Emma’s spectacular failure at breakfast making the day before was something he was never going to let her live down.
Apparently, neither was her father. Unbeknownst to her, the apartment had been outfitted with a security system that was most notably wired into that small annoying device they’d called a ‘smoke detector’.
Mary Margaret had had a motherly hunch that it might be needed.
After the startlingly abrupt entrance of David and the ensuing embarrassment, posturing and fatherly threatening, they’d managed to relay the story and clean the kitchen (David chuckling the entire time).
Emma huffed her way through breakfast at Granny’s (her face flushing a delicious shade of candy apple red as Killian threw his arm around her shoulder and David tried to shoot him the evil eye), all the while reliving the harrowing tale multiple times-first to her mother, then to her son, then to Leroy who had promptly saved them the trouble of telling anyone else.
Killian spent the day with his Swan, traipsing around the town while she did her sheriff duty. He was fascinated by the world they now lived in-the technology especially. Henry promised to finally show him what the elusive ‘Gee Pee Ess’ was the next afternoon as long as Killian promised to commandeer another boat for a nighttime ride.
Emma just rolled her eyes, mumbling about stubborn pirates and smart ass kids.
They finished the night the way they’d woken up, wrapped in each other-flushed and sated. He loved the slight sheen of sweat that glossed her skin and the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she panted for the breath he’d stolen. Those were the signs he’d done his job well and he swelled with masculine pride, even as his energy swirled down the metaphorical drain.
He listened to her breath even out as she slipped into sleep, her lashes resting on her cheek and her warm, moist, minty breath fanning across his chest where she was curled. Sighing contentedly, he continued staring at his love, memorizing every line and curve of her face until sleep finally pulled him under.
x . x . x . x . x
Killian’s eyes shot open as he heard another thump out in the living area. Still unused to the odd sounds the apartment made or the lack of creaking wood, it took him a moment to register where he was. And that’s when he found his Swan noticeably absent and a slight stench in the air wafting into the open bedroom door.
He rose slowly, pulling on a pair of loose cotton pants David had begrudgingly left with them the day before. Apparently this was appropriate casual clothing to wear around the house, as opposed to the sheet (that apparently left little to David’s imagination and earned his a sharp smack to the back of his head).
He crept quietly out of the bedroom, tiptoed down the stairs and shuffled quietly down the hall-frightened of what he might find when he rounded the corner.
His bark of laughter brought Emma’s head up, her face blushing bright red. His eyes swept her over-the smudges of flour on her face, her flyaway hair rapidly coming out of a hastily thrown together ‘ponytail’ (an odd name for a hairstyle, in his opinion), the single egg littering the floor at her feet.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, cocking his eyebrow. “Thought you’d try again, love?”
The flush now crept down her chest, disappearing tantalizingly below the scoop neck of her tank top. She huffed, propping the whisk she’d been using against the side of the bowl.
He stalked toward her, trapping her against the counter, nuzzling his nose into her neck. “Would you like a cooking lesson, love?”
Emma couldn’t hold back her snort of laughter as she wound her fingers through his hair, leaving white streaks of flour behind. “You? Give me a cooking lesson? Really?”
“Aye, love. As a ship’s captain, it was my duty to learn every job. Never ask a sailor to do a task you’re unwilling or unable to do yourself. So-” he pulled back, smirking. “Would you like a lesson?”
She huffed and slowly nodded her head, her scowl melting off her face to be replaced with a gentle, shy smile.
“Alrighty. Lesson number 1: Clean as you go,” he swept his arms in a wide arc, eyes following and taking in the chaos once again. “Let’s clean this disaster up before we start.”
They worked in companionable silence as they wiped up various spills, washed and dried the used dishes side by side, and brought the kitchen back into order.
“Okay love. Now, let me see what we’ve got to work with,” Killian eyed the ingredients they had to work with. Then he ducked down to the cabinet where the cookware was stored, peering inside. “Aha!”
A heavy cast iron skillet Emma wasn’t even aware she had made it’s appearance, clutched in his hand as if he was wielding it for battle.
Gathering 4 potatoes, an onion and some spice from the pantry, he turned to the refrigerator (yet again marveling at the ingenuity-it kept things cold all the time!) and grabbed a package of bacon, a block of cheese and some peppers.
“Okay, now we peel the potatoes.”
He watched in amusement as Emma braced herself over the open trash can, trying to grip her potato and manage the peeler with the other hand. Meanwhile, he slowly and methodically peeled his using his hook. She rolled his eyes as Killian grabbed hers to finish, her face burning as she saw he’d done 3 before she’d finished 1.
Then he set her up with a grater and the block of cheese. “Just drag it down the side here…just like this…”
He braced his torso against her back, guiding her hands with his as he made a few passes with the cheese. Her breathing hitched as she felt the slowly hardening evidence of his arousal, pushing her hips instinctively back against his.
“Now, now Swan-none of that if you’d like to eat anytime today. Naughty lass,” he waggled his finger at her playfully as he set to chopping the onion, potatoes and peppers, managing to make it look exceedingly easy as he whipped the knife around in his fingers.
The mumbled reproach met his ears and he let out another barking laugh. He laid a hearty smack on her backside, laughing again at the outraged look on her face as her eyes met his.
Making quick work of chopping the bacon, he gently took the grater from her, rolling up the block of cheese in aluminum foil.
When he turned back to face her, she had her arms crossed (apparently not realizing the delicious thrust it gave to her bosom) and her eyebrow raised.
“Now, we clean these few utensils and then we can get to work.”
She grudgingly began washing the grater, scraping her knuckled on the sharp edges as she scrubbed. Hissing in pain, she stuck her knuckles in her mouth, immediately hacking at the residual soap lingering there.
Killian chuckled as he handed her the mug of coffee she’d already made-successfully-and she gulped the warm liquid quickly.
Once the dishes were done to his satisfaction and Emma had two colorful cartoon bandages on her fingers, Killian grabbed the butter from the refrigerator. He threw a pat into the skillet as he cranked the heat on the gas stove, the flame flaring up as he jumped back.
Emma quickly demonstrated how to control the flame, clearly amused at his wonder and curiosity as he made the flame go up and down, up and down. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to making breakfast, grabbing the bowl of potatoes and dumping it into the skillet with the melted butter.
He jostled the pan for a moment, Emma watched incredulously as he tossed the potatoes into the air, coating them all with butter. Then he grabbed a large plate and set it on top of the skillet.
“What the heck! Those are good plates!”
Emma scrambled to retrieve the offending piece of dishware, but he pulled her into his arms.
“It needs to be covered for a few moments. Just relax-you’re precious plate will be fine!”
With a quick move, Killian yanked Emma around the island, pulling her this way and that as he danced to a tune only he could hear. His good hand coasted over her exposed skin, making her giggle as his hook rested on her hip. He twirled her and she crashed into his exposed chest, the flush rising back up her face as he squeezed a solid handful of her backside.
“Relax, Swan. Dancing is easy. It’s all in how you follow the leader,” his ocean blue eyes gleamed with mischief as he pushed and pulled, twirled and spun-guiding her through a vigorous routine that ended with her bent backwards, his lips laying a gentle kiss between the swell of her breasts.
Her breath came in short, sharp pants as he left her standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He shook his head as he grabbed the bowl of chopped bacon, lifting the plate quickly and tossing it in. He grabbed the handle of the skillet, bracing his hook on the plate, and shook the whole thing.
Emma raised her eyebrows, her wits clearly returned to her, as she crossed the kitchen, leaning against the counter next to him.
“So, how did you learn to cook?”
“A better question, love. Why DON’T you know how? I thought that women traditionally did the majority of the culinary work.”
She pursed her lips. “Growing up in foster care didn’t really give me an opportunity to learn. And I made enough as a bail bondsperson to not have to worry about it,” she shuffled her foot around the floor, clearly uncomfortable. “What about you?”
He sighed, once again realizing how much alike they were. “Liam taught me. My mother died when I was about 3, my father ran off when I was 5 and I was taken to the orphanage in our village. There was never enough food or clothes or beds-but then Liam found me when I was 9. Apparently he’d come after our mother had died, but my father had already left with me. It took him that long to track me down. Then, when I was old enough, he got me a place on his ship.”
He smiled fondly at the memory, choosing to ignore the other painful memories that threatened to well up. His eyes lifted to hers, blue meeting green as they shared a significant moment-both clearly focusing on all the good in their lives.
“So-” Emma abruptly broke their stare, shimmying her way in between his body and the stove, “what do we do now?”
Killian smiled, eye darting to the magical red numbers she’d told him kept time. “Now, it’s time to add the onion.”
With sure and steady hands, Killian finished their breakfast, guiding Emma’s hands through motion after motion. Her small smile made his heart clench in the best possible way and the flush that yet again crept up her cheeks as she spilled one of the spice jars all over the counter only endeared him to her more.
When the spice was swept up, the food thoroughly cooked and divided onto two dishes and the various bowls and the skillet were washed, Killian carried their plates over to the table while Emma brought the drinks-coffee for her, tea for him. (The last time he’d had coffee there had been a disastrous incident that left an apparently new white shirt of Emma’s spattered in brown and utterly ruined.)
They settled in together, reveling in the silence of the apartment, knowing that this afternoon Henry was coming back from Regina’s and they’d probably end up spending the night on the water.
Emma raised the loaded fork to her lips, hesitantly placing the food in her mouth. Then her eyes slid shut and she sagged in her seat, moaning in delight. Killian laughed and shifted in his seat, trying to rearrange his ‘goods’ to a more comfortable position.
“Keep it up and you won’t be finishing your food. I’ll drag you back to the bed like a proper pirate should,” he leered as she glared sardonically at him.
“Just try to get me away from this deliciousness and you’ll find yourself neutered, Hook. Oh god! This is so good!”
“I think I may have made a mistake here. Obviously I’m not working hard enough if you prefer my food to my-”
He laughed boisterously, gratified that his innuendos at least still affected her as he watched the bright flare of scarlet light her cheeks. She’d never been more beautiful.