startswithhope:

As requested by a few of you, here’s a “jealous kiss” ficlet – Modern AU -Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours album is an essential soundtrack to the end of this fic… (1980 words, M rated)

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He has to set the pint glass back down on the bar before he crushes it in his grip, each breath he takes becoming measured in an effort to conjure an unaffected facade. It’s too slow tonight, amplifying every interaction, her laugh too loud from her end of the bar. Beyond frustrated with himself, he grabs a dishtowel and wipes at the polished wood before him in hopes that he can rub away this idiotic infatuation with the one woman he can never have. Emma Swan, the lithe blonde with the sharp tongue and impenetrable force field with whom he shares his Wednesday and Thursday night shifts. 

He’s half in love with her. Well, maybe more than half. 

The tiny hairs along the back of his neck rise and he knows she’s approaching, his own body defying his minutes-old mental edict to relax. 

“Hey, can I steal your Goldschläger? I’m all out.” 

Not trusting himself to look at her at the moment, he nods and continues to wipe at the nonexistent water rings on the wood with his rag. 

“What’s mine is yours love, you know that.” 

Cringing at the seriousness tinging the ends of his attempted flirtation, he closes his eyes in wait for her inevitable retort. 

“Everything okay with you?” 

He forces himself to look over his shoulder, too curious to see if her expression matches what sounds like honest concern in her voice. She’s regarding him with an unexpected softness and he forces a smile to curve his lips. 

“Aye, just tired, Swan,” he lies, hoping she won’t press him any further.

Her eyes narrow and then shift to his hand still moving the rag absently over the bar. 

“Right…well, I’ll just…” 

He watches as she slides behind him to grab the gold flecked cinnamon liqueur on the shelf, her short tank top lifting to reveal a strip of vanilla cream colored skin he longs to know the taste of on his tongue. The confines of his jeans feel suddenly too tight at that errant thought of his many fantasies and he snaps his head back forward, mentally shaking himself at his complete lack of control. 

“Hey Killian, you keep rubbing at that same spot, you’re gonna take the polish off.” 

Heat burns the tips of his ears at being caught, but he still manages to conjure up a salacious comeback. 

“Swan, sometimes it takes a lot of rubbing to really…get into it.”

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