Killian shuffles his feet, anxious for the giant double doors to swing open. It has been too long since he had last set eyes on her, and his skin itches with the need to just see her.
The damned mission had taken months, longer than either of them had anticipated when she'd sent him on it. He felt thoroughly worn out; he had always been a pirate, and he didn't mind sailing, even if he was no longer strictly his own pirate, but it wore on him to be away for this long.
Dimly, he registers one of the royal usher saying his name, and the doors swing open. He snaps his attention back to the matter at hand.
Killian Jones is a pirate who had lived for hundreds of years, many of those spent as a vicious captain in search of revenge. And, yet, in this moment, looking at this woman, he can't breathe.
She looks every inch the royal queen at the end of the hall, the crown on her heat glittering in the sunlight. Even as he approaches, the awe doesn't fade; it just sharpens and clarifies. She's wearing a dark red gown, something he's sure she hates, knowing her distaste for frills, but he fully appreciates the way the color highlights the curves of her skin, the swell of her breasts pressed tight into the corset, as well as how much fun it'll be to take off, later. Curls brush over her shoulders and chest, cascading in soft waves out of the simple pins holding them away from her face. He can't wait to kiss her, to twist his fingers around those golden locks.
The raised dais that the throne sits on is plenty pretentious; she's told him before that she hates it, hates feeling above people, because in her mind, she's not. It had made him chuckle and pull her further against his chest, kissing away her confusion. Of course she's above them. She's above everything. And he'd been sure to show her just that. The memory makes him smile even as he comes to a stop in front of her and drops to one knee, head dipping respectfully.
"Captain Killian Jones, your highness." The usher announces, and Emma tilts her head towards him, smiling gracefully.
"Thank you, Adam."
The boy smiles and bows before turning and scurrying back up the hall.
And then it's just them, and gods he wants to just lunge forward and pull her against him, careless of her fancy hair or dress. But he knows better, so he stays on his knee even as she rises.
"Captain." The genuine smile she'd offered to the boy is gone, replaced by a raised eyebrow and thinly concealed amusement. "How did your mission fare?"
Part of him wants to laugh at how well she's taken to this, commanding and so utterly in control. Another entirely different part of him wants to rip her dress off with his teeth.
"Emma-" he starts but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.
"Please, Captain, I am your queen. Show a little respect."
Her eyes sparkle and he has to grit his teeth to prevent the growl building in his throat from escaping.
"Apologies, your highness," he replies through his teeth, dipping his head again. She moves with speed that seems unreal in her outfit, going from a respectful, regal distance to close enough for her skirt to brush against his knee as she circles him.
She's teasing him, he realizes as her fingers skitter across his shoulder and his heart skips and stutters. He slides his eyes shut, enjoying the way her nails scrape lightly across the back of his neck. Gods, he's missed her. Even these little fluttering touches are a reminder of how long it's been since he touched her. And she's making him wait, the siren.
"I'm waiting on my report, Captain," she whispers in his ear, and he can't really control the way his body sways towards the warmth of her breath, the press of her fingers against his neck.
He recognizes the puff of amusement as she straightens, and he speaks before he thinks, the words coming out in a low growl, "I hope you enjoy payback, darling."
She straight-out laughs at that, the sound echoing through the bright empty room. It sounds amazing, and he's adding that to the list of things he's missed and would be happy to never be without again in his life. When he looks up she's smiling at him, easy and light, and he wants to kiss her so badly it makes his chest ache.
"You should be ashamed, speaking to your queen like that." Her words don't have the same bite when she's grinning ear-to-ear. She drifts to a stop in front of him, red satin brushing his boot, and his hand twitches next to him with the effort he's putting into staying still. He's not unaccustomed to being on his knees for her, but usually, there's fewer clothes involved. It's maddening the effect she has on him; he wants to kiss her and touch her, but at the same time, he is enjoying this, the banter and the teasing, especially because he knows later he will have the advantage, when she's naked and laid out under him and oh so desperate.
"Maybe I'm not speaking to my queen." He tilts his chin up at her defiantly. "Maybe I'm just speaking to my wife." He purposefully drops his voice there, knowing the effect it has on her, the way she has always been so easy to read.
Her eyebrows go up in surprise at his boldness and her hand instinctively goes to her finger, twisting the ring that sits there. His ring, the only ring she wears. For him.
"Maybe," he continues, rising smoothly, not missing the way she sways and her breathing picks up at the movement, "I'm just a man who's spent a very long time at sea and who misses his woman." He takes one quick step and leans in, bringing his finger to brush curls out of the way so he can press a kiss to the skin under her ear.
He takes great delight in the way she shivers against him, how her hand comes up to press at his chest when he nips at her ear and the gasp that escapes her when leans in to suck her earring into his mouth.
"Maybe I just want to take you back to our room and show you how much I've missed you, love," he finishes, his voice raspy, exactly how he knows to turn her to putty in his hands.
Abruptly, he yanks her against him, pressing them together, and he brings his head forward, kissing her deeply. She moans against him and her arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair when he, in true pirate form, plunders every inch of her mouth, angling her head so he can kiss her thoroughly. He feels her leg press against his through the layers of her dress, as though she wants to wrap her leg around him and he grins, tipping her backwards a little, just enough to throw her off balance, let her know that he has taken advantage of the situation to regain some control. His lips leave her mouth, kissing a line down her jaw and her neck, heading to the place his eyes had been drawn to the instant he'd seen her in this maddening dress.
She tugs on his hair when he reaches her cleavage, licking and sucking at all that he can reach. He nips at the skin there, presses hot marks on the curves of her breasts. It's nice to know that tomorrow she'll have to wear something different, something with a more conservative neckline. That she'll look in the mirror and be reminded of her teasing him and the price she'd paid. With all certainty, she will have other reminders as well by the time he is finished with her.
"Oh, god, Killian," she moans, the words coming out breathy and loose. He doesn't need to lift her skirts to know that she is eager and ready for him; he knows her, how to play her and read her and make her eyes flutter and her heart race.
He loves her, and he loves watching her fall apart almost as much.
Her fingers in his hair become insistent as he continues to lavish attention on what he can reach, his chin already having shoved the offending fabric further down than is strictly decent. He recognizes that tug, and lifts his head obligingly. Her eyes have gone dark and wide, just as he predicted.
"If you don't stop, I'm going to let you have me right here in the audience hall." She bites her bottom lip, sucking on it for a moment before releasing it and continuing in a low whisper, "and I have no plans on being quiet with you. Not after this long."
Now it's his turn to moan, and he drops his head back to her chest, muffling the sound against her breasts.
"Gods, my love, I have missed you."
She pulls his head back up, and he catches sight of the crinkles around her eyes that speak her own happiness just before she kisses him again, with all the same passion he had displayed earlier.
When she pulls away she leans her forehead against his, just breathing in the same air for a moment, enjoying being in each other's arms.
"I've missed you too, hotshot," she murmurs, a small laugh bubbling up from her chest. Her hand slides down his shoulder and arm, fingers tangling with his. "C'mon, buddy, lets get to our room before both of us have too much trouble walking." She glances down at his crotch, the tight leather of his pants doing nothing to hide his own arousal.
He allows himself to be led away, but halfway to the back door that leads to her private suite it occurs to him. "What about your audiences?"
She casts a smirk over her shoulder at him.
"Oh, I cancelled them when word arrived that the Jolly Roger had made port."
His jaw drops. He had been told that there was a slight wait because of the volume of people that had come to see the queen. He had stood there, waiting for far longer than he had wanted, just to see his wife.
And she had been free the whole time.
"You vixen," he growls, pulling her back to him so he can kiss her roughly. She melts against him, her body molding against his, and he needs to feel her now. Probably sensing his need, she pulls away, turning her back on him as she breaks for the door, so close and yet so bloody far.
He doesn't realize that he hasn't moved until she has the door open and is halfway into the room when she throws him a look over her shoulder, eyelids fluttering.
"I seem to be having a problem that I'm afraid might require some hard work and stiff perseverance." She quirks an eyebrow and then disappears, leaving the door open behind her.
Normally he would tease her for being so blatant, but he's feeling rather stiff himself, so he finishes the short journey and slams the door shut behind him. She's not in the greeting room, so he heads further into the suite, passing doors that lead to other various rooms until he finds the one that leads to their bedroom. The door is cracked open, and he slides inside.
Her back is to him; she's standing at the dresser, carefully removing the pins holding her crown in place before she removes it and sets it in its gold-edged pillow. She meets his gaze in the mirror and just smiles at him.
It's enough to make a man go weak at the knees, really.
Her fingers return to her hair, reaching for the pins, and no, that just won't do. Not when he had been anticipating doing that himself. He strides over, catching her hand and pulling it back down to her side.
"Allow me, my queen," he murmurs against her neck, his left arm sliding around her waist to pull her back against him. Carefully, he slides the pins out of her hair, enjoying the way it sends curls cascading over his fingers. He's going to enjoy those same curls spread across his pillow in just a moment.
"I thought I wasn't your queen?" She sounds breathless, and it brings a smile to his lips. He finishes with her hair and uses his hand on her shoulder to spin her against him before leaning down to kiss her lightly.
"You're my everything, m'lady. And, after all, I am a gentleman." He winks and she rolls her eyes at him, pressing lightly on his chest as she steps away.
"You are a sap, Captain." She runs her fingers through her hair, teasing the last of the wavy strands down across her shoulders. Drifting closer to the bed, she taps her fingertips against the wood at the foot of the bed. "I'm afraid I had help getting into this dress; I'm going to need some help getting out of it."
"Well, that's what this is for," he smirks, rapping his knuckles against the metal of his hook. She glances over her shoulder, her brow furrowing.
"Just the laces. I like this one."
He gasped as though offended. "I would never dare to destroy such a work of art. Besides," he added as he slid closer, "I think I rather enjoy you in it." He slid his hook against the laces at the back, snapping the first two with very little effort. "Even if I'd enjoy you out of it even more."
His lips fall to her neck again, nipping and sucking as he slides through the rest of the strands, relishing in the way her fingers wrap around their bedpost and how her back arcs, pushing her shoulder further against his mouth.
Oh, yes, she is going to be covered in his marks by the time the night is over.
Finally, the last of the laces give way and he just yanks the material off her shoulders, shoving it down her waist and hips.
Apparently the petticoat had been attached to the dress, because when the fabric pools at her feet, he finally registers that she's as naked as the day she was born, and really, that's not fair.
He can't help the groan that escapes his lips, or the way his fingers curl against her hip, pulling her flush against him. She wriggles against him, his arousal pressing insistently against her from behind. He's pretty sure there are fireworks going on somewhere in this room, because he sees sparks.
"Gods above, Emma," he manages to get out, his voice a low rasp. She chuckles, but it turns to a whine as he slips his hand lower, skating across her stomach and between her legs to rub at that sensitive bundle of nerves.
Just as he suspected, she's soaking wet for him, so ready that she's practically dripping. He slides his fingers against her, not slipping inside, just rubbing, and she shivers in his arms, presses down on his hand, her whimpers growing in volume.
Her knuckles are white, a stark contrast to the dark mahogany of the wood under them.
"Oh, darling, I would love to have you right here, right now," he whispers, bringing his hook around to caress her breast. She shudders and shivers against him, needy little sounds slipping out of her mouth.
"Then do it," she pants, breathless, and he presses a quick kiss to her cheek.
"Maybe later. I do believe I owe you some teasing, love."
He withdraws his hand, and she sways against him, letting out a moan of disappointment. She staggers for a moment when he takes a step back, completely removing his body from hers, and he's pretty sure it's causing him physical pain to be separated.
But he does take advantage of the moment to suck his fingers clean, his eyes locked with hers as he swirls his tongue around the digits, licking just a little more than strictly necessary. Her tongue darts out to lick at her lips and he swears one day she'll look at him like that and he just won't be able to exist anymore. Thankfully that day is not today, and he slides his eyes up and down her body, taking in the sight.
She's beautiful. She always has been, but maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder. Either way, he's imagined this moment so many times over the countless lonely nights, and he is determined to have his way with her. Over and over again.
"Up." He jerks his head at the bed, indicating for her to crawl into it.
She just stands there, glazed eyes locked with his fingers.
"Hey," he snaps his fingers, catching her attention. "Up, on the bed."
She actually growls at him, the low throaty noise drawing a chuckle out of him. But she does wander around the side of the bed, slowly crawling up the mattress to rest square in the center, watching him closely.
He starts shucking his clothes, quickly, knowing he has only a moment before she gets started without him. By the time he steps out of his trousers, finally free from the all-too-tight confines, her hand has started to drift south, and he takes one long stride to the bed, yanking at her ankle. She starts and her hand freezes; it gives him enough time to crawl up onto the covers, looming up over her.
Her arms come up, pulling at his shoulders, pulling him in, and he relents, leaning in to kiss her, to take everything she's offering. He can feel her fingers brushing his hip and then she's grasped his hard length between her fingers and the edges of his vision grey out.
"Emma, wait, love," he stutters, pulling her hand away from him before this moment comes to an all-too-abrupt end. She whines, but he leans back down, swallowing up her soft sounds with his own mouth. When he's satisfied, he leans back, snaking his way down her body. He presses a soft kiss against the flat plane of her stomach before moving directly south, nosing at the soft curls between her legs.
She shifts her hips, opening her legs wider to accommodate his shoulders. He decides to skip this part of the teasing, and licks one long stripe right between her legs, starting with the swollen bundle of nerves and ending with his tongue flicking inside of her.
He's rewarded with the way her back arches up of the bed, a long high-pitched keening escaping her throat.
He is selfish like this; he likes to watch her curl up into the air, fingers pulling at his hair, legs hitting his shoulders, because he is in control. He loves to watch her like this, because she's so free, so loose and wild. All because of him.
"Oh, god, Killian," she moans, the last word turning sharp as he laves his tongue against her there. Her thighs twitch on either side of him and her fingers scrape at his scalp.
He continues, making soft, sloppy, wet sounds as he moves against her, alternating between his tongue and teeth, reveling in the way her breath hitches and catches with every movement of his. She flutters under him; he can feel her muscles spasming, preparing to deliver her to bliss.
Just as he knows her release is about to rise up in her, he pulls away abruptly, moving his hand out from under her hip. Her eyes snap open to him, lips parted, gaze confused as he crawls back up her body, licking his lips.
"You bastard," she breathes out when she finally realizes what he'd (not) done, his payback. He just smirks and leans down to kiss her, enjoying the way she nips at his lip, sucking it into her mouth in retaliation.
He braces himself over her with his forearm, his hand going between them to line himself up at her entrance. She bucks her hips against him, trying to press down on him but he evades the movement, careful to control the pace.
She whines into his mouth, her teeth coming down on his lip, and he chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.
Every time, she is like this, desperate for him, and every time, he just enjoys it. That she is spread open and flushed, the queen of all the lands laid bare for him. Only him.
The thought has his hips stuttering, pressing his tip inside her, and they both gasp, breaking the kiss at the sensation. She takes the initiative, throwing her legs over his hips and pulling him against her, abruptly taking him inside her with one solid push. She moans and whines, chest heaving as she wriggles down on him, trying to force him as far into her as she can from this angle.
He can't help it; he curses and swears, his hand coming up to her hip to press as far into her as he can. She flutters around him, surely unaccustomed to the feel of him inside her after so long. On top of that, he knows how aroused she is, how close she had been.
If he's guessed right, it will take just a few thrusts to throw her over the edge, and he wants to make them count.
Slowly, he pulls out of her, enjoying the way she squirms desperately under him. He pushes in again hard, bottoming out in one quick push, and she practically screams, her back coming up off the bed as her fingers bite into his shoulders.
He repeats the movement, slowly out and fast back in, and she scrambles against him, hips desperately trying to seek him out. It only takes a couple more times before he feels her start to flutter again, and with almost no warning, she clamps down on him, nails breaking skin on his back, but he doesn't care, because she feels glorious under and around him, and it's almost enough to bring him to the same edge embarrassingly fast. But he stills, and breathes through it, turning his focus to her and the way she rides out her rush, chest stuttering as she cries out his name, over and over again.
It sounds like home and his chest warms at the sensation, soaking it up.
Her legs around his waist tighten for a moment before going loose, only staying because of the way her ankles are hooked together, and he takes that as his cue to start moving again, to chase his own release.
Again, he tries to distract himself with her body, to make this last as long as he can. There will be more time later, of course; he has every intention of having her again and again tonight, but he still wants to enjoy this. She's smiling hazily at him, one hand splayed out to the side while the other grips his bicep where he's bracing himself over her.
He tries, he honestly does, to lengthen his strokes, to avoid just taking her like he wants to, but in the end he just can't, her body so warm and delicate and inviting, and it's been so long. It's not his best feat of endurance when he finally lets go and pumps into her in earnest, rocking the bed with every movement, but he figures he can be excused for that.
She's back to uttering short abrupt cries with every thrust, her eyes rolling in her head as her fingers flutter on his arm. He recognizes that and shifts just enough to bring his hand between them, rubbing knowingly at the spot right above where he's moving against her.
"Oh, fuck," she moans, and comes, softer than before, but no less tight against him. This time he presses into her just once more before he feels his own release upon him and warmth rushes through him as he spills inside her.
Beneath him, she shifts her hips and whimpers his name, tangling her fingers in his hair so she can bring him down for a kiss. His arms are shaking and his whole body wants to give out, but he holds himself together long enough to give her what she wants, kissing her deeply. She sighs contentedly into his mouth and he takes that moment to shift off of her collapsing into the bed next to her.
"I love you," she murmurs, turning her head towards him. He hums, and she swats at his chest playfully.
"Oh, right. I love you too."
She giggles and rolls against him, tucking her head against his shoulder. For just a moment, they both lay there, letting their breathing even out as they recover. He sweeps his fingers through her hair idly and she swirls designs against his chest.
"Hey," he says softly, brushing hair away from her forehead. "Don't fall asleep on me, I'm not done with you yet."
She smiles, pressing a soft kiss to his chest before she rises up on an elbow to lean over him.
"Oh, I'll be fine. I'm more worried about you." Her eyes sparkle with mischief and he doesn't miss her hand skimming over his stomach, crossing over to his hip.
"Don't worry about me, your highness, I'm a big tough pirate. I can handle anything you throw my way." He smirks and she hums, licking her lips.
"Is that a challenge?"
"Maybe. Come here and find out," he adds, tangling his fingers in her hair before he brings her down for a kiss.
She smiles against his lips and he thinks that this moment is one he will always remember, the feel of her head under his fingers and her bare chest rubbing against his, the simplistic happiness of just being together. It makes it easy to forget all the years of suffering and single-minded hatred.
It makes it easy to think of spending the rest of his life just like this, wrapped up so completely in each other.