#i know it's tempting to drown out anxious thoughts with scrolling before bed 'cause that's what i was doing

[thegreathomestuckreread]

i knew that using tumblr on my phone in bed before trying to sleep would make the hamster in my brain run bonkers wild and I DID IT ANYWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! why did i do that

[initiala]

CS prompt: First sex after childbirth

I missed Storybrooke Downs. A lot. Also this went kinky. And super Real. If you aren’t comfortable with what probably falls under ‘erotic lactation’, then keep on scrolling.

And it’s pronounced “EE-fah” ;)

March 3, 2020

They wind up naming her for his mother.

Aoife Elizabeth Jones, dark of hair and strong of lungs, has his nose and her mother’s chin. Her eyes haven’t quite made up their mind on what color they want to be just yet and she spends an abnormal amount of time simply observing the world around her.

She’s been in his life for only a few short months, and yet he can hardly remember a time without her in it.

Emma’s been slow to get back on her feet, poor lass; her pregnancy had been a difficult one and a whole slew of postpartum difficulties had kept her down for much of the last few months. He’s tried not to hover, truly, but it wasn’t easy (still isn’t, sometimes) to see her lethargic and unable or unwilling to get out of bed some days. The crying jags were the worst of it: the mood swings he was used to, but seeing her still and sad and prone made his heart stutter and a sense of hypervigilance to take over. When Killian had decided to all but pass the reins, as it were, of the farm to Will while throwing himself headfirst into fatherhood and caring for his wife, she’d been able to get the necessary treatments to be well once more. It had been difficult to promote Will, to take a step back in the day-to-day affairs of the farm. But his family had supported his decision, encouraged it, and if he was honest with himself it was worth it to see the look of shock on Will’s face. And with his extra support of her at home, Emma began to improve, slowly returning to her old self once more.

Now, Killian leans against the door with his arms lightly folded across his chest, watching as Emma bounces Aoife gently, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as she hums. He tries not to hover much these days, but it can be hard to shake the habit. And, if he’s honest, he’d rather not miss out on little moments like this. Emma’s not wearing a shirt, a sure sign that Aoife’s bedtime snack has just ended. Her hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail and away from little fingers just learning to grasp with intent. There’s a burping cloth over her shoulder and the nightlight that sends stars and moons-shaped light across the walls is already turned on. The floor creaks as he steps into the nursery and Emma speaks quietly, without turning to look. “She’s almost asleep.”

He comes up behind them, loosely wrapping his arms around Emma’s waist and pressing a gentle kiss against Aoife’s crown. She fusses a little, her tiny fist clenching and relaxing as her face scrunches up in discontent. Killian chuckles. “Apologies, little love, Papa didn’t meant to disturb you.”

“You get to be on sleep duty if she doesn’t settle down,” Emma tells him as he reaches up to take the cloth and toss it into the washing pile.

But settle she does, as her parents sway and her mother starts humming again. Killian’s chin tucks up against Emma’s shoulder and he presses kisses against her skin. This is his favorite time of the day – the quiet moments before Aoife’s bedtime when she makes little cooing sounds as she falls asleep; when Emma, tired after a long day, leans into him a little more and allows him to set the pace of their gentle sway, rocking their daughter to sleep; when his whole world fits right here in the circle of his embrace.

He sticks close by as Emma lays Aoife in her crib. She fusses a little, her face scrunching up once more as she’s left to lay alone in her crib, and Killian can’t help but sympathize: between sleeping alone or cuddling with Emma, he’d choose the latter every time. They watch her settle for a moment before walking quietly towards the door. The moment they’re out of the nursery, the door left open just a bit, Killian sweeps Emma up in his arms, grinning at her surprised squeak. “What the hell?”

“Am I not allowed to spoil my wife?”

She glowers at him, but wraps her arms around his neck and if he isn’t mistaken (and he rarely is when it comes to her) there’s a small smile threatening to spread on her lips. “You spoil me plenty, I just can’t figure out the occasion.”

What little ire remains in her tone and face is rendered exponentially less threatening by her half-bare state. He carries her down the hall to their bedroom, bypasses the bed, and straight into the bathroom where he’s run her a hot bath. Her doctors have all told him that anything that can be done to ease her burdens (imagined or not) will help exponentially, and he’s taken to doing such things whenever the thought occurs to him; he also figures that little reminders of his love and care for her never hurts. He’s added some of those fizzy, scented, confetti configurations she’s grown to like, and lit a few candles and placed them around the rim. She inhales sharply at the sight, her arms tightening around his neck. “Oh, Killian.”

He sets her down, his hands lingering on her hips. He kisses her forehead, then both cheeks, watching the way her eyes close and smiling at how she leans into his touch. “The occasion is that I love you, that I can’t remember a time I’ve been happier, and that it’s entirely due to you that I feel this way.”

She ducks her head and he catches her smile before she tries to hide it. “That’s the sleep deprivation talking.”

“Perhaps, but perhaps you should also take advantage of it while I’m feeling charitable,” Killian teases.

She demures. “Seriously, Killian, I know I’ve been a pain in the ass and none of this has been easy. If anything, I need to be doing all this nice stuff for you, not the other way around.”

There’s an itch under his skin that he wouldn’t be able to scratch even if he wanted to remove his hands from her. His heart aches for her, his stubborn Swan; if it hadn’t been for the Nolans nagging her as much as he did himself, he’s not sure she would have accepted help for her problems. “Emma, you’re not a pain in my arse or anyone else’s. Aye, it’s not been easy, but this is how our partnership works. Even without the vows,” his hand finds hers, fingers running over the rings on her fingers, the ones she’d had to wear on a chain around her neck for months, the ones he’d sworn for better or for worse over, “I’d not want to be anywhere else but here by your side.” Her eyes are shining at this point, a watery smile on her lips, and he kisses her forehead. “Take your bath, sweetling, I’ll keep an ear out for the little one.”

Her hands catch his before he can pull away. “Stay? Er – you can join me? If you want to?” she asks and the hopeful look in her eyes makes his breath catch in his throat.

It’s been almost a year since they’d last lain together. She’d been a tempting sight for months, lovely and glowing as their child grew within her, but the difficulties with her health had prevented them from being able to indulge in their desires for one another – and God only knew how irritated Emma had been about that. He’d seen her phone’s calendar with certain dates marked for when she might be cleared for sex again. But that had changed after Aoife arrived in a whirlwind of long labor and eventual emergency C-section, and then the host of other issues Emma had to combat in recovery. He’d done his best to keep from causing his wife any unnecessary guilt or pressure, and truly her health matters more to him than anything else.

As she’d said it hasn’t been easy. None of it has. And while part of him really, truly misses his wife in the biblical sense, the rest of him prioritizes gratefulness for Emma’s returning health and happiness, and the health of their daughter.

Emma smiles as she searches his eyes. “I wouldn’t suggest it unless I felt ready,” she says, as if she’s reading his mind.

Some days he’s not so sure she can’t.

“I know, love, it’s just – you’re certain? Truly?”

She nods and slides his hands up to her bare ribs, her smile turning decidedly more devious as his breath catches. “It’s been way too long since we’ve done something like this together.”

She giggles at how quickly he divests himself of his clothing, her own strip out of her leggings and underwear much slower than his hurried flinging of garments this way and that. He’s not sure if his speed coming from his own fear that she’ll change her mind or that he’ll lose his nerve. (Maybe both. Maybe something else he can’t name.) He almost stumbles when she kicks her clothing aside, as agog as he’d been as a lad at his first sight of a woman bared. Her breasts and hips are fuller these days, and a thin red line scars her lower abdomen, but little else has changed; it’s only enhanced her natural beauty and he finds her as beautiful as she was the day they met almost six years ago.

The water is pleasantly warm as he steps in, easing the minor aches of the day as he sits down and holds out his hand to assist her. She fits easily between his legs, her back resting against his chest, and they share a sigh of content as she lays her head back against him and his arms envelop her. He turns into her a bit, breathes her in and grazes his lips against the shell of her ear; in a way it’s almost an extension of earlier, being pressed against her like this, but decidedly… more. It’s not her skin against his, not the way water clings to her skin, the ends of her hair as they sink down a little farther. It’s just — he feels closer to her like this, lighter and less anxious (because he’s always anxious, deep down, feels it flare up at each hiccup or setback, every bad day even after a string of seven good ones), and there is something about water that simply makes him feel… safe.

(Like he could drift, and not drown, and keep his love afloat with him.)

And, well, the view from here isn’t too bad, either, a fact his wife seems to know all too well if the stifled snicker she lets out is any indication. “I’d say my eyes are up here, but.”

Killian hums into her hair, drags his lips down her jaw and tries (fails, miserably) to hide his smile against her skin. “Lovely as they are, Swan, I can’t say I’m all that displeased to finally have these,” he murmurs, hands reaching up under the water to cup the underside of her breasts, a soft, gentle thing that has her breath hitching, “and you all to myself for a little while.” He can tell she’s smiling even without seeing her, can practically feel it rising up out of her chest and blossoming bright onto her face as he drops his lips to her shoulder.

“All I ask is for you to be gentle,” she says with a sigh, turning her head slightly to nestle against him better. “Your daughter doesn’t seem to understand the word just yet.”

Her skin feels like silk under his fingers as they glide down her stomach, coasting over new curves and scars. “Ah, so she’s my daughter when she’s misbehaving, is that how it is?”

“Absolutely.”

He chuckles, his lips brushing against the soft skin of her temple, then her forehead. He skims down the length of her nose and captures her lips in a kiss. Emma sighs happily, opening for him immediately. Something about the glide of her tongue against his, coupled with the delightful way her arse wriggles against his cock, causes his restraint to snap. He groans, surging forward and causing the water to slosh noisily in the tub, turning her enough to better devour her mouth. She mewls into him, her hand slipping between them to grasp his cock. The feel of her nimble fingers on him after so many months without makes him shudder. He allows her a few pumps before taking her hand in his. “Need you,” she whispers against his lips.

“I know, pet, but if you don’t stop then it’ll be over all too soon,” he says.

She whines in protest, but soon they turn to whines of pleasure as he kisses her again. His tongue tangles with hers, his teeth scraping against her lower lips and sucking it into his mouth; he does so love the way her lips plump up, full and red, when he kisses her. He turns her back to their original position, keeping their left hands entwined as his right slides down her stomach to the thatch of hair between her legs.

God but she’s soft, softer than he remembers. There’s slickness between her folds that’s pure Emma and he slides two fingers into her pliant flesh with ease. She gasps into his mouth, her body arching as he begins a gentle thrust with his fingers. His thumb grazes the side of her clit in a pattern that alternates between rough and gentle, and judging by the way her hips cant against his hand, she likes it very much.

She turns her head, meeting his mouth with hers again. Her kisses are rough and demanding, more tooth than lip, and it awakens something darker, something greedier inside of him. He brings their hands to her breasts, kneading and massaging each in turn. Their fingers trace nonsense on her chest, on her stomach, trailing up and down and returning to tweak and tease her nipples at each pass. “More,” she demands, gasping the word between a kiss, and he’s more than willing to give it to her.

He slides in a third finger, stretching her, prepping her for later, and groans in unison with her as her walls squeeze him. “I can’t wait to feel you,” he tells her, surging forward to kiss her again. “Been so long – missed you –”

“‘M right here,” she says, her voice cracking as he puts more pressure on her clit. “God, Killian – close –” 

His eyes drop to her chest as her head falls back with a broken moan; there’s a flush creeping down her neck towards her lovely, full breasts. “Are you going to come for me?” he murmurs right behind her ear, kissing a sensitive spot along her hairline. “Look at you, all flushed and pink and wanton.”

Her breathless agreement has him quickening his pace, his thumb swiping her clit in rapid succession as he pumps his fingers into her. Her walls flutter around him, not quite at the peak of pleasure but well on the way there. He turns his attention to her ear, her neck, nibbling and sucking little red marks into her skin, relishing in her gasps at each addition. She’s starting to shudder, and his lips find her ear, his voice dropping to a growl, “My needy, greedy wife.”

At the word wife, Emma tenses, her cries filling their small bathroom as her body convulses around him. If his eyes weren’t trained on the way her breasts pinked up from pleasure, he’s sure to have missed the liquid leaking from her nipples.

That’s interesting.

She relaxes as he withdraws his fingers, pressing a few kisses along her neck and shoulder while pondering this new discovery. Sure, there’d been all sorts of cautionary details in their numerous baby books about milk leaking out when the baby cries, but unless he’s going quite deaf (she’d been loud, but not that loud) that’s not the case here. He leans back, sliding them both down into the water a little more as his hand rests lightly on her thigh. Her grip on his other hand loosens and he flexes his fingers slightly to bring the feeling back into them. After another long minute, she exhales slowly. “Hand me the soap?” Emma asks quietly, reaching for a washcloth.

He obliges, hardly noticing at how quickly and efficiently she scrubs herself, rationalizing it at how she must be in a hurry to get to the bedroom. He does get to fix her ponytail for her, tucking it up into a bun so it doesn’t get soapy as well as wet at the ends, but she hardly swipes at her back where she can reach with the cloth before she’s rinsing off. “I’ll clean up in here,” he tells her, kissing her wet shoulder. “Go dry off, I’ll be with you in a mo’.”

She hums, her tone noncommittal, and gets to her feet. He’s treated to a lovely view of her backside while she reaches for a towel, but she steps out and away before he can tease her with his hand.

He gives himself a brief scrub and rinse before opening the drain, grabbing his own towel and slinging it around his shoulders before blowing out the candles. It’s only when he’s emerged from the bathroom and toweling himself dry, the simmering smell of smoke still lingering in his nose, that Killian really takes note of Emma in the aftermath of that little incident. She’s standing idly next to their dresser, hair tugged out of the bun he’d crafted for her as she towels the damp ends dry and she is, much to his surprise and dismay, wearing a robe.

That’s… decidedly rather against what he’d been hoping for — what he’d been expecting, really.

But she looks… almost churlish, his Swan, brow furrowed and lips thinned into a line. Any traces of that lovely little high she’d experienced at his hands seem virtually non-existent now and that — that just won’t do. Anxiety flares briefly under his breastbone as he wonders what he could have possibly done to cause such a pivot in her mood, but he does his best to stamp it down. After another moment’s consideration he crosses the room toward her, towel still grasped in hand as he steps just outside of her space, hovering just around the edges. “Emma?” he prompts. “What —”

“Nothing,” she says, a short, clipped thing that doesn’t bear much heat. The flare in temper evaporates as quickly as it had appeared, and at the breath she lets out the room suddenly feels unusually empty. Her shoulders sag slightly. “Can we just… not? I really don’t want to do this.”

“Do what?” he asks, but she’s already out of the conversation, pressing her towel against his chest as brushes past him quickly, deliberately avoiding his gaze. It’s his turn for his brow to furrow but he turns toward her again with put-upon ease, intent on finding out what’s bothering her. He falters, though, over the first question that might have followed when he sees the way she nearly throws herself onto the bed with a disgruntled huff and draws her knees up toward her chest, face turning toward one of the plumper (his) pillows.

The arousal he’d felt earlier has completely disappeared by now, quickly consumed by confusion and worry. It’s been ages since he’s seen her so defensive, her walls and her armor long since shed, but she curls in on herself ever so slightly even as he sits on the edge of the bed to try and talk. His pulse hammers in his throat; it feels paper dry and his voice feels very small as he asks, “Did I hurt you?”

Her eyes flick up to his, the lines between her brows vanishing as her gaze softens. “No,” she says, the honesty plain on her face. “No, Killian, it wasn’t… it’s not you.”

Killian drapes the towel over his hips for modesty’s sake as he stretches out on the bed next to her. He believes her (she’s a terrible liar, he always could read her like a book) but the anxiety gnawing at his insides makes him ask, “Are you certain?”

She reaches across the gap between them and he takes the offered hand, lacing their fingers together. She looks tired, drawn, the circles under her eyes not entirely from the little sleep Aoife allows them. As much as he’s been able to do for her, it pains him that he cannot relieve all of the burdens that weigh her down, that catch her off guard when she’s unawares. “It’s everything I’ve been missing,” Emma says. “Well, almost.” The faint smile on her lips brings one out on his own face. “But the—the thing. I knew it was a possibility, but I wasn’t really expecting it? And it…”

He’s about to ask for clarification, but she’s frowning down towards her chest, red flags burning on her cheeks, and he’s struck with understanding. “Emma, that wasn’t at all odd.”

“Yeah, but it’s kind of embarrassing. And weird. And it ruined the mood.”

He waits until she’s out of qualifiers before reaching for her and pulling her close. She stiffens briefly, but she inhales and then buries her nose in his chest and relaxes against him. Killian feels the anxiety easing off at her touch, resting his chin on the top of her head. “First, it did not ruin the mood.”

“You were all distracted after it happened.”

“Yes, but not because I was thinking ‘goodness, Emma’s breasts are disgusting, producing the very thing that keeps our child alive at what may not be the most opportune moment’.” She snorts at that and he smiles. “I was thinking ‘that’s very interesting, how quickly can I get her to do that again and will it disgust her if I wanted to taste?’”

Emma jerks back, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“So it does disgust you?”

She chews on her bottom lip, looking uncertain. “Well, I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve ever thought you’d want to, so I guess it never crossed my mind.“

He shrugs. “It’s not like I’d thought of it before now either, but I have to admit I’m curious now. Aren’t you?”

She makes a face, shaking her head, and he supposes everyone has their limits. He strokes her back, soothing circles. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” he says quietly.

“Don’t,” she replies, just as quiet. “I should have expected them to leak.”

“There’s no way you’d have known it would make you feel this way, though.”

“I just don’t like not being in control of my own body,” Emma admits. Her breath hitches and Killian stills, feeling that this is about a lot more than leaking breast milk. “Everything over the past year… I love Aoife and I’m glad we have her, but… I don’t like feeling like this.” She sniffles and he pulls her in even closer. “First all the crap with my body changing and then every goddamn scare and bed rest and my hormones all over the place and now this… I seriously don’t know how you haven’t run for the fucking hills at this point. God knows I want to leave me behind.”

He doesn’t know what to say, but he knows enough from his own experiences that just letting her get it all out there can be enough; he might not have to say anything. There’s another moment of silence and then she laughs wetly. “God, first I throw myself at you and now I’m a crying mess, talking about what a terrible mom I am. I’m a fucking trainwreck.”

However, he has his limits, and letting her beat herself up over something like this is one of them. “No, love,” he says, urging her to look at him. He wipes some stray tears from her cheeks. “You’re my same, beautiful Swan. We made promises to each other, you remember? No secrets, no hiding anything, just you and me. After everything we’ve been through, you truly think I’d want to leave when things got hard? I love you far, far too much for that.” She’s quiet and watches him with those big, sad eyes. “And you, my own sweet lass, are far from a terrible mother. I know this hasn’t been easy on you, and I know that you know it’s okay that you aren’t bouncing back so quickly. But you’re fighting, love, and that’s what matters.”

He holds her close as she breaks a little, soothing her with soft words and light touches. This is not something he’s unused to, more mood swings and tears, and it kills him to be unable to do anything but be there to hold her and let her work it out; he’ll have to convince her in the morning to make another appointment with her doctor, but perhaps if she’s being so insightful about how she’s feeling it won’t be the wheedling and pleading it normally is.

When she stills and her breathing evens out, Killian gently untangles himself from her. “Let me hang up the towels and put something on, we’ll turn in early, aye?”

She’s so quiet that he thinks she must have fallen asleep. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head and gets up, heading to the bathroom with both towels in hand. The evening’s gone down several extremely unexpected avenues and Killian suddenly finds himself exhausted; guilt pinches in his gut – it’s not as if he’s the one going through these severe mood swings, he’s just along for the ride – but weariness drags at his bones regardless. He braces himself on the sink with one hand, scrubbing his face with the other.

Perhaps Emma’s not the only one who needs to call their doctor in the morning.

Picking up his pyjama pants from where they’re slung over a clothes rack, he heads back into the bedroom, then stops short.

Emma’s ditched her robe, lounging enticingly across their bed.

Killlian’s chest feels tight and he knows he’s failing from going slack-jawed. Emma’s mouth curls into a delightfully devious smile as she takes him in. “Cat got your tongue?” she asks.

Actually, his head’s spinning from how quickly things are changing, but he shakes his head and climbs onto the bed next to her. “A bit confused, but never speechless,” he tells her. “Regardless of how stunning you are.”

Her hand splays across his chest. Her face is a little puffy and her eyes are still a little red, but her breathing’s steady and her gaze is sure. “Look, I know I’m being a crazy person today, but I started something earlier and I damn well intend to finish it,” she explains. “And before you start, I’m positive it’s okay. I love you, I want to do this, and I want to do this with you.”

“Not your other husband?” Killian asks and she smacks him lightly, giving him a look.

“Killian, you’re being super great about all of this and I’m grateful for it. And I know, I know, vows and promises, but it still means a lot to me that you actually hold yourself accountable for all of that. So let me make love to my damn husband for the first time in forever, okay?”

“Twist my arm a little,” he says, and she takes his wrist, struggling to twist it behind his back as he chuckled. “Alright, love, if you’re sure, then I submit myself to your carnal desires.”

She rolls her eyes, then pushes him onto his back. “You’re so dramatic.” He opens his mouth and she promptly covers it with one hand. “Not a word, buster, or I’ll edge you for an hour.”

Killian’s not sure he’d be able to last that long and Emma has to know that, but he nods anyway. She replaces her hand with her mouth, kissing him deeply. He can’t help the groan that slips out as her tongue slips between his lips. He feels her climb on top of him, her weight a welcome presence on top of his body. Her hands wander, sliding up and down his arms, his chest, reaching behind her to play with the hairs at the base of his cock. He’s rapidly growing hard again, any lingering worries washing away under waves of lust and love for this woman –  his wife – currently trying to kill him with her bare hands.

She rolls them, mumbling, “You’re on top but I’m in charge,” against his lips. He can only moan an affirmative, his lips too busy being sucked and nibbled on to be used for much else.

He pushes her hands away from their exploration, feeling certain that even a light breeze could set him off at this point. He sinks his teeth into her lip and she groans, a throaty thing dripping with lust, before he dips his head down lower. Killian nips at her collarbones and makes his way down between the valley of her breasts, intent on tasting her core, but her hand in his hair stops him. “I thought you wanted to try something,” she says, guiding him towards her left breast.

“I thought you weren’t comfortable with it?”

She shrugs a little. “Can’t know for sure if you don’t try, right?”

Killian meets her eyes and she nods, ever so slightly. He smiles and runs his nose along the curve of her breast, noting not for the first time how much firmer, how much fuller it is. He draws lazy circles with his tongue, meandering his way to her peak, mindful of her whispered “Gentle” before wrapping his lips around her nipple.

He nails dig into his scalp and he eases off the pressure. He listens to the way she gasps, moans, or whines, switching up ministrations and how hard he sucks depending on her reaction. Some milk does leak out, just a little, and Killian hums in surprise. “What?” Emma asks, her voice thick.

“It’s sweet,” he mumbles, kissing the side of her breast before moving to the other, neglected one. “Like… that vanilla coffee creamer you buy me.”

“Oh my God.”

“You asked,” he tells her before getting to work on her other breast.

There’s nothing to taste but her skin this time, and how much pressure and what kind he puts on her doesn’t seem to matter as much as it did before. When she tugs on his hair, he starts to move towards her sex, thinking that’s what she wants next. She doesn’t let him go down on her, though; he does whine rather pitifully about it, giving her a full pout, but she only glares at him, reminding him that she’s in charge tonight. Instead, she rolls them once more so that his head is nestled between their pillows and slides down the length of his body. Hurriedly, Killian shoves a pillow under his head so he can watch, his breathing growing shallower and quicker as Emma’s hand wraps around the base of his cock and her tongue flicks out to taste the tip.

It takes every ounce of his willpower not to come immediately as she wraps her lips around him. He grasps at the sheets, at the pillows, at her hair – he can’t seem to keep still, even as she lays her arm hard across his hips to keep him from thrusting too deeply down her throat. After a few moments, she lets him go, reaching down between her legs. “You like this?” Killian rasps.

She nods, his cock not leaving her mouth; she brings her hand back up and smears her own wetness around his length, tasting them both the next time she bobs her head. He groans deep at the sight, babbling as she alternates licking and sucking him. “Turns you on, doesn’t it? Having a cock in your mouth, it makes you so fucking wet–” 

Her cheeks hollow out when she pulls away, cutting off any more words and drawing a long, throaty groan from him – he’s so close, he’s gonna –

She stops and he almost snarls in frustration; this must be how she feels when he teases her.

“Do you want to come or do you want to fuck me?” Emma asks idly, still stroking him lightly.

He notices she’s got her other hand between her legs again. His cock twitches, watching her pleasure them both at once.“Both,” he says, trying to catch his breath.

She smiles, then does the cruelest possible thing by letting him go. He watches her as she reaches into their bedside stand, pulling out tissues and a bottle of lube. “Just to be safe,” she says at his inquiring look.

She’s using the warming kind, he discovers, sending tingling pleasure all the way down to the tips of his toes as she strokes him and makes sure every inch of his cock is coated in the stuff. He grips her hips as she straddles him, positioning him at her entrance, and slowly sinks down.

Neither of them breathe for a long moment, the seconds ticking by as she takes him in inch by agonizing inch. He feels her tense up and as distracted as he is by how wonderful and warm and soft she feels, he still tries to get her to relax, gently rubbing her thighs and her backside, wherever he can reach. “Alright there, love?” he asks through gritted teeth.

She nods, but her face says otherwise. “Just – give me a minute to adjust. You’re big.”

In another circumstance he may have gloated at that admission, but for now he just felt too overwhelmed and elated at being seated within her again. He forced himself to breathe normally, for his hips to remain still, for his wilder urges to have, take, possess to settle down and let her set their pace. His hands continued to roam and soothe, and soon Emma’s hands were stroking his chest in return. He ventures a smile and she returns it, wiggling a little in place to see if it hurt; judging by the way her face brightens, it doesn’t, but it’s another cruel trick and one that Killian has difficulty restraining himself from reacting to.

Something must show on his face, though, because Emma giggles and it’s that more than anything that sets a soothing balm on his heart. “All right, I’ll have mercy on you,” she says.

He opens his mouth to respond, but she rocks forward and all coherent thought flies out of his head. The only things running through his mind is God yes, harder, so soft, so warm, so wet, harder Emma, and some of those things he’s not entirely unsure he hasn’t said out loud. Her mouth finds his several times, biting and nipping and kissing, and her nails run in progressively harder lines down his sides, but despite all of her attention he’s trying his very hardest not to come before she does.

She takes one of his hands in hers and guides it to her clit, her fingers staying with his as they rub circles around her sensitive nub. Killian pushes himself up on his elbow, planting his feet on the bed and thrusting up hard into her core. Emma rakes her fingers through his hair, anchoring her hand in the short hairs at the nape of his neck as her breath hitches. His thrusts turn wilder as soft pleas escape her lips, “Please, Killian, let me come, come for me,” and he loses whatever rational thought is left to him as he chases their highs.

It gets sloppier with Emma bouncing in his lap, but she’s trying to meet him thrust for thrust. He’s damned if he comes before she does, but it’ll be a near thing –

She squeezes him once, twice, and white heat courses through him, his hips stuttering as he spills himself deep into her womb. Emma’s cries are faint after the roaring in his own ears, but he feels her sex rippling and constricting around him, milking him for every drop of seed he’s got. There’s dampness on his chest, and as he regains sense, he looks down, seeing several pale droplets sprayed across his dark hair that must have come from her breasts. Emma’s cheeks are red again, likely not entirely from her own orgasm, and Killian surges forward, cupping her face with one hand as he kisses her. “You were magnificent,” he mumbles between kisses.

She holds him tight, wriggling delightfully in his lap and causing them both to groan over too much stimulation, peppering his face in kisses. “You weren’t half bad yourself – you’re getting us both messy.”

“Should probably take a shower.”

“Yeah, probably.”

But neither make the effort to move, too sated and relieved and eager to have this renewed closeness, instead falling back on the bed in favor of trading more kisses. It’s only when he feels his cock has gone too soft that he urges Emma off of him, not wanting to hurt either of them and cause another lengthy separation. She keeps rolling, right to the edge of the bed and then to her feet, beckoning him to the shower with a sly smile he hasn’t seen in far, far too long. As helpless to her wiles as a sailor is to a siren, Killian gets up with a groan, muscles that haven’t been used in far too long protesting the movement. He follows her into the shower, where he proceeds to not only clean them both thoroughly, but gets her a little dirty again by fingering her one more time; this time he holds her up, with one of her legs lifted up onto the soap dish so she’s spread nice and wide for him. She’s almost dead weight when it’s over, her legs useless and she’s more than willing to let him carry her back to bed after they dry off. Her cries of pleasure echoing off the tiles stay in his mind, the most delightful lullaby to soothe him into sleep later, Emma curled in his arms.

When Aoife wakes them a few hours later for her midnight feeding, Killian gently urges Emma back to bed. “I’ve got her, sweet, rest.”

“Have I mentioned I love you?” she mumbles, pilfering his pillow.

“A few times.” He kisses her brow, then leaves her reluctantly. He heads into the nursery, gathering a sobbing Aoife into his arms and bouncing her gently, gently shushing her as he takes her down into the kitchen. Movement always helps, and her sobs quiet into whining hiccups as Killian goes about the process of warming a bottle. “There, there, little love, Papa’s got you. There’s a lass, we don’t want to wake your mother.”

“Even if she’s still awake?”

Killian turns; Emma’s wearing her robe, leaning against the doorway, smiling at them both sleepily. “Love, I told you to go back to bed.”

“I know. I just… wanted to be with my family.”

She tests the bottle for him, then lets him hold it while Aoife drinks greedily. Emma tucks herself against Killian’s side and for the second time that night, he finds himself thinking that this is his favorite place to be: when the whole world fits in the circle of his embrace, all three of them sleepy, content, and together.