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needtherapy · 3 years

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soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 20

An arranged-marriage story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 Part 2: 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 … HOME

It’s complete on AO3 here.

Notes: Check the tags if you’re concerned about the pairings ;)

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!

Chapter 20 Now

Xichen could not have guessed that the Ikarahu would throw a festival in an army encampment in the middle of a war. It seems so dangerous for so much of the army to be distracted. And yet here he is in the transformed sparring arena, surrounded by hundreds of people eating spicy meat grilled in huge open pits, drinking the sweet Ikarahu ale, dancing in pairs and circles, and singing boisterous, noisy songs. Any watching scout could see that there are brightly striped flags, strands of bells, and colorful lanterns looped over ropes suspended between posts around the outside of the arena. Xichen suspects the lanterns mean this festival will extend long into the night, and he tries to squelch the nagging concern.

After all, it is a party. It’s supposed to be fun.

Xichen had helped Huaisang hang lanterns for what felt like years, and Huaisang had explained that the festival was called Hatapi, a celebration of the ahuti’s birthday. The ahuti was considered a valued ruler as well, and the Hatapi was a chance to thank them.

“But really, it’s just an excuse to eat and drink,” he’d said, completely seriously. “Who doesn’t love that?”

When Xichen had asked how he had time to plan a festival, Huaisang had just laughed and said it was a yearly event, which gave him plenty of time.

“Right now Hatapi celebrates my mother’s birthday, but it used to be my grandfather’s birthday. And before that, my great-grandmother. It’s always celebrated on the birthday of the ahukau’s spouse,” Huaisang had winked. “Eventually, Hatapi will be on the eighth of…”

Xichen had slapped a hand over Huaisang’s mouth and refused to let him finish that sentence.

Even after Huaisang’s descriptions, Xichen hadn’t fully expected the sheer chaos of the day. It’s riotous and loud and full of surprises. There have been strength and skill contests all day: sword fights, hurling giant logs, foot races, even a surprisingly early drinking contest. Every winner gets a trophy and an enthusiastic clap on the back from Mingjue, and it pleases Xichen that it’s hard to tell which the winners prefer.

At the moment, Xichen, Qingyang, and Guangyao are watching the last contest of the day, the mounted archery competition, which Xichen has to admit is spectacular. More than fifty of the finest archers in the Ikarahu cavalry are riding without saddles or bridles in a tight circle, bows drawn, shooting arrow after arrow into bales spaced around the outside of the circuit. The judges, including Huaisang and Mingjue, are on the other side of the arena, both standing on horses, presumably for the vantage, which raises questions Xichen has never thought he would ask.

Guangyao sniffs. “It hardly seems like a challenge. They’re just riding in a circle.”

“Huaisang says the second half is more impressive.” Qingyang shrugs. “There are bonus points for style, but I don’t know what that means.”

They know immediately when the real competition begins. One by one, the riders take a circuit of the arena, making impossible shots as they stand on their horses or cling to the bellies of their horses or drop to the ground and bounce lightly off their toes to turn backward or dangle across the side of their horses to shoot from under their necks, hidden from view, all while galloping full speed. Xichen has simply never seen anything like it. He’s not sure there even is anything like it.

“My mother would have loved this,” Qingyang sighs, softly enough that Xichen almost doesn’t hear her above the din around them. “She missed the galio of her homeland more than anything else, I think. I’m sorry she never went back to Ikara before she died, but I’m glad I had as many years with her as I did.”

His own mother’s death is still a sharp pain in his side, but Qingyang doesn’t seem as unhappy as Xichen would expect. She looks at him with a wistful smile, one that seems to want to share this memory, so he ventures to ask, “When did she die?”

“Two years ago, before the Ikarahu came,” she answers, and Xichen squeezes her shoulder. So recently. He is amazed that she’s willing to talk about it.

She smiles at him, a bravely crooked tilt, and Xichen suddenly wants to tell her. To tell someone. Maybe sharing the pain will release it. Holding it tightly certainly has not.

“My mother died when I was twelve. Of a wasting sickness,” he says, and Qingyang makes a sympathetic noise. “I have always wished I had more time.”

Qingyang nods. “There is never enough, is there? I will always want to see her face again or hear her call me a-Yang. She was an artist too, and I was fortunate to work with her for years, until her fingers were no longer agile enough for fine details. The only comfort is that she didn’t have to…” Qingyang exhales sadly. “She didn’t have to know why I left Lanling.”

Guangyao is quiet and seems to be caught up in watching the last rider, a slim, short man who rides the circuit in constant motion. He is nearly a blur, bouncing off the ground, sliding under the horse’s belly to pop up on its other side, slinging under the horse’s neck, flipping backward, and somehow still shooting arrows. The crowd roars when he takes top honors and Mingjue bounds over to present him with the prize, a huge gold bowl filled with water that the man shares with his horse.

“My mother is dead too,” he announces, the words slicing cleanly through the noise of the crowd.

For once, Guangyao doesn’t seem to be trying to hide the emotion in his voice. He sounds as though he has been brutally stabbed in a wound that had not yet healed. When Xichen looks at him, there is such animosity on his face, his eyes narrowed to slits and his jaw clenched so tightly, Xichen can almost hear his teeth grinding together.

“Since you didn’t ask,” he says, his lips flattening into a tense slash. “I was seven when I found her. She wrote that she was sorry, as though she had something to apologize for.”

Xichen reaches out instinctively to slide his fingers around Guangyao’s tense hand, wanting to erase this terrible tragedy, this horror that still haunts his friend.

“Aitapaho, Qingyang, Yao-ti!” Mingjue’s booming voice interrupts, and Xichen jumps as though he’s been caught peeking at something forbidden, as though he’s been caught doing something forbidden.

Mingjue kisses Xichen firmly, with all the enthusiasm of a man thoroughly enjoying his life, but not before Xichen sees the quick, appraising look Huaisang gives him and Guangyao.

Guangyao sees it too, and laughs, the sound higher and more strident than usual. “We were only bonding, Oringa’anhu Ikira. Over stories of our dead mothers.”

He takes a deep, bracing breath as though he will say something else, something even worse, and Xichen is suddenly afraid of what it might be. Guangyao seems like a mirror about to shatter and slash whatever might be near it.

Huaisang grabs Guangyao’s wrist and interrupts him with a teasing grin. “Guangyao, you were wrong about the winner, so I am claiming your forfeit. You are required to learn the next dance. Ani?”

Guangyao frowns. “You didn’t tell me his horse was a galau, so I think you should forfeit,” he argues, but he lets Huaisang pull him toward the dancers.

Mingjue laughs and kisses Xichen again. He tastes like winter mint and joy, and Xichen lets it distract him. Mingjue can always distract him.

“Come, aitapaho. We will eat and drink and dance!”

Only part of that sounds enjoyable, and Xichen shoots Qingyang a pleading look, but she laughs at him too, shooing him away cheerfully as Titakau joins her. Friendship is not what it used to be, he thinks. He will have to get revenge later.

There is no reason he should not be able to learn this foot kicking, jumping, spinning dance, Xichen thinks crossly, but he is growing increasingly irritated with the frequency his feet get caught together, and he trips, falling against Mingjue, who only catches him with curious, roving hands. Finally, Xichen throws up his hands in exasperation.

“Ahoraho, I am going to watch,” he yells over the music, singing, and shouts of laughter.

In answer, Mingjue grabs Qingyang’s hand and drags her into the circle where she, Xichen notes enviously, picks up the steps almost immediately. Titakau silently hands Xichen a bottle of ale and he takes a drink.

“Roka iko auha em koni,” she tells him sympathetically, “Pia ei sakona auha em ga. Et taka ti eta engati hako.”

She’s right about that much. It is fun to watch. There are two lines of dancers, one on the inside, one on the outside. The two circles turn, flicking their heels in the air, kicking forward and backward, spinning from the inside line to the outside line, changing partners and changing back. It seems random and reminds Xichen of spinning maple seeds that flutter from the tops of trees in gusts of autumn wind.

Xichen catches sight of Huaisang, whose face is alight with mirth, and Guangyao, who looks—not quite angry anymore. Begrudging, perhaps. Huaisang leans in to say something and Guangyao rolls his eyes, but his expression softens. Huaisang tips his head back and laughs, suddenly spinning Guangyao toward Mingjue who catches his hand smoothly, exchanging it for Qingyang’s. Mingjue’s grin is impossible to resist, and a smile, one with dimples that reaches his eyes, settles on Guangyao’s face, and he shakes his head with a reluctant laugh. Mingjue’s face, which Xichen knows so well, shifts just slightly, from watchful hawk to satisfied cat, and he ruffles Guangyao’s hair as the song seems to finally end.

Xichen wonders. He wonders if Huaisang and Mingjue worked together to coax Guangyao out of his bleak mood. He wonders why. He wonders if there is something else here, a more complicated set of steps here than Xichen can comprehend.

As the night wears on, the crowd grows ever larger, including nearly every member of the Ikarahu encampment. Ale flows freely, the food tastes even more delicious grilled over huge open fires, and Mingjue convinces Xichen to try dancing again. It does not go any better than his first try, and in retaliation, Xichen trods on Mingjue’s toes. This is also unsuccessful, as Mingjue merely stops dancing and wraps his arms around Xichen, kissing him until his knees are weak and he forgets the whirling, swirling tumult around him.

“I’m ready for bed,” Xichen whispers to Mingjue.

Mingjue tightens his embrace and rests his forehead against Xichen’s. “After fireworks?” he asks hopefully.

Xichen nods, unable to resist the sweet, boyish grin. He traces one dimple with his thumb and Mingjue inhales, turning his face to Xichen’s palm. Xichen slips his fingers over Mingjue’s ear, into his hair, down the strong line of neck, and Mingjue sighs.

“Or now,” he says, voice husky, and Xichen chuckles.

“Now,” he agrees, taking Mingjue’s hand and leading him back through the crush of people where they run directly into Huaisang and Guangyao.

“Anakau! Xichen!” Huaisang hands Mingjue a bottle. “You have not toasted our mother with me! It’s tradition!”

Thwarted, Xichen can do nothing but take the bottle Guangyao offers him and raise it.

“Di ika gati,” Huaisang and Mingjue say the obviously familiar words together. “Sika galio, em inga oduna!”

Shaking his bottle at Guangyao and Xichen, Huaisang repeats the whole thing again, to long life, swift horses, and blue skies, until they join in.

Huaisang and Guangyao finish their bottles, and Xichen hands Mingjue the rest of his. He already feels lightheaded, and he doesn’t want to be drunk.

“What is your mother like?” Guangyao asks, surprising everyone. He looks like he regrets his words, though, and tenses as if preparing to run. “Does she enjoy this festival?”

Huaisang furrows his brow and answers the second question first.

“She endures it because my father loves it. Truly, she is the most generous person I know and the most terrifying.” An unconscious smile tilts his mouth. “She’s clever and stubborn and ambitious. She is not a soft mother, but she is wonderful. She would have been an exceptional ahukau, but she doesn’t like…” he looks at Mingjue for confirmation, “Being in the front of the room?”

“She is called Kiri’anata,” Mingjue offers. “It means…” He wiggles one hand and uses his other hand to move it around.

Huaisang laughs. “It means Shadow Hand,” he fills in, and Mingjue nods agreement.

Guangyao looks unusually confused. “It is known that she rules from behind your father?”

Huaisang shrugs. “They rule together, as partners. It’s not one or the other. They’re necessary to each other.”

Xichen can’t imagine what it must be like to have parents who love and respect each other. Who value each other.

He looks at Guangyao, who is staring at the ground, his expression a wholly neutral, blank mask Xichen recognizes from wearing it so often himself. Like now, when he is trying not to think of the treaty that forced Mingjue into this relationship or now, when he is trying not to think about what it means that Mingjue is the crown prince of his country and he is only Xichen.

“She is loved for who she is,” Mingjue adds, threading his fingers through Xichen’s.

“She is,” Huaisang agrees. “All the good and the difficult. Sometimes so difficult.” Huaisang’s eyes dance, and he laughs lightly, but he is watching Guangyao’s pensive, unchanging expression.

Huaisang is always watching everyone, Xichen thinks. Whatever he’s looking for, whatever it means to him, it’s too great a mystery for Xichen to puzzle out today. There is something else he would rather be doing.

“We’re leaving,” Xichen announces and turns, pulling Mingjue behind him. He looks back once to see Guangyao finally look up and meet Huaisang’s eyes without flinching.

The fireworks begin just before they reach Xichen’s tent, and the explosions reverberate through him, numbing his fingers and toes. Mingjue slows, intending to watch, but Xichen pulls him on, tugging off his coat before they’re even in the tent.

“Xichen,” Mingjue murmurs, cupping Xichen’s face in his hands, gentle as always. “What was your mother like?”

It isn’t what Xichen expected, but he says the first thing, the easiest, truest thing.

“She was beautiful.”

Xichen pauses and thinks. He seldom talks about his family. He rarely even talks about his former home. It has seemed like a necessary separation of the two halves of his life. And until now, Mingjue has never asked.

Xichen chooses this, too. He can not have a future without sharing his past.

“She told us stories of monsters and heroes. Stories of carp who became dragons, tigers who granted wishes,” Xichen says, smiling at the memories. “We played the guqin together. She was a healer. When we were boys, she taught my brother and I how to befriend the rabbits in the woods, although my brother was always more patient than me. Only the bravest rabbits would let me feed them.”

Mingjue laughs. “Ani, you are very fearsome, my bright heart.” He kisses Xichen’s forehead softly, lingering in the embrace. “Huan, will you tell me one of these stories?”

What can he do but agree? Xichen undresses Mingjue, and Mingjue undresses him, and they lay together in bed, legs tangled, Mingjue’s head on Xichen’s shoulder. Xichen tells him a story of a magical carp who granted bigger and more magnificent wishes to a man and his wife until the last wish was too greedy, too selfish, and the carp took everything away again.

“Tiras mau, Ahora’ipa,” Mingjue says drowsily, and Xichen smooths a hand over his hair and down his shoulder, listening to the sound of his breathing even out into sleep.

Love is such a surprise, he muses before he, too, falls asleep. It is a wonderful and perplexing surprise. Whatever their future holds, if he were to repeat the past, he would gladly pledge his heart and life, his honor and obedience to this man again, even if only in a treaty and not a true marriage contract. It is enough. Xichen curls deeper into the safety of Mingjue’s arms feeling lucky to have this much of him, his love and affection, and he will not wish for more, in case there comes a day he wants too much, and it is all taken away again.

Notes: Ahuti = The ahuti is the consort of the ahukau. It's gender neutral (as is ahukau). Roka iko auha em koni. Pia ei sakona auha em ga. Et taka ti eta engati hako. = I don't dance either, and I grew up with it. It's fun to watch, though.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #nie mingjue #lan xichen #nielan #soaring au #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #sangyao #cql au #mdzs au #Kristina writes tiny stories #complete on ao3 #forgot I hadn't finished this!#whoops

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kmomof4 · 4 years

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Of Darkness, Vampires and Soulmates Ch. 3 The Family Desmoulins

We’re back y'all! Thank you all so much!! Your response to this fic has brought me such joy! I know we’ve had a lot of pain so far, and we still have a lot of story left to tell, so thank you all for coming on this journey with me and for the trust you’ve gifted me with! I hope that you’ll agree that it was worth it when we reach the end!! I hope that you continue to enjoy!!

All the love and hugs in the world to @profdanglaisstuff for her outstanding beta services, @hollyethecurious for her encouragement and willingness to listen to me spitball, brainstorm and whine whine and whine some more, the CSSNS and CSMM discords for their encouragement and help with a title, and finally to @spartanguard for her INCREDIBLE and PERFECT art!!! I could iterally stare at all of it for HOURS!!!!

Chapter Summary: Over a century has passed and Killian makes his way to Pre-Revolutionary France.

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: 4.4K of 41K total

Tags: Vampires, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Prophecy, Black Death, French Revolution, Magic, True Loves Kiss

Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag list: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

A/N: While the chateau is made up, the description is based off of the Chateau de Montsoreau in the Loire Valley of France.

1786 France

Killian was finally making his way toward Paris after an inexplicable longing to come to the city had overtaken him while at sea ten years before. In his day, Paris had been one of the most prominent cities in all of Europe, but due to the religious wars between Catholics and Protestants, he and Liam had never been to the city. Why this compulsion had come upon him so unexpectedly, he had no idea. However, other priorities had prevented him from acting on that desire for many years. As the years passed, and the preoccupation wouldn’t leave him, he eventually found himself docking in Marseille and turning his face toward Paris. He was about a day’s ride outside the city, when he stopped at a small village in the Loire valley for the night. Once he settled down in his bed, memories he hadn’t thought of in years poured over him.

After discovering his Swan’s death, he stayed with David, doing what he could to help and support his friend in their mutual loss. By the fall, David wanted to leave London to see how the rest of his family had fared during the outbreak. Returning to the family farm, David discovered that his father had passed not long after he and Mary Margaret had left, and that his siblings had not survived the dreaded disease. As much as losing Mary Margaret and Emma had affected him, with the knowledge that the only family he had left in this world were a few nieces and nephews that he had never known and their families, Killian was not at all surprised when he finally came down with and succumbed to the pestilence upon returning to London. With the blood tears in his eyes, Killian laid his friend to rest beside his beloved Mary Margaret, Emma, and Granny. Saying a quiet prayer over the family that he had come to think of as his own, Killian turned away and left London, never to return. Arriving back on the continent, he had wandered aimlessly for a few years, before the call of the sea again drew him back to his beloved Jolly Roger and life on the open water.

Why these memories crashed over him now, Killian couldn’t tell. He fell into dreams with the blood tears in his eyes.

~*~*~

After staying in the village for two weeks waiting on a new wardrobe, Killian awoke to bright sunlight pouring into his room. Rising from his bed, he made his way over to the wash basin near the door and splashed the cool water on his face. After dressing, he came down the stairs of the inn and greeted the proprietor.

“Good morning,” he said, seating himself at a table. A bar wench laid the standard breakfast, consisting of bol de cafe, a large cup of coffee with milk, and pain au lait, a rich breakfast bread, before him and hurried away. He dove into the hearty meal as he planned out his day. Upon arriving in the village, he decided that before heading into the city, it’d be prudent to obtain some new clothes. He may not be a prince anymore, but he thought it’d probably be better to be taken for a member of the nobility rather than a rogue and a scoundrel that his pirate attire attested to. Gold, for a pirate captain, wasn’t a problem, so he had ordered a completely new wardrobe. And today was the day it would be ready. He meandered down the center of the village, simply enjoying the cool spring morning and the sunshine. He could just see beyond the simple buildings in the town to the surrounding green landscape of the valley. The beauty was enough to take his breath away.

As he arrived at the tailor’s, a petite noblewoman, dressed in a gown of burgundy silk that brought out the hints of auburn the sunlight gave her dark hair, was just stepping down from her carriage. He held the door open for her as her eyes took in his appearance.

After a brief nod, she swept past him through the door. He followed her in to see her speaking animatedly to the tailor’s apprentice.

“No, young man,” the condescension dripping from the woman’s lips raised Killian’s ire. There wasn’t much in this world that made him angrier than people thinking themselves above others. “I have no objection to you showing me new fabrics and so on, but I must insist on your master being the one to take my measurements and personally make my dress. This is for a party at Versailles.” Killian may have once been a prince, but from his earliest days, his father had taught him the value of working among and serving the people of their kingdom. That everyone, regardless of station, was made in the image of God and was deserving of honor and respect. The difference between the attitude of the royal family in his kingdom and the nobility of France astounded him.

“Yes, Vicomtesse,” the man acquiesced. “But Monsieur Marco will be occupied for the next hour or so, outfitting the Prince d’Épinoy,” he gestured at Killian, “in the wardrobe that he has prepared.” The woman turned toward him with a more appraising eye this time than what she had bestowed on him earlier.

“Oh, don’t mind me, August,” Killian began, swallowing his anger, “I’m in no hurry. I can wait while Monsieur Marco takes Vicomtesse…” he trailed away, holding his hand out in invitation toward the woman.

“Vicomtesse Desmoulins,” the woman answered, placing her gloved hand into his. He raised it to his lips and brushed them along her knuckles.

“While Monsieur Marco takes Vicomtesse Desmoulins’ measurements,” he repeated.

The woman’s high cheekbones flushed pink with his declaration, and she dropped her eyes. “Prince?” she asked, a little breathlessly.

“Aye,” he replied, “At your service, Madame.”

“Thank you so much for your concession, Monseigneur,” she cooed before turning back toward August. “Well?” she questioned the young man again, “Where is Monsieur Marco? I insist on seeing him at once! I’m on a bit of a schedule.”

“R-R-Right away, Vicomtesse,” he stammered, turning toward the back of the shop. Killian stood stoically, his internal displeasure at the Vicomtesse’s attitude well hidden. As soon as August had departed behind the curtain, she turned toward him again. This time with an appraising glint in her eye that Killian didn’t appreciate one bit.

“So what brings you to our fair village, Monseigneur,” she purred, moving closer to him. Killian prided himself on being a good judge of character, even before his meeting Rumplestilskin. And now, living as long as he had, that skill had only been honed further. There was no doubt in his mind that the woman before him was a siren, beautiful to look at, and yet deadly if you get too close. Not wholly unlike himself.

“I’m on my way to Paris, Vicomtesse,” he answered her, with a small bow of his head, holding his ground. “I’ve never visited and I thought it was time to change that.”

“Oh, yes, Paris,” she exclaimed dreamily, “Then I must insist on you coming and spending some time at our Chateau Havre-de-brume before joining us at Versailles. I’m sure that I could secure you a place at court.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Killian tried to protest.

She waved away his objection. “Oh, nonsense,” she pooh-poohed. “It’s the least I can do after you so graciously allowed me to see Monsieur Marco first about my measurements. We leave for Versailles in a week’s time and you can join us at the Chateau until then, then travel with us to court.” It was clear that the woman was accustomed to getting what she wanted, and Killian was finding it difficult to contain his amusement at her assumptions. If only she knew exactly WHAT she was inviting into her home, he chuckled under his breath. “We will expect you this afternoon at 4 for tea, Monseigneur. Dinner will be served at 9 precisely.”

Just at that moment, Monsieur Marco came out from behind the curtain. “August informs me that you’re willing to wait for me to measure Vicomtesse Desmoulins before collecting your wardrobe, Sieur.” Killian nodded at the old man. “Very well, I’ll be ready for you after 2.”

“Until then, Monsieur,” he said, with a bow. “Vicomtesse Desmoulins, I’ll be pleased to join you at your home when I’ve concluded my business with Monsieur Marco.” With another bow toward the Vicomtesse, he spun on his heel, and left the shop.

~*~*~

Killian dismounted his horse later that afternoon and handed the reins along with a brief introduction to the lad that waited to attend to him in front of the Chateau Havre-de-brume, not far from the village. After seeing Monsieur Marco about his wardrobe, he had returned to the inn, changed into his new attire, and departed for the Chateau. He had no objection to spending a week with Vicomtesse Desmoulins and her family if it gave him a free place to stay and would make his entrance into Paris and the court of King Louis XVI easier.

A servant wearing the livery of the chateau opened the door. “The Prince d’Épinoy, I presume?” he asked.

“Yes, my good man.” Killian said with a small bow.

“Vicomtesse Desmoulins has been expecting you. Follow me please.” He turned from the door and led the way to a spiral staircase. Killian couldn’t help but notice the excellent stonework and ornamentation that lent an air of beauty and leisure to the chateau as he followed the servant onto the main floor and into the salon where his hostess waited. The salon was extremely large with huge fireplaces on either end of the room to keep the spring chill at bay. The large windows flooded the room with light as he approached the Vicomtesse, flanked by who could only be her husband and daughter.

“Ah, Monseigneur the Prince d’Épinoy,” she began, “allow me to introduce you to my husband, Vicomte Desmoulins and my older daughter, Regina.”

Killian gave a small bow of his head as he reached out his hand to greet the much older man, by appearance anyway, before him. “A pleasure to meet you, Vicomte.” He turned toward the young lady on the other side of his hostess. The beautiful young woman dropped into a curtsey before laying her hand in Killian’s outstretched one as he bowed over it, brushing his lips over the back of her hand.

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure as her eyes skittered away from his piercing blue gaze. The assessing gaze of her mother had a small smile ghosting across his lips as he straightened again before them. He had no doubt that the Vicomtesse was already contemplating a match between him and her daughter. She couldn’t be much younger than what he appeared to be- eighteen, nineteen, twenty at most.

“Please, be seated, Monseigneur,” his hostess invited. “Tea will be served momentarily.”

As Killian settled down where the Vicomtesse indicated and the Vicomte and Regina took their seats, the doors burst open when a girl of about nine or ten came blowing in with the force of a whirlwind, followed by a rather short and rotund woman clucking her tongue at the child.

“Maman, Papa,” she cried, “Johanna said that I couldn’t join you for tea today! Oh,” she exclaimed, as Killian turned toward her. “I- I’m sorry, Maman, I didn’t realize we had company.” She curtsied before him and Killian felt his mouth go dry. It was Emma. It was his golden haired Swan. Obviously younger than she was when he knew her, but the features were the same. The high cheekbones, rosebud mouth, button nose and pert chin, not to mention the long blonde hair and green eyes. But, how? Snapping his jaw shut, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the child. As she rose from her curtsey, her mother motioned the child to her side.

Gathering her in her arms, the Vicomtesse spoke gently to her. “This is Monseigneur the Prince d’Épinoy. You may call him Monseigneur.” Addressing Killian again, she continued, “Allow me to present my younger daughter, Emma.”

Dumbfounded, Killian extended his hand toward Emma. “It is a pleasure, Mademoiselle.”

“Generally, she would not join us for tea when we have visitors,” she gave a slightly disapproving look to her daughter, who looked sheepish in return while cutting her eyes toward her gouvernante, “but since she is already here, she may join us. Just this once.” She smiled indulgently, as Emma’s face broke into a grin to rival the sun.

Killian desperately tried to keep his turbulent thoughts hidden, as the tea was served. Soulmates unbound by time. Since his time in London, he had memorized every word of the prophecy and so easily recalled the line that had baffled him a century ago. He cut his eyes at Emma as she settled herself in her own seat. If he needed any further confirmation, he got it when he spied the birthmark on her neck. The same birthmark she had in her first life back in London. It was a second chance. They could have a second chance. He would have to bide his time until she was of marriageable age, but remembering what happened the last time he left her, he was reluctant to go that route. On the other hand, he had to keep her safe from Rumplestiltskin, too. There was still no doubt in his mind that the monster wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if who she was to Killian was revealed. He would have to keep his distance from the family, but close enough to satisfy himself that he wasn’t leaving her alone. Remaining at Court in Versailles would be perfect.

~*~*~

The week at the chateau passed by for Killian very pleasantly. Mornings were spent touring the estate with either the Vicomtesse or Mademoiselle Regina. Emma was too young to spend most of her day among the adults of the chateau, but when she didn’t join them for tea the next day, he made his desire for her presence known to the Vicomtesse. Since then, Emma was a daily participant in the afternoon ritual after her daily rest. It was a few days after he arrived at the chateau that he realized the compulsion to visit Paris, first felt all those years ago, was the soulmate connection. He was acutely aware of Emma’s presence whenever she was nearby, and when he was actually with her the connection he felt with her filled him with a joy that he hadn’t felt in a century. It must have come upon him shortly after her birth, but as something he’d never felt before, he didn’t recognize it for what it was.

As the days passed, the Vicomtesse found more and more reason to remove herself from Killian’s company and employ her daughter in the entertainment of their guest. Killian had trouble hiding his smirk as for the third day in a row, the Vicomtesse was suddenly pulled away on urgent business at the chateau leaving him to tour the stables with Regina, who couldn’t hide her eye roll and rosy blush as they continued toward the stables.

“Hmmmmm,” mused Killian, leaning in closer to his guide, “Do you think that perhaps your mother might be trying to get us to spend some time alone together?”

Regina’s blush intensified as she rolled her eyes again. “She’s very old fashioned in her thinking and is trying desperately to make me a suitable match. Which she obviously thinks you are.” Killian pulled open the door to the stable for his companion. She ducked her head in embarrassment, but was unable to hide the spark of excitement in her chocolate brown eyes as she proceeded him into the stables. As he entered behind her, they were quickly approached by a young man, about his own apparent age. Brown hair, neatly cut for a stable hand, swooped back over the crown of his head. He was a handsome man with fine, strong features. Arriving by Regina’s side, he had to clear his throat in order for the two young people to snap out of their own little world and acknowledge his presence. He couldn’t help his chuckle as Regina’s blush deepened even further and the young man before her looked startled at the addition of a third to their meeting.

“Daniel, may I present the Prince d’Épinoy. He is a guest at the chateau before we return to Versailles at the end of the week.”

Killian gave a small bow to the man before him. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”

Regina turned back toward him, while keeping her eyes on Daniel. “Daniel is the stable master and will be preparing the horses for us this morning.”

“Ah, yes,” Daniel began, “You must be the owner of Nox. I must say, he is a magnificent animal, Sieur.” He turned away from them and led them toward the far end of the stables. Killian couldn’t help the pride that swelled in him at the high praise the stable master had for the animal. Daniel chuckled to himself. “He wouldn’t let anyone near him except me. Not that I mind. It’s a privilege to work with such an exceptional and beautiful horse.”

“Thank you, monsieur.” Killian looked around the immaculately kept stable and took in the obvious good health and well being of the other animals in their stalls. “That is high praise coming from someone of your obvious expertise.” Killian followed him until Nox poked his head out of his stall and whinnied in greeting. Killian reached into his coat pocket for an apple that he had brought from the kitchens as he began stroking the lustrous midnight black coat of his prized stallion. He nickered in pleasure as he chomped down on the tasty treat as they waited for Daniel to attend to Regina’s horse, Rocinante. Once Regina was mounted and ready, Killian opened the door of the stall and Daniel led Nox out with the lead rope.

Once he was mounted, Killian and Regina left the stable. Killian’s thoughts turned toward the young woman at his side. It was quite obvious to him that Regina loved Daniel. And Daniel certainly seemed to return her affections. But he was perceptive enough to know that the Vicomtesse would never approve of such a match. Not with the way she was doing all in her power to foster affection between himself and her daughter. She obviously loved both of her daughters very much, but she was also shrewd and calculating. A suitable match for Regina would be someone of the nobility with a high status at court. Anyone deemed lesser than their own station would never be considered.

“Tell me, Mademoiselle,” Killian began, hesitantly, “just who is the stable master to you?” He looked over as a soft blush colored her cheeks. He waited patiently as she seemed reluctant to share. After her earlier revelation, he wanted to make sure that she knew that he had no interest in her mother’s machinations to secure a match between them. Thoughts had already begun to tickle the edge of his mind of how he might be able to help the young lovers, if she deigned to trust him.

Regina cleared her throat as they cantered along. “Why do you ask, Monseigneur?”

“I’m simply observant, lass.” Killian clicked his tongue at Nox, changing their direction as Regina led them on a more southeasterly track toward the chateau’s vineyards. “I couldn’t help but notice the way you both looked at each other when we first entered the stable. As if you two were the only ones in the world.” He fell silent for a moment as memories washed over him. “I’ve only seen that kind of look once before. On the faces of dear friends who were very much in love. True Love, if you ask me.”

“Were?” she asked, looking at him.

“Aye, were,” he replied, sadly. “They’ve been gone many years. Taken far too soon.”

“How old were you,” she asked, softly.

Killian immediately realized his mistake. Speaking of the close friendship he had with David and Mary Margaret in the past tense, when he only appeared to be in his very early twenties, would naturally confuse Regina.

Killian scratched behind his ear as he scrambled for what to say. “Ah, let’s just say,” he began, nervously, “that I’m much older than I look.”

Regina laughed. “Well, how old are you then?”

Killian waggled his eyebrows at her. “Older than I look. That’s all you need know.”

Regina huffed. “Okay, fine then.” They continued their ride through the green of the valley. Before they had gone much farther, Killian tried to draw her out again.

“You never answered my question, Mademoiselle. Who is the stable master to you?” He looked at her again as she struggled to hide her thoughts from his perceptive gaze. She glanced toward him, her dark eyes piercing, clearly trying to see if she could trust him. Perhaps he should give her a reason to. “As I said, Mademoiselle, I am much older than I look. I have traveled far, seen and done many things. Dark things. Things that could prove advantageous to your particular situation.”

Shock plainly registered across her features. “What do you mean? What situation?”

Killian stopped his horse and looked directly at the young woman. “A situation where you feel trapped.” She cast her furrowed brow down toward her lap. “I am not far off the mark, am I, when I say that your mother would never approve of a match with your Daniel. That she would forcibly keep you right here, controlling you, making you into a carbon copy of herself, with all her ambitions for a higher station at court resting on your shoulders.” His piercing gaze rested on her as she lifted her gaze to him again. He watched the blood drain from her face.

“How could you possibly know all that?” she whispered.

He reached over and gently took her hand in his own. “I am not of this world, Mademoiselle. Trust me when I say that I can help you. I have the means and the desire. But, you must trust me.”

~*~*~

Regina looked down at their joined hands. The confusion, and yes, fear, she felt at their guest’s revelations were hard to rein in. Not of this world. What did he mean? He had only been at their home for a short time, but in that time, he’d been nothing but a gentleman toward all the members of her family. His clear affection for her beloved younger sister was particularly gratifying. Somehow she knew that she could trust him with this secret, but that didn’t make it any easier to actually tell him.

“Yes,” she whispered, looking up at him again. “I love Daniel. And he loves me. His father died last winter, leaving him as the stable master. He’s been here with me as long as I can remember. He’s the one who taught me to ride.” She lowered her gaze again as she felt her cheeks flush at the memories that now poured from her lips. “We’ve been friends our entire lives. But last spring, that changed. We’ve had to be very discreet in our liaisons so that Mother wouldn’t catch us.”

She looked up at her companion again. His gentle gaze and soft smile prompted one of her own. “We’d love nothing more than to be together, but with Mother trying to force us together, Versailles imminent, and his new position here at the chateau, I don’t know how it would be possible,” she cried.

He released her hands and knickered to his horse to get them moving again. “You leave that to me. I’ll play the dutiful suitor between now and then, culminating with a fake engagement,” he ruminated, waggling his eyebrows at her, prompting a giggle from her. ”When we return to the chateau to plan a wedding, I’ll have all the arrangements made for you and Daniel to be together. Now, how can I help you between now and our journey to court?”

She cantered briskly to catch up with him. “You’d help me? Help us? Why?”

He laughed. A bitter, brittle thing that told of pain and despair beyond measure. “Let’s just say that I have a soft spot for those trapped in circumstances that they have no control over.” She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine the storm clouds covering his visage with that statement. It was so desperate, so hopeless, that she felt her own heart go out to him. What kind of circumstances did he feel trapped in? Somehow she knew that she would never be privy to that information.

She caught up with him and gently placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you. But if there’s anything that I can do for you, you need only name it.”

His lips lifted in a soft smile. He patted her hand and looked up into her eyes again. His blue eyes were clear now. Clear as a summer sky. “Thank you, my dear. As we will be spending some time together in the coming months, fake courting and all, I would like for you to call me Killian.”

She could feel her cheeks flush again. “Then I must insist on you calling me Regina. It will make Mother think that we are getting closer. Which can only be good for keeping Daniel a secret from her.”

“Indeed. I’ll arrange for you to be my guide and companion for these last few days before we leave for Versailles, and you can meet Daniel without fear.”

The joy that exploded in her heart at his words could not be contained and a girlish giggle erupted from her lips. She dug her heels into Rocinante’s sides and took off toward the vineyards at a gallop with her new friend galloping behind, laughing along with her.

#cssns20 #krystal writes #of darkness vampires and soulmates #ch3 #art by spartanguard

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Second in Command (34/35)

Summary: Life as the “spare to the heir” isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be when you’re the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don’t know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: I’m just going to throw these words at you and pretend that I haven’t already written the final words to this story. Thanks for being such wonderful readers for all this time! I really, truly appreciate it!

Double line break of “-/-” means we’re changing POV and skipping ahead in time!

AO3: Beginning | Current

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“Darling,” Andy says out of nowhere, and Killian practically snaps his neck with how quickly he turns around to look at his son who is cupping his wife’s face with his small hands as he speaks to her with an intense focus, “listen.”

“I am listening, Andy,” Emma laments as she looks directly into Andy’s eyes while her legs are still covered with all of his toy trains.

“No, darling,” he sighs, making just the most ridiculous face that makes Killian feel such a kinship with the way that he moves his small brows across his forehead, “listen. I want biscuit.”

Why the hell is he calling Emma darling? What has made him decide to do that? And he’s definitely not getting a biscuit when he’s already had one today and they’ve still got to go to his parents’ house for dinner. He’s already going to be rambunctious because he’ll be around Alex and Lizzie. They’re so much bigger than him, and as nice as they are to him, they don’t exactly wait around for a one-and-a-half-year-old when they can run so much faster.

“Andy, what is her name?” he asks, pointing at Emma simply out of curiosity. “Is it Mummy?”

“Nooo,” he laughs as if Killian has just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, his blue eyes lighting up with such joy that Killian can’t help the way the corners of his own lips tug up into a smile. “She’s darling.”

Andy doesn’t quite say the word correctly, a few letters changed with others, but he has no trouble understanding exactly what his son is saying. It’s taking everything in him not to laugh. He doesn’t want Andy to think he’s laughing at him. He simply wants to laugh because his little lad is convinced that his mum’s name is Darling, and Killian doesn’t hate it. He actually quite loves it, but it does mean that he probably needs to start calling Emma by some different names more often.

“I like when you call me Mommy,” Emma sighs, lifting Andy off of her lap and up in the air while he giggles.

Emma looks over to him, a watery smile on her face, and he simply reaches over and places his hand on her shoulder, squeezing the soft material of her t-shirt. She’s been having such a hard time lately, and even when she’s happy he can still tell how upset she is over not being pregnant yet, how much it’s weighing on her mind. He is too. He wants another child so badly that it physically pains him sometimes, but he also knows that with how Emma is blaming herself, he could never say that. It’s not her fault. It’s no one’s fault, and he remains optimistic that things will be okay despite months of heartbreak.

Besides, they’ve got this lovable munchkin who means the world to him even when he’s having a crying fit so loud that Killian swears his eardrums have burst. Maybe his eardrums did burst and that’s why it doesn’t bother him so much anymore.

“Biscuit,” he repeats, and Emma’s eyes roll before they crinkle, lines forming that she claims are from her being thirty, but that he knows are from laughter. Laugh lines are the good ones, and he’ll be a wrinkled up old man as long as it means that he’s lived a good life.

“After dinner, Andy. We have to go see Gammy and Grandpa. And Alex and Lizzie.”

“Yay Lizzie.”

“Yeah, yay Lizzie,” he laughs, clapping his hands together and reaching over to take Andy out of Emma’s arms. Alex would be so mad if he knew that Andy preferred Lizzie to him. He wouldn’t care about it until he found out, but oh boy would he care afterward. “We’re going to see Gammy, Grandpa, Liam, Abigail, Alex, and Lizzie. And you can play with your horse.”

“I love how you say that like it’s an actual horse.”

“Maybe one day it will be. I’ve still got to get out there and teach you how to ride. We should go to the stables next week. The weather is supposed to be nice, spring finally coming in.”

“I’m not going to go spend a nice day out getting my teeth knocked out by a horse.”

“Oh, come on. That won’t happen.”

“It will.”

“It won’t.”

“Darling is silly, Daddy,” Andy laughs before crawling out of Killian’s arms and waddling over to play with his trains again while Killian can’t even bother to hold in his laugh, especially when he twists his head to look at Emma and sees how her cheeks are flushed.

“He takes too much after you. Just saying. Far too cheeky.”

“That is not at all a bad thing.”

“Yeah,” she sneers, even if there’s no venom behind it, while taking the toys off of her legs, “whatever. I’m going to go get dressed to go to your parents’. You can handle your mini me.” Emma stands only to immediately sit back down, her eyes tightly closed while her hands grip into the cushions, the material bunching as much as it can while her knuckles go white.

“Darling,” he whispers, reaching over and laying his hand over hers while his heartbeat ticks up a few paces, worry settling itself in his stomach, “what’s wrong?”

“I’m dizzy. I don’t…It was just for a moment. I stood up too quickly.” Her eyes open again, but she doesn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

“Emma, the last time you were dizzy you were – ”

“Don’t. please don’t. I can’t think about that right now, okay? And before you ask, I don’t want to take a test. I’m tired of them and of getting my hopes up. We have to go to your parents’ place. I don’t have time to get upset about everything again.”

“Can we at least talk about it later?”

“I don’t know,” she mutters before she’s slowly getting up from the couch and walking out of the room.

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up either, but they already are. How could they not be? He just wishes that she’d talked to him, that she’d take a test and make sure she’s taking care of herself. Watching her faint in her early weeks of pregnancy with Andy was terrifying, and he wants her to be safe. He knows that she is, that she will be, but he also knows that this is now all that he’s going to think about for the rest of the evening.

And it is, even as they eat dinner with his family, the conversation flowing across the table from nearly everyone but Emma. She really only talks to the kids when they talk to her, but she will join in on occasion. It’s bothering her too. He can tell. Liam’s been telling a story about his time in the Navy, talking about some antics he and his mates got up to, and even with everyone laughing, Emma doesn’t. Maybe she’s heard the story before. Liam does tend to repeat himself when it comes to his younger days, but he believes that Emma’s simply preoccupied with her thoughts.

He wishes he could take her out of them.

“So Killian tells me your house is nearly finished building. Are you excited? Emma? Emma dear? Are you excited?”

“Oh yeah,” she startles, fixing her napkin in her lap and straightening up. “I’m thrilled. It’s absolutely beautiful, and I think we’ll be able to move in over the summer. I think Andy’s really going to like the pool and having the backyard. He and the dog are pretty much the same that way.”

“You’ll have to come see it, Mum,” he says, reaching next to him and resting his hand on Emma’s thigh, tapping his fingers against her skin so that she can feel him. “The master has these windows that open up onto a balcony that’s just over the garden and the pool, and you’ll love the kitchen.”

“I’m just sad that you guys are moving away from us,” Abigail whines, looking at Emma before glancing at him. “I know it’s only twenty minutes, but that’s so different than being able to walk over to visit.”

“Abi, they’re probably leaving so that we can’t do that anymore.”

“Damn, you guys have discovered our secret,” Emma laughs, a genuine smile forming on her face for the first time in a while. “I’m going to miss you guys too, but I’m sure we’ll still see far too much of each other. We just want the space to raise Andy, you know? And we don’t always have to be near the offices like you guys.”

“We completely understand, Emma. I’m simply teasing. You already know that I’m going to be bothering you all the time. Ruby and I will, really.”

“Ruby asked for her own room there, so she might move in.”

“With Graham?”

“Nah, he’ll get to stay at their home. They can visit each other on the weekends.”

“That’s quite the marriage there,” Liam laughs.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Abigail playfully laments, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms over her head, “only having to see my husband two days a week sounds like a grand plan.”

“I’m sitting right here.”

“I know, darling. I’m hoping that you get the hint.”

“Darling!” Andy squeals, and Emma looks at him, her lips pressed tightly together for a moment until her entire face lights up in laughter while his does the same, the both of them unable to hold it together over his new obsession with the word.

“Have you two gone mad?” Brennan asks as he takes a sip of water.

“No, it’s just,” Emma giggles, reaching over to get Andy out of his high chair so he can sit in her lap while she smooths his hair back from where it had gotten a little wild. It’s got a curl to it now, almost like a swoop, and either he or Emma are always trying to calm it down. “Andy started calling me Darling today, so he really likes that word. I think he might think it’s my name even though he knows that I’m Mummy, right?”

“No. You’re Darling.”

“That’s adorable,” Abigail sighs. “Alex and Lizzie never do things like that.”

“Because your name is Mummy,” Alex says flatly as he squirms in his chair. “Can we go play now?”

“Finish those peas, and then you can go.”

“I’m finished,” Lizzie points out, pushing her empty plate forward.

“That’s because you like peas, Elizabeth,” Alex murmurs under his breath in the same manor that a teenager would. He’s six, but he’s got some spunk.

“My name is Lizzie,” she spits back, huffing her chest up to make herself bigger. This is obviously a fight they’ve been getting into lately, and so much like with Andy, even when he shouldn’t laugh, he can’t help himself. “I don’t like Elizabeth.”

“Guys,” Liam sterns, staring the both of them down with the same glint in his eye that Killian remembers Brennan getting when he and Liam were younger, “calm down. Alex eat your peas and stop teasing your sister. Lizzie, why don’t you take Andy with you so you guys can play in the playroom?”

“I’ll go with them,” his mum volunteers, pushing back in her chair and walking over to the other side of the table so she can take both Andy and Lizzie to the playroom. “I think I need so Gammy time with my grandbabies.”

“Andy is the only baby.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Allison says, her face stern. “I think I need some time with my grandchildren and then my one grandbaby.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he and Liam say at the same time before everyone dissolves back into conversation, Alex eventually finishing his peas and running off to the playroom to join his sister and his cousin far before dinner ends and everyone goes back to their respective homes with children who stayed up far too late and ate too many sweets. Andy finally got another biscuit, even if it was a small one.

After they have him asleep in his crib, they both walk to their room so they can change out of their dinner clothes and into pajamas. It’s been such a pleasant day, May deciding to actually be warm for once, but their house is cold enough to still need to dress in thicker pajama bottoms, most of which are already packed up in moving boxes. He’s just pulled on a t-shirt, his head getting stuck in the hole, when he notices that Emma is sitting on the bench in the closet still dressed in her clothes from dinner.

“If I…if I,” she begins, picking imaginary lint off of her pants. “Will you sit with me as I take a test? I know I said I didn’t want to, but I think I have to. I can’t turn my mind off.”

He can’t either. He can’t turn his mind off, can’t get it to shut up as his head pounds and his heart thrums, but it’s probably nothing compared to how Emma is feeling.

“You don’t even have to ask, love. Why don’t you go ahead and change though, okay? It’ll make you feel better.”

She nods her head before getting up from the bench and stripping out of her clothes and pulling on the first soft thing that she finds. She’s pacing herself, going as slowly as she can, but he doesn’t say anything as he watches her and the way that she fidgets. Honestly, the only thing that’s keeping him from fidgeting is keeping his focus on her, on making sure that he’s strong for the next few minutes.

For every minute to always be sixty seconds, the time never changing, never altering, it seems like this is one of the longest sets of minutes in his life. There were the minutes of waiting to know if he was going to be accepted into university, as if he would ever be rejected for who his parents are. But he was still nervous, still anxious about getting in on his own merit. There were the minutes before the first time he slept with Emma, all of the heightened nerves and emotions and flat out anticipation making everything seem so much more heightened than it was. Then there was the entirety of their holiday when he was about to propose. For that entire dinner he was anxious, so anxious that he didn’t ask until they were on the beach when that was not what he wanted. Those minutes seemed to drag on and speed up all at once. But then again, there were also the minutes right before he got married and the minutes right before he became a father for the first time. Those two moments, well, they likely get equal billing to this, and watching Emma’s leg rapidly tap up and down while she watches the timer on her phone doesn’t help.

“You know,” he begins, strengthening his grip on Emma’s hand from where their fingers are interlocked, the pad of his thumb running over her knuckles and around her engagement ring and wedding band, “we’ll have been together for ten years in a little over three weeks.”

“I know,” she whispers so quietly that her voice barely reaches her ears. “I have a gift for you hidden somewhere I’m not divulging, and you’re taking me to Scotland for our anniversary weekend.”

“Aye, I know. We’re going to have a great time.” He squeezes her hand again before bringing it up so that he can brush his lips over her knuckles once, twice, three times more. “You infuriate me more than anyone else on this planet, but I also love you more than anyone else on this planet. Don’t tell Andy that because he gets his own little category.”

Emma chuckles as she leans her head onto his shoulder, hair sticking up and getting caught in his mouth while her tapping slows a bit. “I promise I won’t tell him.”

“Good. You’re my best friend, Nolan, and I – ”

“Woah, talk about a flashback. You’re calling me Nolan again.”

“If I keep calling you darling, you’re going to have to change your name according to our son.” He twists his head to kiss the side of her head, smelling her perfume and the faded smell of her shampoo from this morning. “You’re my best friend, and Emma, as much as I want that test to be positive, as much as I think it’s going to be after we’ve tried for so damn long, if it’s not, you will still be the person I love most and the person who I want to eat horrible food with at two in the morning while we watch television. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

“How are you so damn good with words?” she sighs, nuzzling into him further. “Like, you are stupid good with them, and it’s not fair because I still can only do that on occasion. I can’t think of a single thing to say to you that doesn’t sound dumb. I guess I love you.”

He chuckles into her hair before pulling back and leaning down to kiss her shoulder. “I love you, and I don’t need your flowery words. I never doubt your love for me, and when I have my emotional meltdowns, you always know what to say too. I think we can look at the test now.”

“Can you do it for me? I know that sounds pathetic – ”

“It doesn’t,” he says, rising from his spot on the edge of the bathtub and standing to grab the pregnancy test that’s on the counter without letting go off Emma’s hand. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, gathering the strength, before he’s picking it up and looking at a little screen that very clearly says the word pregnant. Emma’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. They’re having another baby, and he does not wish to control the way his lips are tugging up on the corners or the way his heart is beating a quicker pace in his chest.

It could beat out of his chest right now, and he wouldn’t care.

“Killian, what the fuck does it say?”

He turns back to look at Emma, releasing her hand so that he can cup her cheeks, holding her gaze to his and staring at the freckles that run across her nose the way that her eyes are shimmering with tears. “I can’t wait for this kid to grow up so I can tell them those were their mum’s words in the moments before she found out she was pregnant.”

“Really?” she chuckles, the water already falling to her cheeks. “I’m pregnant?”

“Really,” he smiles, contentment spreading across every inch of his, “you’re pregnant.”

-/-

“Are you nervous?” Killian asks her as they wait backstage and listen to some of the other speakers at the women’s conference they’re attending today. Or really, she’s attending and Killian’s secretly tagging along because he’s weird and wanted to watch her speak. He’s being supportive, and she appreciates it, but she’s freaking out a bit right now. Her speech is as personal as she was allowed to make it, which she kind of feels like defeats the purpose of the women’s empowerment that’s going on today, but she also knows that five years ago no one in this family would have been allowed to do this because it would be seen as too political.

It’s not. It’s…human. Speaking up for women is human, and so this is simply another patronage that she is lucky enough to support and to bring attention to and not some kind of political statement. If she wasn’t speaking, she’d likely be bouncing with excitement and anticipation over this.

“I’m terrified,” she whispers, adjusting herself in her chair and smoothing down her dress over her protruding stomach. She’s six months pregnant, but sometimes it’s still so weird to look down and for something to be there that’s not always there. But it’s not like she can forget. If her body didn’t scream with the changes every day, she’d be reminded by Andy every day when he says hi to his baby sister or Killian when he’s far too overprotective and worries about her if she eats too much ice cream. She thought he’d calm down this go round, especially since the actual pregnancy has been so much easier (the months leading up to it not so much), but it might be worse. It’s sweet, but she wants to be able to pick up her two-year-old without Killian freaking out.

“You’re going to be fantastic. I know.”

“You’re biased. You don’t think the speech is a little much? That it’s not too privileged?”

“I think that you are afforded different opportunities and advantages in life but that doesn’t mean your experiences aren’t important.”

“There you go with your wise words again. It’s amazing how you can also be so dumb.”

“I love you, my sweetheart of a wife.”

“I know, right? I’m pretty much the definition of kindness.”

“And humble.”

“Oh, definitely humble. That’s what I put on my business cards.”

“Emma,” Isabelle says, interrupting them and pulling her out of her distraction and back to the reason she’s here, “they’re ready for you.”

“Thank you, Isabelle,” she sighs, rising from her chair and straightening out her dress as much as she can. “Alright, babe, wish me luck that I remember how to speak.”

“If our kid can do it, I have faith that you can too.”

She rolls her eyes before squatting down and briefly kissing his cheek. Isabelle guides her to the side of the stage, and when she’s introduced, she walks out and stands at the podium, her heel turning a bit underneath her. She’ll never quite get used to doing things like this. Spending time with kids and sitting at stuffy dinners, sure. Giving speeches, well, that’s different. She’s kind of regretting being here right now. She feels ridiculous.

But no. She wanted to do this. She wants to do this. She wants to support everyone who she can. This is a good thing.

“I am a lot of things,” she begins, swallowing the lump in her throat that always comes whenever she speaks in public. “I am a wife, a mother, a daughter. I am a former bartender, a current Duchess, someone with dual citizenship, a patron of charities ranging from education to mental health to arts and athletics. I am also a television enthusiast, someone who loves to eat every dessert I can get my hands as well as someone who enjoys running until my legs feel like jelly. And then, you know, eating actual jams and jellies.”

She takes a moment as the crowd laughs to tuck her hair behind her ears and take another deep breath. Why are there so many people? No, she’s not going to freak out. She can do this. It’s fine. It’s just talking.

“You can label me with every word in your vocabulary. A lot of people have labeled me in words that I cannot repeat here because I like to play as a proper lady sometimes. But here’s the thing, on top of these labels, on top of the ones that I embrace and the ones that I hide behind, I’m Emma. I’m Emma, and I am my own human being, my own person with all of my own interests and wants. Being a wife and a mother are two of the most important things in my life, but I cannot be either of those things without loving myself and knowing who I am as a woman first.

I spent a long time hiding behind the shadows and allowing others to control my life with their narratives of who I am. I was a thief, a pushover, a commoner, an unfit bride, and a horrible mother who refused to follow tradition for not showing off my newborn child five hours after giving birth. I was untraditional, uncaring, crass, and I was someone who was labeled all of these things by people who have never met me. After this speech, I’m sure I’ll be labeled the same things by more people who have never met me, maybe even some who have. So here’s my point. For your entire life, people are going to try to tell you who you are. They just are. It’s going to happen no matter what you do. But here’s the thing, you have the ability and the power to push back, to fight back, and to say no, I’m not those things. And even better, you have the ability to show them exactly who you are.”

She hears the claps. She really does, but these lights are bright, and her daughter is doing some kind of Olympic level gymnastic routine in her stomach. That’s really all she can focus on as she regulates her breathing again and runs her hand over her stomach, resting it there while she looks back at her page, the words written in large, printed letters. The kicks comfort her. They’re proof of the life she wanted for so long.

“We as women have the difficult challenge of being cornered into a box and not allowed out. If I cry over having to leave my baby at home, I am weak. If I get excited over being pregnant, people think that I don’t care about having a career. If I love my husband, I am not my own woman. If I spend time to do things for myself, I am neglecting everything else in my life.

You know what? That’s not true. I can love my child in the same way that you all can, and it makes me strong. And if you don’t want to have children, good for you. It’s your life, and you shouldn’t do something that’s not right for you. If I am excited over being pregnant like I am right now, I can still be excited over getting to stand here speaking to all of you as a part of my job no matter how nervous I am. Being a mother does not mean you have to give up your life. It’s a way of adding to it. I can love my husband with every fiber in my being, but that does not at all mean that I am not my own person. And I can spend time with my friends, spend time away from home, spend time doing things that make me happy without being told all about how I have a baby at home. Trust me, I know.

What I’m trying to say is to drop the labels and simply and unapologetically be you. There is no better thing that you can be, and I hope that everyone here can be of service to you and to all of the strong women in your lives. Thank you for having me here today.”

She nods, smiling out at the crowd before she’s walking away with her heart pounding in her chest while her face heats. She was terrified to give that speech, terrified of how it would sound using herself as an example when she lives a privileged life, but she had to listen to herself and allow herself to follow everything she just said. She had to do what felt right to her, and while she never imagined having such a platform to help others, she’s glad that she does.

She’s definitely going to avoid public speaking for a little while, though.

“You’re bloody amazing,” Killian sighs when she gets to him, his hands palming her cheeks before his lips are slanting over hers in a kiss that makes her head reel from the emotion behind it. “I’m so damn proud of you.”

“Thank you. I think I’m going to go vomit now.”

“Pregnancy or nerves?”

“Both.”

-/-

“Okay, buddy,” Killian sighs, holding onto Andy’s hand as they walk through the back hallways of the hospital, “we’re about to meet your little sister. She’s really rather small, and like you are with Indy, we have to be gentle, okay? With Mummy too. So no jumping on the bed.”

“Why?”

“We don’t want to hurt Sutton or Mummy.” They walk up to the door, Thomas greeting them when they get there, and he picks up his son before they push through the doors, David and Mary Margaret’s backs the first things they see when they enter.

“Mimi,” Andy shrieks, squirming in his arms until his can get a hug and a kiss from his grandmother and eventually his grandfather. “I’m a big brother.”

“You are indeed,” David tells him as Killian walks over to Emma and leans down to briefly brush his lips over hers while she holds Sutton. It’s been six hours, and he still absolutely cannot believe that he has a baby girl. She’s beautiful. So is his wife.

“Hi, love. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. This still sucks, and she’s not latching, which is freaking me out. I want - ” she sighs, leaning back in bed and closing her eyes, a piece of her hair falling in her face “ – I want to take a nap, but I want to see Andy, okay? She’s quiet now, so it’s probably a good time for you to have brought him since I’m sure he won’t want the screaming banshee that I can already tell you that she is.” Emma looks down at their daughter then, running a finger over her cheek. “I love you, baby, but you are a handful already.”

“We’ll get that all figured out in a minute, okay? It’ll be fine, love. You want me to get Andy from your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Dave, can I have my kid?”

“You have to say please,” Andy huffs, sticking his chest up as David walks toward him. Killian’s just about to say it when Andy gasps, his hands going over his mouth while his eyes blow wide. “Is that my sister?”

“This is your sister,” Emma laughs, holding Sutton up the slightest bit while David gently puts him down on the bed. “Can you say hi, Andy?”

“Hi,” he whispers, waving to her as he slowly walks toward Sutton and Emma. “She’s small. Can she talk?”

“Not yet,” Emma says gently, puling Andy closer to her while he keeps watching Sutton. “When she gets bigger like you, she’ll learn how to talk.”

“Can I hold her?”

“You can help me hold here. Um, hold on,” she mutters, adjusting Sutton in her lap. “Babe, can you get a pillow for him?”

He nods his head and turns to grab her breastfeeding pillow, figuring it’s sturdy enough for this as he adjusts it around Andy while he settles down next to Emma. It’s a bit of a complicated maneuver to safely get Sutton situated on the pillow and in Andy’s small arms as he looks down at her with a soft, pensive smile on his face.

“How did she get out of Mummy’s tummy?”

Emma’s cheeks flush, his doing the same, and he hears David snicker behind him. “You know what, Andy, I’ll tell you about that later.”

Andy shrugs before looking at Sutton and then Emma’s stomach, his brows pushed together in thought. Yeah, they’re definitely going to have to figure that one out later before he comes up with one of his ridiculous theories.

-/-

“Don’t we have to turn around at some point?”

Killian hums next to her and tightens his arm around her shoulder, fingers taping against her sweater while she gets a sniff of the spice of his cologne. “Most likely. The end of our property is just up ahead, and as much as I love Ruby and Graham, I’m not sure how much I trust them with a newborn and the wild child that’s itching to go swimming even though it’s still chilly.”

“They’ll be fine, babe,” she sighs, tucking her hand into the back pocket of Killian’s jeans and playfully squeezing his ass as they walk. “They’ve watched them before, or at least Andy. And Sutton is two months old, so all they really have to do is not drop her. Besides, I’m really enjoying our full transformation into an elderly retired couple with our walk.”

“Weren’t you just the one who wanted to turn around?”

“I mean, yeah, but I just wanted to make sure we didn’t walk all the way back to London when we’ve finally left it.”

“Considering I’d have to carry you home on my back were that to happen, I, well, wouldn’t let it happen.”

“Hey,” she laughs, slapping his ass again, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t have a death wish, so I’m thinking it’s not what you’re leaning toward.”

“And what exactly do you think I’m leaning toward?” He stops walking even as she keeps going, so when he tugs her back, she nearly stumbles and falls into the lush grass, dew still coating the blades. Or maybe it’s residual rain. She’s not exactly sure, but it doesn’t matter as long as she doesn’t fall. “What was that for?”

She sees his brows raise, then settle back into their normal resting place all the while one corner of his mouth ticks. He’s obviously trying to school his features, to keep from saying whatever it is that’s on his mind…which makes her completely sure that whatever it is he wants to say is going to make her mad. He’s so predictable in that way. Or really, maybe being together for eleven years means that she knows him a little too well.

Plus, those baby blues tell all.

“Nothing, my love,” he promises, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her into an embrace while he brushes his lips across his forehead. Yeah, he’s definitely holding his tongue and trying to distract her. “Let’s keep walking until we get to the swing.”

“You’re going to have to fulfill your worst nightmare and carry me there because I’m not moving until you tell me what you were going to say.”

“I was going to say I don’t want to carry you and, you know, some other stuff that I’m seriously not going to say out loud.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a weak, weak man who is incapable of carrying my wife unless I know that the faster I get her to the bedroom, the faster I’m going to have to have sex. So I could carry you go the swing now if certain promises are made.”

“I’m not having sex with you on the swing. Oh God,” she laughs, slapping his chest and leaning back so she can look in his eyes, the blue dimmed under the shade of his baseball cap. It’s a Yankees one, and she’s pretty sure that he stole it from her back when they were dating. “Is that why you had this swing built so far away from the house? Is it a sex swing?”

“Emma,” he bellows, leaning down and pressing his face into her shoulders while his entire body moves with laugher, the vibrations running through her from how close they are, “no, I did not build a bloody sex swing. I’m also not sure that you realize that that is something entirely different.”

“I know what a damn sex swing is, and you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Mhm, sure, love. Sure. If you want to hop on your old man’s back, I’ll carry you to our sex swing.”

“Nah,” she sighs, pulling back from him and reaching down for his hand so she can interlace their fingers and run her thumb over his knuckles, “I can walk. Take me to your sex swing.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

They walk a few more minutes until they come up on two large oak trees that twine together, obviously having grown here for much longer than any of the other trees and flowers they had planted when they were building the place. Her green thumb has gotten better since she planted the small garden outside of their apartment, but it’s definitely not enough to keep up with everything here. There’s so much beauty out here, much more than in the city, and even as her sneakers gets soaked in the damp grass, she’s so damn happy to be living here with her family.

The privacy is wonderful too. They can walk the grounds without worrying about anything. It’s like having freedom again.

She settles down onto the cushioned swing, not swaying until Killian settles down next to her, but then she pushes off the ground and starts moving them, causing the chains to gently hum and rustle with each movement. She’s going to have to bring Andy and Sutton out here one day. Andy will like the swing, even if it’s not like the one on his playground, and, well, maybe Sutton will like looking around at all of the leaves above them and the squirrels that are running around. She loves looking around, love focusing on her surroundings, and even though Emma sometimes thinks that her daughter is already attempting to be as different as possible from her brother with the fits and the crying, she does enjoy being swayed and getting to see everything around her.

There are so many similarities in her two children, so many that she already sees, but the moment Sutton was born without any hair but the tiniest of peach fuzz and the with features fairer than even Emma, she knew that this was not going to be another Killian. Sutton was going to look like her, even if her features are already changing, like a mix of the two of them but also her own person. Genetics are so strange, and even if she remembers studying them in school, she can’t quite explain her children. For all she knows, if they’re crazy and decide to have another one in a few years, that one could have hair as red as the flecks in Killian’s beard. That would really be something else.

“So I was thinking that we should go on a date sometime soon.”

“Yeah?” she asks, lifting her feet from the ground and curling them underneath her while she rests her head on Killian’s shoulder as he keeps them swaying.

“Most definitely, and as much as I love going on walks with you and hanging out on our sex swing, we should probably go somewhere without the kids being on the same property.” “Is this like when you made me leave Andy all night?”

“A little bit. But mostly I just want to take my wife on a date. We didn’t get to do that while I was courting you, so I feel like we still have so much to make up for.”

Sometimes he talks like he’s from a different century, and she’ll never be over how much she loves that.

“I don’t think we need to go on retroactive dates.”

“Well, that’s not really what I meant. I just meant that I like going out to dinner with you or sneaking into a movie or a play. Hell, we can go on a hike or to a football match. Just trying to keep the romance alive since my sex swing isn’t doing that.”

She chuckles to herself before twisting and propping herself up to glide her lips over his, almost instantly deepening it into a gentle push and pull. He tastes like his tea, but she doesn’t really notice that as she thinks about how much she loves him and how much he makes her laugh with his ridiculous jokes that literally no one else in the world would find funny. He pisses her off sometimes (a lot of the time), but then they have moments like this, the gentle quietness of nature surrounding them, and she wonders if all of the hell they went through to get here was actually quite so painful.

“Have I ever told you of the wonders that you are capable of with that mouth of yours, love?”

She laughs against his lips, their skin brushing together while Killian’s hand snakes up under her sweater and rests on the skin of her back, his skin warm compared to the early spring chill that’s still roaming around them. “You have, but it’s usually not quite in this context.”

“So dirty.”

“Hm, you usually say that too. I love you, you weirdo, and I definitely think that we should go on a date.”

“See, I always knew you’d come around to my plans. I’m very convincing.”

“Well, it sure as hell isn’t because of the wonders you can do with your mouth.”

He pinches the skin of her back before kissing her nose, the gentlest of touches that has her fluttering her eyes closed and trying to memorize this moment as one of the good ones. “You say that now, but wait until we go to dinner, and I drop the lettuce of my salad down my shirt.”

“You are a messy eater. That’s where Andy gets it from.”

“Eh, possibly.”

“No, definitely.”

“Whatever you say, darling. Just wait until Sutton stuffs a fistful of popcorn in her mouth instead of one or two pieces at a time. That’s what you do.”

“I do not.”

“You most definitely do.”

“Whatever.”

“Hey, Emma?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too, you popcorn eating weirdo.”

-/-

She falls.

And then gets up.

And then falls again.

It’s this continuous cycle, but every time he gets up to try to help Sutton walk, she refuses his help. It absolutely cracks him up how independent she is, that sometimes she won’t even let him hold her hands for her to take a few steps around the room when she’s trying so hard to move. She’ll let Emma, the Mummy’s girl that she is, and on occasion, she lets him when she’s feeling particularly affectionate. It’s the funniest thing to him. Andy was the sweetest, calmest baby, and Sutton, well, she’s an absolute spitfire who is definitely some kind of karmic payback.

He’s not even sure if he believes in karma, but Sutton kind of makes him. He knew the first kid wasn’t difficult enough…and the first kid was damn difficult.

And while Andy favored Emma for a long time, mostly in his early days, he did come around to Killian eventually. Maybe he’s simply seeing it differently. Or maybe Sutton has much more obvious favoritism. Hell, Emma probably thinks that both of their kids favor him, even if only Andy looks like him. Sutton is all Emma.

Looks and personalities, though…two totally different things.

“Sutton, sweetheart,” he coos, adjusting himself on the ground and clapping his hands together. “Do you want to walk to come see Daddy? I think that sounds like a great idea, but you usually think otherwise.”

“So condescending there, Daddy.”

He twists his head to Emma standing in the doorway, her hair messily piled on top of her head and her t-shirt falling off her shoulder like it nearly always is. She must have finally woken up from her nap, and she obviously had a good one if the pillow creases on her face are any indication.

“I’m just speaking the truth. You try coming to get her to walk.”

Emma rolls her eyes before stepping into the room and over him so that she can take Sutton’s hands in hers as Sutton stands from the ground. “Alright there, baby girl, Momma needs you to walk with me, okay?”

Sutton’s face turns red for the briefest of moments, the tears and protests on the verge of coming to fruition, but then the red fades and she’s left with Emma’s creamy skin as her lips press into a straight line and she focuses on walking with Emma. It’s like watching magic happen, really. He’s got these two bloody incredible girls in his life, and they’ve got this bond that blows his mind. He definitely is jealous of it sometimes, jealous of the way Sutton doesn’t want him, but he likes that his loves have this bond.

He doesn’t understand how in the world he could have them, how he could have made one of them. It’s…sometimes he doesn’t deserve them, but man is he glad for them.

“Yay, Sutton,” Emma cheers when they take a few steps before Sutton insists that she sit down, crying out “Momma” until Emma releases her hands. “You did so good, Sutton, but you’ve really got to walk with Daddy sometimes, yeah? He gets a little jealous.”

“I can hear you.”

“I know. Don’t we have another one of these?”

“He’s in the playroom watching a movie, and I’ve got the camera on my phone. He hasn’t moved from the couch.”

“Good,” she sighs, reaching her hands down for him. “Why don’t we go in there and join him?”

He nods his head as he takes her hand, pushing up on his legs and ignoring the slight ache in his knees from standing from such a low position. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

Emma scoops up Sutton, and they walk out of the nursery and down to the end of the hall to the kids’ playroom. This room is nearly always such a mess, toys and clothes and pillows scattering across the floor and the tables despite the closet of bins that he swears he cleans up every single day. But it’s better that things are mostly contained in here, even though he stepped on a Lego in the living room downstairs yesterday, and he nearly screamed “fuck” so loudly that the kids could have heard him and woken from their naps. That would have been something else.

He does love this room, though. They have this set of windows at the end of it that stretch from floor to ceiling, and it looks out into the yard and to this oak tree that he thinks he might build a tree house in one day. He knows that they don’t age well most of the time, that children grow out of using them, but they’ll enjoy it for a little while. Besides, he and Emma get the cushioned swing out near the end of the property and the view of the pool from their bedroom. The kids can get this.

Some day.

“What are you watching, bud?”

“Chicken Little. The sky is falling from the sky, Mummy.”

“Oh no,” Emma gasps, settling down next to Andy on the couch and settling Sutton in her lap while Killian grabs some blankets out of the basket and dims the lights a little bit.

“Don’t worry, Mummy. I checked our sky. It’s still there.”

“Oh, okay. Well, that’s good.”

He snickers under his breath and then sits down in a recliner, propping the legs up only for Andy to scramble over to him and sit on his lap, his bony limbs poking Killian over and over again until he finally plops down in the small open space left in the chair and tugs the blanket up over his legs too, looking up at Killian and flashing him the widest grin. Andy looks so proud of himself, and Killian has no idea why. He’s probably hidden Killian’s wallet or something.

The movie continues to play, everyone settling into it, and then out of nowhere, Andy speaks. “If my name is Andy and Indy’s name is Indy, does that mean Indy is my sister and Sutton isn’t?”

“I’m sorry…what?”

“Is Indy my sister?”

His eyes glance over to Emma’s, and she simply smiles and shrugs, giving him absolutely no help for how to answer this. His son’s name is eerily similar to their dog’s, and sometimes he wonders how they didn’t plan that better. He didn’t ever really think that would be a problem though.

“Well, Indy is part of our family like me, Mummy, and Sutton.”

“And me.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, tugging up on the blanket again, “and you. And we all love Indy, but she’s a dog, remember? She has all of that fur and we pet her and she barks.”

“And eats gross food.”

“That too. So her name sounds like yours, but Sutton is your sister and we love her too, right?”

“Yeah, but she cries.”

“She’s not crying right now.”

Andy tilts his head to the side, his gaze falling away from the television and toward his sister who’s intently watching the movie while Emma’s fingers play with her small wisps of hair. Without any kind of warning, Andy scrambles up from his spot, kicking Killian multiple times before he’s off of the chair and moving to sit on the couch while he stares at Sutton with rapt fascination like she hasn’t been alive and living with them for a year.

Finally he nods and reaches over to kiss Sutton’s cheek in a move so gentle that Killian feels his heart swell for a moment before going back to a normal, functioning size.

“I love you, Sutton,” Andy whispers while Sutton tries to decide if she likes her brother or not, her eyes slanted as she studies him. She’s always kind of wary of him at first, but then again, she’s wary of anyone who’s not Emma. “You’re not a dog, but that’s okay.”

They spend the rest of the day in the playroom, watching movies and letting the kids run their toys over the two of them before they feed them dinner and get washed up for bed. It takes far too long every night, but it’s not like they can simply not feed or bathe their children. That would be inhumane and bad parenting among so many other things. But it gets done, and the moment he closes Sutton’s door, the wood clicking into place, Emma takes his hands and intertwines their fingers while the corners of her lips turn up into a smile.

Beautiful.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, Killian,” she mutters, walking backward down the hall and tugging him with her, “I know that you’ve gone all soft on me, but I still like to think that you know when I’m trying to seduce you.”

“Is that what this is? Because I don’t know if you’ve looked at yourself today but – ”

“Jackass.”

He tugs her closer even if she resists a little bit until their chests are pressed together and he dips his head to softly glide his lips over hers, staying still for a moment until she begins to move against him, her hands letting his go so they can wrap around his neck, fingers teasing his hair, and his hands find her hips and the skin that rests under her shirt, warmth in every inch of it that buzzes across his own skin.

She’s soft, always so soft even when she’s firm.

“Am I still a jackass?” he whispers when his nose is still heavily pressed into her cheek.

“Absolutely, but I’ll allow it.”

“Oh thank goodness.”

She chuckles against his lips, the vibrations traveling across his skin too, before she’s unwrapping herself from him and walking down the hallway and disappearing behind their bedroom door. By the time he joins her she’s setting up the baby monitor on the bedside table and stripping out of her clothes, tossing them on the glider.

“Someone is eager.”

“Someone is efficient,” she shrugs, reaching back and unclasping her bra until her breasts are exposed to his gaze, a shiver running down his spine that has nothing to do with the high speed at which the ceiling fan in this room is running. “And cold. I’m cold,” she laughs, quickly hoping into bed and pulling the comforter over herself while he laughs and strips out of his clothes as well. The fan has to do with Emma’s shivers, apparently.

“I love you,” he sighs as he lifts the comforter and settles down on top of her, feeling both the warmth and chill of her skin as their lips come together again.

“I love you, even though you’re not a dog.”

“Oh my God,” he laughs, trailing away from her mouth and moving down her neck, working all of the places he knows Emma loves while his hands move across her body, exploring and teasing and making her gasp from his touch, especially when he begins stroking her, wetness gathering at his fingers as Emma’s hips buck up into his in a motion that’s delightful and enticing while his lips move over her breasts.

Glorious, glorious breasts.

“K-Killian,” she stutters when he slowly starts pumping his fingers inside of her while his thumb rubs her bundle of nerves in slow, practiced circles.

“Like that?”

“Like that.”

It doesn’t take much longer as he teases her, and he didn’t realize how keyed up she was before they started as her hips buck at a more furious pace and she falls apart beneath him, alternating between whispering quiet words and muffling her loud curses against his shoulder.

“I’m still cold,” she sighs, and he grunts in response before covering her entire body with his, hoping that his warmth and the blankets that surround them will help as he guides himself inside of her, her warmth enveloping him and making his eyes roll back at the pleasure of being inside of her while he moves her left leg to rest over his hip, opening her up to him.

“Still cold?”

“I think that can be fixed if you start moving.” She smiles up at him with the most innocent of smiles, something he would see when they’re out working together, but then she thrusts her hips up, causing him to nearly lose his balance, and pulls his lips down to hers so that they can slide together in a rhythm that matches the thrusts he’s slowly moving into.

He takes his time, experimenting with thrusts and angles and depths, and as the minutes move on, the unsteady beat of his heart not at all matching up with the hum of the fan or the chirps of the insects outside, he finds himself in a position that’s good for the both of them. Emma’s breath is unsteady as well, her heartbeat likely beating a similar rhythm, and as her skin heats, sweat beading at her forehead and dripping down her skin, she mumbles for him to move onto back until he’s pulling out of her and rolling over onto his back only for Emma to settle her knees on either side of his thighs and slowly guide him back into her warmth as she moves above him.

He’s been with her for over a decade, since she was a little under twenty-one and him twenty-three, and over the years he’s seen her change, her personality and convictions and her body. She’s so much stronger now, so damn confident in herself that when he looks at her, he’s still amazed that she’s chosen to love him and to be with him. He knows how much shit she’s put up with over the years, a lot of it before him, some of it because of him, and likely even more of it that has nothing at all to do with him, and he’s watched her handle it with grace and with bravery and something undeniably Emma.

Softness and strength all at once.

Emma.

As she moves above him, her hips swiveling and driving him into madness while his hands explore her skin, kneading her ass and her breasts in the ways that she likes, he watches her with as much focus as his muddled mind allows him to. Her breasts are heavier than when they first met, two children likely causing that, and while Emma sometimes complains about not being able to get away with going braless anymore, he selfishly is not going to complain about that. Nor will he complain about the curve of her hips, the firmness of her ass, or the faded tiger stripes on her stomach from carrying their children and from simply living life.

Really, he’d be a fool to complain about anything. He’d also be a bit of an ass.

So he doesn’t. He won’t. His body has changed too, his life as well, and he’s simply glad that they’ve changed together instead of growing apart.

“Fuck,” he stutters when Emma leans forward and wraps her arms under his shoulders while her lips trail down his neck, the pleasure in his spine becoming concentrated at the base while his hips start doing the work, snapping up into her while she nibbles on his ear, her breath hot and lips soft. “Fuck, Emma. That’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

She gasps when his hands grab onto the globes of her ass, guiding her as she whispers dirty words into his ear that have him closing his eyes as his pleasure reaches him, the thrusts becoming erratic and his mind blurring for the shortest of moments even though he tries to keep the presence of mind to rub his fingers over where they’re joined to let Emma fall apart as well.

“I love you,” she sighs as she rests on top of his chest, not bothering to move even as he slips out of her and the need to cleaned up calls to them. Her lips trail across his chest and up his neck until they’re slanting over his lips, the salt of sweat prominent on them. “And I’m still cold.”

“I love you, darling, but I cannot possibly understand how you’re still cold. You’re literally sweating.”

“It’s making me cold.”

He snickers against her lips and nuzzles his nose into her neck, nipping at the skin for a brief moment before rolling them over and covering Emma’s body with his. “I’m going to go get you a washcloth and some flannel pajamas, okay?”

“My hero.”

He rolls his eyes before getting up and making his way to the bathroom to get the washcloth and some clothes.

“Hey Killian?” Emma calls, and he turns around to see her bundled up under the white of the comforter with only her head showing, her hair matted and tangled from the day and their activities. The sexiest women he knows is also the most adorable, and the affection he feels for her continues to grow.

“Yeah, love?”

“That’s a nice ass you’ve got there, so if you want to, you know, not get dressed, that’d be fine with me.”

He winks. “As you wish.”

#second in command #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic

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