#I am unable to be succinct enough for tags sometimes

[eepygimmickry]

photo credit: paetrisha on IG

[sailtoafarawayland]

A Quick and Bracing Reprieve

(A missing moment)

Summary: Just what does a ravenous pirate get up to when he’s denied the very tempting breakfast Emma was about to serve up, and all thanks to the ‘oh-so-helpful’ Snow White? 

Rating: E  

Tags: Light Dom/Sub, Light Bondage

AO3 - FF

A Quick and Bracing Reprieve

Killian could feel the soft firmness of her hip beneath his fingers, the fabric of her robe bunching as he squeezed and breathed in the scent of her, his lips brushing the back of her neck where her hair was swept to the side.

“Something smells good,” he murmured, feeling her shift against him, leaning into where his mouth grazed her skin.

“It's just from a box,” she teased, though he could tell by the way she caught her lip between her teeth that she knew he wasn't referring to the pancakes she'd been flipping on the stove.

“I'm not talking about the pancakes,” he whispered, still able to taste the sheen of sweat on her skin from that morning when she'd buried her head between his legs before the sun rose, taking his cock in her mouth and letting him guide her toward his release, his fingers knotted in her hair.

A plate clattered to the counter and suddenly Emma was spinning in his arms, grabbing the back of his waistcoat and pulling him closer as she claimed his mouth. He melted eagerly into her, savoring the taste of her lips, but she paused and he pulled back, enjoying the way that she ran her hands along his shoulders to his chest while she watched him, lips pulling into a soft smile.

“What?” he asked, seeing the emotion lingering behind desire.

“I'm just...happy. It still surprises me sometimes.”

“Aye, love...me too.”

They didn't need to say anything more – the pain they'd both endured to get to this place an unspoken guest in their home – but as quickly as the moment came over them, it was washed away in a fresh wave of need as Emma threw herself back into his embrace. Her nails dug into him as she held him as closely as she could, her murmured words – to hell with the pancakes – a promise against his lips as she pushed him against the table's edge, nearly climbing onto his lap in her eagerness.

His cock hardened between them as she pushed her leg between his, grinding against his trapped length as her tongue curled around his own, drawing a harsh breath from him – and then the unexpected sound of the door swinging open pulled them apart as if they'd been burned.

“Oh, great, you're up!” Snow called out, barely paying attention to them as she ducked inside, her arms full and too busy trying not to drop what she held to notice what was going on around her.

“Mom,” Emma stammered, watching Killian with chagrin as his jaw clenched in frustration – her boyfriend unable to even look at her mother who'd just barged into the house. “I – ”

“Your mother has a key,” he muttered darkly between the two of them, the unforgiving press of his trousers against his straining member adding an edge to his words that made Emma even more regretful their morning had been derailed. “Good to know.”

“I know I'm a little early, but I woke up this morning and it just hit me...” Snow blathered on, finally turning with her armload of what appeared to be paperwork to look at them both. “Am I...interrupting something?”

“No – ” Emma insisted, though the flush on her cheeks and the way she was still half perched over Killian's knee said otherwise, not that Snow would have needed to read that deeply between the lines – Killian's own succinct reply of 'yes' doing more than enough to apprise her of the situation.

“We were, uh, we were just making some pancakes,” Emma finished, slowly pulling herself back from Killian and moving to the stove where the pancakes were cooling, forgotten.

Killian pushed himself free of the table, rolling his shoulders and turning away so that his rather obvious state was somewhat hidden from Snow.

“Pancakes, uh, right...maybe I should come back after you've had...pancakes,” Snow offered, her eyes angled toward the safety of the ceiling.

“Don't worry,” he interjected, his voice tight – among other things – “I've lost my appetite.”

Emma's hand slid around his back, her fingers stroking his waist softly and settling some of the tension in his body, but not all of it.

“I have to go and have a quick and bracing shower,” he whispered against her ear, catching the apologetic smile she threw his way before he strode quickly toward the stairs. Unable to hide his predicament completely from Emma's mother, he only hoped she would have at least the common courtesy to look elsewhere...though it seemed she had no qualms about barging into their home unannounced.

Honestly, he'd had deckhands with better manners.

He tried not to climb the stairs with anymore urgency than normal, but the denim pants that Emma liked so much were making his cock throb painfully, and he could still taste her mouth on his, feel her fingers combing through his hair – and he remembered how it felt to do the same to her hours earlier, except with her lips wrapped around his hardness and sucking him down.

His annoyance was soothed just a little as he heard the echo of Emma's words trailing up the stairwell – as much as I love our unexpected visits – the notes of frustration carrying heavily through them.

He discarded his waist coat upon entering their bedroom, his shirt quickly following as he headed into the bathroom with a sigh, tugging at his pants before pausing to adjust the shower. The water leapt out, splattering against the tile and spraying his hot skin with icy droplets – and as he slipped the waist of his jeans over his pleading length, he realized that a quick and bracing shower was the last thing he wanted.

What he wanted was a moment of peace with the woman he loves – as many as possible, really, but he'd settle for one morning where they aren't interrupted or rushed by some new disaster or plan gone awry, one morning where they could enjoy a lie in followed by a good fucking over the breakfast table.

The frustration rose in his chest again, and he turned the water back off with more force than necessary, heading back into the bedroom. He shoved his trousers down and left them in a pile on the floor, grasping his cock in hand and soothing the edge of his need with a firm run up and down its length.

His eyes drifted to the bed still unmade from earlier, his gaze landing on the familiar scalloped edge of the tank top Emma had worn to sleep, and peeking from beneath its sheer fabric, the crimson lace of the panties she'd been wearing.

His grip tightened around his cock as he remembered how they'd hugged her ass as she wiggled it in the air, her green eyes glimmering with mischief before she'd licked a strip along the underside of his cock and sucked him into her mouth, never breaking eye contact between them until his palm had found the back of her head and he'd forced her deeper – like he knew she craved – thrusting into her wet heat until she'd begged and pleaded to be filled.

He turned and leaned against the wall, his hook thudding heavily against it as he jutted his hips forward into his hand, pleasure pooling in his gut as his hand found the right rhythm, skin sliding as he squeezed over the swollen head of his member, imagining that instead it was Emma's hot folds he was burying himself in.

She'd been a sight, her lips red and swollen from his cock stretching them, her skin flushed pink and movements clumsy as she tossed blankets and pillows that were in her way before nudging those red panties to the side and sinking herself – slick and dripping without ever being touched – onto his generous length, moaning and swaying over him like a goddess.

His head thunked against the wall as he jerked himself harder, his balls tight and heavy as he pictured how she'd grabbed his hand and wrist, begging him without words to take her to where only he could, and so he had, thrusting wildly into her as he forced her harder onto himself – they'd both have bruises, but she liked it that way. Her walls seized tightly around him as she came, begging him to fill her as his cock swelled and jerked inside of her, sending streams of his seed into her pleading heat, her thighs shaking as she fell across his chest, panting.

He could feel his orgasm climbing, his entire lower body tense with it as flashes of Emma played behind his eyelids, his balls tingling as his fist worked up and down his shaft – and then the sound of the door creaking open snapped him from his daydream, a growl rumbling from his throat as his head whipped around and he glared toward the door, hand still grasping his cock.

“I thought you were gonna take a quick and bracing shower,” Emma teased, though from the way his eyes darkened seeing her – still clad only in her loose robe – she could tell her words were not taken as the jest they were meant to be.

'Quick and bracing, indeed,” he rasped, unhanding his cock so she could see it red and straining and desperate, his eyebrow arched knowingly as she caught her bottom lip and took a step forward.

She was insatiable, his Swan.

“There's a thing,” she started uncertainly, taking another step forward as she watched his cock bob with lust-filled eyes, her fingers moving to the sash that held her robe closed, “but it can wait. We've got time for a quick – ”

“Aye, right you are love,” he hissed, striding forward and nimbly untangling the rope from her waist, her garment slipped from her shoulders to join his clothing on the floor, “but after this morning, it will be anything but quick or bracing for you...”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked, curiosity warring with anticipation as her eyes slipped regretfully away from his straining cock and back to his face.

“Well, I can only assume it was you, Emma, who so thoughtfully provided your mother with a key to our home – your mother, who has...fairly few boundaries, shall we say?”

Emma huffed, sidling closer and pressing her heated skin against his bare body, her fingers dragging through the plentiful hair on his chest as she tilted her mouth toward his.

“Yeah, but I didn't know she was going to just...you know, swing by.”

“Be that as it may, love, I think some repercussions for your thoughtlessness are in order.”

“Thoughtlessness?” Emma echoed.

“Aye, if it weren't for your mother, I'd have had you spread across that table, feasting on you like a man starved at sea before filling you up with my cock,” he growled, brushing his lips against hers as she panted softly, “now tell me you don't deserve to be punished for such lack of foresight.”

“Maybe you're right,” she whispered, her fingers finding his and dragging them to the curve of her ass, forcing him to palm her roughly, “maybe I've been a bad girl, and the Captain needs to remind me how to behave properly.”

“Indeed, you have, but don't think you'll be getting what you want from this, love – not when my morning plans were so rudely interrupted.”

“I'm not sure I like the sound of that,” she pouted, feeling how damp she already was from just the sight of him, her body craving the feel of him stretching her completely.

“Perhaps not, but I'm rather looking forward to it,” he shrugged, all lean muscle and intent – and before she could protest further, he'd backed her up, his hand and brace demanding against her shoulders until she found herself kneeling at his feet.

“I don't know, Captain,” she teased, her fingers dragging up his legs as she eyed where his cock bobbed heavy and wanting in front of her, tongue wetting her lips in anticipation, “if this is what being thoughtless gets me...”

“Oh, you're not getting that,” he smirked, his hand knotting in her hair and preventing her from enveloping the head of his cock in her hungry mouth. “No, your punishment is that you're going to watch, Swan, but you're not going to be able to touch. You see, I want you to spend the rest of the day empty and aching, knowing you could have had me filling you up with my cock, craving the way you stretch around me and the feel of my seed dripping down your thighs...”

“That's...just cruel,” she moaned, tugging against his grip and looking pleadingly up at him as he hooked each of her wrists, bringing them slowly together in front of her chest, palms meeting.

“No, no, no, Swan – no complaints, or I'll make sure you've no relief until tomorrow.”

With a vicious smirk curving his lips, he leaned back toward the bed and snatched the red panties from the blankets. Holding them up to his face, the soft lace brushing against his stubble, he inhaled the scent of their lovemaking from the earlier hours of the morning, humming in appreciation. Panties still held firmly in his grip, he lowered himself to Emma's level, smiling wickedly. Watching the way her lips fell open, he stretched the red lace damp with her own arousal and his release between the tip of his hook and his fingers.  

“And it would be a shame to put off such pleasure until tomorrow, so be a good girl for your Captain.”

Emma groaned, her hips moving instinctively as he twisted the panties tightly around her wrists, the fabric biting into her skin as he looped them over her hands, making certain they were secure. Only when he was positive that she wouldn't be using them for any relief did he stand, tucking his hook gently beneath her chin and making it clear he wanted her eyes on him.

A small whimper fell from her lips as she watched him move to the edge of the bed, muscles flexing as he leaned back on one forearm and spread his legs over the edge, his powerful thighs framing his cock as he wrapped his fingers around himself and gently stroked, his eyes locked on hers.

“You're a bit far for my liking, Swan,” he ruminated, head tilted to the side as his large hand ran smoothly along his shaft, skin rolling wetly over the glistening head of his cock, “bring that pretty face closer.”

Emma breathed heavily through her nose and shuffled forward on her knees, her fingers itching to reach out and touch him as she settled herself nearly against the bed and between the heat of his spread legs, his thick cock looming above her as he stroked it.

“Now that's much better,” he rasped, eyes fluttering shut momentarily as the sight of her bound and kneeling at his feet sent a surge of pleasure through his body, but he forced them back open, wanting to watch the raw desire and need on her face at what she couldn't have.

Emma licked her lips, her eyes darting between the hard steel of Killian's gaze and his cock as he jerked it over her, his balls heavy and pulling as his hand fisted and stroked upwards like he enjoyed, twisting just before rolling over his crown and drawing a throaty growl from his lips.

“The things I wanted to do to you, Emma,” he purred, his body shifting further off the edge of the bed as he strove to get as close as possible without touching her, his pace picking up. “Tell me, love, what would you be doing with those greedy fingers right now if you weren't tied up? Would you be shoving them deep inside that tight quim of yours, looking for release? Or would you perhaps be using them to fill your mouth full of my cock?”  

“That,” Emma gasped, leaning forward as much as she was able, the heat of her mouth ghosting across the puckered skin of his balls as he worked himself over. “I want you in my mouth – all of you. These...”

“No touching, Swan,” he chastised, “or you won't be getting anything until tomorrow.”

She drew back sharply, unwilling to risk the good fucking she knew she'd be getting later tonight if she listened. He loved her like this, begging and needy at his feet – she did too. Even if it meant putting off her own release until later, it was always worth it.

“And I want to feel you sliding into my mouth – so fucking big and thick, pushing against my throat...”

“You're so talented with your mouth...perhaps that's what I'll do later. Would you like that, love, to be laid out on our bed, your sweet cunny filled with one of those toys you love while I fuck your throat like it's simply another hole to use?”

Emma whimpered, leaning back to get a better view as Killian's fist moved furiously over his cock above her, his skin slick and red, the crown of him swollen and dark, clear arousal slipping from his slit and shining against his fingers and shaft.

“Yes,” she gasped, squirming as her body fought against the rules he'd laid down – no touching.

She wanted to touch him, to grab him and suck him down, to touch herself, to bury her fingers in her cunt that was slick and hot with strings of her own arousal.

“But don't think I'll be done once I fill your mouth with my seed, love, not by any means – I want to taste how desperate being taken like that makes you, burying my tongue between your legs and feeling you shake around me, and then I'll fill you there as well.”

“Please...please...Killian,” she groaned, jerking her hands down and wishing she could use them, her clit throbbing mercilessly to be touched. “I need...”

“What do you need, Swan?” he rasped, so close his balls were drawing tight against his body, full and heavy.

“Cum,” she cried, “I need you to come.”

“Aye, love, you've been a good girl – keep that lovely mouth open for me, darling.”

The feel of his legs brushing against her body as he leaned forward was almost too much on top of her desperation, and she moaned as he pushed forward, angling his cock down and fisting it hard, the head of it bobbing directly over where she waited for him, her mouth obediently open and eyes staring directly into his.

With a grunt that drew out into a rasping, panting moan, he finally came, his strokes shortening and tightening around the head of his cock as he held it over her, sighing with relief as rope after rope of his seed marked her, crossing her cheeks and landing beautifully on her pale skin.

She stuck her tongue out with the smallest of desperate noises, stretching on her legs to get closer as he took pity and pointed himself directly into her mouth, the sensitive skin of his head just barely within reach of her lips as he let the rest of himself empty into her, her tongue cupped and carefully holding a pool of his pearly essence.

“Bloody hell,” he hissed, watching as she lifted the corner of her mouth in a coy smile, extending her tongue just enough that he could see what a good girl she was being before she swallowed the last of him down and licked her lips.

He shuddered as the last pangs of his orgasm rolled through him.

“That's a good girl, love,” he crooned, tapping her gently on the cheek with his cock before throwing his leg over her body and striding into the bathroom to clean up. “I think you may have earned yourself some leniency later – if you can behave for the rest of the day.”

Emma let out a whimper, feeling his seed cool on her cheeks and slowly start to thin and drip, caught by the red lace of the panties still tied around her hands.

“Yes, Captain,” she murmured, nearly jumping as he returned and his cool hand ran down her back, his hook matching his movements as he gently tugged the fabric from her wrists, freeing them.

His lips were soft as he placed kisses against her reddened skin and lifted her to sit on the edge of the bed. Knowing how sensitive she would be, he carefully urged her legs open, taking in her folds that were flushed red and sopping wet, viscous arousal clinging to her. He forced down the urge to taste her.

“Don't move,” he rasped, and crossed to the other side of their bedroom, sliding open her bureau and removing a pair of black panties from the drawer.

Emma shivered as he knelt at her feet and carefully slid them up her legs, his silent guidance letting her know it was okay to lift herself as he pulled them up around her hips and urged her to sit back down, his hand pressing once – just firmly enough that could feel her wetness seeping into the fabric – against her hot core.

“Now then, Swan – I hear we've some emergency or another to deal with, so we should get dressed. If all goes well, I'll be taking those off later and tasting just how wet you've been for me all day.”

“Yes,” she hissed, wriggling against the bed, only stilling when his hand and hook fell assertively against her bare thighs.

“But if you're not well behaved,” he warned, “you'll have them in your mouth instead of around your wrists, and it won't be that desperate cunt of yours I'll be filling. Do you understand, Swan?”

She swallowed heavily, wondering how she was going to get through the day ahead when there was only one thing she'd be thinking of.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

He grinned, knowing exactly what was going through her mind – he may be the Captain, but their night could go in two directions, and their heading was entirely up to her.    

END

Tagging: @donteattheappleshook @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54

[bonesandblood-sunandmoon]

Sometimes writing is a nice controlled activity, and sometimes, it’s like something takes a hold of you and you’re merely a conduit. Reading about galactian alignments [here] and letting the frame of bi/pan/multisexual orientations as being related to same/opposite gender attraction percolate brought forth something that I guess could be called prose poetry.

Note the personal tag. This is not educational, broad definitions for those seeking answers, or the only way someone could relate and personally define these terms. I would appreciate it if this wasn’t used as an ill-fitting 101 because it’s admittedly rather specific to my experiences with struggling to name internal experiences (an older WP post - wibbly-wobbly, gendery-wendery - on why I use broader labels for myself, which featured a mention of “gendershifter” in the comments).

--

Gendershifter

>> Do you feel masc, solarian, man-aligned, or anything in that direction?

While an allusion to the idea of a sun god was the basis for solarian, I’m more accustomed to the Sun Goddess, Sunna aka Sol. When I think of this goddess, I think of sunlit fields, manual labor, making men dominated fields adapt to your presence, a steely pride in gender non-conformity for those read as women, working clothes worn casually or off shift, work boots, any pants or shorts with adequate pocket space, flannel, tying or keeping hair out of the face if it’s long enough to warrant that, carabiners and the sound of keys as you walk. It’s not as simple as saying that Sunna reminds me of masculinity; She is what I think of when I think of butchness.

>> Do you feel femme, lunarian, woman-aligned, or anything in that direction?

While an allusion to the idea of a moon goddess was the basis for lunarian, I’m more accustomed to the Moon God, Mani. When I think of this god, I think of the silent questions you ask yourself after midnight, resting after a long day, admitting that perhaps it’s nice to take a break from living up to cis men’s standards all the time, a wispy curiosity in conventionally feminine coded aspects (kept guarded from being used as a weapon of misgendering), apologizing to calluses with lotion, the silky smoothness of freshly shaved legs, starry nail polish, the swishy feel of a skirt. It’s not as simple as saying that Mani reminds me of femininity; He is what I think of when I think of night blooming flowers, holding onto gifted jewelry (just in case), and allowing myself to enjoy pretty things, feel pretty.

>> Do you experience same-gender attraction?

I don’t have a succinct word for what I am. I feel a flame of something inside that is connected to other flames that have come before me, a sense of being a descendant. The flexibility of Nature as a creature shifts their reproductive sex within life (through environmental triggers or other reasons). The chaos of Nature as a fungi produces multiple sexes that can’t necessarily reproduce with each other (we’ve yet to figure out how to ask fungi about their genders). I feel Ancient, human in the most ancestral sense, acknowledging that it’s alright to have feelings about how I cut and present my hair, not holding it against my body that it’s easier to live with some shaving, preferring to breathe in comfortable clothing than worry about the specifics, emphasizing practicality over aesthetic.

>> Do you experience opposite-gender attraction?

I suppose that’s whatever has an existing word and definition, but I can’t say for sure. I feel a stillness that reaches down, inwards, tunnels through my heart into darkness. The quiet solitude of a cave, twisted tree roots forming a cavern, laying in the embrace of the Darkness. The dark green moss grasps at a deep earth sensation. The pale white-gray of the aspens as the leaves fall in the autumn grasps at a shifting, changing sensation. The blue inside of a glacier grasps at the alien, unknown, inhumanity of not belonging in the social boxes I’ve been given. I can’t always feel the boundary being crossed, but I can find myself caught in the threshold between what I am and what I am expected to be. Sometimes the challenge is a glorious strengthening of Monstrosity, sharpening claws and teeth against restraints of gender, but other times, I am a ghost, unseen and unacknowledged, a residual loop walking through walls.

>> Which is easier to sort you into: man or woman?

Both to the point of neither. I am tired of counting back the threads of how I am woven together into this tapestry. Must I change the pattern? Must I challenge every choice of color and thread I am given? I am tired, and sometimes, it is easier to not challenge the world at every step. I am the soothing fog that blankets the trees, the warmth of a den hidden away, and I will allow myself to rest, hibernate in this wintry cold world of absolutes. I can’t always poke and prod at my gender as it shifts and flows, and I can’t always detect what it’s doing beneath mental fog. (Is it still there, or do I stop caring about it?) It’s an ice covered pond more so than a void, but I still don’t know what’s going on. (At least the stinging pain of misgendering is dulled by the apathy of survival.) Perhaps, my gender will return from its stroll through the galaxy in the spring.

>> But then how do I categorize you? I’m only attracted to males / females.

While you might be attracted to conventional masculine or feminine signifiers in cis people, I would appreciate it if you would take a moment to consider if you can truly tell someone’s gender just by observing them or guessing their sex. (It’s a social habit that might gender a stranger correctly some of the time, but it’s just as likely that you will misgender her, him, them, hir, and so on.)

I’m afraid I have met my allotted misgendering quota for today and will therefore be unable to sort myself neatly into your convenient boxes. Please wait 3 business days until you have experienced the unnerving temperature drop of a solar eclipse, the primal unease at a night and day blurring, and have felt the indescribable mystery of the universe brush against your human senses to make another inquiry.