Captain Swan, Explicit, ~3.3k words
Inspired by “I wasn’t talking about the pancakes.” Contains vague spoilers for the end of the series, but the kind of spoilers you can deduce from news articles about the finale. A couple of references to Killian with other partners in his past. Lots of references to the way women smell (and taste) during sex, so if that’s not your thing, you know. Be aware.
He can’t be blamed for it, not when she stands at the stove in their kitchen with her hair over one shoulder, the pale expanse of her neck exposed, a stark contrast to the black robe she wears. She protested his early morning advances, stomach rumbling and as she mumbled something about breakfast. After the day before, when once again they both feared they’d lost each other forever; when he went in a space of a few minutes from facing his death to facing his true love on his knees as he slid the ring onto her finger once again; when she went from losing her parents to a curse to being in their arms once again; when they finally, finally rushed back to their home and joined their bodies together with so much joy that he thought it might kill him – after a day like that, he can’t blame her for waking up a bit peckish. But then she can’t blame him for pouncing on her the moment he finds her downstairs in the kitchen.
The scent of her neck, of that spot just behind her ear, drives him mad. It is a swirling aroma of sweat and sex and her shampoo, a concentrated distillation of the redolence of Emma Swan, and it rarely fails to arouse him. He murmurs in her ear and feels her shiver against his chest, brushes his nose down her cheek and breathes her in. His cock rises to attention the moment her scent fills his nose, and he presses himself against her curves and smiles.
“I wasn’t talking about the pancakes.”
Scent (1/1)
Published
It All Starts With a Dance 