guessed
where our minds would inevitably end up whilst in her shop? That she clearly
knows just how much I would be tempted to take more than just your
measurements? Are you—are you embarrassed that she knows about us? That she
knows about me?"
Emma peeks up at him and is concerned when she sees genuine fear and hurt in
his eyes. She slips her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. "God,
no! Killian this is just… I don't know how to do the whole relationship thing,
and so everything is a little overwhelming! My past, it was all just one time
deals, meaningless; the guys never meant anything, and it was all just
physical. I'm probably over-sharing right now. Ugh! Why do you have to be the
one who's good with words?"
Killian's smile brightens just that little bit that takes him from attractive
to gorgeous. "What I'm saying is that I'm not used to having it all. So, yeah,
I might get flustered by the attention or act embarrassed because I'm not used
to it. But never, for one second think that I ashamed of you or of how I feel
about you! I just need to get comfortable with it, I guess."
"You guess? Darling, now that we're back to stay, people are going to start
remembering that you're their princess. Being in the spotlight comes with the
job. You need to become accustomed to having others always having their eyes on
you." The hands that had been resting at her waist and lower back now press
tighter as he spins her to face the mirror. In just her bra and panties, she
feels self-conscious and immediately tries to cross her arms over her stomach
and look away from her reflection. "Stop. This is important, Emma. I'm just as
serious as I was this morning; don't try to cover yourself. Look at me, lass."
His chin rests on her shoulder, staring straight at the reflected image of them
together. She meets his penetrating, serious gaze in the mirror—somehow, it
seems more focused and more intense than normal, as if he's not only seeing
what he sees but also what she does. "Use our words if you are uncomfortable,
but I want to show you. I don't know what idiot ever put it into your mind that
you aren't to be treasured and worshiped, but I will gut him if I ever get the
chance. From the crown of your head to your tiniest toe, you are beautiful."
Killian gently sweeps her hair so that it falls down her back, gliding his
fingers along her skin seemingly at random while he speaks. "I want you to
watch yourself; never take your eyes off of your body if you can help it. Feel
everything that I'm doing to you, but see how you look when the sensations
start to take over."
He presses gentle kisses to her shoulder, tracing his way up her neck with
feather-light brushes of his lips. His hands both cup around her shoulders
before caressing down her arms; the touch raises goose bumps along her skin and
her nipples immediately pucker, as if begging for his attention. Her mouth
opens just a bit, her breath catching in her throat. He laces their fingers
together, silently commanding her hands to follow his lead. Their right hands
reach up to her left collarbone, lightly skimming along the delicate flesh
there. Their lefts cross down along her stomach and to her hipbone. Emma feels
lightheaded and pants softly. "Do you see it yet, love? Keep watching
yourself."
She barely shakes her head, eliciting a sigh from him. He gathers her hair and
places it over her shoulder so that it curls delicately to cover her left
breast. Pressing kisses to the back of her neck, he unclasps her bra and slides
it off, carelessly tossing it on top of the rest of her clothes. He runs the
backs of his fingers slowly up and down her spine, causing her to shiver
delicately and to breathe deeper. Emma tries to lean back into his touch, but a
deliberate, careful bite to her shoulder warns her to stay put. Her whole body
is trembling with need, and yet Killian has barely touched her. "You think that
when people look at you, they see what you see—the darkest secrets, your
greatest crimes. You are your own worst critic, Emma love. Others see a
capable, strong woman; a warrior, their fierce protector; they see a mother
willing to go to hell and back to save her son, but who would do the same for
any of them. And a lucky few see your passion, your deep capacity to care and
love and nurture. You deserve to have it all, lass; you are more than worthy of
being the center of every man's attention. But I'm the lucky bastard who gets
to build my world around you."
He tilts her head back, pressing soft lips to hers. The kiss is slow, gentle,
and reverent. He moves as if they have all the time they need, as if everything
and everyone else has melted away, and only the two of them exist in this
moment. Emma knows that he's right, that she's letting her issues cloud an
otherwise perfect day and amazing moment with him. So, almost like she does
when he dominates her, she just lets go; she gives herself over to being with
him, to kissing and the leisurely pace he's setting. She allows herself to
simply enjoy their desire for each other, not analyze it to death. She pulls
back and rests her forehead against his chin. "You know, half of me is worried
that you won't want me like this for very long, and the other half is worried
that you'll think I'm only using you for your cock."
Before he can say another word, she's kissing him again, walking backwards, and
pulling him along by his belt loops. He plants his hands to either side of her
head once she is backed against the wall, still stroking her tongue with his
while she unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans. He's fully content to let
her lead, to go at her own pace; he wants her to know that whatever she desires
really will be hers, if she commands it of him. When she starts tugging up on
his sweater, he reluctantly pulls away from her lips. "Tell me what you want,
sweet Emma. Tell me how you want me."
She bites her lip, squirming when he dips one finger under her panties. "I
want—I—god, I want everything right now! Soft and tender, wild and passionate…
The way you woke me up was amazing…"
His focus on her becomes at once more intense and more playful. "If I didn't
know any better, I'd say you were embarrassed, lass. There's no shame in
telling me that you enjoyed my rather wicked tongue. Was it wanton, decadent,
and delightful for you?"
Her whole body shivers, trembling delicately. "Yes."
Killian kneels in front of her, placing a hot open-mouthed kiss to her belly
before gazing up at her. "Was it the best? Would you like me to lick and suck,
as if you're my very own bowl of Emma-flavored ice cream? Do you want me to
taste you, love?"
"God! Killian, you know it was! Yes, please! Just please stop teasing me!" He
continues to stare directly into her eyes, as with a low growl he jerks her
panties down around her ankles, slings one of her legs over his shoulder, and
licks along her folds. Emma throws her head back on a soft moan, and then she
feels his tongue slip inside of her. He tastes her exactly like he was kissing
her a moment ago, a gentle yet insistent and thorough exploration. He nips at
her gently, dragging his teeth lightly against her sensitive flesh. It's not
just what he's doing, but the emotions that she knows are behind it that have
her almost coming apart for him. And all before he slides two fingers slowly
into her sheath and sucks her clit into his mouth.
"Not yet, love. I can send you shooting up among the stars with just the right
flick of my tongue. But wait for me. I want to watch as you come apart around
my cock, so you don't leave me stranded here on earth." She's never questioned
his strength, but Emma is surprised when he smoothly rises, lifts her up, wraps
her legs around him, and buries himself inside her. From this angle, she feels
so much tighter, the glorious feel of her almost driving him to his knees. He
spies the chair nearby. "Hold on to me, princess."
Somehow, he manages to move them both and drape her legs to either side of the
chair when he sits down. Now, instead of being above him, they are eye to eye,
so she can watch every shift in his expression as she slowly grinds on him. His
breath hisses in when she slides down his shaft, swirling her hips when she
hits bottom. He thrusts up to meet her, loving the way her irises start to
change—going glassy with pleasure, then lighting up with her magic. Desire,
lust, and love shoot straight to his groin because only he, Killian Jones, has
the ability to wake her powers in this precise way. It's a heady thing to be
able to worship and pleasure a goddess with his body, to know that his touch
and his kiss can bring her ecstasy.
Emma's legs begin to tremble slightly and her movements become less controlled,
less finessed. He doesn't even need to touch her, so he gathers her closer,
chest rubbing against her breasts. She starts to throw her head back, but her
grips the back of her neck and swallows her scream with a kiss. And then she's
returning the favor as he comes, breaking apart at the seams, but being held
together by her. "Oh, my goddess. My Emma love."
===============================================================================
 
"Hello! Earth to Emma! Where did you go?" It's clear from the exasperation on
Ruby's face that she's been trying to get her attention for quite awhile.
Ashley and Belle look concerned, but Mary Margaret just has a superior grin on
her face. She's enjoying this rare chance to see her daughter actually
flustered and because she can already guess where her mind was at.
The girls' night had been planned for a couple of days, so even if she had
wanted to back out Emma couldn't. They'd all been busy trying to collect the
pieces and reestablish order in Storybrooke; really, the only person she's
spent time with since getting back is Killian, aside from her parents and
Henry. Granted, she's never had a lot of girl friends over the years; she feels
just as awkward with it as she does with being in a relationship. That's what
had gotten her thinking about what had happened in the dressing room at
Fortune's Favors about a week ago. Once the afterglow faded and they could move
all of their limbs again, Killian had gotten his clothes back on and intended
to let Esmeralda know what Emma's measurements were. A black corset had been
hanging right outside, naturally fitting almost like it had been made for her.
It had taken him maybe thirty seconds to lace her into it, and just as he'd
promised, it was much more comfortable than she'd expected. She was wearing it
now, in fact; it made her so much more aware of her body… having satin
continuously rubbing along her skin, caressing her flesh every time she moved
has her nerves perpetually stimulated. Which is apparently very bad for her
attention span.
Emma takes a healthy swallow of her Poisoned Apple martini (someone had thought
it a hilarious drink to send around to Snow White's table) to cover some of her
nervousness. "Sorry, ladies. I just got lost in my thoughts, I guess."
Her mother actually has the nerve to smirk and raise a sarcastic eyebrow. "And
I'm guessing you weren't exactly alone in those thoughts, little girl."
To make matters worse, Ruby also looks fairly amused. Oh, god! Big bad wolf—she
can probably smell Killian on me! Belle and Ashley share a look of confusion,
but then they both focus on Emma. "Spill it, Emma! Who is he?"
She manages to put on a good show of being offended at first, but then her grin
breaks through. "Who says it's a he? Maybe Ruby and I have something going.
This may be Storybrooke, but it isn't the Dark Ages." Emma playfully slips an
arm around her godmother and drops a lingering kiss to her cheek.
"Oh, Swan!" The she-wolf doesn't get the accent quite right, but she lowers her
voice and changes her cadences for a passable impression of Killian.
The other women's mouths both drop open in shock. Ashley starts giggling and
clapping. "Seriously? Good God, honey, that man is going to give you nothing
but trouble! And by trouble, I mean—Whew, I'm getting hot just thinking about
it! Give us details—as your second godmother, I command it. You know, in the
interest of getting to know you better. How does he, uh, measure up?"
"Ash, did you just really ask our goddaughter to tell you how well-hung the
pirate is, pun intended by the way, and whether he rocks her world? Because,
girl, to the first—well, I may be curious, but that's Emma's business—and to
the second, hello! He totally is! Check out the blush!" Ruby tosses back the
rest of her martini and lets out and honest-to-god wolf howl, attracting the
attention of quite a few of the guys before signaling to their waiter for
another round of martinis.
===============================================================================
 
Belle had quietly excused herself for the rest of the evening not long
afterward; apparently, Rumplestiltskin still wasn't fully recovered from his
near-death experience, and it had taken all four of them to drag her out of the
house for this long because she really didn't like being away from him. Ashley
and Ruby had both gotten up to dance, rocking out on the floor together so that
the drunks would leave them alone. This left Emma and Mary Margaret to
comfortably nurse their drinks. "I'm sorry about your godmothers, honey. I know
they didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, but I also know how shy you can be
about everything."
"It's okay, Mom. I just… I'm not used to being important, not used to being
someone that people look to for help or guidance. And I'm really not used to
people caring about my love life. But I guess finally knowing who I am and
where I come from, I'll just have to get used to it. And I know that you just
wanted to share with them because you're happy for me." Emma truly means it
too; she understands, for the first time, the desire to stand on a rooftop and
shout out her happiness to the world. Who knows? She might even be tempted to
randomly burst into song.
Snow smiles warmly, eyes getting teary over this moment of understanding from
her daughter. "Your father and I both are, Emma. All we've ever wanted, since I
first knew I was pregnant with you, was for you to grow up and find your own
happily ever after someday. I take it things went well with Henry?"
They chat about this and that for a while, nothing in particular, until Ruby
comes up to drag them out onto the dance floor. Mary Margaret manages to slip
away, but Emma's godmothers are insistent that she let loose for a bit. She
joins Ashley, setting up a little trio to keep out the pervs, when a flash of
something catches her eye. When she seeks it out, it isn't there, but curious,
she leans a little closer to Ruby. "Obviously, you could smell him on me. Is he
here?"
Her eyes widen a bit at the question, but she obligingly sniffs the air,
searching for a specific scent. Her grin becomes wolfish, devilish as she nods
an affirmative. Emma smirks; so, her pirate wants to play the voyeur tonight…
She mouths the words to Ruby: give him a show? Ruby grabs her hand and twirls
her around, and then presses her chest to Emma's back. Emma reaches her left
hand back, slowly sliding her fingers through dark brown and red locks. Ruby
places her hands on Emma's hips, making them sway and rotate seductively. The
she-wolf rubs her cheek against Emma's and takes the opportunity to whisper in
her ear. "He's at the far corner of the bar, by the door. His heart-rate just
kicked up about twenty beats, and he's pumping pheromones in the air like
nobody's business. You are one lucky bitch, Emma Swan."
Emma laughs, but keeps gyrating to the song, occasionally grinding up against
Ruby or Ashley, who's had far too many drinks to care at this point. When "Sexy
Back" comes on, she can't resist turning up the heat that much more. Instead of
grinding up against her friends, she slides her hands along her body. She's
wearing black leather pants for a change and at this moment, she incredibly
glad she did. She glides her palms down her hips and thighs, enjoying the
tactile stimulation, and feeling the heat of her skin rising up to her touch.
She imagines that her hands are Killian's, brushing along her sides, but
carefully avoiding her breasts. The normally cool satin of the corset/bustier
practically burns her hands. She tosses her hair back and skims her fingertips
along her collarbone. "Ehem… You might want to take pity on him; your boy is
about to combust."
Emma smiles at Ashley and then at Ruby. "I think I forgot something at the
office, so I'll have to duck out now, ladies. Think he'll be able to wait for
that long?" Ruby howls again, turning more heads. Ashley just giggles and coyly
tells her to have fun working late. She leaves the dance floor, grabbing her
black leather jacket from their abandoned table. The vodka and apple liqueur
pumping through her system have heightened her senses rather than dulled
them—she only had the two drinks—so she immediately hears his boots steps as he
falls in behind her. She puts an extra sway in her hips, high on the way her
body feels knowing that he is watching her. No one else has made her feel
genuinely sexy like this before, and she loves the way it makes her feel
confident and powerful. Her body has this effect on him; she can bring him to
his knees in a way that no one else can.
She's about a block away from the station when she hears him mutter a curse and
pick up his speed. Granted, it was probably because she started stretching her
arms over her head, flipping her hair along the way. Well, that and the extra
shimmy of her assets. His body collides with hers, and she can fleetingly feel
the hard heat of his erection against her ass before he spins her back against
the brick wall. He grabs her wrists and pins them up above her head before
fusing his lips to her and invading her all-too willing mouth with his tongue.
He moans as she sucks hard on his bottom lip and rolls her hips into his.
"Bloody infuriating wench! Do you enjoy tormenting me, princess?"
Since he has her hands trapped, her options are limited; she wraps one of her
long legs around his waist and pulls him close, so she can feel the rigid
length of him right where she wants him. "Only when you're being naughty and
you deserve it. How long were you watching me, Killian? Did you like what you
saw? Is that what's got you all hot and bothered?"
He growls before kissing her again, releasing her hands and wrapping her other
leg around his waist so he can grab her ass. She sucks hard on his tongue,
pulling as much of it into her mouth as she can. Her arms go around his neck,
fingernails clawing at his back through his jacket. He pins her hard against
the wall, thrusting his hips up and rubbing against her. Even without his touch
or being wrapped around his cock, her pussy clenches and flutters; she can't
stop the mewling and whimpering that comes out of her throat. They haven't
touched each other like this in a week (Rule #1: no sex with Henry in the
house), and they are both ready to explode with needing and wanting. "Does
anyone have the authority to arrest the sheriff for public indecency and
exhibitionism? Because by the gods, lass, I want to fuck you right here!"
His question would be funny if she weren't tempted to let him do just that. She
bites down on his neck when he roughly palms one of her breasts, licking and
sucking the spot for good measure. She plays with his earring, taking it into
her mouth as she nibbles his earlobe. "Actually, Regina does. So, unless you
want to risk it, care to help me finish up some paperwork, Captain?"
She unwraps herself from around him, getting to her feet unsteadily, but
pulling him close by his coat for another white-hot kiss. "Abusing your elected
post, Sheriff? How scandalously wicked of you! I quite approve."
Their grins and heated starts match each other in their intensity, and Emma
realizes that one of them needs to keep a cool head if they have any prayer of
making it to the station with all their clothes on at this point. She grabs his
right hand in hers and wraps it around her waist, pulling him along with her.
Clearly, he's decided to be less than helpful because he keeps sliding his leg
along hers as they walk and hasn't stopped kissing and nibbling her neck. It
would be impressive that he can do this while walking, if it weren't such a
distracting turn-on. They finally make it to the familiar glass door, but when
Emma pulls out her keys, he pushes her up against the cold glass. His heat at
her back, combined with the chill at her front is intensely erotic—part of her
literally remaining cool and calm, while the rest of her is on fire with lust.
She moans as one of his hands dips down to rub her through the leather she's
wearing. Killian has her so distracted that he steals her keys, unlocks the
door, and spins her inside before her brain can process anything. He lets her
go, his hands pressed against the cold glass as he engages the lock. "Run while
you can, princess."
Emma plants her hands on her hips. "I'm the sheriff here, pirate. You walked
into my gin joint, which means you have to play by my rules. And besides, all
the handcuffs in here belong to be. So, hop along." She crooks her finger at
him and struts into the main office like she owns the place—which she does. She
goes straight into her office, kicks her chair back toward the wall, and starts
digging through her drawers.
"Strip, then sit." Much like he did not so long ago, she leans against the
filing cabinets along the wall, expecting him to follow her commands. Killian
wonders if she knows just how hard it makes him, the thought of her being the
one in control tonight, the idea of being dominated by her. Unfortunately, he
hadn't dressed himself with her titillation in mind, but he's nothing if not
resourceful. In his mind's eye, he can see the way she danced to the music
earlier, the movements of her body mimicking the very acts the planned on
committing momentarily. With his eyes locked on her eyes, her familiar yet
seductive curves, and the luscious sweep of her hair, he moves sinuously, as if
to music that only the two of them can hear. Invading her space, but not
touching her, he works open the buttons of his coat one at a time, then after
letting it slowly slip off of his arms, he tosses it into the corner.
Her eyes momentarily flick to the side, tracking the movement like any good
predator will, but then her focus is back to him. She's clearly admiring the
way his grey t-shirt clings to his arms, licking her lips at she looks him up
and down. He toes off his work-boots and socks and kicks them into the corner
as well, while he undoes the buckle of his belt. A thought flits across her
eyes that makes him even harder with hopeful anticipation—she might have a use
for that bit of clothing later. He slides the leather out of the belt loops and
carefully, drapes it across Emma's shoulders. Last, but not least, he fists the
cotton fabric in his left hand, pulling up to slowly reveal his abs. Her
breathing hitches when he finally takes the shirt off completely and throws in
on the growing pile. Unfortunately, jeans are not exactly conducive to a strip
tease, so he gets out of them as quickly as he can manage.
Finally, Killian sits down in her chair, entirely naked. She stalks toward him,
handcuffs already out and gleaming dark silver in the moonlight that's
filtering in through the blinds. "You know, every single time I sit in that
chair now, I'm going to imagine you looking exactly like this. I'm going to
enjoy remembering every dirty, naughty, delicious little thing that I did to
you, and how much you fucking loved it."
Emma swings a leg over him, straddling his thighs before inching just a bit
forward. She takes his hands and cuffs them behind his back. She runs her
fingers through his hair, then grips tightly and pulls his head back painfully;
he leans further back, stretching his neck. She bites down on his Adam's apple,
and he groans at the pleasurable sting. "Now, I know you can pick your way out
of those, Jones, but then I'd have to punish you for resisting arrest. So be a
doll, would you, and try not to be a smart ass. I'll ask you if you have a Safe
word, but I know that you don't. You have far too many scars to account for
battles, love, so I know that enjoy blood play. Would that turn you on, Jones?
Having me cut you, make you bleed? Paint your pretty white skin red?"
She says it in such an innocent, yet authoritative tone, her voice purring
along his skin. He didn't think his cock could get any stiffer, could strain
for her touch any harder, yet it manages to. He'd never meant to keep it a
secret from her, his love of extreme pain, but he wonders how she figured it
out… He hasn't been focused on her, so he doesn't see the slap coming. It's
open-handed and meant to sting. She repeats the gesture to the other side of
his face before gripping his chin in her hand. "I asked you some questions,
Jones. I expect prompt fucking answers if you don't want me improvising a cock-
ring for you and not letting you come tonight."
"Gods, Emma! Yes! You can see that it does. And no, I don't have a Safe word,
but gods please touch me, love!" Another slap lands on each of his cheeks, then
she bites hard into the skin above his heart, drawing a little bit of blood.
His vision blurs at the edges, the pain already pushing him into sub-space and
toward orgasm. But she licks her teeth clean before he can see anything.
"No endearments tonight, Jones. You need to be punished for watching me, for
being a naughty little voyeur. If you had told me that we were playing, then I
might have been a little more forgiving." Emma pulls the leather belt off of
her shoulders, letting it make a slithering sound against her skin and the
satin of her corset. She folds it in half, testing how supple the material is
before lashing it against his left thigh. He grunts when the strap meets his
skin. A small, red welt is already beginning to bloom, but then she strikes
against his right inner thigh, this time making him hiss and moan. Clearly, she
remembers the lesson he inadvertently taught her that very first night—strike
randomly, never in the same place, never with the same force, and never let
them anticipate. The last is harder because she's facing him, but she manages.
His thighs and calves are stripped with welts before Emma finally starts
slipping out of her pants.
Killian moans when he sees that she isn't wearing any panties underneath. She
slips off her dark-blue button-down blouse, so that all she's wearing is the
black satin corset. She looks every inch a Domme, and he is desperate to please
her. She pulls him and the chair close to the desk, then sits up on it, ass
right on the edge. When Emma spreads her thighs open, her pussy is gloriously
drenched and ready for him. "You act like you haven't seen a cunt before and
don't know what to do with it, Jones."
Taking the statement as permission, he buried his tongue in her pussy, licking
like a cat with a bowl of cream. She moans, and he looks up to see that she's
pulled her breasts free of the corset and has started tweaking her already
swollen nipples. He sucks her clit into his mouth, tugging on it with his teeth
and laving it with his tongue. The action makes her hips buck up off the desk
slightly, making him grin. He loves the way she tastes and smells when she's
wanton like this, a sort of sweet muskiness that drives him mad with the need
to thrust his cock inside her and hit that spot deep inside that will have her
writhing for him. Emma's panting now, roughly kneading her breasts and
restlessly lifting her hips into his face. She's so close, but he doesn't have
his hands to work with to push her over the edge. On a hunch, he sucks her
folds into his mouth as well and, after a few more thrusts of his tongue inside
her, he bites down on them and her clit simultaneously. He's rewarded with a
startled curse and more of her juices slipping into his mouth.
He continues slowly savoring her, licking her sensitive spots to pull another
shudder out of her. She looks up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure. "You've been
holding out on me, Jones."
She hops off the desk, faster than he would have anticipated her being able to
move at this point; but soon he can't see a damn thing, because she's finally,
blissfully impaled herself on his throbbing cock. The denial of her touch and
her sheath for so long sent him into a state where the merest brush against him
would have brought him to his knees in bliss. Finding his length sheathed in
her warm, wet grip almost makes him come. She starts riding him hard, clearly
trying to make him orgasm and give her a reason for punishing him. But she'd
forgotten than Killian Jones is a past master at self-denial. He thrusts his
hips up to meet hers when she bottoms out, stimulating her still-swollen and
sensitive clit. She throws back her head, reveling in the sensations—all
thoughts of domination and control surrendered to the feel of him buried inside
her. He's never wanted to touch her more than he does now, but he plays by her
rules and keeps his hands in the cuffs.
He can feel hard spasm start deep in her pussy; she's going to come very soon,
and it might even make her pass out. "You're coming again. Please let me come.
Gods, I want to come with you!" And then it doesn't matter because he can't
stop the orgasm from rolling him under. His vision goes bright white, as all of
the tension flows out of his body in spurts. Vaguely, he feels Emma licking his
collarbone; as her own orgasm hit, she had bitten down hard enough to make him
bleed. The stinging rasp of her tongue against the wound sends another wave
through his body and into hers. His head is hanging back over his hands,
completely boneless and satiated, too spent to move. Never in all his years has
he ever felt something this powerful, this earth-shattering. And it's one more
first, one more link in the chain that is slowly, but surely binding him to
Emma Swan.
 
***** Red as Blood *****
Life had finally begun to settle into a routine for Emma and Killian. Despite
their particularly rigid restriction on behaving appropriately while Henry was
at the loft, they manage to see and spend a little time together at least twice
every day. Whether he has a project he's working on or a day on-site to learn a
new construction technique, or whether she has to work a double shift at the
station or not, he comes by the apartment every morning to lace her into her
corset and every night to help unlace it and massage her skin. Especially the
evenings are becoming a test of their formidable powers of self-control, with
his hands kneading and caressing parts of her body whose nerves are already
strung taut—flesh that has become hyper-aware on account of the restrictive
boning and the lush sensual fabrics of her lingerie. While sitting at her desk
finishing her formal report to the council and occasionally glancing up with a
satisfied grin to admire the pair of regal prisoners that she apprehended
yesterday, her every deep, even breath reminds her of her very first day of
corset training. And what she has to look forward to tonight.
===============================================================================
 
Three and a Half Weeks Ago
Thankfully, Henry had already fallen asleep and all was blissfully quiet as she
and Killian sat and discussed odds and ends with her parents. Not only was it a
calm, soothing moment to know that her son wasn't having a nightmare, but it
was also nice to just have adult time with her Mom and Dad. After very formally
assuring Snow and David that "nothing untoward" would happen, they slipped
softly to Emma's room hand in hand. She closed the door and gently pushed him
against it, knowing that she's playing with fire, yet still unable to resist
the call, the gravitational pull she feels toward him every time he's near. She
carefully placed a hand to either side of his face and leaned in to kiss him.
The smooth glide, the sensual brush of his lips against hers is such a simple
action for the depth of feeling it stirs in her at times; she could be content
to do just this—act like a teenager and make-out with him for hours—and yet, at
the very same time, desire to make love to him, excruciatingly slow and
thorough as she explores every inch of his body; and yet again yearn to be
untamed and passionately uninhibited. It's a mystery how he can make her want
in such a way, burn for him every second like this.
And she pours all these contradicting desires into this fusion of mouths, into
a kiss that threatens—like a collapsing star—to drag them under. She
desperately wants to surrender, having learned just how powerful, just how
exquisite it can be to let the passion have its way with them. But her own
stubborn will cannot match his; he pulls back from her lips, breaths coming in
heaving pants that caress her face and neck. Killian groans, a tormented sound
of pure, frustrated lust. "Normally, I'd say that rules were made for breaking,
lass. However, I did just give my word as a gentleman… How about we establish a
pattern of good behavior first? Save up some good-will, so that asking for
forgiveness later will be just a touch easier?"
"Damn your rules, Jones, and screw being a gentleman! We can even make it a
game… whoever makes the loudest sound loses." He chuckles darkly, a sinful
sounds that sends shivers racing down her spine.
"Our rules, love. And think of it as an exercise in delayed gratification.
Imagine how torturously delightful, how intense the sensations will be once we
have the chance to…indulge ourselves without such concerns for restraint and
silence." Emma groans, even more turned on by his words than she was at his
kiss. As much as she hates it when he's right, she agrees, pulling reluctantly
away from him and turning to give him her back. She sighs as his nimble fingers
quickly loosen the laces, allowing her to breathe freely and more easily remove
the constricting corset. The incidental brushes of his hands against her skin
send more heat and chills skittering across her thoroughly aroused body.
===============================================================================
 
She sighs, because the damn report won't finish itself, meaning she has to get
her head (and the rest of her) focused on something other than the overly
skillful hands of one Killian Jones. Finally catching the former kings Midas
and George had taken a lot more effort than originally hoped for. You'd think
that two men responsible for the destruction of a lot of people's lives and
homes wouldn't have much of a following left. But apparently, there were enough
citizens in Storybrooke who resented the new regime that had been set up when
the royal family had disappeared to save one of their own in Neverland, enough
to keep hiding the rogue kings who wanted to be the ones holding the reins of
power. She had been seriously tempted to take Ruby up on her offer to just
wolf-out and eat the two prisoners, because they had been nothing but pains in
her ass from the moment she stepped back onto the docks.
She rolls her shoulders and neck, hoping to relieve some of her tension, but
it's really no use. And worse, Emma can feel a headache forming as well. When
you think about it, the only good thing about having finally caught these two
is that she no longer has to be chasing down lead after lead. She groans when
she hears the sound of the front door opening—people have been wandering in and
out of the station all day to get a look at the prisoners, some to taunt and
others to berate, but all to assure themselves that the two former monarchs are
really behind bars. "Emma, honey! Where are you?"
"In here, Mom." She's been making an effort with Snow, trying to be empathetic
to her desire to act like a mother to her; yet another development that can
probably be attributed to Killian's calming, consistent influence on her. But
Snow isn't the only parent who walks in, slightly surprising Emma. Not only is
David also here, but he's wearing his shoulder holster with his guns. "Okay… Do
I really want to know why you showed up here armed?"
"Well, Emma, your mother and I have been thinking and doing a lot of talking…
And it's not right for you to have to handle all of the sheriff duties by
yourself. I know that I stepped in when you two fell through the portal, so I
didn't get to ask you then, but is there any way you could possibly consider
bringing me on as your deputy?"
Whatever she had been expecting, she really hadn't seen anything like this
coming. To be honest, she assumed that her parents would step in as heads of
the town and council. Who would believe that their King was actually working
for his daughter, their Princess? She knew that plenty of people had been upset
by the fact that she and the rest had assumed their full titles and duties as
royalty, but this could cause a whole other break. "Emma, honey, one of the
duties of royalty is that we serve the people, and in this world, those who
protect us and keep us safe are the ones who serve the most."
"Your mother's right. Plus, seeing us on a daily basis will calm everyone's
fears that we mean to simply rule from a distance, will help them realize that
we genuinely care about them and their families."
"Okay, guys. Enough. You don't need to convince me, because less hours at the
station sound really appealing at the moment. But are you sure that this is
what you want, Dad? Are you 100%?" None of them like reminders of the dangers
of Neverland, but if she's going to be handing over the safety of the town
to anyone, she needs to know that they are as physically capable and fit as she
is.
"For the last time, I am fine. And I can think of nothing better than to spend
my time working with you, Emma. I know how to fight and how to defuse tense
situations… I can do this." She glares at him mock-menacingly, because she's
missed having him around the station. She and her father had actually
established a friendly relationship before, with him acting as deputy between
the return from the Enchanted Forest and the trip to Neverland. But after Neal
had died, David's focus had become less on being her friend and more on acting
like her father. It had strained things between them, and she found herself
missing that solid support and friendship. So, not only would deputizing him
give her more free time, it might help improve thing between them.
"Alright. Since you're so eager to be deputy, you can start now." Emma stands
up and quickly grabs her jacket from the coat rack and her keys from the desk.
David and Snow look at her with genuinely confused stares.
"Wait! Well, where are you going?"
"I have a report to deliver to the council regarding their arrest, plus, now
that you're officially my deputy, I suppose they'll need to be informed about
that too." Of course, that's only half of what has now suddenly appeared as a
possibility on Emma's agenda. She smiles to herself before ducking her head
back inside the door. "Oh and… Don't wait up for me."
===============================================================================
 
After finding and speaking with Mother Superior for a bit regarding her report
and various minor matters of council, Emma heads over to the apartment for a
quick shower and change of clothes intent on surprising Killian. She refuses to
think of him as her boyfriend because the term just sounds so childish and
doesn't come close to adequately describing their relationship. Plus old habits
die hard, and once you've spent a good portion of your life running from
"emotional entanglements" of any variety, changing the way you view and relate
to others isn't exactly easy. But she's trying, for herself as much as for him.
She walks to his cabin, enjoying the rare opportunity to see him just because
she wants to.
She's always lived in bigger cities since she got out of the system, so she's
surprised that she's adapted to living in the sticks so well. Maybe it's just
something she inherited from her parents, something she's learning from Henry
and Killian. She walks into the house, putting her keys, cell phone, and badge
down on the kitchen table like always. Despite the many projects he has going
on, both with the construction job and here at the cabin, she's always
surprised to find the place scrupulously clean—a habit he picked up from the
navy, he says. When she first pictured him in a Navy officer's uniform, she had
to admit that the look she had in mind would suit him really well. But then
again, she was thinking of the current U.S. Navy, and not the get-up he did a
quick sketch of for her; and don't even get her started on trying to imagine
him with a ponytail! Once they'd finally talked about his past and hers, traded
their stories, she'd been shocked that he could laugh about his time in the
service. She knew that memories of his brother were painful, but she was glad
that he could remember some of them fondly and without the bitterness of his
loss.
However, while she's looking around, checking all the rooms, she's still
missing her captain. He'd told her that he would be working at the cabin today,
so that means he either went into town for something or he's in his workshop.
It hadn't taken her by surprise that he enjoyed working with his hands—aside
from the happiness of having both of them again, he's always seemed very active
to her, constantly in motion in one way or another. However, she'd been a
little shocked at just how good he was at making and fixing things, how he
could take practically anything and turn it into a work of art. She supposes
that she should have noticed that the door to the old shed is propped open, but
no one else is around to comment on her shoddy detective skills so she just
shrugs it off.
She leans against the doorframe, watching him do what he does best. To her, it
looks like an ordinary piece of wood that he's clearly taken a lot of time and
care on. But for Killian? She knows that he already sees the completed piece in
his mind, whatever it's destined to be carved into or used to build. There are
wood curls and saw-dust all over the floor—even some on his shoulders and in
his hair—but it's his hands that truly have her attention. At the moment, he
has a brush in his left and is smoothing varnish carefully over the surface.
He'd told her that he was originally left-handed, which had lead to a bit of a
learning curve when he'd crossed paths with Rumplstiltskin; he'd even joked
about being ambidextrous now thanks to her, a quip that warmed her to the core
because of the adoring look in his eyes when he said it. He looked so at peace,
so focused and content; she'd given him that, she was responsible for that
inner happiness.
It's why Emma often finds herself passing by whatever job site he's working on
during the day—she just enjoys watching him be himself. But, if she's being
honest with herself, she's usually goes and ends up turned on because of the
things she's imagining him doing than with what he's actually doing at the
moment. Killian Jones in all his pirate glory certainly does it for her, but
she can't deny that this world's clothes aren't half bad on him either.
Especially the shirts she bought him that fit on the tighter side and show off
all his hard work. She thought she'd been stealthy, but apparently not enough,
or her musings got the better of her and she made some normally imperceptible
sound. He sets down his brush on the lid of the can of varnish and grabs the
rag from his back pocket of his jeans to wipe off his hands. She pushes away
from the doorframe and wraps her arms around his waist, rubbing her cheek and
then nose against his back, breathing in his distinct scent.
"How long have you been standing there watching me, lass?"
She loves the sound of his voice, the way it reverberates through his body and
into hers. If she weren't already mentally stripping his clothes off, she
certainly is now; the man could probably read the dictionary, and she'd find it
sexy. But it's not his vocabulary that she's interested in at the moment. She
kisses his shoulder, sliding her hands down to the waistband of his jeans,
trying to pull his t-shirt out so that she can caress his stomach. "Mmmm… Long
enough. You know how much I like watching you work with your amazing, talented,
skilled, beautiful hands."
She pouts when he hisses and catches her fingers with his, stopping her from
untucking his shirt. "Oh really? And is there something in particular you were
wanting the aforementioned capable, gifted, and well-endowed hands to be
working on?"
Emma sucks her lower lip into her mouth before rising on her toes, grinning
wickedly, and softly whispering into his ear. "So many things, baby. So many,
many, naughty things."
She shrieks when he pulls her around, trapping her so that she's caged in his
arms with her back pressed against his chest, and then moans when his laugh
rumbles along her spine and he rubs his hardening length against her ass. "It
was your perfume, by the way, love. Wind was blowing into my workshop, so I
scented you before you went into the house. But it was this that told me you
were watching, my little voyeuristic princess."
Emma tries, but fails to hold back the whimper in her throat as his left hand
slides down under her skirt, fingers expertly flicking aside her damp panties
to touch her hot skin. "Been thinking about someone in particular, love? Your
thoughts must be quite scandalous from the state you're in. And to what does
this humble citizen of Storybrooke owe this delightful yet unexpected visit
from the most beautiful, seductive, tempting sheriff in town?"
"To two things actually. One, David has decided that he officially wants to be
my deputy, so I told him that the very first order of business was for him to
take over at the station so I could take some much needed time off. And two,
which is the real reason I've earned the right to a little relaxation and fun,
is the fact that two previously smug royal bastards are currently sitting in my
cells for thinking that they could get away with torching my town."
"Mmm… your town, is it? I do so enjoy a powerful, possessive woman. As the
first resident of your town to have congratulated you on your stunning, fully
expected victory, I feel a sort of obligation to see my sheriff adequately
rewarded and compensated for her laborious, tireless, indefatigable efforts put
forth in service to this town." Emma smiles when he takes her hand in his, none
too subtly licking the fingers of his other, and leads her into the cabin. He'd
said something similar when he came over last night for their stay at home
dinner and movie date. Of course, with Henry and her parents there his tone,
delivery, and choice of words had been a little more innocent, although no less
titillating to her or possibility laden; among other things, being around
Killian has given her a better appreciation for and ability to discern double
entendres. When it comes to sex and all things pleasurable, he really does have
the most creatively wicked mind, and she's realized that she really wouldn't
have him any other way.
"In fact, in honor of your successful apprehension of those two dastardly
villains, I have a bit of a surprise for you, love."
"I've already been inside, and I didn't see any surprises."
"Ah, but that is because your delightfully sensual self was looking for me, not
for anything I might have hidden. Which gives me the rather exceptional idea of
devising a game for you someday. You are a pirate at heart after all, my
dear—would you fancy a search for buried treasure?" He hisses through his teeth
and his eyes roll back a bit before closing, when Emma cups him through his
jeans. Like her, Killian is so rigidly in control of himself and how he allows
others to perceive him, which is why she so thoroughly enjoys unguarded moments
like this. It's empowering to know that she's the only one who can shake him
like this, can make him abandon all his walls and his masks. He doesn't feel
the need for pretense and personas; when they're with each other, they can both
lay down the armor and just be themselves. He wraps his arms around her before
she can escape, kissing her cheek and then giving it a playful nibble as well.
"Saucy wench! Give me five minutes—sit here and don't move one inch!"
She laughs as he pushes her gently, making her fall and bounce onto the bed,
and then disobeys just so she can slap his ass as he's leaving the room. She
quickly jumps back to where she had been told, primly crossing her legs and
settling her hands on her knee. She's momentarily struck by how much she's
changed by being with him, by having a real adult relationship for the first
time. It's not that she's suddenly a giggly, teenaged twit; she and Killian
aren't even widely recognized as a couple, despite several breakfast and lunch
dates at Granny's. It's the subtle, simple things—like not feeling like she's
carry the weight of the town on her own shoulders, like she can be happy
without worrying when the other shoe will fall. There's a stability to being
confident that the person by your side can be trusted, that his strengths will
compliment yours, that he won't let you go. She feels safe for the first time
ever.
In exactly five minutes, he's back with a load of firewood in his arms. He
brushes a fingertip along the slope of her nose before setting up the
fireplace. But instead of lighting it, he wipes the flecks of wood and dirt
from his palms and walks over to her. Without a word, he holds his hands out
for her; and when she places them in his, he drops a gentle, worshipful kiss on
each one. "Tonight is all about you, princess; I am merely your humble servant,
here to see to your every whim and need."
He sets her hands on the bed on either side of her body, before kneeling down
and taking her left leg in his hands. Without taking his eyes off of her, he
carefully removes her boot, eliciting a moan when he begins massaging her foot.
"If you aren't careful there, sailor, a girl just might get used to this."
He shakes his head at her, despite knowing full well she can't see him with her
eyes closed and her head tilted back like that. "When are you going to learn,
darling? I want you to get used to this. I want to spend every moment of all
the time we get to spend together doing things that make you happy, that will
make you smile. And whether that means massaging your feet, or making love to
you, or eating dinner with your family, or just holding you in my arms…whatever
it takes, love."
Part way through his little speech, she had opened her eyes and focused back on
him. Emma had thought that the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her
was the secret he shared in the Echo Cave in Neverland—that he had believed
himself incapable of ever loving someone else again, until he met her. But she
can't stop the tears forming in her eyes at this new, impossibly more romantic
Killian Jones. She's always resigned romance to a very low spot on her long
list of priorities, but he has somehow managed to shake up her life in the most
amazing ways. She suddenly curses the fact that she isn't as good with words as
he is, that she's never thought to put their love into such beautiful, poetic
thoughts, and feels like she doesn't deserve him. And nothing flows forth
except her tears, but he somehow knows precisely what she's feeling and
thinking.
He takes her hands in his and leads her to the bathroom, opening the door to
reveal a tub that's filling with steamy, hot water and bubbles, surrounded by
several large red pillar candles. Two glasses and a bottle of wine sit on an
end table right next to the bath, everything lightly gilded by the flickering
candlelight. As if it's the most natural thing in the world to him, Killian
kneels back down in front of her, placing one of her feet on his knee. He
slowly, worshipfully takes the top of her thigh high stocking and slips it down
and off her leg, repeating the process with the other. His motions and touch
are sensual, roughened calluses smoothing gently over her soft skin, with
barely even a hint of the sexual tension and desire that seems to always flow
between them. Once again, he's putting his words into direct action, in this
case, acting as her own personal servant.
She watches as he undresses her, enjoying the sight of being catered to and
cared for; it's only with him that she feels like this, like the princess
everyone expects her to be. How ironic then, that he's the only one who has
never demanded that she be anything except for Emma. The man who asks for
nothing from her is the one who deserves everything, and yet he still expects
her to stand there and act as if it means nothing to her. Which is why she took
the time to change before she got here, so in even the smallest of ways, she
can show him how much he means to her. She hears his gasp, the barest hint of
what he's feeling and seeing as he's pulling her sweater off over her head—her
favorite corset, edged with black lace, but of a silk the same true blue as his
eyes. She lifts her arms above her head, catching her left wrist in her right
hand as she slowly spins to give her his back.
Emma whimpers softly as his fingers trace the pattern of her laces before
slipping them free, his lips brushing against her spine from just above the
corset to the nape of her neck. She can hear gentle whispering before each
caress, but she cannot make out his words. If he had meant for her to hear,
then she would have; yet she's fairly certain that he's saying the exact same
thing every time: thank you. His hands leave her body, but she's so caught up
in his spell that it takes her several moments to process their absence. And by
the time she turns around, he's already stripped all of his clothing off. He
lets the corset simply fall, leaving her as bare to him and he already is to
her. He takes her hands as if they are delicate porcelain, helping her step
into the tub with him before he sits down and opens his arms to her.
She kneels down between his legs, all of her thoughts shining unspoken in her
eyes. She takes Killian's face in her hands, silently wondering to herself why
it took her so long to see and admit the truth to herself. Wonderingly, she
brushes her thumb over her lips. "I know, lass. You don't need to-"
His eyes are bright, almost as if he too is trying to hold back tears, but he
looks away, focusing on pulling her body around so that she can sit in the tub
and lean back against him. Once she's settled, he reaches to the table and
retrieves her glass of wine for her. He brushes her hair to the side, lightly
kissing her neck and shoulder. "Just relax, love. No more words unless you want
them. Just…be here, with me."
===============================================================================
 
Two days later on a job site with the Bacon brothers, Killian is still grinning
like a fool. Granted, he's known for a long time the Emma loves him, that she's
been falling in love with him a little bit every day since he started proving
his own devotion to her. But hearing the words whispered to him in her voice,
with the truth of it shining out of her eyes as he felt her come apart for him…
That moment is a memory he will treasure and cherish every second of every day
of the rest of his life. He replays the other night in his mind constantly as
he's chipping away at the block of marble for the fireplace mantle-piece. "Hey,
Killian! We need help off-loading some more of this granite for the kitchen!"
He smiles as he waves, unsure which of the three brothers actually called him
over—they all look like the bloody same person to him. He's careful to put his
tools away properly, but it's this delay which leads to disaster striking. The
oldest brother, unused to anything except desk work for the last three years,
had the brilliant idea to show up on site today and help, muttering some excuse
about his doctor telling him that he needs more exercise. Between him on the
ground and his youngest brother in the bed of the truck is a massive 100+ pound
slab of solid granite rock; the property owner had wanted granite everything
for their kitchen, and the stuff can usually only be found in large pieces like
these. Killian speeds up after a shared glance with the man up on the truck,
seeing for himself that the older man is struggling. He gets there just as
Bacon loses his grip on the rock piece, catching it as it's falling. But the
piece is just too heavy to be catching like that, and he can practically see
everything happen in slow motion as his right hand hits the ground, followed by
the end of the slab.
Pain doesn't even register at first, although years of experience tell him that
some of the bones are definitely broken, if not crushed. His next thought is
about the irony of gaining his left hand back, only to then be deprived of the
right. Once the shock wears off, and everyone is clamoring around him about
hospitals, surgeries, and doctors, his next thought is for Emma. He doesn't
pass out from the pain (barely) when the middle brother carefully wraps a
bandana around the fingers to stop the bleeding. Then he's ushered into one of
the company trucks and taken into Storybrooke General. When the doors to the
emergency room open, Emma is already pacing back and forth. "Lass."
He barely gets the word out around the pain he's feeling, but she whips her
head at the sound of his voice, eyes bright with worry and concern. She waves
off the shrill explanations and apologies. "Just go back to the worksite, all
of you. I will take care of him from here. Just go."
The three men jump, clearly frightened at the anger and vehemence in her voice,
but they are quick to run away precisely as she commands. "Emma, love…"
"Let me see it, Killian. And please be quiet so I can focus." Her tone has
softened from what it was just moments ago, for all intents and purposes
pleading with him. She's infinitely gentle and careful, reaching out and
cradling his ruined hand in hers. He hears a low keening sound that must be
coming from her, but he can't tell for sure because she is so focused on the
blood-soaked bandage. He sees a tear fall, watches it drop onto the uncovered
tip of one finger, but he can no longer feel it. Her eyes close and breath
huffs out in frustration, but she continues to be mindful of his hand and the
pain he's still in. "I don't understand… Why isn't this working?!"
Her outburst catches the attention of the nurses who now start fluttering
around uselessly. Several of them mention something about a whale and stats,
but in their panic, one of them jostles Emma.
"Gods!" Killian can't hold back the exclamation as pain and fire radiate up his
nerves. He clenches his teeth back together, but the damage has been done.
Sweat starts beading on his brow and all he can think about is drowning himself
in a vat of rum like he did when cook cauterized his left stump all those years
ago.
"Back away! Go annoy someone else! I can handle this!" Even having seen the
depths of Emma's anger on Neverland when they had faced off against Pan,
Killian has never beheld her in such a state before. Her magic is still young,
mostly raw ability and power…
"Lass… An idea… My hand—when you healed it before—it was when we… We were…" He
can't manage to get out the rest of his thought, whether from embarrassment or
pain, she's not quite sure. But she understands the gist of what he's trying to
convey.
"You're in no condition to be jostled around like that, Killian Jones! That
better be the pain talking!"
He rolls his eyes, as if silently beseeching whatever gods to have mercy on
him. "I do believe we've discovered… the one deterrent to any thoughts of… a
lascivious nature. But… more than one… way to skin a cat… aye?"
He's sweating bullets now, and tears are beginning to leak down his cheeks like
twin faucets. Emma looks him directly in the eye and nods, carefully kneeling
down between his legs. She takes his face in her hands, her expression stormier
and more conflicted than he's ever seen; but he quickly realizes that these
feelings are being fueled by her worry for him. Their love has never yet
failed, and she's frightened that this might be the first time it does. He
turns his head so he can brush a kiss to each palm before returning his gaze to
hers, and in the strongest, surest voice he can muster says the only thing that
can reassure her. "Not until I met you."
Her smile in that moment is probably the most radiant thing he's ever seen in
his entire life. That glow of joy and happiness on Emma Swan's face transforms
her beloved and beautiful features into something transcendent and ethereal. He
feels his own heart swell, ache, and beat faster as her stare flickers between
his eyes and his lips. She closes the distance, gently brushing her lips
against his before pressing more firmly. He feels warmth flow through his from
this simple contact, can almost physically sense and touch the love that has
grown between them and is encompassed in this small kiss. Together, they open
to the other, perfectly echoing, mirroring their mate. But the warmth doesn't
fade away—it pulses and intensifies until it seems as though time has stopped.
When it begins again, Emma cries out as she feels a flash of pain through her
hand. Killian reaches out to steady her, catching her by the shoulders, before
it suddenly hits him—not only is his right hand good as new, but he swears that
he can feel someone holding him up, keeping him from collapsing to the floor.
He hears her gasp. "Oh, my god!"
"What's the matter, lass? Are you alright?" He reaches out to brush aside her
hair, and again, the sensation strikes him as if someone is doing the same
thing to him.
"Your eyes, Killian… They're… well they're glowing! Like…" More firmly, almost
as if assuring himself that she's real, he cups her cheek and rubs his thumb
across her skin. Swearing softly, he almost knocks her over in his haste to get
up. He grips her hand in his and starts moving, head swiveling back and forth
frantically as if keeping an eye out for Crocodiles and Lost Boys again. She
would laugh at this, except he's dragging her along with him and doesn't give
her a chance to slow him down.
Quickly, he yanks open one of the many doors lining the hallway and practically
flings her inside. He follows her as swiftly as he always does, drawn to her
irresistibly, before pushing her up against one of the metal shelving units.
But then he backs away, stalking back and forth as if he's wrestling with
something; she's never said so out loud, but his impetuousness is one of the
many things she finds so fascinating about him, the ability to be entirely new
and unpredictable no matter how much she knows about him. It's a turn on—to one
minute be kissing him gently, and the next to have him panting to have her.
"Killian, what are you?-"
She never finishes her sentence because something completely unexpected
happens, as waves of sensation cause her to moan. His eyes are a molten,
silvery blue that's breathtaking in its intense, hypnotic beauty. He's still
several feet away, staring at her like a panther that's ready to consume its
prey, but she can still Feel his arousal, just as if it were already nestled at
the juncture of her thighs. So real, the feeling increases the burning in her
blood, flushes her skin with longing and heat, and causes her nipples to
harden. But now he's the one who's moaning, and Emma watches stunned as his own
begin to noticeably press up against his t-shirt. "What's happening to me,
love? Don't get me wrong—it feels fucking incredible—but once you started
kissing me… Why can I feel everything your body is feeling? I just thought
about your—oh, gods!"
Whatever he was saying gets lost in the rush of moisture that she experiences.
Coherent thoughts and complete sentences suddenly seem very difficult concepts.
"Umm… I don't mean to upset you, Killian, but… there's a pretty good chance
you're magical."
"What?! Why would you say that?"
"Well, you know how my eyes are different when I use magic? Well, I sort of
noticed on our first date that your eyes were glowing with it, and that's what
they're doing right now."
He pins her with his body and his glare, pulling an involuntary whimper from
Emma and a rumbling moan from his own throat as the double assault on their
pleasure zones rolls over and between them. "And you're just telling me this
now, lass, because?..."
"Mmmm… Focus right. Umm… You kind of distracted me at the time and I somehow
managed to forget?"
"Forget bloody magic, Emma?!"
"You were very… compelling and engaging at the time! I can't help having a one-
track mind when you're naked and doing your best to seduce me!"
The breathy need and longing that colors Emma's voice sends another heated rush
of blood to his groin; she must be feeling it too because she gasps, bites her
lower lip, and throws her head back against the shelf behind her. Killian feels
even more warmth, a tightening of his muscles low in his stomach and into his
thighs that must be her pleasure. His hands flex, making the metal shelves
shift and groan. She opens her eyes just a bit to look at him, but enough for
him to see that hers are magic-shot like she says his are. Finally, he can't
resist or restrain himself anymore and he kisses her. Every passionate nip,
every gentle melding, every epic battle for control cannot compare to this;
it's like he's never truly kissed her before today, never fully learned all the
things that they have come to crave about each other. Within moments of his
lips touching hers, he would swear that he wouldn't have lasted a second
longer; they haven't even begun and already he's poised on the edge of coming.
He thinks he hears fabric tearing (his shirt, thank gods, and not hers), but
then his cock is buried inside her. Time and space mean nothing—only Emma, only
Killian. Their magic makes her glow, molten heat trapped in the confines of her
body that he's desperate to connect to. Their hips slam together furiously, her
sheath gripping him tight, yet also perfectly wet for him. The tiniest
movements cause explosions all along the various nerves of their bodies—the
thrill and terror of riding through a portal or standing in the middle of a
magic storm is the only thing they can compare it to. She throws her head back
again, pulling him forward by his hair so he can pay homage to her neck while
he fucks her. He licks, bites, kisses the soft, thin skin, receiving back from
her the pleasure he's giving; even the vibrations of every whimper and moan
radiate back and forth. He never wants this to end, this connection he has with
Emma; because while their minds are swept clean of words, ideas and emotions
remain that cannot be captured by language or action alone. What he feels most
in this moment, beyond the physical, is the awesome sense of the depth of her
love for him.
If he weren't already speechless, hopelessly besotted and devoted to her…He has
no bloody clue how to repay what she's giving him except through the worship of
his body. He captures her lips and thrusts harder, searching for more friction,
more anything so long as it will make her happy, cause her to continue to
writhe in exquisite, decadent pleasure. It's frantic, frenetic, and neither of
them wants it to stop. But finally the tension snaps, as their minds and bodies
can take no more; the energy between them collapses in a fiery, destructive
fusion—where two beings cease to exist in separate space. A singular peal of
sound breaks forth, preceding the explosion and leaving something else entirely
in its wake. Neither can tell where Killian ends and Emma begins, because such
distinctions no longer exist anymore.
Her core continues to contract while he continues to pulse inside of her, both
somehow having managed to remain upright. Each of her breaths ends in either a
whimper or a sigh, the aftershocks of their ecstasy almost painful in their
intensity. When he finally pulls himself from her body, it's with a euphoric,
yet tortured groan. "Gods, love! That was…"
She all but purrs at him, her voice excited and airy. "Magical? Amazing? Jaw-
droppingly, mind-blowingly, fucking brilliant?"
Emma opens her eyes just a bit so that he can see a hint of sex-hazed,
magically swirling green. He chuckles, a rumble that vibrates back and forth
from his chest to hers, and causes him to tighten his grip on her thighs.
Already, he can feel his erection stirring back to life, his desire for her
crystallizing despite the literal after-glow. "Have I ever told you how much I
love it when you talk dirty, princess?"
She reaches between their bodies to stroke the hardened length of his shaft—a
lazy movement that still causes him to throw back his head and close his eyes.
Flickers of what he's feeling start to spark along the nerves of her folds and
clit. Curious, she changes the tempo and the amount of pressure as she pumps
her fist along the hot, silky skin of his cock. Killian hisses, sucking in deep
breaths while she lovingly tortures him. She takes advantage of his offered
throat to suck and nip at his vulnerable spots. "You seem flustered, Captain.
Almost distracted, one might say… Care to share what's on your mind?"
It's the low, sultry quality of her tone that finally makes him reach his
breaking point. He growls at her, wrapping his hand over the one that's
gripping his cock, and together the guide him to her entrance; he thrusts
himself back into her still slick warmth and finds himself in heaven. Emma
cries out, unable or unwilling to be quiet any longer. He's deliberate and
methodical this time; unridden by magic, he recalls to mind every trick he's
ever learned and all the knowledge he's acquired about her body. His pace
remains unhurried, each pump of his hips perfectly timed, every withdrawal
executed with a calculated slowness that has her panting and restless. He gives
her just enough to keep her on edge and wanting. Emma slides her hands over his
chest and shoulders up into his hair, dragging her nails lightly along his
scalp. She knows that he loves it when she does this and that it usually causes
him to return the favor; but since he's currently holding her body up with his
hands, he won't be able to. A fact which certainly will drive him to
distraction, just as she intends it to. He mutters a curse as a particular
pleasant sensation rolls through his body with the contact, causing his rhythm
to falter. He has no bloody clue why, but the scratch of her nails as she runs
her fingers through his hair always has this insane sensual effect on him.
However, it does encourage him to pick up his speed a little, makes each thrust
end with the audible slap of his skin to hers and a roll of his hips.
"Killian!" He smirks and hums his satisfaction at getting her to break, to say
his name so that it sounds like a question, an exclamation, and a prayer all at
once; nothing in the world exists in this moment except for her and the
pleasure he can lavish on her.
"Every single light bulb is out! I don't think we have enough—what the hell?
What are you two—this is my office!"
"It's a bloody broom closet, dwarf! Now get the fuck out! Don't have time to
explain what we're doing if you haven't yet figured out how!"
"Leroy?! Oh, Jesus!"
"Hey! That's my niece and god-daughter you're carrying on with, pirate! You may
have Snow and Charming fooled, but-"
"Get out, Leroy!" The door closes behind him not a second too soon, and Emma
hides her face in her lover's shoulder, thoroughly embarrassed, mortified
really. She looks so absolutely adorable that he can't stop his body's shaking,
valiantly attempting to hold back his laughter.
"Killian Jones! So help me, this is not a good time to be laughing!"
He tips her head up and kisses her chin, unable to stop now that the laughter
is welling out.
"I've always known that red was your color, love. Do you know, I believe that
lovely blush of yours just might spread all the way down to your-" Clearly
unable to intimidate him in this moment, she shuts him up the best way she
knows how. With a kiss.
 
***** Something Wicked *****
"Come on, Mom! Pleeeeease! It'll be fun!"
Honestly, when he said it like that, she and Killian looked at each other and
knew that there was just no way to say no to Henry. It was the first thing he's
been excited about since Neverland, and since Ruby and Granny were essentially
throwing the party for him… In all honesty, Halloween had been one of her
favorite holidays as a kid, the power of make-believe fueled by massive amounts
of sugary treats was something even the bleak settings of foster homes and
orphanages couldn't suppress. These days she was just fine being Emma Swan,
thank you very much, but denying her son a bit of harmless fun just seemed
wrong.
Killian had also seemed taken with the idea, asking Henry what types of
characters people dressed up as and what the various traditions were all about.
They'd been so absorbed with their conversation that they hadn't noticed when
Ruby stopped by the booth. "So, what are you planning on going as, Emma?"
"I hadn't thought about it until just now, actually. Did you guys even have
Halloween back there?" Since coming back, she'd shied away from referring to
the Enchanted Forest directly. Almost as if she was afraid to bring it up in
any conversation; it was always back there.
"Something like it to celebrate getting in the harvest. And if you were noble
or gentry, there would be the occasional masquerade ball. But if you need
ideas, the best costumes are all at Fortune's Favors." The she-wolf grinned
mischievously and winked before sauntering off to check on her other tables.
Emma tried to hide her own smirk, shifting her attention back to her boys, who
were still talking about various costume ideas.
===============================================================================
 
The great thing about a fortune-telling gypsy who runs a sex shop, especially
one who already knows your measurements, is that you don't even have to tell
her what you're looking for. The second Emma had walked in, Esmeralda had just
smiled and handed her a bag with the perfect costume inside. Henry had actually
given her the idea when he suggested that Killian be a police officer; she only
thought it fitting that if he pretended to take her job for the evening that
she should take his.
The black satin skirt would hit just above her knees, except for the fact that
it has big layers of puffy crinoline that make it stand out and shorten it.
Significantly. Thankfully, Esmeralda had already been working on a black
leather corset with panels of jade silk brocade for her, so she chooses to wear
it for the first time as part of her costume. It's the little touches that
really complete it though—an ivory peasant top that falls off her shoulders
just a touch, the over-the-knee black suede boots, the thigh sheath for her
dagger that she puts on over the fishnet stockings, the gold hoop earrings,
some clunky rings, and the magic compass that she attaches to her black leather
belt along with her sword and scabbard. Somehow, she doubts anyone at the party
will mistake her for anything other than a sexy pirate.
"Lass! Come on! Regina picked up Henry almost half-an-hour ago. Aren't you
ready yet?" Killian had been very loudly, very obviously pacing from the moment
he'd arrived, curious as to what her costume was going to be. She could hear
that he was on the stairs, even though she'd expressly forbidden him from
stepping even one foot on them. With a last look in the mirror, she grabs her
long coat and slips it on.
"You're so bossy and impatient! But I have to admit that you do look good in
uniform." It's not a real outfit, and certainly not even close to the sheriff's
uniform that Graham tried to talk her into wear once upon a time; however, she
can't deny that the light blue oxford shirt, navy slacks, and aviator glasses
are certainly his style. He looks her over, seemingly disappointed.
"Well? Is that it?"
"My costume? Oh, no! I am not walking out into the freezing Maine night in
October without my coat! You'll just have to wait and see it at the party."
He grumbles under his breath a bit, but then takes her hand as they are walking
down the stairs. It's one of the things that they've compromised on—open
displays of affection; she prays she'llnever get as comfortable as Snow and
David are with their PDA, however, holding hands in front of their family and
friends isn't quite as intimidating or terrifying as it was at first. And
walking through town without her fingers freezing is a pretty nice perk. When
they get to the diner, the patio area has a few of the rowdier kids' games and
an apple-bobbing bucket that looks only a few degrees north of freezing. But
the inside is festively decorated with candles glowing from pumpkins carved for
the occasion, lights dimmed for effect, and lots of cotton-ball cobwebs with
plastic spiders. She doesn't see her parents, but thankfully she and Killian
aren't the only adults who have come in costume. Emma laughs hysterically, but
just waves the people who are staring off, when she sees Ruby in a sexed-up
Bride of Frankenstein outfit.
However, she waits until she has her friend's attention before shedding her
coat and setting it down in the booth she and Killian had staked out as theirs
earlier. Ruby's grin is positively wicked, but Emma's focus quickly shifts to
the person for whom the outfit was intended. What's truly hilarious is that not
only has his jaw literally dropped, but he's barely pulled the aviator
sunglasses down his nose, ogling her from over the rims. She whips the scarf
off her neck and ties it into a bandana to complete the look before turning
around in a circle for his inspection. "Well, you did once say I'd make a hell
of pirate… What do you think, Officer Jones?"
"That there bloody well isn't enough fabric to that costume, but gods you are
stunning, lass!"
"Hey, eyes up here, buddy. And that's Captain to you! For tonight anyway." She
does her best impersonation of him, even lifting her eyebrow a bit and invading
his personal space. He laughs, ushering her into their booth and ordering
pumpkin hot cocoas for them and the as yet absent Henry and the Charmings. But
it isn't too long before their playful flirting gets the better of them. It's
when he reminds her that he used to be an officer in a navy before becoming a
pirate captain that she just can't resist the quip that gets them in trouble.
"Well no wonder you can pull off the cop outfit. You learned how to act like
you have a stick up your ass from best! If I didn't know any better, I'd think
that your lass at home wasn't doing her job properly."
Killian merely smirks at her, otherwise completely unruffled by her
insinuations and teasing. He stands up from the booth, then leans down toward
her, lips barely brushing the loose curls that had fallen around her ear. "Is
that a challenge, Captain? Are you questioning my…dedication to the time
honored arts of plundering and pillaging? Meet me in the men's washroom in
exactly one minute, Miss Swan. I find myself determined to prove you wrong."
It takes her all of two seconds to completely forget about the fact that they
are surrounded by people, in the middle of a Halloween party. But she mentally
counts to forty-five before standing up and following him, so that their
leaving the main room of the diner isn't immediately connected in the minds of
the other guests. She checks to see if anyone else noticed, but everyone seems
to be focused on talking, laughing, or playing games. It takes her less than
her planned fifteen seconds to walk to the back, but she still doesn't even get
a chance to knock. He opens the door, grabs her wrist, and pulls her into his
body. He spins her around and uses their momentum and her body to shut the
door; he rubs his nose along hers while his left hand skims along her side
gently and engages the lock. He captures her lips with his and sweeps his
tongue inside her mouth, plundering and invading. It's one of the things she
loves most about being with Killian Jones—the way he kisses—like she's a
delectable treat, something to be consumed completely, whether you're in the
mood to devour or to savor. And clearly, the man is starved for her.
"Mmm… Maybe I should play dress-up for you a little more often. Especially if
this is the response I get." He starts nibbling and nipping along her jaw,
teasing the soft, vulnerable skin where face and throat meet. Emma's hands slip
along his waist, grabbing his ass and grinding her hips into his so she can
feel his erection pressing into her belly. A growl rises up out of his chest
and vibrates along her skin perfectly. She lets go of him, but only so she can
work on his belt buckle and the button and fly of his slacks. Then she untucks
and pulls up his shirt so her hands can caress a path of seduction along his
well-defined abs. Then next sound he makes is a strangled moan as she continues
with her not so innocent touches to his stomach and the waistline of his
boxers. He grips her waist and brings her flush against him, spinning them
around until her ass hits the sink counter. She tilts her hips up to increase
the friction as she rubs up against him, practically offering herself to him,
begging for his touch.
Emma slides her hands up his chest, carefully and quickly unbuttoning the
crisply starched shirt before flicking both sides open, eager to have his naked
skin against hers. She leans back, biting her lower lip and watching his hands
run along the fishnets, tracing the tops of the thigh highs and reaching for
her panties. While he slips them all the way off, she pulls her blouse and
corset down, enough to free her breasts without needing to relace. He kisses
each nipple before sucking the left one into his mouth, thrusting two fingers
inside her at the same time; Emma can feel him smirking as he tugs hard with
his teeth and then slowly licks the bud of flesh. She tugs on his hair, mewling
in the back of her throat to stop teasing her. He complies, mouth searching
hungrily for hers as he lines himself at her entrance. Killian moans when the
tip of his cock parts her already wet pussy and sinks in the first inch. She's
always so ready for him, so eager and welcoming, practically begging him to
fuck or make love to her whenever an opportunity presents itself. He lifts her
right leg, wrapping it around his waist as he pushes all the way inside her.
She whimpers at his first thrust, drowning the sound in the hot, needy way
she's kissing him. He pumps his hips in a bruising, punishing rhythm, but his
tongue and teeth and lips are persuasively gentle, while his thumb dances in
slow, lazy circles between her thighs. It's the contrast of gentle and soft,
the confusion of what's happening to her body that have her pussy getting even
wetter, preparing for release. Their panting is quiet, breaths wafting hot and
urgent across the other's cheek. She leans back, pressing her forehead against
his, eyes only half open as she watches his hard length disappear into her
body. He grabs a fistful of her hair, twisting and pulling just the way she
likes it. "I love it when you watch me fucking you, Emma. My little voyeur, see
anything you want?"
"God yes!"
She's so close, but she listens for the quiet keening sound he makes, deep in
the back of his throat that tells her she'll be able to take him over the edge
with her. When he makes it, she works her inner muscles, milking him hard and
thrusting her hips to increase the pressure of his thumb. Killian nudges her
nose with his, angling for another hot, passionate kiss. She mewls and bites
down on his lower lips when she comes, throwing her head back as sparks of
pleasure flicker down her body like lightning strikes. Her orgasm brings his,
white light bursting behind his eyes as he comes inside her. No barriers, no
fears between them. He pounds into her a few more times, pulling whimpers from
her throat as he prolongs her torment and pleasure. Emma shivers when he
finally pulls back and starts fixing their clothes. Suddenly, returning to the
party sounds like the worst idea in the world, but going back to the loft is
getting more appealing by the second. Instead of leaving her satisfied and
deliciously lethargic, she's even more keyed up than ever.
"Gods, love! Don't take this the wrong way, but do you ever think this will
stop? You're all I ever think about; I spend my days wanting you and thinking
about when I'll see you again. But then when I'm with you, it's never enough—I
always want you more, love you more." She presses a finger to his lips.
"I know what you mean. I love you too, Killian, and I hope it never does stop."
She can see light and happiness fill his eyes and knows that she's said exactly
the right thing. The power of what they feel scares them, but living life
without the other is no longer an option. So, instead of doing what they do
best and start running, they go off and face their family and friends the way
they do everything now. Together.
 
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