#point is that she sets up on Neal's couch and pretends that she's just there to enjoy his movie collection

[words-writ-in-starlight]

White Collar ot3 number 14, 18 and/or 29 for the ship asks because you just reminded me how much I adore them today. Thank you and happy birthday!!

I cut this bad boy for length because I sure can go on about these three. That first one is basically a whole fic. Thank you, my birthday was great!

14) When one has a cold, what does the other do?

This feels like a great opportunity to talk about one of my favorite things to think about with this OT3, which is The First Time Neal Gets Sick, AKA The Time Peter And Elizabeth Almost Had A Heart Attack.

The thing is, they expect dramatics. Neal is someone who leans on dramatics as 70% of his social charms, and if you'd held a hot brand to Peter's skin while he was chasing Neal over half the godforsaken country, back in the day, he'd have said that Neal would be the type to wring every minor illness for all it was worth. Not, like, out of any particular irritation for that particular behavior--Elizabeth is the kind of person who gets dramatically sick even if all she has is a cold, and if he's being perfectly honest Peter kind of enjoys babying his wife for a few days--but just because. Well. All Neal ever does is make sure all eyes are on him, seeing exactly what he wants, doing exactly what he needs. It's the con he's best at, Neal's favorite magic trick: sweep everyone up in the delirium of those blue eyes and that shattering smile and take everything they've got in their distraction.

So anyway, then Neal doesn't show up to work. He's an hour late. Two hours late. By the third hour, Peter is silently doing the math for how far Neal could get on his anklet without setting it off, and then for any loopholes he might have missed--faking the signal somehow? Neal's passable but not phenomenal with computers, but could he have hired someone? Peter's never heard of someone pulling that off, but Neal's got an aura about him, that makes the impossible seem merely improbable.

It is very important that this be an issue of Neal trying to run, because if it's not, then something might have happened to him. Neal hasn't exactly been endearing himself to the criminal underworld lately.

At three hours and forty-nine minutes past Neal's appointed arrival time, Peter takes an early lunch break and goes to June's. He knocks on Neal's door for a few minutes, and then goes and politely 'acquires' the spare key from the staff and lets himself in.

Neal is asleep on the couch, buried in every blanket he could find in his apartment, and he blinks hazily at Peter for a second when Peter shakes him and then bolts upright so fast that Peter has to move or get concussed.

"Peter," Neal says in a good approximation of his usual good humor. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't show up to work," Peter says, reaching out toward Neal's forehead automatically. Neal dodges him and Peter sees the dizzy wave cross his face. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine," Neal says, and then immediately starts coughing, a wet sharp cough that hurts to listen to. "Sorry I'm late, I--fuck, is it past noon? Okay, just--give me a second, I can get ready to go--"

"How long have you been sick, Neal?"

It takes Peter the better part of fifty minutes to wring the facts out of Neal, and he does not like the facts, thanks. He more or less forces Neal back into the blanket nest on the couch and calls El, apologizes for interrupting one of her rare days off and asks her to bring Neal literally anything, and shuts down Neal's fourth attempt to convince Peter that he's fine.

Neal seems...really bothered by the idea that Peter knows he's sick, let alone Elizabeth, and Peter doesn't like what that implies. About anything. At least it doesn't seem personal--Neal doesn't seem to want anyone to know that he's sick, so much so that he's been taking double doses of DayQuil and drinking straight espresso in order to smother all his symptoms at work for the past three days. Peter does some quick math in his head about the number of DayQuil that would require and says "You're lucky you're not in the ER," and Neal says, "I know what I'm doing, Peter," in that voice that means he's thinking about getting offended.

"You're going to give yourself liver failure, is what you're doing. Why didn't you just call out sick, Neal, Jesus Christ." It's blunter than he meant to be--actually, Peter meant to let El work on Neal for a few hours before he came back to play Blunt Cop--but Neal looks awful and he has a fever and he's been taking ten DayQuil in a ten hour work day and Peter does actually read labels and Peter made him stay late at work two days ago because Peter didn't know he was sick.

And maybe it's because Neal's sick, maybe it's because the fever is blurring his reaction time, maybe Peter just knows him really well by this point, but he sees the second that Neal's face closes up and he goes from "defensive" to "ready to do whatever he needs to do in order to get Peter to back down".

And then Neal smiles, all guileless blue eyes and blithe schoolboy innocence, and he says, "Come on, Peter, you'd have thought I was trying to run."

It stings inordinately. Peter did think that, this morning, but only because Neal fucking vanished, didn't come in, didn't answer his phone, didn't even leave a message with someone when Peter showed up. If Neal had said he was sick, Peter might have come by to check on him--and sure, seeing that he was really sick would have put those concerns to bed, but--

"Besides," Neal is continuing, and his voice is starting to show the effect of the coughing now, and he's trying to get up again, wavering on his feet a little before he blinks twice and visibly forces himself to steady. "I'm fine. And even if I wasn't, it's what, seven hundred dollars a month? That's not covering a doctor, and it's not like I have pneumonia. It's just a cold, Uncle Sam, I can still go to work."

And then Neal gives Peter the slip while Peter's still sitting there, stinging.

And the thing is, he doesn't even know if Neal really thinks that of him, or if Neal just knew it would make him shut up long enough for Neal to walk into his bathroom and take more fucking DayQuil.

Well, fine, then. Peter can fight dirty too, and to prove it, he walks the ten feet to the door and leans back against it, just out of an excess of caution, as he pulls out his phone. First he texts his wife, because she's a very smart woman and deserves to have all the information. Second, he calls his boss, because he's already well outside his lunch break and he might as well do the thing properly. Neal comes out of the bathroom, wearing fresh slacks and an unbuttoned white shirt, just as Peter says, "Yes, sir, I'll keep an eye on him."

Then Peter hangs up and points his phone at Neal and says, "Lie the hell back down before I taze you. You're off until next week, and I'm taking the day off to make sure you don't go into organ failure. Don't you dare," he adds when Neal takes a purposeful step toward the kitchenette and its coffee maker. "El is going to be here with actual cold medicine in thirty minutes. Take those slacks off and lie down in your actual bed."

"I'm fine," Neal says again, as if he's not struggling with a shirt button for the first time since Peter's met him, including multiple occasions of being handcuffed.

"You're really not," Peter says, and then he pauses for a moment, and looks at the way Neal's fingers pause on the button, and then he says, a little cautiously, "And that's fine. Everyone gets sick, Neal."

"I don't need you to babysit me," Neal mutters.

"I'm only babysitting you because, apparently, you take life-ending doses of caffeine and cold medicine when you're left alone. Come on, Neal, this won't be the end of the world, El will bring you some food that won't hurt your throat and I'll let you make me watch one of your boring foreign films."

"I know your secrets," Neal says, and then pauses to cough up what's probably part of his failing liver, not that Peter is feeling any doom and gloom about this whole thing. "You watch romcoms with Elizabeth, she told me you enjoy things other than football and you'll never fool me again."

"Yeah, you got me," Peter says with a faint grin. He walks away from the door like he's approaching a feral dog, and closes his hands gently but inexorably around Neal's wrists, and then steers him firmly back onto the couch. Neal's skin is hot even through his shirt, and he trips twice, and he lets Peter push him down into the blankets like he's too tired to do anything else. "I'm going to go get you pajamas. Where do you keep them?"

"Second drawer," Neal says dismally.

"Okay," Peter says, and doesn't give into his impulse to maybe, like, brush Neal's rumpled curls out of his face or something. Half the reason that Peter caught him in the first place is because Peter knows when to press his advantage. He takes the win and gets Neal some pajamas.

18) When they fight, how do they make up?

Elizabeth is the best at this, because she works with vendors all the time and that makes her a literal professional at conflict resolution.  She has a temper and she’ll lose her cool with the best of them, but she knows how to say “I need a minute” and then she’ll leave and come back when she can be reasonable.  She’ll lay out what she’s upset about, hear the other person out, and then either apologize or expect an apology.  Then she’s the physical touch kind of person after a fight--she’ll take Peter’s hands and link their fingers together, or wrap her arms around Neal from behind with her cheek between his shoulder blades, and just kind of...rest against them until everyone’s tension starts to bleed out of them.

Peter isn’t an innately high-empathy person and he knows this, so it’s sometimes hard for him to figure out when a fight even started, let alone how to fix it.  He gets frustrated with himself for not knowing what to do, and then it’s easy for Elizabeth or Neal to feel like he’s mad at them for being mad at him, and then everyone gets madder and it’s just stressful.  So Peter’s the type to ask explicitly “wait, are we fighting” because, first of all, he would like to know so he can figure out how to resolve it, and, second of all, he’s discovered that being clear about it will sometimes shock everyone involved into taking a step back and figuring out if they’re arguing at all or if they’re both just frustrated.  After they’ve managed to figure out what’s wrong and talked it out, Peter’s an acts of service kind of person after a fight--his specific brand is to make someone’s favorite meal, regardless of who was doing the apologizing.  

Neal is...not good at conflict.  For obvious reasons, he’s inclined toward avoiding conflict when he can, and bailing immediately afterward when he can’t.  The first time he actually fought with Elizabeth, she had to come to his apartment and hammer on his door until he let her in.  Neal’s never really been able to argue with someone and then have them still be there except for maybe Mozzie, and it’s an extremely rough adjustment for everyone.  It requires a lot of patience from Elizabeth and Peter, and a lot of anxiety from Neal, for them to find a balance about it.  But Neal is a gifts person after an argument, once he learns to be anything after an argument, and not just extravagant things.  He brings flowers or Elizabeth’s favorite mixers or one of the boring patterned ties that Peter loves, he brings a paperweight or a mug, a hair pin, a new set of dress shoe laces, a pair of beautiful earrings, a six-pack of beer, whatever hoves into his field of vision and he can afford to acquire.

29) Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

One time when he got home from work, Peter caught Neal and Elizabeth waltzing in the kitchen while the radio played the Top 40 Hits station, and they were giggling while they tried to keep time to Umbrella, and Neal was complaining about El not letting him play classical while she was cooking, and Neal dipped El so that she could wink at Peter upside down, and they burned dinner because they left the stove on and the three of them got takeout ramen instead.

Peter thinks about that evening sometimes when he’s stuck in traffic.

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 3

These prompts arrived within minutes of each other XD

I’m open to more embarrassing and awkward prompts for these babies!

[AO3]

x

Realising that the woman who had thrown a drink over him and then disparaged the size of his manhood in the middle of Granny’s Diner was now his next door neighbour was not how Mr Gold had wanted to start his day. 

The previous evening had started badly and finished even worse. After completing his rounds he had gone home in a foul mood, trying not to remember the derisive way she had spoken of him to Miss Lucas, or the look in her eyes as she had glanced up and down his body. A toxic relationship and an acrimonious divorce years earlier had left his self-confidence battered, almost non-existent. He had worked hard to build it back up, or at least to wall himself off from others to keep them from knowing the truth. Most days he could pretend that he didn’t hate himself. Today was not one of those days.

He had gleaned from listening to her conversation with Miss Lucas that she was staying in Storybrooke. At first he had thought that perhaps she meant that she had a room at the inn. There was very little property in Storybrooke that he didn’t own, and he certainly couldn’t recall agreeing to any new tenancies. Perhaps her stay would be short-lived; what was there in Storybrooke for a young woman to do, after all? She would have more luck in Boston if she was seeking work. Whatever it was she did when she wasn’t talking about his unimpressive cock.

The following morning, he glanced out of his bedroom window and was surprised to see her in the backyard of the small house next to his, a yoga mat spread out on the grass. She was working through some poses, stretching and twisting, hands raised to the sky before folding forwards and wrapping her arms around her legs. The pose made the lilac pants she was wearing hug her buttocks, and Gold found that he was staring. He shook his head, twitching the curtain back across and going to get dressed. So. He had a new neighbour. A neighbour that had not only seen him naked but had laughed and gossiped about it in the diner. Wonderful.

The house next door to his was one of the few he didn’t own; he had been trying to convince Regina Mills to sell it to him for years, but she had refused, no doubt because she knew it would annoy him. He wondered how much she knew of the tenant, and whether this was all part of an elaborate plot to piss him off. If so, he wasn’t about to admit that it was working.

Tugging the knot in his tie straight, he looked himself over in the mirror and nodded curtly before heading downstairs. It was a coffee-for-breakfast type of morning. Two cups, and he could head to the shop and make a start on inventory. He needed to restock in a few areas, and switch some of the pieces between his home and the shop. That would take up most of the day.

He was just pouring his first cup of coffee when the phone rang, the noise shrill in the still morning. Gold frowned to himself, but as he saw who was calling he broke into a smile.

“Neal,” he said. “How are you?”

“Morning Pops.” His son sounded a little harassed. “Sorry to catch you so early.”

“No problem. I’ve been up since six, you know me.”

“Yeah. Listen, Emma asked me to call and I figured I’d do it before work sucked my soul out of my body and left me for dead. We’re thinking of paying you a visit. Maybe next weekend?”

“Sounds good.” Gold tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and headed for the lounge. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Great! We’re just waiting for Henry to get rid of the latest cold he’s managed to pick up. Friday okay?”

“I look forward to it,” said Gold, with a broad smile, entering the lounge. “Maybe we can—”

He broke off as he saw something in the middle of the patterned rug. Something that had certainly not been there when he was drinking his whisky the previous evening. A scrap of fuchsia lace, one end just touching the leg of one of the chairs.

“Dad?” said Neal. “You there?”

“Yes yes,” said Gold vaguely. “I’m here.”

“You were saying something?” prompted Neal.

Gold put down the cup of coffee, bending to pick up the scrap of lace, his eyes widening. It was a pair of panties, if one could call them that. Little more than a triangle of pink lace with strings at the side. He held it up in bewilderment, his mind whirling.

“Dad?”

Gold shook his head, tossing the underwear onto the couch.

“Yes - uh - Friday,” he said quickly. “We can go to Granny’s if you like. I know how much you and Emma like the ribs.”

“Sounds awesome.”

“Right.” Gold found that his eyes were straying to the panties. “Uh - see you then. Love you, son. Give my love to Emma and Henry.”

“Sure thing. Love you too.”

Gold hung up, putting the phone on the coffee table and turning his attention back to the underwear. He had a sneaking suspicion that they belonged to his new neighbour. An image of her bending over in her yoga pose wearing nothing but the pink thong leapt cheerfully into his mind, and he shoved it away before it could cause too much mischief. 

He went to check the doors at the front and back of the house, frowning to himself when he found them both locked. This was getting more curious by the minute. Perhaps she thought it an amusing prank to break in and leave her underwear around the place, but he couldn’t see how she had done it without using a key, and he knew where every copy of the keys to his house were kept. He was tempted to march around to her house and demand an explanation, but he suspected that getting a rise out of him was what she wanted. She’d probably film the thing and post it on one of those stupid apps to giggle over with Miss Lucas.

Mouth flattening, he scooped up the underwear and put it in one of the drawers of his bureau. If she wanted to leave her panties around the place, he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of letting her know it was pissing him off. She’d get bored eventually.

x

He made sure to check all the locks before he left for work, and spent a fairly enjoyable day buried in the back room of the shop, going through his stock, deciding what to display and updating his records. It was a quiet day; only two customers attended the shop and given that rent day was done, he had no tenants coming in to pay rent. He found that he enjoyed the solitude. Not that that was anything new.

By lunchtime he was hungry, and went to the diner to buy a sandwich. Miss Lucas greeted him pleasantly, as though she hadn’t been giggling with her new friend about him only the previous evening. For a moment he was tempted to ask about the woman, to at least find out her name and reason for being in Storybrooke, but pride was making him stubborn, and he bit back the question before he could ask it.

By the time he got home the sun was setting in a blaze of gold, pleasantly warm on his shoulders as he walked up the steps of his house. Locking the door behind him, he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up, and glanced around as he heard a tinkling noise from the kitchen. Gold frowned, listening intently. There was nothing further, and he moved as quietly as he could, edging towards the kitchen, cane grasped tightly in his hand and ready to be used as a weapon if needed.

The kitchen was empty, and a quick glance around showed that nothing had been moved. Shaking his head, Gold went to fill the kettle with water for tea. He carried a cup through to the lounge when it was made, and stopped in the doorway, eyes narrowing at what was looking up at him from the rug.

Today’s offering was white, the underwear dropped casually in the middle of the rug, as though their owner had undressed quickly. As though she had been ravished in the middle of his lounge. Gold put down his tea, using the cane to hook through the waistband of the panties. They were small, with a mesh triangle at the back and a lace waistband and front with a tiny satin bow in the middle. Whoever owned the panties was petite, which ruled out a number of possible candidates in the town. Gold’s suspicions still tended towards his new neighbour, but he currently had no proof. Nor a motive. Nor an explanation for how she was getting into his house. 

Growling under his breath, he shoved them in the bureau drawer with the other pair and stomped back through to the kitchen, where he stopped dead. A black cat was sitting in the middle of the floor, staring at him with jade-green eyes. It was a handsome creature, its fur shining, long tail wound around its feet and a blue collar with a bell around its neck. On the floor beside it was another lace thong, this one a pretty powder blue, and Gold looked from the cat to the panties to the cat flap in the kitchen door, realisation dawning. He grounded the cane between his feet, fixing the cat with as stern a look as he could manage.

“So,” he said. “This is your doing, is it?”

The cat let out a faint miaow, pink mouth showing sharp white teeth.

“You do realise that these are neither my colour nor my style, hmm?” added Gold. “Perhaps you should take them home.”

The cat mewed again, getting to its feet and stepping forward to wind around his shins. Gold bit back a grin.

“No point trying to get into my good books,” he said. “I have to think of a way to get this underwear back without crossing paths with its owner. Unless you’ve got any bright ideas, go on home.”

The cat was purring, butting its head against his legs, and Gold bent to scratch its ears, receiving a nuzzle in response. He picked up the panties while he was at it, stuffing them into his pocket, and the cat trotted off to the cat flap, tail flicking as he disappeared through it. Gold shook his head. At least he knew who the intruder was now. He just needed to return the underwear.

[blondecarfucker]

Bed of Roses (Chapter 12)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: So this is a bit of a more introspective chapter - a bit shorter as well. I love writing these too - mostly set up as it was a few chapters earlier. But what is being set up in this chapter? Well, I guess only time will tell... lol I sound like an asshole. Sorry guys. Hope you enjoy this as well, and sorry again for not posting yesterday

Words: 1866

---

ACT TWO - NIGHT

“Everything is more intense at night.”

Chapter 12

You murmured the lyrics to White Queen (As It Began) as you kept on reading On The Road. The constant view of fields bored you in the first few minutes of your ride back to London on the bus, since you told Roger to keep his car around - and visit you when he got the chance - and now you were missing class on this Monday morning, hoping to make it in time for your work in the afternoon.

You were annoyed at yourself again - how you, once again, was unable to balance your relationship with Roger and your professional life. Your parents asked you about this sometimes, when you told them you would be out for a week to accompany him on tour, and you pretended to have everything under control. They sent you to England to study, and you did so - but you also loved Roger, and loving Roger was an activity that took a lot of your time and energy.

Those two sides of your life were usually in friction, conflicting, and sometimes you were scared you'd have to choose. But when you were wrapped around Roger's arms, it was easier not to think about it. Now, that you were alone, missing class and about to go to work without makeup, with dirty hair and casual clothing just so you wouldn't have to lie and call in sick - something you had to do many, many times before - it was harder to avoid these thoughts.

Also, you quickly found out that your work at the Sir John Soane’s Museum was uninspiring, unlike it would be if you actually got to work to the British Museum. You were not an Architecture major, but you were hired because your professor was close to the manager, and said you were one of his best students. And you could provide background to the neoclassical art, so it was fine. But it was far from what really got you studying Ancient History, and you were still working there just so you could network your way to the British Museum.

You knew that you could probably use Roger for this, and he would definitely try to help, using Queen's influence. But just the thought of this made you want to disappear; you were already known in your university and work as The Drummer From Queen's Girlfriend, and not that it was something that you were embarrassed of - you loved Roger and you were close with the rest of the band - but you wanted to be known as your own person. You even knew that most people thought that you were recommended by your professor for your job because he liked Queen and you arranged for them to meet, which was obviously not true, but if you acknowledged the rumours enough to deny them, they would only get stronger.

And Roger did everything he could to get you out of the spotlight, knowing how much you hated it. Unlike Mary, you weren't mentioned in interviews, Roger only saying that he's taken when asked directly, and only saying your name in interviews when he did them drunk. But people always found out you dated him, somehow. And treated you differently as soon as they found out, always being nicer to you, in the hopes they can get something from the band, until they realize you were not gonna do that, and then being cold to you, saying that you were a snob.

You always considered yourself a loner, but dating Roger really took that away from you as a choice; it was now something you had to be. You never knew when someone really wanted to befriend you for your personality or for Roger, so you were not able to trust anyone that came close to you. That distance that you had to keep from others made you even closer to Roger and the band, and that was a bit scary to you - they were all quite different from you. You sometimes craved not having to worry about all this.

But the moments you were with the band and especially with Roger made you hopeful; hopeful that your professional life wouldn't mess up your love life, hopeful you would get the job you've always dreamed of. Both things were deeply associated in your head, your two ultimate goals.

And it was easier to be around them and not think about pessimistic stuff; yesterday night, after you and Roger got back from the woods and went swimming naked on the pond - immediately regretting it when you had to walk back in the cold wind completely soaked - you both showered and went back to the studio, where Roger and Freddie tried to emulate the sounds of an orchestra with their voices for a song called Seaside Rendezvous. You were all outside of the recording booth, laughing as Roger did his best to sound like a kazoo. Usually, you loved to watch Rog as he did a high note or one of his famous falsettos; his control over his voice was always impressive. But now, he sounded like a cat screeching. "It's a work in progress, dear. You know how it is", Freddie told you while you laughed non-stop with Brian on the couch.

You got back to reading the book for a while, and as you read "I think of Neal Cassady, I think of Neal Cassady", you realized you just finished reading Roger's favourite book. You were both always trying out things the other one liked, like it would help you get a better insight to each other. A writer you liked once said that there are questions that haunt every relationship, sooner or later: What are you thinking? How are you feeling? Who are you? What have we done to each other? What will we do?

You always thought about how dramatic that sounded, but it actually made sense to you after being with Roger for three years now. What's the point of a relationship if not trying to figure each other out and say, with certainty, "I choose you before anyone else in my life"? Belonging. Relationships are always about trying to belong with someone else, you thought.

The bus stopped and you grabbed your duffel bag. You moved to through the station and found your way to the underground, and you looked at your watch as you found a place to sit on the tub. It was a thirty minute ride to your work from where you were, and you were supposed to be in a meeting with an international researcher alongside your boss in ten minutes. "Fucking hell", you said to yourself, and an old lady looked at you, pursing her lips.

You looked like a teenager, in a button up skirt, a loose Fleetwood Mac shirt tucked in and yellow Chuck Taylors. You definitely didn't look like a respectful historian about to have a serious meeting.

You got to the museum, accidentally hitting one of the interns with your duffel bag as you went to the locker to store it and brush your hair. You said sorry, but you could still hear her talk to someone else outside the bathroom. "She's already twenty minutes late. I don't know how she keeps the job", the other intern says. "Well, she's a groupie. This is just her part time job. I doubt she's ever late to suck Roger Taylor's dick if he tells her to do so", the one you hit with your bag says. "I know I wouldn't. It must be nice to know you don't have to work, just look cute and have your legs spread open every night and boom, your life is easy. That's why she doesn't care if she's twenty minutes late. She has her boyfriend to pay for anything she wants", the first one answered.

You wanted to punch them in the face until your knuckles were bruised just to relieve the stress. At that moment, they represented everything you hated about your life; your stupid architecture museum job and the people that will never take you seriously because you're Roger Taylor's girlfriend.

But you had a meeting to attend, so you breathed in, looked at your visibly tired face - you wish you had some makeup on - and tied your hair up, so it would look less messy. You went outside, saying excuse me to the girls, and walked to the room the meeting was being held in.

When you opened the door, you saw your boss, a look of annoyance in his face, but you were soon distracted by the man across his office desk. He had really short hair, even shorter on the sides - that was a bit of a shock to you, used to seeing guys with long hair - and icy blue eyes. He was wearing a plain maroon sweater, his shoulders filling it perfectly, and fitting dark jeans. He also looked older than you - he was probably in his thirties. His smell filled the room and hit you - he smelled like cologne. Drakkar. It was a perfume you haven't smelled ever since you moved from New York.

"This is my Greek history specialist, Y/N. She's usually on time", your boss said, and you shot him a shy smile. "Sorry, I had a bit of a problem with my commute today", you explained, and you felt the two men analyzing you; your boss was not approving your look for the meeting, and the man was just mysterious. "Y/N, this is the researcher I told you. He works at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. His name is William Antigonos Argyros", he said, and that caught your attention. Antigonos and Argyros are greek names.

"Or, you know, you could just call me Will. But it's up to you", he said, and you had to hold a laugh. But something else caught your attention. He had an accent you knew very well, even though you only heard it from your own lips, nowadays. He had a Manhattan accent. "Sorry for asking, but are you from New York?", you said, and he shook his head in agreement. "Born and raised. But my parents are greek immigrants, so that's the reason for the weird names. William was chosen so I could fit in more nicely", he said with a smirk. You laughed a bit. 

"You sound like you're from New York, as well. Odd to meet another fellow new yorker in London while talking about neoclassical architecture. But I guess Ancient History was never Manhattan's strongest suit", he said, and you agreed. "Where did you study?", you asked, and he answered. "I actually studied in Greece. It was easier, knowing the language and such", he shrugged his shoulders. You were admired.

"Mr Argyros is here for his research on Ancient Greece's influence in architecture. It's for a new exposition at The Metropolitan" your boss said, and you and Will corrected him at the same time. "The Met", you said, and looked at him when you realized the coincidence. This could be interesting, you thought to yourself. You really needed a friend - just a friend, you reminded yourself. Just one friend that was actually like you.

---

Chapter 13

Masterlist

Taglist:

@taylorroger-s @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @its-nessi @anamcg317 @frenchieswiftie @queen-danielle-dani-dan @minihemo @shutup-sorry @theyrealllegends @killerqueenisthebest @ashagracelove @hardy-s @fuckinghurricanesoul @secretsweetscollectionblog @mrswinterhater @11mb0 @tamtam-go92 @derptatosaur @patrick-the-stumping @phantom-fangirl-stuff @the-hysterical-queen @rogerofmylife

[searchingwardrobes]

Natural Opposite: 16/16 (Epilogue)

Are we really here at the end? It’s definitely bittersweet to say goodbye to this fic and to the @captainswanbigbang. It’s hard to believe that this time a year ago I was just setting up my tumblr page and had zero followers. Now, I have made so many new friends, and a big part of that was doing this event. Thank you to everyone: mods, fellow writers, artists, and betas. Our chats on discord and all the sprints helped me finally write the thing. I had this idea for so long, but I wasn’t sure how many people would even care about a Dancing With the Stars AU. The response has been overwhelming, so thank you everyone for your comments, kudos, and reblogs. I especially thank my beta @distant-rose, my temporary beta @wellhellotragic, and my hard working artist @optomisticgirl. Being able to call all three of you my friends because of this event is even greater than the hard work you put in. Thank you!

And now, for that short, fluffy epilogue . . .

Summary: Dance is more than Emma Swan’s career; it’s practically saved her life on more than one occasion. But when it comes to reality TV shows, she’s always danced in the shadows of her twin brother David and her sister Elsa. Her first season as a pro on Dancing With the Stars was a disaster, and she enters her second season determined to prove herself. All she needs is a good partner. Hollywood bad boy and ladies’ man Killian Jones isn’t what she had in mind.

Rating: M for mature themes, steamy dance routines, and sexy times (But NOT smut)

Trigger warnings: discussions of online solicitation of a minor, bullying, statutory rape, and emotionally abusive/controlling relationships; stalking; anti-Rumbelle, anti-Neal

Chapter Art by @optomisticgirl girl: Two| Four| Five| Six| Seven| Nine| Eleven| Twelve| Thirteen| Fourteen| Fifteen|

Can also be read on Ao3

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be added to my tag list) @snowbellewells @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @snidgetsafan @kday426 @thislassishooked @bethacaciakay @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @followbatb @onceuponaprincessworld @hollyethecurious @ohmakemeahercules @let-it-raines

Chapter Sixteen: Epilogue

Ten Months Later

There was a crash and a muttered “bloody hell” from the kitchen behind her, and Emma half rose from her place on the living room couch. “Are you sure you two don’t need my help?”

“No, Mom!” Henry answered. Was that panic in his voice? “I mean, um . . . of course not.”

Killian chuckled, and the sound of it made Emma relax. “Sorry, love, just dropped the bowl of popcorn. We’ll just pop another.”

“You two really don’t need to do this,” she argued. “I’m fine not being there, really.”

“But it’s also a celebration,” Killian argued, coming around the kitchen island to lean over the couch, “one year ago, we were on the show. Little did I know how much it would change my life.”

She accepted the kiss he gave her with a smile.

“Hey!” Henry admonished. “Remember my rule about the kissing?”

“Never agreed to that rule, kid,” Emma laughed.

“Yeah, well,” Henry told her, “Killian’s gotta help me with this tray.”

“Be right back,” Killian told her with a wink, “get the show queued up, okay?”

Emma searched for the Roku remote on the coffee table, groaning when she looked across the room to find it neatly lined up with the other remotes on a shelf of the built-ins. Killian never seemed to understand why she and Henry got so frustrated with this neat habit of his, no matter how many times they tried to explain that storing the remotes right next to the TV defeated the whole purpose. She got up and walked over to retrieve it, her eyes lingering on the top shelf where the Dancing with the Stars mirror ball trophy sparkled in the light shining through the window. Right next to it sat the Emmy she had won for her choreography to Heart Shaped Box. Emma had argued with Killian about it when the three of them moved into their London flat. It was the first thing he unpacked, and he insisted that this was where it should go. Not only that, he had already pointed it out to every person who walked through the front door, even the guy who delivered their Chinese order a few nights ago. She pretended to be embarrassed, but his pride in her accomplishments honestly took her breath away. He had never even been nominated for an Emmy, and yet he displayed not a shred of insecurity or bitterness for hers, only wholehearted support.

They had made the move to London at the beginning of the summer so Henry could adjust to living in a new country before school started. The movie shoot would be a long one, not wrapping until February, if things stayed on schedule. It would make no sense to pull Henry out of school at that point, so they signed a year’s lease on the flat and threw themselves into making London their new home.

Rehearsals for the movie had started last week, and Emma was glad to have Killian at her side. At the first read-through of the script, she had shaken with nerves. She had worried that the rest of the cast wouldn’t accept her; that they would think she had won her role just because of her relationship with its star. But it turned out that the producers had intentionally gone with a largely unknown cast, except for Killian, and the feeling amongst everyone was largely one of excitement instead of ego and competition.

Emma loved the script, too. She played a naïve girl from a Midwestern town who moves to London to follow the punk band she idolizes. Killian played the equally naïve young man from the English countryside trying to make it as a musician, pining for Emma’s character while she chases her self-absorbed rock idol. It was a completely different role from Captain Hook, and she couldn’t be happier for him.

The theme for Dancing With the Stars was playing on the TV when Killian and Henry came in, the latter carrying a tray laden with popcorn, sodas, and boxes of movie theater candy. Henry set the tray down, and Killian pulled his hand from behind his back with a flourish to produce a bouquet of buttercups and forget-me-nots and presented them to her.

“M’lady,” he told her with a wink.

Emma accepted the bouquet, frowning in concern when his hand shook slightly as she took them. “Are you okay?”

“Of course? Why wouldn’t I be?”

He sat down next to her on the couch, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She didn’t press him despite the telltale scratching behind his ear. Henry plopped down on the floor by the coffee table, but kept glancing back at the two of them. On the TV, the couples had all been introduced, and the judges were being brought out.

“Is it weird to see your brother as a judge?” Killian asked, reaching over for some popcorn.

“A little, but I think he’s going to do a great job,” Emma answered, snatching some popcorn out of Killian’s palm. “Hey, kid, hand me that bowl and the Milk Duds.”

Henry’s eyes grew wide and caught Killian’s as he handed her the bowl. Then he lifted the box of Milk Duds slowly and carefully. Emma narrowed her eyes as her gaze toggled between the two of them.

“What is up with you two . . . “ she trailed off as she accepted the candy. “This is already open! Is there even candy in here?”

She opened the box and peered inside. Something sparkled. Her mouth fell open as she looked first at Killian and then at Henry. Slowly, she tilted the box and shook the contents into her open palm. Instead of Milk Duds, the box contained nothing but a simple, elegant, princess cut diamond ring. Speechless, she looked up to meet Killian’s eyes, which shone with emotion.

“Emma,” he said softly, “I love you. This past year has been the best one of my life. Dancing with you, now making this movie with you, it’s shown me one thing with startling clarity. No matter what comes in our lives, I wish to always, always be by your side.”

Emma blinked and swallowed, but she couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in her eyes. He took the ring gently from her hand. “Emma Swan, would you marry me?”

She nodded, the tears spilling over and making tracks down her cheeks. “Yes!”

Killian slid the ring on her finger, and Emma admired the way it caught the light. Then she surged forward, grasping his face in her hands and kissing him tenderly. Fittingly, the Dancing with the Stars theme music played from the TV as they kissed. When she first met this man, Emma thought he was her exact opposite in every way. Now she couldn’t think of anyone who understood her better, anyone who so naturally complemented her. She had finally found the perfect partner.

[wistfulcynic]

All That We See Or Seem

To help @cscocktoberfest reach its goal of 100 smutty pieces in a month, I've thrown together this little follow-up to A Dream Together, which was what I had originally planned to submit for it. This picks up just where the other left off.

Summary: After realising that the dreams he's been having about Emma were both real and shared, and that she is in danger, Killian shows up at her door in New York. She doesn't recognise him... except his eyes, from her dreams. The kiss she lays on him returns her memories, but what happens next, and how do they deal with the reality of what they've been dreaming?

(Canon Divergent AU, set during the Missing Year.)

Rating: M/E for smutty smut

Also on: AO3

@wellhellotragic, @kmomof4, @resident-of-storybrooke, @rouhn, @let-it-raines, @deathbycaptainswan, @teamhook

Emma pulled back with a gasp, breaking the kiss. Waves of memories came flooding back, crashing over her, swirling wildly through her mind. She’d given Henry up… he’d found her, brought her to Storybrooke… the curse… her parents… the beanstalk… Hook… Neal’s return… Neverland… Hook… the Echo Caves… Hook… rescuing Henry… Pan’s curse… the town line… Hook…

Her eyes flew open, meeting his anxious gaze. “Hook…” she whispered, but no, the name felt wrong on her lips. “Killian.” 

His smile was radiant with relief and love. “Emma,” he breathed, “You remember.” 

“Yeah, I guess I do,” she replied, still in a daze, and when he pulled her into his arms she didn’t resist, wrapping her own around him under his coat and absorbing the comfort of his solid, warm presence, smiling a little as he nuzzled her hair. 

He’s got a real thing for my hair. She remembered that too, from the dreams. 

Oh, gods, the dreams…

“Mom! Mom!” Henry cried, running into the hallway. “I remember… oh. Uh, hi Hook.”

Killian released Emma reluctantly, then beamed at Henry. “Hello, lad.” 

Henry looked from the pirate to his mother, speculation lighting in his eyes. “Did you guys… break the curse?” he asked. 

He was way too perceptive for a twelve year old, thought Emma in exasperation. “Yeah, kid, it looks like we did,” she said, hoping he would leave it at that and not ask how. 

“So what does this mean?” asked Henry. “You shouldn’t have been able to break a curse here, this is the Land Without Magic. So does that mean that Storybrooke is back? Can we go check? Does this mean—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Henry. We don’t really know anything at this point, and I think…” She remembered Walsh in the dream, and the flying monkeys. “I think we need to pretend everything is normal for a while, at least until we know more about what’s going on. That means school for you, kid.” 

“But—” 

“School, Henry. Go get ready now.” 

Henry opened his mouth to argue, but she fixed him with her I-mean-business glare and he headed off, grumbling, in the direction of the bathroom. 

Killian chuckled. “I see he’s still a little spitfire.” 

Emma turned to look at him, her heart thumping painfully at the sight of the happy smile on his gorgeous face. 

How could I ever have forgotten his face?

“Killian, uh, I need to take Henry to school. Will you wait here? Then when I get back we can… talk.” 

His expression sobered. “Aye, love, we have much to discuss. You take care of the boy, I can amuse myself until you return.” 

He undoubtedly could, she thought, but she’d feel better if she knew exactly how he was keeping himself amused. “Do you want, I don’t know, a book or something?” It was a bit of a shot in the dark, but there were loads of books in his cabin on the Jolly Roger. 

He looked surprised by her offer, then pleased. “I’d like that, aye. Thank you.” 

She resisted the urge to squirm under the intensity of his gaze. 

“Okay, well, I have to go get changed, so you just sit on the sofa and I’ll find you something to read.” 

He nodded, following her into the living room. “As you wish.” 

Emma walked home slowly after dropping Henry off at school, her mind full of the pirate currently on her couch reading one of Henry’s adventure stories. She was still struggling to process it all: their dreams, his appearance at her door, the kiss… that kiss had broken the curse, or at least had brought her and Henry’s memories back, did that mean she and Killian were true love? How could she be in love with someone she’d spent the best part of a year not remembering? Was it possible to fall in love in a dream?

Those dreams, though, they had been… something. Not just the sex, though that had been incredible, but the emotion in them. She thought about the way he'd fucked her in their dreams, rough and demanding but still tender, like a pirate but also like a man in love. 

Who are you kidding, you knew how he felt when you left Storybrooke, you've known it since the Echo Caves. The question is, how do you feel, and what are you going to do about it? 

Her dream self had been free of her walls, of all the hang-ups and insecurities that had made her keep Killian at arm’s length, afraid of what he could make her feel. Dream Emma had let him in, had accepted his feelings and given him her own. 

Could she be that woman in reality? 

She was willing to find out. 

She opened her door and strode purposefully into the living room. He looked up from his book, smiling. “Hello, love. This book is really quite entertaining, though I have one or two notes about how the pirates are portrayed—” he broke off as she took the book from him, then took his hand and pulled him off the couch. She stared at him for a moment, deciding. 

His smile faded slightly. “Is everything all right, Swan?”

It was the concern in his eyes that did it. She knew what she wanted. 

Wrapping her arms around his neck she brought their lips together, feeling his surprise and then his fierce desire as he tilted his head and took her mouth with the same intensity she remembered from the dreams. She couldn’t suppress a low moan; the dreams had been amazing but reality was better. He tasted so good, of rum and spice, his hair was soft between her fingers, his lean muscles flexing beneath her arm as he slid his hand and hook down her body. She could have kissed him forever, but he broke away, chest heaving, his eyes blazing with emotion as they raked over her. 

“I thought you wanted to talk,” he said, his rough voice making her tremble with need. 

“I do,” she replied, pushing his heavy coat off his shoulders. He allowed it to fall to the floor, his eyes never leaving her face. “Later. Sex now, talk later. Do you have a problem with that?” 

Killian imagined that he should probably object, insist that they talk things through and be sure of their feelings before they took a rash step, but he really didn’t want to. Not when she was standing before him, challenge in her eyes, offering him what he had literally been dreaming of for weeks. For years. “No indeed, love,” he rasped.  

“Good.” She shrugged out of her own jacket and tossed it aside, then pulled off her blouse, barely bothering to undo the buttons. He swiftly undid the buckles on his vest —impressive with one hand, thought Emma, though she supposed he’d had a lot of practice— and when it was removed she stepped forward and pulled his shirt over his head then wrapped herself around him, pressing her breasts against his chest, her nipples pebbling through the lace of her bra as she dragged them through the thick hair on it. He growled as he brought his arms tightly around her, his hook digging into her hip, his hand plunging into her hair and curling around the back of her head as he brought their mouths together once again in a kiss that quickly grew frantic, sloppy and wet and desperate for more. 

“My bedroom’s through there,” Emma panted against his mouth, nodding towards a doorway to their left. He hoisted her up with his hook arm and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he headed for the door, stumbling and slamming her back against it when she licked the sensitive spot just below his ear. With his hips bracing her weight against the wood, he lifted his hook between her breasts and ripped her bra, yanking aside the tattered lace to reveal her breasts to his hungry gaze. Slowly, he dragged the curve of his hook across her nipple and she moaned, her eyes falling shut and head dropping back against the door. “Fuck, yes,” she said hoarsely. “I want your hook all over me.” 

Killian’s lust was now a snarling, snapping beast in his gut. He grasped frantically for the doorknob, finally opening it and stumbling through, landing them on her bed in a tangle of entwined limbs. He slid his hand between her legs, rubbing her through her jeans, almost wanting them back in their dreams so he could simply wish her clothes away. Instead he fumbled with the unfamiliar fastenings, urgency making him clumsy, until she batted his hand away and did it herself. “Get rid of yours,” she commanded, and he obeyed, tearing at the laces of his trousers and biting back a groan as he freed his throbbing cock from its constriction. Hastily, he removed his boots and kicked the trousers off, then rolled back to find Emma naked and waiting for him. 

How can she be even more beautiful in reality? he thought, almost angrily. There should be a limit to how bloody gorgeous one woman can be.

Catching her ankle with his hook he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, his hand stroking up the inner thigh of the other, spreading her wide. Her cunt was glistening, dripping wet, and he wanted to bury his face in it as he had in the dream, lick it clean and suck her clit between his teeth until she screamed. 

Later. There’ll be time for all that later. 

He had absolutely no intention of allowing this to be a one-time thing. 

Rising to his knees he rubbed his cock through her folds and was just about to thrust inside when she tensed beneath him, her half-closed eyes flying open in alarm. “Wait!” she cried. 

With a strength of will that Killian would never have imagined he possessed, he halted his forward motion, gritting his teeth as he clung to his control, desperately trying to focus on anything except how very close he was to heaven. 

“What is it?” He tried not to snarl the words. 

“I don’t have a condom.” 

“A what?”

“It’s a— a thing you wear, to prevent pregnancy and disease.” 

He closed his eyes, understanding. “A prophylactic.” 

“Er, yeah.” 

He drew several deep breaths before opening his eyes and attempting to mask his disappointment behind a saucy leer, or the best approximation of it he could muster given the circumstances. “Well, there are plenty of other things we can do, Swan,” he said, and took comfort from the fact that she seemed as put out as he felt.  

Emma’s face wore the same mutinous expression as Henry’s when she’d made him go to school that morning. “Just give me a minute, let me think,” she said.  

“Aye, love.” He nudged her leg off his shoulder and collapsed onto his back, running his hand over his face in frustration. In all his two centuries of life he’d never had his lust go unslaked before, and he found he did not care for it at all. His cock ached. 

“I’m okay on the pregnancy front,” Emma was saying, almost to herself. “I just… Killian,” she rolled onto her side to look at him. “When was the last time you… you know.” She waved her hand in a way he supposed she meant to be suggestive. 

“Enjoyed carnal relations?” He smirked at her. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” 

He stared up at the ceiling, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to look at her as he told the truth. “Not since before the curse. The first curse.” 

“But… that was years ago!” “Aye, near thirty of them. Of course, I was frozen in time for twenty-eight.” 

She was silent for so long that he turned to look at her, his eyebrows snapping together in a scowl at her comically astonished expression. 

“And just when do you imagine I would have had time for such things?” he demanded crossly. “Between beanstalks and crocodiles and Neverland and you locking me up and chaining me to things at every opportunity—”

“You had nearly a year in the Enchanted Forest—”

“The entirety of which I spent thinking about you!” The words exploded from him, before he could bite them back. 

She looked stunned, and his anger drained away. He hated that she should have cause to be so surprised that someone would miss her. 

“… you did?” she asked in a small voice that twisted his heart. 

“Aye, obviously I did. I told you that not a day would go by that I wouldn’t think of you, and it didn’t.” Might as well just lay it all on the table, mate. It’s not as though she doesn’t know. “I meant what I said in the dream, Emma. I love you. There is no one else for me but you.” 

He could have told her how he'd been lost and empty without her, how he'd tried to go back to his old life but had failed, how he'd struggled against the knowledge that he didn't want to live that way anymore. How he would have, and did, give up everything he had for a shot at having her back in his life. How even if she never let him touch her again, he would still feel that that sacrifice had been worth it.  

“Killian…” She wanted to say the words back to him, the words that she felt deep in her heart were true, but they stuck in her throat and refused to be forced out. Instead she rolled over onto him, straddling his hips and kissing him deeply. “Forget the condom,” she said against his lips. “I trust you. You don’t have any weird fairy tale STDs, do you? Diseases,” she clarified, at his puzzled look. 

“No. I have always made it a point to be careful.” 

“That’s good enough for me,” she said, lifting her hips and sinking down onto him, stealing his breath and very nearly his sanity. He groaned at the tight squeeze of her muscles around him, the wet slide along his cock as she began to move, the bliss of being inside her at long bloody last far better than anything their dreams had conjured. He brought his hand and hook up to grasp her hips, fingers digging into her soft skin as he thrust in time to her rocking motion. She braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed herself down to take him inside her to the hilt, the arch of her back bringing her breasts tantalisingly close. He ran his hook up her side and stroked it across her nipple, teasing her with the gentlest scratch of its sharp tip. Her moan was the most arousing thing he’d ever heard, the helpless bucking of her hips and the memory of their first dream all the encouragement he needed to slide the hook down her body and press it firmly against her clit. 

Emma came with a sharp scream, digging her fingernails into his chest as he rolled them over, continuing to thrust as she convulsed around him. He felt his control begin to slip, the look of euphoria on her face and the gentle fluttering of her body around him almost more than he could handle. She sighed and opened her eyes. Their green was soft and hazy, and full of an emotion he didn’t dare attempt to name. She reached up to touch his face, her thumb caressing the scar across his cheek. 

“I want you to come inside me, Killian,” she whispered, and he was gone, all vestiges of his self-control swept away as he pounded himself into her, fucking her with the abandon they had both dreamed of. 

When he came it was like nothing he’d ever known before, not even in the heady early days with Milah. He felt his world shatter, shift, and realign, and he knew that he would finally be able to shake off the shackles of his old life, to make amends and move forward. That he would never willingly leave Emma's side again, and that with her support he could do anything.

Killian had always been a man who loved even more fiercely than he hated, and he’d lived on hate for centuries. Now he was ready to live on his love, for as long as she’d have him. 

I will protect you with my life, Swan, he vowed silently as they wrapped themselves around each other and fell asleep. 

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Wrong Kind of Proof

Summary: You, Peter's sister, have been dating Neal behind his back. When Kramer bugs Neal's penthouse in hopes of finding incriminating evidence, all he has to show for it is a recording of a secret date night.

Words: 1,942

            You knocked on your brother’s office door with a smile on your face and a bag of take-out on your arm, looking through the window to smile at him. You could see Neal’s dark hair from where he sat facing Peter, and you could see your brother’s face, lighting up with excitement as he saw you. Through the window, he gestured for you to come on in.

            Peter stood up, dropping whatever he and Neal had been talking about immediately. You grinned, set the take-out on the desk, and wrapped your arms around his neck. Peter held you tightly and buried his nose in your hair for just a second before you parted. He was still beaming. Neal grinned fondly at your sibling reunion.

            “Y/N,” Peter cried, keeping his hand on your shoulder. “Why didn’t you call ahead? I could’ve sent Jones to carry those for you.”

[[

MORE]]

            “Well, I may not carry a gun, but I can carry Mexican food,” you pointed out with a smile. You knew he was just looking out for you. Careful not to seem too eager to see Neal, you gave the thief a polite smile. “How’re you, Neal?”

            He grinned wider. “Peter’s a slave driver. I’m surprised I’m still standing.”

            You gasped and smacked Peter’s shoulder while he did his best to glare disapprovingly at his consultant. “Peter! Be nice to him! Artists are delicate and sensitive!”

            “Yeah,” Peter agreed sarcastically, eyes flashing to Neal teasingly. “So sensitive. Too bad nice women don’t look for that anymore. Mr. Romantic over here insists he’s not seeing anyone.”

            Shrugging, you offered, “Gotta be single to appreciate a partner.”

            Someone you didn’t recognize cleared their throat. All three of you turned to the doorway to see someone who looked at least fifteen years older than Peter standing against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket and the other holding onto a CD.

            Peter’s grin grew ear-to-ear and he turned you by your shoulders to face the newcomer. “Agent Kramer, I’m glad you had the time to stop by. This is my little sister. Y/N, Phillip was my supervisory agent in DC.”

            Kramer smiled at you politely. He had a calm and kind-looking face. He held the CD out to Peter, who took it without asking, and he used his now-free hand to offer you a handshake.

            “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agent,” you said, shaking his hand confidently, but not too tightly.

            “The pleasure is mine, Miss Burke,” he responded. He looked over your shoulder, then, and saw the conman sitting reclined in an office chair. “Good to see you again, Mr. Caffrey. I trust you’re well?”

            “Oh, well…” Neal shrugged. “The MOMA is out of my radius, so I’m missing a great exhibit. The design’s supposed to be fantastic. I heard it’s all right by a fire escape.”

            There was a short second of uncomfortable pause. Neal smiled thinly at Kramer, enough for you to realize that the two of them didn’t get along as well as Kramer’s greeting suggested. You giggled slightly at his answer to alleviate the tension between the senior agent, the consultant, and your brother, who looked like he was going to single-handedly strangle Neal for his joke. Yes, crime was bad, but you thought it was hilarious when Neal would deliberately try to give agents aneurysms by implying he had a heist in mind.

            Kramer turned his head back to Peter. “Peter,” he said to your brother seriously, “It’s just as well he’s here now. I took the liberty of having that burned, bringing it to you, straight off the machine. It’s an audio from Caffrey’s apartment.”

            Peter’s confusion was directed solely to Kramer, but you and Neal flashed quick, alarmed looks at each other.

            “You bugged my suite?” Neal asked, offended.

            “The judge I approached decided the warrant was best.” He told Neal. You thought he seemed like he was gloating. It made you cross your arms defensively. “Peter, your consultant’s made several cash withdrawals from the ATM on Riverside Avenue, every Saturday night. It was suspicious behavior.”

            “Were the withdrawals from his account?” You asked, crossing your arms. You knew you didn’t really have much of a say in the discussion, but that felt like a flimsy excuse.

            Kramer didn’t pause. “Yes, Miss Burke, they were, and a regular cash transaction on a predictable schedule is something the US Marshals agree needs to have an eye kept on, especially in the context of a world-renowned art thief.”

            Neal’s lips thinned out. You could tell he was incredibly frustrated. “Play the disc, Peter,” he said angrily, crossing his legs. You glared at Kramer while the agent wasn’t looking at you. Your brother gave you a scolding stare to stop, but you didn’t listen. “I promise you I haven’t been up to anything. There are things to do in New York that cost money. Not all of them are illegal.”

            “Neal,” Peter hesitated to say, already opening up the CD drive on the monitor. He paused before putting it in and tried to make eye contact with his CI. “If there’s anything-“

            “There’s not,” Neal insisted.

            Sighing, Peter put the CD into the system and let it draw closed. Kramer started to look at you again and you turned your head quickly to the side, seething on Neal’s behalf. It seemed like any time there was a chance for the Marshals, the DOJ, or the FBI to screw him over, they took it. He was supposed to be commutated in a month’s time, and he still wasn’t being left alone. It pissed you off.

            The CD started where it had picked up audio feed from the little hidden microscopes. Neal’s voice came through first.

            “Peux-je assister toi avec ton manteau?”

            You felt the blood rushing out of your face so quickly that you felt a little dizzy. You sought out Neal’s eyes across the small office and saw him looking similarly startled. Nervously, you rubbed your hands together, knowing exactly what was about to play through the small, tinny computer speakers.

            Sure enough, your voice was next.

            “Peut-je assister toi avec ton manteau?” Neal asked politely, holding out his hands to you after opening the door with a key.

            You giggled, your arms tight around your midsection to keep warm. “I have no idea what you just said,” you admitted, “But I was definitely right in the restaurant. Next time we go, you’re ordering. I don’t even know how to pronounce ‘please’ in French, much less the menu items.”

            “You weren’t that bad,” Neal promised, kissing your forehead and reaching for the sides of your jacket. He pulled the zipper down and started to slide it back from your shoulders.

            “The waiter had no idea what I was trying to say until I pointed,” you shook your head, blushing.

            Your boyfriend took your jacket, draped it over his arm, and locked the door behind you, escorting you further into the penthouse. “You’ll know how to say it next time,” he promised. “One day I’m going to take you to Paris. You’ll pick up on it pretty quickly when you hear it every day.”

            You followed him in with a soft smile. “I’m betting on it, Neal.”

            Peter’s eyes looked so wide that you were amazed they hadn’t bulged out of his skull. His face was so red you were surprised he wasn’t on the floor convulsing. He tore his eyes between Neal and yourself, jaw working and no noise coming out. Both you and the thief intentionally looked anywhere but at Peter.

            Kramer, for his part, looked extremely uncomfortable with what he was hearing. At least he hadn’t known he was going to expose your secret to your brother. Clearing his throat, he leaned past Peter and tapped the arrows on the keyboard, making it fast-forward to what he hoped would be more incriminating evidence.

            You cuddled on the couch, both of you eating ice cream out of the pints. No matter how cold it was outside, nothing beat a warm night in with your three favorite men: Neal, Ben, and Jerry. “I love you just for these,” you mumbled.

            Neal chuckled. “I love you, even without ice cream.”

            “Then I guess we know who the better partner is, don’t we?”

            Both of you laughed.

            “So, what’s the first thing you want to do when you get commutated?”

            Neal considered it thoughtfully, sticking the spoon in his ice cream and then moving it to the coffee table. He wrapped an arm around you snugly as he leaned back. “The first thing? There’s someone I haven’t seen in a long time who deserved a visit. I think she’ll like you.” He sounded serious and contemplative. You almost didn’t want to say anything for fear of interrupting his thoughts. “After, I’ll book our tickets to Europe.”

            “Let me help with that,” you suggested. “I have frequent flyer miles if we use my account.”

            “Mine are probably expired,” he agreed.

            “Yours? Or Nick’s?” You retorted.

            He elbowed you good-naturedly. “All of them,” he answered, sticking his tongue out at you. You kissed his cheek. “And then, I guess…” Neal sighed deeply. “Then it’ll be time to tell Peter.”

            You saw how pale and anxious Neal looked when he said it, and you laughed. You were nervous, too, but you knew that Peter wouldn’t hurt either of you – and no matter how mad he was, El would talk him down fairly quickly. You loved your sister-in-law, and not just because she made it much easier for you to get away with things.

            “It’ll be fine,” you promised. “Peter loves me. He likes you. He’ll be mad we didn’t tell him, but he’ll come around. Eventually, I think he’ll be glad we’re together.”

            “If you think so, why don’t you tell him?” Neal challenged. “I don’t think even rescuing El will make up for the fact that I’ve been dating his sister in secret for almost the entire time I’ve been working for him.”

            “You what?!” Peter roared, slamming his fist down on the keyboard. It shut the recording off and left both you and Neal under your brother’s dangerous scrutiny.

            Picking up a hand, you looked at your cuticles and pretended not to be guilty. “Don’t think of it as dating,” you suggested, looking across at Neal, who seemed resigned to being interrogated. “Think of it as… one-on-one outings. Of friendship. And trust-building.”

            “You’re taking my sister to Paris?!” Peter yelled at Neal, looking horrified and scandalized at once. Kramer bit his lip and started to walk backwards, slinking out of the office while the drama ensued. This was not the kind of trouble he’d wanted to start for Neal. “You’re taking my sister to the city of romance, thousands of miles away, and you haven’t thought to mention this to me?!”

             Neal very carefully considered what words he was going to use. “Peter,” he said slowly, folding his hands diplomatically in his lap. “I’m sorry. We were going to tell you right after my commutation hearing.”

            You quietly chimed in again, “I am an adult, you know.”

            Peter directed a withering glower right at you. You quailed. He took a very deep breath, leaning his fist on his desk. “What have you been… two years?” He sat down behind his desk, overwhelmed.

            “The withdrawals were for dates. Saturday is our date night,” Neal explained, wincing and looking apologetic. “I promise, we only do legal things. There’s mostly dinners. Sometimes movies or dancing.”

            “Usually kissing,” you added.

            “And hand-holding,” Neal agreed, nodding, blinking at Peter earnestly.

            Your brother covered his face with his hands, groaning pitifully.

A/N: I’m a White Collar fic blog! Send in requests for oneshots, series, imagines, texting imagines, and would includes!

[cianmarsfanfiction]

Cherry Wine (1/?)

Set a couple of months after Emma and Killian get married, the marriage has completely devolved and Emma starts to realise she’s a victim of domestic abuse. She tries to break free to where she know’s she’s safe. Warning: Abuse of all kinds. Anti-CaptainSwan, Anti-Hook.

FF (X)

Emma didn’t notice the change.

It crept upon her like a monster creeping under the bed, the change happened upon the two of them in a synced dance for power, and slowly Emma lost everything whereas he gained all. She had been in love, she was in love, true love… wasn’t she?

~OUAT~

She heard the door slam, she wasn’t sure if it was the actual smell or the memory of it which made her knew that he smelt like a distillery, not just his alcohol of choice he was no longer fussy with liquor he would take any. She felt her heart quicken as he walked up the stairs, his boots slamming down hard on the wood, she wasn’t sure if he was just drunk or was angrily drunk.

She heard him calling her name as he got up the stairs.

“Mrs Jones.”

She pretended to be asleep.

~OUAT~

Emma stood in the kitchen making pancakes. It was something she was trying her hardest to learn, cooking, she had never excelled at it – her parents had tried to teach her when she had lived with them, she had never really excelled at it and had been known to be able to burn water. But she tried. She wanted to be able to do something to contribute to their household, Henry spent most of his time with his friends or at Regina’s so often she would just be alone in the house, turning down offers to see people became second nature to her

“I, erm… I thought that I might go to my parents’ house tomorrow.” She said pleasantly. She held her breath. The air as always was intoxicating, the smell of alcohol and her attempts at cooking, she could feel herself chocking on it, slowly.

“No.”

That was it, no explanation, Emma hadn’t realised she was asking permission, but apparently she was. “It’s just my mom invited me, and I haven’t seen her in ages, and I figured I could probably help my dad out on his farm, not that I know the first thing about farming… I know you’re busy with work and now neither he nor I are at the station I figured…-”

That was another thing she thought in the back of her mind he had slowly convinced her to give up the sheriff position, which had fallen to her deputy to fill. He had convinced her at first she needed some time off, to relax after all the craziness which had happened in her life over the past couple of years. He had been her knight in shining armour. That time off had slowly lengthened she had demoted herself to deputy when he pointed out that she was extremely rusty after her time off. She had taken herself off from work completely when he had announced to their, her, family at a dinner one day while smiling down at her little brother that they’d be trying for their own child soon enough. That had blind sighted Emma, they had toyed around with the idea to the extent that he had strongly encouraged her to talk to Henry about it,

“Aye, and I said no!” He shouted, he spilt some of the rum he was pouring into a hip flask and growled in frustration, he didn’t notice his wife cower as he did, even if he had seen would he care? Probably not, he wasn’t a morning person. He stood up and strode towards her. He towered over her and raised his hand to point towards her face, he didn’t miss her flinch that time, he just didn’t care. He pointed at her busted lip and the yellow and green fusion of a bruise which was fading around it. “You think I don’t know that you’re trying to push me away? What do you think Dave and Snow would say if they saw you like this? They wouldn’t understand! We’re not like them, we’re not heroes, we might have been once before you turned to the darkness and sucked me in with you…” He trailed off deliberately. He placed his hand on her cheek and held tight, forcing her to look at him. “They don’t get us, Emma Jones,” he smiled when he said her name, it had taken him so long to win her, “they don’t get that this was both of our fault.”

Emma found herself nodding her head. She gave him a smile which didn’t meet her eyes. He was right. “I know, I’m sorry, I won’t go. I love you.” But those three words sounded like a question. So, she pulled him into a kiss, it was always a good distraction technique, plus he had to get to work so the kiss wouldn’t be able to turn into anything else.

Killian finally pulled back with a smile, he hadn’t noticed that Emma hadn’t been the one to pull away out of fear, she had simply tried to outlast him, she hadn’t enjoyed it, but what did that have to do with him? He picked up her phone from the counter. “I’ll let your mother know you can’t make it, that you’re ill,” he used his hook to brush one of the purple bags under her eyes, “you should get some rest you look tired.”

He slipped the phone into his pocket and left with it.

It might have been an accident, he might have thought it was his cell phone, and he was simply going to ring her mother, he didn’t mean to leave with her phone. It could have been an accident.

It wasn’t.

~OUAT~

He had knocked her walls down, like a wrecking ball, he was so proud of that. But she felt as though she was locked in a tower, guarded by a fire breathing dragon, and there was no way out.

The next few weeks only got worse. He would go out and get drunk every night, if she was lucky he would spend the night with someone else, she didn’t even feel jealous or betrayed about that, it was a grateful respite. When he was there it was like she was walking on eggshells, she tried to keep the peace but it worked less and less.

He hadn’t given her the cell phone back, eventually her parents and friends stopped calling the house, they’d tried to pop around but Killian had changed the locks so that even her key wouldn’t be able to get her in from the outside, and she was too ashamed of the shell she had become to pick up the courage to open the door or to just run.

Even Regina wouldn’t have been able to get in, Emma had put up a spell when they had first moved in to stop other magic users from ever getting in, it was Killian’s idea – he was worried about their family’s safety, he had claimed. He had claimed the same when he gave her a bracelet, he had found it in the bottom of his trunk from his years exploring the realms, it did the same job as the magic cuffs. She had put it on easily when he had confessed he was worried about her, and his own health, and had reminded her what had happened with David and the street lamp a few months previously.

But apparently Killian was keeping them placated enough to not worry too much about Emma.

She could only assume that it was her parents’ natural instincts which made them worry about her, they posted notes through but assumed no one was home, Emma couldn’t bring herself to throw them away. So, she kept them. Seeing her name written on them, in her parent’s scrawls, made her feel more like herself for a fraction of a second at least, she wasn’t just ‘Mrs Jones’. She was Emma.

~OUAT~

It was the notes which had been the breaking point. The worst and the best thing to happen.

Killian had found them. He had shouted, hit her, blamed her for things; for him being stuck in the town, for her ruining him, him not being somewhere sailing through the realms, he was no longer a pirate. And she apologise, through the hits, through the blames, the name calling.

But then he said something which was like ice water through her veins, she stopped apologising, she was still.

“Talk to them again, and I’ll kill them.” He threatened. “It wouldn’t be the first 'Charming’ I’ve killed.”

He hadn’t realised that that threat was enough to wake her up, he just left her bloody and bruised on the floor, while he went out again.

But Emma dragged herself up despite the pain. She threw together a bag, clothes she had had before she had got together with him, there were plenty, she remembered they had only been together since after Neal was born about nine months ago.

“A whirl wind romance.” Emma snorted to herself in the too big house, her first joke in months, it brought a sardonic smile to her face which was miles better than the empty scared smile. “True love.” She said just as sarcastically. She wanted to cry, but it would hurt too much, and she didn’t have much time.

She grabbed some photographs, none with him in them, her box of memories, the torn up notes from her parents. Her baby blanket.

She rooted through his drawers until she found the keys to her bug hidden in his sock drawer. She raced to the garage, ignoring the pain in her ribs and the rest of her body, she didn’t bother to shut the front door as she left the house. It had been shut for far too long.

~OUAT~

Across town on the outskirts, David and Snow sat cuddled together on the couch in their farmhouse, they weren’t talking or watching the screen of the television they both had their eyes on the picture of Emma. They had both been trying not to freak the other out, but neither were happy or comfortable with not having seen her in so long, despite Killian’s assurances that she was just sick or was busy working at the station. But they were at a loss as to what to do next.

David was about to open his mouth, to finally raise his concerns with his wife about their daughter, to admit there was something more going on when there was a knock at the door. David sighed as Snow left his arms and headed to answer the door, he’s speak to her when she was back. He glanced at the clock as he heard the door opened, he frowned, it was far too late for just normal visitors unless something was wrong. He got up from the couch and headed to the entrance hall.

His mouth fell open. “Emma.” He breathed out. At first it was because of just seeing her after so long, it was just so unbelievable. By the time he composed himself enough to notice the state she was in Snow was pulling her into the house and shutting the door shut behind her.

“Emma.” Snow’s hands went to Emma’s cheeks, though she made sure to be gentle. Her daughter looked completely different than she had the last time she had seen her, she knew what the injuries Emma looked to be from, but she hoped she was wrong for Emma’s sake. “Emma, baby, can you tell me what happened?”

Emma’s breath shuddered in her throat. She shook her head a little.

Emma’s right eye had obviously been punched it was already a deep purple and swollen the white of it was bloodshot, her nose was bloody but luckily not broken, and her lip was busted open and bleeding. Her bones looked almost skeletal as though she hadn’t had a good meal since the last her parents had seen her (which she hadn’t), he skin almost unnaturally pale (more suited to her mother’s famous fairy tale looks than her own), there were bags under her un-swollen eye, she looked more like a bad Halloween costume than the Emma Swan they knew and loved.

When she spoke, her voice cracked, as though she hadn’t spoken in weeks. “Can I stay with you guys for a little while?”

She didn’t really need to ask, she had a key to their place, and her own room perfectly decorated to her tastes. Her taste which was so different than the style she had recently adopted, like the clothes she was currently wrapped in, all bar her armour of her red leather jacket. She felt like she was being buried alive in them.

Tears rolled down from Snow’s cheeks, Emma’s reaction told her all she needed it to, the pirate had done this. “Of course you can.” She promised. “For as long as you need or want to.”

David stepped forward toward Emma, like his wife’s, his face was streaked with tears. Also like her he was full of anger, but when he spoke to Emma he spoke softly, he didn’t want to scare her. “Emma, where is he?”

Emma had been pretty expressionless, as though in shock, she kind of was. But David’s word’s had made her eyes grow wide, her face full of fear and worry. “No, dad, no please. Please don’t go, please just stay with me.” She wasn’t afraid of Killian’s threat to her parents, she knew they could easily fight him and win especially if he was drunk, she just wanted, needed, her parents to stay with her.

David held his hands up in a surrendering gesture. His voice stayed soft and calm as though talking to a spooked animal on the farm, or a scared child, more the latter than the former. “Okay, it’s okay, Em. I promise I’m not leaving you.” He watched her analyse his face to see if he was telling the truth, he hadn’t see her do that in so long, it was just as heart breaking as her physical injuries.

Emma slowly nodded her head, she wasn’t sure what to do next, she hadn’t thought this far when she had been racing to escape.

David and Snow led her into the living room, they had one of their silent eye conversations as they did so. They knew they had to find out what injuries Emma had, they’d most probably have to take her to the hospital to get her checked out as well, so they’d have to get Neal a sitter but that should be fairly easy. Not to mention getting Hook off of the street and preferable out of the town too.

“Em, I’m going to ring Leroy and Regina about getting,” he didn’t want to say his name and upset her, “the pirate away. Your mom’s gonna help you take a bath because I don’t think you’re going to be able to do it by yourself, then me, you, and your mother and going to decide what needs to be done next, okay?”

Emma nodded her head, him describing the actions which were going to happen helped ease her anxiety at least a little. She shakily undid her jacket and took it off, she was with her parents, she was safe, she didn’t need the armour.

Snow gasped when Emma took off her jacket and David found the room lacking air, so he couldn’t even do that. There was a huge cut down Emma’s bruised arm, as though done by a knife, or a hook.

Emma noticed what they were staring at. “That was an accident,” she tried to tell them, “he forgot the hook was on that hand.” She parroted his excuse he had delivered with flowers the next day, after a night spent in a bar, or with some other girl. He had always been good at the apologising, the gestures to make her think he was sorry and loved her, but none of those had appeared in the recent weeks, he probably realised he didn’t have to do it anymore.

They were looking at her like something had broke inside her. He had warned her about that, that they wouldn’t want some broken adult, they had an actual child who needed them not some failure of a 'saviour’. She remembered the way he had spit that word.

“No, baby, it wasn’t an accident.” Snow’s voice was kind yet firm. “And it wasn’t your fault. It’s okay, it’s all over now, he’s never going to hurt you again.”

Suddenly two pairs of arms were around her. Her parents holding her close to them, holding her together, yet gentle not to hurt her further, not before they figured out the extent of her injuries.

Her dad’s hand came up to cradle the back of her head, as it always did.

She finally broke down.

[lenific]

Clarification - Emma/Neal

Prompt: pain. Set after Cataclysm.

Neal had expected the pizza delivery, but wasn't disappointed to find the sheriff at the doorstep instead. "Hello, Emma," he said, smiling in greeting. "We need to stop meeting when my dad is under pain medication."

Emma's lips twitched a little. "I'm sorry about what happened," she told him, adopting a grave tone. "I was hoping to talk with Mr. Gold?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. Unless it's an emergency I'm not waking him up. Doctor's orders."

"He's listening to Whale?"

Neal chuckled. "I'm here, so he has to. Otherwise he would be running around town, making sure the populace knows he's suffered no damage, and probably raining vengeance on that little hothead." He watched Emma's knowing smile falter at the last. "Ah," he sighed, "you come in defense of the hothead."

"She's eighteen, Neal, and terrified."

"My dad is in his fifties, and with a weak heart. Witness me not giving a damn about the girl who assaulted him."

Emma sighed. "Fair point. But... I have a soft spot for pregnant teenagers, all right?"

"Pregnant?”  Neal frowned. “Damn. Pop probably won't go very far, then. Don't tell anyone, but his soft spot is children."

"I’ve noticed,” she told him. “I'd still rest easier if Ashley didn't have to worry at all."

Neal thought it over. "Then you need to offer a bigger bone, sheriff. Anything you can do for my father to distract him?" At her reluctant frown, he gave an understanding smile. "Not the easiest path, I know, but everything has a price."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "I've heard that before."

"I've heard it my whole life," Neal responded, chuckling a little. "Now, you have only a couple days until I return to New York and Pop runs free. What about we juggle some ideas over dinner, see if we come up with something appropriate?"

Emma's eyes widened, but after a beat she nodded. "Sure. Sounds fun." Her smile slipped when he only stared at her. "Something wrong?"

"No," he said automatically, but the truth was that Neal hadn't expected her to agree so easily to his suggestion. Having learned the importance of honesty in new relationships, and unwilling to repeat his father's mistakes, he took a deep breath. "This is a date, right?"

"...Right."

"Um. It's just that last year there was that new guy in your life. You seemed very... well, focused."

Her rejection had surprised him then, since they had been getting along so well, but Neal understood that company and conversation over an afternoon - which, in hindsight, she might have been doing to distract him from fretting uselessly over his hospitalized father - wasn't grounds to get upset over being turned down. Besides, her eyes had lit up at the mention of her boyfriend, and how could he be bitter over someone's happiness? Through the following months, Neal had been happy to watch Emma from afar, and though he hadn't been looking for signs that her relationship had ended so he could sweep in, he liked to believe that he would have noticed if she was going through a rough spot.

"It seemed serious," he finished. "I'm sorry that it didn't work out, I guess."

"Oh, no. Henry and I are doing great!" Emma laughed at his look. "Sorry. I never explained - and honestly, back then I didn't really want to get into it with a near stranger." She gave a little shrug. "I'm a little shocked the gossip never reached you, to be honest. But to summarize: the ten-year-old boy I gave up for adoption tracked me down all the way to Boston and decided he wanted to get to know me. Whole reason I ended up in Maine, really." She chuckled, fondness suffusing her smile. "It's been crazy. I landed right in the middle of a feud between his other mother and her stepdaughter." She raised a hand. "Don't ask, long story. Regina had me between her sights for the longest time, and I can't say I blame her even if she went nuts. But we're finally working it out, so I finally got time and energy for a date - if you're still interested, that is." Her eyes searched his, though she didn't lose her hopeful smile. "Though I can't think that the guy who ran away and changed his name, then returned home in a move worthy of daytime soaps, would judge my family life as too crazy."

"Touché." Neal laughed. "And you don't even know the rest of the story."

Her eyebrows shot up with curiosity.

Since he had no one else who would understand his fondness for the people who made his life crazy, he indulged her. "My future stepmother leaves me cookies with little notes at my doorstep, and our whole building believes we're dating. My mistake? Telling Pop, who told Belle. Now she makes sure to call him 'Mr. Gold' when anyone's within hearing, and he just follows her lead and acts all formal. The perfect father- and daughter-in-law." He shuddered a little. "It's the creepiest thing ever, and it only gets worse when they're cuddling in my couch, laughing it out together." Neal obviously wasn't as uncomfortable as he pretended, since he aimed an optimistic grin at Emma. "That crazy enough?"

Emma closed her mouth, which had gaped a little during his tale. "I don't know why I'm surprised," she said at last. "Your dad is exactly the kind of person who would enjoy playing such a joke on a host of strangers."

Neal had to nod in agreement. "So, we have a deal?"

Both laughed at his phrasing.

"A date," he rectified, blushing a little at the slip. "Do we have a date?"

Emma smiled. "Sure," she said. "If you think you can handle mine, I'll deal with yours."

The End 12/07/17

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “My Eyes, They Speak for Me” (3/3)

Summary: Canon divergence from 3x13 onward, where Walsh never reveals himself and Storybrooke isn’t where it should be. Emma and Killian have to not only find a way back to Storybrooke and Emma’s family, but keep each other and Henry safe in the process.

Rating: Mmmmmm Yes.

A/N: Sitting pretty at just over 10k, this is the third and final part to @swankkat‘s secret santa gift. A very large, very loud thank you goes to @phiralovesloki for the action sequence because that is not my strong suit. Thank you to all of you who’ve read this, commented, flailed, messaged me, and shown love on the other fic sites. You’re all the real MVPs of this game. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | FFN | Ao3

“It will be the magic you give something by believing in it. This item will guide you home when you are ready to follow it.”

“What the hell was that supposed to mean?”

 Killian is right on her heels as she exits the shop and turns in the direction of the apartment. All they’ve been handed is a whole bunch of riddles and coded messages, as far as she’s concerned. She’s frustrated beyond measure at this point. It’s getting harder by the day to keep all the threads of her life in place, and she can’t do that if she’s frazzled, and feeling things, and –

 The second Killian’s hand grasps hers, she slows and eventually stops. Her mind is still racing, but the way he’s gently rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand has her calm in record time. There’s no creepy sensation crawling up her back, Henry isn’t there for the show, but still she fits herself against Killian, her temple resting against his jaw as his arms wind around her in comfort.

 She lets herself have this moment, barely even registering the reason why it might be strange to turn her face and let her lips brush against his jaw. It’s not like she inherently means to make the connection – she just does.

 “Emma?” He says her name so quietly, with so many questions behind those two little syllables, that she knows without looking what his expression will be.

 This could be the turning point, she thinks. If I turn a little more, if I kiss him now – but she stops herself from finishing the thought. If she kisses him now, it’ll be for the wrong reasons. And now, Emma wants to kiss him for the right reasons. She drops her forehead back down to his shoulder, exhaling an apology as she does, and closing her eyes against the overwhelming sensations weighing down on her.

 “Let’s get you home, love. I’ll make us lunch.”

Months of burying her frustration with knowing-yet-not-knowing finally make their way to the surface as they walk back to the apartment. She stays quiet during the return trip, something that Killian obviously notices but doesn’t comment on. Instead, he leads her through the door and takes her coat, telling her to make herself comfortable while he puts their food together.

 “You seem vexed, Swan.”

 “Just frustrated,” she admits as she pokes at the vegetables he’s steamed up for them. She was right, he is the health nut in this household.

 Just the thought of their home makes her brows scrunch together. It seems like they’ve done everything they could to get back to Storybrooke, but they’re still missing the mark. For the first time, Emma wants to admit that she misses it, that she misses her parents, but the words stick in her throat.

 There was a moment, actually it was several moments, after she took the memory potion that all she wanted was to have that ignorance back. She didn’t want to remember the time she spent in Storybrooke. She didn’t want to remember the time she didn’t have Henry in her life. It was easier to pretend that she hadn’t seen Neal since the day he left her to take the fall for the watches.

 With Killian in her life, she’s at least not alone. There’s someone else to remember the stuff that she’s been through, to be some kind of witness to the obstacles she’s hurdled over that go beyond just hard-working. But she knows that there’s a family who misses her, and misses Henry, and that’s what sits like lead in her stomach.

 Home, she remembers Neal telling her once, is a place that when you leave it, you miss it. That you can’t shake that feeling. While she’s not overjoyed with the thought of figuring out three-split custody with the evil queen and the son of Rumpelstiltskin, Emma also knows that Henry deserves a chance to see his family again. Whether or not he’ll remember them when they get there is still yet to be seen.

 “-course, if you’re not listening to a word a say, then we’ve got quite the dilemma on our hands.”

 “What?” She finally clears her vision and looks over at Killian, whose plate is clean and is clearly exasperated but still smirking at her.

 “’Bout time my words got through that thick fog of thought you were in,” he says, sliding off his chair and walking around the island to rinse his dish off. “Do you want me to reheat that, or would you like to wait until you’re hungry again?”

 “It’s fine,” she waves him off, realizing that her stomach is completely empty and the food in front of her may have cooled a bit, but she’s learned that anything Killian makes is going to taste amazing hot or cold. “So, what do you think that all meant?”

 “What the Dragon spoke of? Hard to say. But it’s clear that we need to have some measure of patience waiting for this magical talisman to make itself known to us.” He leans against the counter behind him, scratching behind his ear as speaks.

 Emma grumbles around a mouthful of food, finally spearing the last carrot on her plate and pushing the dish over to Killian as he holds out his hand for it.

 “Listen, Swan, I know how difficult this must be. But there are things beyond our powers working against us, currently. We just need to keep looking for whatever it was he was talking about. We’ll find it, love, I know we will.”

 “A hope speech from Captain Hook? Now I’ve heard everything.”

 “Ha ha,” he deadpans, lightly flicking the water from his fingertips in her direction and smiling as she squawks and ducks away from it.

 Two days later, she calls and tells Killian that she’ll be later than normal, that she has some extra paperwork to take care of. He assures her that he’ll hold down the fort while she’s gone (his words, not hers) and she heads out into the city to find him a gift. Henry is already taken care of, but that probably has something to do with the detailed list he left stuck to the fridge a few weeks ago.

 Thankfully, her search doesn’t last long. It takes three stores for her to find exactly what she’s looking for, and she can’t help the satisfied smile that spreads across her face as the cashier hands her a receipt and her box.

 It takes a certain skill to get Killian out of the apartment, with Henry in tow, on a mission to get dinner just long enough for her to sneak in and hide the gift. She takes an extra minute to pull it from the packaging, inspecting what has to be the manliest looking jewelry box she’s ever seen in her life. And knowing a pirate, she delights when she finds the hidden switch on the side to open a hidden compartment. It’s large enough to hide his hook, and she is so very tempted to see if she can find it among his things to stash it now.

 The second she touches his leather coat, however, she decides against it. Instead, she brushes her fingers along the details. She lingers a little longer on the lapels, remembering how it felt to grip them in Neverland. The memory is a sudden rush of heat along her cheekbones, the sensation of his hair between her fingers, the way his mouth fit perfectly against hers. She hums low in consideration, pushing everything back in front of the coat.

 She manages to hide the jewelry box in the linen closet, and she’s nonchalantly reading on the couch by the time her boys walk back through the door.

 In the weeks leading up to Christmas, they get no closer to figuring out just what the Dragon meant. Nothing makes itself apparent, and despite how much she tries to will Storybrooke into existence in front of her, it doesn’t work. Nothing glows, nothing whooshes like it did after she admitted she loved Henry, nothing floats ahead of her to lead the way back to Storybrooke. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

 She resigns herself to the fact that it’s not going to happen before the holidays, especially when it’s Christmas Eve and she’s struggling to wrap Killian’s present before he gets home from the bookstore. Henry, unhelpfully, is sitting on one of the chairs at the kitchen table eating cookies and giving her running commentary on her wrapping technique. He’ll be asleep when she wraps his later – a fact that she is extremely grateful for.

 “What about your skills, kid? You want me to critique your wrapping skills when I open my gift?”

 “I’m twelve, mom,” he tells her. “I’m supposed to be bad at it.”

 “Mmhmm, sure.”

 Thankfully, he gets bored and wanders over to play video games shortly after, leaving Emma to finish her job in peace. There’s something quaintly sentimental about signing her name to the tag and sticking it beneath the bow. She’s already anxious for him to open it, already excited to give a pirate a new treasure chest.

 Killian does his best to assist her in wrapping Henry’s gifts from both of them.

 “I’ll admit, Swan, Mrs. Charles wrapped mine for me. It was either that or gift bags, and Henry insisted that I wasn’t permitted to take the easy way out with those.”

 She smiles, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes as she shakes her head a little. “Of course, he would. Are we going to have to take this couple with us when we go? I feel like we accidentally adopted a set of grandparents.”

“At least they’re a fair bit more fitting to the part than your parents, Swan. Tell me again how you came to live with your mother before the curse broke,” he prods. It’s not the first time he’s prompted her to talk about her parents, or her past in general. She knows there’s still skeletons all over both their closets, but she easily regales him with the story of Mary Margaret offering her a home.

 She goes to sleep thinking that momentum is such a funny thing, thinking about how the next morning will immediately tumble into the New Year, and wondering how many other holidays they’ll be in New York City to experience. But first comes this one, and she’s sure Henry will be waking them up far too early in his excitement. Her eyes finally drift shut as her mind settles down, with Killian’s breathing slow and even beside her.

 Emma wakes up tucked against Killian, his hand resting high on her abdomen and his face buried somewhere against the back of her neck. Every time he exhales, it sends a shiver down her spine, and she’s willing to admit that she doesn’t want to move from this spot for a couple more hours. Unfortunately, she can hear Henry in the second bathroom and she knows this moment is extremely limited.

 Sure enough, there’s frantic knocking on the door less than a minute later, and Killian stirs behind her, mumbling an apology against the sensitive skin his lips are touching. She just barely stops herself from moaning, and she wonders how much longer she can resist her own emotions for this man, along with her undeniable attraction to him. While her thoughts are running rampant, she waves off the apology and wishes him a Merry Christmas.

 They don’t even touch gifts until they’ve eaten breakfast (a group effort) and Emma’s had two cups of coffee. They let Henry go first, since he’s far more eager than either of the adults and because Emma wants the chance to sit back and watch him enjoy this experience. Christmas was never something she enjoyed growing up, but the memories Regina gave her for the first ten Christmases with Henry were always something quiet and good, so of course she kept the traditions when they moved here.

 Now, pressed against Killian’s side as she sips her coffee, this memory will definitely rank high against the real memories she has of holiday after holiday spent alone. She jolts when Henry exclaims his thanks, and she just barely manages to set her coffee down on the table in front of her before her son, all lanky twelve feet of him it seems, throws himself at her for a hug. One of his arms is thrown around Killian in joint-thanks for the gifts he bought, and she might always remember the look of stunned affection he has as he carefully puts his arm around Henry.

 “You guys are the best!” he says, one last time, as if the first twenty times he said it weren’t adequate. He’s happy to settle down next to their small, artificial tree after that, urging Emma to tear into the hastily wrapped box in front of her.

 Henry’s hard-earned allowance (he got an extra ten dollar bonus for a streak of zero dead houseplants) has gone to a new beanie and gloves for her, soft to the touch, and she’s relieved when she sees the tag that they aren’t real cashmere because she would’ve subtly paid her son back for something so extravagant. She slides the hat on immediately, covering her poorly tamed bed-head, and sets the gloves to the side in favor of picking up the delicately wrapped boxes from Killian.

 “To my Swan,” the tag reads, and she bites her lip to stop from smiling much wider than she already is. Neither box is particularly big – in fact, they’re both rather small – but she goes for the top and smaller one first. Nestled inside is a keychain, no bigger than her thumb, in the shape of Snow White. She laughs, first, to match the image of what’s in her hand with the woman who shot an ogre in the eye with a bow and arrow to save her.

 She’s not expecting the rush of emotion that follows that thought, however. Suddenly, her eyes are misting over and she can feel her lips trembling, and she closes her eyes as she closes her fingers around it.

 “Swan,” Killian says quietly, the worry clear in his voice, so she leans into him, leans into the arm that tightens around her.

 “I love it,” she finally manages to say, her voice still thick with emotion but at least she managed to hold back the tears. “It’s adorable.”

 “I didn’t realize you liked Snow White so much, mom.”

 “She has a special place in my heart,” Emma says. That’s definitely not a lie, since her mother certainly does rest easily in her heart at all times now. She sets the keychain aside until she can loop her onto her keys and starts tearing into the wrapping paper on the longer box. Simply from being a woman, she’s willing to bet it’s jewelry, but she has no idea what Killian would find based on what he’s seen her wear before.

 Her breath catches as she lifts the lid to find the gift inside. The delicate needle of the compass shifts as she carefully picks up the main pendant, and her fingers encounter the engraving on the other side before she has a chance to flip it over. She’s not entirely surprised to see the stars on the back, but she is pleased that it’s more than just a swan drawn there. The Cygnus constellation has always been a favorite of hers.

 “It’s perfect,” she says on a sigh, turning it over and over to admire both sides. Leave it to a sailor to find something so wonderful. There are so many other things she could say about it, including but not limited to jokes about Lake Nostos, how the last time he gave her a compass she left him chained at the top of a beanstalk, something about jabbing and swords, but she just repeats how perfect it is before leaning over and giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek.

 “I’m glad you like it, love. Now, I think it’s my turn,” he says with a wink.

 He grabs for the gift from Henry first, and no surprise, it’s a nice hat and pair of gloves, and a scarf as well. It’s not that Killian has refused to add the proper winterwear to his wardrobe, it’s just that he never seems to stray far from the one pair of leather gloves he already had.  Emma wastes no time in snagging the hat and sliding it over his matching bed hair.

 “Thank you, lad. Maybe I’ll be a little less averse to the weather when I leave the building in these.” They share a smile, and Emma looks between the two of them for a moment with a sudden panging realization. She loves them both. She loves her son, god does she love Henry – cannot imagine what her life would be if he hadn’t shown up on her doorstep that day. And not only him, she loves Killian. She is in love with Captain Hook.

 That momentum she fell asleep thinking about feels a whole lot more real in the face of this realization. It was only a matter of time before her feelings matched his, and now it’s happened. And it’s not because of the beautiful necklace that she decides needs to be around her neck now, and it’s not because he’s devoted his time and energy to keeping her and Henry safe. It’s all the little moments that they’ve spent together between now and the moment she got her memories back, and even before then.

 Her thoughts are interrupted when Killian tosses the crumpled wrapping paper into the trash bag Henry is holding open for him, and then he’s reaching for the box with Emma’s somewhat-adequate wrapping job. She has just a moment of nerves as he opens it, and then the smile is giving away his appreciation as he lifts the wooden box from its packaging.

 “Figured it was time for you to have a modern-day treasure chest,” Emma tells him as she slips the wrapping paper away and throws it to Henry.

 “It’s brilliant, Swan. I love it!” He spends a few more minutes poking around the outside of it, and it’s obvious he’s aware that there’s more than meets the eye but can’t figure out how to access the secret. He must sense her watching him because he looks up with the question clear in his eyes, but she takes a page out of his book and winks at him, standing up to collect her gifts and start tidying up. She’ll make him wait a little longer to complete the puzzle.

 They make lazy lunch after the living room has been mostly cleared out, leaving the Christmas movie marathons to play on TV while they graze on a spread of brunch items and leftovers from breakfast. The rest of the day follows that same pace, with dinner acting as a third, relaxed meal. Henry falls asleep not more than an hour after the kitchen is cleaned from dinner, and she and Killian work together to put him to bed. When he’s all tucked in and the light is out, Emma detours into the bedroom and tells Killian to find his hook.

 “There’s a secret compartment,” she explains when he’s retrieved it from the depths of the closet. She waits until she has his full attention, then finds the hidden switch to pop the drawer open. He stifles his exclamation but doesn’t hold back the smile that lights up his face.

 Just as she guessed, the hook fits perfectly inside, with a little extra room for anything else he’d like to hide. She closes it back up once he’s slipped the heavy metal appendage inside and guides him through opening it again. Satisfied that he can open and close it on his own, he seals the hidden drawer again and slides the box into place on the dresser. It looks like it was made to fit in with her items.

 She falls asleep on the couch with her head resting on Killian’s chest. The lights on the tree blur together until her eyes fall closed, and she sends a silent wish that when they get back to Storybrooke that their next Christmas can feel this perfect.

 -x-

 Emma falls asleep moments before he does, but Killian wakes up just a short bit later with the realization that they should move to the bed for a restful night sleep. When Emma fails to make more than a mumbled reply in her sleep, he takes it upon himself to get them there. Spending another minute making sure he’s just awake enough to get the job done, he shifts from under Emma’s hold and turns to pick her up. It’s still not as easy as it would be with two hands, but at least he’s less concerned with the possibility of catching her with his hook this way.

 She’s already in her pajamas, so he sets her on the bed before going back out to turn off the last of the lights and shut the door before he goes to ready himself for bed. He’s no sooner slipping in under the covers beside Emma than she rolls into him, settling immediately back into slumber when they’re both cocooned under the warm blankets.

 Tonight’s sleeping attire is warmer, with a flannel shirt keeping her modesty, and he’s thankful. Once or twice he’s woken in the mornings to find her exposed from the camisoles she sleeps in, and has quickly averted his gaze while tugging the blankets over her. Were they a real couple, he would gladly take the opportunity to look his fill, but even if Emma seems to be leaning a little more towards something true he still protects her modesty above all else.

 His hand trails along the soft material covering her bicep as he thinks about the tag she wrote out. Her simple signature of “Love, Emma” is still clear even when he closes his eyes. He thinks of her reactions to her gifts, the unshed tears in her eyes when she looked upon the caricature of her mother, and the adoration as she clasped the necklace around her neck. He watched that compass sway like a pendulum when she stood to gather the rubbish around the living room, and felt his heart warm at how much she seemed to love both items.

 And Henry, well, the lad’s reaction to the gifts – the exact ones he asked for – was so overwhelming that he was nearly speechless. He’s discovered that somewhere along the last couple months that he has genuine love in his heart for the boy. He is not Henry’s father, but he sincerely hopes that he’s earned a spot as more than just his mother’s partner. There’s the added complication of Henry changing his mind once his memories are back, but he does hope the boy will appreciate what they’ve done to keep him safe.

 He falls asleep to Emma’s warmth surrounding him, and wakes up in a rush towards the new year. After their shared Christmas, Emma is demonstrably more affectionate with him, whether Henry is around or not. Their nights are split between soft conversation over card games and comfortable silence during television programming.

 Emma informs him that the biggest party on the east coast happens in the city, but threatens his manhood if he wishes to see it first-hand like they did for Thanksgiving.

 “I assure you, Swan, I’m very content in life experiences for the moment. And you said this ball that will drop is visible from the rooftop, aye?”

 “Yeah, I mean, it’s not going to be as big as real life, but we’ll be able to watch it drop and see the fireworks from here. That’s good enough, right?”

 A single nod seals the deal and they join the festivities up on the patio as the tenants all join together.

 “There’s another tradition,” Emma tells him as they stand on the outskirts of a cluster of the building’s children. “When the clock strikes twelve, everyone kisses to ring in the new year. It’s a whole big celebration, and we’ll be expected to.”

 “I read up on the holiday a while back when learning about Christmas. As long as you’re okay with kissing me, love, then I would be a fool of a man to turn down an opportunity.”

 They’re both outfitted in their warm weather gear that Henry got them, and he idly notices that they match. He also notices that Emma’s gaze is fixated on his lips, and he fights the smug smile that wants to appear. “At least wait until midnight, Emma. It wouldn’t do to be the inappropriate adults of the group and start the neighbors all talking.”

 She scoffs, but laughs and bumps him with her shoulder while agreeing with him.

 The kids present at midnight get plastic cups of sparkling grape juice, while the adults drink reasonable amounts of champagne, and Killian watches in fascination as the sphere in the distance drops down and the group all starts buzzing with anticipation.

 “Killian?”

 “Hmm?” She’s standing tall and looks just the tiniest bit nervous as she turns to face him. They’re in the last minute of the year, and he’s very serious in the face of what could be bad news.

 “When the countdown ends, I’m going to kiss you.”

 He narrows his eyes at her, not comprehending. “So we’ve just discussed, Swan.”

 “No, Killian. I’m going to kiss you. For real. For all the right reasons. So uh, it’s not pretend anymore.”

 Realization dawns at the same time the countdown begins, and he is only vaguely aware of the chanting of numbers. Henry is still in his periphery, but Killian is thankful that they’re amongst all the others tonight so this moment can happen without a threat of immediate danger.

 “Happy New Year,” Emma murmurs as the cheering begins all around them. The city seems to rejoice all at once. He doesn’t get a chance to respond before her lips are on his, and Emma Swan is fully in his arms.

 Of all the times he’s kissed her, this is by far the best. The first kiss was raw and a struggle to overpower the other. He was a fool, then, thinking that he could ever be more dominant than Emma, but he’s less of a fool at this moment as he gives her this kiss. He thinks to protest when she pulls away much sooner than he wants her to, but he’s brought back to the reality that they are surrounded by the building residents that wanted to celebrate this night.

 His eyes finally focus on her smile, then the fireworks going off in the distance. They stand and watch, accepting the appropriate salutations from Henry when he finally remembers they’re there. He quickly goes back to enjoying his extended curfew, and even pushes for more just a moment later by asking to spend the night with a family that lives on the second floor. Their twin boys wish to have Henry stay the night and Emma happily agrees as she slips her hand into Killian’s.

 The younglings all disappear shortly after the last of the fireworks dissipate from the night sky, leaving just the adults unwilling to start the new year by sleeping. Instead, the lighthearted party continues.

 After that kiss, it’s like the world entirely changes but doesn’t change at all. Killian’s at a loss for what sensations he feels as the party continues. He knows one thing for certain: Emma is leaning with her back against his chest, softly swaying and humming to the music that someone is playing from a stereo as her hands rest on the arms he’s wrapped around her waist. When she leans her head back on his shoulder, he turns and presses a kiss to her temple, lingering down her cheek until he reaches a spot just below her ear. She loses the tune after that, humming instead in appreciation before turning her face back to his.

 There’s some part of him that recognizes that what they’re doing is what Emma once called “tongue kissing” and they’re not alone, but a quick break from the kiss reveals that none of the adults left at the party seem to notice or mind, and others are in much the same state as they are.

 When the festivities end, they’ve spent hardly a minute without contact, and he only wishes to retire to their home so that he might kiss her a little longer, to record the taste and shape of her mouth to memory. Were that to be the end of his night, hell, the end of his life, he’d likely be okay with that.

 Alone in the apartment, however, there’s a moment of hesitation. Killian turns off the lights on their tree, which Emma informs him will get taken down in the next day or so, and she disappears briefly to make sure Henry remembered his pajamas. That’s what she claims, however he’s already changed into his sleep clothes and slid into the bed before she comes in. She shifts directly into the bathroom after that, changing and readying herself for sleep.

 He’s fidgeting with the edge of the blanket when she comes back out, and he knows that the hint of champagne that he tasted on her lips earlier will be replaced with that of her minty toothpaste. He suddenly itches for another kiss, but he waits to see if she’ll make the move towards him or not. She could very well roll over and turn out the light with little more than a goodnight at this point and he would know it was her choice to do so.

 She doesn’t, though, instead sitting back against the headboard and mirroring his stance. He’s wondering if he should say anything, but then her fingers ghost along his blunted wrist. While it’s an area he no longer has much feeling, the faint sensation of her touch causes goosebumps along his arm. He looks down at her hand moving in a gentle caress before looking to her eyes, and he finds the smile on her lips reflected in her gaze. She leans over to kiss him again, and it’s the first kiss since their first one in Neverland that doesn’t have some sort of audience.

 Easily, his fingers glide through her hair to settle on the back of her neck. The angle is slightly awkward, to be turned this way, and Emma must sense this or at least that’s why he reasons she pushes the sheet and comforter out of the way before shifting to straddle his thighs.

 His body reacts immediately, especially when Emma slides even closer, pressing against his half-hard cock. He moans, but the sound is lost and mingled with her own, a duet of arousal filling the air around them.

 “I’m not just doing this because of the holidays or something,” Emma rushes to say at the next break in their kiss. Her hips push forward, likely to alleviate some need for friction, but equally pleasurable for him. “I’m doing this because I want to, have wanted to, fuck I’ve wanted to but I’ve been too afraid and too focused on finding a way home. But now...” She presses forward for another kiss, finding his mouth eager and waiting.

 He’s no longer idle, sitting up to fully embrace her and pull her closer if even possible. Her arms go around his neck, one hand sliding into his hair. She takes advantage of his gasp of pleasure, taking complete control of the kiss as her tongue teases his lips. He wants to say how much better this is than their kiss in Neverland, but that would be stating the obvious. This is above and far beyond that moment, not solely because the duration of the experience is prolonged.

 More than that reason, there is something to be said for not kissing in the heat of danger. There’s been no provocation for this kiss other than their own willingness. He longs to explore more of the taste of her, but only at her pace, so he’s surprised when Emma starts pushing up his shirt, urging him to release his hold on her to raise his arms over his head long enough for her to pull off the garment. Without asking, she copies the gesture, leaving her upper half bare to him.

 Some part of his brain whispers finally and he not only looks, but reaches out to touch, as well. Her skin is just as soft as he imagined it would be, and he delights in the sounds she makes when his fingertips brush over the nipple of one breast, and then the other. Closing his mouth around one while his hand mimics the actions of his tongue around the other one produces a whole new set of noises, much swearing, and a pleasurable tug of the hair on the back of his head. She pulls again when he doesn’t move, and even when he does it’s only to switch to the other breast. It seems she can’t complain about that, instead letting her head fall back in pleasure.

 Of course, that exposes the long line of her neck to him, and he abandons his current quest to journey up to where he was exploring before they came inside. While he hopes for more breathy moans and whispers of his name, it’s him instead that groans at her touch as one of her hands falls to the minimal space between them to grasp his cock through his flannel bottoms.

 “Bloody hell,” he gasps out before running his teeth along the silky skin of her shoulder. “Emma, darling, you’ll need to stop that if you want this to last more than a mere minute. Allow me?”

 “As you wish,” she replies, her voice husky with want and her smile edging on dirty. It all comes back around to Neverland…

 He maneuvers them both until she’s flat on the bed, and he urges her to help him with the removal of her pajamas. He wastes no time after the bottoms have been discarded before he fits his mouth against her clit, using the tip of his tongue to flick back and forth over it as he listens to her directives. Faster, to the left, touch me, don’t stop, Killian, please don’t stop!

 Every movement he makes is to her specifications, with a finger sliding into her with the same rhythm as he moves his mouth. He listens to the tone and pitch of her words, prolonging the impending climax as much as she’ll allow before her hands grip his hair and hold him in place. The taste of a woman has always been pleasurable for him, but Emma tastes that much sweeter and he shows his appreciation by moaning against her. The gesture is obviously successful as she arches up into him, her request of ‘do that again’ immediately met with compliance.

 By the time she comes, her heels are digging into the bed on either side of him as she pushes up into his touch. One hand abandons its hold in his hair in favor of massaging one breast, then sliding up to fist in her own hair. She tugs the strands on both their heads as she comes undone, her breathing ragged and Killian’s name a mantra falling from her lips.

 The tension drains out of her body as he pulls away, but she groans as she watches him wipe his mouth and chin. He takes just a moment to strip out of his own bottoms, tossing them off the side of the bed.

 “No one,” she says as she catches her breath, “should be that good at that.”

 Shifting back up her body, he settles between her legs with his cock pressed against her lower abdomen. He turns into the palm she presses against his cheek, gently biting at the pads of her fingertips as she brushes them past his mouth. “You don’t mean that, love. I think you quite enjoyed that.”

 Instead of responding, she pulls him down for a kiss. She uses that to distract him while she shifts beneath him, running his hardened length between her folds and causing them both to gasp at the pleasure. He searches her eyes for any hesitation and only finds desire, and when Emma senses the question he’s asking, she answers.

 “I want you, Killian.” She smiles and nods as he tilts his head in consideration. They move together after that, and they both hold their breath as his cock slides into the warmth of her body. She sighs when he’s fully in, her eyes sliding shut as her hands rest on his lower back.

 Killian takes a deep breath, but it expels in a quick, disjointed moan when Emma clenches her walls around his length. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to regain composure and not spend himself too quickly as she tightens around him, but it’s a close call.

 “Emma,” he warns, and she bites her lip in response.

 “Then move,” she counters. He does, choosing that moment to pull his hips back to slide out of her until just the tip of him is left inside before he pushes forward in one smooth slide. Their twin moans mingle together, and what he means to be a kiss ends up being him burying his face against her neck as he thrusts into her. A moment later he pushes up to his wrist and hand in order to look at the whole picture, and it’s glorious. Emma’s eyes are closed, her mouth slightly agape as she gasps in pleasure. He takes that singular second to appreciate the expanse of curves and skin on display to him before he refocuses on their pleasure.

 But she’s the one that gains the upper hand, murmuring quick instructions to flip their positions so they’re back where they began, with his back against the headboard and Emma in his lap, except this time her bare chest is pressed to his, her thighs trembling lightly as she moves up and down in his lap with her arms wrapped tight around him. She speeds up, chasing her release and urging him to come with her in quiet words before her teeth sink into the skin on his shoulder. She sucks at the bite, and he knows there will be a mark left behind.

 It’s the catalyst that starts the chain reaction for them both. With a few strokes around her clit, her climax begins, and when she pulses around his cock, it draws him over the edge after her. He can’t see straight for a minute after the sensations subside, only able to trail his fingers up Emma’s spine to cradle the back of her head. Her forehead is resting on his shoulder, her breath slowing and the aftershocks still making him shiver.

 “Gimme a minute to clean up?” Emma asks as she finally lifts her head again. Her smile is radiant yet mellow, her body relaxed and fluid in her movements as she extracts herself from his grasp. He nods, taking a moment to comb his hair back with his hand as he slowly comes back down from that high. She leans in and kisses him, lingering to taste his lips again and again before finally turning and walking to the bathroom. He bites his lip as he watches her go, tilting his head to the side as her bare rear end disappears behind the bathroom door.

 He'll wait until she’s done to go clean himself up. One look down would surely reveal that he’s a mess, so he lets his heartrate slow as he listens to Emma humming to herself through the closed door. Somewhere in his tired mind, he thinks of the conversations they’ve had about this world, especially when it comes to things like relationships and such, and Killian sits straight up with the realization that they were missing one vital piece of equipment. He hastens to the door, knocking quietly but urgently.

 “Emma, didn’t you once tell me that couples of this world use some form of contraceptive for intercourse? Didn’t you tell me about condoms at that pharmacy that day? Emma, we didn’t use a contraceptive and what -?”

 The door opens mid-sentence to reveal Emma, still glowing and bare and smiling as she considers his slightly panicked state. “I have a diaphragm. We’ll cover sex ed later, but that’s why it took me so long to come to bed. I uh, had to find it.” She shrugs, reaching up to brush her fingers over the mark she made. “I wasn’t exactly getting laid very often before you showed up and I stored it in the other bathroom when you moved in.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek before shifting out of the way. “Bathroom is all yours!”

 The woman is a bloody marvel, no matter what the situation.

 When he returns to the bed, Emma is snuggled back under the covers in her pajamas, and he slips his back on before climbing in with her.

 “So, a diaphragm, whatever that is. Always learning something new.”

 “I didn’t want to mention it in case we didn’t, you know, and talking about shoving a little disk up into me isn’t exactly sexy pillow talk.”

 “Darling, you could’ve read the dictionary to me and it still would’ve turned me on.”

 “You’re ridiculous,” Emma huffs out, but she still closes the gap to press a kiss to his lips.

 “You said you weren’t having much sex before, but you were with that other man long enough for him to propose.” He doesn’t directly ask the question, but leads her to answer if she wishes.

 “We didn’t – I mean, we did, but it wasn’t often, or much, or good, and we would use condoms because he was really weird and I’m pretty sure if he could’ve worn five during a blowjob that he would’ve.” The words all come out rushed and flustered, and Killian makes sure to pull her close and attempt to sooth the onslaught of words with a gentle rub of her back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go into that much detail.”

 “It’s all right, love. Interesting to know. Now tell me about these blowjobs. I don’t think we’ve covered that term yet.”

 She chuckles, low and sensually, and soon shows him exactly what the term refers to.

 -x-

 Emma doesn’t fall asleep as easily as Killian once they finally settle down. It’s nearing five in the morning but she can’t get her mind to shut off. The decision to kiss him for real at midnight was anything but hastily planned. She’s been thinking about it all week, and while she easily could’ve just given him one of their usual quick kisses, she’s so thankful for taking the chance to tell him.

 She wants to tell him she loves him, but can’t, so she mouths the words against his t-shirt and vows to tell him soon. She adds that she misses her parents, and the loft, and even Granny’s, knowing that she’ll tell him all that much sooner. Back when Killian first showed up, she was adamant about not going back to Storybrooke. She figured they could solve whatever crisis and be back in New York in no time. Now, however, she knows she only could’ve stayed in the city if she’d never taken that memory potion. She does wonder, however, if the situation would’ve been different had they gotten right back into Storybrooke.

 Would she and Killian be together? Would she have taken that chance? And if they didn’t, would she still want to run from Storybrooke as soon as the trouble had passed? She’s pretty sure she would’ve tried to leave them all behind, bring Henry back to the city in some false belief that it’s safer. She would still be convinced that home is here instead of wherever she and Henry find the most love. With Killian, now, it’s right here. But if she can get the three of them back to where they belong, it’ll be with her parents, and Henry’s other mother. And Neal, if he’s back.

 Oh god, what will they all think? The thought flits through her brain, but thankfully she’s finally drifting off. She knows where her home is, both the physical and the emotional ones, and now it’s just a matter of getting them all in the same place.

 There’s a marked difference waking up in Killian’s arms on purpose compared to waking up in them on accident because her subconscious was trying to shout at her. She can’t tell how long he’s been awake, only that his hand is drawing idle pictures on her belly. He’s also hard against her ass, but seems so completely content in his current actions that she wonders if she can talk him into breakfast first before they go again. By her calculations, they have a few hours before Henry will stumble back home and she wouldn’t mind going for another round before that.

 With anyone other than Killian, she’s pretty sure she would feel weird talking about birth control options over breakfast. He gets a full explanation of what she used last night, and the other option of condoms which she’s decided to teach him about after breakfast.

 Somehow, they still manage to get cleaned up and presentable long before Henry comes home. They spend the first day of their new year taking down the Christmas decorations. Emma makes a mental note to make sure they get packed for the journey back to Storybrooke when they get back in. She wants all of this available for next year so they can hold onto these memories.

 When they’re back in bed that night, they remain chastely aware of Henry in the next room and manage to control themselves. It helps that Emma finally opens up about missing her parents.

 “I miss the loft,” she tells him, her words quiet in the dark room. “My bed upstairs was small but there was something so oddly comforting about having Henry next to me and my parents downstairs.”

 “Will you go back to living with them when we return?”

 It’s the first time since he haltingly explained that he would never be faking his emotions with Emma that Killian sounds unsure of himself. They’ve lived together for a little over two months, and if they go back, this could all change. It’s one thing to say that they won’t be different when they get to Storybrooke while they’re still wrapped in this quasi-safety bubble in New York, but what’s to say it won’t fall apart once they get back. And what if the Dragon’s words never actually come true, and their supposed path never shows the way?

 “I don’t know,” she says, and the words sound just as apprehensive as she feels.

 She waits, again, for Killian to fall asleep so she can form the words of her affections without having to really tell him.

 Things are easier with their fake relationship gone and a real one in place. It’s somehow even more comfortable when they collapse onto the couch at the end of the day and she can openly engage him in some quality make-out time. Killian’s kisses are perfect and hypnotic, a fact that annoys her and pleases her all at the same time. They still both feel a presence at their backs when they walk down the streets, but when he kisses the back of her hand or she pulls him close for a hug, it’s not for their audience anymore. It’s just for them.

 She almost forgets that there’s some mysterious villain lurking around the corner until she bumps into Walsh in the middle of January, running straight into him even though she only glanced down to look at her phone for a second.  

 “I’m so sor – oh, Walsh. Hi.” Given how much she’s seen him in the last couple months, she’s beyond any sense of being nice and straight into irritation. She knew the sidewalk was clear when she looked down.

 “Emma! It’s so nice to see you. How’s it been?” Lurking below the politeness of his inquiry is that same oily feeling she got from him at the hotel. He’s standing inside her personal bubble but it seems like any time she tries to edge back, he’s right there with her.

 “Life’s good, job’s good, kid’s good.” It’s not the rudest thing she’s ever said, at least.

 “And how about the boyfriend? He good, too? Or did your rebound already get booted?”

 “Not that it’s any of your business, we’re better than ever.” It takes everything in her not to physically push him away, so she reins in her emotions with a few calming breaths. “Look, I’m sorry it didn’t work out between us, but you need to stop following me.”

 “What do you mean?” He’s still way too close, and if she’s not mistaken, he’s attempting to loom over her.

 “I have lost track of the number of times I’ve seen you ducking around corners and behind telephone poles, at this point, Walsh. You’ve been following me and Killian, and I’m pretty sure you’re keeping tabs on my son. You need to back off.” Instead of backing away, she stands her ground, straightening her spine and bracing for whatever he has to say.

 She’s not expecting him to chuckle, for him to casually shove his hands into his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. “You know, I actually liked you, but you clearly have no idea what you’re up against.”

 “What?”

 “I said,” he enunciates, “that you have no idea. Not just about what I’ve been doing, but what’s out there waiting for you, Emma.”

 She knew she should’ve trusted her instincts about him after she saw him at the hotel. He’s connected to all of this, but just who is he? And does he mean the threat is in the city or could he be talking about Storybrooke? “So tell me, what’s waiting for me?”

 “Oh, you and the captain will find out soon enough. You’ll never get back home, Emma.”

 Her eyebrows furrow and she frowns at that. “Is that a threat?”

 “It’s the truth,” he says with no hesitation. He sighs, turning on his heel and pacing the length of sidewalk they’re on. “I wish you hadn’t taken that potion.”

 He was saving the craziest line for last, apparently. “What?”

 “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.” He turns, pointing at her in emphasis, and it finally clicks in Emma’s brain that she should at least be worried that Walsh’s eyes glow red.

 “Who are you?”

 He doesn't answer. Not explicitly anyway -- instead, he advances on her menacingly, his face the picture of fury.

 The implicit answer, of course, is that he's bad fucking news. It’s not like this is that much of a surprise because she should be used to things not being what they appear by now.

 It's probably for the best that she doesn't have her gun with her right now, because, "Local Woman Shoots Ex-Boyfriend" isn't the kind of headline she's in the mood to deal with, and the way he's coming at her, she's pretty damn sure he wouldn't back off if she pulled out a firearm. It's not like she hasn't had to hold her own while unarmed before.

 When he comes at her, she does what comes naturally; she ducks, letting him practically trip over her and go flying over a railing down into a basement stairwell. Shit, that's gotta hurt.

 But there's no time to check on him. She considers – only briefly – bolting and getting home to safety, but now the jig is up and unless she asserts herself big time, Walsh is just going to go after Henry and Killian. Yes, Henry's at school, and she could just pick him up to make sure he doesn't come home alone. But she can't do that every day, and eventually, Walsh will strike. And Killian – even though he can hold his own against Walsh, she can imagine a hostage situation with the bookshop owners or something. If he's really been following them, then everyone they know in the city is officially in danger if the altercation doesn’t end here.

 No, she has to find some kind of weapon, and find one now, so she can make it clear to Walsh that whatever his game is, he's going to regret threatening her, and her family.

 She can hear his pained groans as she searches for something, anything, that'll work. But for once, just her luck, the street and sidewalk are spotless. Did he prepare for this or something? How the hell did he manage to confront her in the only deserted, clean street in the entire city?

 The sounds coming from behind her change, suddenly, in a way that sends an electric chill down her spine. A weapon will have to wait.

 She turns to find not Walsh, but a flying monkey crawling its way out of the stairwell.

 Well, shit.

 She does need a weapon. Violent ex-boyfriends and runaway teens and drunken bar brawlers, she can handle with her bare hands. But not a flying monkey.

 Desperately, as the flying monkey that apparently used to be Walsh – and seriously?! – begins to flap its wings menacingly, she shoves her hands into her pockets. What does she have?

 Phone? Yeah, like the police are gonna get here in time to see this.

 Stick of gum? Her heart flutters, since it's the only flavor Killian likes, so it's the flavor she's switched to. But it's not going to help.

 Wallet? Maybe monkey Walsh accepts bribes?

 Keys – keys!

 She pulls out her keys, fitting them between her fingers as best she can. It's not ideal, and the one time before this she tried to use them like this, she'd just dropped them and had to resort to her Taser. But she's got keys, so she's going to use keys.

 Walsh seems to find this very amusing, grinning evilly and showing off extremely unnaturally pointy teeth as he does so. And then he's leaping at her.

 She tries to time her slash as best she can, infusing it with all the hope she has for what making it out of this alive will give her. Her love for her family rushes through her heart and she just hopes. She expects that, best case scenario, she's going to end up on the pavement, probably smacking the back of her head on it, while his much, much more effective-looking claws do to her what she's hoping her keys will do to him.

 She does not expect to stay standing, as Walsh is thrown backwards into the side of a building. He hits the bricks with so much force that, to her shock, there's suddenly no flying monkey. There's just a cloud of ash, floating in the air.

 What the hell? How do keys do that?

 It's then that she realizes the keys are warm in her hand. It takes little more than a second for her eyes to focus on the keychain. The little cartoon version of Snow White flows up at her, and Emma clasps it to her chest. Leave it to her mother to give a hope speech when she’s not even there.

 She needs to get to Killian, now. If she has magic, that means this is what’s going to get them to Storybrooke, and the life they’ve been living for the last couple weeks is about to drastically change. She checks the time, calculating that by the time she makes it back, Killian should just be getting home from the bookstore.

 Much like the day she walked home from the hotel the first time, the journey back to the apartment is filled with a sense of urgency. She bursts through the front door, calling out for Killian before she’s fully closed it.

 “What is it, Swan?” His concern is evident as she rounds the corner, straight to where he’s standing and into his waiting arms. “Are you all right, love?”

 “It was Walsh,” she manages to say, “but also a flying monkey. I know that sounds crazy but that’s what he looked like.”

 “You’re hugging Captain Hook, darling. Nothing sounds crazy. But what happened? Where is he?”

 “He’s gone. I got him with a good, old-fashioned shot of magic, thanks to a little helper.” Emma leans back and holds up her keys so that the little Snow White is dangling between their faces. “I think we found our way home.” She tosses the keys onto the island, turning to lightly grip the lapels of the waistcoat Killian is wearing.

 “That’s brilliant!” With how excited he sounds, Emma’s proud of herself for still picking up on the slight disappointment she hears.

 “We could stay,” she offers. She looks down to her hands, fiddling with the fabric between her fingers and running one down the chain of his necklace.

 “Swan, we couldn’t, and you know that.”

 “I know, but I just – I don’t want anything to change. I like us just the way we are right now. Who’s to say when we’ll get a moment of peace from now on? Isn’t this the way it goes? We’ll be hitting the ground running as soon as we cross that town line.”

 “Emma,” Killian says, tilting her chin to look at him again. “You know how I feel about you. Neither my feelings nor I will be going anywhere anytime soon. No matter what happens, I’ll be beside you.”

 In situations such as this, Emma is terrible with words. So she responds with action instead. She leans forward, pressing her lips to his in what was supposed to be a simple kiss, but she gets caught up in the way he cups the back of her head and delves a little deeper. He hums low, and she thinks about resisting, but her blood is still pumping way too fast from the encounter with a flying freaking monkey so if this gets a little out of hand, she’s perfectly okay with that.

 “Your thoughts right now are pretty loud, Swan, but your son will be home in an hour. Do we have enough time?”

 She considers it for barely a second before replying. “Yes, because who knows when we’ll have a moment alone again.”

 They take advantage of every quiet minute they can, savoring the calm before the chaos that they’ll have to incite to set their course back to Storybrooke. Killian, without saying the words, reminds her how he feels with every contact of his skin to hers. She tries to tell him in every kiss, every soft sigh, every whispered request that she feels the same way.

 If tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day bring a cacophony of whatever it is they’re about to walk into, then this time they take for themselves is everything she could’ve asked for.

 Killian puts himself back together faster than Emma does, afterwards, and she lounges on the bed while she watches him finish up the buttons on his shirt. It’s only once he decides to put a vest back on that she clambers up on slightly unsteady legs, standing before him and doing those buttons up for him. He doesn’t need her to do it, she just knows that it’s her fault he had to pick the one that takes more work because she knocked one of the clasps off of the other one in her haste to get him naked earlier.

 His hand eases along her side as she works, his eyes fixed on her face and his bottom lip caught under his teeth as he watches her. She doesn’t say anything, just finishes her task and gives him a kiss on the cheek before sending him out with a request for grilled cheese tonight. A little comfort will go a long way in easing her tonight.

 She makes a list of the quick and easy things they can accomplish while Henry is in school tomorrow. Killian will have to let the bookstore owners know, and they’ll have to pack. She doesn’t want to have to send for their stuff to be packed and sent, so she figures they can just take as much as they can and alert the landlord. Everything else, she figures, is replaceable. They’ll have the important stuff with them, and all their clothes.

 By the time the weekend comes around, Emma and Killian have packed everything they want to salvage from the apartment, from this life they’ve built over family dinners and with calm affection. They rent a small trailer they hitch to the back of the bug and repeat the steps they made after Emma first took the potion.

 This time, however, it’s with just as much urgency, but no panic. As they get ready to walk out the door, Emma picks her leather jacket up from the back of the kitchen chair she placed it on earlier. Sliding it on feels like sliding on the past, and she delights in the fact that she’s likely going to see her parents before the day is out. She looks around the space that was theirs, and marvels at how cold the rooms feel without the touches of them scattered around. For more than a year, this was her home, but she’s definitely ready to leave it. Even the plants are packed, at Killian’s insistence.

 The ride to Maine is thankfully peaceful, and not a single unseen creature follows their movements at any point during the journey. Unfortunately, the drive is just as long as it was the last time they made it, and she finds her thoughts wandering as she drives past scenery she’s sure to have memorized at this point. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Killian observing the landscape and fidgeting with his fake hand; he’ll likely have the hook back by the end of the week, and she’s almost looking forward to it.

 Some thought from the moment they were initially leaving town springs back into her memory, and Emma smiles as she thinks of the new joke: a savior, a pirate, and the truest believer are riding in a car… At least, this time she’s heading towards her future instead of away from it.

 Henry is asleep in the back seat once more, but this time when Emma pulls up to the location, the sign is there. The line is there. There’s just the faintest hints of a green fog hanging around the partition, but at least they can get back in. With one last deep breath, Emma shifts the car into gear and accelerates forward. At the last second, she holds out her hand to Killian. Their fingers link together just as they cross over into Storybrooke.

[notreallybusy]

A good catch (14/?)

On Tumblr:[Part1][Part2][Part3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8][Part 9][Part 10][Part 11][Part 12],[Part 13]

Also on:AO3, fanfic

Summary: Emma Swan is happy, she has her son, a good job and plenty of friends. Killian and Liam Jones arrive and Emma must re-evaluate her happiness. But there is more going on than meets the eye in the town of Storybrooke and Emma has to get to the bottom of it, but at what cost

Chapter 14 - Sleeping Buick

The Rabbit Hole wasn’t particularly helpful, that is she didn’t learn anything new. On the bright side she took spotting Jefferson at the bar calmly, managed to shakily ask him how Grace was doing before enquiring about Charles Teach. Jefferson almost looked concerned, “Old Charlie, usually quite a regular actually. About that time he got arrested he stopped coming in, thought maybe he took it as a wake-up call.”

Emma nodded, “We think maybe he left town then, or at least that is our best guess at the moment. Has John Silver mentioned him?”

Jefferson shook his head, “No, bit quieter but I assume that’s because he misses drinking with his friend.”

“He tried to assert they were just acquaintances when we questioned him,” Emma watched as Jefferson looked at her disbelieving.

“I don’t have any friends as close as they were to each other, so unless they had a falling out...”

Emma nodded, jotting down what he said. “Thanks Jefferson, let me know if you hear anything or if Silver happens to mention anything pertinent. He is probably just sore his buddy skipped town but I need to be sure.”

Jefferson nodded absentmindedly wiping down the bar in an almost laughably stereotypical way, “Will do. And Emma it was nice to see you, y’no like normal people.”

“You count me interrogating you about a missing barfly as normal?” Emma raised an eyebrow attempting to inject some comedy.

“Perhaps not,” Jefferson admitted. “But usually if something happens on one of my shifts David turns up.”

“Oh,” it hit Emma how well protected she had been by her friends. She remembered Ruby mentioning that she usually checked before they came to the bar but this must have been a complicated dance between all her friends. She remembered how many times Mary-Margaret practically forced her to let her take Henry home, was it because Jefferson would be collecting Grace? 

She looked up to Jefferson’s chagrined expression, “You didn’t realise,” he stated.

Emma shook her head, “Guess I’m ready to face it all now.”

“I’m glad,” Jefferson added. “Anyway, catch you in front of the school gates some time?”

She laughed, “I am sure you will.”

...............................................

As per usual Mary-Margaret had outdone herself. Emma shook her head at the food that was being prepared, “You know that this is supposed to be a casual meal with friends?”

Her friend blushed, “Well I missed you so I thought I would put a little effort in, you know um... TGIF Friday.”

“The F in TGIF means Friday Mary-Margaret and please never ever say that again,” Emma laughed.

“Well I stand by missing you,” Mary-Margaret said smiling before enveloping Emma in a crushing hug. “I hate that David knows more about you than I do sometimes... do you want to talk about it?”

She leaned out of the Kitchen to spot Henry who was happily playing with Leo and David in the lounge. “I don’t want Henry to know yet.”

Mary-Margaret nodded earnestly, “Of course, does he have any idea?”

“I told him Rumplestiltskin has a connection to his father, I didn’t say that I had seen him.”

“Rumplestiltskin?”

Emma huffed, “What is the point in coming up with code names if he isn’t going to use them.”

“Oh right I suppose that makes sense, spinning straw into... well you know.” Mary-Margaret mused, “Henry came up with it then?”

Emma nodded, “of course. Thinking of Henry, his birthday. I was thinking horse riding, you know for the ‘knight in training’.”

Mary-Margaret was suitably distracted recommending the father of one of the kids in Henry’s class, but when she returned from writing down his phone number she went back to business. Now however the business was Killian Jones, so Emma told her everything. Mary-Margaret was in heaven, long had it been her ambition to set up Emma with someone much to Emma’s constant annoyance. Not only was Emma seeing someone but he was romantic, almost putting David to shame with their epic first date. Even just descriptions of their lunches had her reeling, and so with tears in her eyes she looked hopefully at Emma, “He sounds perfect Emma, finally someone who might deserve you.” Then her tone changed, “We need to have him round for dinner.”

Emma rolled her eyes, “Please calm down, I like this guy I don’t want to scare him off with you pretending to be my mother.”

Mary-Margaret playfully batted her away, “Its going to happen. Also I was planning on doing a spot of hunting next weekend, want to join?”

“You think I’m ready?” After one practice with Mary-Margaret and the bows she was finding it hard to believe she was ready to shoot something.

Mary-Margaret nodded, “You don’t have to shoot anything if you don’t want, but it might be nice to have company and its a bit hard for David to join me now with the baby and everything.”

“I’d love to, suppose David could be a babysitter then?” 

“Yay! I’ll lend you some gear and of course David will look after Henry. What trouble are they getting up to in there?”

Emma leaned back again to survey the group, “Leo appears to be part of some kind of game that involves flying him around the room like a superhero.”

Mary-Margaret’s eyes widened, visions of potential disaster flashing before her eyes, “You know forget I even asked.”

Dinner was great, she felt closer to Mary-Margaret and it was the best she could offer by way of a family for Henry. It was at the end of dinner that she noticed her little boy drifting off, “Maybe its time we take this party animal home.”

She took him home and put him to bed, he went with little protest. After tucking him in and spending much too long watching him sleep she went to the living room. She made herself a hot chocolate and curled up on the couch ready to settle in for some shitty life-time movie until she felt tired enough to sleep. Emma pulled out her phone and saw a few alerts from her security system, she hadn’t even looked at her phone at dinner. Shit, she got up and grabbed her gun. It was the sensor in her bedroom that had been activated, it was only an hour and a half ago. What if they were still here?

She went up, checking Henry’s room first careful not to disturb him. Last thing he needed was his Mom panicking him over nothing, with a gun in her hand no less. That room was all clear so she went to the bedroom, to most people it would look untouched but Emma knew better. She was a little messy but she had a very good memory and her mess had been disturbed. She walked around carefully checking any hiding places before exhaling deeply, whoever was here had definitely left. She calmly checked her hiding spot for all the documents related to the case, it had not been disturbed. She replaced the box and made sure it was secure before going downstairs. She checked the feed from the camera’s on her phone.

Sure enough she saw a figure enter her window on the camera, deftly making their way around her room while disturbing very little. They were thorough, hood up the whole time and wearing black gloves, they checked most of the places people leave valuables before going downstairs. Disturbingly the figure spent quite a long time standing at the entrance to Henry’s room, they didn’t enter probably weighing up the probability that anyone would hide anything in their kid’s room and deciding not. The figure went down the stairs conducting a search quickly and carefully but obviously coming up with nothing. This was no burglar that was for sure. They even pulled out her laptop, and spent quite some time on it before putting it away. Did this mean they were able to get past its security? Their only mistake was when they had finished their search, the figure stood outside Henry’s room once again, then pulled out their phone, in the process the hood fell down. They turned talking animatedly on the phone to someone and she saw their face. She swore out loud. It was Neal, he had been in her loft... and now he knew about Henry. Would he put two and two together?

Emma was suddenly very afraid, the very thing she had been worried about, what if he wanted Henry? She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to process this, this was never supposed to be a reality. Why couldn’t she have bumped into him again and have him be reformed, moved on and maybe even with someone. Instead he was the same... maybe worse, the reality was she had no way of knowing. 

Emma didn’t sleep, or at least she drifted off for all of five minutes before Henry was standing over her, “Why are you sleeping here? And why are you still in your clothes?”

Emma stretched her head pounding from lack of sleep, “I just couldn’t sleep kid. Do you mind putting on some coffee for me?”

“Okay,” Henry said slowly, clearly completely unconvinced.

She rubbed her eyes then called David quickly as she heard Henry banging around in the kitchen. 

“Hey Emma.”

“Hey David, I have a problem.”

“What is it?” his voice full of concern.

Emma sighed, “Neal was here last night, I caught it.  He was searching my place, he didn’t find out anything about the case but...”

“Henry,” David interrupted.

“Yeah well he knows he exists now, who knows what else. What the hell do I do?” Panic seeped into her voice.

David was quiet for a beat, “What can we do? I mean we just have to make sure someone is always with him, his window is bolted right?”

“So was mine, it didn’t stop Neal. He is a cat burglar since way back, I used to help him for gods sake. I’ll look into it though at least for his window.”

“What about camp, I mean Mary-Margaret will be there, you and I both know she could protect him and do you really want to pull him out?”

Emma felt sick, “I want to yes absolutely, but he will hate me and the only reason he was here was me  and this investigation. He is just as much at risk if I keep him here.”

“So yes to camp and no more Henry wandering off when he likes?”

“No, I’ll let Regina know.” Emma wished she could expand the circle of people who knew about this but it was too risky.

“Are you okay?” David asked hesitantly.

“I spent the whole night sitting on the couch running through every worst case scenario, I must have checked on Henry fifty times. At least we can get Neal for breaking and entering right?.”

David’s response mimicked her own feelings, “Its just not worth it.”

Just then Henry came in the room completely covered in flour, “Mom I might need your help, you feel like pancakes?”

Emma laughed despite how shitty she was feeling, “Gotta go David. I’ll be in in a second Henry.”

“Its going to be okay Emma,” David reassured.

“I hope so,” Emma replied gloomily before putting down the phone and going into the kitchen to help Henry.

She tried to forget, really she did. But she felt like she was on the edge of a heart attack all weekend, not once was Henry out of her sight, except for bathroom breaks and sleep times (that would be a step too far). She tried to act normal and happy, and although a part of her was always happy to spend time with her son she was mentally and physically exhausted by the end of the day. They spent an inordinate amount of time in the hardware store as Emma tried to figure out the best way to make his window more secure. And Emma even managed a small smile when she demonstrated to him why she needed to improve the lock on his window by breaking into his room when the window was locked. Worryingly she had never seen him more proud of her, after she fixed the window she even taught him how to pick a lock, with of course the strict proviso that this skill was only to be used for good and not evil. 

If Henry noticed her overprotectiveness he kept it to himself, even when he found her sleeping on an armchair outside his door because she couldn’t stand to leave him unguarded. Camp was certainly going to be fun. 

Killian had been texting her all weekend, he had cottoned on that something was wrong from her useless monosyllabic answers but he hadn’t got annoyed or made her tell him. Instead sending her ridiculous animal pictures and marvel memes some of which she had shared with Henry. It might have been what got Henry to let her weird behaviour slide, that even when she was obviously worried about something she wasn’t pushing Killian away. 

“So you and Killian are like a thing now?” Henry prodded.

Emma raised an eyebrow, “You might have to be a little more specific.”

“Like... y’no.... together like in love and stuff.”

Emma snorted in a not so very ladylike manner, “Jumping a little ahead of me there kid.” She smiled at her blushing son, “I like Killian, I like spending time with him. I hope maybe one day I can call it that but in the end you are the number one man in my life.”

Henry rolled his eyes at her, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m happy for you Mom, you’re getting better, letting people in. Even with whatever is happening it the moment.” He looked at her with a knowing smirk she couldn’t help but attribute to Neal. “Sleeping outside my room is a crazy move even for you, you don’t have to tell me if you can’t. I trust you.”

“Please stay like this forever,” she kissed his head. She marvelled at his understanding,  she couldn’t really compare Henry to herself. By his age she had learned to be automatically distrusting of all adults, something that had stayed with her. Not one to give herself kudos, she was glad he felt safe and happy enough to have that attitude as much as it scared her. She started to prepare dinner, “So if I tell you Mary-Margaret might be a smidge hover-y at camp you won’t hate me?”

“I couldn’t,” he said confidently before he narrowed his eyes at her, “How bad is she going to be?”

They both laughed. After Dinner was simmering away Emma helped Henry to pack his bag reading off the schools recommended list but adding some pop-tarts and candy to keep him going, his hyperactivity was not going to be her problem she sniggered. 

.....................................

When Emma dropped Henry off at school she waited until they started to file on to the bus, giving him an embarrassing kiss goodbye before going to talk to Mary-Margaret who was diligently directing students to the right bus. “I assume David talked to you?”

Mary-Margaret nodded, “I will make sure that he is always with someone Emma. I will do all I can.”

“Half of me wants to just take him home.”

Mary-Margaret was momentarily distracted telling a student where to take their duffel. When she looked back at Emma she could see the empathy in her eyes, “Can you guarantee it would be any safer? He broke in for information right?”

Emma nodded, “I can’t, and he did. Henry is a smart kid.”

“You are his mother so I assume he is kinda prepared.”

“I told him what to watch out for, so he is prepared as much as someone can be not knowing what they are supposed to be afraid of... if in doubt scream bloody murder.” Emma shook her head remembering Henry deciding the best way to show its effectiveness was by demonstrating in the apartment last night.

“We will keep him safe Emma.”

“I know,” Emma smiled as brightly as she could. “Its probably going to be nothing.”

Mary-Margaret nodded before getting caught up in a flurry of students. Emma waved as she left, “Have fun!”

She got some coffee for herself and David before trudging up to the office. David looked at her sympathetically, “You okay?”

“Its not even all this,” she said gesturing to the station. “That’s just icing on the cake. Its just missing him for a week, a whole week David. I get withdrawal after a weekend.”

“Believe me I get it, but selfishly part of my issues might be the extra child care.”

“I can bring dinner over tomorrow of you like?”

David smirked, “No romantic plans with Killian.”

“Not tomorrow.” She said cryptically. Truthfully they had plans Wednesday night. She was on call tonight and on Thursday just in case something happened, it rarely did. So she had two nights to fret about what Wednesday meant.

“Well then, I would be very glad of your company and food tomorrow. I am sure Leo will be too.”

Emma smiled and got to work distracting herself from her empty house, every so often she would reassure herself how much fun Henry must be having. Emma had never been on a school camp before, no-one was going to pay for a foster kid or group home brat to go.  She once almost went camping, before that family sent her back to the group home... but she imagined it would be amazing. Emma was sure she would be hearing all about its amazingness in a few days. 

The thought buoyed her through the day until she went home, to a quiet house, which normally wouldn’t bother her. Quiet being kind of a commodity for a single mom but knowing there was four nights of this was a bit tough. Emma reheated some leftovers and sat herself in front of the TV, catching up on her Netflix queue. After dinner she turned her attention to her investigation, it was just background really comparing logs from shipments that she actually had to store inventory. Tedious work and not exactly helpful. She was happy for the distraction when Killian began to text.

K: Not too lonely I hope?

She sighed at her empty living room, she was struggling not to just give up and call Henry but the reassuring text she got from Mary-Margaret about half an hour ago was keeping her sane, slightly. 

E: MM tells me he is having fun. Me... not so much

K:Anything I could do ;)

Emma scoffed out loud at his suggestion, able to perfectly picture the look on his face as if he was saying it in person.

E: What are you doing?

K: Waiting for a certain woman to just give in. Liam left this morning.

E:I’m on call so you may get kicked out at any time...

His response was practically instant.

K: on my way

Emma thought she may injure her cheeks for smiling, it wasn’t even ten minutes later she heard a knock on the door. She opened the door and they stood for a minute just smiling at each other before Emma yanked him in by the lapels of his leather jacket and started to kiss him. She didn’t look fancy, a loose braid, some leggings and her favourite baggy top. But if he had even noticed he didn’t care, pushing her up against one of the support beams and briefly releasing her mouth so he could kiss a line up her jaw to her ear. She moaned when he found the spot behind her ear that drove her mad, making him pull back with a satisfied smirk before kissing her quickly and hard on the mouth once more. 

He pulled back and somewhat breathily spoke, “If we are not careful love you are going to ruin all my plans for Wednesday.”

She ignored him kissing him again with fervour one hands toying with the thatch of chest hair exposed by the buttons on his shirt the other the hair at the nape of his neck. When she had him good and riled Emma pulled back. “Well it wouldn’t be good to be compromised if I get called in.”

“Minx, “ Killian said with a smirk.

She laughed, “So should we just curl up on the couch and watch something?”

Killian smiled, “I suppose so love.”

Emma let him pick something to watch and she grabbed some snacks. When she put them down on the coffee table he patted the seat beside him and before she knew it she was curled up against him with her head tucked under his chin. It was all painfully domestic... and kind of wonderful. 

“So how was your day?” She felt him press a kiss to her head as he asked.

She sighed, “Nothing to write home about. Missing Henry even before I would have seen him anyway.”

“He is a lucky lad.”

She snorted, “Why?”

“Both of us understand why love, he is lucky to have a mum like you to miss him. And you are a brilliant mum by the way.” 

She turned to look up at him, as if checking he wasn’t making fun of her. She frowned, “You can’t really know that.”

“You think I’m taking the piss love, well I assure you I am not. You forget I have seen you with the lad, heard you talk about him, heard him talk about you. You are bloody brilliant.”

She couldn’t help but kiss him, needing to both thank him and tamp down the rising emotion. She ended up completely turned round straddling him and there she stayed having what could only be described as a teenager-esque make-out session. When they finally pulled away giggling slightly at the ridiculousness of it all, Killian cupped her cheek. “I think I could do that all night.”

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you into something more? You know I don’t need candles and romance Killian. And I don’t know whether you can tell..” She leant forward brushing her nose against his ear, “But I really want you.”

She could barely see the blue in his eyes, his pupils blown so wide then the onslaught of kisses all over her face and neck had her laughing (and gasping), “Just for that I am going to make you wait, forget minx I think I meant siren.”

They continued to watch the movie they had completely lost track of, and by the end Emma happily accepted Killian’s offer to stay, she had after all fallen asleep draped across his lap anyway. 

.....................

While the next morning Emma was fairly chipper, waking up in Kilian’s arms was very nice indeed. Coupled with the phone call she got from Henry which although short assured her he was having the best time ever, the same couldn’t be said for David. He looked like a man who had no know sleep in the past 24 hours.

 “Rough night?” Emma observed.

He rubbed his eyes, “He sensed my weakness and he exploited it. Unfortunately he gets to sleep the day away at day-care while I have to work.”

“They are pure evil at his age, Henry used to sense when I had a big day coming up. Perfect sleeper the rest of the time.”

“Mary-Margaret laughed, said I would appreciate her more now. I don’t know how you did it by yourself. I love Leo but he almost had me at the point of crying.”

“I don’t miss that,” Emma remembered being so tired and frustrated and alone she cried on her shitty kitchen floor begging Henry to just sleep, feeling like a complete failure and without someone to reassure her it was all going to be fine. “Did you want me to stay tonight, let you get a proper sleep?”

David smiled, “Only if you are sure.”

“Completely,” Emma replied confidently. “Anyway Henry called this morning, having the time of his life”

......................................

Later that day Emma joined David and baby Leo, Pasta bake in hand. One day and somehow the house looked like a bomb had hit it. After raising an eyebrow at the scene before her David began to tidy up while Leo played on his mat and Emma reheated the food. Dinner was nice and long after David sat down on the couch after putting Leo down to bed he himself was out like a light. Emma put away the dishes, covered him with a blanket and went into the spare room getting out her book and reading until she herself actually felt like sleeping. 

Leo certainly wasn’t in the mood for sleep when he started balling at one in the morning. Emma groaned and got up picking up the little man and rocking him gently in her arms. It turned out that soothing crying babies was something you never quite forgot. The wailing had woken David up too and he stumbled in looking dishevelled. Emma shook her head, “I got this, go get some sleep.”

He nodded, too tired to argue. Emma chuckled as he shuffled off to bed whispering to the calming baby in her arms, “He has had it too good for too long huh little one.”

To be fair Leo went back to sleep after that and when Emma went into his room at around six he was sitting up quite awake as if waiting for someone to come and get him. She scooped him up in her arms nuzzling his nose with hers, “You done torturing your Dad now little man.”

She took the baby into the kitchen and put him in his high chair while she made breakfast, occasionally chatting to the little boy. When David came in she was attempting to feed him some of the homemade baby food from the fridge while sipping at her coffee. David smiled at the two of them and Emma pointed at the pot, “Coffee is hot.”

“I can’t tell you how much I owe you for this, I feel like a different man.”

Emma shrugged, “He was only up the once.” She tuned to the chubby bubba in the chair and started to talk to him bopping him on the nose as she talked in typical baby voice, “Not nearly as evil as Henry, no no you aren’t.”

David laughed as he poured himself a cup of coffee, eyes widening as he noticed the bacon buttie on the bench. “You have shown me up completely.”

Emma shrugged, “I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it a little, I miss Henry being that little sometimes... not all the time obviously. But the older he gets the less he is going to need me, and he is kinda all I have.”

“Well that’s a lie if I ever heard one,” David said clearly unimpressed.

Emma shrugged, “You know what I mean, I love you guys and you are pretty much family but at the end of the day you have a family.”

David shook his head, “Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of yours. I promise you whether Henry goes to college on the other side of the country or moves away I will always be here for you, always.”

Emma nodded, “I wasn’t fishing for anything.”

“I know which is all the more frustrating, don’t you say anything like that to Mary-Margaret.”

Her heart clenched at the thought, she hadn’t meant to be hurtful but inevitably that is what it would be. She bit the inside of her cheek, self-pity felt awfully selfish sometimes. David didn’t hold it against her, “At any rate Henry isn’t going anywhere for a while, Leo make you clucky at all?” 

She raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you start on me too.”

He held up his hands pleading innocence, “I said nothing. Just innocently enquiring.”

“If I’m honest David I hadn’t thought I would have opportunity. I wouldn’t do it on my own again that’s for sure but until... I mean I didn’t think I would... Its too early to think about anyway.”

David was smiling at her wiping brown sauce from his mouth as he chewed a mouthful of his sandwich, basically letting her dig a hole. “So what you are saying is with the right person...”

“Maybe, yeah. If I found the right person then maybe.”

Her red face and admission seemed to placate him but she didn’t miss his amused grin as he finished his sandwich then got Leo ready for day-care. Emma couldn’t even believe the conversation had taken place, how she had entertained the idea at all. She felt a little sick, how had she got this deep? She left the house as fast as she could. Tonight she had a date with Killian, she needed to stop these thoughts from plaguing her all day, needed to stop imagining Killian as more than he was at the moment. They hadn’t even slept together for fucks sake.

She decided a hot chocolate would make her feel better so she stopped at Granny’s to grab herself one as well as a coffee for David and Lance who was back in today after a weekend with his friend Arthur in a town called Camelot about an hours drive away. He would no doubt be a grump today as he often was after visiting. She told him once to cut his losses and leave, she couldn’t understand why he would put his heart through the assault that was being in love with your best friends wife with no intention of doing anything about it. He had merely shook his head, spouting some nonsense about them needing him, that he couldn’t do it to either of them.

In truth Lance looked worse than usual she gently placed the cup of hot coffee in front of him, “Rough weekend?”

He looked up at her guiltily, “Sometimes Emma I wish I was strong enough to say no.” He noticed the cup, “Oh god you are a life-saver. I don’t think I deserve your kindness, self imposed misery and all.”

She shrugged, “Just don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to uphold.”

He chuckled softly and she went to place David’s coffee on his desk, he hadn’t made it in yet. When she looked back he had a faraway look in his eye, he took a sip of coffee then looked down at the cup like he was almost... upset. Emma frowned, she was sure that was how he took it, soy because he was a little lactose intolerant and with a shot of hazelnut. 

 Not long after David came in, yelling a quick thanks from his office, they got a call from a neighbouring towns sheriff, saying they may have found Charles Teach’s car. The town in question called Briarwood was over an hour away, Emma and Lance got the pleasure of going out there. They pulled up outside a little sheriffs station in a standalone building on the main drag. There were a few police cars outside and judging by the look of the town as they drove in it was a little more populated than Storybrooke or at least a lot bigger. The woman at the desk, a portly older lady who was knitting a ghastly pink confection turned her perfectly coiffed white hair and yelled for “PHILIP!” before turning back to them and regarding them from her half-moon spectacles as if she wasn’t convinced by the badges they had proffered already. 

Philip materialised quite quickly shaking his head, “Mary you could call my phone, or send them through.” He was English, a soft posh accent. She couldn’t help but compare it to Killian’s and decide it was not nearly as nice.

He looked at the two of them quizzically, Lance leaned forward hand outstretched, “Hi I’m Lance Knight and this is Emma Swan, we are the deputies from Storybrooke.”

Recognition dawned on his and he shook Lance’s hand before doing the same to Emma, it was a firm handshake which made Emma like him at least a little more. “Sorry Mary should have sent you right through, should I just show you the vehicle first?”

“First?” Emma frowned.

Philip went to open his mouth then closed it wiggling his head around like he was weighing something up, “Yeah its easier if I just show you. You want a ride or just want to follow?”

Emma made the decision before Lance could open his mouth, “We will follow thanks.”

Philip led them just out of town before turning onto a dirt road trail before stopping the car. They parked behind him and got out, he walked to the side of the road and pointed at the undergrowth. Within it you could just make out the back of a car. “A local noticed it on the weekend, they checked there wasn’t anyone in it but otherwise left it.”

Emma hopped down the ditch at the side of the road before climbing up into the bush to inspect it closer, “There aren’t any plates, how did you figure out it was Teach’s?”

She could hear the smugness in his voice, “Ahh well, there is no plate or registration but under one of the seats was an old receipt for the registration and we ran it through the computer and the alert came up.”

Emma nodded to herself before climbing into the car, growth around the car made it look like it had been there for a few weeks and inside there wasn’t much in there to write home about. To all intents and purposes the car had been cleared out, not very well it seems. She yelled out the open car door, “Aside from the receipt, you guys bag up anything else?”

“There wasn’t anything to bag up really, it even looked clean.” His voice was getting closer and he appeared at the car door, “I wouldn’t have thought much of it really, just some idiot dumping a car except...” He leaned forward and pointed at the dash where she could see scratched plastic then ignored most polite rules of personal space and flicked open the hood. Excitedly he got out not talking again until he was at the front of the car, “For those.”

Emma sighed at his enthusiasm and got out to see was he was talking about, there too was just scratch marks, “someone got rid of the VIN numbers so it would be hard to identify.”

“Exactly,” Philip said looking immensely proud of himself, “I thought it was a bit more effort than people usually go to so I searched the car and found the receipt, it was partially hidden by the carpet in the car.”

Emma bit back a sarcastic remark about his superior investigation skills instead nodding, “Has the area around here been searched?”

“For what?” Philip frowned.

“The guy who owned the car, who skipped out on his court date. Asked around town or in the immediate area?”

Philip shook his head, “Figured if he dumped it, he wasn’t going to stick around.”

“Probably but best to check, mind if we do or would you rather?”

Phillip shook his head, “No problem, I can help.”

Emma smiled, he was obviously a good guy. Emma needed to learn to be a little more forgiving, if this town was as dull as Storybrooke, Gold excluded, she would almost be as enthused at even a little detective work. Philip offered to ask at the properties closest to the car and Emma and Lance headed back to town. 

“What do you think?” Lance asked.

Emma pouted thinking it through, “I don’t know. I don’t think Teach was exactly flush with cash so dumping a perfectly good car was an odd choice, why not sell it and get some money for another. I mean the alert only went up last week, he could have sold it with no issue anytime before that. But that’s just what I would do, Charles Teach isn’t me.”

Lance nodded, “He must have had a ride already lined up then.

“Unless he didn’t leave.” 

Emma didn’t mean to sound morbid but the murders following Gold around had her thinking a certain way. Lance didn’t seem to take it that way anyway, “I can’t imagine he is stupid enough to be hanging around here.”

They went into every shop and restaurant, no one had any recollection of seeing Teach. When they went into the bar Lance went to use the restroom, Emma questioned the bartender. “Have you by any chance seen this man?” 

Emma held up Teach’s photo, the man shook his head. She went on the describe his manner, his car and why they were looking for him but to no avail. On a whim Emma pulled up an old photo of John Silver from his Facebook page, “What about this guy?”

The man frowned, Emma showed him a few more photo’s. The man nodded, “Yeah, miserable guy. Held his liquor well until he didn’t. Had to have him kicked out, almost called the police but he seemed like he had a bad enough day.”

She got his contact information in case she needed to call him, then walked outside waiting for Lance. She called David, “Hey we have his car it was cleaned out, someone tried to remove all the identification but did a sloppy job. The deputy here found a receipt and traced it back to our man”

Lance came out and she mouthed ‘David’ to him, he motioned that he would meet her at the sheriffs station, as he walked away she started talking again. “No-one in town recognised him, the Briarwood deputy is checking the properties around where the car was dumped but it looks like it was a while ago.”

“I can feel a but coming on,” David replied.

“But I asked the bartender if he had seen Silver on a bit of a whim, and he had.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, drunk and miserable was his description.”

“Hmm, well we will have to follow that up then. It doesn’t seem likely that Silver hasn’t seen him but managed to be in the exact town that his car got dumped.” She heard shuffling papers in the background, “Talk to Silver tomorrow, might be worth bringing him in actually.”

“Will do boss, we are probably going to head back now assuming that Philip the sheriff here doesn’t have any major news.” Emma doubted it, she had a feeling in her gut that didn’t bode well.

She meandered back to the sheriffs station, this time the lady at the desk let her through and she walked in to the main office. Lance was talking to Philip, she joined them but neither looked happy. “I talked to a few of the properties, no-one saw anything. They remember the car turning up a few weeks ago but hadn’t got round to doing anything about it.”

Emma  nodded, “It was good work, finding us.” She looked at Lance and for the weirdest reason decided not to tell him about Silver, he would find out tomorrow anyway. “We should be going anyway, nice to meet you Sheriff.”

She shook his hand again, “I’ll let you know if anything else turns up.”

Lance followed her out, “So another dead end?”

“Another piece of the puzzle I guess, hey I don’t know why but I have this feeling something bad might have happened to Teach.”

He looked surprised for a second, then his face showed a hint of anger, it was gone before she could really register what it was and whether it was even directed at her. “You think someone might have hurt him?”

“I don’t know but it just doesn’t feel right. I’ll look into any vehicle purchases in the area but...”

The ride back was okay, Lance recounted his weekend in excruciating detail. She merely shook her head at him while feeling more and more guilty about not telling him everything. It was pretty much home time when they got back and nervousness started to creep up on Emma. It was date night finally and it was of course stupid to be nervous. Only two nights ago they fell asleep in each others arms, but this was different, deliberate. And the anticipation was killing her, or more accurately if had turned her insides into a rolling storm, her mind into a tornado of worst case scenarios.  David winked at her as he wished her a good night, she merely scowled in return. Showtime.

[emmakillianfan]

Music of the Heart Chapter 46 of ?

Previous Chapters: FF.net and AO3

So a week from now I’m going to see A&E, JMo, and Colin talk about the new episode and I get to watch a screening of it. I’m so excited for that. But meanwhile he’s another chapter. Loving the theories of who Elsa’s stalker might be. This chapter looks at two theories. Thanks for all the feedback and comments!

Elsa peered out the window of her former townhome and winced at the sight of the beige car across the street. There was nothing that noticeable about the vehicle or the man. Neighbors probably thought he was simply waiting on someone. However, she knew the truth. He was a last minute add from Regina to her security detail, a former police officer who did freelance work for entertainers. Tall and rather unassuming with his barely moving facial features, he had introduced himself and then asked her if she had any special requests or plans.

“It’s creepy,” Anna said from her spot at the kitchen island, a plate of freshly baked cookies sitting before her. “Not having a bodyguard. I think that’s kind of neat, actually. It’s certainly a sign that you’ve made it big. But you looking out the window at him looking for danger against you? That’s creepy.”

Elsa let the floral curtain drop back into place and spun back to face her sister. “You’re welcome to have your own 24/7 guard. I’m not sure that I understand the theory of having a man sitting outside like a stalker to protect me from another stalker. That’s what’s creepy.”

Anna had unwound her hair from her usual plaited style, the amber tresses flowing in a subtle waving pattern down her back. While some liked to tease her about the sometimes childish fascination with braids, she actually looked younger with the thick mane framing her lightly freckled face. Cookie and a glass of milk in hand didn’t help her maturity.

“He’s here to protect you. I for one am grateful for that. I mean could you imagine if something happened to you? I wouldn’t be okay, Elsa. I can’t be an only child. Who would I talk to? Sing with? Enjoy eating cookies with? You’re not actually eating the cookies, but you understand my point. We’re sisters. We have to look out for each other. Do you not like these cookies? You helped make them. If you wanted something different, you should have said.”

Resisting the natural tendency to roll her eyes, Elsa reached over and grabbed a cookie, taking a dramatic bite of it before swallowing. “See. I like the cookies.”

“He seems nice. Your bodyguard. Maybe we should invite him.” While the sisters had first gathered to talk about the security concerns, go through the playlist for possible songs that Elsa could cover alone during Anna’s self-imposed pregnancy break, and just enjoy some time together, it had turned more domestic. Conversation was about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday that Mary Margaret and David were hosting. The sisters had been tasked with helping with the menu planning, something they were discussing in earnest.

“To Thanksgiving?”

Anna gave her sister an annoyed glare. “Of course. Even if they have caught your stalker by then. It’s a nice gesture, right? He doesn’t have good taste in car colors, but he’s good otherwise. I have been thinking about colors a lot lately for the baby’s room. I was thinking to go with gender neutral. No pinks or blues, but then what if the baby really likes pinks or blues. Do you know if this bodyguard guy has a family? I could ask him. You know get a guy’s opinion other than Kristoff’s.”

“He’s probably got family. I’m sure he has other plans.”

If Elsa expected an argument to her theory, she didn’t get one as Anna moved on to the next topic of menu etiquette and whether Liam and Killian might be offended by the holiday’s traditions. Elsa provided few suggestions, but was not fully engaged in the conversation. For a while Anna pretended she was getting more than monosyllabic answers.

“Do you want to trash this and try something else?” Anna asked about one of the recipes she was pondering online. “I think I saw a similar one that didn’t include nuts. Maybe that would be better? Is anyone allergic?”

Elsa peeked through the crack in the curtains, straining her long neck to see. “Do you think I know this person? Or is he a fan?”

Anna lowered her pen slowly, thoughtfully running her perfectly white teeth over her bottom lip. “I have a theory about that, but you probably don’t want to hear it.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” Elsa bit into another cookie, her ice blue eyes studying her sister carefully. They had always been opposites in most regards. Elsa, an introvert and reserved leader, had their mother’s fair skin and hair. Anna’s rambunctiousness was just like their father, as were her wide set eyes and rust colored hair. Both had secretly envied the beauty of the other growing up, wondering how they could be related and yet so different.

“You remember that man I dated before Kristoff?” she asked, her voice sounding timid rather than confident. “Hans?”

“Hard to forget a guy so crazy he tried to kill us,” Elsa said sourly, biting again at the mint chocolate chip creation. “You haven’t heard from him, have you?”

“No, no, no,” Anna insisted, shaking her head violently at the idea. “He’s probably still lying on a psychiatrist’s couch recounting his childhood. But then I thought maybe not. Could he be the one stalking you? He didn’t really like you very much.”

***AAA***

Emma managed to drive Henry home unscathed, her anger simmering below the surface as he chatted over the events of the day and how Violet had kissed his cheek. Try as she might, she was struggling to come up with anything motherly to say about that display of affection. Thankfully he was not too aware of her distraction, his words falling out as fast as anything she had seen or heard.

“You’re not coming in?” He asked, hoisting the backpack over his shoulder and peering back into the car. “Do you have to work?”

“Not exactly. I just need to do something. Tell Killian I’m going to be late,” she said, leaning forward so she could meet his eyes. “And get your homework done before any screen time, okay?”

His lips were parted to argue, give some sort of snide reply to the idea of not being able to at least watch one television show or play one level of his latest video game obsession before tackling the history of Maine. He must have thought better of it, readjusting his bag on his shoulder. “See ya. Love ya.” It was their familiar refrain that she repeated back to him, only adding the word more to the end of it. He echoed it too, changing more to most before waving and darting up the couple of steps into the house.

He was growing up into what she hoped was a fine young man. He still believed in magic and hope, despite having been disappointed by people. It was a wonder, she thought, noting that she was the most cynical of all. He had a good heart and a friendly personality that won him lots of friends. And he was smarter than she could even imagine, having no problems in school at all. She and Neal were lucky. She hoped Neal realized that.

Making a wide turn with her small car, she drove back the few blocks to the center of town where Gold’s Pawn Broker and Rare Antiquities was still open at the corner just two streets from the library. Neal seemed to think that his time and energy were best served at the dusty old shop where his father’s hoarding obsession turned profitable on the rare occasion someone bought something. Most people treated the shop like some sort of museum, marveling over collections of outdated useless technology as art rather than for purchase.

She was not even sure what Neal did there all day other than dust and sweep an occasional trail through the room. So she was not surprised to find him absently running a cloth over the smudged glass of a display case full of antique costume jewelry. Finger prints and the ring of a cold drink had marred the surface, but his lazy strokes would not do much good.

“Neal!” she shouted over the guitar strums of an 80s rock tune playing loudly. “I want to talk to you.”

He rose from his stooped position, giving her that lopsided and yet coy smile that seemed to scream that he was ready to give as good as he got. “Ems, nice to see you. Is Henry with you?”

Her eyes narrowed over him, the pressed jacket and pants that while neat seemed too big for his frame. His stubble was more like a shadow on his jaw that an attempt at true facial hair. “No, he’s not. I didn’t want him to know about the conversation I had with Tamara today, Neal. I wanted to give you the opportunity to fix this situation.”

Neal was not known for his reactions or emotions, preferring to remain stoic or as Ruby described him – disinterested to the point of nearly being catatonic. “She said something, right? About the wedding and Henry?”

“You’re not even surprised,” Emma said with a sad shake of her head. “I doubt she’s self aware enough to come over here and tell you herself. I don’t think she even realizes how vapid and cruel she sounds when she says that he won’t look good with the other groomsmen for the pictures. Neal, I know we both agreed to move on from each other a long time ago. And I’m not trying to judge, but seriously? This is the woman you want to be Henry’s stepmother. I’m surprised she even knows his name.”

He exhaled loudly, his hands going up in front of him to ward off the tirade. “Whoa, Ems. Tamara is not like saint Killian, but she’s not the devil either. She’s just not the mothering type. Were you when you first had Henry? I get that. I accept that. Henry’s got a mother – you. At least she respects you enough not to try to compete. It hurts to see me with her. I get that. But Ems, we’re both trying to move on here. So she’s not super-mom. Henry likes her better now. It’s going to be fine.”

She could not even look at him, focusing her green eyes on the old typewriter in the corner. It was missing a few keys, but one could picture great writers pounding out their souls and life’s works onto it. There was something sad and yet proud about the machine that it seemed time had forgotten there on a shelf in the shop. “You know this isn’t about my opinion on her. It’s about her saying the wrong thing to my kid. It’s about her destroying him with some comment about how his suit doesn’t match the rest of you. It’s about her making him feel unwelcome in what should be his second home.” She rocked back, eyes narrow and daring him to challenge her. “He’s a kid. Your son. And while he is loving and sweet now, he won’t always forgive us, Neal. He’s going to remember these days. And when he’s in a relationship or having children of his own, he’s going to remember how it felt to watch his parents navigate through being single parents and dating and now marriage. I don’t’ know about you, but I want my son to remember that I never for one second made him doubt that he comes first in my life. Can you say the same?”

“Ems…”

“God, I hate that name,” she said, softening a bit as she saw his brown eyes squeeze shut in that way he had about him. For a moment she was 17 again and listening to him explain how they could have the world if she would only just trust him. With that memory came

“Emma,” he enunciated carefully. “Emma, I love Henry. And I love…It’s just hard, you know? Tamara and I both come from money. There’s expectations with that. All this pressure. It’s not easy to fit Henry into that. Her parents are not thrilled that I have a son. These are things you don’t…”

“I don’t understand, right? The little lost girl doesn’t know what it’s like to have family breathing down your neck. You know what, I don’t want to hear how her family and your father are taking over your wedding plans. I don’t care. What I do care about is how you’re going to explain to your son that you chose a wedding over him. Not a wife but a wedding.” She waited a beat for him to stop her, explain why she was wrong. “Fine. You have Henry for dinner on Wednesday. You can explain to him then why he’s not welcome at your wedding. Make it a good excuse, Neal. He’s growing up and can spot a lie just like I can these days.”

***AAA***

With Henry tucked under a blanket on the couch and surrounded by three textbooks about American History, Killian gave a nod to his soon to be stepson and stepped out through the side door onto the deck where his brother was waiting. The two brothers had spent very little time together lately, as both busily planned tours, weddings, and weekend getaways between hurried texts and dropped phone calls.

“I’ve always admired the view here, brother,” Liam said, leaning on his elbows over the railing toward the muted gray sky and water. “You did quite well for yourself to find this lovely house.”

Killian took the spot beside him, staring toward the shore lights that blinked back at him. “You know, Emma has been talking of finishing that space above the garage. She was thinking a music space. However, we could convert it to a small flat for you should Elsa ever kick your arse out.”

“I suppose if Elsa wasn’t with me that’s where you would have shoved me, right?” The older of the two accepted the extra bottle of beer from his brother and held it firmly without taking a single sip. “I don’t mean that. You and Emma have been gracious. I knew that she is a lovely lass both inside and out, but you are a lucky bloke, brother. You have a nice little family here with her and with Henry. I hope you know that.”

Lips still pressed together, Killian grinned out toward the lights. “That I do, but I wouldn’t say you were down on your luck either. Elsa is brilliant and seems to adore you for whatever reason.” His grin widened. “She is coming back tonight, right?”

Liam’s laugh was tight as he finally turned up the bottle briefly. “Aye, she seemed so happy to see Anna that I suggested they spend some more time together while Kris is off working or some such. She promised to call so I can escort her back. I don’t feel that comfortable with the idea of her out alone.”

“Perhaps we should consider similar precautions for you?” Killian turned his back to the expansive view and settled onto the built-in bench with his head cocked to look directly at his brother’s profile. “So tell me about this trip to the flower shop. Any clue as to who could be causing all this?”

“That Graham chap has theories, but no solid leads. I can’t quit thinking about it. Why would someone do this? What would they have to gain by attempting to woo her and hurt me?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a good answer, mate. While I frequently imagined pummeling you as a child, I can’t quite fathom that much hate in your regard now. Didn’t Graham ask you to come up with some possible suspects of your own? Some people you may have pissed off over the years? Even some of those sailors who may have been passed up for promotion in turn for you? As much as I love you, I’m sure there are no shortage of possibilities.” He noted the sour look on Liam’s face with his own chuckle. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Liam said, softer than either expected. “Killian, I have been thinking and wondering. I don’t want to bring this to the attention of our local sheriff, but…”

“Sounds as though you have a conspiracy theory.”

“Of sorts. I was thinking about father.”

Killian had been about to take a sip of his own beer when he sputtered at his brother’s revelation. Still holding the bottle, he frowned. “What the bloody hell for? I assure you that he’s not thinking of us.”

“Perhaps not,” Liam agreed, still staring into the distance and not at Killian. His sweater rode up a bit as he stooped more against the rails. “That son he has now. He’s what 16? 17?”

“I think it’s more like 19. He met that lass about 20 years ago and married her about 19. I think she was expecting at the time.” Realization hit Killian boldly. “You don’t think?”

“Aye, I was just considering the possibility. That flower bloke did say the man said his name was Liam and spoke with an accent. Mighty big coincidence, don’t you think? Perhaps it wasn’t one though.”

“And what reason would this half-brother of ours have in causing you harm? We’ve never so much as laid eyes on the lad except in that bloody prep school graduation announcement that was sent to us. Looks more like his mum if I recall correctly. I’d be more likely to believe old Brennan himself was behind it before his son.” It was somewhat of an understanding that both Liam and Killian avoided their younger brother’s name, as it seemed too much like their father was replacing them. Killian had little doubt that had the new Mrs. Jones had another child his name would have been Killian.

“Father doesn’t match the description of the flower store. But our younger brother just might.”

“But what would be the reason? If any of us have an issue with the whole family it should be us. That man abandoned us when we were vulnerable. He married another woman and attempted to paint himself as a family man after that. His son is the golden child, gifted and probably spoiled.”

Liam said nothing as he drank from the bottle again, turning his gaze back to the house and through the glass doors toward Henry. The 13-year-old was settled on the couch with one leg sticking out from the knitted throw. His sock covered foot was on the stack of bridal magazines that Mary Margaret had left and Emma had yet to read. “Did you know I heard from father about two years ago? I was still in the navy.”

“Did you answer him?” Killian asked, sounding accusatory with his angry eyes narrowing at his brother. Liam had always been so against contact with their father, even after the man had made a half hearted attempt years before to reconcile. “Did you?”

“He was ill,” Liam said vaguely, his pale blue eyes closing. “I think the booze and hard living finally was too much for the gaffer. Seems his liver was shot. Needed part of mine.”

“And you…”

“I ignored the email. Who the bloody hell asks for such a thing over email? He barely even asked after me, never even mentioned you at all. Then he asks for a part of my body. I deleted it. I couldn’t…I couldn’t face it.” Turning back toward Killian, his features were turned down in a sad state of confused agony. “He should have died, but I suppose they found the git a donor because he’s still alive.”

“And our brother…”

“Wasn’t a match,” Liam concluded, looking for all the world like the 15-year-old explaining life to his younger brother. “He wrote not long after, called me all sorts of names for not wanting to help. Said I was not his brother and never would be.”

“And you never told me this before?”

Liam seemed to snort as he buried his chin against his own chest. “I don’t know, Killian. I suppose I thought it best to ignore it. I didn’t want to think about how we should have done more to save our brother from Brennan Jones. We ignored the warning signs and left the lad to be raised by a man who abandoned us. Or perhaps I was jealous. Wondered what it was that made the second Liam so special as to keep our father around. But we weren’t. Were we honestly that flawed?”

***AAA***

When Emma was first promoted at work, friends had encouraged her to find a new car. Something more reliable, safer, fuel efficient, and more luxurious would be better suited for the single mother and music industry executive. However, she had resisted, citing her car’s long history and her love of the little yellow compact that had seen her through every rough moment in her life. After an unfortunate stay in jail as a juvenile it was her sole possession, along with a newborn son and freshly printed GED. She didn’t like to admit to having slept in the seats, eaten more meals than she could count, and even falling in love with Neal as they drove aimlessly and determinedly away from what both had deemed crappy childhoods.

It had driven her from a barely there existence back toward Neal and the promise that he could and would be a father for Henry. And just as she was doing now, she had sat in it and stared at the weather worn façade of Gold’s shop and waited on divine intervention years before. Smoothing down an errant cowlick on her son’s head, she had trooped him into the shop under the guise of building bridges toward family. The man had taken it as a sign of weakness, of her crawling back in search of money for her son. She had fought that assumption as best she could.

“Okay so this is creepy,” Ruby said, sliding into the seat next to her. “Are you stalking Neal or are we just having a good pout?”

“Neither,” Emma said, accepting the throw away cup of hot chocolate from her friend. “Just thinking.”

“Do I want to know? I mean I am here for you and love you as a sister, Emma, but Neal is not my favorite person or topic of conversation. I have such respect for you, but seriously. That was an odd combination.” Ruby flipped down the visor on the passenger side and ran her pinky around her lips to check her lipstick. “It was the sex, right? It had to be the sex because the guy’s not exactly the most intellectual, a good conversationalist, and he was running away from his daddy’s money at that point. So it was good sex. That’s why you hooked up with him.”

“I think 14 years is a bit too long ago to kiss and tell.”

“Fine, so the guy’s a dud. So why are you looking like this. You didn’t kill him did you? I mean I would totally go help you hide the body, but I need details.”

“He’s still around, but I basically just told him that he sucks as a father,” Emma said, her eyes falling to the steering wheel. “I mean who am I to do that?”

“You’re Henry’s mother, that’s who,” Ruby exclaimed boldly. “You have been with that boy since day one. And you have seen Henry with his so called father.”

“I’m not perfect. I make mistakes too. I’m pretty much the model for absentee mothering lately with my fiancé helping to raise my child. That’s not good parenting or even normal. My kid is in therapy fears and anxieties about me being around and what do I do? I go on weeks long road trips to book semi-talented musical groups. They should lock me up for that.”

Ruby twisted in the cramped seat, facing her friend the best she could and crossing her bare arms over her tightly covered chest. “Is that what that jerk said to you? Emma, you are a single mother. You have a job that requires a lot, but you manage to do it and raise your son. Do you honestly think anyone could do better?” One hand flew out and hovered a few inches from Emma’s parted lips to stop her. “Wait! Before you answer that, tell me something. Is Henry having nightmares about losing Neal? No, he’s having them about you. Because you are his mother. You are his one true parent here in this situation. And who is the one dealing with those nightmares?”

Despite the close quarters Emma flopped back against the seat covering. “Me. And Killian’s been pretty great about it too. Neal’s not been bad exactly…”

“Just distracted, right? Isn’t that the excuse you used for him before? He’s distracted by his wedding. He’s distracted by the pressure his father puts on him. He’s distracted by running a shop that barely has enough business to stay open in a normal town. When is he going to be distracted by being a father?”

“Fair questions,” Emma admitted. “I guess I don’t have the answers.”

Ruby nodded, shifting her gaze out the windshield at the darkened shop. “So we’re watching what exactly? Is he in there?”

“Yeah, I guess I was trying to make myself feel better that I confronted him tonight. Maybe if I saw him upset or looking at a picture of Henry or something. But that’s what you see in the movies, not in real life.”

“I agree that’s a tall order, but Emma, you can’t put that on yourself. Henry’s fine. He’s a good kid with a mother who loves him and would fight dragons to protect him. And if I have any of my grandmother’s sense people then I will say that he’s got a future stepfather who is almost equally as devoted to your son. Maybe your confrontation will kick some sense into Neal or maybe it won’t. But what matters is that you are trying to make things better for that kid. You and I both know what it’s like to grow up without parents. Henry’s got so many of us pulling for him that he’s never going to want for love.”

Leaves scattered on the pavement, a sign that fall was in full swing with the brisk air blustering in from the west. Emma and Ruby both watched silently for a moment. “You’re a good friend, Ruby. Especially for bringing me hot chocolate.”

Rolling her eyes upward and flipping her thick dark hair over her shoulder, Ruby sighed. “I know. I know. I’m a freaking saint. So let me offer one more piece of advice. Go home. Get in bed with that fiancé of yours after hugging your son goodnight. Forget about Neal. He’ll be a good father or he won’t. You can’t force people to do the right thing.”

Emma handed her friend back the empty cup with a wry smile and a mocking salute. “Got it, boss,” she said. “You really do sound like your grandmother sometimes.”

***AAA***

Henry skimmed the paragraph again, hoping the words would find their way into his brain with minimal effort. While he loved most all his classes, he was not in the mood to read about the advancing British army during the Revolutionary War. Killian often called him perceptive, noting that he picked up on things around him way too easily and tended to internalize them. The drive home was a prime example, his mother’s tense and yet concerned tone giving credence to his worries. And now Killian and Liam whispering on the deck seemed to indicate more secrets in the household.

“Anything the matter?” Liam asked, the first to enter back into the expansive living space. He rubbed his hands together swiftly after dropping the empty beer bottle into the recycling. “You look as though you ate something that disagreed with you, mate.”

“I’m fine,” he lied, ignoring the vibration of his phone on the table. Violet had a tendency to text when she was done with her homework. And while it shouldn’t, the notice that she was done ahead of him seemed to bring out a competitive nature. “Just doing homework. Where’s Killian?”

There was a flash of something in the older brother’s eyes, guilt maybe. “He’s finishing his beer out there. Should be in soon. He tells me that you went horseback riding today with that young lass. The one with the flower name. Must have been a fun time. I took a lass I was courting out for a ride once. She was quite impressed with my skills.”

Henry’s face flushed. “She’s better at riding than I am. It was kind of scary to be honest. They are pretty tall animals. And they go really fast.”

“Aye, but you need to appreciate the freedom of them. And I’m sure she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.” Liam dropped into the chair next to the sofa, his long limbs sinking into the stuffed cushions. “So if it is not woman trouble that has you so anxious, what is it? Your mum’s back in town. I haven’t heard a word about any academic difficulties.”

“It’s nothing,” Henry insisted, readjusting the book on his bent leg. “Is Elsa coming back tonight?”

“Aye, she’s having a bit of sisterly bonding right now. She’s planning to come back with that new bodyguard of hers in tow. Is that the problem, mate? Are you feeling a bit crowded here?”

“No, that’s not it. I guess I’m just in a mood.”

“Ahhhh,” Liam said, sneaking a peek out the door where his brother was clearly brooding over news of their father and younger sibling. “That does happen from time to time. If you care to wag your chin at it, I’m all ears.” He crossed his right leg over his left, ankle resting on the opposite knee.

“Wag my chin?”

Liam chuckled and mumbled something about language barriers with Americans. “I think you probably refer to it as chatting. Or something of that sort. Fine, I’ll clarify. If you wish to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”

“Just never heard that expression before,” Henry said, trying it out for himself. “I like it.” He gave a sort of half smile. “What else have you got?”

It might not have been the conversation Liam anticipated, but he enjoyed himself as they both threw out colloquialisms and slang the other was completely unfamiliar with. When Killian joined them a few minutes later, they were both laughing hysterically and trying to string as many together as possible. Even Emma joined in on the fun when she came inside, her eyes still puffy from the tears she had shed but laughing as she sat between her son and future husband on the couch.

“I don’t think it sounds the same with our American accents,” she said after Henry tried to say something about dinner options. He could barely get through the phrase without laughing so hard that his breath came in short spurts and he was reflexively hitting the arm of the sofa.

“It does sound rather flat, but lovely nonetheless.” Killian bopped her nose playfully, which combined groans, guffaws, and giggles in the group.

Eventually Emma called a halt to the shenanigans, sending Henry to ready himself for bed and eyeing Liam’s ability to drive himself to the Rabbit Hole. Deeming him safe, she sent him off on his way too, rolling her eyes when he kissed her cheek and called her mom.

“Call us when you get there, mate,” Killian called out, winking back at the man’s scowl. “Have fun and be careful.”

Emma placed her hand on Killian’s bicep, her face a bit more gentle and understanding. “The label arranged for someone to monitor the parking lot at the Rabbit Hole. Similar to the guy watching out for Elsa. I can arrange for him to…”

“No,” Liam said firmly, offering no more argument before disappearing into the night. Killian looked both mildly amused and a bit annoyed by his brother’s lack of concern on his own safety. It was not unexpected at all, but still stung a bit in the faces of those who cared about him.

“You didn’t really think he was going to take me up on that, right?” Emma asked, dropped her head to Killian’s shoulder as they both stared at the closed door. “You’re the one who often refers to him as a stubborn arse.”

“Such an American accent, love,” he chuckled. “No, I expected his reaction. I hoped for better, but often expect obstinacy in my brother’s foul-mouthed wake.” He drew in a breath. “You are quite like him in that way. Both hard headed and stubborn.”

Turning in his loose embrace, she craned her neck back as if inspecting him for signs of regret in his statement. Finding none, she pursed her lips into a frown. “I’m not sure I enjoy being compared to your brother. Don’t want you confusing us or picturing him when we…”

He crushed his mouth against hers quickly to silence her, harsh and bruising against him. When he did pull away, he smoothed down a bit of her hair that had escaped from behind her ear. “I assure you that I’ve never confused the two of you.”

[emospritelet]

Last Man Standing

So, you guys really wanted 14,000 words of pointless Golden Lace pron, right?  No?  Well, tough, you’re getting it anyway.

An AU of the Neverland verse, in which escort!Gold and Lacey try to bang each other senseless

AO3 link

x

Alistair Gold reflected that of all the things he could be doing that evening, walking to a hotel to meet someone who had paid for three hours of sex wasn’t high on his list of favourite activities.  He supposed he should be grateful for the work; his son Neal had two years of college left, and selling his body was the best way he knew to pay for that, but it was soul-destroying.  It also had the potential to be dangerous, although it had been months since he had been in a bad situation.  He had learned the hard way to recognise clients who took their pleasure from pain and humiliation.

The Arendelle Hotel was one that Gold had visited before.  It was a mid-price boutique establishment over twelve floors on one of Boston’s nicer back streets, and he looked it over as he drew to a halt, taking in the old-fashioned frontage with wrought-iron railings at the windows.  He had been waiting on the details of the client he was due to meet, and was surprised not to have received them; Tink usually sent them through at least an hour before the agreed time of his appointment.

He set down the black leather bag that carried the tools of his trade and dug out his phone, thumb flicking at the screen to call the agency.  It rang several times before being answered.

“Hello?”

A bright, cheerful voice chirped at him, and Gold blinked.

“Astrid?”

“Oh!” she squeaked.  “I meant to say ‘Good evening, Blue Star Escort Services’!  Please don’t tell Blue I screwed up again!”

“Where is Blue?” he asked.

“Networking,” she said.  “She had some sort of drinks party to go to.  She took Tink with her, so it’s - it’s just me tonight.  Sorry.”

Gold refrained from sighing with great difficulty.  Astrid was adorable, with a heart of gold, but somewhat on the ditzy side, and he wasn’t all that convinced of her computer skills, having overheard her conversations with Leroy, the handyman.  Of course, she could simply have been pretending not to know anything to let Leroy show off his own knowledge.  It was the worst kept secret at Blue Star that the two were in love with each other.  Gold decided to think positively.

“Right, I need you to send me the details of my client,” he said.  “It was all kind of last minute.  Tink left a message to turn up at Hotel Arendelle, but I don’t have a name or room number.”

“Oh no!”

“Well, I’m sure we can get to the bottom of it,” he said.  “Everything will be on the computer system under Danny Devine, okay?  I’m at the hotel now.”

“I remember Tink telling me about the bookings,” she said pensively.

“Yes, and they’ll be on the computer,” he said, figuring that repetition was his friend in this situation.  “I need the name and the room number.”

There was silence, and he shook his head.  He could hear her muttering in the background.

“Astrid,” said Gold patiently.  “The name?”

“Oh yes!”  There was a crackle of paper.  “I have it somewhere!”

The was an ominous clink, and a muffled “Oops!”

Gold pinched the bridge of his nose.  Hard.

“Okay, look, never mind about the name,” he said.  “What room number is it?”

She didn’t respond, and he raised his eyes to the sky.  “Astrid!”

There was a scrabbling noise, and she came on the phone again, sounding breathless.

“Yes!  Sorry, it’s just - just - I spilled my tea all over the computer, and - and there was kind of a mini-explosion, and now it’s - it’s not - working...”

Her voice trailed off lamely, and Gold sighed.

“Is there anything you can remember about this client?” he asked.  “I don’t want to have to knock on every hotel room door asking if anyone paid for sex, understand?”

“Oh, I think I remember that!” she said brightly.  “It was room 402, I’m sure of it!  I remember because that was the number of my first booking!”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” he said.

“Yeah, he was a Senator,” she said pensively.  “Not the nicest man, but he tipped well.  I remember he enjoyed spanking—”

“Yeah, I don’t think we need to go into that right now,” said Gold hastily. “You’re sure about 402?”

“Oh yes!”  She let out a squeak of alarm, and he shook his head.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine!” she said, in a too-cheerful voice.  “Well no, not fine, there’s - there’s a lot of smoke coming out of this thing...”

“Oh my God…”  Gold ran a hand over his face.  “Look - just get out of there!  Get a bloody fire extinguisher!  Not the water one!”

“Oh, I’m sure Leroy will be able to help me fix this,” she said, sounding confident.  “What about you?  Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll go and knock on 402,” he said.  “If there’s a problem, I’ll call back.”

“Okay!” she chirped.

He rang off, turning the phone to silent and shoving it into his pocket with a sigh of despair, then picked up his bag and trotted up the steps into the hotel lobby.  It was decorated in a modern style, the walls in shades of ice-blue, white and lilac, the staff in blue livery with silver buttons.  He walked through the lobby to the elevators, pressing the call button.  The elevator, when it came, had mirrored panels all around, and he gave himself a final once-over, his suit a spotless three piece in charcoal grey, his shirt midnight blue silk with a silvery-grey tie.  He was clean-shaven, no nicks on his cheeks, his hair cropped short, shining gold and silver in the light.  He nodded curtly to himself. As good as it got.  Clients always liked the suits.  Hopefully this client wouldn’t want an extension of their time together; he had already worked two nights that week and was tired.  He pushed the button for the fourth floor, and sighed as the elevator made its way up.  Three hours, and he could be out of there.

x

Lacey French was nervous, and she didn’t like the feeling.

She had heard good things about Blue Star, and for the most part they had all turned out to be true.  Miss Blue seemed a kind and gracious employer, the pay and benefits were excellent, and the escorts she had met thus far had all been very welcoming.  She even had the option to let the client book the accommodation, but for her first assignment she had preferred to let the escort agency do it. The Arendelle Hotel was clean, modern, and the room she was currently pacing back and forth in had a large king bed, lounge area with a couch and coffee table, and a bathroom tiled in slate grey.  The hotel receptionist, when she checked in, hadn’t batted an eyelid as she had asked for the key, and she presumed that he was well aware of her profession.  To his credit, he hadn’t even looked down his nose at her.  All in all, the evening had started well.  But now her client was late, and she had heard nothing from Blue Star.

She pulled her phone from her bag, swiping at her contact list to call.  It rang for a long time before someone picked up, with a hurried greeting that she was certain wasn’t the one the agency used.

“Hey,” she said.  “It’s Lacey.  I’m on my first job, and I’m not sure if we’ve met. Who’s that?”

“Astrid,” came the voice, sounding flustered.  “Um - I’m kind of having a situation here…”

“It’s cool, I’ll let you go in a second, I just need some info,” said Lacey.  “Who’s my client?  I was sure we said seven o’clock, but he’s not here.”

“I - I can’t get into any of the records,” said Astrid.  “The computer kind of went poof and now nothing’s working!”

Lacey rolled her eyes, pacing back and forth beside the bed.

“So you can’t tell me who I’m supposed to be banging tonight?” she asked. “Whoever he is, he’s fucking late.  Like an hour.  At least tell me he paid in advance.”

“Um…”  Astrid’s uncertain tone made Lacey sigh.  “I - guess?”

“I don’t believe this…”

“I’m sorry!” said Astrid wretchedly.  “This evening has been a nightmare!”

“Astrid, come on!” Lacey threw up her hand and let it fall against her leg with a slap.  “I could be losing money here!”

There was a knock at the door, and her head whipped around.

“Hey, never mind,” she said quickly.  “I think he’s here.  Maybe it was eight, not seven, my brain’s gone to crap!”

“Yes, but—”

“If there’s a problem I’ll call, okay?”

Lacey rang off, turning the phone to silent and shoving it in her bag before going to the door.  She glanced at herself in the mirror as she passed, tight black dress that showed off every curve, hair piled on top of her head, makeup on point…  She took a deep breath, and nodded to herself.  You got this, girl. Just remember to stay in character and keep your bloody wits about you.

She opened the door, and blinked.  A man stood there, gazing at her with a calm, somewhat flat expression in his dark eyes.  He was maybe in his late forties, possibly early fifties.  Short for a guy: perhaps five-eight, and thin.  He wore what looked like a very expensive three-piece suit with a dark blue silk shirt and grey tie, and his light brown hair was cropped short and scattered with grey, shining silver at his temples.

“Good evening,” he said quietly.  “I believe we have an appointment.”

Lacey started, remembering what she was supposed to be doing.  His accent was Scottish, though somewhat softer than she had heard from others.  There was a pleasant warmth to it, a low roundness that made the words flow out and wrap around her.  She licked her lips.

“Yeah,” she said, and then smiled.  She made her voice a little lower and softer, more sultry and inviting.  “Yes, we do.  Come on in.”

She stepped back, and he moved past her into the room, a black leather holdall swinging from one hand.  She pushed the door shut and locked it, turning to look him over as he glanced around the room.  He had an angular face, with high cheekbones and a slightly crooked nose.  Silvery wisps of hair brushed the pointed tips of his ears, and she wondered what he did for a living.  A company chairman, perhaps, or an investment banker.  It must be something that paid well enough to get him that suit and three hours of her time on a Friday night.  He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so maybe he was too busy to have a proper relationship.  Or maybe he just liked sleeping with strangers where he could set the terms and avoid emotional entanglements. Either way he looked pretty good, and his money would spend just as well as anyone else’s.

“Three hours, right?” she said, and he glanced over his shoulder.

“Correct.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He set down the bag on the arm of the couch, adjusting his cuffs as he turned to face her, then inclined his head, and smiled, showing white teeth.

“Danny Devine, at your service.”

So did your parents hate you, or did they give all their kids stripper names?

“I’m Belle,” she said, keeping the amusement from her face.  “Belle Delacoeur.”

His mouth twitched a little, as though he knew that wasn’t her real name.  She reasoned that perhaps Danny Devine wasn’t his, either.  Clients often gave fake names, she had been told.  He opened up the bag, lifting out a bottle of champagne and holding it up.  She wondered what else was in there.  Work stuff, maybe?  Papers?

“Well, Miss Delacoeur,” he said.  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Would you like a drink?”

She hesitated, but the champagne had very obviously not been opened, and she couldn’t see any way he could have tampered with it.

“I’d love one,” she said.  “There are glasses on the drinks cabinet.”

He nodded, and proceeded to open the champagne, which was clearly something he was used to doing.  She watched with interest as he fetched a hand towel from the bathroom, removed the foil and the wire cage from around the cork, then wrapped the towel over the top and twisted the bottle, the cork coming free with a low phut sound.  He removed the towel with a flourish, and she heard a fizzing noise, but the champagne remained in the bottle, which was more than could be said for the few times she had opened one.

“Hey, you managed not to spurt everywhere,” she said.  “Good job.”

He shot her a look, and she wanted to clap a hand over her mouth as she realised what she’d said.  Lacey would happily say such things, usually with a wink and a suggestive snicker, but Belle Delacoeur was more refined.  Or so she had decided when she created the character she would use for her assignments.  A blush rose in her cheeks, but she decided to just run with the innuendo, and raised her chin, swinging one hip outwards.

“Guess that bodes well for me, huh?” she said.  A little flattery never hurt.

“The night is young,” he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

He poured two glasses, and handed one to her.  Lacey cradled it in both hands, breathing in the light scent and waiting until he took a drink before she did the same.  The champagne was crisp and clean, fizzing on her tongue, and she watched him over her glass, at the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and the light glinted on his hair.  Definitely attractive.  She ran her eyes over his body, realising that she was intrigued about what he was hiding under the suit, and he swilled champagne around his mouth before swallowing, dark eye studying her as carefully as she studied him.

“May I call you Belle?” he asked.

“Please do.”  Maybe it’ll encourage me to keep in fucking character.

He nodded.

“Well,” he said.  “Let’s discuss terms.”

“Terms?”

“What you want,” he said patiently.  “And more importantly, what you don’t want.”

Lacey stared at him for a moment.  He was offering her a choice?  

“I guess - I guess communication’s the most important thing,” she said.  “I don’t want any nasty surprises.”

“I understand.”

“And - and I really didn’t sign up for a world of pain, either.”

“Good,” he said briskly.  “I have no interest in causing you pain, Belle.  And if there’s something I do that you don’t like, I want you to tell me to stop, alright?”

Wow.  You are not what I was expecting.

“What about you?” she asked, and his eyebrows twitched.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” she said.  “What do you want?”

He stared at her for a moment, as though he didn’t understand the question, and then blinked.

“I’m already getting everything I want from this evening, I assure you,” he said quietly.

What the hell does that mean?  Guess it doesn’t matter.  He’s paid already. Doesn’t seem to be a creep.  Let’s go.

“Well, okay then,” she said.  “I guess that’s it.”

“Very well.”  He took another drink, and set down his glass.  “Shall we begin?”

“Uh…”

She took a final swig of the champagne, and set the glass next to his, her heart thumping with a small amount of trepidation.  You’re Belle, you’re Belle, you’re Belle...

“Yes,” she said.  “I’m ready.”

He stepped closer, moving until he was almost touching her, and Lacey felt her breath quicken a little as he reached up to cup her face with his hands. They were smooth and cool, the scent of cologne on his fingers, and she was surprised to feel arousal tug at her abdomen.  His eyes were very dark, gazing into hers as though he could see into her soul.

“Shall I kiss you?” he asked, and his voice was low and rough.  The gentle tug in her belly became a clench.

“Please,” she whispered, and he lowered his mouth to hers.

His lips were warm and soft, and he gently slipped his tongue into her mouth, causing her to rise up on her toes with a tiny moan.  His tongue stroked against hers, and she slid her hands up his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the suit he wore.  He tasted good, and she let out a hum of pleasure as they kissed, his fingers sending tiny shivers through her as they stroked over the nape of her neck.  He broke the kiss, lips pulling at hers as they parted, and pressed his brow to hers, his dark eyes flicking open.

“What would you like me to do to you?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, and Lacey licked her lips as she shivered deliciously.

You want me to guide you, huh?  I can do that.

“Undress me,” she whispered.

He moved around her, his body brushing against hers, and she shivered again as she felt his fingers at her back, taking the zipper of her dress and slowly pulling it down.  She gasped as he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, and his fingers slipped beneath the opened back of the dress, pushing it from her shoulders and down her arms.  It fell to her waist, and she slipped her arms out as he pushed the dress over her hips, leaving her in her underwear and stockings.  Moving around to face her again, he pulled pins from her hair, unwinding it and letting it fall, his fingers stroking through it to separate the strands.  There was a calm softness in his face, in his eyes, his gaze running over her without any of the lust or greed she had expected.  It was something like reverence.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.  “You’re beautiful, Belle.”

Lacey shivered as his hands stroked over her bare shoulders, wanting to take her lower lip between her teeth, the way she always had when she was nervous. She thought she had gotten over that.  She thought she had closed herself off enough that nothing could touch her.  And yet the way he was looking at her, as though she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, as though she mattered, was making her breath catch in her throat.  She decided that she trusted him.

“Now the bra,” she said softly.

His thumbs gently slipped under the straps at her shoulders, drawing them down her arms, and he reached around to the back to unhook it deftly.  The bra fell from her, and she licked her lips as he looked her over, a low appreciative murmur coming from him.  It gave her an unexpectedly good feeling to know how attractive he found her, and she sucked in a breath as he bent his head to kiss her neck, shivers running through her as his lips pulled at her skin.  She let out a moan, hands sliding up his arms to rest on his shoulders, and he bent his knees a little, kissing down her throat, mouth trailing over her chest until he reached her nipple.  Lacey moaned again as he sucked it in between his lips, the feel of his tongue against her sending jolts of sensation through her body.

She rose up on her toes, fingers stroking through his hair, her breath coming hard as his hand cupped her other breast and squeezed.  Her head rolled back, hair tickling between her shoulder blades as he sucked at her, and he slid his hand around to the small of her back, pulling her closer.  The fine wool of his suit was soft against her skin, and she felt a tiny thrill at being almost naked while he was so buttoned up and immaculate.  He let her nipple slip from his mouth, kissing back up to her throat to suck at the place where her pulse throbbed, and Lacey let out a moan of pleasure.

Gold let his hands slide down her back, cupping her small, pert rear end. Belle Delacoeur - he doubted that was her true name, but it suited her nonetheless - was certainly lovely to look at, and very pleasant in his arms, being just the right height and build to suit his own small frame.  She seemed nervous, and he felt that familiar urge to protect, to reassure.  He brushed his lips against the soft skin of her throat, reaching her ear as his thumbs slipped under the waistband of her underwear.

“Shall I take these off?” he murmured, and she nodded.

He pushed the underwear slowly down over her hips, letting it fall around her ankles, and she stepped out of it with one high-heeled shoe, then the other. Sliding her hands to his shoulders, she reached for the knot of his silk tie, and began tugging it open, drawing the length of silk through until she could pull it from around his neck and toss it aside.  She plucked open the first three buttons of his shirt, exposing the top of his chest, then her hands dropped to flick open the buttons of his jacket, and she pushed it from his shoulders.  Gold let it fall, snagging it with one hand and draping it over the back of the nearby couch.

“You want to get on the bed?” she asked.

He smiled a little, nodding, and she stepped away from him, walking to the bed with a swing of her hips.  He wondered what had brought her here, why a creature so lovely would feel the need to pay for sex.  There could certainly be no shortage of men who would be willing to oblige her for free, but perhaps she had been hurt or disappointed in the past.  She sounded Australian, so it was possible that she was only in the city for a short time, and had therefore chosen guaranteed pleasure, with the certainty of no strings attached.  Either way, it was none of his business.

He took the gold cufflinks from his sleeves as he watched her, slipping them into his pants pocket and letting the cuffs hang loose.  She had kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed in nothing but her lace-top stockings, and was sitting up with her hands braced behind her and her knees bent.  Her breasts were pushed up, the dark cleft between her legs glistening with promise, and he felt himself twitch with interest.  He turned to his bag, reaching for some condoms and throwing them onto the bed, and Belle picked one up.

“A moment,” he said, as she made to open it.  “Let’s see to your pleasure before we open that, shall we?”

Her eyes widened, and he nodded to himself.  Definitely disappointed in the past, then.  Well, she had paid for him to put her needs first, and he intended to.

“Lie back,” he whispered.

For a moment he thought she was about to say something, but then she slowly lowered herself back on the bed, knees still bent.  He knelt at her feet, hands on her knees, watching her chest rise and fall with her breath, red lips parted, her dark curls spread out on the pillows.  God, she’s gorgeous!  The prettiest thing I’ve seen.

He slid his hands up one thigh, fingertips tucking under the edge of her stocking, and he slowly peeled it down, baring her leg.  Her skin was as smooth and pale as the rest of her, and he pulled off the stocking at her foot, letting it flutter to the floor.  Her toes were painted dark red, the same colour as her fingernails, and he lifted the foot in his palm, bending his head to press a kiss to it.  Belle gasped as his tongue pushed between her toes, stroking against delicate skin.  He drew a toe into his mouth, sucking at her, and she let out a tiny moan.  His tongue flickered over her, and he sucked each toe in turn before running his lips along the underside of her foot.  She jerked a little, ticklish, and he briefly smiled before lowering her foot onto the bed.

He repeated his actions with her other leg, rolling down the stocking and tossing it aside, letting his tongue explore the curves and hollows of her foot before dropping it to the bed.  She was fully naked, chest heaving and lips gleaming, and he bent his head to press kisses to her knees, gently pushing them apart to kiss her inner thighs.  Belle sucked in a breath as his lips moved upwards, her skin as soft as silk.  He could smell her scent in the air, arousal making his cock swell in his pants.  There would be no need for chemical assistance on this occasion, it seemed.  At least not for the first time.  She had paid for three hours; it was likely he would be asked to perform more than once in that time.  It looked as though it was going to be as much of a pleasure for him as for her.  Which made a change.

He could hear her breathing quicken as his mouth trailed higher, the tip of his tongue gently tracing over her skin and making her start.  Her scent was intoxicating, sweet musk in the air around him, and he nosed the soft skin of her nether lips, letting his breath wash over her before pressing a kiss to her.  Belle moaned, and slowly, gently, he let the tip of his tongue part her soft folds, drawing upwards.  Her moan became a cry, her hands dropping to stroke his hair, sending shivers through him, and her flavour spread across his tongue, causing a low growl of appreciation to rumble up out of him.  He licked her again, achingly slow and deliberate, and Belle moaned and lifted her hips, trying to push herself closer to his mouth.

“That’s so good!” she whispered.  “Oh God, that’s amazing!”

He swept his tongue over her, feeling the hardened nub of her clit, tasting the salt of her arousal on his tongue, breathing in the scent of her.  One hand pushed her thigh down a little, so that he could reach more of her, and his other hand crept up between her legs, beneath his chin, gently stroking her flesh as his tongue swept and circled.  Belle continued to whisper how good it felt, and he got the strange impression that she was trying to encourage him, to reassure him.  An odd thing for a paying client, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.  It showed she was a good person.

He let the tip of his tongue tease her clit, stroking around it in slow circles, and Belle let out a whimper, back arching upwards before falling back against the blankets.  Her hands were still carding his hair, nails scraping his scalp, a pleasant sensation, and he let a finger tease her entrance, her flesh slippery with saliva and her own juices.  She moaned, fingers tightening on the few strands of his hair that she had managed to grasp, and he pushed the finger inside her, sliding deep and feeling soft, wet flesh close up around him.  It made his mind stray to how good it would feel to slide his cock deep inside her and fuck her, long and slow.  He shoved the thought away, trying to concentrate on the task at hand.  First I make her come.  Then I make her come again.  Then we’ll see what else she wants.

“God, that’s good!” she breathed.

He began to slide the finger in and out of her, his tongue sweeping over her in a steady rhythm.  Her body was starting to grow taut, her muscles stiffening, and he quickened the pace a little, thrusting and licking, her juices spreading over his nose, his chin, her scent covering him.  Belle let out a high, whimpering moan, clutching at his hair, her back arching upwards as his tongue flickered back and forth over her clit.  She came with a loud cry, her body jerking, and he drew out the finger, licking up salty, whitish cum as it leaked from her.

“You taste delicious!” he growled, and she murmured something in response, her body still twitching.

He ran his tongue over her flesh, pushing inside her, and finished by pressing kisses to her, sticky fluid on his lips.  Shifting onto his knees, he began kissing up over her belly to her breasts, his mouth fastening over a nipple and sucking at her.  Belle’s hands stroked up his arms to rest on his shoulders, and he pushed up on the heels of his hands to gaze down at her.  She was smiling a little, her eyes heavy-lidded and sleepy, but they latched onto his, and her smile widened.

“That was amazing!” she purred, and her forefinger stroked across from his shoulder to the hollow at the base of his naked throat, tracing a line down his chest to where the shirt was buttoned.  “But you’re overdressed.”

She went to work on the waistcoat, getting it open and pushing it from his shoulders, and he knelt up to shrug it off and toss it towards the chair.  His hands dropped to the buttons of his shirt, and Belle pushed up on the heels of her hands, watching as he tugged it from his pants and peeled it off.  She ran her hands over his body, eyes flicking over his skin, fingers running over his nipples and sending jolts of sensation through him.  The palms of her hands slid down over his belly, thumbs brushing against his belt, and he held her gaze as she slowly pulled it open with a clink of the buckle.

“I like your suit,” she said, and his mouth twitched a little.

“Most of it seems to be over on that chair.”

“I like what’s underneath it more.”

She unhooked the clasp at the top of his pants and drew down the zipper, pushing the pants over his hips to reveal black silk boxers.  A finger traced the rigid line of his cock, and she smirked a little, eyes gleaming.

“Well now,” she murmured.  “I think it’s high time I gave this some attention, don’t you?”

“We can wait a little while, if you like,” he said.  “There are many more ways I can give you pleasure, but it’s your decision.”

She put her head to the side, looking curious.

“Many more ways?”

He smiled, stroking a wisp of hair back from her cheek.

“Let me up a moment, and I’ll get some things from my bag.”

Lacey sat back on her heels as he got off the bed, bending to take off shoes and socks and slipping out of his suit pants, which were carefully folded and draped over the back of the chair.  He seemed very meticulous.  She wondered if he was like that in every area of life.  Perhaps he was one of those men who liked everything just so - a spotless house with everything in its place.  She imagined he had cleaning staff to take care of that sort of thing.  Unlike her tiny one-bed apartment with its piles of books, collection of used coffee mugs and the ever-present basket of unfolded laundry.  She imagined he’d curl his lip in disgust at the way she lived.

She watched curiously as he opened up the black leather bag and reached inside, rummaging around a little before bringing out what looked like a selection of vibrators in various sizes and stacking them on the dresser.  Lacey blinked.

“You - you brought your own toys?” she asked disbelievingly.

“Of course.”

“Oh.”  She brushed a curl of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.  “Yeah, I have a bunch with me, too.”

“Perhaps we could compare notes,” he suggested, with a wicked grin, and she giggled.

“I say we try a few of them out first,” she said.  “Do you have lube?”

“Of course,” he said again, a faint look of puzzlement on his face.  “A moment, let me get some.”

“I’m not allergic to any of it, so it doesn’t matter which kind.”

“I have several varieties,” he said, reaching into the bag again.  “But this is excellent.”

He held up a plastic bottle with a pump dispenser, and Lacey nodded with a smile as she recognised the brand.  That would do nicely.  She held out a hand to him.

“Come here,” she said softly.  “Come to bed.”

He smiled faintly, and tossed the toys and lube onto the bed before taking her hand and climbing on beside her.  His mouth found hers, and she moaned a little at the taste of him as his tongue slipped inside, a hint of her salt still on his lips.  He pushed her slowly back onto the bed, and Lacey ran her fingers through the short strands of his hair as she settled back against the blankets, hs body a pleasant weight on her.  Their lips parted as he broke the kiss, lifting his head a little, his breathing heavy and his eyes dark with desire.

“Would you like me to use one of the toys?”

His voice was low and rough, making her skin tingle with anticipation, and she nodded.  He seemed to get his kicks from giving her pleasure, which made a surprising change, but she was well aware she would have to return the favour at some point.  She thought it over as he reached above her to grab the bottle of lube.  Perhaps she could ride him hard, make him lose his mind.  That could be fun for both of them.

He pushed up onto his knees and squirted a little of the lube onto his hands, warming it between his palms before he lay back down by her side and reached between her legs.  Lacey moaned as he touched her, gently stroking slippery fingers through her sensitive flesh.

“That feels so good!” she whispered.

She felt him smile against her ear as he slipped a finger inside her, and she moaned, pushing up against his hand as his thumb rubbed over her clit.  It felt good, and she was almost certain he could make her come just with the touch of his hand, but then he withdrew the finger from her and after a moment she heard the low, insistent buzz of one of the vibrators.  She licked her lips, breath catching in her throat in anticipation.  The first touch of something smooth and firm against her clit made her cry out in pleasure, and then he began moving it slowly, stroking against her flesh, sending waves of sensation through her body.

She opened her legs a little, arching her back, moaning as she pushed her hips upwards, and he continued to move the vibrator over her.  It felt incredible, and she let her head roll back against the pillows, her moans growing louder.  She could feel a tide of pleasure rising up through her body, making her cheeks flush and her heart pound, and she closed her eyes, lips parted, holding her breath before letting it out in a wailing cry as she came.

Bliss poured over her in a wave of heat, her body jerking, and he pulled the vibrator from her just before it became too much for her sensitive flesh.  She moaned and writhed, almost purring in pleasure, her whole body feeling heavy and loose and relaxed.  He was kissing her neck, soft lips trailing over her skin, and she let herself sink into the blankets with a contented sigh, her body tingling.

He pushed up on one elbow, looking down at her with a tiny grin on his face, as though he was pleased with himself, and Lacey shook her head a little. Okay, I gotta earn my money here, this is insane!

She pushed him onto his back, kissing him hungrily, and he slid a hand into her hair, fingers twisting around her curls as his tongue slipped into her mouth. Lacey hummed in appreciation, hands sliding down over his chest, and he let out a brief exclamation as she teased his nipples with thumb and forefinger. Her hands worked lower, finding the waistband of his boxers, and she began gently working them down over his hips.  He lifted up off the bed to help her, and she shuffled lower, drawing the black silk down the length of his legs and off at his feet.

Turning back to him, she ran her eyes over him for a moment.  He was perhaps a little thin, but in good shape for a guy his age, and very noticeably aroused, which made her smirk.  She dropped onto the palms of her hands, walking her way up the bed to gaze down at him.

“I think it’s your turn,” she said softly.

Gold closed his eyes at her kiss, and relaxed into the pillows as she pulled her mouth from his and began kissing down his throat.  Her dark, silky hair tickled the skin of his chest, the pull of her lips sending tiny bursts of pleasure through him.  She glanced up, holding his gaze for a moment, and then moved down the bed, kissing over his belly, her lips brushing against his skin.  It felt good, and he wanted her to continue, to kiss down between his legs and suck his balls in between those perfect lips.  He wanted her hot, wet mouth to close up around his cock and suck him hard.  But he had learned the hard way never to allow someone that kind of power over him, and as she kissed along the crease at the top of his thigh, his hands tightened on her shoulders, pushing her up and away from him.

“That - that won’t be necessary,” he said, a little breathlessly, and she sat back a little, looking puzzled.

“You don’t want me to?”

He shook his head.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t, thank you.”

She shrugged, as if to say it didn’t matter to her, and moved up his body again to kiss his chest, sucking on his nipples and making him groan before pushing up on her hands, dark curls falling around her face.

“Are you ready?” she whispered, and he nodded.

She wriggled back down between his legs, and he heard the crackle of the condom packet as she got it open.  Her hair was hanging in front of her face, hiding what she was doing, but he felt her grasp his cock, and he sucked in a breath as she gripped him hard, pulling him upwards to roll on the condom.  He reached for the bottle of lube, squirting a little onto himself and spreading it with his fingers, and Belle crawled back up the bed a little, straddling him, her core pressed against the hard length of him.  Her hands slid slowly up his chest, thumbs rubbing over his nipples and making him jerk in response, and then she reached between them, taking him in hand and gently guiding him inside her.

Gold groaned as she sank down onto him, her heat surrounding him.  She straightened up, sweeping her hair out of her face, her breasts pulled high as she arched her back a little, gently rolling her hips as she settled herself.  It felt incredible, and he reached up to take her hips and hold her in place, knowing it would increase the friction for her, increase the pleasure.  She braced herself with her hands on his belly, and began to move her hips with a slow, rhythmic, circular motion, grinding against him.

He let his head roll back with a groan of pleasure, pushing his hips up to meet her, tugging her against him, and Belle moaned in response, shaking back her hair.  He reached to the side, grasping at one of the bullet vibrators, and caught her eyes for a moment, getting a nod from her before flicking it on with his thumb.  She was breathing hard as she moved, eyes fixed on his, and he slid the vibrator down over his belly and between her legs into the wet heat where their bodies joined.

Lacey threw her head back with a moaning cry as the slim, firm shape slipped over her clit, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through her.  She tried to keep her concentration, to keep her rhythm, letting him slide out almost all the way before sinking back down onto him, but it was hard not to fuck him hard and fast and take them both over the edge.  She shook her head, fingers digging into the skin on his belly as she quickened her pace just a little, hips moving in time with the thrusts of the vibrator.  His cock felt good inside her, hard and deep, and she arched her back a little, wanting to take as much of him inside her as she could get.  He seemed to sense her need, gripping her with one hand as the other thrust the toy in and out of the space where they met, hot and slick with fluid.  His hips pushed upwards, thrusting deep, and a low groan rumbled out of him, making her belly clench with need.

“God, that’s good!” she gasped.  “You feel so good!”

He groaned in response, thrusting upwards, one hand holding her in place as the other rubbed the vibrator over her flesh, and she leaned back a little further, increasing the friction, clenching her inner walls around him and tugging hard.  His eyes rolled, his head pushing back against the pillows, and she could see the muscles of his neck and arms growing taut with the effort.  She kept up her rhythm, squeezing him, pulling him, feeling the head of his cock rub against her, deep inside her body.  She rocked her hips, knowing it would excite him, and he arched upwards with a groaning cry as he came, cock pulsing inside her.

Lacey straightened up, shifting her hips forward a little and rocking against him over and over until pleasure burst through her once more.  She let out a loud cry, hands braced on his belly, and let her head drop as she tried to catch her breath, sweat beading on her lip and trickling down between her breasts.  The vibrator was still tucked between them, its buzzing too much sensation against her tender skin, and she plucked it out and tossed it aside.  Gripping the base of the condom, she eased up off him and rolled onto her back with a sharp exhalation of relief, and for a moment there was only the sound of their ragged, uneven breathing.

Gold ran a hand over his face, his heart thumping hard and sweat cooling on his skin.  He glanced to the side, where a clock sat on the nightstand.  Plenty of time left.  Turning his head, he saw that Belle was still gulping in air, the tip of her tongue sweeping over her lips.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, and she nodded.

He got up, grasping the base of the condom and heading for the bathroom to dispose of the thing.  Once he had washed his hands and returned, he refilled their champagne glasses and carried them over to the bed.  Belle had pushed up against the pillows, dark curls falling over flushed cheeks.  She smiled as he handed over her glass, and let out a groan of approval as he went to pour a glass of water.  The champagne was set down at once, and she cupped the glass in both hands, drinking it down and licking her lips.

“Thanks.  God, I was thirsty!”

He refilled the glass, but she shook her head and reached for her champagne, so he drank the water himself, taking a moment to pop one of the pills that he carried in his bag before climbing onto the bed beside her and sitting back.  She turned onto her side a little, eyeing him pensively.

“You want to take a shower?” she asked, and her voice had taken on that sultry tone again.  He smiled.

“Let me go and turn it on.”

“Mmm.”  She took a sip of her champagne.  “I bet you’re good at that.”

He grinned at her, then took a swig of his drink and got up, heading for the bathroom.  It was tiled in dark grey, and the shower was just the right size for two people to share, with small bottles of shampoo, conditioner and shower gel lined up in a chrome rack to the side.  Turning on the water, he let it run until it was hot, and started at the feel of hands creeping around his waist.  Soft lips found his ear, making him shiver.

“Sorry if I made you jump,” breathed Belle.  “Is it ready?”

He turned, smirking a little at her grinning face, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.  Really, she was very lovely.  This was turning into the most enjoyable assignment he had ever been given.

“Ready to go,” he confirmed.  “Shall we?”

“You get in, I’ll be there in a second.”

She slipped out of the room, and he got into the shower, closing the glass door behind him and stepping under the hot water.  He ran his hands over his face with a deep sigh, letting the water course over his skin.  Reaching for the shower gel, he began to wash, smiling as he heard the glass door open behind him.  He turned to face her, and Belle stepped close, lifting her head to kiss him and pressing her body against his.  Their skin was slippery with water, lips sliding, mouths soft and wet.  He could feel something cool and hard against his hip, and broke the kiss, glancing down. She was holding a large vibrator and a bottle of silicone lubricant, which she placed on the rack, next to the miniature bottles of toiletries.

“You’re very well prepared,” he observed, and she shrugged.

“Ready for anything.  Within reason.  I’m a regular Girl Scout.”

He grinned at that, and grabbed her hand, gently pulling her under the water with him and reaching up to cup her face as his mouth found hers.  Belle pulled the glass door shut, sealing them in as steam rose.  He deepened the kiss, and she moaned into his mouth, water cascading over them, making their lips slippery as he pushed her back against the tiled wall.  One hand slid down between them to cup her mound, and Belle shifted, rubbing against his fingers.  He gently stroked through velvet flesh, making her moan again as a finger entered her.  She was scalding hot, soft and wet, and he fingered her with long, slow thrusts, his thumb rubbing over her swollen clit.  She moaned, nails digging into his shoulders, one leg lifting to hook around his hip.

He could feel his cock already beginning to twitch with interest, although he knew it would take a little while for him to grow hard again, and so he broke the kiss and drew his fingers from her.  She began kissing his chest, lips and teeth gently tugging at him, and he pulled away, circling around until he was behind her, his back pressed against the cold tiles.  Slipping his arm around her waist, he drew her back against him.  Belle moaned, shifting her hips so that her buttocks rubbed against his cock, and making him grin.

He reached to the side, grasping the bottle of lube and squirting a little into his palm before setting it down and taking up the vibrator.  He spread the lube over the end, flicking it on to feel a strong, insistent buzz.  Belle sucked in a breath as if in anticipation, and he bent his head to kiss her neck as he slipped the vibrator between her thighs.  Belle moaned as it brushed against her, and he trailed his lips around to her ear.

“Open your legs,” he rasped.

Belle moaned again, head rolling back against his shoulder, feet shifting on the floor of the shower as she opened her legs wider.  He began to tease her with the head, rubbing it in slow circles over her flesh.

“God, that’s good!” she breathed.  “Oh, that’s amazing!”

His lips brushed her ear, sucking at the lobe, and he gently pushed the head of the vibrator into her.

“Can you take it, Belle?” he whispered.  “Can you take it all inside you?”

She nodded, arching her back a little as he slowly pushed the vibrator inside her, the thick plastic shaft sinking into her flesh and making her rise up on her toes with a gasp of pleasure.

“Very good,” he said softly.  “That’s very good, Belle.”

Gold kissed her neck, his other hand sliding down over her belly, a finger gently circling her clit as he thrust the vibrator in and out.  She moaned, reaching up to run her fingers over his scalp, legs opening wider as he pushed and pulled, fingertips flickering over slippery flesh.  She let out a tiny cry, and he drew his tongue up her throat, water droplets spattering against his skin.  He was growing hard, his cock pressing against her rear, and she pushed back against him, moving her hips a little to send jolts of sensation through him.  Steam was filling the shower, blurring his sight and damp in his lungs, and he ran his tongue over her pulse point, feeling the heavy throb of it.

“Harder,” she breathed, and he pushed the rigid shaft deep, making her roll her head back with a moan.

“How’s that?” he asked.  “Is that good?”

She nodded vigorously, and he slipped the vibrator in and out, fingers flickering, feeling her body grow taut as she neared her peak.  She came with a shout, her body shaking, and he kissed her neck, holding her tight around the waist as she jerked and moaned.  Slowly, he drew out the vibrator, watching glistening strands of cum wash away in the water.  She took it from him to wash it, her hands shaking a little, her breathing heavy.  Water ran into his eyes, stinging, and he squeezed them shut, wiping his face and stepping back a little out of the torrent.  Dark hair was plastered to her skin in curling strands, and he brushed it from her shoulders, kissing her gently as she set the vibrator in the chrome rack again.  His cock was still hard, and he felt a powerful urge to be inside her, a need to feel her come.  He wondered how much time they had left.

“What would you like me to do to you?” he murmured, and she twisted in his arms, twining her arms around his neck as she nuzzled his nose with hers.

“I want you inside me,” she breathed.  “Are you ready?”

She slipped a hand down between them, gripping his cock, and her lips curved upwards in a grin.  Her eyes flicked open, clear blue pools meeting his gaze, her cheeks adorably flushed and her mouth full and dark and wet.  Her fingers stroked him, sliding up and down the shaft, tracing around the head and making him shiver.

“Feels like you’re ready,” she whispered.  “Feels like you want to use this hard cock on me.  Push it deep until you’re all the way inside me.  Is that what you want?”

“Yes!” he rasped.  “Yes, I want you!”

She leaned in a little, lips gently brushing his ear.

“Then take me,” she whispered.  “Take me to bed and fuck me hard, Mr Devine.”

She squeezed him, and he felt a surge of desire go through him, his body responding instantly to her touch, to the feel of her against him, to the self-satisfied smirk on her beautiful face and the gleam in her eyes.  He kissed her hungrily, and she released him, stepping back and opening the shower door, hips swinging as she left.

Lacey towelled herself dry swiftly, rubbing water from her hair, and heard the shower cut off as she went into the bedroom.  The air was cool against her damp skin, and she tossed the towel aside, rummaging in her bag for a set of anal beads.  She had a pink plastic set, grouped in a curved, rigid line in increasing sizes, and she threw it onto the bed along with a couple of condoms and some more lube.  She had thought of a way they could both get some pleasure.  After a moment, she dug out a hollow butt plug and a bullet vibrator, and tossed those onto the bed.  Never hurt to be prepared.

Her skin was tingling, her hands still trembling a little, and she could feel excitement and arousal tugging at her, making her belly clench and her heart thump.  It was the most incredible night she had ever had, and to be paid money for the pleasure seemed to good to be true.  

Crawling onto the bed, she heard soft footsteps, and turned to face him as he entered, a towel snagged around his waist and his hair damp.  Her eyes dropped to his crotch, a telltale bulge in the towel proof of his arousal.  It made her grin, and she held out a hand to him.

“Come here,” she said softly.

He smiled a little, getting onto the bed on his knees, and she shifted onto her own, kneeling up and reaching for the towel at his waist.  Her fingers pulled slowly at soft cotton, opening it up and throwing it aside, and she let out a hum of pleasure as she ran a finger up the length of his cock.  He was hard and ready, his chest heaving, and she traced a winding path around the head and down the shaft, stroking over the soft sac of his balls.  Flicking her eyes up to meet his, she smiled, and reached to the side for a condom.  He watched as she rolled it on, his breath quickening a little at her touch, and Lacey licked her lips before leaning in to kiss his chest, sucking at a nipple and making him let out a low, rumbling growl.  She drew back, catching her lower lip with her teeth as she met his eyes, knowing that it made her look adorably coy and infinitely corruptible.

“Here,” she said, and reached for the set of beads, holding it up.

Gold raised an eyebrow, but took them from her, along with the bottle of lube she passed him.  She turned around onto her knees, spreading them wide and lifting her rear to reveal the deep pink petals of her sex, glistening with her juices.  He licked his lips, wanting to touch her, and she looked over her shoulder and winked at him, lips parted in a soft pout.

“Give it to me,” she purred.

Gold smirked to himself at her play-acting, but squirted some lube into his hand, warming it between his palms before spreading it between her legs.  She moaned, rocking back a little, and he squirted more onto the beads, spreading it with his fingers and making them slippery.  Hooking one finger through the plastic ring at the end, he pushed the first, smallest bead inside her, and she gasped, tossing her head, dark strands of damp hair whipping across pale shoulders.  He pushed against her tight entrance, letting a larger bead slip into her, and she moaned, fingers curling into the blankets.  Another push, and a third was inside her.

“How is that?” he asked softly.  “Can you take another?”

“Yes!” she whispered.

He pushed again, feeling it stretch her, hearing her tiny cry as it entered.

“Again!” she gasped.

She moaned as he pushed another inside, and the sound of it went straight to his groin.  He shifted closer, his cock pressed against her right buttock, and she glanced over her shoulder again.

“Fuck me!” she breathed.  “I want you inside me!”

He shifted position, sliding two fingers wet with lube inside her, and she moaned, pushing back onto his hand.  Sliding the fingers out, he took himself in hand and eased into her, grasping her hips and pulling, sinking all the way inside her.  She let out a cry, throwing her head back as he filled her.  He could feel the beads inside her, pressing against his cock through her slick walls, and he grasped the plastic ring.  There were two beads remaining, the two largest, and he gently pushed against her, watching as she spread her knees a little further apart, feeling the pressure against his cock as the bead slipped inside.  He slowly rocked his hips, letting himself slide out almost all the way before thrusting back inside, and she cried out.

“One more,” he whispered.  “Can you take it?”

“Yes!”

He pushed again, and she moaned as the bead stretched her, her breath catching as it slipped inside.  Releasing his finger from the plastic ring, he stroked his hands over her hips, and let himself slide out again before pushing back in, the feel of the beads an exquisite ripple of sensation against his cock.

“That’s good!” she gasped.  “You feel so good!”

He started to move with a slow, even rhythm, sinking deep inside her with every thrust, watching the muscles in her back and shoulders twitch as her hands grasped at the sheets.  Glancing to the side, he grasped the bullet vibrator, pressing the button at the end to turn it on.  He reached around her hip and between her legs, and Belle moaned as the smooth tip of it rubbed over her clit.  He could feel the sensations where he was buried within her, and he kept up the rhythm, long, slow strokes, the bullet circling her clit as he pushed and pulled inside her.  The feel of it was incredible, and he found himself trying to run through all the Shakespeare sonnets that he knew by heart, to list the plays in order of date, anything to distract his mind from the way she felt and the sounds she was making as he sank into her hot flesh. Her muscles were stiffening, her breath coming in pants, and he could sense she was as close as he.

“Oh, please!” she gasped.  “Please!”

He sank into her again, letting out a guttural groan of pleasure at the feel of the beads against his cock, the sensation almost too much to bear.  She was whimpering, her body shaking with the tension, and he groaned over and over, fucking her with short, rapid thrusts, the bullet rubbing over her clit as he worked them both to the edge.  Coloured stars burst behind his eyes as he came hard, and she followed him with a high-pitched cry, her flesh squeezing him, her hips bucking.  He pushed deep into her one last time, dropping the bullet and moving his hands to her hips to hold her steady as he tried to catch his breath.

Lacey let her head drop, gulping in air, sweat beading on her upper lip and her damp hair sticking to her cheeks.  She could still feel him inside her, although he was starting to soften, and she licked dry lips, wishing she could reach her drink.  She felt him grasp the base of the condom and pull out of her, and then there was a gentle tug at the beads inside her.  He drew them out slowly, and she sighed as the last one left her.

“I’ll just be a moment,” he said.

She felt the bed move as he got up, and a moment later heard the sound of running water.  Her heart was thumping, her cheeks on fire, and she stayed where she was, on hands and knees, chest heaving.  She was pretty sure she’d collapse if she tried to move, anyway.  The bathroom door closed with a click, and she heard the sound of soft footsteps.

“Are you alright?” he asked.  “You haven’t moved.”

Lacey wanted to roll her eyes.

“Oh my God!” she panted.  “Just - just give me a minute!”

She turned onto her back, huffing out air as her heart thudded in her chest, and he crawled onto the bed and lay on his side next to her, propped up on one elbow.

“We can just rest for awhile, if you like,” he said soothingly.

Oh, you think you beat me?  Not even close, buddy!  Damn, this guy has some stamina!

“I’m fine!” she insisted.  “Just let me catch my breath and I’m gonna climb you like a bloody tree!”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling, and she wanted to kick herself for letting her persona slip.  She turned to face him, pouting a little, and ran a fingertip over his chest.

“What I meant was, I think I need a moment after that,” she purred.  “And perhaps a drink?”

He looked amused, a tiny twist to his mouth, and she wondered if it was her swift change of tone from Lacey French to Belle Delacoeur.  To his credit, he didn’t mention it.

“Let me get you something,” he said instead.

She watched as he got out of bed and poured champagne into their glasses before rummaging in that black leather bag of his, the crackle of plastic reaching her ears.  He had his back to her, but she suspected he was taking some sort of chemical stimulant to let him get hard again.  That was fine with her; they still had time, and she had already had more orgasms than she had ever expected, so if he wanted to go again, she was ready for him.  In every sense.  Just as soon as she had recovered, of course.

Her heart was still thudding, but she was breathing more evenly, and she sat up and took the glass of champagne from him, smiling as she settled back against the pillows and brushed stray wisps of hair from her flushed cheeks.  He got onto the bed, sitting back next to her and taking a sip of his drink, and they lay in comfortable silence for awhile.  Lacey let out a contented sigh, wriggling a little in the blankets.  Her skin had stopped tingling, her limbs feeling pleasantly heavy and her muscles loose.  It would have perfect to slip beneath the covers with him and spoon up together for a nap, but she was well aware that sleep would have to wait until she was back in her own apartment.  A thought occurred to her, and she turned her head to face him.

“Do you live in Boston?” she asked.  He eyed her, eyes narrowing a little.

“No,” he said at last.

“Oh.”  She thought for a moment.  “You have family here?”

“I’d rather not discuss my private life, if that’s alright.”

“Right.”  She sipped at the champagne, wanting to kick herself.  This was a job, not a date. Tink had reminded her not to raise anything personal unless the client did it first. “Of course not, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” she added.  “I shouldn’t have asked.  Not my business.”

“It’s fine, really,” he assured her.

Lacey sensed that he meant it, that he was trying to make her feel at ease, but she still felt like an idiot for asking, for bringing the spectre of his real life into the bedroom with them.  For all she knew he had a wife and kids.  She didn’t think so, though; she got the impression that he was as lonely as she, for all his smooth ways and soft smiles.  She realised she felt safe with him, that she was relaxed in his presence.  It was a rare feeling, and she told herself firmly to liven up and be on her guard.  Just because a guy seemed like a decent person didn’t mean he couldn’t turn into an abusive piece of shit at a moment’s notice.  There had to be a reason this guy paid for it, after all.

The thought made her sad, because she wanted to trust him, wanted him to be the person he seemed.  It was as though two halves of her brain were in conflict; the more sensible part was telling her firmly to stay in character, use up the three hours, give him a good time and show him out the door when it was over.  And the part of her that was Lacey, the real Lacey, wanted to have a drink with him and ask him what books he liked and how he took his coffee.

The silence continued, but it wasn’t unpleasant.  Time was passing, though, and he would want his money’s worth.  They all did.  She took a deep, calming breath, and a fortifying sip of champagne.  Condensation had formed on the glass, running down it in thin streams, and she set it down on the nightstand, turning back to face him.

“Well then,” she said. “Now that I’ve got my breath back, I think it’s time for me to make those pretty eyes of yours roll back in your head, what do you say?”

He grinned at that, dark eyes gleaming.

“I thought that’s what I was trying to do to you.”

“Yeah, well, mission accomplished,” she said bluntly.  “I’m tingling all over and if I have another orgasm I’ll break something.  Just lie back and let me get a kick out of pleasuring you, how hard can that be?”

His grin widened, and he set down his own glass.

“Well, as long as you enjoy yourself, that’s fine with me.”

Oh my God, who is this guy?  And why the hell is he paying for it?  Damn!

Lacey shifted onto her knees, lifting her chin to stare down her nose at him.

“Hang onto something,” she announced, and swooped in to kiss him.

Gold kissed her back, fingers sliding into her damp curls, his tongue stroking against hers.  Her breasts were brushing against his chest, a pleasant feeling, and as she began to kiss down his neck and over his chest, he let his head roll back against the pillows, eyes closed.  She sucked on a nipple, tongue swirling over it and sending ripples of pleasure through him, and he smiled at the sensation, surprised that she wanted to try to see to his pleasure rather than have him concentrate on her own.  It made a refreshing change, and he wondered if this was her first time paying for sex.  It didn’t seem to be; she certainly had a collection of accessories that he hadn’t expected, but she also seemed vulnerable and a little awkward, hiding her true self behind an image that she had created and was finding it difficult to maintain.

He had noticed that her voice had changed, and was no longer the sultry, throaty purr she had used when he first entered the room.  He suspected that whomever she had been pretending to be for the night, she had given up on it.  Idly, he wondered who she really was, and what she did when she wasn’t in hotel rooms with escorts.  She was too young to be a lawyer or banker, as many of his clients were.  An heiress, perhaps?  One of those internet celebrities he’d never heard of but that Astrid was always reading about?  He supposed it didn’t matter, but a part of him wanted to know who she truly was behind the false name and the honeyed voice.  She seemed to have a good heart.

Her breasts were rubbing against his cock, making it twitch with interest, and he groaned a little, reaching up to stroke his fingers through her hair as she kissed over his belly.  He was thankful for the chemical assistance he carried; he would never have coped otherwise, and he knew he was going to feel like death the next day as it was.  Belle raised her head, and he opened his eyes to meet hers.  Her mouth was dark and full, lips glistening with saliva, and for a moment he wanted to break his own rules and ask her to suck him.  A wild notion, and a foolish one.  Besides, it was her night, not his.  She licked her lips, and reached to the side, holding up a butt plug and raising an eyebrow as she glanced back at him.

“I thought we might use this, if you’re okay with that,” she said.  “It’s hollow, you can put the bullet in it.  It’ll make your toes curl, trust me.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, and realised that he meant it.  He nodded.  “Alright.”

“It’ll be easier if you get on your knees.”

Lacey straightened up, shifting to the side so that he could roll over and push up on his hands and knees.  She reached for the lube, spreading plenty of it over the plug, and then onto him, before shifting position to kneel up behind him.  She pushed the plug into him slowly, gently, taking time to let him adjust to it, and he let out a low groan as it slid into him.  Flicking the end of it with her finger made him jump and chuckle richly, and she grinned, reaching for the bullet and turning it on.  She slipped it inside the hollow core of the plug, and he groaned deeply.

“Fuck!”

Lacey smirked, one hand moving between his legs and gently stroking his balls before sliding up to grasp his cock. She began fondling him with long slow strokes of her hand, and he groaned as he rocked his hips in time with her, the muscles of his arms growing taut.

“How’s that?” she asked softly.  “Is that good?”

“So good,” he said, between gritted teeth.  “You’re so good at that.”

She drew the bullet out and let it slip back inside again, and he threw his head back with a low groan.  The sound of it called to her, made her want him again, and she licked her lips, uncertain whether he would want her to stop what she was doing.  She bent to kiss his back, the faint salty taste of perspiration on her lips as she rubbed him.

“Do you want me to keep doing this?” she murmured.  “Or do you want me to fuck you?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his breath heaving, and jerked his head towards the nightstand where the clock sat.

“Time’s against us,” he gasped.  “Your choice.”

She should have done the selfless thing and brought him off, but she wanted to feel him inside her again.  If it was to be their last time, she wanted to see his face and feel him fill her up once more.  His cock was hard and thick in her hand, and she fumbled around in the sheets, hunting for one of the condoms. Getting it out of the packet and onto him was difficult when her hands were covered in lube, but she managed it in the end, and he growled in pleasure as she rolled it down his length.  She moved, taking the bullet out of him and turning onto her back, and he got between her legs and guided himself inside, sinking into her with a cry.  She slipped the bullet vibrator inside again, and his eyes rolled back as he let out a deep groan of pleasure.  Lacey lifted her hands, pushing them up above her head against the cool pillow, and he bent his head to kiss her, tongue pushing into her mouth as he fucked her hard.

His movements grew harder, deeper, hands sliding up her arms, fingers lacing through hers, pushing her hands down into the pillows as he thrust inside her. Lacey drew up her knees, wrapping her legs around his back, their bodies slippery with sweat and lube, tingling with vibrations, flushed with passion and their shared heat.  She could feel herself nearing climax, her limbs growing taut as she chased her pleasure, and he thrust inside her with a low cry, pumping his hips as he came.  His cock pulsed, and the feel of it made a tide of bliss wash over her, her cries drowning out his.  She bucked against him, flesh tugging at him, goosebumps rippling over her skin as pleasure took her.

Gold tried to calm himself, slowing his thrusts as she writhed and moaned beneath him.  Her flesh was still clenching around him, pulling the cum from him, sending ripples of pleasure through his body.  He drew to a stop, releasing her hands and pushing up on his palms, head hanging as he tried to catch his breath.  She was panting, her chest heaving, eyes closed and full lips parted and shining.  He let out a final, shuddering breath, and reached between them to grasp the base of the condom before pulling out of her and rolling onto his back with a groaning gasp.  The plug was still firmly inside him, but the vibrator had fallen out; he could hear a muted buzz from somewhere on the bed, but didn’t have the energy to look for it.  Glancing to the side, he could see that the three hours were almost up.  Just as fucking well, I might die if I have to go again.  He ran his hands over his face as he tried to steady his breathing, and Belle let out a heavy sigh.

“Whoa!” she gasped, letting an arm fall over her eyes.  “That was fucking amazing!”

“Yes.”

He couldn’t say much more than that.  It felt as though he’d been beaten up and then turned inside out, and he was sure he’d ache like hell the next day, but his body was still humming with pleasure, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever forget how good she had felt beneath him.

“Best night of my life, no question,” she added, her voice shaking a little as she tried to catch her breath.  “I mean seriously.  Usually I have to spend my time stroking egos and faking orgasms.  That. Was. Awesome!”

“I aim to please,” he said.

“No shit.”  She lowered her arm and turned on her side to face him.  “Hey, have you ever considered doing this professionally?”

He smiled lazily.  “Very funny.”

“I’m serious!” she insisted.  “I have no idea what you do when you’re not having sex, but I’m telling you it’s time wasted.  The money’s really good, you know.  You could make a killing.”

Slowly, very slowly, Gold lifted his head up off the pillows.

“What?”

x

Saturday morning, and a fine day had brought gulls in along with the fishing boats that went in and out of Boston harbour.  Gold glanced up, watching them dance and wheel in the air above as he made his way along the street. Wailing, mewing calls filled the air around him, making it sound as though they were having a laugh at his expense.  As they should.  Sighing to himself as he came to a stop, Gold rolled his shoulders, gazing up at the building which housed, amongst other businesses, Blue Star Escort Services.  He was tired, his limbs aching, and despite having stayed over in Boston the night before, felt as though he needed about twelve hours’ extra sleep.  He wondered how Lacey was holding up.  Probably far better than he.

Once they had both worked out what had happened, they were able to find the humour in the situation, although Gold had to admit it wasn’t an ideal way to meet a colleague.  Lacey had laughed about it even more than he had, but she had grown shy afterwards, and had dressed and made her exit quickly. He had been perhaps five minutes after her, heading to the motel he had booked just outside town to get a night’s sleep before going to the agency for his regular medical, and for an explanation of how he had ended up screwing a fellow escort instead of his client.

Much to his relief, Tink was back on duty at reception, grinning widely at him from beneath a loose bun of messy blonde curls.

“So, here’s the man of the hour,” she drawled.  “Who’s been a bad boy, then?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” he said patiently.  “A mix up in the bookings, that’s all. Could happen to anyone.  How did the client take it?”

“She called up, screeching about being stood up,” said Tink, with a shrug. “Astrid couldn’t calm her down, so Blue had to take the call from the networking function.  It’s cool, she smoothed some ruffled feathers, offered a discount, and sent Graham out on a rescue mission.”

Gold sighed.  “I owe him one, in that case.  I haven’t seen this client before, but I hope she wasn’t too difficult.”

“He managed to win her over,” said Tink.  “She says she wants you next Friday, though.  No excuses, in her words.  Sounds the demanding type.  You up for it?”

“Given the right chemical stimulants,” he remarked dryly, and she snickered.

“Great, I’ll confirm the booking,” she said.  “Oh, and don’t worry.  Astrid isn’t handling anything more technical than the takeout order in future.”

“Is she alright?”

“Just embarrassed, really,” said Tink.  “Everyone knows, by the way.  If it’s any consolation, Lacey gave you a gold star.  Actually, I think she gave you five.”

“Right.”  He glanced towards the coffee room, where he could hear the murmur of voices.  “Well.  I guess I’d better go and face them.”

Tink grinned at him, and he sighed and turned on his heel, heading for the door and pushing it open.

“And here he is, the man himself!” announced Jefferson, waving his hand in an elaborate gesture.

Lacey, Astrid and Graham were slouched in the chairs around him, grinning.  The man who called himself Hook was sitting apart from them, apparently engrossed in a magazine, although he glanced up as Gold entered and scowled slightly before looking away.  Was he wearing eyeliner?  Gold supposed it went with the leather outfit.

“Devine, take a seat!” said Jefferson eagerly.  “The lovely Miss Delacoeur has just been telling us about how the two of you tried to fuck each other into a coma.  It sounds like a smutty version of Thunderdome!”

“Only one man entered, though,” said Lacey, with a grin, and Jefferson snickered.

“It was a simple case of mistaken identity,” said Gold evenly.

“It was the shag of the century as far as I was concerned,” said Lacey bluntly. “Most fun I ever had with my clothes off.”

“God, I’m so jealous!” sighed Jefferson.  “My evening consisted of convincing a finance manager that I really wanted a threesome with him and his mistress, so all I have to say to you is—”  He stuck out his tongue, and Lacey smirked.

“Put it away, Sparkle-Pants, I ain’t riding that face.”

“Hey, I’m not jealous of Devine, I’m jealous of you!” protested Jefferson.  “Not that you aren’t a total goddess, of course, but I always wanted to know why he gets so many repeat bookings, and you were the one lucky enough to find out!”

“Perhaps you need some pointers on technique,” said Gold, with a grin, and Jefferson winked at him.

“If you want to pass on your extensive knowledge, I’m ready anytime.”

“Stop flirting with your colleagues,” said Graham, with mock severity.

“That’s not what you were saying last night.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a special exception for boyfriends.”

Jefferson spread his hands.

“I just want to excel in my chosen profession!” he protested.  “You’re always saying I should take more pride in my work.”

“I’m always saying you should clean the kitchen after you cook breakfast, but you never listen to me about that,” said Graham, with a grin.  “Suddenly you’re the next Employee of the Month?”

“Well, if boinking each other is our new way to build team spirit, I’m in.”

“In your dreams,” said Gold dryly, and crossed to the coffee machine.

“Oh, every one of my dreams.”  Jefferson pressed a hand to his heart, batting his eyelids.  “Especially the dirty ones.”

Gold couldn’t help grinning at that, but busied himself making coffee as the conversation thankfully moved on to topics other than his sexual prowess. Lacey appeared at his elbow, chewing her lip nervously.  She had tied up her hair, and was wearing a black top and booty shorts over tights and high-heeled boots.  She smiled a little tremulously.

“Hey,” she said.  “Sorry about that.  Everybody already knew, so - so I thought I’d better sing your praises.”

“It’s okay,” he said, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have told Leroy,” she added thoughtfully.  “That guy couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.”

“No matter,” he said.  “My only regret is that I lost a night’s pay.”

“Oh, crap.”  She frowned.  “Hey, my guy was a no-show, but I still got paid. Want to split it fifty-fifty?”

Gold shook his head.

“That’s your money,” he said.  “You keep it.”

“But you didn’t make anything!���

“I’ll speak to Miss Blue,” he said.  “She’s always very reasonable about mishaps.  I’m sure I won’t lose out completely on the financial side.”

“Oh, okay.  Cool.”

She chewed her lip, bouncing on her toes a little and looking uncertain, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Was there something else?” he asked gently, and she inhaled deeply, fixing him with a stare.

“I - I just wanted to say thanks,” she said in a rush.  “I wasn’t kidding when I told the others how great you were.”

Gold looked away, unsure how to react to her admission.  He knew he was good; he’d worked hard to become so, but she had made it easy for him too.

“Well, that’s my job,” he said.  “Just as it’s yours.”

“Oh, I know all about technique and all that crap,” she said impatiently.  “I can make a guy lose his mind in a hundred different ways, and I guess you can do the same with a woman, but that’s not what I meant.”

“What is it, then?”

She hesitated, as though she was unsure how to express herself.

“I - I didn’t have to pretend with you,” she said.  “Does that make sense?”

He eyed her for a moment, then nodded.

“I understand.”

“I just - I felt that I could be myself,” she added.  “That I could be Lacey.  I never want to be Lacey, you know?  Not at work.  Sometimes not even outside of work, to be honest, but that’s a whole other story of self-loathing I won’t bore you with.”

Gold stared at her for a moment.  He understood that very well, and he felt again that urge to protect her, to shield her from the world and anyone that might want to harm her.

“We all have our personas,” he said neutrally.  “Sometimes it’s easier to pretend to be someone else.  Someone who can handle what we do.  Even enjoy it.”

She nodded vigorously.

“Anyway, I started out being Belle Delacoeur, but a little way into our time together, I was Lacey again,” she said.  “And - and that never happened before.  I just - I wanted you to know.”

Gold smiled, giving her a tiny bow of his head.

“It was an honour to meet you, Lacey,” he said softly, and she sent him a wobbly smile.

“You too,” she said.  “And - and maybe I could buy you a drink sometime.”

His smile widened.

“Maybe you could.”

“Since we’ve seen each other’s O-face, small talk should be easy, right?” she added, and he blinked.

“You mean - you mean like a date?” he asked blankly, and she shrugged.

“Yeah,” she said.  “If you want.”

She was wavering, an uncertain look in her eyes, the expectation of rejection, and he felt it again, that rush of emotion, the urge to care for her.  He swallowed, nodding.

“I’d like that.”

[7deadlycinderellas]

There Once Was a Town in Maine,ch9

Ao3 Link

By the time Henry reached the huge house in the woods, it occurred to him that this was how a lot of horror movies started. So while the white rabbit was hopping up to the front door, he pulled out his phone and sent his dad a text.

“Dad, I followed a rabbit into the woods and now I’m lost”.

After a few moments, his phone buzzed.

“...Should I even ask why? Nevermind, turn on your findfamily app.”

Henry switched on the little purple icon. He had never really thought about it when his mom had installed it a few weeks ago (“But even if we weren’t in this weird situation, it can help if you lose your phone too”) but now he was grateful to have it.

The message buzz came again.

“Stay where you are, I’ll come and find you”.

“The bunny led me to a big house in the middle of the woods, you can’t miss it.  I’m going to knock and see if anyone’s home.”

The front door is ornate, with an old fashioned knocker that Henry lifts and knocks three times.

**

Neal dismisses the text before opening GPS directions.

“Please be someone normal, not a forest witch or something”.

**

Henry thought the man who opened the door was strange even before he opened his mouth.

He was tall, with short hair and pale skin, wearing a high necked shirt and vest. His eyes looked...normal, but somehow not, in a way that Henry could not put his finger on.

“I see you’ve found my rabbit” the man says.

“He was awfully far from home.”

“Please come in” the stranger says, “I should give you some tea and cookies for bringing him back home”.

Henry paid attention in school, and was well versed in the ins and outs of stranger danger.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Call me Jefferson”,

“My name’s Henry”, he says while tightening his grip on his backpack.

When Jefferson turns to lead him into the house, Henry stays back just long enough to hit the door with his foot and make sure it stayed open.

**

Neal stops to send a text to Emma before getting out by the forest.

“Having a situation, not going to be able to join you at the shop”.

He smiles as he tucks his phone back in his pocket. True, he hadn’t been looking forward to trying to talk to his father, but this had far more impossible possibilities.

He stares for a moment at the edge of the tree lines. After so many years in this world, with it’s skyscrapers and sidewalks, would Neal believe he would end up right back in the woods.

**

Henry had never drank tea before, and while the smell coming off the steaming cup was interesting, he only pretended to sip at the cup. The cookies felt stale when he broke one, like cookies from last year’s Christmas tin, so he avoided them too. The couch he’s sitting on has an old fashioned print, matching the rest of the room in looking like it hadn’t changed in half a century. A single wall is lined with hats, of many sizes and shapes and colors, the only detail seemingly out of place.

“Do you live up here alone?” he asks.

Jefferson nods, suddenly silent.

“Big house for just you. Don’t you have a family?”

There’s a long pause before he says “ I used to”.

“What happened to them?” Henry asks, running his finger along the edge of his tea cup, wondering why Jefferson wanted to talk to him, and how long it would take his dad to get here.

Jefferson is at the window now, staring through his telescope. Which seems strange to Henry, considering it’s day time, and it’s not pointed to the sky at all.

“This town stole her from me”.

Henry stands up, and goes to the window.

“Does that mean…” He’s treading a bit lightly. Jefferson seems nice, but slightly off. While Henry’s got his hopes up for someone else to understand what his family is dealing with, he doesn’t understand the how or the why that Jefferson would. And it he didn’t know….then the man might just be crazy.

“Does that mean you know about the curse?”

Jefferson laugh bitterly.

“Know about it? I was there when the old man was just setting the seeds that would become it. That girl was practically an innocent, but so full of potential, and he exploited that...The Queen...by the time she cast the curse, she knew what she was doing, and she wanted to make me suffer, and knew exactly who she could use to do it”

He moves from the telescope, and gestures for Henry to look through it. He does, and the scope is pointed, not the the sky, but beyond the forest, right into the street in front of the elementary school. Henry knows the girl it’s pointed out, he realizes.

“Her name’s Paige here, her family runs the bakery on Main Street”

“My daughter,” he says, “her name is Grace. Her parents seem nice. The Queen would know that. Would know that worse than making me forget her would be forcing me to remember her, when she cannot remember me. Force me to watch her be happy, without me”.

Henry winces, wondering why he mentioned Paige's adoptive parents.

“Why don’t you try and talk to her, see if you can make her…”

Jefferson laughs again.

“And say what? I’m the crazy man who lives out in the woods by himself. This whole huge house, with no one to share it with. They all remember nothing. There’s nothing I can prove about anything”.

Henry waits, before asking.

“If you know the curse is real, and you feel like you’re somehow responsible, how come you aren’t trying to break it? “

He shakes his head.

“It was neatly made. Only the destined, your mother, can break the spell. And it wasn’t terribly open about how to do that exactly”.

Henry’s starting to get angry.

“Why are you telling me this? If you don’t have any information that could help why are you even talking to me?”

Jefferson’s smile twists.

“Because despite their apparent knowledge, your parents both have their minds terribly closed to the possibilities. Neither of them would follow my rabbit”.

“So you wanted me to follow it?”

“Many good things have come to children who follow rabbits”.

Henry stops. The rabbit, all of the hats, Jefferson’s off-putting manner….

“You’re the Mad Hatter”

“I see you know a bit of my story”.

“My mom read it to me. Lots of people know that story. I think there’s a copy in the library here even”.

Jefferson’s sat down across from him, and it looking him straight in the face.

“That’s the thing. Your parents know us as stories, but stories come from somewhere. This whole land has no magic, so it tells of it in it’s stories. Your parents are still stuck thinking like this is going to follow their rules. They have to follow the stories.”

He stands at this point, and looks down at Henry.

“You ought ask your friend Lily where she came from. Really look into it.”

“Lily?” Henry asks, confused, “She’s just normal, and stuck here, she ran away.”

The corner of Jefferson’s mouth quirks.

“Did she tell you that? Than what you find out might just surprise her too.”

Before Henry can continue to interrogate him, there’s a knock at the door.

He stands abruptly.

“That’s probably my dad. I should be going.”

Jefferson smiles, a bit more genuinely now.

“I’ll show you out.”

Neal is visibly relieved when the door opens, and Henry steps out in one piece.

“Hi dad, sorry to drag you out here, but I had to return Mr. Jefferson’s rabbit”.

“If you just take the trail to the right, you’ll come out right behind Main Street in no time.”

He reaches out and touches Neal’s arm.

“You might find something out there that might interest you”.

Then he practically slams the door behind them.

“What was that all about?” Neal asks when they start into the woods.

“He’s the Mad Hatter, and he knows this town is cursed”.

“Whoa, are you serious?”

Henry nods, kicking a rock on the ground.

“He remembers who he was, and knows the Queen cast the curse. But I think all these years alone made him go a little nuts”.

“Wasn’t the Hatter already…”

“Different kind of mad. Lonely mad. His daughter’s one of my classmates.”

The two are silent for a while longer.

“Do you think there’s anyone else from Wonderland here?”

Henry shrugs,

“The book mentioned it a few times, but not anything major.”

“Copyright violation probably” Neal says, laughing.

Henry looks at him quizzically. “Writer joke. Anyway, your mom was the one who liked Wonderland. Said Alice was the only classic heroine whose attitude she respected”.

Henry laughs.

“I always wanted to see what a caucus race actually looked like”

“If you turn on CSPAN, you could find something just as-”

Neal’s voice breaks when his foot hits something. They’re almost to the edge of the forest, and his foot has collided with something hard.

He kneels down to take a look, and pushes some leaves off the object.

He doesn’t quite believe what he kinds.

Henry peeks over his shoulder.

“Is that...a head?”

It is, a normal sized head with a face, made entirely of wood. A face that he recognizes.

“Dammit Pinocchio”.

**

Emma sticks her phone in her pocket and takes the two envelops with the rent checks from the glove compartment. She would give Neal hell if she thought he was actually trying to ditch her, but she suspects something else strange might be going on.

She enters the shop, saying “Mr. Gold? I’m here with the rent”.

The man himself is behind the counter, and says “You can just leave it here in the box dear, I’ll post it later today”.

When Emma stands across the counter and hands him the check, she studies him.

Old sure, wizened even. One could even say impish in a way.

It was at the corner of the mouth, though not turned up in laughter, and the eyes, though without signs of a smile, that reminded her so much of Neal.

“Did you need something else?”

Emma steels herself, before asking.

“What do you know about magic?”

That definitely gets Mr. Gold’s attention, his face snapping up to look at her.

“Thinking of a career change?”

Emma steadies herself before continuing.

“Don’t joke. You’re a pretty common name around town. You must have realized by now that Storybrooke isn’t normal, not in any usual usage of the word. “

“Some would just call us quaint. Tell me Miss Swan, what lead you to specifically think of magic”.

“I don’t believe I ever told you my maiden name”.

That quiets him for a moment.

“In the stories, anything magic usually came with something trick or caveat.”

“All magic comes with a price” Mr. Gold says.

“How would someone know what that price was? If there were rules about magic being used, or how it could be undone, how would someone know what they were?”

Mr. Gold turns his back to her, Emma looks past him, and sees his eyes are fixed on an old spinning wheel draped with a white shaw.

“You are right Miss Swan, that magic in the stories are very clear with the rules. But this world has no magic, and hence the rules are not nearly so well known. In fact, one might say the best way to find them out, would be to go back to the stories themselves.”

He turns back around, and gestures to the door.

“Now if you don’t mind, I have some work that needs to be finished today, if you would mind leaving me to myself.

And with that, he practically shoos Emma out.

** Neal and Henry reach the apartment at almost the same time as Emma does. Neal is carrying a strange looking package, and the both look quite far away.

Emma locks eyes with Neal and says,

“Please tell me your day was not as befuddling as mine”.

[slimacwrites]

The Absence of You- Ch. 3 - Love and the Lost Girl

When Emma Swan, a young social worker, stumbled into Killian Jones's hospital room looking for her mischievous son, she never thought the encounter would go farther. But she'll soon come to realize that Killian needs her more than she knows. And maybe, she might need him too. Read the rest here.

This story is one I wrote a few years ago (first one I wrote and my most popular) but I’ve never put it on Tumblr. It’s got a very different feel to Dance with Demons, but it’s angsty all the same. So, to get it with my other stuff on here, and so new readers can hopefully find it, a new chapter (usually ~1000-2000 words) will go up every few days. Enjoy!

Emma's apartment was a small, two bedroom place. All the rooms were still the warm sand colour the landlord had painted them except for Henry's, which was a bright blue with boats painted on one wall. Despite the apartment being, as Ruby liked to call it, empty, Emma found it cozy. It was her place. She'd had it for three years and it had become her small family's home. Emma didn't need knick knacks covering the walls to tell her that. Her name was on the lease and there was no risk of someone coming along and telling her she had to move because she was no longer wanted. Everything in the apartment was hers- from the red rag rug under the ottoman to the box of green Jell-O in the cupboard. That was more than enough for her.

"So, about Killian?" Ruby waggles her eyebrows at Emma who promptly rolls her eyes in return. She set her coffee mug on the black leather ottoman, folded her legs under her and adjusted the hem of her shirt before answering.

"What about him?" Her feigned ignorance sounded hollow even to Emma.

Ruby isn't fooled by her stalling or her pretend confusion. "That was pretty impressive, what you did for him."

"It was what I'd do for anyone having a panic attack."

"Still. You calmed him down. You let him touch you. And you didn't freak out when he puked."

Emma got up from her seat at the couch and started putting Henry's toys away. She should have guessed the conversation would go this way when Ruby arrived for her usual Wednesday mid-morning coffee visit looking particularly wound. "I've got a four year old, remember? They are walking magnetics for gross things."

"Killian is very much not a four year old." Ruby's tone dripped insinuations.

Emma had had enough. She didn't want to hear any more about how she had come when called, calmed Killian down and helped clean him up. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about how he'd been the first grown man she'd touched since Neal. Since Phoenix. Because grown men left her high and dry, holding the bag. Or in that case, the watches. Emma wasn't stupid. She'd learned her lesson well.

"Can we just drop it?" she snapped. Ruby's eyes softened and she stood, crossing the floor to Emma.

She picked up a Tonka Truck and set it in one of the baskets lining the wall. After dropping a second toy in Ruby turned back to Emma. "Look, Emma, I'll drop it in a minute. But first, can I say something?"

"Are you really asking my permission?" Emma muttered, not looking at the brunette. Ruby would say it whether Emma wanted her to or not.

Ruby chuckled. "No. But it's the polite way to start." She grasped Emma's hand to still her. "Look, I know Neal was a jackass to you. I know keeping away from men keeps you safe. But what if Killian isn't like Neal? I mean, I'm not telling you to marry the guy. Or even date him. I'm just saying that he's in serious need of company. He's alone all day. No one visits him because he doesn't seem to have any family."

"What about friends?" Emma's voice is quiet. He's an orphan. Just like her. Had he ever known familial love or had he been found on the side of the road too?

"I told you before- he won't talk to anybody. But you. If he'd tell me about his friends I'd contact them. They are probably out of their minds with worry since he's been in there a week already."

"So what do you want me to do?" Emma asked, grabbing at Henry as he ran through the room. He squealed with delight as Emma hoisted him onto her hip and kissed his cheek. Sometimes she was baffled at how lucky she was to have him, how she hadn't done anything to deserve such a loving, happy child.

"I'm just telling you the facts. It's up to you to decide because pushing you isn't going to help. He's lonely. You're lonely- don't fight me on this Emma or I swear-" she said quickly, pointing her finger as Emma opened her mouth to argue. She had Henry, and Ruby. That's all that mattered. "It's not much of a life, siting in that room all alone every day, dealing with the loss of a limb by yourself. Chew on that for a while. I've got to go." She bent and kissed Henry's forehead who blew a noisy kiss back. Ruby pretended to catch it and stuff it in her pocket. His little giggle was the only sound in the apartment after Ruby left.

Henry was lucky. He was never alone. Not in the ways that mattered. That left scars. One was never alone when they were loved. Emma was desperate to ensure Henry knew that. If Henry grew up and knew how to love properly Emma would have done her job. She needed to rectify what had been done to her. If she could put all the love and comfort she had missed as a child into her Henry then maybe she could make up for her lonely childhood. Maybe it could rebalance everything.

And yet you're leaving Killian alone a voice in the back of her head cooed. You can't fix the balance that way.

Emma sighed and carried Henry to his room, putting him down for a nap. She kissed his forehead and tucked the sheets around his tiny shoulders.

"I love you Mommy," he murmured rolling over.

"Love you too baby," Emma replied, running a hand over her face. She left his room and flopped down on the couch.

Talking to Killian didn't mean anything. People could talk. That was normal. She could do that. Talking wasn't committing. The idea of Killian being an orphan kept running through her head. She would have done anything to have company as a child. Some days she would still do anything to get rid of the lonely feeling that left her hollow and heavy. Was he that empty too?

Emma couldn't promise being good company. But she could be company and that was better than nothing. Right?