Work Text:
“Save Me the Last Dance”
By: @snowbellewells
She knew exactly what she was doing, of that he was certain. Killian felt his tongue slip out to graze his bottom lip hungrily as he watched his love work the room, unable to tear his eyes away. ‘The saucy minx,’ his subconscious chuckled while he shook his head at his own body’s helpless reaction to his princess wife - even after nearly six years of marriage. Emma Swan - well, Emma Jones - was truly a marvel; that fact had never once changed, from the very first day he had laid eyes upon her in the charred and smoking remains of a refuge camp, all the way up to the present moment as she smiled and curtsied in her formal gown and jewelled tiara.
It was clear to Killian that she would never cease to take his breath away - and the quick, smug glance she cut at him from the corner of her eye, while the foreign dignitary from Agrabah she was greeting with all proper pomp and polite reserve was bowing to her, told him that she knew it as well. Though Emma might still be that “tough lass” he’d taken her for as they climbed the giant’s beanstalk, when she still didn’t trust him and made a formidable adversary cloaked in distrust and suspicion as much as her denim and leather, Killian also got to experience the softness and warmth beneath her armor, more so than he’d really had a right to hope for at the outset. After half a decade of marriage, he was privy to the perfect way her body fit in his embrace, how she rubbed the chilly tip of her nose in the hollow of his throat as she fought against waking in the morning, and the sensual slide of her skin, the softest and most enflaming sensation he had ever encountered, against his own. Yes, Killian knew all those parts of her well, and hoarded each one as the finest treasure, the way any good pirate would. And because he knew her mind and her secrets, he also knew when she was teasing him - as she was doing just then.
Ostensibly, Princess Emma had every reason not to come immediately stand beside him and enjoy his sole companionship. Some three years prior, her family - and most of the inhabitants of Storybrooke - had chosen to return to the Enchanted Forest, their true home and intended birthright, feeling the responsibility to heal and repair their land and set it to rights could no longer be ignored. It had taken hard work and time, not to mention much diplomacy and negotiation, to see the renewal of Misthaven to full prominence and strength, the way it had been once upon a time, but as this celebratory ball commemorated, their homeland was once more taking its place as a center of government and commerce worthy of note. The turnout of their numerous foreign allies and partners for this occasion proved it even more definitively. As the crown princess, it was Emma’s duty to greet the visiting nobles and gathered emissaries, to listen and make them feel welcome. However, though his Swan cared deeply for her country and her people, she was not one to linger in meaningless pandering and conversation when she could avoid it. Normally she would have made short work of the rounds that were necessary, but he could tell she was set on tormenting him, determined to keep her distance for the sake of driving him slowly insane with need.
The vision of her in the red dress she wore - off the shoulders with fluttering cap sleeves, but fitted all the way throughout the bodice and over her hips to the knees where it flared out in what was called a mermaid skirt (though he knew that term would make Ariel’s brow crinkle in consternation and perplexity if she heard it). The shimmering gown was bright red, and reminded him vividly of the vision she had been at the first ball they ever attended together, the first time they had danced, when he couldn’t have imagined just how much they would come to mean to each other. His mouth went suddenly dry as she leaned over to speak playfully with the diplomat’s young daughter, and deliberately gave him a look down the fitted bodice that no one else would catch. She could tell exactly what it did to him, if the wink she sent his way was any indication.
Finally, the crowd waiting to speak with the princess thinned, and he saw Emma’s mother shoo her toward the dance floor as if releasing her from official duty. It might actually be only a short respite; they couldn’t afford to snub or neglect any of those who had gathered in gratitude after all. He also knew Emma well enough to understand that though she might look as graceful as her namesake avian creature, she would never choose to unwind or cut loose while dressed up in heels and finery, doing proper ballroom dances in front of so many watching eyes. She was more inclined to curl up in her beloved hoodies and sweats or go out sailing with him when she truly wished to feel at ease.
Regardless, he would take the chance to cut which was being placed before him. Sliding over to stand before her, Killian raised his brow at Emma as she drew in a sharp breath of surprise at his sudden appearance, and how close he pressed to her before holding out his hand and hook to pull her into a familiar waltz. Still, there was nothing simple or understated about the scorching look her offered her, making certain she felt the heat simmering from his every pore, the sheer desire burning within his eyes, even as his hand played over her back and his hook brushed an escaped golden tentril of her hair off her forehead before trailing along her collarbone, cool against her rapidly warming skin.
The smirk that crossed his face at the gasp escaping his Savior’s painted lips was as taunting and rakish as any he had ever worn in his most daring years of piracy. Leaning nearer still, he could practically feel Emma’s heart hammering, so rapidly that he feared a moment for it beating out of her chest. She clutched the open collar of his shirt, thumb rubbing through the coarse chest hair she loved, just barely peeping out and giving a hint at the rapscallion beneath his respectable garb.
Before he could think to rein in the impulse that took him over, Killian darted forward to nip at the lobe of her delicate ear, tongue playing briefly with the dangling pearl drop of her earring until a quiet little whimper escaped her for him alone to hear, even as they mostly looked to be dancing sedately to anyone else’s eyes.
Pulling back slightly to search his face, Emma’s expression clearly asked her husband what he was doing, and Killian leaned in to whisper at her cheek, his stubble abrading her pale, flawless skin, his voice a low, seductive rumble. “Oh Princess… you’ve been playing quite the dangerous game.”
“Me?” she whispered breathlessly, attempting to feign innocence though her voice was light and thready, and he could see a shiver run through her.
“Oh yes, Love,” he nodded, a wicked smile stretching across his devilishly handsome features as he pressed her. “You know just what you’ve been doing to me all night. I’m onto you, Wife.”
Emma smirked back at him now, sliding into the playful banter that had been a part of their relationship almost from its very beginning. “Is that so? And what am I doing, Husband?” she shot back in jesting challenge.
“Driving me wild,” he growled into the sensitive curve of her neck and shoulder, making her flinch away and flush all the way up to the roots of her golden curls and down until it disappeared into the corset of her dress.
They continued to dance, though they moved closer to the edge of the large marbled palace floor and away from the many other couples. Their steps also slowed as they rotated in smaller circles - more and more caught up in each other.
Killian had her right where he wanted as he murmured for Emma’s hearing alone. “You may have your fun being the perfect royal for now, Darling. Charm your princes and bewitch your knights. Laugh and dance and make nice, enchant them all… but don’t forget who will take you home when the night is over. Then you’re mine… and you won’t be so proper.”
His eyes glimmered with blue fire as those words sunk in, and Emma’s chest visibly seemed to heave across the tightly cinched corset in a struggle to draw breath once he had stolen it. Killian licked his lips salaciously, holding her in his stare, and Emma nearly tripped, her knees went so weak. If she hadn’t already been clutching him tightly, she would have fallen in a puddle at his feet.
It seemed the Princess of Misthaven deemed her duties that night fulfilled after all, as it was not much longer before she and her pirate consort husband disappeared for the evening - no doubt saving the very last intimate dance for each other alone.