Merry Christmas. Just some Christmassy drabble.

There's something truly magical about morning sex, of that, there can be no doubt. But morning sex with Killian Jones is, well, obscene. For two years now she's been waking up in his arms to soft kisses and lingering touches whilst bathed in sunlight. For two years she's been heading out for the day with a smile on her face and a spring in her step that only happens when still flushed with orgasmic glory. Even when she tries sneaking out of bed before he wakes – usually only on days when she has to be at work early – he still surprises her in the shower, not letting her leave until she's shouted her morning prayer.

Today is no different.

They've wrapped themselves in the sheets, cocooning themselves from the outside world. He's beating a tattoo against her pelvis, clutching at her body, her nails digging into his back as she draws ever closer to heaven. His mouth is locked onto the junction of shoulder and neck when she feels the oddest prickling that she's – they're – being watched. She forces her eyes to the door which is wide open, which is odd to say the least, but there's no one there. And their bedroom is a flight of stairs up, so one would need a ladder, which would have to be mighty long one considering their humble home is perched atop a small bluff.

His lips meet hers, distracting her, bringing her back to now. It's just them, no one else, making love like it's their first time all over again.

"Gods you feel so good." He rasps, his hips rolling into hers, the feel of his cock slipping in and out of her with such ease is so mind numbingly good. "So good, so tight." He breathes, kissing her hard before she forces herself to break away, a loud moan echoing the room as he increases the pace.

And then she turns her head, her eyes open, to see a pair of eyes that immediately make her oncoming orgasm (which was going to hit like a train hitting a deer in darkness) dissolve like the flimsiest of clouds.

"Killian, stop!" She barely makes out, frozen in place as she stares at her brother, his eyes and nose just appearing over the mattress, an almost comical look of bemused curiosity on his tiny features as he takes in the couple before him.

Killian stops as she instructs, breathing heavy, he follows her line of sight, having noticed how suddenly tense she feels, and he too, feels all hunger and lust dissipate. (He was so close; his erection blue with desire instilled deep within her is now shrinking faster than a crew on a plague ship.)

"Neal?" And there it is, breaking the silence, Mary Margaret's voice echoing through the building. "Neal, come back and let your sister sleep a bit longer." She calls.

"Cming mum!" The toddler calls back in his delightful dialect that Emma still struggles to understand at times.

And then he's gone, bounding out of the room as though he hasn't just interrupted a perfectly magical morning. But Emma and Killian remain frozen in place, completely stunned by this turn of events. They can hear the distant rattling's and rumblings, scratchings and scrapings as Mary Margaret moves about Emma's kitchen, and from time to time, they can also hear her talking to Neal, cooing over something that is probably (and likely) quite odious and yet making it adorable.

"What time is it?" Emma finally finds her voice.

He shifts above her, separating themselves and glancing to the bedside clock.

"Eight fifteen." He responds, pulling at the sheet, attempting to further distance themselves from one another.

"Of course it is." She responds dryly. "The day has barely begun and my mother's already preparing dinner."

She knew she was going to regret hosting Christmas this year. With the loft too small, Regina still recovering from having baby Rosie, and Granny steadfast in not opening under any circumstances the task of hosting the Charming and extended family Christmas had fallen to Emma's care. And of course, her mother felt that roasting a turkey was an all day requirement and as such was here before sanity dictated.

"I'd better go and see her before Neal comes back." She offered as he rolled off of her.

Killian nodded, not watching her as she extracted herself from the bed. "I'll take a shower and join you in a bit." He says, not looking at her as he sits up.

She nods, barely glancing at him as he walks past her and into their bathroom (thank goodness they have an en suite), shutting the door with a decisive click.

It's the first time in two years that she hasn't orgasmed during sex.

And mornings like this will never happen again she thinks rhetorically, a hand washing over her stomach.

She still hasn't told him yet, and to be fair, she's only known for a few days. But she wants the moment to be perfect when she reveals that his time for fatherhood has arrived. She knows he's wanted this since pretty much the beginning of their relationship.

'What's so bad about having a child with me?' He had asked when she first explained to him the assorted birth control methods the world of Storybrooke offered.

'It's not that I don't want to, I just want it to be me and you for a time." She had responded, which at the time seemed to appease him.

Then Regina had Rosie, and her mother revealed that she was expecting baby number three. Coming home from the hospital that night – Henry was staying at Regina's to look after Roland – Emma had been brushing her teeth when she noticed the sachet of pills on the vanity that hadn't been touched that day. Removing the offending pill she held it in her hand staring at it for what seemed an age until Killian came in to check on her. When he realised her quandary he took her wrist, pulling her around to face him, taking her cheeks in both hands and laying a kiss on her that all but knocked her out, pulling away and telling her he was with her in whatever decision she made.

She hadn't taken the pill since.

That was three months ago. She can only guess that she's only a few weeks along now, and she can't wait for the perfect moment to tell him. If it ever does arrive – hopefully she's told him before she goes into labour – what with all the family members constantly dropping in on them at all hours these days.

"Mom what on earth are you doing here so early?" She asks her mother as she enters the kitchen a few moments later, hoping that the evidence of your-son-just-walked-in-on-me-and-my-boyfriend-having-sex is not too visible.

"The turkey." She responds simply; her hands are gloved and her shirtsleeves are pushed high above her elbows as she works on stuffing the mammoth creature.

"But why now? And why did you bring Neal? He woke us up."

She cringes instantly, praying to the almighty heavens that her mother doesn't pick up on what 'he woke us up' actually means. Fortunately, her mother appears to have not heard her.

"Emma, sweetie, it had to be now because this is a forty pound turkey; it's going to take hours for it to cook and we have to start setting up the place so that everyone will fit." Mary Margaret sighs with a hint of exasperation that Emma realises, is mostly to do with having both her hands shoved up the turkey's backside.

"And I thought you were coming over later to do all of that."

"And I told you, I wanted to get a jump on getting the turkey prepared." She repeats as a mother does to a child.

Emma can only scowl in response. Clearly it's going to be a charming family Christmas.

"Your Majesty, you're a tad early are you not?" Killian greets as he enters the kitchen.

Mary Margaret starts at his voice. "Oh yeah, wanted to get a start on the turkey. Where's Neal; Neal?" She calls spinning on the spot to see where her toddler might be.


She needn't have worried, because the moment Killian appears, Neal is attacking his legs. He scoops him up, not meeting Emma's eyes as he does so. Honestly, a part of him never wants to lay eyes on the toddler again (well at least not for a few days).

"You, little Prince, need to learn how to knock." He chides the boy.

"Did he wake you up?" Mary Margaret asks, bending over to see her stuffing efforts better.

"Yes he did." Killian exclaims before Neal can babble the truth.

Emma's face is red, and she does her best to hide it, to little avail. But then Killian is handing her her brother as he moves to try and assist his in-law with the bird. Emma tries to focus on the innocent face before her, but the smell filling the room is doing her head in. She can feel that old feeling of bile rising in her throat, and she hurriedly drops Neal on the floor before racing to the bathroom and promptly losing her stomach's little contents. When she returns to the kitchen (and the smell infestation) Killian is looking at her with concerned eyes.

"Just not used to raw food in my kitchen for this long." She explains.

It's half true; the sight of the pink deceased bird being stuffed and bound by her mother with Killian's assistance is a trying sight. And there's no way in hell she's admitting to the other thing yet.

"I'm going to go take a shower; hopefully you'll have it in the oven by then." She points over her shoulder and rushes from the kitchen before the smells have her throwing up again.

Eight months to go she chants in her head, eight months to go.

When she returns downstairs the turkey is in the oven, and Mary Margaret and Neal are gone. Killian is under strict instructions to not touch the oven under any circumstances until she comes back in an hour with David. There's a lingering smell in the air; Emma wishes that they could be in Australia so they could open their windows and doors for some fresh air and not have to worry about the snow and the frigid temperatures.

"Breakfast?" Killian offers, holding up a cereal box in one hand and milk in the other.

She smiles, exhaling simultaneously. The awkwardness that took over them whilst her mother was here has gone, and for the next hour, they're back to themselves. When Mary Margaret returns, David and Neal in tow, she doesn't race to the oven. Instead she takes a few minutes to properly greet her daughter and son in-law. Once she's back in the kitchen, basting away, David takes some time to properly apologise for the morning. Henry arrives shortly after, hugs and kisses all round, and the three men – Henry's only a hairsbreadth shorter than she is now – begin the arduous task that is reorganising the living room so that the folded trestle tables in the garage can fit.

Emma attempts to help her mother with the cooking, but no matter what she does and where she moves to, the smell of raw turkey is never far away. She's relieved when Belle arrives – pudding in toe – as she can leave the kitchen and help Henry with the table settings. It's when the brood of Locksley's arrives that the fun really seems to begin. Henry seems to become Roland and Neal wrangler, and the trio park themselves in front of the television playing games. The women forget their menial kitchen tasks and crowd around Robin, cooing over the tiny baby in his arms, much to Regina's dismay, who is laden with baskets filled with salads. It's the smell of smoke that breaks the group, and Robin ducks into a side room to put Rosie down.

Everyone's talking and chatting, and the greatest amusement comes when Neal spots the Christmas pudding Belle has set on display. Belle joins him, explaining to him that it's not chocolate cake, but the toddler clearly is intent on trying the 'chocolate cake', swiping a small chunk from near the base.

"Neal!" Mary Margaret chides her son from the centre of the counter at the sight, but she's soon laughing as the little boy's face crinkles in disgust.

"I did try and tell you that you might not like it." Belle laughs gently.

David comes over to take him from her, but she shoos him away, promising the toddler in her arms something fabulous. She calls Roland over too, and leads the two boys to a second box she had brought in. She lifts the lid and moves it so that Roland can see. Both boys squeal in delight.

"I didn't know if the boys would like the traditional Christmas pudding, so I made them their own chocolate chip Christmas pudding." She explains to the adults who nod in agreement.

Emma can only marvel at the Frenchwoman's thought making. And at her cooking skills. The boys' pudding is probably only a quarter the size of the adults, but the chocolate chips are decadently glossy, creating an illusion of being fruit pieces.

"How come they get chocolate and I don't?" Henry moans.

"Because you get to have egg-nog." Killian responds, refilling Henry's cup.

"And you really shouldn't be having that, so count yourself lucky." Emma counters.

"You alright there, love?" Killian asks her quietly as he walks past her.

Emma starts at his voice, too preoccupied watching the scene before her. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" Emma brushes, but Killian doesn't look all that convinced.

"You've barely eaten anything and you look pale." He notes, and she bristles momentarily at him, before remembering that he's only looking out for her (and he doesn't know the thoughts that are swirling in her head every time Neal attracts his attention).

"Don't worry, maybe I'm coming down with something or maybe I still haven't recovered from this morning. But I assure you, when the turkey's ready I will eat plenty of it." She finishes with a quick kiss before moving away from him quickly, not willing to wait for a suitable innuendo-filled remark.

"Family," David's voice fills the room; "dinner is ready."

If Emma's life were a movie, the cameraman would presently be scanning a counter with a half eaten turkey and ham, numerous practically empty salad bowls and two pudding platters that just house crumbs. The table-shot would be of empty plates, and as he turned about the room, he would see most of the adults reclined in assorted chairs, stomach satiated moans slipping from their lips. The exceptions are Regina, who's feeding Rosie, and Killian who is teaching Neal a knot of some description.

"That's it; pull it as tight as you can." He instructs, carefully observing the little boys movements. "Good, now, if I give you this end of the rope..." he trails off, handing the little boy said rope end, "...and now pull, as hard as you can."

He chuckles as Neal's attempt to tug the rope out of his hand ends with him falling on the floor. He helps Neal to his feet, a broad smile on his features at the little boy's skill.

"You'll make a fine sailor, young lad." He ruffles the boys head and David can only mutter in amusement.

"Not teaching my son any bad habits are you, Jones?" David moans.

"A bad habit of Knotcraft leads to a broken sail and a sunken ship, Dave." Killian chides, but there's a sparkle in his eyes.

"Iszat wha oowere doon wif mma dis moor ningk?" Neal says, looking up at Killian earnestly.

If the room was silent before, it certainly is now. Seems even Rosie's stopped suckling to hear Killian's response. Emma is frozen in place, petrified of this moment that she's been dreading all day.

"This morning?" Killian's voice is a couple of decibels higher than he would like as he stares at the little boy, feeling every pair of eyes in the room on him.

"Iss morning." He nods. "Yoo sed mma was tite. Buh oodin haf enny wope."

All colour that may have been in Killian's face drains. Emma's quite certain she's a matching shade of white. David, who had moved to the kitchen with his plate, is now forcing himself to analyse the machinations of the fridge door, Mary Margaret has her eyes closed and seems to be in a trance forcing herself to eradicate the image of her toddler son walking in on Emma and Killian 'tying knots'. Robin is staring at the ceiling, clearly counting dust particles, but jumps up, carrying Roland with him when Henry announces he's going to go outside and 'shoot the nail gun at his head'. And Regina looks like the cat that just got the canary and the cream.

And Neal, is still looking at Killian so innocently, and so curiously, and is completely oblivious to the can of worms he has just unleashed. In a few years, they'll all look back on this moment and laugh, except for Neal; every time the adults talk about it, he goes a shade of vermilion only a tomato can be proud of.

"This morning, Emma and I," he begins, and Emma can hear how nervous he is. It's only the third time in her life that she's encountered a speechless Killian Jones. The first time was in front of King Midas, and the second time was this morning.

"Neal, why don't we start opening some of these presents?" Belle interrupts, and immediately the tension in the room breaks, much to Regina's obvious dismay.

Neal squeals with delight, rushing to her and then the Christmas tree, where the two of them begin organising presents for everyone. Emma catches Killian's eyes, and the moment she does, they're both looking away.

"Do you mean to tell me, this morning, when you came downstairs looking all ruffled, that you two had just been, that Neal walked in on you two..." Mary Margaret's finger flashes between the two of them.

Any thought that this might have been over is promptly eradicated with her words.

"It might have occurred." Emma answers with a squeak, looking to her mother then anywhere else in the room that does not feature a human being.

"Oh god!" She exclaims, sitting down on the chair, eyes screwed shut.

"Well he didn't see anything." Emma tries, but knows it's no good.

"Didn't see anything, Emma, it's what he heard!" Mary Margaret responds.

Emma bites her lip.

"Why did you take him this morning, anyway?" David asks his wife, clearly trying to keep his cool.

"Don't you throw this back on me." She turns on her husband. "The issue is not me, the issue is them and their tying knots." She points in the general area of Killian and Emma.

Emma glances at him, and almost laughs; he looks as though he's begging the floorboards to open up and reveal a portal that can swallow him whole.

"Yeah, and I doubt that Emma and Killian have the same securities as we do that prevent this sort of thing from happening." He says slowly and somewhat awkwardly.

Emma fights the thought of her parents having sex – but her mother is almost six months pregnant now, so it's not such an absurd thought.

"That doesn't matter." Mary Margaret all but shrieks. "Your son walked in on your daughter having, s-e-x' she whispers that part 'with the pirate and you're okay with that?"

Both Emma and Killian are united in their objection of Mary Margaret's description of him.

"And if you hadn't have brought him with you this morning it never would have happened!" David responds forcefully.

"It should never have happened in the first place!" She counters.

"Well we're going to have to start getting used to it happening sooner or later." Emma speaks up, and her words catch everyone's attention.

"What? Why would need to get used to it?" But her voice falls away as she sees her daughter's face, and starts staring at her with wide eyes.

"Emma, are you saying...?" She pushes gently.

Emma feels like a deer caught in headlights. Of all the way's she has imagined telling everyone, telling them when she hasn't told Killian – or Henry – first, and when she's still barely certain of it herself, and on Christmas day is not the way she imagined.


Emma has long since grown accustomed to the way that Killian speaks to her, looks at her, says her name. It's all love and hope and happiness and everything in-between. But now, it's all that, and more. He's looking at her with such reverence that it knocks her for six.

"Emma?" He says her name again as he approaches her, staring at her.

Her parents seem to have disappeared into the background as she looks at the man she loves more than she thought possible.

"Emma, are you? Are we?" He asks quietly as he reaches her, staring down at her belly for a moment.

She pulls one of his hands to her belly, places her other on his cheek. She knows they have an audience for this, quite possibly the most private moment they've had in a long time, but she doesn't care as she nods her head and whispers the word that has his lips break into what she is certain is the widest grin she's ever seen, pulling her into his arms and swinging her around.

"Congratulations!" Her parents beam at them as Killian places her back on the ground, but she barely hears them as Killian covers her lips with his.

"Oh good they're having a baby, but do we really need the demonstration of how they tied the knot to achieve it?" Regina snarks from the couch.

The couple breaks apart, sharing identical grins and chuckles as her parents embrace them both. It's the first time that David has ever hugged Killian, and the two men look at each other afterward and seem to agree that it's an action they never want to perform again, regardless of this new familial bond.

"How long are you?" Mary Margaret asks Emma as she releases her from her hug.

"I don't know, honestly. A few weeks I suppose?" Emma answers as Killian pulls her against his side.

"How long have you known?" She goes on.

"Just a few days."

"A few days?" Killian blanches at her words.

"I was waiting for the perfect moment." She acknowledges with a small smile.

He pulls her close and kisses her temple. "I can't be mad at you." He whispers.

She chuckles, burying her face into his neck.

"Ugh, so much sentiment." Regina snarks again, pushing between Mary Margaret and David, handing Rosie to the former. "Congratulations Miss Swan, but there's one more very important person who needs to know this."

She moves to the door, and summons her trio of boys in from the cold. Henry winces as he takes in the way Emma and Killian are holding each other.

"You're not about to go off and tie some knots are you?"

Miraculously, both chuckle, whilst Mary Margaret and David wince.

"No, but we do have some news for you." Emma states. "How do you feel like being a big brother again?"

All awkwardness flies the teen as he rushes his birth mother and step-father. He hugs his mother first, then Killian, ending somewhat awkwardly. "That is so awesome, do you know if it's a boy or a girl yet? We have to start working on the nursery immediately, and baby-proofing! Oh god, there are so many power points! Marco, he has to start making the crib now or it won't be ready in time. Mom, you can lend her some of your old pregnancy clothes, can't you? What are you going to call it? We have to tell Granny so she can start knitting you guys a blanket."

Emma watches him with stunned awe, before reaching out a resting her hands on his shoulders. "Whoa, kid, kid, kid, kid, slow down." She soothes. "We have a long time before it comes along, Operation, Pirate Baby can wait."

"Operation Pirate Baby? Mom, please." Henry mocks.

Emma smiles at him, pulling him in for another hug, smiling at Killian over his shoulder. A sense of completion fills her as Killian rests a hand on her back and smiling at Henry.

Maybe hosting Christmas wasn't such a bad idea after all?

"Scuse me, but don yoo wan yorr pwesens?" Neal stomps his foot angrily at his parents feet, causing chuckles to fill the room as David swoops him up. They all move to the couches, except for Emma and Killian as he pulls her back, his hands cupping her cheeks as he presses a slow kiss to her lips.

"I love you." He says as he pulls away.

She beams up at him, rubbing her nose against his before leading him to everyone else.

"Who wants lasagne?" Granny's jovial voice booms from the doorway.

When she enters, her face may be a little pinker than normal, and Ruby is quick to duck between her and the egg-nog. Fortunately, neither woman is carrying lasagne.

"But seriously, who wants some?"

The sun has long since set when the trio of Nolan's finally leave. The living room is cluttered, the dishwasher is roaring softly, but neither Emma nor Killian care as he pulls her upstairs. The window shows a gentle flutter of snow filling the sky, but the couple pays no heed to the wonderland just outside their room. They allow nothing to interrupt them as they make up for their interruption this morning, and then some.

Afterwards they're lying entangled together, his ear is to her stomach as he tries to listen to the creature they've made within. Her fingers toy with the ends of his hair. She thinks he's fallen asleep when he goes silent, but he surprises her by rising above her, kissing her softly and making love to her again softer than she thought he was capable of. Their eyes remain locked on each other's as he moves, climaxing together in what can only be described as the most intimate orgasm she's ever had.

"First thing we need to do," he breathes softly as they're both finally falling asleep; "ensure there are securities in place so we are never interrupted again."

She laughs rolling into him, and they fall asleep with their hands connected above her stomach.


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