fic, or it didn't happen

Release is the Key

Genre: AU, FTL
Rating: NC-17?
Word Count: 2,400

Theme: "jail cell"

Summary: AU in FTL - “You, me, a dark cell?  We really must stop meeting like this.”

Killian lifted his chin from his chest as the dungeon door banged open.  He hadn’t been there long himself, but the kingdom guard must have been in fine form that morning: two guards entered the dim-lit dungeon, dragging another prisoner between them.  He watched from his rough-spun cot, still lounging, as they threw his new neighbor into the cell beside his own and locked it, leaving the dungeon without a single word being uttered—they were frightfully dull.  

Killian’s eyes snapped back to the cell.  The prisoner got carefully to their feet, brushing dirt and straw from their cloak, oblivious to his attentions.  Then they pushed back their hood and Killian sat up straight.  It was a woman!  A lithe, blonde, and very familiar woman.  He nearly crowed with delight.  The thieves’ guild called her “The Swan”; beautiful, but dangerous—and almost impossible to catch.  

Killian had seen her naked, so he called her whatever he liked.

“We really must stop meeting like this.”

The woman—Swan—looked up and found his face in the wavering light of the torches.  “Of all the jail cells, in all the realms…”

She unclasped her cloak and tossed it onto her own cot, rolling her shoulders; the guards would rough up a woman just as much as a man.  Then again, the last time they’d crossed paths, he’d roughed her up plenty himself.

“Aren’t you supposed to be uncatchable?”

“Aren’t you?” she shot back.

Killian chuckled and folded his arms behind his head, relaxing back in their familiar banter.  Imprisonment was looking better by the minute.

“What was it this time?”

“Just clipped a few roses,” Swan said, off-handedly and his eyes narrowed.

“They wouldn’t happen to belong to the Queen of Hearts would they?”

Swan stretched her arms over her head, tunic hitching a little.  “No comment.”

“Oh, lass!” he barked in laughter.  “All that giant’s gold and now you’re after rubies?”

She shot him a look.  “How long did it last you?

She pressed her heel to the wall and Killian watched her pace the count of her cell.  Small hands curling around the jagged bars, Swan gave a sharp tug but there was no give.  Gods she was an intriguing creature.

“Fair enough.”

She finished measuring her cell and then – to his unexpected interest – began taking off her boots.  Then she started in on her leggings, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Um, what are you doing?”

She gave him a contemptuous look, tossing her hair over her shoulder in an unfairly distracting way.  “Escaping,” she said – as if that should be obvious – and continued stripping of her clothes.

Killian stepped closer, good hand gripping the bars between them.  “And how’s that, love?” he questioned, shamelessly angling his head for a better look.  “They surely searched you.”

Swan laughed.  “Please.

“Well, darling—whatever you’ve got hidden away, mmm…under there—do share,” he asked, all charm.  “I’ve had quite enough of the Charmings’ dungeon.”

Now Swan did stop—quite the opposite of what he’d been hoping for—and turned to look at him.  Somehow, standing there in naught but bare legs and a tunic, she still managed to look infuriatingly smug.

“Are you telling me the great Captain Hook doesn’t have ways of getting past a basic incarceration search?”

“You wound me,” he scoffed, but it was lessened by the hum of appreciation that slipped out—eyes drifting down from her face.  “I have ways.  And…”

“Secret places?” she offered.

Killian leered.  “None you haven’t seen before love.”

“In fact, it was quite the similar situation when we met,” he pressed himself against the bars, arm sliding through, elbow resting on the horizontal bar.  “You. Me. A dark cell…”

“I remember,” Swan drawled—ignoring his beckoning smirk.  She was studying the ceiling—for what he couldn’t possible imagine (or care about).

“It’s a shame they’ve gone and put us in separate cells.”  Killian mused, undeterred by her apparent lack of interest.  He drummed his fingers against the bars.  “If memory serves—you were begging for an encore.”

That got her attention.

Killian smirked, relishing her spirited glare.  One hand on her hip, she addressed him with derision, “Is that the word you’d use?”

He closed his eyes and licked his lips, supposedly caught up in the memory of it.  Then his eyes opened, lazy and sinful.  “Oh yes.”

Swan rolled her eyes, but she approached him all the same—stopping just a foot away.  She appraised him and Killian preened when her gaze lingered low before shifting back to his face, and she raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Nice,” she admitted.  Her lips quirked.  “But hardly something worth begging for.”

Killian’s grin only widened.  “Coy doesn’t suit you, my Swan.”

“I’m not yours.”

“You were.” He was still beckoning, and she was drifting.  “At least twice.”

“Is that what I told you?” she smirked, but she was close enough now that he could hook his fingers in the laces of her tunic.  And when he pulled her to the bars, she didn’t fight him.

“Such a shame,” he murmured again – so close – pulling slowly on the lace between his fingers.

Swan brought her hands up, gripping the bars on either side of his face and leaning in, his fingers brushing her breast.  Her eyes traced the span of the small gap between the bars, and then she smirked. “I mean, you’d definitely fit…“


“—but I’d have to do all the work,” she finished archly, Killian’s face gone stormy.  “Again.

His fist tightened in the front of her tunic and then she was flush against the bars, his mouth on hers, hot and furious.  She grabbed for him through the bars, holding tight to whatever would keep him against her, one hand still white-knuckled around the bar.  But he wasn’t going anywhere—and as she held them together, his hand left her shirt and found her underwear, pulling roughly; her hips snapped hard against the bars.  

Her grunt of pain was swallowed in his mouth, and she bit him in retribution, but then his fingers were there, under cotton, sliding over her. She gasped, desire crashing through her, and fumbled a second too long against his self-satisifed smirk; she kissed him wildly, but too late to stop him realizing—she’d been wet for him, ready and aching.

Hook—“ she tried to say, damp cotton stretching around his fist, but then he slid a finger inside her and she gasped.  Her head fell back, voice lost, and Killian growled – desperate to kiss, to taste the long line of her neck – held back from her by those bars.

“Goddamnit,” Swan hissed, not to Killian—but to herself—hips jerking around the slide and press of another finger.  He curled them slowly and her body followed, breasts pressing against Killian’s chest painfully through the bars, but it was a distant pain beyond the pleasure.  He claimed her mouth again and her hand was everywhere—his hair, his collar, sliding over his chest and behind—aimless and wild as he brought her closer still.  

He still slept with the sound of her begging gasp in his ear.

Fuck,” she moaned; and his quip was lost as she clenched around his fingers and he bit back a sound of his own.  That would give up the game—though gods knew he’d enjoy it.

He picked up the pace, his own arousal pressed against the unforgiving bars, and she writhed, pulling back to bite her lip, to try and hold herself against the spasms of pleasure.  But it didn’t work no matter how tightly she held the bar—her body betrayed her, hips rolling and thighs beginning to shake.  She was dripping and ready—if only those blasted bars hadn’t been between them!  

Killian wanted her like he’d never wanted anything else.

But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, and with Killian’s fingers still inside her, she lifted up onto her toes and hitched her knee over one of the horizontal bars.  She had an arm tight around his neck and the other hand clutching the bars, but she managed to hold it—body straining deliciously with the effort—and it was Killian’s turn to groan—“gods woman”—and sink his fingers deeper inside her.

Swan almost cried out, but bit it back, arms shaking—too close now to have it interrupted by the guards—and circled her hips, willing him to move.  And he did.  She tried to keep up, but it was too much; all she could do was hold on and tremble as he undid her entirely, his forehead pressed to her neck, all his focus bent on pulling wanton sounds from her.

She swore again, high and faint, and the scrap of her nails against his scalp was his only warning, before her body locked tight around him and she lost herself completely, his name a moan falling from her lips.

She came down slow and shaking, Killian stroking the last shivers of orgasm from her before he slowly pulled his fingers from her; Swan sighed like something being emptied.  Her thighs clenched.  He helped her lower her aching leg back to the ground, his wet fingers leaving marks on her skin in the torchlight, and when she slid back down the bars to the flats of her feet, her blue eyes were hazy with bliss.

He traced her lower lip and her tongue darted out to follow it.  Then he licked the taste of her from his fingers.

“Come with me,” Killian urged, leaning close to the bars again.  “Join my crew.”

Swan blinked, her focus slow to return.  “Your crew?”

“You’d make quite the pirate, and we make quite a team.”  He kissed her.  “Help me break into the royal vault.”

Swan pulled away, her hair slipping between his fingers.  “The royal vault?” she frowned, sobering.  “It’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible for Hook,” he boasted, eyes-bright with more than desire.  “I’ve found something that reveals its weakness—a map.”

Swan’s face lit up and he knew he’d won her over.  She leaned in close and his eyes half-closed, fixating on her lips.  

“You mean this map?”

Killian’s eyes shot wide.

Swan stepped back easily from his grasp, the worn paper turning over in her hand; Killian’s hand half-reached for where he’d hidden it before his eyes confirmed that it was indeed his map she was now casually unfolding in the middle of her cell.  Her underwear was still a crumpled wreck, her inner thighs slick with her release—and she stood there, indifferent as you please, going over the map he’d rightfully stolen.

“You—!  When we—!”

“Hm?” She hummed, not looking up.

“That,” he growled.  “Was not gentlemanly.”

Swan laughed, and curse it all, he still wanted her—that damned woman!  She folded the map and tucked it into the vee of her tunic, winking when Killian’s gaze followed the movement to her breasts.

“Damnit Swan!” he roared, slamming his palm into the bars.

“You said it yourself,” she reminded him, pulling her leggings back on.  “I know all your secret spaces.”

“You mean to take the treasure for yourself!” he declared.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  It’s at least a three-man job,” Swan reasoned, stepping into her boots.  “Besides, why would I steal what’s already mine?

Killian stared at her.

It was too impossible – but the words slowly began to sink in.

“No,” he breathed; then with more conviction: “No.

Swan shrugged, tongue in cheek.

“But you…”

She had the decency to look chagrined.  “I admit I was a bit…rebellious…”

“You were caught selling siren scales!” he exclaimed.  “They nearly had your hand off!”

“Thanks again for ‘dissuading’ them,” she cut-in.

“You’re a thief, not a princess!”

“I was a thief,” she corrected.  “Then the Queen—my mother—suggested I find a different way to channel my…energy.” She looked him up and down, her head tilting a little as he fumed under her gaze.  A small, almost wondering smile curved her mouth.

“Who was it you think put you in that cell?”

Killian scowled, his grip tightening on the bars.

“We heard a rumor someone was spilling our secrets – that a map might exist.  It was only too easy to track you down—you always were a garrulous drunk.” She sounded almost fond when she said it; though he was too full-up with this unprecedented betrayal to take notice.  

Emma smiled anyway, tipping him a half-hearted salute.  “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“You bested me.”

“Quite thoroughly,” she agreed brightly, and he scowled.

“You’ve used me ill, princess.”

“That?” Emma looked down, and bit her lip appreciatively. “That was just a bonus.”

And—as if she couldn’t help herself—she pulled him sharply forward and kissed him rough and fast through the bars, darting back just as he regained his wits enough to try for the map.  

Throwing her cloak about her shoulders, she touched the door of her cell and it creaked open without the slightest bit of force.  She’d never been locked in at all.

“I’m not completely heartless,” she promised, turning in the doorway.

From around her neck she pulled a thin silver chain from beneath her tunic; a dented iron key hung from it.  The key to the cells.  It had been there the entire time and he’d never noticed, never reached out to take it from between her—oh! 

Well-played, Swan.

Then she reached back into her tunic and pulled from the tight binding of her vest a second, unexpected treasure: his hook!  Killian’s eyes traced the silver curve of it as she turned it into the light; it would still be warm from her skin.  

Emma twisted the chain around his hook and tossed key and hook back into her cell, well out of his reach.  But that was only a minor obstacle to the pirate—he’d be free in a quarter of an hour.  Plenty of time for her to disappear.

His dark eyes had never left her face.

“I’ll get you for this, Swan,” he swore, voice curling with promise.

Emma shivered and before she slipped from the dungeon door, she looked back, her eyes bright and full of fire.  

“Oh, I really hope you do.”

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