So, in the Writers’ Hub we have quite the selection of opinions on when, where and if Captain Swan have ever done the deed. I took it upon myself to um… bring some of those scenarios to life.
He can feel the weight of her stare on the back of his neck as he turns from the helm, her regard following him as his invisible companion as he moves to go below.
She’s been sitting at the bow since sunset, the sky spreading before her like a sea of stars, but her face has never turned towards them, nor has she looked down at the glittering carpet of the ocean below. Her attention has been fixed, wholly and completely, on him.
It makes him nervous in a way he hasn’t felt in centuries – her silent perusal combined with the thrill of his newly discovered feelings leaving him quite lightheaded.
He wants her to watch him, but more than that he wants her to want.
He slips a hand into his jacket pocket in search of his flask – anything to soothe his frayed nerves – but he comes up empty.
“Lost something?” she calls, holding his flask between finger and thumb, her lip curled sardonically. “You’re not the only pirate around here.”
“You need only have asked, Swan,” he says, shuffling over with hand outstretched. To his surprise she pulls the flask back, holding it close to her chest and watching him with hooded eyes.
“Is that true?” she asks, her voice low.
“Is what true, love?” he asks, snatching for the flask and scowling slightly as she refuses to hand it over.
*****THIS ONE IS EXTRA LONG AS IT’S 2 SCENES IN 1*****
So here are two scenes from 3×21,
The wench outfit & jealous Hook
“Come on, Swan. Let’s get a look.”
And he’s got the nervous tick going too. Emma’s nekkid, behind that tree stump, and he’s a gentleman…. but they’re also short on time and have to get moving.
He’s probably had to stand there, staring into the moss on the bark around him while various grunts, huffs and ruffles of clothing come from behind that tree.
BOOBS.
SWAN BOOBS.
No but bless him. He loves Emma just the way she is and how she dresses. And he’s hardly been in Storybrooke that long. The world is all new to him.
And now here’s Emma. The woman he’s mad about, dressed in the clothes of his realm. The clothes he’s accustom to.
And it’s like a fantasy come to life for him.
It’s almost like that scene in every damn teen movie where the ‘unpopular’ girl walks in with a make over/prom dress on, and the boy has trouble picking his jaw up.
It’s a Saturday – like any other, really – when Emma wakes alone in their bed. It’s not altogether unusual, given that Killian typically wakes with the dawn. More usual as of late though, she muses, rolling over to his side of the bed. It’s not quite that he’s withdrawing, still generous with his time and his affection. If anything, so generous with his affection that it makes her worry. Not that he’ll leave – she’s so far past that at this point, that she ever doubted him becomes the sort of memory she can hardly reconcile with herself. But simply that he’s afraid.
“Of what, though,” Emma murmurs aloud. Of course, she has a feeling. On some nights – the cold ones, especially, when she pulls Killian nearly half on top of her just to stay warm – she has the same fear. One born of the sight of his life fading away, of his soul wrapped in unfamiliar clothes and unforgiving chains, countless moments where she’d wondered if she would ever see him again. It can wear on her.
Summary: In which Emma is always cold,
and Killian is always warm.
Rated: M
Warnings: Smut, angst
Words: ~6k
Notes: Much love and gratitude to the organizers at @csjanuaryjoy! Inspired by a prompt from @seethelovelyintheworld, who requested a fic where Emma is cold and Killian is warm, and by the beautiful sketch she drew, which you may find below. Also tagging @icecubelotr44.
It’s only when she’s taken everything out of the satchel twice – packing it carefully back in after the first, and tearing it right back out – that Emma allows herself to pout. She treats Neverland like a place of action. Whenever she’s still, it’s a place of mourning, eternal youth and sorrows, and she can’t hardly stand it. Can’t hardly sleep either. There are sounds echoing through the forest – grating, unnatural noises that belong in the winding, industrial alleys of poorly kept city blocks.
That, and she’s sure she’s never been this cold in her life. So she searches for the sweater she’d brought along, with no luck.
So, today’s drabble is a prompt request from the lovely @seethelovelyintheworld. It consists of some sleepy morning kisses and heated caresses for one Ms Emma Swan. I apologize for the crass title, but it seemed apropos.
Hope you like it!
The smile Killian gives her at the end, imagine this only…you know, in bed.
cshappybeginning 