#Plus like literally every time we’ve had a problem or looked slightly confused somebody has come up to us and asked what we’re looking for!

[welllpthisishappening]

Of Hockey Thighs and Poorly-Sized Jeans

Hello, hi, hey there internet. I was casually scrolling Twitter this afternoon when I came upon this ESPN story, which is, honestly, the pinnacle of sports journalism. I promptly told everyone I could about it and @distant-rose was like “please write about Killian Jones’ hockey thighs.” And I was like, well, today is my day off and I can’t say no to Ro, so...here’s 2K’ish of Killian Jones’ hockey thighs and Emma Swan being super into that. 

Based almost entirely on real-world experience because my husband buys jeans from one of the companies mentioned in that story. Also because we should all be way more into hockey thighs. Case in point:

“You are a marvel of the human body.”

Killian scowled at her, but Emma simply smiled in response, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands and it wasn’t really funny. It was bordering dangerously close to ridiculous.

“You keep making jokes love and I won’t show up.”

“I know you think that sounds threatening, but I promise it’s not,” Emma argued, not even bothering to shake her head. “I know where you live.”

That got him to change his expression.

And Emma couldn’t really help the smile that spread across her own face, not quite slow and certainly not measured. It was, she assumed, because everything was still so new and exciting and sharing a space with someone was not nearly as intimidating as she thought it was going to be.

It was, occasionally, a little frustrating – she hated drying dishes and Killian hated letting dishes air dry, something about spots or another word she’d only been half listening to because there was no point in drying dishes when the air was more than willing to do just that – but it wasn’t the overwhelming horror some dark, nervous corner of Emma’s brain was, still, certain it had to be.

It was nice.

It was comfortable.

It was an arrangement that led, rather quickly, to her discovering that Killian owned one pair of jeans.

And they were ripped.

She’d found that out less than twenty-four hours before a season tickets event that would not only require him to show up, but to wear casual clothes, an attempt at being relatable that probably wouldn’t work with an absolutely massive hole in the bottom of his jeans.

Because his goddamn thighs were too goddamn big from playing too many goddamn hockey games. Ass too. It was…ridiculous. There was no other word for it. Emma could not possibly be expected to come up with another word for it when she was having such a difficult time coming to terms with the overall circumference of Killian’s lower body.

“That’s true,” Killian admitted, leaning back against the wall in Macy’s. It was a miracle that no one had spotted them yet, a last-ditch effort with only a few hours to spare and Emma’s phone had been ringing nearly non-stop the entire time they’d been pacing the few feet of men’s section in the back corner of the building.

“But?”

“Why do you think there’s a but?”

“Isn’t that the crux of our problem here?”

He rolled his eyes, although Emma counted the quick quirk of his lips as some kind of victory. “That wasn’t even clever, Swan. That was—“

“—Hysterical. I know it was.”

“Awfully confident in your own humor. I’m going to show up pants-less to your event.”

“Regina would kill you.”

“You’re not worried about me showing up pants-less?”

“Eh,” Emma shrugged, the smile on her face threatening to make some of the muscles in that same face ache. Ridiculous. “How has this not been a problem for you before? You literally owned one pair of jeans?”

“I wasn’t really going a lot of places that required me to wear jeans that were casual while still being the face of the franchise,” Killian said. He huffed, a put-upon sound that only served to make the entire situation drift even closer to farce, particularly when he was wearing team-branded sweatpants. “And,” he continued, “if unpacking memory serves, you own no pairs of jeans.”

Emma’s smile disappeared almost immediately.

“That’s different.”

Killian quirked an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk full-blown as he tugged on several pairs of Levi’s they’d already decided were the world’s ugliest color. “Is it just?” he drawled, and it only took half a moment for him to move into Emma’s space, crowding against her front and they were going to draw a crowd for a reason totally unrelated to the team-branded sweats.

“If you get us kicked out of this Macy’s, I swear I will make you sleep on the couch later,” Emma warned.

“I don’t think that’s true at all.”

“You want to play that game?”

“I’d love to play several games with you, love,” Killian muttered, ducking his head to press the words against her jaw, “but I’m afraid we don’t have time before you have to impress the season tickets.”

“You have to impress season tickets,” Emma corrected. “And I don’t own jeans because they’re the worst and it’s impossible to find any that fit.”

“You see my problem then.”

Emma groaned, letting her head thump into his collarbone and she didn’t think she imagined his lips ghosting over the top of her hair. Her phone rang again. “Maybe we should ask somebody? Or you could just try on more horrible washes.”

“The pants-less thing isn’t an option then?”

She didn’t lift her head up. She laughed. He definitely kissed her hair. “I really do think Regina would kill you. Plus the fine. Detrimental to the team or something.”

“You think there are specific words for that?”

“I don’t think there are specific words for any of this,” Emma muttered, nipping at the bit of skin not covered by his t-shirt. The arm she hadn’t realized had snuck around her waist tightened. “What did you do when you were a kid?”

Killian hummed in confusion, leaning back with slightly twisted eyebrows and that same, far too distracting smirk. “Wore baggier jeans.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no. I was there, Swan, I promise that’s what happened. They fit my thighs and—“

“—What, fell off your hips?”

“Ok, my thighs are not that big.”

“Your ass though,” Emma mumbled, yelping far too loudly when he tugged her flush against his chest. She did her best to swat at his arms, twisting and turning, but that was almost as distracting as the smirk and they were definitely going to get kicked out of Macy’s.

That would also probably scandalize the season tickets.

And Regina.

“I think that means you’ve been staring at my ass quite a bit,” Killian said, chuckling against her when Emma almost visibly shivered.

Ridiculous.

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

Emma shook her head, a feat she was particularly proud of considering the rather constricting limbs still wrapped around her. “You heard me. Plus, you’ve got all that padding when you’re playing and that’s probably warping my perception and—“

She didn’t finish.

Killian ducked his head again, her knees bending on instinct and back twisting on something that she wasn’t sure her spine particularly appreciated, but the laugh seemed to bubble out of Emma anyway and the kisses pressed along her neck sent a shockwave of something through every inch of her.

Something good.

Wonderful.

Indefinite.

That was a better word. Longer lasting than the one pair of jeans the two of them had previously owned, at least.

“Oh my God,” she said, voice still shaking and the nearest Macy’s employee kept casting them furtive glances. “You are a menace.”

“You’ve just spent the last three minutes waxing poetic about several of my body parts, love, I think I’m going to have to disagree with you.”

Her phone rang again. Or was still ringing.

Emma scoffed, still doing her best to take a step back, which didn’t really make any sense when that was the absolute, last thing she wanted to be doing, but they needed to be a few blocks further west nearly ten minutes before and—

“We’ve got to buy something,” she said.

Killian kissed her cheek. “Maybe I’ll just show up in uniform pants. Then you can continue whatever science experiment you’re running with me and the parts you’re obviously very attracted to.”

“Presumptuous.”

“And you, love, have far too many opinions,” he said, moving back into Emma’s eye line only to catch her lips with his before she was entirely prepared for it.

That may have been the most ridiculous thing that had happened all day.

Emma sighed against him, letting her forehead rest against his and she’d pressed up on her toes to reach him easier at some point. The arm around her waist was still there as well, fingers tracing over the base of her spine, and maybe she should have worn heels if they were going to be doing so much kissing.

They couldn’t kiss that much in front of the season tickets.

That was disappointing.

“What size is your waist?” she asked, doing her best to keep whatever conversation they were having on, relative, track. Killian grinned.

“34.”

“Which makes your thighs…”

“Bigger than that.”

“That’s no help at all.”

Killian chuckled, leaning around Emma to grab a pair of dark-washed jeans that didn’t proclaim themselves to be anything except fitted, like that was an actual size and maybe they should actually be having some kind of conversation about the inconsistencies in sizing across brands and stores.

That seemed more difficult than another Cup run.

“Let me try these on,” he said, pulling Emma along with him towards the changing room they’d only recently left.

And it took, exactly, four minutes, several pointed expletives and a few words that were absolutely, positively, not English for Emma to kick her foot lightly agains the door.

“You’re not exactly doing much to inspire confidence out here, Cap.”

He groaned. “That’s because—God, fucking hell.”

“Not much better, honestly.”

The door swung open, jeans tugged three-quarters of the way up his legs and it wasn’t funny. It wasn’t. Emma’s…whatever was in charge of controlling laughter did not care.

She tugged her lips back behind her teeth, biting down to try and silence the noise. It didn’t work. And Killian looked vaguely scandalized, standing there with jeans that didn’t fit and briefs that were distracting in their own right and several pieces of hair at the back of his head were sticking up.

“Oh my—“

“—Do not, laugh at this, Swan. This is—“

“—Not funny.”

“It’s not.”

“I know.”

“It’s not.”

Emma nodded seriously, a bit of blood in her mouth from chewing so tightly on her lower lip. Killian sighed, shoulders shifting and a noise that may have almost been an attempt at a laugh.

“Totally not funny,” she said again.

“Absurd.”

“That’s a good word for it.”

His eyebrows shifted. Which, honestly, combined with the questionable amount of clothes he was wearing did something very particular to Emma’s pulse. “Were you having a difficult time coming up with appropriate terminology, Swan?”

“You spend too much time on the ice.”

“I think you like me on the ice.”

“I think we should get one size up, buy a belt and hope neither one of us is embarrassed in the next four hours or so.”

Killian didn’t move, but his lips twitched slightly – far too confident, despite the battle against designer-name jeans. The briefs were red. Emma’s eyes kept flickering towards them. “Only tailored dress pants from now on,” he said. “And I’m taking the jeans off as soon as we get home.”

“I mean, maybe wait until we get back in the apartment. You’ll scandalize the night security guy.”

“His name is Robert.”

“It does not surprise me that you know that. You going to be able to get out of those jeans or—“

His eyebrows did not make sense. And the tip of his tongue pressed into the corner of his mouth was downright offensive. “That sounds suspiciously like you’re offering to help me out of my jeans, Swan.”

“I didn’t say that at all,” Emma argued. “Must be losing blood flow to your brain or something.”

“Hmmmm.”

“You can take the pants off as soon as we lock the door.”

Killian grinned and made sure to do just that as soon the click echoed in the air around them, hands darting towards his belt at the same time he toed out of his shoes and Emma kept laughing.

That was nice. That was happy. She was happy.

His jeans were way too big.

He kept having to tug at the waist all night.

“Never again,” Killian mumbled, nearly tripping over the fabric as he tried to shake his leg out. Emma’s head bumped agains the door she suddenly found herself pressed against, but she barely felt it, far too preoccupied with those red briefs and whatever his hands were doing and she was regretting wearing heels again.

That changed rather quickly – as soon as Killian’s arm worked its way back around her waist, tugging her up and pressing his lips against hers. And her cheek. And her jaw. And the side of her neck.

They both nearly tripped over the goddamn jeans while stumbling down the hallway.

She woke up to find Killian already in the shower the next morning, padding into the kitchen with the jeans still in the same spot on the floor. Emma kicked at them, certain she’d pick them up on the way to her own shower, but something caught her eye as soon as her toes landed on fabric.

“Oh my God,” she mumbled, crouching down and the morning security guy probably heard whatever sound she made.

It might have been a guffaw. That was a good word.

Because the inside of the jeans were already a different color than they’d been on the Macy’s rack, rubbed together for several consistent hours of talking to season tickets and posing for photos and moving around the room because Emma and Merida had come up with a pretty detailed schedule and—

There was a hole in them.

It wasn’t big, but there was enough room that Emma’s finger pushed through relatively easily and she didn’t bother moving when she heard the footsteps behind her.

“You’re a jeans goon,” Emma accused, glancing over her shoulder to find a still-damp and clearly amused Killian.

“I think the jeans challenged me to a fight, I won and you’re still incredibly attracted to my thighs.”

“And your ass.”

“I knew it.”

Emma made a face, sticking her tongue out. “I’m throwing these away.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” he said, squeezing her shoulder when she stood up. “What if we just never bought another pair of jeans again?”

She ignored whatever happened in the pit of her stomach at that, a hint of want in the words and even more when his eyes flickered up towards her, and Emma found herself nodding almost immediately.

“Dress it is then.”

Killian grinned. “Even better.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #blue line one shots #this could not be more absurd #seriously this is a conversation i have had in the macy's in herald square #the challenge is real and jeans are the worst