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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Catch Me If You Can (12/?)

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: Sorry not sorry for giving my main man Rafa’s ass a shoutout in this chapter. Can you guys tell that the summer tennis season was in full swing when I was writing this? 🎾

Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading through a massive amount of words and saying positive things about them to feed my ego.

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @eala-captian @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @galaxyzxstark @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

Emma: Can you do me a favor?

Killian: I feel like I need to know the favor before I say yes to that.

Emma: You’re no fun.

Killian: I have been reliably informed by my nieces that I am fun.

Emma: It’s great that you mention your nieces, because the favor is for my nephew.

Killian: Well, you should have said that first.

Emma: You’re the worst.

Killian: What do you need, Swan?

Emma: Like a month ago, I told Leo that I could get you to sign a hat for him, and I was just reminded that I haven’t done that yet.

Killian: Ah, so now I know why you’re really dating me.

Emma: Exactly.

Killian: I can most definitely get your nephew a signed hat. I’ll give it to you tonight?

Emma: Perfect. I can’t thank you enough.

Killian: You could come over on our off day tomorrow?

Emma: I like that idea. We’ve pretty much only texted for two weeks.

Killian: Or talked with a camera in our faces.

Emma: Exactly. See you tonight. I hope you have fun sitting in the dugout the entire time.

Killian: I’ve had a pretty woman sitting next to me the last few games, so it’s enjoyable.

Emma: Julia Roberts????

Emma: Okay, I really have to go, but don’t forget about the signed hat. It’s the only way that I’m going to come over tomorrow.

Killian chuckles at Emma’s last text before closing out his phone and placing it in the front pocket of his sweatpants as thunder roars to life outside, shaking the glass panes of his window as rain starts to fall from above. It’s a light sprinkling for about thirty seconds before a torrential downpour starts taking place, the sounds of the city drowned out by the late May storm that’s happening outside. He knew there was a chance that it was coming, has checked the weather obsessively as he tends to do whenever there’s the possibility of rain, and all he can do is hope that it’s a quick summer storm that dissipates long before tonight’s game so that the field can dry enough for them to play.

If this thunder and lightning continues, however, he doesn’t think that anyone will be stepping onto the field tonight.

Humming to himself, he steps away from his window and walks the few steps to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to find the ingredients he wants for an omelet and setting them out on the countertops. It takes him but a few moments to piddle around and start cooking himself a late breakfast, his coffee maker brewing behind him as the smell of coffee fills his nose, and soon enough, he’s raking his fork through his omelet so that metal scratches against glass as the rain continues to pour down outside, the sky only lightened by the occasional flash of light. It’s been a good while since it stormed like this, and oddly, he finds it relaxing.

Likely, it helps that he’s in the safety of his apartment and not currently wandering the streets of Manhattan trying to find somewhere to wait this thing out like so many others are.

When he’s finished eating his food, he settles back down on the couch and continues to watch the tennis match that’s playing, idly following along with the tournament as he scrolls through his phone and Instagram. He doesn’t follow that many people, mostly only his family and work-related things, so he sees a picture of Will and Belle smiling at the camera from the date that he knows they went on the other night, another photo of Elsa and the girls on Addy’s last day of kindergarten (how is his niece old enough to be finished with kindergarten?), and then one of Emma sitting with Ruby, the brightest smiles on their faces. They went out last night to celebrate Ruby’s boyfriend getting a raise, and while he hasn’t asked how the night went, it looks like it was a nice time.

And Emma is up early this morning, so she must not be too hungover. He’s both interested and terrified to know what his girlfriend would be like hungover.

His girlfriend.

They didn’t explicitly say the words, but they aren’t dating anyone else, aren’t planning on dating anyone else, so that’s what Emma is to him, right? It sounds childish and juvenile in a way, but it’s also…exhilarating. He never planned on feeling this way about a woman again, never planned on wanting to receive texts and have late-night phone conversations or hushed rendezvous in this little secluded corner outside of the clubhouse.

He’s really starting to like that secluded corner.

He’s most definitely starting to fall in love with Emma. He’s not…he’s not quite there yet, but he knows that it’s coming.

Terrifying. Exhilarating. Wonderful. Every feeling all at once.

His phone buzzes in his hand, Ariel’s contact popping up at the top of the screen.

Ariel: Game is cancelled for tonight. You have three days off now, but don’t just sit on your ass. Do some exercises.Get Will or Robin to practice some pitches with you. Work out that arm.I’m sure Al will text you in a minute.

Killian: I was thinking about living a sedentary life, actually. I’d like to really screw the team over again whenwe’re currently leading the AL East and have another home series against the Sox coming up.

Ariel: Don’t be an ass.

Killian: I promise that I will exercise. I already did my run this morning.

Ariel: Good boy.

Killian: I am not your dog.

Ariel: That’s debatable. You and Max are similar. I’ll talk to you later. I think Eric and I are finally going to repaint the living room.

He’s just about to close his phone when another message pops up, this time one he’s definitely not going to ignore.

Elsa: I heard the game is cancelled tonight, and that means you’re coming over for dinner. No questions asked. We changed Sunday night dinner since you’re pitching against the Sox that night and we can’t miss that. Liam insisted.

Elsa: And Anna is cooking tonight.

Elsa Jones knows all, and he loves her for it.

-/-

“Look at the paper that Mrs. Johnson gave me,” Addy tells him as she stacks a certificate on top of the toys already sitting in his lap, several things from Lucy but mostly arts and crafts that Addy has decided she must show off by drowning him with them. It’s this or drown in the rain that’s still going on outside. “It’s because I’m smart.”

“I can see that. I think you get that from me.”

“I get it from Mommy.”

“Well, that too,” he chuckles, flexing his toes in his sneakers so that his feet don’t fall asleep, the slight tingling sensation already appearing.

“Killian,” Lucy whispers, coming up to him with a stuffed giraffe that’s bigger than she is and placing it next to him, “I have a giraffe.”

“I don’t think that’s smelly enough to be a giraffe, little love.”

“I gave her a bath.”

“Ah,” he sighs, Lucy very obviously not getting his joke. He’s still trying to figure her out, her seriousness extremely unlike Addy’s loud and boisterous personality, but he gets that. She’s likely overpowered by her older sister, and he can understand that. So, the younger siblings very obviously have to stick together. It’s in all of the unwritten rules. “Did you use soap?”

“Yep.” “What about water?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hmm, okay.” He taps his chin as he thinks before reaching forward and bopping her nose so that it scrunches up on her face. “What about peanut butter?”

“No,” she giggles, her smile lighting up her face as she pets the giraffe before pressing it forward so that it’s giving him kisses. At least, that’s what she’s told him before, so he assumes that’s what is happening now. “Peanut butter is too sticky.”

“And it’s for eating,” Addison says before she’s placing yet another drawing on top of his lap. Where does the kid get the supplies for this? There’s no way it’s all coming from her school.

“Speaking of that, what do the two of you say about us leaving your playroom and going down to the kitchen to see when I can get some food in my belly. I’m a growing boy. I need my food.”

“You’re not growing anymore because you’re an adult.”

He winks at Addy, amusement running over every inch of him. “That’s what you think, sweetheart.”

Carefully, he starts undoing the pile that’s been covering him, making sure not to rip any of the papers or stack the stuffed animals in the wrong way, before he stands from the ground, his knees popping the slightest bit. That was an awkward position for him to sit in for a long time, hence the feet that fell asleep, and he definitely doesn’t need to be hurting himself in unconventional ways when he’s already prone to injury. His arm has felt fine since Florida, all of his games pitched until the fourth or fifth inning, and he’s convinced himself that it was simply a one-time thing. It’s not going to get that bad again.

He won’t let it.

He can’t. He won’t miss any other physical therapy sessions with Archie, and he’s not going to overdo it.

“Alright,” he laughs, leaning down and scooping each girl up over his shoulders to the sound of their giggles, “let’s go find out what your Aunt Anna is cooking for dinner.”

They’re still so small right now, but with Addy turning six at the end of June, he’s not sure how long he’s going to be able to hold both of them at once as he walks down the stairs of the townhome from their playroom to the kitchen where he can already hear everyone who wasn’t pawned off onto the kids talking.

“Killian,” Elsa scolds the moment she sees him, “put them down. Your shoulder.”

“It’s fine, Els,” he huffs even as he puts them on the ground, a slight bit of relief running through his body. “I can pick my nieces up.”

“But – ”

“I am fine,” he promises, stepping into the room to brush his lips over Elsa’s temple. “It smells good in here. What are we eating?”

“Stuffed shells,” Anna answers as she chops up a cucumber, hopefully for a salad and not the stuffed shells. “I had some leftover marinara sauce and wanted to use it.”

“Bless you,” he sighs, resting his elbows against the countertop. “Are your parents coming tonight?”

“They are stubborn and refuse to come to Sunday dinners when it’s not on a Sunday,” Anna tells him as she presses up on her toes to check in the oven. “They do not understand baseball in the way that we understand it.”

“To be fair, it’s not like someone they’re related to is a player,” Kris says.

“Hey, I am a not-so-distant relative by marriage, thank you very much.”

“I’m their son-in-law,” Kris adds, a slight roll of his eyes as he eats a roll, “and sometimes they don’t even acknowledge me.”

“Well, that’s just because they don’t think your job is a real job, sweetie.”

“Someone has to decorate the city for Christmas! It’s real! Killian plays a sport for a living!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Killian playfully scoffs, cutting his toward Kris, “we don’t have to shit on my job to build yours up.”

“Language,” Liam warns before he takes a sip of his beer. All of them look over to the girls only to find that neither are paying any attention to them. Good. he doesn’t want to be the reason they start cursing. That is not something he’s going to have blamed on him. “And we all love the Karlssons, but they are definitely a little more old-fashioned on things. I’m a doctor, though, so I don’t have to worry about any of their judgment.”

Elsa chuckles before she slaps Liam’s shoulder, her eyes practically rolling to the back of her head. “Don’t be a jerk when you are far too invested in your brother’s career and have Kris come and decorate the house every year. A job is a job, and they have two really cool ones.”

“I was kidding, darling.” He leans in and presses his lips against Elsa’s, lingering a little too long, but that’s how they are sometimes. It’s sweet and awful all at once, and it makes him wish that he could bring Emma along to things like this instead of being the fifth wheel, seventh if Addy and Lucy can be considered a pair. “Killian, how are you handling having so many unexpected days off? I’m surprised you can even sit still when you’re so used to having something to do.”

Killian shrugs his shoulders, his nails tapping against the countertop as he feels four pairs of eyes staring at him and waiting for him to answer. “I mean, I wasn’t playing any of these days anyways, so I did my workouts at home today instead of going into work. Tomorrow will be the same, and then we’ll have games again.”

“Oh. You have tomorrow off?” Elsa asks, her eyes lighting up.

“Uh, yeah, I should. I’ve just got to do some weight training exercises and do my shoulder exercises. Why?”

“Do you want to watch the girls?”

Oh.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Reaching up to scratch behind his ears, he tries to think of an excuse, any excuse, but is coming up all kinds of short. Dammit.

(He’s probably going to be the reason Addy and Lucy start cursing.)

“I’m a little busy, love.”

“It’s your off day. What could you possibly be doing?”

“Doctor’s appointment and then a few errands,” he lies, enough guilt festering in his stomach that he may as well go ahead and schedule an appointment for his stomach. Then he won’t have really lied, right? “By the time I get everything done, you’ll practically be off work. I can spend another day with them, though. I’ll take them out to eat or to the park or even the zoo.”

“What kind of doctor’s appointment? Everything okay?”

“Just a normal check-up.” He clicks his tongue, his toes bouncing him up and down on the floor. “So, everyone’s coming on Sunday, right? Let me know where you want to sit, and I’ll get Ariel to arrange everything.”

It’s the most obvious change in conversation that he can think of, but it’s also literally all he can think of. He’s an asshole for telling Elsa he can’t spend time with the girls, but he was kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place there. It’s either disappoint his nieces or disappoint Emma, and while he’d like to disappoint no one, that’s not really an option. He had plans with Emma first, and that’s what he’s going to stick to. Maybe one day they’ll be in a situation where he can take the girls with him, and all four of them can do something without him having to lie to his family.

Today is not that day.

They’ll figure it all out.

There’s another loud crash of thunder outside, and his head turns to the side to look at the darkness outside. He’s not sure if this rain is every going to stop, and he’s really kind of dreading going home in this weather.

“Do you remember when we were younger, and you used to try to get struck by lightning?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” Killian chuckles to Liam, leaning back from the countertop and pulling a barstool out to sit on. “I thought I’d be Thor or something if I got struck by lightning.”

“That’s pretty cute, actually,” Anna gushes. “Elsa used to think that she could control the snow because she’d ask for it to snow and it usually would.”

“Anna,” Elsa laughs as she buries her face in her hands, “why are you always sharing such weird things about me?”

“Because Liam was sharing weird things about Killian, and I thought it would be funny.”

“Growing up, you guys spent December in Norway,” Liam points out while he rubs his wife’s back. “It snowed all the time. Of course you thought you could control the snow. That’s cute, sweetheart. You and Killian think you can control the weather.”

“Els, are you feeling attacked right now?” he asks.

“Absolutely.”

“I think we should get more food than everyone else for this torture.”

Elsa peeks through her fingers with a smile. “I like the way you think.”

-/-

“A signed hat, just as you requested, milady.” Killian holds the hat he signed for Leo out to Emma as he mockingly bows down in front of her while motioning her into his apartment.

“You’re so dramatic,” she laughs even as she takes the hat, placing it between her fingers before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and slowly sliding her lips over his, her teeth already nibbling as his hands find her hips, tugging them closer to his. Bloody hell has he missed being able to do this and feeling the warmth of Emma even if she is chilled by the rain. “Thank you for that hat.”

“No problem,” he murmurs against her mouth before he closes the door with his foot and backs Emma up against it so that their bodies can press further together, her mouth opening for him as their tongues curl together in a slow, warm heat that’s simmering over every inch of him. Emma’s fingers are nimble against the back of his neck, and when she cants her hips up, brushing where he’s already half-hard against her, he groans into her mouth, weeks and months of wanting starting to boil within him. It’s hungry and rough, and he has to stop himself from stripping them out of their clothes right then and there by pecking her mouth two times before resting his forehead against hers and inhaling a sharp breath. “Hi, Swan.”

“Hi,” she sighs as her hand falls from his hair to rest on his chest, right over his wildly beating heart. She can likely feel it. “We probably should have said that first.”

“Eh, I liked our greeting better.”

She blinks up at him, her face bare of makeup so that her lashes are blonde, and her freckles are showing, before she smiles a smile so bright that he figures that happiness can be tasted on her tongue.

“It was a good greeting. I approve.”

“Me – ” he presses the inch forward to kiss the smile, “ – too. Have you eaten?”

“It’s seven in the morning. No, I haven’t eaten.”

“That’s what I figured. You want to order in, or do you want me to make you something?”

Emma hums, her bottom lips pulled between her teeth as she thinks. “You can cook. I’m here to use you for your autograph skills, your cooking, and your cable.”

“What about me?”

“You’re on the list somewhere.” Emma giggles when he runs his fingers against the skin above her shorts, and he catalogs that spot away in the back of his mind because he can most definitely use that in the future. “I’m going to get to the TV part first, though, because Roland Garros is on, and there are some matches I want to watch.”

“It’s already on.”

“I like the way that you roll, twenty-nine.”

She pushes off of him and walks the few feet into his living room, flopping down on the couch and immediately resting her feet up on his coffee table. It’s a comfortable move, and he likes that Emma feels comfortable in his home. He’ll never quite get over that. All of their private moments are here or in one of their hotel rooms when they’re on the road, and as much as he sometimes loves those rooms, nothing compares to this.

He ate too much yesterday, Anna’s stuffed shells and rolls still residing in his stomach, so he only bothers to make enough batter to make Emma a waffle since she never said what she wanted, even when he just prodded her for more information. He knows that she likes them considering she’s always eating them in the hotel dining rooms, and since the other option that came to him was a grilled cheese sandwich at seven in the morning, he figures a waffle will have to do. He very much doubts Emma is going to complain when he’s found that the way to her heart is most definitely food.

Junk food specifically.

When the waffle maker beeps several minutes later, he opens it up and plates Emma’s food, grabbing some fruit out of the fridge and topping it. He most definitely sneaks away a few of her blackberries, but, really, he deserves that. He cooked after all.

(And this is his apartment.)

“Thank you,” Emma says when he places it in her lap before sitting down next to her on the couch, their shoulders hitting together before he wraps his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers tapping against her shoulder. She leans to the side and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’re sweet.”

“Oh, I most definitely know.”

Her eyes roll. “You didn’t want to eat?”

He groans at the thought. He’s already gotten up and done some of his stretches, drinking a protein shake, and he probably won’t eat anything else serious until tonight. “I ate too much yesterday, and I’ve had this really bad influence on me lately for how I’m eating so I’m trying to be better.”

“Sorry not sorry,” she mumbles, her cheeks puffed out with waffles inside. Did she just stuff the entire thing in there? There’s a thwack of a tennis ball against a racket on his television screen, and he turns his attention from Emma chewing to watch Rafael Nadal slide against red clay, making it all look effortless even when Killian knows that nothing about being an athlete is effortless, not even natural talent. “Damn,” Emma sighs, “that is one good ass.”

If he was eating, he’d choke on his food.

“W-what?” he sputters out, looking between the TV and Emma.

She pokes her fork at the screen, waving it in the air. “Rafa’s ass. That’s, like, a dream ass. Just look at it.”

His mouth is gaping open as he looks between Emma putting her plate of food on the coffee table and the television screen, his eyes taking in another man’s ass like this is the most normal conversation for him to be having before eight in the morning. But then again, when is anything about his relationship with Emma normal?

“I mean, it’s okay,” he lies, sinking down a little further in the couch as a ball launches into the air. “I’ve been told time and time again that my ass is pretty good too.”

Why in the world did he say that? What is wrong with him?

“I mean, you have a good ass that I very much appreciate, but no one has an ass like…that. It’s insane.”

“Should I feel insecure about the fact that you’re admiring another man’s ass?”

“No,” she promises, not even bothering to look at him as she pats his thigh, her hand likely a little higher than she intended as he grits his teeth at the touch, “but you should admire this man’s body. And his tan. People would pay a lot of money for a tan like that.” She twists her head to the side to look at him, quirking her brow. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he laughs as he reaches down to her hand and threads their fingers together, bringing her knuckles up to his lips to brush a kiss there, “I’m simply coming to the realization that my girlfriend as a thing for other athletes.”

“Step up your game, Jones.”

“I’ll try, I’ll try. I didn’t know I had any competition, so I was unprepared.”

“That is shame. I look forward to seeing how you make up for it.”

“I’ll start thinking.”

They lapse into easy conversation like they always do when they’re together, and despite all of their early complications and some of the complications that they still have, that’s what this relationship is…easy. He’s got no clue why Emma agreed to his crazy plan, but she did. That’s all that matters. As the rain continues to pour down outside for the second day in a row, he tells her about his day yesterday and how ridiculous his family is in their group meals and constant conversation. He loves them, but he imagines that to anyone else, it would be overwhelming to come into that environment. Emma shares that she spent her morning with David yesterday, hence the reminder of the autographed hat, and tells him that Ruth is planning on coming into town sometime in June. He can’t tell if she’s happy or nervous about that, but he imagines it’s somewhere in between for how Emma feels about her foster mother and the distance there.

Families and almost-families and non-families are all so damn complicated, and as fucked up as his past family life is, it makes him thankful for what he has now. They’ve gotten him through some of his darkest times, and very few people make him smile in the way that they do.

Emma.

Emma makes him smile like that.

As the morning passes, tennis ending and Netflix being switched on instead, Emma relaxes further into him, and he finds that under the dull roll of rain, nothing and no one else exists outside of the two of them. His fingers trace the skin of her upper thigh, an absentminded motion that becomes more focused when he sees small little bumps rising over her pale skin. He never thought he could enjoy the sight of pale skin so much until he saw the way Emma’s thighs look in these shorts.

She is exquisite.

“Killian,” she gasps when his nails move to her inner thigh, and when he looks over to her with a smirk, he can see the blush rising on her cheeks as her lips part and her eyes blacken with desire.

He’s wanted this for far too long, even with the short time that they’ve been together, and it’s what has him leaning into her and cupping her cheek with his palm, his thumb pressing into her bottom lip to open her up into him so that he can lick into her mouth with absolutely no hesitation, another warm, toe-curling slide that has Emma sighing into him as her hands grapple to grab onto his shirt.

It’s a quick escalation, something he can’t quite keep track of with the way that she feels under him, moving against him, and the only coherent thought that he has is the fact that this couch must be damn lucky for everything that’s happened on it.

Which is a ridiculous thought.

Desire continues to run through him, vibrations moving down each of his vertebrae and to the base of his spine, and the little sounds that Emma is making are nearly driving him into madness at the thought of sliding into her, feeling the slick heat and tight walls and…

“Ah fuck,” he murmurs into Emma’s neck, physically and mentally cursing himself.

“What?” she gasps, still rolling her hips up as her nails scratch across his biceps.

“I don’t have any condoms.”

“Oh? I – ”

“I can go buy some from the Duane Reade right across the street. It won’t be any problem, love.” He pulls back from Emma with a hiss, his pants incredibly tight despite the elastic band, only for her to yank him back down, their bodies melding together. “W-what?”

“Later,” she speaks against his lips, and it’s only now that he sees the utter darkness in her eyes, hears the deep desire in her voice. “We’ll get condoms later. We can do other things until then.”

Well those words go straight to his groin.

He arches a brow as he rolls his hips into Emma’s, his hardness meeting her softness through clothes, and she lets out a moan that he wants to memorize for all of eternity. “Yeah? Like what?”

Emma rolls her eyes, but there’s still the slightest bit of a smile on her face. “You’re a baseball player. Don’t you know about all of the bases? I feel like we’ve talked about this before.”

Killian has to press his mouth into the skin of her collarbone, his laugh muffled and the vibrations of it working their way through Emma as his fingers trace the hem of her shorts, dipping just below the elastic waist so that he can feel the edges of her underwear.

Fucking hell.

“I hate you for making that joke,” he sighs against her. His left hand keeps getting lower as his right moves higher and higher until his fingertips are ghosting over the soft swell of her breast. “You are ridiculous.”

“But you like it.”

“And I imagine,” he whispers as he bites down onto her collarbone and readjusts himself so that his knee is between her thighs and that his fingers are brushing against her clit, “that you like this.”

Emma lets out a sharp gasp, and he looks up to see her practically panting at his touch and at the slow circles that he’s working to build her up all the while he palms her breast, her nipple pressed between his thumb and forefinger. It may have been some time, but he knows that it’s not a lot of pressure, just a simple up and down motion between her bundle of nerves and her opening, but from the sounds Emma is making and the way her body is moving, he knows that he’s got a pretty good rhythm going on.

“So, you like that?” he murmurs into her neck as his fingers slip inside of her, curling the slightest bit.

“Oh, fuck yes.”

“That’s a good girl then.”

It’s almost overwhelming for him to see Emma like this, to see her lose her composure, her careful words and guarded heart, and he rather likes the way that he’s making her fall apart and under his touch, several curses and mutterings escaping her kiss-swollen lips as he tests out what she likes and what she doesn’t, letting her instruct him when she needs to.

Emma Swan sprawled out on his couch coming apart under his touch is something he always knew would be so damn wonderful but that he never thought would happen. It seemed to be too much of a dream.

With two more thrusts of his fingers and one circle around her clit, she goes quiet, her eyelids pressing together and her lips parting, and he presses up to cover her mouth with his, capturing the gentle moan himself as he works her through her orgasm, maybe even riling her up some more as his hips rolls against her thigh, desperately seeking some kind of friction.

This is like some kind of pleasant torture for him, and he wants both to stay like this forever but also needs more.

“I knew you knew the bases,” is the first thing she mutters afterwards, and he drops his forehead against hers, his nose pressing into her cheek so that he can breathe her on while he tries to regulate his breathing and his pounding heart.

“No more jokes about my job, love. They’re cheesy as hell, and if we’re not careful, I’m going to have an erection while on the mound.”

“Oh my God…there’s about five opportunities for a dirty joke right there.”

“I know, I know,” he chuckles, softly kissing her as he starts to focus on their surroundings and the reality of the step forward in their relationship that they just took hitting him. “You okay, Emma?”

“Yeah,” she promises, nodding her head and cupping his cheeks as she smiles that beautiful smile, this time a little more sated than usual. “I’m more than okay.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out so that he can turn it off only to see a text from Al pop up.

Al Dalton: I’m calling a mandatory practice in an hour. Be there.

“What?” Emma questions when he groans. Instead of answering, he simply hands his phone to her, letting her read the message. “Oh, that really sucks.”

“You’re telling me. I was having a much better time here.”

Emma adjusts herself under him so that he’s no longer covering her body, and he sits down against the couch, adjusting his joggers and thinking of every boner killer that he can possibly think of. He probably just needs a cold, bracing shower.

“Go to practice,” Emma sighs, a slight smile on her face, as she makes an attempt at fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? You’ve got to kick some Boston ass. And then maybe when that’s all over, we can continue what we started.”

“You have no idea how much I’d like that.”

She nods to his crotch with a smirk. “I think I do.”

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

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