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The Cell

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Emma Swan had always been comfortable with the word alone. It was all she had known, people came and went throughout her life but one person always remained – herself. So being locked up in the cell, left alone in a dark, dank, cave wasn’t that awful. It was eerily comforting, to be alone – to think, to process everything that had happened since falling through the hat. So much had happened and she hadn’t had time to catch up with it all.

 She was still, partially, stuck on the events of the beanstalk. She had had just enough time to process most of what had happened up there. The betrayal of herself and of Hook. Once again, Neal had screwed up something in her life. She hadn’t trusted someone since him, since being left and there she went and left someone. Someone who had trusted, despite having had an upper hand by working with ‘the bad side’. She’d shut down and shut him out, when somewhere inside of her she knew she wanted to let him in.

If she had – she wouldn’t be sitting alone in a cell, awaiting whatever fate lay before her.

“I didn’t actually believe I’d be able to steal a way a few minutes without the witch accompanying me.” Killian’s voice startled her as he casually strolled into the cavern, an almost eerily pleased with himself step in his gait. “How are you holding up in there, Swan? It’s not even been ten hours yet – have you started to question your sanity for trusting someone yet?”

“I never trusted you Hook.” Emma bit out, her eyes widening at the audacity he had to even suggest that she had. “Especially not after I left you up there.”

“That was a bit harsh wasn’t it? The leaving me up there?”

“I had my son to think of!” Emma snapped out, “He needs me.”

“Perhaps you should have considered that before you abandoned me on that beanstalk.” Killian’s eyes narrowed as he approached the bars, amused by the fact that she came to be nearly pressed against them as she spoke to him. The tension – was thicker than he’d anticipated it to be after everything.

“You would have done the same.”

“Actually no.” Killian drew his tongue across his bottom lip, leaning dangerously close to her, inhibited by the bars.

Emma swallowed thickly, stepping a fraction of an inch away from the bars. Was he serious? He wouldn’t have left her up there and gone back to working for Cora? Had she been wrong? No, of course not – she wasn’t wrong about things like these.

“Do you know what this is Emma?” Killian let the magic bean swing back and forth in front of them, chuckling as she lunged forward – hand through the bars in a vain attempt to snatch it from him.

“The bean that the giant kept.” Emma frowned, her eyes lowering as she stared at it in his hand.

“Yes, indeed.” He flashed her a smug grin as he continued, “A pirate always keeps a souvenir of his conquest, but this…well,” Killian paused, his eyes flickering up to her, pleased to see her listening intently.  “This is much more than a mere trinket. This is a symbol…something that was once magical, full of hope, possibility.” His mouth was drier than he’d expected it to be right now. He’d rehearsed this, the whole way down that sodding beanstalk. “Now look at it. Dried up, dead, useless. Much like you.” The look on her face was worth it, he was pleased to see her hurt – like he was. “The time for making deals is done, just as I’m done…with you.”

Emma’s eyes were on the ground, fingers wrapped so tightly around the bars of the cell that her knuckles had gone white. Part of her agreed with him, that she deserved to hear that she was exactly what he said she was – dried up. But, the other part of her wanted to slap that smug grin off of his face. “Fuck you.” She retorted, blood hammering in her ears.

Killian chuckled, not even a chuckle of a man who was pleased with his work. No – no, his laugh was of man who realized what he had said. All of it had been aimed to cut low and hurt her as she had hurt him.

“Emma.”

She remained silently, slowly releasing her hold on the bars and turning away from him, retreating to the back of the cell. Where it was safe.

“Emma?”

Emma turned on her heels, surprised to find that he was now standing right behind her. “Fuck you.” His words had stung and she was in no mood to play nice with him. She swung, her palm falling swiftly against his cheek with a loud crack. Who the hell did he think he was?

He caught her wrist, his brows lowering darkly at her. “Now, is that any way to treat your captor? I was thinking about letting you out.”

She could feel the anger swelling up inside of her, peaking at dangerous levels. “Let go of me.” She gritted dangerously, challengingly stepping closer to him. “Now.” She gave him a mental count of five before she jerked her arm from his grasp. Her eyes met his, a heated glare that held for countless seconds. “Let me out.”

“No.” He smirked, flicking his tongue across his bottom lip.

Emma held his gaze for a moment longer, every fiber in her body taught with irritation. He was a son of a bitch and she was going to wipe that damned smirk off of his face. She wasn’t even certain about who initiated it, they met somewhere in between, teeth and lips pulling at each other’s. Her fingers tore at the material of his shirt, seeking purchase.

Killian held her flush to him, talking long strides forwards until he had her back against the bars of the cell, effectively pinning her against him.

Emma pulled back from the kiss, looking up into his eyes. She could only see one outcome from this – there was no stopping what they’d started. Not that she wanted it to stop. She wrapped her hands around the bars of the cell, using them for support as brought her legs around his hips.

Killian.” She whispered, unsure of her own voice as she leaned in and caught his lips again. She couldn’t resist grinding her hips against him, the friction causing them both to gasp out loudly.  

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, her fingers worked at pulling his shirt off and over his head, abandoning it to the dirty floor below. Killian’s lips trailed away from her lips, pressing hot kisses along her jaw and throat as he worked at prying her shirt from her body.

“Emma. Emma.” His fingers skimmed over her pale skin, fingertips making dizzying circles over her stomach and waist, every little stroke earning a satisfying gyration of her hips that sent him reeling.

“This changes nothing.” Emma snapped, though the desire in her voice made it seem only mildly threatening.

“Of course.” He drawled out with a smirk, his fingers seeking out the fastenings at the front of her trousers, “Get these off.”

“I’m busy.” Emma’s fingers skimmed over the front of his leather trousers, cupping him through the material. She relished the fact that the touch made him gasp, his lips parting and his head tilting backwards. She tucked her fingers into the ties of his pants starting to work them open.

Killian grabbed her hand, jerking it away from where she was teasing him, “Undo your pants.” He ordered again, his eyes meeting hers. “Now.”

Her skin felt too hot, too tight, and there was not nearly enough skin touching skin for her liking. Emma complied, reaching between them to unzip and unsnap her jeans. She wiggled, working the material as far down her legs as she could given their current position. His weight supported her against the bars, but his sudden desire to grind against her made her grasp the bars for dear life.

“I hate you.” She gritted, lips crashing against his as her fingers resumed their working on getting his laces undone, her body trembling with the desire that he was so delicious winding up in her. Her teeth tugged at his lips and his returned the favor seconds later. Sex was messy and this, this was no different. It was raw, it was physical, it was desperate.

Emma’s underwear were the only casualty to the fray, lost as he ripped away the last barrier and took her. There was nothing slow or gentle about it. It was hard, it was fast, it was release. They were both left with their fair share of half crescent nail bites, long lines of angry red scratches, blood-speckled spots that had almost become hickeys, and bruises where fingers had held too long.

Killian lazily kissed her as he sank to the ground, legs far too wobbly to support either of them any longer. He held her to him, keeping her close, his fingers trailing up and down her spine. They could say that they were done with each other – that they hated each other, but they’d proved the complete opposite through that little play for dominance.

They’d laid each other bare and they hadn’t turned away. They did the complete opposite; they clung to each other, seeking what they needed from each other.

And they found it.

“Are you going to let me go?” Emma asked, unsure of her voice at first.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘let you go’.” Killian chuckled, trailing his fingers down her spine, “Because-”

They both looked up at the sound of distant footsteps at the mouth of the dungeon. “Shit.” Emma swore, prying herself from his arms reluctantly. She jerked her jeans back over her hips, leaving them unzipped as she quickly tugged her shirt back on and grabbed her ripped underwear and discarded leather jacket.

Killian was dressed by the time she’d finished, grabbing her quickly and pressing a final, heated kiss against her lips, before slipping out of the cell just in time for Cora to make her entrance. He leaned back against the stone wall, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to avoid watching Cora explain to Emma how she had failed to save everyone – how she was never getting home to Storybrooke.

Because she was, he’d make sure of it. Somehow