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let-it-raines · 4 years

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Catch Me If You Can (25/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Can I just say how much I appreciate you guys? I appreciate the reblogs, comments, likes, kudos, readers who simply read this story or any story, really. It’s honestly the most amazing thing that you guys are out here reading a boat load of words that I write and enjoying them and being so kind about them. Kindness goes a long way in life, my friends, and I appreciate you. ❤️

I also appreciate @resident-of-storybrooke for reading all of these words to keep me on track and @wellhellotragic for giving me the idea for this big turning point in the story...even if she doesn’t know that it’s happening 🙈

AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @stunningswan @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @superchocovian @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings

-/-

Not one to wake up quickly, Emma usually lets the day slowly come to her, even if that means listening to an alarm clock blaring for a few extra seconds…or minutes. Honestly, it’s always minutes, and there have been times when Ruby or Graham will come barging into her room to yell at her to turn her phone off. It’s only then she realizes that the awful sound is real and not a part of some weird, twisted dream where she has to actually wake up and go to work.

Dreadful.

This morning, though, there is no blaring alarm, only a sliver of bright sunlight peeking through closed curtains and the feel of rough scruff and soft lips moving down her bare back while calloused hands grip at her hips and the cool metal of Killian’s ring presses down on her heated skin.

It’s definitely a better way to wake up.

“Hmmm, g’morning,” she mumbles as she wraps her arms around her pillow a little more tightly and buries her face in the softness of it all. She’s awake, but she doesn’t have to move, especially when it feels so good to lay like this.

“Morning,” Killian whispers. He drags his nose along her spine down to the small of her back while his fingers inch over her skin and up her torso to rest at the sides of her breasts, pleasure flickering to life. “It’s very convenient that you went to bed without putting on any clothes last night.”

Flirty dork.

“And what exactly is this convenient for?”

Killian hums against her while he continues to leave slow, lingering kisses against all of the skin of her back while heat pools between her thighs and a smile curves on her lips that she has to hide in the pillow. She’d come over after work last night to eat dinner with him, ended up completely skipping the dinner when Killian tugged her into his bedroom the moment she got through the door, and the only time she’s even left this room was to get a bowl of cereal at two in the morning. If she also spent an hour reviewing her notes for today’s game, that’s no one’s business but hers.

Today’s game.

Oh shit. She’s commentating today and she doesn’t know what time it is and she needs to prepare and –

“Swan,” Killian breathes out, the air warm on her skin, “stop thinking about today.”

“How could you possibly know that I’m thinking about today?”

Killian chuckles, which she doesn’t appreciate, before brushing his lips over her side right under her breast. “Because – ” a kiss to her back “ – I can see that your entire body tightened up and –” a brush of his lips against the nape of her neck that has her seeing little black spots way before she should be seeing little black spots “ – because I know you so damn well and today is all you’ve been thinking of for eleven days now. And not for the Labor Day hot dog eating contest.”

And then there’s the feeling of chest hair brushing against her back and Killian’s hardened length against the back of her thigh while all of his body mass weighs down on top of her as his nose drags along her cheek until they’re eye-to-eye with Killian’s head resting beside her on the pillow.

He definitely didn’t have to lay down on her to look at her. That’s one hundred percent him being extra dramatic.

“Hi,” he smiles, and she groans a bit, both at the pleasantness of his weight and the fact that she was about two drags of his teeth away from being ready to ride him until neither of them could think any coherent thoughts. “You’re going to do great today. So great that all of those guys will be worried about the stability of their jobs.”

“So, you’re basically saying that I’m going to get people fired?”

Killian rolls his eyes and shifts on top of her so that the warmth of him moves to brush across her inner thigh, causing her eyes to shut and her breath to hitch.

Killian is still laughing at her.

That doesn’t diminish the feeling of how much she absolutely needs him right now.

“No, love, you’re not going to get someone fired today. You’re simply going to kick ass, and I’m going to be wearing an invisible pin that says that I’m an extremely proud boyfriend.”

“Invisible pin?” she questions, opening one eye to see a half smile stretched across Killian’s lips.

“Custom made and everything.”

“You are such a dork.”

“Aye, I know.” His lips brush against hers then, soft and slow, before he’s propping himself up on his elbows with a slight hiss that she chalks up to him still being stiff from sleeping. “Now, please, if you’d let me, milady, I believe I was working up to something before you so rudely interrupted me.”

“And what’s that?”

“A bloody fantastic way to relieve stress.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure it can be stressful on the joints and – ”

She doesn’t get to finish because Killian is grabbing onto her hips again and pulling her down on the mattress before flipping her over so that she’s on her back and he’s settled between her thighs, his hands gripping onto her calves as he pushes her legs further apart so that the cool air from his fan is hitting her skin. Knowing what’s coming causes gooseflesh to pop up on her skin and a simmering heat to cover it all, and it’s all amplified by the way that Killian’s eyes never leave hers, blue eyes under dark lashes, as he nibbles on the skin of her inner thigh.

Damn.

It’s ridiculous, this thing between them.

Love.

It’s called love.

Love that involves a hell of a lot of fears but also this burning passion that makes her thighs quiver at his touch and her heart thump at a million beats per minute when Killian smiles into the dip between her thighs before kissing her there with a long, slow, thorough caress that causes every bit of air in her lungs to flee for the hills.

Bless every woman before her for teaching him how to do this. That’s likely not the thought that she should be having right now, but it’s true.

And so damn good.

It shouldn’t be like this with them. He shouldn’t be able to make her feel the way that he does with so little effort, but he does just that every single time.

He’s taking his time, something she both loves and loathes right now with each flick of his tongue and tease of his teeth while her hands grip onto the bedsheets and her ankles hook around the back of his neck to pull him forward and further into her. Killian growls then, the vibrations working their way through her, and she bites back a groan so that all of Manhattan cannot hear her.

That would be quite the show.

“Come on, love,” Killian speaks into her skin before she feels the hard press of fingers curling inside of her. “Why don’t you let go for me?”

“Oh fuck.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

He likes that joke too much.

The man winks at her and dives back into what he’s doing, his eyes never leaving hers so that she can’t look away from how captivating he is. But then his tongue is swirling around her bundle of nerves in quick flicks that have her eyes closing and her fists tightening against the sheets. Emma chases her fall by rolling her hips, urging Killian to keep going silently since all she can do right now is pant with the way that the coil in her belly is so tight that it’s going to burst at any minute now.

And then it does with a curl of Killian’s fingers and a swirl of his tongue while she moans in pleasure and lets heat simmer over her all the while Killian keeps working at her and keeps prolonging her pleasure that she is never quite able to catch her breath.

Damn.

“That was – ”

“I know,” Killian says with a cocky grin on his face, peppering kisses above her hipbone and up her stomach until he’s resting his chin between her breasts with a genuine smile on his face now that has the butterflies in her stomach fluttering around like crazy.

Emma moves her hand from the sheets to Killian’s hair, pushing it back out of his forehead so that it’s not falling in a million different directions like it always does when he’s just woken up in the morning. She kind of loves that she knows that.

“I love you,” she whispers, the words so gentle and precious that she doesn’t even want the air to hear them. And maybe it can’t over how loudly her heart is still beating, a staccato in her chest.

Killian blinks up at her before twisting his head to the side and laying a kiss to the freckle on her breast. “And I you. More than anything.”

There are those words again, all of the ones that make her feel like she’s something special to him, that she’s someone he’ll always want no matter what, and a sob gets caught in her throat at just the thought of all of that. It’s both the pressure of having someone love her, something no one ever talks about, and the pleasure of knowing that the goofy half smile on his face is because of her.

This man is happy simply to be around her.

And she him.

She urges him to move up her body then, to press his lips against the dip of her collarbone and go from soft to hard as he slides into her, heavy and thick and everything that she could possibly crave. There’s a last-minute protest from her lips about him overexerting himself before a game, something they have to be careful about, but he promises that he’s just fine like this.

Sparks move across her skin, probably against Killian’s skin too, and even though he’s most definitely doing most of the work this morning – likely in some gentlemanly attempt to make her forget just how nervous she is – sweat is still beading at her forehead and the small of her back as their hips thrust together to create a friction that is marvelous.

“Emma,” he grits out at the same time that he thrusts deep inside of her to hit that spot. “You are bloody brilliant. And glorious. And you are going to kick ass today, okay?”

She taps his ass with her foot in response, unable to actually form words to speak back with how strung out she is on him right now, and Killian laughs into her neck while her nails dig into the skin on his back, likely leaving marks that might as well be tattoos at this point.

Killian is so completely filling her as he moves above her, his entire body pressing against her and weighing down on her, and there’s nothing she can do but hold on tightly and try to savor the way that it feels to be connected to him both physically and emotionally. His support for her is unlike anything else she’s ever experienced, is actually the complete opposite of her past, and tears sting in her eyes at the thought of it.

She comes with a moan that Killian captures with his mouth, kissing her and devouring her all the while his thrusts get a little bit quicker so that she can tell he’s close too. She tries to press up and roll her hips to help him find the finish line, but he’s already found it and is falling apart with curses and declarations of love that make her head spin.

When they’re finished, Killian falls off of her and onto the mattress, quickly pulling the blanket back over them and pulling her into his side so that she can rest her cheek in its place against his shoulder and tuck her feet in between his calves all the while Killian traces indistinguishable patterns into his back and she plays with the chain around his neck, moving it up and down over the dark patches of chest hair that cover his chest and his stomach.

“You were right,” she whispers before brushing her lips over a freckle on his shoulder.

“Hmmm? About what?”

“That making me forget.”

“Ah, well,” he teases, his voice dark and low and still the slightest bit gritty, “I have heard that my prowess in the bedroom can make a woman lose any string of coherent thoughts.”

“You are ridiculous,” Emma groans, burying her face further into his shoulder and telling herself that she can get up to clean up later. It’ll be okay for a couple of minutes.

Killian’s fingers tap against her back, her skin still electrified by his touch, but then he’s rolling over so that they’re no longer touching and a whine of protest is escaping her lips.

“I know, I know,” Killian sighs before pressing a kiss to her forehead and getting up from the bed so that she has a spectacular view of his ass. Thank goodness for baseball workouts. “But I’ve got to go to practice long before you have to be at the stadium, and I’m afraid that I need a shower.”

“Can’t it wait?”

Killian twists to look at her, crinkles around his eyes, and he bends down to press his mouth against hers in a slow kiss that only ends when Killian grunts and moves his shoulder.

“You okay?” Emma questions. She sits up in the bed then, pulling the sheets over her because the ceiling fan is chilling her skin, and watches as Killian rotates his arm and grits his teeth so that his jaw clenches. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He smiles at her then, all traces of pain seemingly gone. “I think I simply need a massage from Archie. Might have overdone it a bit by dragging you in here last night and not really letting you go.”

She’s not entirely sure that she believes him, but then he’s reaching his hand forward and holding it out for her. “What?” she questions, taking it.

Killian waggles his eyebrows. “I want you to join me in the shower, love.”

“Shower sex is overrated. You know that. And I don’t think I’ll be able to walk. Seriously. I’m already sore.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Swan,” Killian sighs, pulling her up with one tug of his arm so that she’s toppling off the bed and onto the floor. “We’re simply going in there to shower. Nothing more.”

He keeps to his word that they’re simply going to shower, and luckily Killian’s shower is big enough that they can go about their business without annoying the other or getting in the way. That’s pretty much impossible at her place, but here she uses the little seat inside to run her razor over her legs while the conditioner soaks into her hair. Killian leaves when she’s still working on shaving her left leg, and when she’s finished and wrapped up in his robe with her hair in a towel, she finds him already dressed for pre-game workouts in the kitchen mixing up what she knows is one of his protein shakes from the weird green color of it.

“Any of that for me?” she jokes since she will not go near the stuff. It’s disgusting.

“I’ve got those smoothies you like in the fridge.”

“Bless you.” She gets up and walks around the counter to open his fridge and grab the pre-made mango smoothie, shaking it up a bit only to have Killian place his hands on her hips and tug her closer to him. “What?”

“I do have something else for you, though, Swan.”

“Is that some kind of weird innuendo?”

“No,” Killian chuckles before releasing her hips so that he can reach behind his neck and pull the silver chain off of his neck, his mom’s ring glinting in the sunlight, and Emma loses all of her sensibilities – and her breath – when he places it around her neck. “I want you to have this.”

“Killian,” she starts, emotion in her throat and protests on her lips before he interrupts her.

“No, Emma, just listen to me, okay?” He looks so serious, so all she can do is nod her head yes. “I know athletes are all known for their weird superstitions, okay? It’s simply a thing, and I’ve never really thought that I had one until I realized that wearing my mom’s ring around my neck was kind of one of those superstitions. It’s brought me luck, but more importantly it’s always brought me calm and peace hoping that she’s smiling down on me and cheering me on. You have a really big day today, one that you’ve been dreaming about, and I want you to have it to remind yourself that people are cheering you on. I’m cheering you on.”

Like always, his words far outshine any that she could possibly have, so Emma presses forward and wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his stubbled jaw in thanks before staying there and simply feeling the warmth of him all over her as she breathes him in.

This is…she is not supposed to have nice things like this. This is not how things work for people like her.

And yet here she is.

“Kick ass today, twenty-nine.”

“Kick ass today, my love.”

-/-

Killian leaves his apartment two hours before she does, and by the time she gets to the stadium to make her way to the booth where she’s working today, all of her nerves that Killian made disappear have returned in full force so that she can’t stop fidgeting with her fingers or the ring that’s resting underneath her shirt.

She still can’t believe that he did that.

Her heart is still stuttering.

But the nerves aren’t exactly solved by having this good luck charm around her neck no matter how damn romantic it is.

The fact that on her way to the booth three different people stopped her and called her “that chick who Jones asked out” hasn’t exactly helped things. She’s never going to live that down. It might as well be inked on her forehead and be flashing in neon lights. Killian learned from his mistakes that day. If only everyone else could.

Now, though, Ruby is attaching Emma’s headpiece to her ears and stuffing her mic pack in the back of her skirt so that she will be able to sit down without things messing up. Ruby isn’t her producer today, not when she’s working with an entirely different team, but Emma is thankful that she’s here with her now.

“Be yourself, Ems,” Ruby sighs, adjusting her mic one more time. “It’s the same thing you do every other day, but you’re covering the entire game with two other people.”

“So, a different thing than I do every day.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to freak you out any more than you are already freaked out.”

“You’re a very good friend.”

“I try,” Ruby sighs, slapping Emma’s ass before sticking her tongue out and walking away. “You’re going to kick ass.”

If enough people say that phrase, it’s sure to come true.

Right?

Isaac and James are already sitting in their seats, the chair in between them empty, and she takes it, turning to look at the both of them to strike up a conversation only for them to both turn away and focus on the small booklet of notes in front of them.

Okay, so that’s how it’s going to be then. She shouldn’t have expected anything different when she found out she’d be working with Isaac Heller and James Prince, two men who are always looking down at her whenever she has to work with them. It’s fine. It’s all fine. This isn’t about them. This is about her and her job and she can do a damn good job at it.

David: You’re going to kill it today, kid.

Elsa: We’re all wishing you luck today, sweet girl.

Emma smiles down at her phone and moves to type a message back to David and Elsa only for Isaac to cough and make her turn to the side. “I know you’re new here, but you can’t use your phone, even when we’re off camera. Only between innings of if you need to look something up.”

“Oh,” she startles, having to push down her annoyance at the condescending tone of his voice. “Okay, sorry.”

“Yeah. Don’t screw up. It’s a small game, but everyone is at home watching because it’s a holiday.”

Such a nice, helpful man.

The three of them are coached through the order of the game, of the introduction while players are warming up, and while she knows that it’s something that happens every game, Emma can tell that all of this is mainly for her. She’s already read through her instructions, had approximately seventeen different meetings for this and one-hundred-and-twenty-two emails, and she knows what’s going to happen. She’s not an idiot even if she’s being treated like one today.

It doesn’t matter.

None of that matters.

This is what she wants, and she’s going to kick ass.

She, Isaac, and James introduce themselves to the camera, the annoyed look on the two men’s faces disappearing the moment that the camera light is turned on, and Emma has to fight back the urge to roll her eyes, especially when James and Isaac start a rapport of introducing her by saying you may recognize her from her moment of viral fame when Killian asked her out and she has to interrupt them to remind everyone that she is literally on camera every week since she is the on-field reporter for the team.

Fuck these men and their apparent need to forget that she is competent at her job even if this is technically her first day doing this.

But she forces the smile on her face and goes along with the banter before turning to the stat sheets and talking about the impeccable season that the Yankees are having so far and moving on to talking about Killian as he steps up to the mound, which Isaac and James are more than happy to let her do since she is “such an expert on Killian Jones.”

They don’t even know.

And she will continue to ignore these little jabs. The sexism never really ends.

They go through the fact that yesterday was a complete shut out not in favor of the Yankees, but the insane winning record that they have this season, it doesn’t honestly matter. Then at least five minutes is spent going back and forth over whether or not they will be able to somehow back up last year’s World Series win by doing it again. Emma’s always kind of despised the speculation that comes with sports, but this is how it goes.

(And she’s had the same thoughts.)

Which is fine since soon they switch to actually talking about Killian’s statistics for the season, how he’s been a bit up and down but how over the past month or so his average speed has gone down several miles per hour and he’s allowing more hits than usual. Logically, Emma knew this. She’d noticed it while keeping her own stats for her interviews and segments, but she never thought anything of it.

Not at all.

But now, running through these statistics and facts and every minute detail possible has her noticing the way that Killian isn’t hitting his spots like he’s supposed to and is throwing more balls than strikes and is a bit slower between his wind-ups than he usually is.

What is happening?

It’s not a question she can focus on, especially when the Rangers have a guy on second and third and Killian somehow manages to get three strikes and the third out so that the top of the first is over and things are moving on as normal.

Or, really, better than normal.

Eric hits a home-run, his thirty-seventh of the season which is a record high for him, and it brings both Will and Arthur in to give them a three-run lead already.

Today is already going better than yesterday.

And as time goes on, no matter how inwardly uncomfortable Emma feels with the men she’s working with, outwardly, she becomes entirely comfortable, knowing when to interject and when to stay quiet. It’s definitely not a match made in heaven for the three of them, which doesn’t really bode well for her future, but that’s not something she focuses on as the game wears on so that they’re now in the top of the fourth inning.

That’s when it happens.

One moment Emma is looking down at her notes while messing with the ring on her neck, twirling it around her finger, and the next she’s looking through the booth’s window to see Killian hunched over with his left hand gripping onto his right shoulder as his hat covers his face so that she can’t see anything. The hair on her arms stands on edge, her heart starts beating at a pace quicker than it was this morning, and bile rises up in her throat when she watches Will drops his glove and run from behind home plate to the mound so that he’s talking to Killian.

“What’s happening?”

Emma thinks the words come from her mouth, that she’s voicing the question that’s running through her mind, but it’s not from her. It’s from James.

“I think he’s hurt,” Isaac answers, and she knows that she doesn’t imagine the fact that his voice is smug.

Hurt.

No.

Killian can’t be hurt. He can’t be. And if he is, it’s something minor. Of course it’s something minor. There’s no need for her to be freaking out or for heat to be rising to her cheeks while that bile keeps coming back.

This is no big deal. It can’t be.

She also can’t let anyone know that she’s about to throw up because something is wrong with her boyfriend, and she can’t…there’s nothing she can do about it.

There’s a commotion down on the field as Will and Al walk Killian down to the dugout and there’s a brief pause in play while Roseman warms up before replacing him, and even though Emma asks their producer if they can find out what exactly just happened with Killian, she’s left sitting in the dark clutching onto his ring as the game goes on like there’s been absolutely no change.

But there has been one.

And she needs to know more about it.

But she can’t, and every time she moves to get her phone so that she can text Ariel or Liam or Elsa or anyone, they’re back live on air, and she’s having to force a smile on her face and continue to do her job like the abrupt change in pitchers isn’t a big deal to her.

It’s a huge fucking deal.

It’s also the bottom of the ninth inning now, two outs and two strikes on the board to signify the very near ending of the game, and an hour and fifty-seven minutes have passed since Killian left the field. She thinks she’s finally about to get to run out of this room and use her press credentials to get into the locker room when the door to their booth opens behind them so that their producer is sticking his head inside.

“Hey,” he starts at the same time that the word strike is spoken through her headset and the stadium erupts in cheers, “before you go off air, let everyone know that Killian Jones has been taken to the hospital.”

And nothing else can be heard over the thumping of her heart and the sound of Frank Sinatra’s voice crooning “New York, New York” playing over the speakers like at the end of every single game.

Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today.

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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