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shireness-says · 5 years

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Not All That (But Has Potential)

Summary: It's not love at first sight, far from it. But there's something about Killian Jones that has potential...

Rated M for smut-adjacent stuff. Really. Also on AO3.

A/N Happy birthday, @distant-rose! I wrote this based on a conversation we had last week. I hope you like it!

Thanks to @snidgetsafan for beta duties.

Let me know what you all think! This is definitely the most suggestive thing I’ve ever written, so please, be kind to my prudish midwestern heart.

It’s not love at first sight, at least not for Emma. Far from it.

When Emma first spots Killian Jones across the bar, she’s not impressed. He’s kind of… bland isn’t quite the word. She can admit that he’s objectively attractive with his dark hair and fit body, though she prefers her men a bit taller. Still, there’s something about him that’s so… studied. He looks like he spends more money on hair product than she does, and Emma’s pretty sure she saw that hairstyle in a celebrity gossip magazine. The actor wore it better.

Any chance he might have had is dashed away when he spots her. Emma could maybe forgive that thing he did with his tongue as proof of his interest in her, but the way he swaggers over - swaggers! - kind of ruins things. Emma can tell right then that he’s the kind of man with an ego the size of a bus, far too wrapped up in himself to show her anything close to a good time. She’d bet money on it.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he drawls, leaning against the bar. “I’ve been waiting for someone like you all night.”

“Well tough shit, buddy,” she shoots right back with a sickly sweet smile. Emma’s learned over the years that that really off throws guys like him. Thankfully, the bartender slides her drink across the counter just then, and Emma’s able to walk away with a smirk.

In her opinion, it’s no more than he deserves.

———

Killian is smitten the moment he sees Emma Swan across the bar.

(Ok, maybe smitten isn’t quite the right word; somehow, that seems to suggest a deeper emotional attachment, and his thought process had mostly been fuck, she’s gorgeous.)

He doesn’t think he should be blamed for that, however. She’s got waves of perfectly tousled blonde hair, piercing green eyes and a body to kill for, the sight of her leaning against the bar in just the right way to emphasize her glorious arse enough to send arousal running through his veins. Gods above, she’s a sight, and he wants nothing more than to get to know her up close and personal, so to speak.

A man with half an ounce of sense in his head would be put off by such a brush-off as he’s treated to, but for better or for worse, Killian is not that man. There’s something that calls to him about that fierceness she bites back with, something that wants more of that harsh medicine.

It becomes almost like a game. He’ll toss little salacious comments her way, and she’ll return with a biting response. As time goes by and they see each other more frequently - the bar is right around the corner from his new apartment, it’s nothing to do with how incredibly enchanted he is by emerald eyes and that one particular smile she wears when she has the upper hand - he’s able to coax her into games of pool or darts. He loses most of the time, distracted by the previously mentioned fantastic arse, but that’s a small price to pay for her company.

———

Killian Jones is still a damn cocky bastard, but he’s always up for a round of verbal sparring or a game of pool - even if it is embarrassingly easy to distract him just by bending over the table in a way that flatters her assets - so she tolerates his presence. Mostly because it’s really fun to beat him.

There’s a spark there, she’ll admit. Killian’s made his interest in her very obvious, with his constant stream of flirting and innuendo, but as much as he irritates her, Emma still finds herself wondering what it would be like, if she let him fulfill all those promises. She’ll never act on it though; separation of bar and lovelife, or whatever.

Until one fateful night in June.

It’d been a complete coincidence that a skip wandered into the bar. Emma had been taunting Jones at the pool table again, ready to take him for everything he had (or at least that drink he promised her) when Arthur King sauntered right on in. It’s a stroke of luck that Emma had come straight from work with her cuffs still in her bag.

He runs, of course - must spot her coming with the handcuffs, because as soon as Emma calls out his name, he’s off like a shot. The crowd in the bar slows him down somewhat, but it hinders Emma too, and she bursts through the door still slightly behind him. She’s in better shape than her quarry, however, and is able to put on another burst of speed that’s just enough to catch up to him at the mouth of the bar’s side alley and tackle him to the pavement.

“Need a hand, Swan?” Killian calls from behind her as she cuffs King, straddling the bastard’s back to keep him down with her weight. She’s probably a sight, if the tone of his voice is anything to go off of, but who the fuck cares. She’s gonna do what she’s gotta do.

“Nope, I got it,” she calls back. Someone must have called the police inside because they arrive only a couple of minutes later to haul him off and arrange for her to come by the station in the morning to deal with paperwork, before leaving her alone again with Jones and the night.

She doesn’t know why she does it. If asked later, she’ll blame excess adrenaline from the takedown that spurs her on. But when Killian makes a comment about how women with handcuffs make his blood run hot, the smirk she gives him this time is more provocative than mocking.

“You want to do something about that?”

“Do I want to —” Killian starts, clearly flabbergasted, but Emma’s done with talking and drags him down into a hungry kiss, sucking his lip into her mouth without any preamble. To his credit, Killian catches up quickly, yanking her body as close as possible against his own and eagerly returning the kiss. Somehow, she ends up backed into the brick alley wall and grateful for the support. He’s one hell of a kisser, though a little too preoccupied with her ass - figures. She doesn’t dislike the way his hands are grabbing at her cheeks through her jeans - it brings her core closer to his erection as it presses behind his own jeans, and she’s all about that friction - but it’s not doing it for her quite the way she wants. Abruptly, she grabs one of those hands and redirects it to her breast where she can feel her nipple straining for attention beneath her bra. He’s a quick learner, she’ll give him that; he paws at her breast in the same way he did her ass, but the rough kneading is much more to her liking when directed further north.

A not-insignificant part of her wants to let him get her off right here - with his fingers, with his cock, she’s not picky - but they are in public, and she doesn’t even want to think about how filthy this alley is. Reluctantly, she pulls Killian away from where he’s doing his best to suck a hickey where her neck and shoulder meet.

“You got a place?” she asks breathlessly.

He nods quickly, almost eagerly. “Just around the corner.”

Pushing gently at his shoulders, Emma extracts herself from where she’d been (willingly) caged against the wall. Apparently at some point, her leg had come up to wrap around his waist; she doesn’t even remember doing so. “Then lead on.”

———

They barely make it inside, practically jogging back to Killian’s apartment in their haste to get back to the main event. Emma faintly registers that he’s got a studio-type set-up, everything but the bathroom in one wide-open space, but she’s far too concerned with trying to peel off Killian’s t-shirt and shuck her boots to pay it more than a passing glance. All that really matters is the location of the bed, after all.

Emma learns just how much of a talker Jones is that night. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he mutters as she falls onto the mattress with enough force to bounce. “Never seen anything so sexy as that tackle,” he declares against her collarbone. “Gonna make you feel so good, love, make you beg, make you call my name,” he vows against her right breast, where he’d been biting and sucking at the nipple only moments before.

Emma’s had enough of all that talk, though. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she mutters, chants as she pushes his head down, down, down to where that tongue might be put to better use. She may not be begging, but if the wetness collecting in her folds is any indication, her equipment didn’t quite get the same memo.

Her efforts don’t quite work, as Killian flashes her a grin on the way down. “As you wish,” he winks, before devoting the full and prompt attention of his tongue to her clit.

(After that… well, he might still be saying things, but as long as he keeps doing that, she doesn’t care.)

He’s not the biggest she’s had - thank you, anonymous New Year’s 2016 hookup for that honor - nor is he the best sex of her life, but there’s an eagerness to please about the whole affair that suits Emma just fine. He’s determined to get her off, first with his mouth and then with his cock (and his fingers for assistance when it becomes obvious that she’s not going to come from the penetration alone). There’s potential there, she thinks, a willingness to learn and follow her demands, which is more than she can say for most of her one-night-stands. He hadn’t gotten all huffy about his prowess when she’d had to drop her hand down to work her clit while he thrust into her, that perfect angle just out of reach, simply batted her hand out of the way and took over himself like it was a matter of honor. And hey, she’s all for that kind of honor if it means she gets to come.

Still, she barely waits until she’s caught her breath and the sweat is still cooling on their skin before she’s up again, redressing to leave.

“Just a one time thing,” Emma tells him as she wiggles into her jeans, boobs still hanging loose before she hunts down her bra. Points to Jones for not trying to tear through her underwear, at least.

“Whatever you want love,” he promises.

Emma’s not sure what she wants, but she’s pretty sure it’s not a second round. Pretty sure. She only does one night, after all, and Killian annoys her anyways.

———

It’s not a one time thing.

Killian is more than okay with that; their first encounter had been phenomenal for him. He thinks it might not have been quite as good for her, but he’s more than willing to fix that - he’s always liked a woman who knows what she wants in bed, and Emma Swan certainly does. He would have respected her desire to keep it as a one night stand and satisfied himself with memories of their tryst in moments of self-pleasure in the weeks following, but he likes it much better when she storms into the bar with fire in her eyes a month later, looking for release. Her skip had gotten away and she’s filled with an excess of adrenaline and frustration, which maybe isn’t the best reason to take someone to bed, but Killian is still happy to oblige. He brings her to climax with his fingers in a storage closet, her back pressed against the door and his teeth worrying at her collarbone, before he takes her back to his place for round two.

(She returns the favor the next week by sucking him off in that same closet, an encounter that will live in his memory for a very long time, thank you very much.)

A part of Killian wonders what it would be like if they were to take this further, explore what more their relationship could be beyond waning antagonism and mind-blowing sex, but for the moment, he’s more than happy with their arrangement. They meet at the bar a couple times a week (oh, how he’d love to bend her over that counter and fuck her senseless, arse thrust out just the way it was the first time he saw her, though he can’t imagine the bar’s proprietress would approve), sometimes to talk or play pool, sometimes to leave immediately and engage in more enjoyable activities. Killian enjoys the company regardless, but really - there’s something to be said for the wonderful things Swan can do with her body.

If that’s all they ever have, he’s still more than happy with that.

———

Emma hates to admit it, but Killian Jones might not be as bad as she thought.

It’s probably due to the increased proximity - God, she’s picking up his fucking vocabulary, isn’t she? - but there are certain things about him that are almost endearing. Like the fact he apparently volunteers at the local library, or that one time he’d cancelled on a night they planned to meet up because his younger half-brother had a choir concert. He’s… sweet, sometimes. Don’t mistake her, he’s still a cocky son-of-a-bitch most of the time, but he has his moments.

It’s more concerning to realize how much time they spend together - fucking or not. If they’ve had sex, Emma never lingers afterwards, but the same rules don’t apply when they’re just meeting at the bar to drink and let off some steam, her from her work in bail bonds, him from his job in publishing and a meddlesome older brother. Emma’s got a handful of other friends in the city, but there’s something about the dynamic that she shares with Jones that makes her feel free enough to let loose without feeling pressured to find the bright side or reveal more than she wants to. In fact, she’s a little concerned to realize that most nights, she’d rather talk to Killian than anyone else.

(And yes, going back to his place and fucking each other’s brains out afterwards. So sue her.)

It all comes to an unexpected head, no pun intended, after a particularly satisfying round. Killian has long since found that spot, that perfect spot, which elevates their sex to fan-fucking-tastic in Emma’s mind, but he’d been more than happy to let her take control that night, and she’d driven them both to climax atop him before collapsing and moving to her customary spot on the right side of his bed. The first breezes of fall are nipping outside, bringing a new chill to the air, and it’s hard to convince herself to leave for once.

“I don’t want to go,” she groans, flinging a hand across Killian’s chest.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” he offers. Something about his tone seems guarded, making Emma wonder if he’d like that more than he’s letting on.

“Yeah but if I do, this becomes a thing,” Emma explains, twisting the same hand in a circle for emphasis.

Killian abruptly flips onto his side to face her, dislodging her arm in the process. “Would that be so bad?”

“No, but are you ready for this to become… something?”

He jerks his shoulder in a half shrug. “I feel like there’s something here. I’m more than happy with our arrangement if you don’t want to explore that further, but I’m not opposed, either.”

The truth is, she’s felt it too. Even when she thought he was a cocky bastard, there was a chemistry there as well, and now that she’s seen a bit of his softer side, it really seems like whatever that charge is between them could maybe grow into something more than sexual release.

“I think there’s something too,” she whispers, as if it’s her deepest secret. Looking up at Killian, his eyes are blown wide with surprise beneath the lingering lust. Taking a chance, she reaches for his hand and twines their fingers together. “I’m not saying this will stay… something,” she warns, “but I think it has potential.”

“I think I can work with that,” Killian grins, sliding his arm around her waist to pull her into an embrace.

Emma can too.

#cs ff #captain swan #my writing #Not All That (But Has Potential)#what is this #i don't know #i'm blushing

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