Notes: There isn't smut, exactly, but rather detailed fantasies. It definitely earns the "M" rating, so don't you worry about that. This came about when I was rewatching that scene between them in the diner and noticing the extreme amount of eye-fucking August was giving to Emma.
Disclaimer: I don't own, nor was I the creator of, the dialogue from the show featured in this chapter.
August knew Emma. He had carried her out of the forest when she was a baby. He abandoned her. And later, he'd ruined her life. So, while she didn't know that she knew him, or that he knew her, he at least knew her a little bit.
Emma had been a baby-faced teenager. She was cute, in a naive, endearing sort of way. But now, ten-plus years later, she was damned sexy. The years had weathered her, but not in a harsh way – in a way more befitting of a wine reaching maturity.
From the second August laid eyes on her, he's wanted her. He wants her in a way that he didn't know it was possible to want a woman – and August is no stranger to desire and lust. He didn't mean to swagger over to her quite like he did, but he couldn't help himself. She was standing with whom only had to be her son, and they wore identical faces of confusion. He couldn't resist messing with her, just a little, by not telling her his name.
August sits in Granny's Diner (sad, really, that such great warriors have been reduced to a cook and a waitress) and lets his fantasies run amok. He thinks about leaving scorching kisses down her neck, burying himself inside her, taking her higher and higher –
"We need to talk."
August almost laughs aloud. Someone up there, in this land or his home, must like him today. "Why?" He asks.
"Because…" Emma comes around to face him, "You're suspicious."
The urge to laugh is growing. So is the urge to take her on the diner seat. "Sitting here. Out in the open. Drinking coffee." Emma is so very not amused, and his tongue gets the better of him. "Wonder what kind of hell I would've raised if I ordered a donut." August leans back against the seat, the picture of a casual citizen.
"You were talking to Henry," She accuses. He wants to tangle his hands in her golden hair.
"You mean the little kid who came up to me asking me questions? Is that unusual for him, being curious, and precocious?" August wonders if his staring is making her uncomfortable, but he can't help himself.
"What were you doing outside his house?" Emma isn't letting up. She's stubborn. A good quality in a sheriff, he muses, and also one in a lover.
"My bike broke down. It happens." August isn't even trying to hide his eye-fucking now.
Emma changes topics. "Your mysterious box. What's in it?"
It's for me to know and you to find out, he wants to say. Childish, yes, but he wants to tease her. So instead, he says, "It's awfully frustrating, not knowing, isn't it?"
Yes, it's awfully frustrating not knowing when you'll be allowed to come, isn't it, Emma? He wonders if that's a kink of hers, and hopes that it is.
"Just tell me." He can hear the frustration in her voice. He wonders if she'd cry out with wanton abandon, or if she'd stifle her cries against his neck.
"Why? Is it illegal to carry around a box in these parts?" August is fully aware that he's being a dick. But he wants so badly to get a rise out of her, to see some passion.
"No, of course it's not," Emma snaps, irritated. Something about it makes him want to clutch her close and kiss her.
"You really want to know what's inside it, don't you?" He's getting into double entendres now. August hopes she notices. He can't stop thinking about her quivering underneath him.
"No." The answer takes them both by surprise.
He tilts his head at her, as if to ask, Really?
"Well, maybe," She amends, and sits down. August can sense that she's relaxing. There's a part of him that wants to relent, that wants to be nice, and just tell her. That nice part of him wants to buy her dinner and kiss her on her doorstep.
But a part of him that can't resist teasing her wins out. "I'm gonna make you wait," Yes, he thinks, I'm going to make you wait to come. I'm going to draw you out and string you along until you're pleading with me to make you come. She levels a glare at him and looks even sexier for it.
"You're gonna have to wait a long time," Until I'm satisfied with teasing you. Until we both know, explicitly, how hungry and desperate you are for my touch. Until you're gasping my name.
As August continues, she leans forward. She holds his gaze. It's exhilarating, and his hands itch to touch her. "Never knowing, only guessing, what could be inside that box?" He finishes dramatically.
She looks like she very badly wants to call him a dick and punch him. He wouldn't stop her. He definitely deserves it at this point. He leans forward, almost predatorily, his eyes steady on hers. "Or you could let me buy you a drink sometime and I'll tell you right now."
"You want to buy me a drink." She says, amused. It's a statement, not a question.
"Yes," August says, truly meaning it. He wants to buy her a drink. He wants to buy her several. And then he wants to take her home.
"Okay, a drink it is." She says, and he wants to cheer. August moves back and fetches the aforementioned mystery box. He pauses before he opens it, and looks at her and waits for her to affirm that she really, truly does want it. And she does. He wonders if that's the only thing she wants.
So he reveals its contents to her.
"Really?" She says, genuinely surprised.
"I'm a writer," He says, and it's the first honest thing he's said in a while.
"That's why you're here?" She still looks confused. He wonders if she's a screamer, and if she's not, he wonders if he can make her into one.
"I find this place provides," August pauses for dramatic effect, "Inspiration. Don't you?"
Lightning flashes over her face. Thunder rumbles outside. August wants to take her outside in the rain, lean her against a parked car, and make her come with just his fingers.
He starts to pack up his box. She watches his hands. He thinks of a million witty lines about how he can use them, but doesn't say any of them.
"Wait," She says as he gets up to leave, "Have you been here before?"
"I didn't say that," He says, and drops money on the table. She's cute when she's confused.
"What about that drink?" Emma calls after him.
August smiles. He turns around and locks eyes with her. "I said sometime," He says softly. She looks so confused. He wants to hold that delicate face in his hands as he kisses her.
For several days she's all he can think about. He can't get the image of her, spread underneath him, arching her back and moaning his name, out of his head. It makes it difficult to talk to her, let alone talk complicated circles around her until she's turned around, inside out, and doesn't know which way is up.
All of Augusts' thoughts are consumed by her. He knows that he needs to be focusing on getting her to believe, on getting her to break the curse – but he can't help himself.
Running into her at the diner had been serendipitous. It was there that he really got to appreciate the color of her eyes, and the way her hair spilled around her shoulders. Her quirking mouth. The way she held his gaze that both challenged him and called him on his bullshit at the same time. It makes him ache for her.
So, August offered to buy her a drink. It's the least he can do, really. He's ruined her life – twice – and something about the way she carries herself makes it impossible not to be attracted to her. No harm, no foul.
He wants to make her dizzy when he kisses her neck, soothing his bite marks with his tongue. August would give anything to feel her knees buckle when he sucks on her neck. He wants to know if she'll moan when he rolls a nipple between his fingers. He wants to know if she appreciates the precise application of teeth in sensitive places. If she likes to be clutched close. If she'll tug on his hair when his face is buried between her thighs.
He wants to lay her down on his bed and feel her shiver at his groan when he discovers just how wet he is. He wants her to gasp and arch into him when he presses himself against her hip, knowing just how hard she's made him. August wants to hear her moans when he goes down on her and flutters his tongue against her clit. He wants to know her, to consume her, to feel her shudder and break underneath him.
As badly as he wants her, August wants to take his time with her. He wants everything to be tantalizingly slow. He'd had quick and hard fucks, but he doesn't want that with her. He wants to enjoy her. He wants to get to know every inch of her body, and memorize what makes her moan. He wants to know what she tastes like, what she feels like. If her skin is just as soft as it looks. If her kisses are sweet and demanding. If she'll come apart when he whispers her name.
He can't stop.