Day 2 - Let’s
Ficlet - [12 Days of Captain Swan Christmas]
Prompt: (2/12) Let It Snow
Summary: Emma could imagine worse things than getting snowed in at The Crow’s Nest.
Note: Yes, this is set in the Bartender!Hook AU. No, it is not the next chapter. Yes, there will be one. No, I have no context for this scene except that it’s sometime in the future of that verse because I wanted them to have sex. regretnothing.gif
The wood beneath her feet was warm, but the air around the window was cool, its sill filling up with snow. She could hear Killian moving around behind her, moving their bottles and half empty cups from the hearth; she peered out through the fogged glass into the woods—snowy, dark, and deep.
“It’s really coming down out there.”
Emma drained the last of her wine and traced a tree into the glass. “We could get snowed in.”
“All the better,” he murmured in her ear. He’d snuck up behind her without her hearing, and her slight startle made him chuckle, face turned into her hair to muffle it. She thought she felt the faintest kiss there before he brushed her loosening curls to one side and rested his chin upon her shoulder.
“We’ve this rather lovely fire—“
“—that I made,” she reminded him.
“That you made,” he echoed; punctuating it with a teasing nip at her neck. “And nowhere to be.”
Emma tipped her head a little, giving him better access, and was rewarded with an open-mouth kiss at the juncture of neck and shoulder. She watched their reflection in the window.
“And…” he drawled, pulling her close enough to sway. “..,you’re wearing my shirt.”
Emma saw her reflection smirk before she even felt it on her lips. Killian’s eyes dipped to the vee of the stolen shirt hanging low across her chest, his hand sneaking beneath its hem to press against her stomach, her ribs. It took a little effort, but she turned her head enough to catch his eyes – their mouths a breath apart.
“And?” she challenged.
His hand slid lower, palm hot against the jut of her hips. “And no pants,” he all but growled, fingers skating the edge of her underwear.
He kissed her through the sudden hitch of her breath; his arm around her chest keeping her tight against him even as his hand slipped between cotton and hot skin and her body came alive.
She pressed back against him, hand reaching for his arm, his waist. Any quip she might have made about his lack of clothes, as if without his shirt he couldn’t be arsed at all—but then his fingers dipped and her vision whited out. She was barely aware of her own hands, pushing at her underwear, knocking into Killian’s – and him obstinately getting in her way, his laughter a warm cloud against her back – all that pushing, pulling, pushing.
Emma grabbed his wrist, her own ache of loss nothing compared to Killian’s frustrated groan; but it was not enough. She turned in the circle of his arms intending to press her front against the length of him, but he was quicker this time.
The frosted glass was a balm against her fevered skin, Killian’s shirt rucked up across her chest, underwear caught around one ankle. She scrambled for purchase even as he pressed her into the window – one of her hands pressing up into the frame above her head and the other at the back of his neck, fingers holding fast to his hair.
Killian pressed her back and back, glass and wood groaning, his mouth on her throat, her collarbone, the hidden kiss at the corner of her mouth. Emma was burning, her entire body thrumming under his touch, and when she moaned his name he kissed her right up onto the tips of her toes.
He pulled away with a bite. “Gonna make me do all the work, love?”
Emma wrenched his head towards hers, rough enough to elicit a growl before she crashed their mouths together, hard enough to bruise. From her toes, she hitched her leg up over the angle of his hip and he was there to catch it, to dig his fingers into the back of her thigh and lift. They slipped together not with a groan, but a sigh – frost melting at her back.
Killian’s fingers would leave bruises. He shuddered, grip tightening and pressed his forehead against hers. “About..bloody time,” he huffed, only to have his eyes slide shut, Emma’s laughing lips parting to lick the sweat from his mouth.
“Mmm,” Killian breathed, lips brushing hers with every sound. “Stop that.”
Emma smirked, rolling her hips with delicious precision. She let her head fall back against the cool glass, nothing but Killian and the halo the fireplace made around him in sight. “Bit slow for a pirate,” she taunted.
She watched the challenge spark in his eyes, the scowl he tried for but couldn’t hold – not with her wrapped tight around him, not when her lust-shot eyes were all he could see.
“Shhh,” he hushed, low and husky and almost gentle, before he gripped her tight again and snapped his hips forward
He set a brutal pace, Emma clinging fast to him, to the wall – the window a shuddering, pounding thing against their rhythm. When he found just the right spot, she cried out – knowing even as she rocked her hips to meet his, that she’d drawn blood; nails raking his back. He never stayed there long, just enough to set her writhing against the glass – a wanton display – and then he was pulling back, changing the angle, and laughing as his name tumbling from her lips as a prayer changed to a curse.
She cursed him until she came – toes curling against his hip, his teeth a brand against her shoulder. He followed, something like a gentleman, and Emma felt her feet touch ground again.
“Successful go round, eh?”
She smoothed back her hair, trusting her legs to hold her up and not tremble as she cleared her moan-hoarse throat and said, “Could’ve been worse.”
He leaned into her, hand and wrist pressed to the glass on either side of her head. She met the challenge of his stare. “Now you’re just trying to provoke me.”
Emma lifted onto her toes, skating her lips faintly across his, and then she was slipping under his arm and away. His eye caught on her underwear, abandoned on the floor, and then to her—walking through the firelight.
“I need a shower,” she called over her shoulder, and effectively silenced any protest he could have made by pulling his rumpled shirt over her head and letting it fall to the floor behind her.
He was fixated on the way the light hit the dimples of her lower back, the curve of her spine. “…yes?”
“Bring the wine.”