It’s once a week - that’s the arrangement they decided on - once a week with minimal wining and dining and then they fuck and he leaves. It’s her turf because that’s what they agreed on the first time. And the second time. And when it became a weekly thing. So he’s utterly shocked when his doorman rings and tells him that a Ms. Swan is there to see him and asks if he should send her up.
“Please do,” Killian tells Smee, moving quickly to check his appearance in the mirror by the entrance. His prosthesis is already off and there’s no time to get it back on without making her wait, so he fixes the cuff where it’s rolled up on his forearm and runs his hand through his hair one more time.
When the elevator doors open, Emma enters the apartment like she enters every room - like it belongs to her. It’s cold out, so he’s not surprised to see her coat wrapped snugly around her. He can see her stockings and heels and knows that her dress or skirt is tight but professional. It always is.
“Evening, Swan. This is quite the surprise.”
Instead of a response, she unfastens her coat and lets it drop to the ground.
Dinner, wine, and then dessert in the bedroom. Nothing tastes sweeter than Emma Swan, in his opinion. They always have a system, and they stick to the system so they don’t have any confusion about what this is. They’re rivals, as far as anyone knows. Fuck friends, second.
So imagine his surprise to see her standing in his entryway in a pair of thigh-high stockings and her beloved stilettos, and nothing else.
She throws her hair over her shoulder, wandering close enough to run her hand down his chest before she continues straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows that line Killian’s living room. Her hands get pressed against the glass and she stands with her feet planted shoulder-width apart. Once she settles in place, she looks over her shoulder at him.
“Come here,” she quietly commands.
His body moves as if he was in a trance, and he quickly works on the buttons on his shirt. He has it undone and shed before he makes it over to her, but the trousers will have to wait as he makes it over to her, his fingers dipping straight between her legs to run between her lips.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“I think you know why I’m here,” Emma says as one of Killian’s fingers slips inside her.
“I mean besides the obvious,” Killian responds as he removes his fingers in order to unfasten his trousers and slide his boxers down. “I know this is why you’re here.” He presses his cock between her legs, sliding against her until the tip hits her clit. “But if memory serves, I was just at your place two nights ago.”
“Less talking, more fucking,” she says, reaching down and repositioning Killian’s cock to slide it inside.
He obliges, only because he knows he won’t get anything out of her when they’re both like this. He presses forward, making sure to pull her back against him tighter. Looking over her shoulder, he sees what she must be seeing - the view of the city is unobstructed from up here. With the low lighting in his living room, there’s still a partial reflection of the two of them in the glass.
When Killian shifts his focus to look at Emma, he finds she’s looking directly at him. When he thrusts harder, her eyelids flutter but she holds eye contact with him.
He keeps going, his thrusts at the speed and hardness that she prefers, while his hand slides again to the front to press around her clit in circles.
She shifts her hair off her neck quickly, moving her hand to her breast after she does and stuttering out a moan as her cool flesh meets heated. With her shoulder exposed, Killian is able to kiss and nip, his tongue following the line all the way up the side of her neck before he bites down on her earlobe.
“Harder,” she requests, dropping her hips and arching her back more, and Killian can’t help the noise that comes out because of it.
It’s rough, it’s impersonal, and it’s just what both of them have declared they enjoy. But after they’ve both orgasmed, she shifts them, leaning back against his shoulder as his head presses against hers. Her hand slides against his on her abdomen.
“I have to go,” she says after a minute of standing that way.
He wants to hold on. He wants to ask her to stay. Did she already have dinner? Does she enjoy movies?
He holds his tongue as she leaves the room to use his restroom, using the moment to slide his trousers back on. When she comes back, he has her coat collected from where she dropped it and she tries to hide a smile as he helps her back into it.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to put under that?”
“Maybe next time,” she tells him, calling the elevator back to his floor. It dings to let her know it has arrived, but Emma doesn’t enter right away. Instead, she moves to where he’s still standing with his hand and wrist shoved into the pockets.
They never kiss.
But apparently every one of their rules is meant to be broken. Her lips are perfect, and all he wants to do is pull her closer and kiss her more, but she pulls away and leaves him.
“See you in two days,” she says just before the doors close.
Yes, apparently all their rules are going right out the window.