A/N: seastarved requested:
CAN WE HAVE A FIC PLEASE WHERE KILLIAN JUST KEEPS KISSING EMMA AFTER THEY BREAK THE CURSE BECAUSE NOW THAT HE CAN, HE NEVER WANTS TO STOP?! [x]
Rating: F is for Fluffy; S is for Send your dentist bills to Chinx; H is for HOLY CRAP I LOVE THESE TWO IDIOTS SO MUCH THERE IS A PHYSICAL ACHE IN MY CHEST THAT WON’T GO AWAY.
Mood Music: “Through the Dark" - Helen Jane Long (piano instrumental)
Her body comes awake slowly, her mind even slower, but she feels the light press and retreat of his lips on hers, the warmth of his breath dancing enticingly over her mouth as he gently coaxes her from her dreams. She hums, shifting instinctively when he moves over her and presses her further into the warmth of the bed. Her legs part, cradling his weight while his lips brush a little more insistently, a little more desperately.
Ohhh. She opens her mouth wider at the first swipe of his tongue over her bottom lip, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair of their own accord. He keeps her in that half-dazed state, lazily yet thoroughly exploring her mouth with teeth and tongue as if attempting to map out all of the secrets she possesses. He angles his head, deepening the kiss, and she swears to God her toes curl while heat sparks along every inch of her.
It’s still so new, this requited love between them, but when he kisses her this way, it’s as if they’ve done it a million times over, like two puzzle pieces perfectly matched and simply made for each other. It makes her sigh contentedly, makes her heart squeeze sweetly as she pulls him in just a little closer and moves her mouth just a little more fervently.
The scrape of his scruff against her skin tickles, makes her chuckle delightedly into his mouth and she feels his lips curve up at the sound. He eases up, gives her just enough breathing room but keeps close and nuzzles his nose against hers before pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of it.
“Morning,” she murmurs, unable to keep the grin off her face.
“Hi,” he whispers.
And it’s stupid how ridiculously in love she feels but she doesn’t care. She lowers her arms so her hands can cup his too-handsome face while she studies him. He’s grinning back at her like an absolute idiot (the expression no doubt mirroring hers) and she can’t hold back the laugh that escapes.
“Hi,” she answers, fingertips tracing along the planes of his face — cheekbones, jaw, eyebrows, nose, lips. He turns his head, kisses at her palm, then nips playfully at her index finger before leaning down to brush his mouth over hers again.
“Can we stay here all day?” he asks, the words spoken lightly over her lips.
Killian loved Liam first. It should have been his mother, or his father, but he can’t remember his mother at all (though Liam told him once he has her eyes) and he can never turn the feeling of fear and pain and guilt that comes to mind, thinking of Davy Jones abandoning him, into any kind of love. So, then. It was Liam. The brother who carried him from the docks where he was sleeping, a ragged, filthy urchin, onto the Jewel, and into a new world. Loving Liam was order, stability, constancy, good form, and hard work. Loving Liam was adventures, tasting the salt breeze in his lungs, always hungry and always desperately trying to scrounge out more from the meager shipboard rations, Liam catching him and giving him a stern lecture for the benefit of the men but then slipping more to him later that night. Loving Liam was the furious bounce of the lantern in rough seas, the thrill of a clearing sky. Loving Liam was his brother’s proud, adoring smile as he knelt and accepted promotion as a Lieutenant of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Loving Liam was familiar, comfortable, an answer for every question and a bell for every hour, a tidy whitewashed world of hope and promise.
Losing Liam felt like losing the very ends of the earth themselves.
Loving freedom came next, loving freedom tinged with recklessness. Loving freedom was rising whenever he wanted and sleeping whenever he pleased, tasting rum for the first time, letting it burn on the way down, cursing, strutting, taking advantage of his dark good looks to cheat innkeepers and bed their serving maids, never even bothering to learn their names. Discontented wives or raw girls alike; all of them threw themselves at him, and he saw no point in turning them down. Dice, smoky candlelight, gambling, swords if someone tried to cross him, duels in back alleys, pirate, pirate, pirate. Ordering them to open fire, crimson flag and no quarter given, if they crossed paths with a Navy ship of the line, the shocked looks on the other deck as the Roger closed in near enough to kiss them and slit their throats. They knew him, sometimes. He always made sure to kill those ones personally.
"It is your chance. Better take it now. This is your girl. She can save you, she can worry you back to life. She will take looking after and you will grow strong to do it. But take her now- tell her and take her away." - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Killian Jones trying hard to be the pirate he used to be…
#there is madness in his eyes and the ghost of a savior on his lips
ariel goD UR RUININ MY STREET CRED