A/N: Moving this over from tumblr to prepare for additional chapters to come… Hope to have chapter 2 up this week!
Catcalls and whoops fill the already loud living room as Killian is jolted from his slightly disinterested state to sudden, complete, focused attention at the sound of Emma's voice saying his name.
Emma is standing in front of the open closet, her shaky hand crumpling the piece of paper that she has just fished out of the bowl Ruby is holding up in front of her. Her face is beet red, most likely due to embarrassment and possibly the amount of alcohol that has been flowing since they arrived together a few hours ago.
Emma's eyes shoot to his as soon as the word has left his mouth, her beautiful lips turning downwards into a slight frown, her hurt barely masked before she looks away. Realizing that she has misunderstood his reaction, he quickly scrambles from the couch to her side, grasping her elbow lightly to draw her attention back to him.
"Sorry, love, not complaining, just surprised. What are the odds?"
He watches her frown turn back into a slight smile before she reaches up to pull his hand from behind his ear, stopping him from scratching himself raw.
"C'mon Sailor, let's get this over with."
And with that, she is hauling him into the open closet, the door slamming behind them by Ruby with force and a rather loud chuckle. His mouth is full of someone's wool coat and he's not quite sure if it is Emma that is pressed against his groin or a vacuum cleaner, his only confident contact in the blackness being the warmth of her palm in his.
"Swan, I'm going to reach out to get my bearings. I apologize in advance if I get fresh on accident."
Her sweet laugh does things to him, things that if she wasn't his best friend in the world, he might just act on. But she is, and he respects that, his longing for her a long held secret he keeps from her in silence every day. But now, he finds himself in a most precarious situation, groping around in the dark with the woman who haunts his more explicit dreams, playing a game fit for drunken teenagers.
"I think the point of 7 Minutes in Heaven is to get fresh, Killian."
The flirtatious banter isn't unexpected, but it still manages to spark the flame of hope inside of him that perhaps he isn't alone in his yearnings. They've always been this way, pushing and pulling, but never crossing that unspoken line that he's not sure if either of them actually ever wanted drawn in the first place. His hand makes contact with what feels like her waist and he pulls her forward, her nose suddenly bumping his in the tight space, his breath catching when she doesn't make a move to step back.
"Love, I'm well aware of the rules of this ridiculous game. I assumed you…"
Whatever was about to come rambling from his mouth is silenced when he feels her hands grip his shirt, pulling him forward as her lips crash into his with unexpected force. He feels her body stiffen under his hands, as if her actions are as surprising to her as they are to him, her lips turning suddenly tentative against his. Unwilling to think further than this moment, he takes control, his hand moving from her waist to tangle in her low ponytail, angling her head so he can deepen the kiss and make clear his opinion on where she was beginning to lead them. His response breaks the tension in her and her body begins to melt against his, her breasts pressing deliciously against his chest as her arms move to circle around his neck. The groan that escapes his lips when her fingernails begin lightly scratching his scalp is loud in the quiet closet, making him want to hear something from her, any sound to know that she is enjoying this as much as he is. He draws back from her mouth, lightly pulling her bottom lip between his teeth as he walks them forward, pressing her against the back of the closet door with the full length of his body. His tongue slips between her lips when her mouth opens in surprise, the taste of her, sweet rum and cinnamon, careening his senses into overdrive. The feel of her soft curls under his fingers, the warmth heat of her seeping into his skin everywhere they touch, it's all too much and not enough at the same time. The soft moan that escapes her lips when his palm makes contact with the skin of her lower back underneath her sweater the sweetest sound he has ever heard, his pants tightening uncomfortably as his control slips further from his grasp.
She pulls back to take a breath and for a moment he thinks she is coming to her senses, expecting her to push him away. He realizes she is just as far gone as he is when her hands slide from his neck and down his back, anchoring in his back jean pockets as she pulls him closer to her against the door. The slide of her center against the zipper of his jeans is so electric that he loses his balance, his forehead coming to rest against hers as his breath comes out in short pants, hands grasping her hips to pull her flush against him once again.
She closes the distance and kisses him again, slower, softer, but infinitely more passionate, her hips rocking against his in a painfully slow rhythm. The wet slide of her tongue as she moves to trace his jaw quickly replaces any previous moment he has ever experienced as the most erotic on record, her teeth nipping lightly on his earlobe before he feels her breath come out in a rush.
"Don't think, Killian, just feel."
His grip on her hips tightens to the point where he is sure she will find little bruises there tomorrow, before sliding down and around to lift her thighs around his waist.
"As you wish."
All that follows is a blur of delicious friction, her hands urging him faster, harder, his legs already beginning to shake from the jolts of pleasure spreading from where their bodies are connected. His mouth finds the soft skin of her throat, the primal need to mark her overwhelming as his lips claim what he desperately wants to be his. Her head falls back roughly against the door, the muffled bang startling him into dim awareness, his eyes lifting and settling on her face. The look of pleasure he sees there almost causes his knees to buckle. Her eyes open slowly when he stops moving, her hands moving to urge him forward again as she locks him in her gaze, emotions swirling in her irises that he doesn't dare try to comprehend.
Just as he is leaning forward to capture her lips again the world spins out from under their feet. He is suddenly crashing forward, bracing himself and the back of her head at the last second, barely avoiding crushing her under his full weight on the carpeted floor. She is dazed as she looks up from him (clearly not just from the fall). Her eyes shift from his to something above them and their surroundings suddenly come into clear focus, the laughter and applause loud to his ears after the intimacy of the confines of the closet. Ruby's red leather clad ankle comes into view as she leans down, a knowing smirk curving her dark painted lips.
"Sorry guys, didn't know you were against the door."
Annoyed at the interruption, Killian rolls his eyes, shifting his attention back to Emma still sprawled out beneath him.
"You okay, Swan?"
She blinks a few times, her hand clenching his waist for a moment before she drops it to the floor.
He feels her shift beneath him, spurring him into action, leveraging himself off of her so he can help her up. By the time he's on his feet she is already halfway up herself, ignoring the hand he has reached out to her, redness creeping up her neck as embarrassment takes over the moment. Knowing that all of their friends are now watching them like hawks, he tentatively places his hand on her lower back, hoping she will let him lead her from the living room to somewhere more private.
She freezes at his touch, his hand dropping immediately back to his side as he looks at her, waiting for some sort of explanation.
"Uh…I'll be right back. Need to find the restroom."
Before he can respond, she is gone. Her ability to run from emotional situations her greatest magic trick, one he has grown to loathe over the years. Ruby catches his eye, sending him a sympathetic smile before turning back to the crowd, calling up the next victim in their childish party game. After spending 10 minutes searching the house he ascertains that Emma has left, Mary Margaret's car no longer in the driveway, obviously coerced into playing getaway driver. Feeling slightly defeated and confused, he grabs his keys from the bowl at the door and makes his own exit.
Later that night, after spending a good hour composing and deleting texts he never sends, he finally admits he doesn't really know what to say to her yet or even what she wants to hear. He makes his way into his bedroom, peeling off his shirt that still smells of her perfume, his jeans landing upside down on the chair in his haste to get into bed and hopefully replay those 7 seven minutes over and over in his dreams. He reaches down when he sees the piece of paper that has fallen from his back pocket, immediately recognizing it as the scrap Emma had crumpled in her hand right before they found their way inside of the closet.
As he unfurls the creases and folds in the paper, his eyes widen at the name scribbled in Ruby's signature blocky handwriting.