Who: Villaintines Hook & Regina, with a brief Kenzi cameo at the end What: Their plans get disrupted, twice When: Today Where: Restaurant, then Killian's houseboat Rating/Warnings: High, for almost sexy-times in the shower Status: Complete!
Many thanks to the wondrous interruptions of life (and for once, it’s mundanity), plans for brunch involved into plans for dinner. Somewhere outdoors, with a rustic sort of elegance close to the soothing waves of vast blue sea. White paper lanterns were strung, zigzagged among the tree branches above them and candlelight was everywhere - decorative fire pits too, to keep them toasty from February’s laughable ‘coldness.’
“I did get you a card,” Regina informed the obnoxiously handsome pirate across from her, berry-colored lips curved deviously. It was a little something that was a bit cheesy, but terribly relevant, and poked some dark humor at their former statuses of fairytale villainy. Completed with a ‘get back to work or else you’ll get asswarts’ threat, punctuated with a smiley face. “For your future desk, as promised.”
No, she had never predicted to exchange a fucking Valentine’s Day card with Captain Hook of all people - but she had learned their lives were different, he wasn’t tethered to Emma and she wasn’t enamored with the thief that unknowingly knocked up her sister. And here they managed to settle into some kind of mutual camaraderie in which his company was actually...well, appreciated. There may have been a miniscule soft spot in her black iron heart, just a teeny one, reserved for this one.
Tonight’s dress was picked somewhat on purpose - it was a deep sapphire blue, backless, accessories and shoes all in pale silver. Meant to pay a tribute to that outfit he described as a favorite from their earlier and more fuck-filled encounters, and it didn’t carry the dramatic length. Nor did it have that ‘look at me, I’m an evil queen’ flair, thank god.
Making last minute reservations at this restaurant was difficult, but Killian’s charm and some string pulling from Regina had managed to make it happen - they’d gotten it done, and he was quite glad for it since he’d hate for work emergencies (when those fires erupted you had no choice but to put them out, weekends or holidays or otherwise) to put too much of a damper on their evening. It was honestly the first time he’d ever done anything for Valentine’s Day but kicking it off with the likes of her was more than alright to him.
Those cheesy cards went both ways because he also had one for her, his villaintine - along with a box of chili chocolate truffles, since they were a bit spicy. Regina didn’t seem like she’d enjoy too much sweetness to rot her teeth, or desserts that tasted like sugar-filled dessert - she was fiery herself, why not give her something that was just as passionate? No forehead sweating upon consuming these chocolates, mind you, just a bit of subtle heat. He hoped she liked them.
He’d worn red and black, fitting colours for the occasion - black trousers and boots, yes, and a shirt in the same shade plus his leather coat but the vest he had on was that particular staple from his pirate wardrobe. A touch of red with the black, intricate patterns that were hand-sewn and shiny silver buttons. Killian thought he looked very dapper, even Kenzi told him so (since today was all about celebrating love in general, he’d gotten her a batch of cupcakes dusted with glitter - apparently there was such a thing as edible sparkle).
“You’re too sweet,” he chuckled, and passed his own card plus the box of chocolates over to her as they sat at their table for two. The restaurant was nice, he rather liked the rustic feel to it and the warm, outdoor ambiance. “This is my first Valentine’s ever, so already it’s off to a grand start.”
Awww, how precious. Their cards were rather fitting for each other, weren’t they? Regina had to chuckle too, and perhaps looked at hers a bit fondly. “Aren’t you glad your chin doesn’t protrude this much? Or you don’t have whiskers for a mustache.” It’d likely go on her desk. Somewhere for her eyes only. She wasn’t prepared to answer an onslaught of intrusive questions just yet. “I’m flattered to be your first for something, though.”
Killian did look ‘dapper.’ Much more attractive than his animated counterpart, and his thought process about the chocolates were spot on - she liked spicy, and most sweet things she made were for others. Brushing her teeth with processed sugar wouldn’t attribute to the maintenance of her figure, now would it? “I may share these with you later tonight, all things depending.”
Assuming nothing decided to interrupt their evening. Knock on wood.
“That chin was probably a botched plastic surgery,” Killian chuckled, with a glance down at his prosthetic - it was something that garnered a few stares, certainly, because it was essentially a very mechanical-looking hand rather than anything cosmetic, but he would get used to that in time. Coming out in the open and being in public, at a restaurant among other patrons, the wait staff, and passerby’s was good therapy for him too. Overall, he was glad he didn't look much like that Captain Hook. Even if he had less of a villainous mustache to twirl now. “You’re lucky though, your cartoon counterpart is actually quite attractive.”
They had ice water already, and he carefully perused the wine list to see if anything jumped out at him - mainly, he was thinking a nice red, a bottle of Merlot with its blackberry, plum, and herbal flavours would be pleasant with a juicy steak which is what he was planning on ordering. He was learning how to eat with utensils, using one hand and his prosthetic, so while he may be a little slow at having a meal now that was fine - there was no need to rush.
“How about a red?” he asked, lifting searing blue eyes from the menu. “We could split a bottle. And definitely have the chocolate for dessert. I’m looking forward to a night of no Dark One research or disasters.” Knock on wood and turn three times in a circle, throw salt over the shoulder, whatever it took.
“One bottle, two glasses,” she agreed, playing with one of her dangly earrings as she skimmed through the menu - steak did seem like this restaurant’s staple. Probably a petite filet for her, still bleeding, and with a side of grilled asparagus. “You have been doing well with the drinking. A little social outing wouldn’t hurt you, would it? I’ll make sure you don’t get too sloppy.”
And, yes, she was also looking forward to a generally stress free evening despite the impending disaster in the horizon. It didn’t hurt to recharge the batteries, looking at their findings with a set of fresh eyes. It all had Regina antsy, that quietly coiled guilt amplifying it tenfold.
But she could push it aside for a little bit. For now. Menu closed, she held her palm out. “Let me see,” crooned the queen, beckoning his new hand into hers. “I prefer the hook, though I’m sure the extra thumb makes things easier to navigate things.”
It was quite amazing how much Killian had cut back on drinking - he didn’t even really indulge a lot anymore, just here and there. Tapering off slowly, and he’d eventually get to the point where he simply wouldn’t notice he’d stopped entirely - or at least, he hoped to get there. But no, right now, a glass of wine wouldn’t hurt - especially if it was red, and good for his blackened heart. Or something.
“Haven’t had whiskey for breakfast in awhile. Actually, this will be the first alcohol I’ve had since...well, I can’t even remember,” he promised - a petite filet for Regina, and a porterhouse for him, he decided. Killian liked his still-mooing beef quite a bit. Then he reached across the table and gave her the sci-fi hand that was now his, somewhat surprised she actually wanted to touch it. Not that he really should be - his insecurities were his own, and he would deal with them. “It is nice having two thumbs. I’m still learning how to do everything and coordinate. How’s it feel? Strange?”
A single brow of hers arched, genuinely impressed. And surprised he had actually listened to her when she not so kindly reamed him through an exchange of heated texts. Regina figured he’d at least have a couple sips of something here and there - which was an improvement from ‘drink and fuck everything in sight to deal with life’ - but he’d been doing better, much better, then assumed.
“It’s a more benign extension of you,” she observed, dusting her fingers along it curiously. “At least this way…” Because sometimes, sometimes she did reveal that oh-so mature sense of crude humor in the appropriate company, she strategically folded all his fingers into his palm - except for the middle one, of course. There. Wasn’t that a beautiful sight? Her majesty smirked. “You can express to people how you really feel when one just doesn’t cut it.”
Killian needed to be reamed. He needed someone to care enough to point out that he couldn’t keep living like he had been - and if you were just after a thorough pounding with his nightstick, it didn’t matter a fig what he did with his liver. Part of caring about someone was indeed holding them accountable for their actions - so of course he had listened to Regina, because she offered him something no one else had, up to that point. Gave him things to think about.
She also amused him, with her dirty mind - beating both he and Kenzi at Cards Against Humanity every time was surely no ‘beginner’s luck’ sort of thing. He laughed at her rather grown up (not really) suggestions, and the way she folded the metallic fingers down. Convenient too, right as the waiter came by and Killian was essentially flipping the fellow the bird - he smiled charmingly, and simply chose to order his steak and that bottle of red wine, two glasses.
“I feel that way quite often,” he confessed. “But it’s a more subtle message than, say, stabbing someone with my hook.”
Oh, that mind of hers was a twisted, filthy thing - veiled cleverly by a smug facade of refinement and a look made of daggers that unsettled most people. What else to expect from the woman that held the title of evil queen for far too long? The waiter that had been so graciously flipped off returned with their wine and glasses, and once the bottle was uncorked with a succinct pop, they each had a pour.
“Cutting back on the drinking, controlling your stabby moods. I’m proud,” Regina remarked, swirling the merlot to breathe the aerated aroma, and then sipped. Smooth but bold, it reminded her more of a cabernet - which meant it’d pair perfectly with red meat. “It feels like just yesterday I popped up and warned you about...your hand. Part of me wanted you to leave. But you handled it better than I would have guessed. Better than most would, to be frank.”
“Hm, where would you be if I had left?” Killian clucked his tongue. “Your life wouldn’t be as interesting, admit it. I suppose I felt the same pull as everyone else does - besides, if I’d turned tail I probably wouldn’t have been reunited with long lost family.” Unless Kenzi made the trek to Belfast and even then, it was difficult to track him - he was something of a ghost, living from job to job with his ‘investigating,’ a true pirate to his very core. Decidedly more happy now, despite the loss of hand. The people were...important. More than he ever could have imagined.
Normally by now he’d also have gone through most of that wine himself (he had no problems polishing off a bottle) but his first glass still remained, he was sipping steadily on it when the steaks arrived. Delicious, and perfectly cooked to a lovely medium rare, with a side of roasted potatoes (he was part Irish, you couldn’t get him away from carbs) and grilled vegetables.
He situated himself with the knife and fork, the latter on his prosthetic and his knife to do the cutting in his dominant hand. “Now, this looks - “
Plop
That was something. It was thick, and hot, and landed on the edge of his plate. Curiously, he looked down, wiping at the spot - looked to be blood, but he hadn’t even cut into the steak yet.
Plop, plop, splatter.
More blood, literally raining from the skies - like the clouds were made of flesh, and had been hacked into with a chainsaw. “What is this?!”
Well, wasn’t that the question of the evening? Regina didn’t have any fucks to contemplate the situation much. Messy gore was falling from the heavens like a storm and that was that. Suffocating, dense, the smell overwhelming, and all she cared about was getting away from being under it. In the chaos of the sanguine haze and panic, she doubted all the screeching restaurant patrons would even care about the purple smog that overtook her and the pirate to transplant them elsewhere. And if they did? Who gave a fuck, the sky was bleeding.
Her witchy teleportation brought them into the sanctuary of his car, which would soon be doused in the absolute repulsiveness that covered them. Better than the outdoors, better than being in a throng of people when all she wanted do was commit a massacre with a flick of her goddamn wrist.
“I don’t even want to fucking move,” she scowled, body stiff as a board - and she dripped bright red, that sapphire dress stained, her raven hair sticky in a way not meant for the holiday. “That was disgusting.”
And it hadn’t stopped. Outside it continued, the pitter-patter of liquid life force.
Hell. Driving in this actual hot mess was going to be a nightmare - Killian debated, for one split second, just staying within the safe confines of the car but he had no way of knowing when what looked to be a Biblical sign of the end times would actually pass. So he’d brave driving them home in this, fuck it.
“Think it’s the end of the world? Again?” he asked, quickly starting the car and peeling away - the Mustang was a work horse, but she wouldn’t let them down. If he just put the windshield wipers on full power. Right, it was the end of the world or they somehow ended up in a ‘Carrie’ reenactment, during that scene where a bucket of pig’s blood doused the prom queen.
This was more than a bucket though.
“I really did love that dress,” he added mournfully. “We’ll clean up back at the houseboat.”
“Hell if I know,” Regina spat. To her knowledge it was just another day that ended in Y, cue the sudden oddities that left them frustrated - and also interrupted their bouts of mundanity with unwanted appearances. Didn’t their text messages mention something like this? Really, their discussion might as well have jinxed the evening.
A hefty ‘fuck you’ to seatbelts, she freed her feet from the moist heels, kneeled in her seat and with her ass in the air, began rummaging his back seat to get something to wipe themselves off, even a little. “Please tell me you’ve an old shirt, towel, anything -” A rather cranky grumble, a wiggle of her hips. “And if your sister’s looking for platform spiked shoes, do tell her they’re hiding back here.”
Curiously, she picked one up to look it over. How did anyone walk in these??
On her knees, bum in the air, that was a pleasant view. Unfortunately, Killian didn’t have a chance to really appreciate it - he had to focus all attention on the roads slick with blood, and not crash the car. Yet also get them home quickly - and he didn’t even want to contemplate what a storm of all this, of this calibre, would do to his beloved old American-made automobile. Hopefully not peel the paint off.
“There should be a sweatshirt back there, I gave her one of mine when she was cold,” he said, with a snicker at the sight of Regina calculating the shoes. No, Killian really had no idea how Kenzi walked in them either but she managed - and fabulously, he might add. It was just one of her skills. “If you could be a dear and swipe it over my face, I would appreciate it.” He tried to do it, but his hand was just as soaked, so he ended up merely smearing the mess rather than alleviating it.
Ah - there it was. Sweatshirt obtained. Regina came right back to the front and, alright, since he was the dear driving them through this biblical mess of horrors the least she could do was dab his face mostly clean. Blood was a smeary thing, they really needed to wash themselves to get rid of it. “This is awful,” she sighed, and while one might think it’d be expressed with copious amounts of snobby disdain, it all came out with...amusement, really. Even a chuckle.
It’s what happened when you dealt with this place’s bullshit far too much. Yes, it was a hot clusterfuck. No, they couldn’t do anything about it. And she wasn’t too surprised - they both knew something abnormal had the potential of disrupting their evening, they merely hoped it wouldn’t. “I almost want to say we brought this disaster upon ourselves. You wouldn’t by any chance have steak and wine at home, would you? This doesn’t completely kill my appetite for red meat or a red drink.”
A couple more pats to dry his neck, that spot behind his ear - then she went to do the same for herself. Up until the fabric was too wet and ick to soak anything else up. Honestly, he might as well toss this one out the window. There was no salvaging it.
It really was kind of funny - in a morbid way. In a ‘fucking figures’ sort of way, where all you could do was roll your eyes. Killian laughed too, a huffy snort, but rumbled out a thanks for Regina helping him to actually see the road a little better. He’d certainly be burning that sweatshirt, no need to keep it unless he was feeling particularly sentimental.
“I’ve got red wine, but no red meat, unfortunately,” he lamented, considering the contents of his fridge and freezer. “Fish though, I’ve got fish. But I suppose that goes better with a white, doesn’t it?” Which he also had, a few bottles on the rack. Either way, it’d work out. “I’ll prepare us something nice regardless, since we got jipped out of our Valentine’s Day dinner. At least we’ve got chocolates for dessert.”
Arriving at the marina, he parked his car in the lot, cutting the engine. “Alright, we can make a run for it or you can do the purple smoke thing again?” Blood in the houseboat - this was going to be messy either way, but at least his clothes were somewhat dry from the heater blasting. Mostly just stiff and crinkly now, fantastic.
Oh, like fuck they were going to brave the onslaught from the outside. This queen had no desire to get drenched again, so, yes, she’d happily do the purple smoke thing again and magically poof them - and that spicy chocolate - into the pirate’s houseboat, which now had a touch of femininity now that the female mini-version of himself occupied it too. Kenzi was off partying somewhere, they at least had this place to themselves for most of the evening.
“I don’t know if I trust you completely in the kitchen,” Regina challenged, continuing their conversation from the car, and stood before him to fiddle with that familiar vest. They were such attractive messes, weren’t they? Someone might assume they committed mass murder if they didn’t know about the storm of carnage of the outside. Her nose scrunched playfully. “And you reek, by the way. It’s not very sanitary to cook while you’re filthy, is it?”
“Probably not,” Killian grinned crookedly, his arm sliding around Regina’s waist and closing that mere gap between them - since she was filthy, so was he, it didn’t much matter if they were pressed together. “Looks like we just barely escaped some sort of Satanic sacrificial ritual with our heads intact. I doubt it’s conducive to cooking.”
Once they got settled and the rain stopped, he’d crack a few windows, and the briny ocean breeze would float in - it smelled pleasant, like salt and midnight and something peaceful. For him, anyway. But cleaning up was probably first priority. “How about a shower?” he asked, something suggestive in the open waters of blue eyes, standing out sharply against his red-streaked face. “It’s good to conserve water, especially with the limited supply here.” He never wasted it, with cooking or with bathing - there were some drawbacks to living on a houseboat, and a lack of luxurious scalding hot showers that lasted an hour was one of them. Completely worth it, however, in his view.
‘Limited supply’? Was that his excuse? Perhaps it was valid - she didn’t know the internal mechanics of a houseboat’s plumbing, but how convenient that it’d work in his favor. Regina grinned wolfishly, her lips still that apple-red, and let those pearly whites show. “Really now. I suppose it’d be rude of me to take all the hot water and let you have a cold shower, wouldn’t it?” Those fingers were already undoing the silvery buttons of his vest, like they were a puzzle she had undone before.
And in a way, she had? Their dreams revealed a very, ah, sexual business relationship in the beginning. In that carriage that made its debut from one world to this one, and even though the events before and after weren’t the best to reminisce about, the act of what had happened was remembered a little fondly.
With her body she nudged him towards the bathroom, slowly, bare feet shuffling across his floor. “If I could only prove you sabotaged the night to get to this point, pirate.”
“I swear I didn’t, I don’t have that kind of power,” Killian huffed in amusement, but he took lithe steps backward as Regina nudged him, his hand anchored to her waist - he really hoped this fucking blood vomit from the sky did stop so they could in fact enjoy the ocean breeze on skin that already felt heated with the promise of nudity but oh well. Hunkering down was just as good.
He hoped Kenzi was alright - at least the blood wasn’t raining from her face this time, however.
The bathroom was small, but he had glass cabinets and a sliding glass door on the shower to make it look like there was more space, the colours sea green and white. Water turned on, he was eager to get rid of the disgusting clothing that would also probably have to be burned - though he wanted to salvage that vest, somehow. Killian rather liked it. “Here, I’ve got towels, just wrap up in one when we’re done,” he suggested, opening a cabinet to set those towels on the sink counter. “Then I’ll get you something from Kenzi’s room to wear if you want or, ah - “ He could almost picture the look on Regina’s face at the thought of cloaking herself in cartoon-printed pyjamas and fuzzy socks, “...something from mine?”
He’d let her decide, while he slipped on the cover for his prosthetic - it couldn’t get wet, unfortunately.
“Not wearing something that belongs to your sister,” she cringed, her smile a little...sheepish? No offense to Kenzi, her style was her own, she wore it well - but it’d be a odd to wear something that belonged to his younger sibling after they showered together, and fuck knows whatever else tickled their fancy. “I think I’d look better in something of yours.”
Something cozy, big, she wasn’t all that picky when it came to his things. It’d be much better than what she had on now in all its stained and stiff glory. Accessories came off first, from the earrings to the bracelets, and then came the swift unzipping of the dress - Regina wasn’t a prude, and had no problems stripping down to absolutely nothing in a span of .5 seconds.
Then she sauntered under the shower like she owned it. “Better hurry in before I actually do hog all the hot water, Killian.”
Right, probably best to wear his clothes - especially if there was going to be more than a shared shower (was there going to be? Perhaps this really was his lucky night); associating anything else with his sister was enough to potentially get him dry heaving but none of that now. He’d focus on other things, like the fact that Regina wasn’t wearing any clothes and she had droplets all on smooth, olive-toned skin and essentially resembled a devious water nymph come to life, stepped out of a painting.
“You look just as good naked as I remember,” he smirked, jumping in once he too was gloriously sans clothing - he cut a very sleek form, a lot of upper body strength from his fishing and sailing, but he would never be massive, he just wasn’t built that way. The muscle was smooth, not so bulky - and he was also scarred, all that hardness carved from pub brawls in Belfast, and dodging bullets and drunkenly wielded knife blades. “Perhaps even better?”
They could cleanse themselves, and turn up the heat at the same time. So he reached out and pulled her closer to cover her mouth with his - because he just wanted to taste the remnants of that Merlot with his tongue, and he wanted to touch. All over.
He was in luck, then - because Regina did prefer the more roughed, rugged type. The stable boy, the legendary thief of the forests. The pirate, who she had all to herself right under the spray of water. Blood washed off easily, the spiral of orange-red swirling down the drain. “We’ll have to see if the rest is as you remembered, won’t we?”
Her hands were already on him and all over when the kiss came crashing down, greedy and possessive, and she didn’t waste a moment to lean against the wall of the shower and bring Killian with her. Breasts against his chest, curves of her body fusing against his marred skin, tongue in his mouth - it was as if a whole slew of tension spanning since Christmas Day was being unleashed, out to finally be spent.
“I am expecting you to fuck me right here, before the hot water runs out,” she chuckled against his lips, a husky sound, right before kissing him. In case Killian was doing the respectful thing of not assuming, but her highness had this splendid habit of letting others know exactly what she wanted.
And tonight, she wanted him.
He was trying to be respectful, not wanting Regina to think that he was using her to fuck his problems away - as she so eloquently put it once, referring to what he did with others. But that wasn’t it, not now, it wasn’t what he wanted - he actually hadn’t been with anyone since before their evil mistletoe snogging, which of course was around Christmas. Amazing that he’d managed to keep it in his trousers for so long but perhaps, deep down, Killian was secretly tired of fucking his problems away - the next time he was with someone, he wanted to matter to them and for them to matter to him.
Didn’t mean it was going to be a beautiful experience with dolphins jumping out of the water and forming a heart shape at the point of climax, but there were definitely feelings involved without needing the schmaltz.
A raunchy shower fuck was quite suitable to him. “As you wish, then,” he purred smoothly, a little dizzy from that kiss, the way she’d impaled his mouth with her tongue and he’d returned the favour - practically devouring her alive right here with his back beneath the spray of water. The thing about a raunchy shower fuck (especially in a small box more meant for only one person at a time) was that unless you were an Olympic contortionist, you faced the risk of slipping and getting a bar of soap or a bottle of shampoo up your bum.
He didn’t want to finagle with position for too long, so she remained pressed up against the wall but first he was a little greedy - and still wishing he had two hands. Nipples were sensitive from the hot water temperature and he took advantage of that, thumb working a slow spiral around hers as he nibbled beneath her ear, where he assumed Regina dabbed her perfume - that hand traveled south, over the curve of hips and between her thighs to stroke and tease and trace.
“You might have to say please though.” Then those fingers pushed in, curving come-hither, to get a reaction - and also because water alone didn’t make for sufficient slickness; he’d prefer if she was dripping wet otherwise.
No, Regina wouldn’t have been letting him practically finger-fuck her in the shower if feelings weren’t involved - those pesky things that sped up her pulse, made her heart beat against her ribcage that much harder. Or that even almost made her contemplate saying please to urge him along, but a queen didn’t beg, did she?
Black-tipped nails buried themselves into his hair to cradle his head close, kisses alternating between hungry and tender. And Killian did get a reaction, indeed - a low gasp against his mouth, the jerk of her hips against his hand. One of her legs rose to wrap around him a little, which helped in making sure those thighs were a little more spread for his -
Midst the sound of the shower, the little noises that were generated from their nude activities, Regina heard the sound of the door open.
“Did you hear that?” Was she paranoid? Hearing things? Her arms were around his neck, she didn’t want to unnecessarily press the invisible ‘pause button,’ except -
“Bubba! Are you home?! Did you see the outside?? The OC’s having its’ period!”
Oh, bloody fucking hell. Killian was getting into it just as much, the soundtrack of their kissing - growing all the more intense and heated - accompanied by the soothing shower spray, water echoing. His good hand slipped under Regina’s thigh to hold her steady when she wrapped around him and he was just about to seal this deal with a rock of his hips when all of a sudden...
Everything just deflated. Well, the mood, rather - there was no deflating his arousal, not anytime soon. The blood had rapidly rushed south.
“I...unfortunately heard that,” he sighed, and that’s when his sister’s bellowing kind of shattered the mood into a million pieces some more. Not that he blamed Kenzi - she had no idea he was planning to take Regina back here and fuck her in the shower. Granted, he had no idea that would happen either. “To be continued, then.”
It was obvious they couldn’t go on, so since they were both clean he turned off the water and attempted to ignore the raging erection he now had, dick ready for attention and a warm home - but yet was going to be denied. Fuck everything. The towel was wrapped around his waist, and he cracked the bathroom door a bit, heartbeat going about the pace of a herd of stampeding cattle.
“I’m home, but...ah...can you give me a minute, please?” His voice was rough and tense, yet he tried not to give away his obvious discomfort.
Kenzi hadn’t noticed anything much out of the ordinary at first; she’d come in to get comfortable, which first involved unlacing those mile-high boots that had gotten a little blood from the outside. It was when she sat down that she spotted a purse that wasn’t hers on the coffee table. And a box of chocolates? Spicy chocolates. Didn’t he -
Where was - ? “Um, okay,” she slowly replied. “You’re home early.”
Regina bit her lip to suppress a laugh. Oh, she was wet. From the shower and other things, and yes, there was a certain degree of frustrating sexual need that had almost, almost been satisfied but then interrupted by chance itself. Their luck, wasn’t it?
“Your sister has impeccable timing, doesn’t she,” she chuckled, wrapped in the towel and pressed up behind his back - which didn’t take much, considering how tiny the bathroom was. “Is this the part where we awkwardly exit together, or does one of us go first?”
Now that was a question, wasn’t it? “My room’s across the hall, I think we can just...” Exiting together would certainly draw attention to the situation, considering what they were or were not wearing - but there was going to be attention drawn anyway, no denying that. May as well just face the music.
“I’ll go first, you can follow?” he suggested, reaching behind to drag his fingers over the cotton towel that covered Regina. Shit be upon him, he wanted to get her naked again as soon as possible. Even if they didn’t end up fucking, he hoped that sleeping in the nude was indeed on the agenda.
Door opening, he sauntered out wearing the towel, rubbing that sea of black hair, slightly damp, with the tips of his fingers. “Plans got a little interrupted because of the blood rain, it’s why I’m home early. So, how was the...party? There was a party, right? You went to a party?” Perhaps if he acted cool as a cucumber, Kenzi wouldn’t recognise this as a prime opportunity to laugh at his misfortune. “Well, alright, tell me all about it later, I’m just going to go to my room - “
“Looks like your plan’s didn’t get too interrupted…?” Kenzi trailed, her mouth slowly turning sly - because not a minute later did she see the sight of certain royalty minimally dressed (as in, only in a towel like her beloved brother) behind him. Regina didn’t look too sheepish, but she wasn’t eager to hold a conversation thinly clothed. And wet. “Hey, the place is yours - I’ll stay in my room or go back out when the sky’s done PMSing.”
Did this count as a walk of shame? Probably. Amused, she picked up those leather boots and winked. When it was just them she’d embarrass the living shit out of Killian, poke and prod and whine for all the deets. But she disappeared into the renovated part of the houseboat custom made to her likes, and Regina coiled an arm around his midsection to take him three whole steps across the hall and into his bedroom.
Well, that wasn’t terrible. A bit embarrassing, and she would agree that nothing would happen while his sister was here. That’d be a tad inappropriate. “You’re adorable when you’re awkward,” she purred, teeth playfully snapping at his mouth - for a second it looked she had leaned in for a kiss. “Think we’re fated for ruined moments?”
“I most certainly am not,” Killian protested teasingly, and he wasn’t scared of those piranha teeth - he took that kiss anyway, arm slipping around her to grab himself a handful of royal derriere before letting go. “Well, it may seem like we’re fated for ruined moments but you know what they say - the third time’s a charm. So I’ve got hope for the next time, we’ve just got to keep at it.”
As promised, he found something for Regina to wear - a clean t-shirt and a pair of grey lounge pants, ones with a drawstring on them because she’d probably need that to keep them from falling down. Unless she just wanted to go in a shirt, which was suitable. But he also put on his own clothes, taking the cover off his prosthetic and wiggling the metallic parts a little - still was strange to him, a little, but he was getting used to it more and more.
“Now, how about that dinner? We can still salvage that part of the night.” And cooking would get his mind off his dick, maybe get him to think with his brain.
He’d make a plate for Kenzi too, even if Sharkbait had accidentally blown holes in the potential of a fuckfest.
Lounge pants it was, with the t-shirt. If they were alone it’d be another story, but she didn’t want to make things accidentally uncomfortable. Nor did she want Kenzi to think she had to stay in her room. It was her home; Regina was merely a guest.
And his clothes were quite comfy. Even smelled like him, which was an odd detail to take notice. Fingers combing through that damp hair, she lessened the gap between them, mainly to reach for another peck on the lips - he had a taste about him, something addictive she couldn’t get enough of.
“Considering those were the original plans for the night,” she smirked, slipping her hand under his shirt. “I suppose we could do that. I’ll make sure you don’t hurt yourself in there. The kitchen is a dangerous place.”
Salty, sharp, somewhat woody and musky - Killian smelled like the sea he so loved, plus a hint of spice like rosemary. Could be something else, who knew, from all the houseboat deck gardening he did and...oh, fuck. Damn this Biblical storm, it was going to cock up those herbs and vegetables. So much for snacking on carrots he’d grown himself. Was there any end to your cruelty, Orange County?
To the kitchen, then. “That’s good of you, love,” he scrunched his nose, but purred at the touch beneath the shirt he’d thrown on - he was like a big cat, really. Affection tamed and soothed him, and it only took a little most of the time. “Making sure I don’t burn down my own kitchen on Valentine’s Day. Then I might really decide to move to Timbuktu or some such.”
But no, they’d work on something nice. Grill some fish, roast some vegetables, drink some wine. And funnily enough, he was actually...happy. Suppose that was all one could ask for, when blood rain threatened to ruin your evening. Plus, there might actually be a cuddle later.
Well. That part would be their little secret.
Hm, she wouldn’t say her evening was all that ruined. The idea of staying in, wearing sweatpants, cooking at home? Regina was fond of it. It felt more personal. An expensive bill of steak and wine wasn’t necessary for the evening - and she was more than content to spend it with the notorious Captain of the Jolly Roger, with or without the meal.
Sans the fantasies of hurling him down a flight of stairs.
Her hands drummed against his posterior. “I’ll get the wine, and maybe see if I can get your sister out from her own personal batcave so she realizes we’re not doing what she thinks we are.”
Then came the sound of rambunctious music from the general direction of the room. Something that could be categorized under thug life. “Not here! Not listening! Happy Valentine’s!”