Summary: Killian Jones is a jaded NYPD detective who has been on the force for nearly ten years. He doesn’t do emotions and he certainly doesn’t do relationships. Enter Emma Swan. She’s never been one to back down from a challenge.
Rated E
Content/Trigger warnings: Strong sexual content, language, mention of minor character(s) death(s), alcohol abuse
a/n: First of all, thank you to the community @captainswanbigbang that put the CSLB together. It was so much fun interacting with artists and writers on tumblr and getting to create together. So, thank you!
Also, thank you to my amazing beta-reader @awkwardnessandbaseball who has more patience than I can understand and is so bad ass in her editing skills. She made this story SO much better.
Finally, I love my artwork! I’ve never had one for a CS fic before and @liloproductionsmade this beautiful one for my story that fit so well and was so perfect that I was almost shocked how spot on she got it. I’m simply in love with it.
Lastly, if you read this fic in its entirety, then you’re already really freaking awesome in my book!
He pushed himself harder than he’d intended at the gym, his sweat-soaked shirt sticking to his skin. He was beat, having gotten off an 18-hour shift two nights before then jogging to and from a two-hour gym session with David. He should have ignored his best friend when he rang him at 6 o’clock that morning, but…
The elevator dinged on his floor and Killian pushed himself off the wall, grabbing his keys from his pocket as he walked down the hall towards his apartment.
When he entered his place, he was surprised to find the scent of bacon and eggs as well as the faint sound of the radio coming from the kitchen. Killian kicked off his shoes and left his things by the door before rounding the corner, a pinch in his brow.
The brunette standing in front of the stove—the very reason he had answered David’s call—was currently humming along to Electric Light Orchestra’s ‘Don’t Bring Me Down’ without a care in the world, swaying her hips, completely oblivious to his presence.
He was hit with flashes of the night before. His head ached from the amount of rum he had consumed, but he could remember bits and pieces of her dancing against him. He wasn’t much of a dancer, mostly just swayed slightly, smiling like a drunken fool as she rubbed her body against him.
It All Starts With a Dance 