Based after 3x11, picking up basically straight away. For a prompt on Tumblr.
Kim asked: After Emma drinks the potion and regains her memories, and is herself again, she realizes that Killian spent a year fighting for her, trying to get to her, loving her and she shows him how much that means to her. ;) Bonus: if "it" takes place in NY, specifically her loft.
Hope you all enjoy and please review :)
Here With Me
And I won't go, I won't sleep and I can't breathe,
Until you're resting here with me.
His hand itches to knock upon the door again, but he knows that she won't answer, that she will never let her eyes fall upon him again if she can help it. He had hoped that she would remember, that something within the complexities of their undefined relationship she would see him and just know that she is meant to spend the rest of her life with him.
But Charming had warned him of this. He had said how discouraged he had been when he'd kissed his love, his Snow White, and her reaction was to push him away. Well that was certainly a very familiar reality for him now.
It was remarkable what he could do when he followed his heart and not the blind revenge that had once driven him. Over three centuries he had spent trying to find a way off Neverland for the sake of murder, but in barely more than three hundred days he had managed to escape the curse of the Enchanted Forest for the sake of love. They needed her, not just him, but everyone. In the grips of another war they had sent him, armed with true love.
He just needs her to trust him. And doesn't that seem familiar.
His body falls against her door and he hears her voice, slightly confused and dazed, as she talks with Henry. And he wants nothing more than to be in there with her, to eat breakfast with her, sed Henry off to school and then spend the rest of the day ravishing her until she had no choice but to believe they had known each other previously. He sighs heavily, pushing himself to his feet and making his way downstairs, his hand in his pocket, fingers grazing across the small glass bottle of potion that Regina had made, potion that could very well restore Emma's memories.
She has to leave the building at some point, and while kissing her may not have left the best first impression, he's confident enough that she will give him another chance. After all, trust had blossomed between them even after everything they had been through before, so why did this have to be any different?
He takes a seat on a concrete bench by her doorstep, ignoring the way people look at him like he's a madman. He's not here for anyone but her, and he knows he is capable of waiting an excessively long time.
Her breath catches in her throat as she comes back to reality with a jolt, bracing her hand against the cool glass of the shower wall. She'd been caught off guard by thoughts of the man in black, the intensity in his gaze, the firmness of his kiss, the pure belief that he knew her. She hadn't even realised her mind had wandered until it was too late and her breathing had become laboured and uneven.
She has no idea why he's affecting her so much. It was just a kiss, barely even that. For a moment - not even a second - his lips had touched hers, and she blames of lack of social life for the way she had wanted to ease into it, but she knew that was bad. She had pulled away and kneed him fairly convincingly before she could be drawn in by this complete stranger. But in reality, she had been very drawn to him.
And that frightens her possibly more than the fact that she has potentially attracted a stalker.
He seems to be always there, outside her building, on her morning run in the park, on her train to work. He's just fitting into her life like he has nothing else to do and she can't even find it within herself to feel weird about that. It should be strange, it should be something that sets her on edge, that makes her want to call the cops. But she just deals with it.
He has an effect on her that she just doesn't understand, a grip on her emotions, on her heart. She's known him for less than a week, but she's never felt butterflies like this before. It's intense and unfathomable that she could have any feelings other than indifference towards this man, and yet as she continues to shower, she turns away from the mirror outside the glass because she knows that those are tears and not just water streaming down her face.
This time when she pushes him away, there is reinforcement there to back her up. He had been sprouting nonsense about her 'family' again, as though he knows something she doesn't and she'd been willing to let him continue if only for the time it allowed her to really look at him and figure out just how she knew him. But he'd crossed the line when he'd tried to get her to drink some 'potion' and really, for all the familiarity he seems to carry with him, she won't even accept drinks from men at a bar, let alone from pirate look-a-likes in broad daylight.
She does almost feel sorry for him as they clap the cuffs on him and escort him to the car. The look in his eyes is truly frightened and maybe he honestly believes what he's saying and that's why he's so sure she's a princess and her parents are battling with the wicked witch of the west in a magical faraway land. But it's crazy, it's ludicrous. And she can't buy into it. Because it's too beautiful to believe. Too wonderful.
She sucks in a breath and reassures the police officer who taps her on the shoulder, "Yes, I'm fine."
He hands her a card, "Ma'am, please call us if you have any other disturbances."
She smiles at the officer, but her eyes wander to the car as it drives past, Killian in the back seat, his eyes desperate and pleading.
It doesn't even take her an hour to call and ask how much bail is for the man who has intrigued her beyond words.
His entire face lights up as he steps out of the precinct, his hand rubbing against his wrist where the cuffs must have clipped. "Swan," he breathes, and it still makes her knees feel a little weak.
She smiles tightly at him, not really wanting to express how inexplicably happy she is to see him out of the holding cell, "This doesn't mean anything."
He just shakes his head in opposition, "Oh no, love. This means everything." He skips easily down the steps and comes to stand in front of her, "You feel it don't you?" His eyes explore hers, looking for the answer he knows she won't give to him.
Her hand reaches up seemingly of its own accord to cup his cheek, thumb brushing the dark stubble on his chin, "You just seem so familiar, but…"
His hand covers hers against his cheek, "Yes lass. Don't fight it."
But she hisses and pulls her hand away, "No. It can't be true. You're asking me to believe in fairytales."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small blue bottle again, "You believed in them before. I'm merely asking you to remember them."
She looks down at the bottle and feels that strange sadness wash over her again, tears springing to her eyes without her permission. "There are so many things that make no sense in my life. Things I can't remember, things I don't understand." Her fingers reach out to the blue bottle, tracing it gently as though it's the most fragile thing in the world, "The things you're asking me to trust are fantasy, Killian. But I want to believe them."
She's on the edge of the choice, he can feel it and gently nudges her fingertips with the bottle, "Try."
Their eyes meet as her thumb pops the cap off the small vial of potion. He can see the trust swirling in her irises, beneath the fear, behind the disbelief. There's hope.
She only hesitates a moment before swigging the entire bottle's contents in less than a second. He waits with bated breath for what feels like hours and then her eyes flick up to his, all the fear and doubt gone. In its place is something he has only dared dream about, something he'd never assume until the words were spoken from her very lips.
He's never been so happy to hear his moniker, picking her up in a hug and swirling her around. She doesn't even care about the spectacle they are when he puts her back down, her hands coming up to either side of his face, his coming to rest at her waist. And they stay like this for the longest moment, just holding on.
He came back. He came back. He came back. It's the only thing she can think as they remain knotted around each other, his eyes fixed on hers, every emotion he ever dreamed of coming out in a rush. He always comes back, never leaving her stranded or scared – he always manages to find a way back to her.
"A whole year?" she finally asks.
"I could never let you go."
She smiles, her eyes glassy with tears, and speaks the words she has been too afraid to in the past, "I would never want you to."
He doesn't care that the last time was a 'one-time thing,' because they all know that's a lie. He doesn't care if she pushes him away or knees him or anything. All he wants is to feel his lips against hers in that moment. And so he kisses her.
His coat is already on the ground as they swing into her apartment, both thanking the high gods that Henry is staying with a friend. His lips are on her neck, kissing a pathway down her body, her shirt open and ripped to the side, her pants already with tear marks in them. For a man without his hook, he's sure making up for it. He just wants to feel her and she can relate.
It's frantic and messy and god it's good. Pieces of clothing disappear from both their bodies, torn carelessly, inches of fabric still clinging to a shoulder or a leg in their frenzy. Her fingers tighten around his thigh as her mouth breathes across his chest, biting, licking, tasting. It's been a year that they've missed out on and she wants to make it count for everything.
He hisses when her hands unlace his trousers, nimble fingers brushing his arousal, and then she is back at his mouth, kissing him like he's her air supply and she's in desperate need.
His pants fall to the ground with the weighty sound of leather. "Emma," he whispers against her lips, "Let me take care of you."
In the past she would have cringed if a man had used such a line, but with Killian. Oh with Killian. He had travelled realms (again), finding her (again), making her realise how much she was missing out on (again). Really, she figures that warrants him saying whatever he damn well pleases.
And well, it bloody turns her on.
She hitches a leg over his hip and he takes her hint, lifting her other limb to rest over the other side as she rises above him and they crash into a wall, his length jutting against her core and making their breaths hitch in their throats. It's barely a touch and she's already on fire. What he can do to her...it makes her heart ache in the most beautiful way. A year, she reminds herself, he had searched for her for an entire year.
And she knows he would have searched longer, knows that once he sets his mind to something he is so passionate about it.
She rolls her hips forwards again, feeling the heat of him against the heat of her, her wetness coating him, readying him for her. "I love you," she whispers and he barely hears it. But it's there and it's damn well real and he's been waiting so long to hear those words. To believe that he is even capable of being loved again is an unbelievable thing. To believe that he can be loved by the woman he loves in return is even more ludicrous.
But it's real.
He doesn't return the sentiment, not right now, because he knows that she knows. Actions are his voice and with a shaky breath, he pushes inside of her, his hand grasping for hers, fingers knotting together as they rise above her head.
"Oh god," she whimpers, her body stretching around him.
He pauses, his head resting on her shoulder, his fingers squeezing hers, "You're amazing, you know that? Bloody amazing."
A choked laugh escapes her and he looks up to find her eyes filled with unshed tears. Knowing they are tears of happiness makes his heart swell and he begins to move within her, pulling out and thrusting back in, feeling the build of heat between them, the delicate slide of her inner walls clasping onto him and never wanting to let go.
"More," she moans, her head rolling back against the wall as his hips move faster, jutting into her with such passion.
His hand leaves hers on the wall, tracing its way down her arm and across her chest, fingers rolling over a hardened nipple, her back arching into his touch causing the angle of him within her to change just slightly. He groans as he speeds up, his hand tracing further down her torso to just above where they are connected, thumb circling her clit, sending sparks flying through her body.
She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him, their chests sliding against one another, and maybe it's the change in angle, maybe it's the delicious friction, or the firm but gentle caress of his fingers on her most intimate parts, but it has her falling over the edge with a sharp cry in seconds, pulling him with her only moments later.
Her teeth sink into his neck as she rides out the waves of pleasure washing over her as his thumb still rubs soft circles against her to bring her down as slowly as possible. His hips still gently thrust forward, her tight walls milking him dry as they both breathe heavily, content and sated against the wall of her apartment.
"You think next time we could make it to the bed?"
He chuckles as he seems to realise they've barely made it inside the door, "We can do whatever you want to, lass."
She smiles at him, letting her feet drop to the ground and accepting his long kisses when he gives them, relishing in the simplicity of the moment and how wonderful he's making her feel. She's still the saviour and she knows that somewhere people she loves are in danger. But she's taking this excuse, this moment, because she needs it, she needs him to know what he means to her, what it means that he never gave up.
Her hand takes his and they make their way backwards, into her apartment, into her life. And when she closes the door to her bedroom behind them, he's on the same side.