Back from Neverland, Emma notices Killian spying on her from the rooftop across the street from her building. She decides to torture him a little by putting on a show he won't soon forget, but Hook is a man of action…
Night had fallen on Storybrooke. Standing on the rooftop, the pirate took his spyglass out from his long coat and stood his watch. A smirk spread across his face at the thought that Emma would throttle him if she found out that he was secretly watching over her. Indeed, she wouldn't quite appreciate him spying on her at night from across the street but he reasoned with a glint in his eyes that what she didn't know couldn't hurt him. He was a pirate after all. He had spent three centuries doing what he damned well pleased and if he wanted to watch over his Swan, then so help him he would.
He had been doing it every night for nearly three weeks, starting the day they had returned from Neverland with her son. Much had happened since. He now had both of his hands again. Surprisingly, even after so long it hadn't taken much getting used to, almost as if he had never lost it. What he was still trying to work out himself was how he had found it in him to save the Crocodile's life in the first place.
He remembered the look on young Henry's face as a lost boy ran towards his grandfather, who was already busy fighting off another foe. The lad's panicked expression had been enough to get him to rush to Rumplestiltskin's aid and swiftly kill his surprise attacker. Wide-eyed, the man had reluctantly admitted that he owed him one and upon their return, he had honoured that debt by giving him his hand back. They had now reached some sort of unspoken truce, though they still very much disliked and distrusted each other.
On the other hand, Baelfire had been spending most of his time getting to know his lad and working on his relationship with his father and the Belle lass. Killian's blood boiled with what he now acknowledged as jealousy as he remembered how the man had tried to pursue Emma after her return. Thankfully, she had not given in, making it clear that even though she would always love him, she would never be in love with him again. Too much water under the bridge, he had heard her tell a saddened Baelfire over a drink at Granny's one day. She couldn't trust him to love her anymore. As a result, he, Killian Jones, had spent the remainder of that particular day feeling strangely light and in quite good spirits, as the Ruby lass had not so subtly pointed out to him.
Aye, he was indeed bloody well doomed.
Over the course of their stay in Neverland, the blonde had gotten under his skin and past his walls and he had done the same, slowly warming his way up to her. They had gradually reached an understanding: that they would not leave the other behind no matter how dire the circumstances. They had both kept their end of that deal, each saving the other from great harm or even certain death on numerous occasions. Her fire and determination ensnared him and he was powerless to stop himself from caring for her in a way he hadn't cared for anyone in centuries. They slowly began to open up to each other at night, when she joined him at the helm to try to help him stay awake whenever they had a challenging day and he was visibly tired.
Over the months, working as a well-practiced team had cemented their newfound trust and loyalty permanently, paving the way to something more, their actions towards the other eventually showing without the shadow of a doubt that they now harboured feelings that went beyond those of mere friendship or camaraderie. Neither bothered to deny that the attraction was there. However they never spoke a word of it either.
The day he brought her son back to her, relief flooding over her, she came to him, slowly embraced him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. She planted a soft kiss there, ceaselessly whispering heartfelt 'thank you's and whilst his heart soared and his arms wrapped tenderly around her, rubbing soothing circles over her back, his treacherous body betrayed him, his nether region almost immediately reacting to the feeling of her curves pressed against him.
The way she held her breath told him she had noticed. In fact he fully expected her to knock him out cold right then and there. As it turned out, he had been quite wrong. Instead, she stunned him by giving him a shy smile, bringing her mouth to his ear and murmuring a breathy and seductive "pirate", before walking away and leaving him in her wake, with no other choice but to hurry to his cabin to take care of his 'problem'.
That was then, this was now. And now, back in Storybrooke, with their trust issues resolved, Neal out of contention for her affections, his hand restored and her son returned to her, it was getting damn near impossible for him to resist her.
His 'problem' had returned full force, getting bloody out of control. He woke up almost every morning from some of the most vivid erotic dreams he'd ever had. Once he finally got his accursed body under control, he would stroll into town but the mere sight of her, the mere sound of her voice had his senses overloading and his body standing to attention, tensing, muscles coiling.
A few times at Granny's, he'd had no other choice but to take refuge in the restroom as she sat there, unsuspecting, at another table, to manually relieve the tension in his groin. Thankfully, the thought of the object of his desire being in the very next room had ensured quick relief.
There had also been this one time late at night in a dark alley behind the Rabbit Hole, after seeing her there with the wolf girl and another lass. As soon as he was outside, he had known immediately that he would never be able to wait until he got to his ship, so he hadn't.
It was getting downright embarrassing. Bloody woman would be the death of him! His sodding bod(1) certainly agreed. She had turned him into a walking mess. Here comes Captain Hook, ladies and gentlemen, hopelessly besotted! Smitten and depraved!
He wanted to see her, make sure she wasn't pushing herself too hard or getting into trouble. However his treacherous body had other ideas. So he settled for watching over her at night from the rooftop of the opposite building from hers.
Today was Friday, and Henry was spending the night at Regina's. The prince and his wife had gone to Granny's Bed & Breakfast for a bit of a weekend getaway and Emma had been watching the television contraption and eating something she called ice cream in spoonfuls late into the evening. Pleased that she was taking his advice that she make some time for herself to rest and unwind, he watched as she gracefully stood up and headed to the bathroom for her late night bath. He lowered the spyglass, looked up at the stars and waited for her to come back out, gorgeous and wet all over…
Oh, this bath was heaven! The warm water was doing wonders for her sore muscles. She couldn't remember the last time she spent an entire evening just watching whatever she wanted to on television. Emma could hardly believe that she was actually alone in her apartment. Well, sort of anyway, if she didn't count the creepy pirate spying on her from across the street. Technically, he was outside.
She had noticed his presence early in the evening, no doubt making sure she took his advice and tried to enjoy herself a bit. A small smile graced her face at the thought. It really shouldn't come as a surprise, after all he had been watching over her from the very first day they set foot in Neverland. Admittedly, at first it was probably just a captain's concern for his crewman or maybe out of annoyance at her trouble prone predisposition but at some point during their search for Henry, things had changed. Somehow, he had become her own very fierce protector, often putting himself in harm's way, much to her father's dismay.
There was an undeniable softness in his gaze now whenever he looked at her that made her insides melt. She knew what it was. Hell, she felt it too. She had fallen for him, even against her better judgement. It was too late, it was done, no point in denying it anymore.
The love confession she had given Neal before she thought he died felt strangely flat and empty when he returned. She wasn't that girl anymore. She wanted more, someone who would never give up fighting for her and it seemed like she had found him.
He had to be a pirate. Oh well, not that she wanted a prince. She was no princess herself. They were both broken, walls and everything. They understood each other. He was her match, period. She knew it. He knew it. It's not like he had ever kept his attraction to her a secret… well, physically anyway. As it stood these days, it was more than just physical and he wasn't afraid to let it show. He was waiting for her, between longing looks, true smiles, comforting words and now apparently, watching over her from a rooftop.
Though she was alone in the apartment, as the evening went on, Emma quickly found that she couldn't ignore his presence. It wrapped around her like a blanket, making her warm all over and not just in the cozy, comfortable way.
Lately all she wanted was to jump his bones and from what she'd seen, he was having the same problem. The looks he had been giving her since that hug in Neverland were unmistakable. Those heated stares, full of lust at Granny's diner and that time she had seen him walking stiffly out of the Rabbit's Hole were proof that he was wrestling with his self-control just as much as she was. And the hug, gods the hug! Feeling that prominent bulge against her had been... memorable. Skin flushed, her legs had been shaking when she had walked away from him that day.
Whenever she remembered that moment, or wherever she was when she did, warmth would start to pool between her legs. His stares and the way he moved weren't helping matters any, not to mention his voice. That voice was pure sex. He was all confidence, unwavering demeanour, all smoulder and manly and black sexiness, her captain.
Sitting on her couch watching TV that night, she caught herself wondering what it would be like to be taken by him. Breathing suddenly laboured, body overcome with unbearable heat, the ice cream had been a less than effective attempt to cool down. The bath had only been meant as an excuse to remove her damp underwear. She had to get him out of her mind. Get her body under control.
It wasn't working.
Damn him! Why did she have to like him so much? Why did she have to want him so much? She should definitely get back at him for intruding and making her feel all hot and bothered on her first night off in… god knows how long! Yeah, that was it, he had to suffer. She just had to find a way to pay him back for spying on her, turn the tables on him and fix her 'condition' in one fell swoop. A smirk made its way to her lips as a wicked thought formed in her mind. Toying with him a bit couldn't hurt, right?
Purpose in mind, Emma rises from the tub, hair still tied in a loose bun and makes a grab for her towel. After drying herself, she reaches for her change of underwear and puts them on. She then throws her favourite satin shirt on and heads for the door. Game on Jones!
(On the roof)
The pirate sits lost in thought, very pleasurable thoughts indeed. He waits, entertaining himself while she's still in there, imagining all manner of scenarios of him joining her in her tub. Or just trying to picture how she would look, nude, water lapping around her breasts, head leaned back against the rim of the tub, arms resting over the sides of it. Perhaps she would even let out a long and sensuous sigh… Oh buggering hell!
He needs to get his mind out of the goddamn gutter!
Holding up his spyglass again, he notices how the door she had disappeared behind begins to slowly open. With baited breath, he waits for his swan to grace him with her presence once more.
But for all of his fertile imagination, he was not prepared for what he was treated to next. It was sure as hell not what he had meant when he had suggested she 'unwind'.
After taking a long breath, Emma very slowly opens the door and slips out of the bathroom. The air is suddenly heavy around her. The living room is plunged into darkness. The midnight blue material of her shirt shimmers in the night, under the reflection of the streetlights outside. She loves that shirt. She looks damn good in it. It hugs the curve of her breasts; the sleeves are ample and a bit too long, her fingers poking out at the cuffs. The bottom hugs her butt and ends right underneath it, showing off all of her thighs.
She always thought there was something incredibly sexy about long-legged women in men's shirts. She couldn't help but wonder if her pirate was enjoying the view. Or if maybe he was feeling a bit possessive, wondering whose shirt that really was. Of course it was hers, straight from the store… she wasn't much of a negligee or babydoll girl, but the thought of Killian getting possessive, well…
Stop it! Head back in the game Ems!
She trudges quietly across the living room, slowly, sensually, hips swaying, the soft sound of her footfalls in sync with her breathing. With one hand, she reaches into her hair, removing the band and letting her curls hang loose. He loves her curls and she knows it. He could never stop himself from reaching out to touch them. Not even way back up on the beanstalk. Her mind flashes to a vision of him tugging, yanking on them, pulling her head back forcefully to kiss and lick his way down her neck and a series of impure thoughts shoot a bolt of desire straight to her core.
She makes her way up the stairs to her bedroom and instead of pushing it down, she embraces the sensation that these thoughts bring. She wraps her hand around the guard rail as if she were gripping him and she shivers at the contact, eyes closing momentarily. Her hand suggestively slips upwards around the rail as she climbs the steps to her room. Once there she closes the door and stands so he can see her through the window.
Vaguely, she acknowledges that she loves this new game. She imagines the intensity of his stare as she takes her sweet, sweet time undoing the buttons of her shirt, one by one, excruciatingly slow. Deciding to give him something for all of the torture she's putting him through, she reaches up and lets it slip off her shoulders and pool at her feet, rewarding him with a full view of her black lace bra and matching hiphugger panty. She feels in control and undeniably sexy. Her whole body is buzzing with arousal at the thought of him watching.
And watching he most certainly is.
He is entranced, the way she glides across the living room, graceful and enticing, has him transfixed. She has the most gorgeous pair of legs he has ever seen. Oh how he would love to feel them gripping his hips in a vice, in the throes of passion.
He groans, unable to look away and his hand tightens impossibly around his spyglass, itching to reach out and bury his fingers in her flaxen strands as they fall over her shoulders and back. He wants to grab the back of her neck and push her against the wall and kiss her senseless. He imagines how satisfying it would be to feel her knees buckle under his ministrations.
She looks absolutely ravishing. He ought to find the man this shirt belonged to and throw him into the fiery chasms of all seven hells and praise and thank him all at once. No one was to court his swan. Who was this man, a past lover? Did he pleasure her the way she deserves? White-hot jealousy grips his heart as a warning growl, low and dangerous, rips from his throat. That would most certainly not do. He would make sure to obliterate any lingering thoughts concerning that man when he finally took his beloved Swan. The sodding shirt may have belonged to another, but not her. Never her. From that moment on she would want for no other, he would make damn sure of it. He was the Captain around these parts and no one else was going to captain the Swan ship ever again.
He sucks in a harsh breath as soon as she grabs the guard rail. Is she bloody well doing it on purpose? The way she looks innocently down at her hand does nothing at all to counterbalance the way she very suggestively slides it up around the cool metal. Pure lust hits him square in the groin and his brain almost shuts down. His body heats up and he stares, drinking her in as she sensuously makes her way upstairs, giving him an eyeful of her long legs in the process.
He is suddenly very aware of how tight his pants are, unbearably so. And though he wouldn't think it possible by how stiff he actually is, his member is still growing. Oh, the things she does to him.
When she closes the door to her bedroom, he has never been so thankful that her bed faces the window. The breath rushes out of him and his erection twitches as the shirt he both hates and loves finally comes off. He always thought of himself as more of a leather-type of man but in that one single moment, he swears he will never look at lace the same way again. He must have been particularly good lately, to deserve such a thing. Praise all the gods that be!
As if he wasn't already counting his blessings, she comes towards the window and he takes in the view like a starved man looking at his last meal because he knows, soon it will end. She will close that suddenly incredibly offensive curtain and leave him there with the biggest hard-on he has ever sported in his life.
And thus, the pirate that he is takes what he can get, for he sure as hell knows a goddamn treasure when he sees one! He uses whatever time he has left to commit all of her glorious planes and curves to memory, desperately praying to all of the Neverland stars: By the gods! Don't let it end!
He doesn't know why for the life of him or what he could have ever possibly done to earn himself such favour from the powers above, but euphoria overtakes him and he barks out a short laugh that sounds strangely more like a sob as his wish is inexplicably granted. Instead of reaching for the curtains, she leans forward and he his gifted with a long hard look at her breasts as she cracks her window open a few inches. Minx! His knuckles go white as he desperately attempts not to drop his spyglass, holding on to it like a sodding lifeline.
She turns and exposes her backside to him, effectively sending another shockwave of lust through him. His gaze rakes over her form appreciatively as she begins to walk towards the foot of the bed, hands reaching behind her to unclasp what can most definitely not qualify as a corset in any world he has ever been.
She removes the contraption, and as she begins to turn towards him, he braces himself. He is ready, or so he thinks. Her breasts are suddenly before him, perfect and inviting and all he wants to do is knead them freely and leisurely, fit them into his calloused palms and see the reaction on her face. However, when he notices her nipples, how taut and ready they are, his groin sends its own wave of approval and if his feet didn't already feel like lead he knows he would have bloody well fallen to his knees.
He wants to take one into his mouth. Now.
The pleasure turns into torture as her fingers slip under the waistband of her last remaining undergarment and he hisses a breath, his free hand reaching down on its own and pulling at his pants, trying to relive some of the tightness there, waiting for her last piece of clothing to come off.
She seems to change her mind however, as she pulls her hands out and raises her arms, fully extending them above her head and stretching languorously, back arching slightly, offering her entire front to him.
He knows it was inevitable but he has never felt it more than he does now. He was completely lost to her, wrapped around her finger, forever at her beckon call. No other woman has ever had the infamous Captain Hook in such a state of helplessness… and loving every second of it. None but Emma Swan. Simply by undressing. Unbelievable. She was amazing, bloody brilliant indeed.
His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, licking them as he would every inch of her skin if he got half the chance. When he sees her bending over to climb onto the bed, giving him a full mind-blowing view of her exquisite bottom, he mutters a powerful string of curses. He can feel the pre-cum on the tip of his shaft.
Never has he felt so helpless and empowered at the same time. He stands there, unable to do anything but watch and it frustrates him to no end but then again, he could not deny that watching her so unknowing, so unsuspecting of his presence was turning him on beyond belief.
He watches as she crawls all the way to the pillows, turning and settling comfortably against them, resting her shoulders and head against the headboard, spreading her legs slowly. His eyes widen as she brings a hand up and places it on her left breast, squeezing, eyes closing and chest heaving as the same hand then begins to trace a torturously lazy path down her body, disappearing under the black lace of her underwear.
Hold on, what is she… is she going to…? No, impossible. He wouldn't be so lucky. Not even in three centuries.
And then her hand begins to move in slow circles, leaving no doubt as to what her intentions are.
Killian freezes, aghast.
And suddenly the dam breaks. Pain shoots through him as his member grows yet again against the restraining leather of his trousers and the heat nearly suffocates him. He needs to get out of these godforsaken pants, fast! His free hand works frantically at the laces, loosening them, but it isn't nearly enough to ease the strain she is putting on him.
Get a hold of yourself mate, he tries to chastise himself but the attempt fails miserably as all reason leaves him when a loud moan, one of hers, finds its way to his ears. Getting a hold of himself… now there was an idea. Oh sod it, no helping it now!
Giving up the fight, bested yet again, he reaches into his pants and firmly grips himself, letting out a guttural relief-filled groan. His entire body locks at the contact and then, not one to stand on ceremony, he promptly begins jerking himself off with one hand while watching her with his spyglass still in the other. His pants and quiet grunts fill the air around him.
She's a fucking monument to wantonness, glistening with sweat, mouth open and eyes shut in concentration. His vision begins to blur. Though he fights to keep his eyes open, to keep looking at her, darkness begins to take over at the corners, his vision shrinking by the second. He's getting there fast and from what little he can still see, so is she.
He can't let go, not yet. He has to see her come apart. Calling upon every shred of willpower he has left, he desperately holds on, determined to see her come undone before he does.
Without a moment's notice, his wicked temptress goes completely still, save for her hand, biting hard on her bottom lip and then she ignites, screaming out his name as she comes, sending him right over the edge in a violent orgasm. His hips snap forward, his whole body shakes and he can do nothing but use his hand to cling helplessly to his shaft as he looses all of his bearings at once, world spinning around him.
When his breathing comes back down and the white clouds in his eyes dissipate, returning his vision to him, his eyes widen and his heart swells in realisation that it was his name that she used, his given name at that, not his moniker. It was him she was thinking of as she sailed herself over the edge of the world right before his very eyes! Oh if she only knew…
His breathing still ragged, his hand still grasping himself loosely, he brings his spyglass back up, desperate to see her once more. The sated smile on her face as she slowly regains her senses makes him weak in the knees and she finally, finally removes her undergarment to reveal herself to him completely.
In that moment, all he can think of is that he loves her, how could he not?
Looking at her like that, relaxed and without any trace of worry on her face, her hand slowly making its way back between her thighs, there was no way he… Wait what? Blinking twice, all of the pirate's blood drains from his face, his breath whooshing out of him as the full meaning of exactly what the woman is doing dawns upon him.
The gods be damned!
Instead of pulling up the blanket and going to sleep like he thought she would, she spreads her legs even wider, showing him all of her, and then moves to slip her fingers between her folds and starts rubbing herself again.
Even now, seeing it with his own eyes, he can still hardly believe it. He starts for a good few seconds and then a wicked smirk lights up his entire face as a low rumbling laugh escapes him, his head shaking and one of his eyebrows shooting up at the oh-so-welcome surprise.
Well, well, my love. Quite insatiable aren't we?
He can feel himself hardening again and he's honestly not sure how much more of this he can take. Without even processing it happening, his hand slowly slides down his length in one achingly smooth, long stroke. He mutters a loud curse and stills, certain she must have heard him. But if she did, she gives no sign of it, still lavishing her body with attentions he wishes he were bestowing upon her.
In the quiet storybrooke night, as if especially so he would hear, she opens her mouth and in a seducing, provocative and sex dripping voice, lets out a loud, muffled "Oh Captain!" as she promptly inserts her fingers inside of her wet heat, moaning wildly and throwing him right out of his wits.
Somewhere in the middle of his answering groan, he eventually registers that she's staring straight at him. Her mouth parts open before one thrust of her fingers pulls a strangled whine out of her, making her head shoot backwards and when it returns to it's original position, her eyes are still on him, full of lust and alight with a dangerous knowing glint. Tearing his gaze away, lowering the spyglass and heaving a breath, he suddenly understands. She knows. Bloody tease! She'd known he was there all along! When he looks at her again, she licks her lips unabashedly, her eyes drifting shut and he finally snaps. All sensible thoughts are driven from his mind as raw need takes over his body.
Taking determined, predatory steps, he swiftly comes down the emergency staircase at the side of the building and stalks across the street, wholly uncaring if he is seen at all or by whom. Once on the other side he immediately begins his ascent towards her window.
She's already dangerously close to the brink. He can hear it in the sounds she's making on his way up. Spurred on by the very thought, he finally, finally reaches his destination just in time to see her fall apart, and he has to grip the window sill not to fall down at the sight of her, mouth open wide and arched up back, her wildly bouncing breasts practically offering themselves up to him.
A resounding growl tears from his throat. He opens the window and climbs through unnoticed as she tries, eyes closed, to regain control over her body but before she gets a chance to do so he is there, on her bed, all the while she is still going through the motions of her release.
She doesn't even register his hands bruisingly gripping her thighs until his mouth is on her, warm and wet… tongue fully slanted against her clit. He laps roughly, strokes unforgivingly, his entire face pressing against her, smeared with her juices, diving right in… not intending to let her come down from her high. Her orgasm never ends… he drags it out and then she feels it soaring again, imminent and she can feel herself helpless to stop it from erupting again. Then she feels the short, electric, unrelenting bursts as he rapidly and successively sticks out the tip of his tongue against her nub and she fucking explodes, her unrestrained scream piercing through the air.
Killian Jones however doesn't say a thing. No. Instead he keeps going, slowly, sensually, not pausing once and as he keeps lapping at her folds insistently, his eyes locking onto her surprised and bewildered ones, the wicked wantonness there almost makes her come undone with the promise of what's to come and she loves it, in fact she gets soaking wet from it and judging from his low, drawled-out groan, vibrating against her core, he knows it, he tastes it. The intent look he gives her then as he increases the pressure of his tongue and deliberately slows down to a torturously slow pace makes her writhe and shudder helplessly underneath him.
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, understanding dawns upon her. She hasn't got a clue how since she can barely think straight, moaning and panting and barely holding it together, but it does. She sees it in his eyes. Her little stunt has succeeded in making him mad with want, breaking his restraint, unleashing the beast inside the man and now, as the weight of his lustful gaze pins her down to her own mattress, she knows: her beastly pirate is going to devour her alive.
And somehow she just can't bring herself to care.
Her heart is thumping loudly in her ears, her mind is spinning out of control, her blood is turning to liquid fire and his tongue keeps working on her in wondrous ways and just when she feels like her body is about to combust, he takes it to a whole other level. He makes her see white as he, without warning, sticks his three middle fingers fully inside, fucking her hard, curling them upwards and inserting them all the way to the knuckles. All the while he stops licking, and instead he surrounds her swollen bud with his lips, applying heavy suction over it and flicking the tip of his tongue against it at the same time. The staggering assault forcefully shoves her right off the edge, sobbing out his name uncontrollably.
He removes his drenched fingers one by one and lightens the pressure of his tongue, riding her through it and she thinks it's done, thinks she can't take it anymore but as her body begins to unlax she hears his ragged voice for the first time that night: "More". One word, hot, dark, rumbled and it hits her, the true extent of what she'd done to him. He is indeed very far-gone. She, Emma Swan, has sent him straight into his most primal state. Her eyes widen in disbelief as he keeps going at it and she fleetingly realizes he never once intended to stop. Gripping at her thighs, he gives a harsh pull and slams her against his face, his nose breathing out hotly against her clit and tongue diving inside to fuck her.
She gasps and then yelps, surprise turning into pleasure, pleasure turning into desperate need. Her loud, shaky moans soon morph into wails. She chants his name over and over and he answers her by simultaneously plunging his tongue in as deep as he can, groaning straight inside of her and pressing his calloused fingers flat against her and rubbing hard, effectively sending her mind and body into a vicious tailspin she never recovers from. She barely hears her own shout before everything goes black.
When she regains consciousness, her inner walls are almost done convulsing and he's hovering above her at eye-level, now undressed, cradling her face between his hands with unexpected tenderness. The worry in his eyes gives way to relief. He gives her a smug, boyish smile and she can't help but find it cute and endearing. His smile turns affectionate and he starts slowly depositing light, but involved kisses on her lips, her nose, her brow, her temple, returning to her lips and staying there… not a bad way to wake up, she thinks absentmindedly. His hands come to rest loosely upon her hips, fingers splaying out as if to feel as much of her flushed skin as possible. The pressure of his fingertips gradually increases as the kiss deepens and languidly escalates into a wildly amorous one. Before long he kisses her with branding passion and then he breaks it abruptly, leaving her completely dazed.
There is a moment in which time seems suspended. He brings his forehead down to rest heavily against hers, keeping them connected, feeling the other's breath on their face. She looks up into his sea blue eyes and sees unmasked love and devotion. Then his fingers tighten, digging painfully into her skin and suddenly he's surging inside of her in one hard, scorching thrust, and they both loose it.
Easing back on his knees, he sets a fast and unforgiving pace, the loud sound of his balls slapping relentlessly against her skin echoes throughout the room and she cries tears of joy and fulfillment, unbelieving that she had fought against this, against him for so long. Her screams come out unbidden, frantic, his thrusts forcibly ripping them out of her throat. Her hands claw blindly at his sides, leaving angry scratches, the combination of pleasure and pain making him slam into her even harder, faster, hoarsing out her name every time he drives himself shallowly inside of her, propelling himself forward so hard she practically comes off the bed with each frenzied thrust. He keeps moving, unrelenting as he lifts her legs up onto his shoulders, on each side of his head. Grabbing her ankles, he pulls her legs up, the action causing her ass to lift upwards at a new angle and he starts fucking her like it's the last thing he'll ever do, as if he'd decided right then and there that he had not one care in the world if the exertion killed him right on the spot. She's downright howling now, grabbing his ass for purchase and squeezing hard, nails digging in and drawing blood. He's faring no better, his every muscle strained, jaw clenched tightly, head thrown back. She watches his eyes roll back in his head from the ecstasy, body covered in sweat, teetering over the edge. He's glorious and magnificent and she looses it instantly. "Fuck… Killian… come…inside! Fuck, ffffuuuuuuuuuk!" "Bloody…" and he does, blowing his load inside of her violently "…hell!" his strangled shout fills the room and wraps around them as they fall into oblivion.
He slumps down on her like a ton of bricks… completely limp, unable to move and utterly spent… reeling and caught up in the feeling of his pulsating member still trapped between her walls, clamping down on him over and over as she sucks lazily on his earlobe and he reverently kisses, licks and nips at he junction between her neck and shoulder. He stays right where he is, right where he should be. Home. Inside. Of her. With absolutely no intention to leave. As if he ever would. As if he ever could. She consumed him. She was his and his alone, and as they laid together in silence, their bodies humming contentedly, neither of them found they had a problem with that at all.
1. Bod: Irish word for penis
Well, I think we can all agree that this will never, ever happen on the show! Not like that anyway!
All I can say is that writing this fic, I realised just how much easier it is to read smut than it is to write it. I mean damn! Smut writers, you have my respect!
Please, please, review this so that I'll know what you guys thought of it!