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the-captains-ayebrows · 5 years

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Deal With It (2/2)

Rival Poker Players AU. Emma Swan, poker hustler with more than just card tricks up her sleeve, meets Killian Jones, a fellow gambler, at a shady little casino down south. After a memorable first encounter, they seem to keep finding each other, but are they really ready to gamble with their hearts? Emma just doesn’t know if she can deal with it.

Rating: T for swearing and innuendo, Word Count ~2800 (this chapter)

[AO3 link] [Chapter 1]

A/N:This is not where I meant to end the story. I think we can end it here and be ok, but I also have about two more chapters worth of ideas for this AU. So, here's the deal: we'll say this is done for now, and there may be a sequel or bonus material if I ever get around to it.

This chapter is dedicated to @snowbellewells for her beta-ing and encouragement and to @wheres-your-rum for a really great liveblog the other day that made me think maybe I should keep posting things. Thanks guys!

It's not like Emma was looking for Hook. Not really. It's just that it’s kind of hard to avoid someone if you don't know where they are. So, she kept a casual ear open for mentions of his name. Casually. And someone might have casually mentioned in passing that he might be playing in a tournament in Deadwood. Obviously she had to come here and check it out - to make sure her informational sources were accurate. Or something.

It isn't like she's going to let him see her. That would be incredibly counterproductive. She did take the guy for a few grand after all. Not that it didn't kind of serve him right because who the hell keeps that kind of cash on them? But still… better if he never actually sees her. She did the jail thing once. No intentions of going back.

Then again, she has been doing a lot better at the tables since their little encounter. Honestly, at the rate she's winning, she'll have enough money saved up for her entry fee for Vegas a month ahead of time. It's almost like robbing him ( kissing him ) changed her luck for the better. Gamblers are nothing if not superstitious creatures. Maybe, possibly, one more rendezvous and a little bit more good luck will rub off on her. Yep. Luck. That’s what she wants to rub off.

Besides, he was winning last time. That really chaps her ass. Like she told him, she was having an off day. A good run of bad luck. She needs a rematch to settle the score. Take him down a notch. He really is too damn cocky for his own good, all that swagger and smirk. Except that his swaggering, smirking self doesn’t seem to be here.

Emma turns slowly on her bar stool, swirling the teensy plastic sword piercing the olives in her dirty martini and holding in her huff of annoyance as she surveys the gaming tables, once again finding them Hook-free. Hookless? Whatever.

Emma lifts the little sword to her mouth and slides an olive off with her teeth. Maybe her timing is just off. It looks like a few of the tournament tables are on a break between rounds, but she’s getting antsy. Maybe she should down the rest of her drink and head to another casino. She’s wearing her favorite little red dress tonight, the one that hugs every curve. She is here to work after all. It’s not like she wore it for anyone in particular. It’s for the marks. It shouldn’t be hard for her to pick up a few-

“Now be a good girl and play along, because you bloody well owe me.”

Emma nearly chokes on her olive and that’s probably the only thing that keeps her from whirling around and punching Hook in the face. How the fuck did he manage to sneak up on her?

She coughs, clearing the traces of olive from her windpipe, and the hot breath on the shell of her ear turns to a quick peck on the cheek. She’s furious that he got the drop on her, but she doesn’t know what kind of game he’s playing yet, so she reins it in. Hook steps around to face her, a wide, innocent smile curving his lips, though his eyes are deadly serious.

“Darling, so sorry for startling you, but I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I was just telling these nice gentlemen here-” he gestures to the pair of brutes walking up behind him, “that I couldn’t possibly play a hand without my favorite lucky charm.”

Emma gives him a saccharine smile. “Would that be the blue diamonds or purple horseshoes?”

Hook barks out a forced laugh. “Ha! See boys? That’s why I love her. That delightful sense of humor. Now, if you lads will excuse me for a moment, I’ll join you at the table presently.” He claps one of the men on the shoulder and they amble away to take seats at one of the poker tables leaving Emma and Hook alone.

Hook watches them go, making sure they’re settled and not paying attention to him anymore before he turns again to Emma, that familiar smirk back in its rightful place.

Emma's vapid expression falls away, quickly replaced with an annoyed glare. “You’re pretty damn pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

"Careful, sweetheart , they could look our way at any moment," Hook warns with a wicked grin. "And yes, I rather am. Fancy seeing you here. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Panic flashes through her at the question. Oh, you know, just low-key stalking you so I’d never have to see you again which is completely logical and not at all creepy. She hopes he can’t read the real answer on her face, but thankfully he chooses that moment to reach out with his hook and brush a lock of hair back from her shoulder. The easy familiarity of the gesture irritates her - irritation is much easier to deal with than the way his stupid blue eyes are doing things to her stomach - so she deepens her scowl and does what she does best: deflect and distract.

"Oh, no. No. We're not talking about me right now. What kind of scam are you running on the Big and Scary twins?" She gestures subtly with her almost empty drink to Hook's companions. Tall, broad and with matching ginger hair indicating some kind of familial relationship, each man looks as though he could bench press a horse.

"The Stabbington brothers over there - and yes, so help me that's their true surname - seem to think I owe them the opportunity to win back the considerable sum of money that they lost to me over a game of dice."

"Were said dice loaded?”

He cocks an eyebrow and shrugs. “Not that they know of.”

“And this all has what to do with me?" Emma crosses her arms beneath her breasts and doesn’t miss the flicker of his eyes down to her cleavage.

"Well, first of all, I'd like for them to be thinking about your neckline rather than their cards when you come over and kiss me on the neck in a few minutes."

"And then?" Emma didn’t miss the brightening of his expression that she hadn’t outright refused his scheme.

"And then I'd like an extra set of eyes on them to make sure they don't attempt to live up to their name when I win again."

Emma nods. "So you want me to watch your back while they’re watching my front. Got it. And you couldn't have just asked me without scaring the shit out of me first?"

Hook narrows his eyes. "Given the nature of our last encounter, I didn't wish to give you the chance to get away. You do owe me, Swan, and don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second."

Emma fixes him with her most sarcastic smile. "I'd despair if you did." She huffs a sigh. "What if I’m not interested? You don’t really have me in a helping mood right now, pal."

"I suppose I could report you to security and get you banned from every casino in town."

Emma's eyes widen and she lowers her voice to a threatening hiss. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I'm quite daring, love. Don't you doubt that. But…” He pauses, letting his eyes roam over her face, studying her. “I think you are interested, and I'd much rather work with you than against you. I propose a bargain. Simple, really. You help me and I'll give you a cut of whatever I win."

"Half."

"Not a chance. 80-20. My 80, your 20 to be clear."

"Not worth it. 60-40."

Hooks features twist into a tight-lipped grimace of annoyance. "If we stand here arguing, you'll be getting 100% of nothing, as will I. Although I may get the parting gift of a broken limb from our friends over there. I'm already down one appendage, I'd prefer to keep those that remain in top form."

Emma leans back against the bar and slowly sips the last of her cocktail. "Then quit arguing with me and give me 40%."

Hook drops his head in defeat, and Emma beams knowing she’s won. He lifts his eyes to hers again, and she’s sure he’s trying to be all commanding and intense, but she can see a hint of mirth dancing in those baby blues. The bastard is actually looking forward to this.

"Fine. But you'd better earn it, love. I need you to be quite convincing as the adoring girlfriend. Feel free to let your hands wander. Don’t be afraid to, you know, really get into it.”

He says it with a scrunch of his nose that has Emma rolling her eyes, but some traitorous part of her is kind of looking forward to this, too. She’s a gambler for God’s sake, the prospect of a little danger and intrigue fires up her pulse. She hasn’t run a two-person job since…

And just like that the spark fizzles out. Hook seems to notice the change, but doesn’t comment, only cants his head to the side in question. Emma braces herself, her old defenses rising, but he doesn’t ask. He just snaps his own mask back into place, and gives her thigh a squeeze as he leans in close to her. Her heartbeat begins racing again, but this time for a very different reason.

“Now be a good lass buy us another round. My tab’s open, and I’ll have anything with rum."

Emma has to admit to herself (though certainly not to him ) that she really did enjoy their little game. After getting the drinks, she’d gone with his original request and sashayed over the table, bending very deliberately at the waist to set the glasses down. Rather than immediately taking her seat next to Hook, she’d moved behind his chair, leaning down to loosely drape her arms around his neck and letting the fingers of her right hand slide inside the open collar of his shirt. Not too far - just enough so she could feel the increasing thrum of his heartbeat when she nuzzled into his neck and grazed a kiss across the corded muscle of his throat. He’d swallowed hard as she drew back, her nails scratching through the coarse hair on his chest as she retracted her hand. She’d smiled to herself at that, and couldn’t help leaning close one more time to whisper in his ear, “ For luck .”

Watching Hook play without having to be concerned about playing against him was truly educational. His powers of perception impressed her, and the few tells and signals he seemed to miss, she was able to silently communicate to him with a subtle glance, brush of her hand or nudge to his leg. He never ignored her cues, either, trusting her instincts as much as his own. Well, except that one time…

“Why the devil did you make me throw that last hand, Swan? I had them!”

It’s hours later and with several hundred dollar bills tucked into her bra, Emma sits next to Hook at the bar for a celebratory drink.

“I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to fold-”

“After you slid your hand up my leg all the way to my-”

“You said feel free to let my hands wander.”

Hook leans toward her and raises a dark eyebrow in challenge. “And how is a man supposed to concentrate when you’re taking such liberties with him? You knew I would fold.”

Emma leans in as well, propping her elbow on the bar. “I knew you needed to fold. You’d won too many hands. I’d already sweet talked the one with the gold teeth into backing down when he started reaching for the knife in his boot. I didn’t want to have to schmooze the one with the eye-patch, too.”

Hook laughs lightly at that. “You were bloody brilliant, Swan. Those dolts were powerless against you.”

He’s practically beaming at her with something that looks almost like pride, and Emma has no idea what to do with that. She doesn’t know what to do with him at all. He’s her competition, but here they are working together - pretty seamlessly if she’s honest about it. And what’s with all this supportive crap? She’s used to guys wanting something from her, to use her to stroke their ego or their cock. But this guy? She can tell he’s attracted to her, but all this other stuff - the listening to her, the actually seeming impressed with her - it’s confusing and unsettling.

To make matters worse, he’s just as likable, kissable, fuckable, everything- able as she remembered, and lord, has she been remembering. As much as she tries NOT to think about it, their kiss drifts into her mind at the most inopportune times. Like right now.

She takes a sip of her gin and tonic (no more olives for her tonight), and brushes off his compliment. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I saved your ass.”

“Cheers to that.” He raises his glass and she clinks hers against it, but before he drinks, he asks, “How did you know he had a knife in his boot?”

Emma had been waiting for this question and times her answer just as he’s taking his sip of rum. “I was playing footsie with him under the table.”

Hook half chokes on his drink and splutters, “You what?”

Gotcha. Emma shrugs, letting a little of her internal gloating show on her face. “Hey, you told me to keep them distracted. You were no help at all.” She flicks her wrist to backhand him on the shoulder. “You kept antagonizing him! You’re a really shitty damsel in distress, you know that?”

Hook chuckles, rubbing his hook gingerly over the imaginary bruise she’s apparently left on his arm, then leans closer and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Ah, but I make up for it with my many other talents.”

His voice is laden with innuendo, and it’s cheesy as hell, and yet it’s all Emma can do to stop herself from shifting in her seat at the mental images he inspires. She manages to limit her outward physical response to a dramatic eye roll. “Hm. At least you won enough money to make this worthwhile.”

“Aye, that I did. You know, I don’t mean to upset you Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”

Emma stiffens at the word ‘team’, unwanted memories from her past returning for the second time tonight. “I work alone. This was a-”

“One-time thing? I seem to have heard that before.”

Emma ignores him, trying to change the subject. “What were you doing playing absolutely-not-loaded dice with those guys anyway? I thought you were supposed to be here for the poker tournament.”

She sees the change in his expression the second her words register and clenches her glass until her knuckles turn white, cursing herself internally for the slip.

“And how would you know I was entered in the tourney?”

Emma presses on. “Why loaded dice? I thought you never cheated. All that bullshit about good form?”

His brows furrow in offense, and Emma relaxes a little, thinking she’s successfully diverted him again. “I don’t consider good form to be bullshit, Swan, and I never cheat at cards. But... “ and here he gives her a rather pointed look, “some pickings are a bit too easy to pass up.”

“Touche.”

“And speaking of easy pickings…” Hook looks disdainfully at the half-empty glass in his hand. “This swill is hardly worthy of our celebration, but I did happen to appropriate a very fine bottle of top shelf rum from a storage closet round back that someone had thoughtfully left unlocked.”

“Stealing rum? Loaded dice? You really are a pirate.”

Oh, and there’s the smirk, this time with added smolder. “What do you say, Swan? Fancy a nightcap?”

A little thrill runs through her at the prospect. Nope. No way. Definitely not. Terrible idea. “Yeah.” A small smile tilts the corners of her lips. “I mean, we need to keep up our cover act in case those goons are still around. We should at least be seen going upstairs together.” Dammit.

He answers with a dazzling grin and neatly steps down from his bar stool, extending his hooked arm to help her do the same. She grasps the hook and alights from her stool, but for a split second she sees emotion flash behind his eyes, gone before she can decipher it. He seems frozen in place, his face a blank slate. It takes her giving him a little tug with the hand still holding his hook to get him moving.

“Come on, pirate. Show me to the rum.”

#cs ff #captain swan fan fic #captain swan ff #cs modern au #cs rival poker players au #this has been sitting in my drafts FOR EVER #hope ya like it!

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the-captains-ayebrows · 7 years

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Deal With It (Let’s make this interesting) 1/2

Rival Poker Players AU. Guys, you know what inspired this. Modern AU, but with a kind of Captain Wench flavor. Rivals to Lovers. Heavily influenced by the 1994 movie Maverick, but you don’t need to know anything about the movie or really very much about poker to hang with this.

Rating: T for this chapter (mostly due to language), but M for the next part and I’m not chickening out this time

Summary: Emma Swan, poker hustler with more than just card tricks up her sleeve, meets Killian Jones, a fellow gambler, at a shady little casino down south. After a memorable first encounter, they seem to keep finding each other, but are they really ready to gamble with their hearts? Emma just doesn’t know if she can deal with it.

[AO3]

Emma hates this place. Over her years of hustling poker, she’s become accustomed to the bleeps, dings and 8-bit digital “music” (sarcastic quotation marks very much intended) that make up the constant, mind-numbing background noise in a casino. She can handle the smell of stale cigarette smoke and human bodies that could use a break from gambling to, you know, actually shower or something. Even the watered down cocktails don't bother her. Hell, those are probably a blessing in disguise - keeps her mind sharp without her having to order something non-alcoholic which might tip off her marks.

But this piddly-dink river casino hotel on the outskirts of Nowheresville, Louisiana? Really bringing her down. Maybe it’s the general air of despair and decay. Maybe it’s the humidity. She’s already regretting not putting her hair up. It’s starting to do that weird wavy thing it does sometimes, a few tendrils sticking to her neck. Not to mention her skinny jeans - great for attracting a mark, but not exactly comfort wear - are clinging unpleasantly to her legs, making her want to squirm. Or maybe she's just still pissed that she nearly broke the heel off of her favorite pair of fuck-me pumps on a ripped spot in the tacky patterned carpet. It’s all just so irritating and depressing.

She could’ve gone someplace nicer, true. Then she’d be spending too much of the money she’s trying to win off these poor bastards to pay for her lodgings. Or she could sleep in her car. Again. On this wet, drizzling mess of a night. Yeah, no. Fuck that.

Oh. Hey, look. She won again.

That’s why I keep coming to places like this, Emma reminds herself. The pickings are almost too easy.

Emma smiles sweetly, fluttering her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at the man to her right - the one with the thick eyebrows and currently dour expression. It had been a stroke of much needed luck picking up the pair of Brits at the bar upstairs. The younger, dark-haired one with the eyebrows was flush with cash from a big win at the roulette table, and the slightly older, scruffy one with the kind eyes had just had some luck shooting craps. A little flirting and preening later, and they’d happily agreed to teach her a thing or two about five-card draw. Suckers.

“Wow, I’m really on a roll tonight! Gosh, I never win anything. Must be beginners luck!”

The bubbly, air-headed act is her bread and butter, but sometimes she can’t stand the sound of her own voice while she’s at it. She’s a professional, though, so she keeps the cringing on the inside and a big smile on the outside as she reaches for the pot.

Thunk!

Emma pauses raking in her winnings as a thick leather wallet lands on the table next to her.

“Sorry, don’t mean to interrupt.”

Her eyes pan upward toward the intruding voice and in striking contrast to the silken accent of the speaker, she finds more leather in the form of a black vest pulling taut over a lean torso. Above that, a dark patterned shirt reveals a swath of chest hair and the glint of a silver chain dipping down beneath the barely-buttoned fabric, but above that… Emma blinks as her eyes lock with the bluest pair she’s ever seen.

The man quirks a cheeky grin, and laughs to himself. “Actually, yes I do,” he continues, those blue eyes drifting unsubtly downward, practically caressing the lines of Emma’s cheek, throat, and decolletage. “Is this seat taken, love?”

Handsome, money to burn, and he’s already taken the bait? Jackpot. Emma returns his grin with a nearly predatory one of her own, and gestures to the empty chair beside her. “It is now.”

The man inclines his head politely, the motion reminiscent of a courtly bow. “My thanks, lass.”

Before the newcomer can sit down, the guy with the eyebrows pipes up. “I like the game the way it is.”

Emma shoots him a dirty look, remembering at the last second to color it a bit more pouty and pleading. What was his name again? Will Something-or-other. Hardly caring anymore now that a much juicier mark has appeared, she’s about to tell Will to stuff it when the newcomer speaks again.

“Now, I’ll have you know I bring all sorts of plusses to the table. I’m a firm believer in good form. I hardly ever bluff and I never, ever cheat. Nothing up my sleeve, but this old thing here.” At that, he raises his left arm brandishing a hook-like prosthetic where his hand would have been.

Emma keeps her face arranged in a mask of amused interest, but that hook sets off a warning bell in the back of her mind. She’s heard some talk about a gambler that people refer to as “Hook,” but surely it’s not him. That’d be a pretty damn on-the-nose nickname, and besides, what would some up and coming hotshot be doing in a dump like this?

“Sounds like a load of rubbish to me, mate,” Will grumbles, but the other man only laughs again.

“Aye, it does, doesn’t it?”

“Get off it, Scarlett,” says the scruffy guy sitting across from her. Robin, Emma thinks. “What good’s an empty seat?”

“Indeed,” the stranger agrees. “And as an added bonus, I promise to lose for at least an hour.”

He says it with a nonchalant shrug and flourishing hand gesture as if he hasn’t a care in the world, but Emma can see the calculating glint in his eyes as he sizes up the other two men. Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a hustler. Okay. So, Hook it is. The best Emma can figure, he must be here for the same reasons she is - to get in a little practice and pad the ol’ cash reserves. She hadn’t planned on any real competition tonight, but now her skin tingles at the idea of an actual challenge. Nothing more delicious than playing a player.

“Alright then,” Will answers at length, apparently oblivious to the trap he’s just walked into. “You're bloody bonkers, but alright. I'll take your money.”

“Cheers, mate.” The man takes the seat next to Emma, and once situated, offers her his hand. “Now where are my manners? We haven’t been properly introduced. Killian Jones.”

Suddenly glad she gave Will and Robin a fake name because no way in hell does she want Killian or Hook or whoever this guy is to know her real one, Emma delicately reaches her hand toward his, palm down and wrist bent so he has to curl his fingers around hers leaving her hand on top. Come on, Casanova. Kiss my hand. You know you want to.

“I’m Anna Nolan. It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, love,” he purrs, and - yep. There it is. He’s leaning down for the hand kiss, except - Oh.

He maintains eye contact the whole time. The kiss is brief, but the contrast of soft, warm lips and harsh stubble sends goosebumps up her arm. Emma widens her eyes and giggles as she knows she should to keep character, but she has to admit to being a bit impressed. What could have been extremely cheesy, he’d managed to execute to perfection so that - yeah, okay, that was actually kind of arousing. Or maybe it’s just that the guy is really, like, really pretty. Geez. Keep it together, Swan. And by “it” I mean your legs.

Emma hears someone clear their throat. “Shall I wait until the two of you are done making eyes before I deal?” Robin asks. Emma feels the beginnings of a blush creep up her cheeks (well, at least it’s in character), as Hook answers.

“Sorry, mate. Let’s play some poker.”

-/-

An hour later, Emma has a healthy stack of chips in front of her. She’s thrown enough hands that Will and Robin don’t seem suspicious. Hook, though… he’s another matter. He hasn’t said anything that makes her think he’s onto her. Hasn’t broken his own character of bored-guy-on-a-business-trip. There’s just something about the way he looks at her. It’s more than the cool appraisal hidden behind an affable demeanor that he’s been using on the other men. Emma isn’t quite sure what to make of him and it’s unsettling.

She could walk away now. His promised hour of losing is over and she knows he’s about to flip the switch. She could get up and go cash in her chips and never see this guy again. That would be the smart thing to do. But…

“Gentleman and lady.” Hook nods to Emma with one dark eyebrow raised, then picks up the deck of cards. “According to the clock over there, my hour has passed.”

Hook turns his hand palm up, still holding the cards. A quick, deft movement of only his pinkie finger cuts the deck in two, his forefinger separating the halves until the soft pressure of his thumb somehow manages to glide one half into the middle of the other, uniting the cards into a single unit again. Simple, elegant, and without a doubt the hottest fucking thing Emma has ever seen.

He casts a self-satisfied smirk around the table. “Now the fun begins.”

Oh, yeah. Fun is definitely the word. No way on earth she’s leaving now. Emma meets Hook’s gaze, sinking her teeth into her lower lip with feigned innocence and relishing the way his eyes darken and his tongue darts to the corner of his lips.

Game on.

-/-

He’s good, she’ll give him that. He wasn’t lying earlier when he said he rarely bluffs, too, which is becoming a problem for Emma. She’s good at reading people, but her true talent is knowing when someone is bluffing - it’s practically her superpower - and how the hell is she supposed to call his bluff if the man never fucking bluffs? It’s absolutely frustrating.

Speaking of frustrations… she’s had to rely on her other tactics a little more heavily than usual in order to get a leg up on him, and oh, does she ever want to get her legs up on him. Preferably on either side of his stupid, smirking face.

She’d started out playing it straight. Emma could run probabilities in her sleep, knew her chances with any number of different hands. She already had a handle on all of Will and Robin’s tells. Usually that’s enough to give her the upper hand, but Hook has walls that go well beyond a simple poker face. She can read him well enough to sense that much, but slipping past those defenses is another matter altogether.

So, she’d tried a bit of subtle distraction: “accidentally” brushing her knee against his, crossing her legs so her toe grazed his calf, absently toying with the ends of her hair so her fingertips trailed across the top of her breast. He was affected, she could tell. Her livelihood demanded that she watch her fellow players like a hawk, taking in every subtle shift in mannerism, and he’d definitely - ahem - shifted himself a time or two. Emma had been feeling pretty damn proud of herself at one point after successfully bluffing her way into a win against him, but then…

Then the bastard had begun to return fire. A poker chip. One fucking poker chip had been his weapon of choice, flipping the thing from knuckle to knuckle like something out of an old-timey gangster movie, dextrous fingers rolling like ocean waves, over and over. A few minutes of that and she’d had to fold a hand after she’d lost track of the action on the table.

The way he’d fumbled his glass of rum later in the game when she arched her back in a catlike stretch, pulling her hair to one side and kneading at a phantom kink in her neck? Highly satisfying. But, it’d be a whole lot more satisfying if her chip stack was a little less scant. It’s starting to look like she’s going to have to sleep in her car tonight after all, and-

Oh, for fuck’s sake. He’s scratching behind his ear. He’s finally doing it.

Hook’s finally fucking bluffing and Robin just folded. Will’s already raised once, but Hook’s about to buy the pot it looks like. It’s enough money to give her a nice (so long as you don’t look at it under a blacklight) bed to sleep in tonight, and she doesn’t have the goddamn cards to do anything about it.

Emma very reluctantly folds, and Will right after her, but as Hook reaches for his winnings, Will reaches for Hook’s cards.

Emma’s eyes widen as Hook raises his hand to stop Will.

“It never pays to look, mate.” His voice remains even, but his eyes carry a warning.

Will stands and picks up the cards, his expression thunderous as he slings them back to the table where they land face up. “I thought you said you never bluffed, mate.”

Hook, to his credit, keeps his cool and sets about stacking his chips. “I said, I hardly ever bluff. That was one of the ‘hardlies’.”

Robin attempts to placate Will, but his reasonableness goes unheeded. Will rounds the table, moving between Emma and Hook and pounds his fist on the table top knocking over what’s left of Emma’s stack. Hook doesn’t flinch, doesn’t so much as spare him a glance.

“You cheated! You’ve been cheating this whole sodding game!”

Hook waits a beat, first looking down at Emma’s spilled chips then sliding his tongue to the corner of his mouth in thought. All nearby conversation has stopped, even the tired-eyed waitresses are avoiding their table, and Emma can feel the prickle of anticipation, of eyes turned their way to see what will happen now.

Hook slowly raises his eyes to Will’s face and stands with the predatory grace of a jaguar. “What exactly did you think I was doing that first hour, eh? I was learning your tells. Incidentally, your particular weakness is when you shuffle your front cards to the back and switch them all around. Looks a bit shifty.”

It’s almost funny, Hook’s flippant manner of speech, except it seems to only make Will more irate. Emma quietly slips from her chair, moving back toward Will’s recently vacated seat to give the boys some room to vent their testosterone. Robin seems to have had a similar idea, giving Emma a polite nod as he takes his winnings and heads off toward the cashier cages. She’d just sky out of there, too, if it weren’t for her chips, but there’s not a good way to grab them and run now that they’re spread over a quarter of the table.

“I just called you a cheat.” Will draws himself up to his full height, stepping into Hook’s space, but again Hook simply gives him that infuriating smirk.

“You also called me, eh… bonkers was it? But I reckoned you were only teasing.”

At that Will snaps, grabbing Hook by the front of the vest and drawing his fist back seemingly with every intention of making quite the impression on Hook’s perfect smiling teeth. But before a single punch is thrown, a mountain of a man in a casino uniform - clearly a bouncer - appears from the crowd snagging Will by the arm and shirt collar and jerking him to the side.

“Alright, that’s enough,” the man shouts. “All three of you. Cash in your chips and get the hell out.”

Shit. I can’t get kicked out now! I haven’t won nearly enough money. Emma puts on her best smile and saunters over to the bouncer, who has just released his hold on a red-faced Will. “Excuse me,” she begins sweetly, glancing at the golden plastic name tag on his jacket. “Anton. Did I just hear you say all three of us have to leave? Because I didn’t-”

Anton cuts her off with a heavy sigh and long-suffering expression. “I’m sorry ma’am, but you’re out, too. You’re just going to have to find another game.”

-/-

‘Another game,’ he says. Like it isn’t past midnight and I’m not out in the boondocks. Nope. Go find another game. Emma continues her internal grumbling all the way to the cashier’s cage. She accepts her meager winnings and decides since she can’t afford both a room for the night AND have enough left to be worth squirreling away for her entry fee, she can at least go up a level to the bar - the real one - and have a drink with a solid amount of alcohol in it.

She sits down and orders her standard gin and tonic, when she hears a familiar accent. Turning her head slowly, she sees Will Scarlett sitting at a table of rough looking dudes who maybe have a full set of teeth between the bunch of them (and honestly what the hell is with all the Brits in this place? Is there a Rugby tournament in town or something?). He’s going on and on about this ‘poncy twat’ who hustled him with the help of some ‘little blonde tart’ and suddenly Emma has an idea of exactly the new game she intends to play. She just hopes he hasn’t left the hotel yet.

Emma finishes her drink and slips from the bar. A few drunken giggles and she’s managed to convince the desk clerk she’s lost her room key, and can she please get a spare? It’s under the name Jones. Yes, Killian Jones. More giggling and the assurance that the clerk is an absolute lifesaver and she’s on her way.

When she reaches Hook’s door, though, she hesitates. She knows she’s rusty. She hasn’t used that skill set in a while, relying mainly these days on her prowess at the poker table, but petty larceny has got to be like riding a bicycle, right? Besides, the money is just too good to resist. So shoulders squared, hair fluffed, and neckline lowered, she knocks twice.

“Who is it?” The smooth tenor of Hook’s voice is muffled by the door between them, but it still manages to send a shiver up her spine.

Emma takes a deep breath, smiling even though he can’t see her just to get the right tone to her voice. “It’s Anna. Anna Nolan from our game earlier?”

“One moment, love.”

The click of a lock sounds and he opens the door, leaning a shoulder casually against the jamb. She’s struck again by his appearance, the lean muscled frame, artfully mussed dark hair and well-formed facial features that may as well have been carved out of marble. He’s carefully still, clearly waiting on her, but even in his stillness his eyes dance and his tongue, well… the things that tongue can do. Geez, she can only imagine the things that tongue can do.

Emma bats her eyelashes, letting a touch of breathiness into her voice. “I probably shouldn't be doing this.”

He grins at her, his eyes roving over her face. “You’re simply standing in the hallway, love, I believe that's legal in this state.”

“I mean getting involved.” She looks down shyly, twirling a lock of her hair before letting herself meet his eyes again. “But here's the thing - I overheard Will Scarlett downstairs. He was shooting his mouth off about you.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “Again, darling, while I appreciate the concern, besting someone at cards isn't illegal either-”

“Yeah, but cheating is. That's what he's going on about. He even implied that…” Emma looks down again, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as if she thinks she’s about to say too much. She’s really afraid she may be overselling this, but then his fingers gently curl beneath her chin, raising her gaze back to his and she’s sure it’s working.

“Implied what?” He ducks his head just a smidge, encouraging her to go on.

“That I was your accomplice.” Emma shakes her head, stepping back. “I probably shouldn't be around you. I don't want to get in trouble, but I had to warn you.” Her eyes bore into his, and he’s there. Right where she wants him. Target locked, time to go in. “I didn't- I mean I just couldn't-”

Emma grips the lapels of Hook’s jacket with both hands, half dragging his mouth to hers, half tackling him into the wall beside the door at the same time. For two seconds, she’s in complete control, relishing her victory as his initial shock wears off, and yeah those lips of his feel even better against her mouth than they did on the back of her hand earlier, but she’s got this. She’s got him.

Until she doesn’t. Until he’s kissing her back with a knee-melting, toe-curling passion, not bothering to break for air, but rather stealing her breath as his lips - those gorgeous, firm yet supple lips - have her almost forgetting what she’s supposed to be doing right now. Okay, so maybe she does forget for a second, but someone was moaning and someone’s hand was in the other’s hair, maybe tugging just a little and - Get a grip, Swan. No, not that kind of grip. Focus, dammit.

Emma slowly moves one hand from his lapel to his chest, allowing herself a much deserved detour through his thatch of chest hair before continuing down his ribs and around to his back. Mmmmm… He feels so tight and compact beneath her greedy fingers, she really hopes she’s going to find what she’s looking for in his pants, but then the bulge she’s seeking hits the back of her wrist. The familiar swell of a thick billfold protruding from the inside pocket of his jacket. Gotcha.

She doesn't pull away immediately. No, that would be too obvious and she doesn't want to tip him off. (Yeah, that's it.) So, she takes a slightly ragged breath, her forehead pressed to his and dives back in for another go. As his tongue slips past her lips and he swallows her moan (oh, it was definitely her this time), she can feel the way their bodies sway and rock in sync, almost like they're dancing, almost like she better put an end to this right now.

She forces herself to pull back, taking his lower lip with her before she breaks the kiss completely. She knows her chest is still heaving. His hair is a glorious mess from her handiwork, his lips red and a little swollen, and he looks so beautifully wrecked, so perfectly fuckable that she definitely, definitely needs to get her ass out of here.

Hook speaks between panting breaths, his eyes dark as midnight. “That was-”

She stops him with a finger to his lips, and gives him the big sad eyes. “A one-time thing.” She drops her hand and turns to walk away, her face the picture of longing and regret, and damned if she doesn't actually feel it. “I better go before-”

“Wait!” She feels his hook on her arm and only has a split second to think Oh, shit, before he’s spinning her around.

“How-” He pulls her close to him, his voice low and rasping.

“Could I possibly-” He wraps his arm around her waist, his eyes darting back and forth between hers.

“Go on-” He’s leaning in, his breath against her lips and Emma’s heart is racing. Whether with excitement or fear, she isn’t sure.

“Without-” Before his lips touch hers, he turns his face to the side. His beard scrapes her cheek as his mouth ghosts against the shell of her ear.

“My wallet.” Emma’s heart stops dead at the words and Hook pulls back, fixing her with a hard stare. “If you don't give me back my money, I shall have your shapely arse arrested.”

“Dammit!” She pushes hard against his chest, breaking herself out of the intimate (and trapped, she realizes) posture she’d let him pull her into. Hook has the gall to laugh heartily, which only makes her that much angrier. At him, at herself, at the world in general. Whatever. She pulls the wallet out of her jacket and smacks him on the arm with it.

He chuckles as he takes it from her hand. “I think your anger is misdirected, love. It's not my fault you're a miserable thief.”

He’s still grinning, the asshole, so she scowls at him wanting to wipe that grin off his stupid face with either her fist or her lips… Damn that had been a good kiss. Not the point.

“Not your love. And I'm an excellent thief, buddy. I'm just having some bad luck is all.”

“I do know something about bad luck. Though, I must say your act could use a little work. What's with the giggling and hair-tossing? Anyone who's even barely paying attention could see you're no bimbo.”

Emma sucks on her teeth as she debates her answer, but there's really no point to bullshitting now. “People tend to see what they expect to see. A pretty girl in a low-cut top? They expect dumb blonde. They never see me coming.”

“More’s the pity for them. I imagine seeing you come would be a life-altering experience.”

The fact that her breath doesn't hitch at the innuendo is a testament to her years of practicing her poker face. “You imagine, do you?”

His eyes focus on her mouth and that damn tongue of his swipes into the corner of his own as he considers his response.

“Vividly.”

The word is over articulated and practically obscene and Emma has to steer this conversation away from herself before she does something unhelpful like shove him against the wall again. She narrows her eyes.

“Hmm. And what about your act, huh? That accent’s a bit much. All the ‘ayes’ and ‘mates’. You're one ‘shiver me timbers’ away from sounding like a pirate. Besides, most men enjoy my bubbly demeanor.”

There’s a flicker of humor in his eyes and a wry grin. “Well, that's not in dispute. And-” He pauses as if he’s just realized what she said, an indignant furrow forming between his brows. “The accent is real, I’ll have you know. But were I a betting man, and we both know I am, I'd wager there is no Anna Nolan, is there? Just who are you, love?”

Emma smirks at him. “Wouldn't you like to know.”

“You know,” he begins, stroking the stubble on his jaw for effect. “I believe I can guess. Gorgeous blonde, brilliant card player, violent tendencies… you must be Emma Swan.”

Emma blinks in shock, and her voice when she regains the ability to use it is embarrassingly squeaky. “You've heard of me?”

“Aye- I mean, yes, I have. You're making something of a name for yourself as a player, which I assume is why you've stopped using your real one.”

She hadn’t planned on letting him know that she knew who he was, but he looks so irritatingly smug. She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest.

“You're one to talk Hook.”

“Ah, that would be my more colorful moniker. Fair point, Swan.” He grins then, little crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “You know I quite like that name. It suits you. Swans are lovely creatures after all. Elegant, inclined to bite...”

She flashes him a quick, tight, smile and punctuates her words by poking him in the chest with her index finger. “You ain't seen nothing yet, buddy.”

“Oh, you're a tough lass, aren't you?”

Emma cants her head to the side, surprised to see that he actually looks impressed. She sighs, shoving her hands in her back pockets and raising her chin defiantly. “So what do we do now? Are you going to turn me in?”

Hook only shrugs. “I suppose as I've got my money back there's no harm done. Not to mention this has been the most fun I've had in ages. We'll call it square, yeah?”

“Okay. We're square. This-” she allows herself to relax her stance slightly. “This was pretty fun for me, too. You know, up until you busted me stealing your wallet. You're a hell of a poker player.”

“As are you, Swan.”

He smiles at her then, and it seems so genuine she can’t help but smile back. Damn, it’s not fair. He should not be allowed to be that talented and that sexy and still be… what’s the word? Likeable. He’s fucking likeable. It makes her almost feel guilty for what she’s about to do. Almost.

“You know, I wasn’t lying about Will shooting his mouth off down at the bar. We really shouldn’t be seen together.”

This time it's his turn to sigh, a hint of regret crossing his features. “Aye. Probably best.”

She moves a bit closer. “And since we’ll probably never see each other again…”

His eyes dart between hers then down to her lips. “Aye?”

“I was thinking…” She hooks a finger between the buttons on his vest and tugs him toward her, letting her gaze linger on his mouth for a moment. “Maybe just one more?”

He tries to laugh, but it comes out kind of gruff and throaty and Emma's smile spreads.

“I thought that was a one-time thing?” Even as he speaks the words, he's swaying closer until they're toe-to-toe, his hand and hook settling low on her waist.

She lets go of his vest, sliding her hands up his chest until her fingers lace behind his neck, her thumbs tracing his jaw. “Let's just say it's for luck.”

Hook tilts his head and whispers against her lips, “Who am I to argue with Lady Luck?” And then he's kissing her again, smooth and slow and deep.

Emma savors it, savors him, drinking in every drop of him she can before she has to let him go, but let him go she must. With a supreme act of will power, she finally pulls away and turns to leave without another word. As she walks off, she makes sure to keep her steps slow and measured, a bit of sway in her hips to give him a properly distracting parting view.

She knows the second he realizes she's robbed him again - the bellow of “SWAN!” that echoes down the stairwell is hard to miss. It's a particular point of pride just how long it took him to notice, and she smiles to herself picturing him there in the hallway, licking his lips to hang on to the taste of her (just as she’s doing right now).

She steps out of her heels, scooping them up quickly with one hand and runs across the parking lot, not caring a lick that the rain has picked up and she’s getting soaked to the skin. Hook bursts through the side exit just as Emma cranks her old yellow Beetle to life, his continuing shouts of her name muted by the roaring (okay, sputtering) engine.

She grins at him as she drives away into the night, a little wave of her fingers as she passes him, and damned if he doesn’t make an appealing picture standing there in the rain. His clothes cling to his body, dark hair plastered to his forehead and his chest heaving from a mixture of anger and the exertion of chasing after her. But she's surprised to see the way his face changes as she watches him in her rearview mirror. The initial rage falls away, replaced by a wide grin, his teeth flashing white under the parking lot flood lights and he seems to be laughing. He wags a scolding finger in her direction, and in her mind the phantom of his voice murmurs, “I’ll get you next time, love,” the challenge clear despite the growing distance between them.

There he goes again being all likeable. Emma rolls her eyes as she drives. At herself, at him, at all of this. She wishes she'd never met him. But she can't wait to run into him again.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs rival poker players au #cs modern au #Modern Captain Wench #Deal with it #Emma Swan #Killian Jones

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