This fic is based off the sneak peek video for 3.05, so there are spoilers.
I could no more resist writing this than Killian can resist Emma (not at all).
His lips were burning.
Killian dragged two fingers across them, staring blankly out at the jungle. Doing so didn't lessen the sensation any: he could still clearly feel Emma Swan's touch searing him – her lips on his, her hair in his hand, her waist when he'd tugged her closer. His coat felt warped forever where she'd pulled him closer; her taste lingered on his tongue. He could still feel her fingers sliding through his hair, kept hearing her gasps and sighs.
For a moment he'd thought she was going to climb onto him and take the kiss much further – he'd have let her, instantly. It wouldn't have even occurred to him that her parents (including the father who had warned Killian away at swordpoint less than a day ago) were within a minute's walk. He'd have gone along with anything she suggested, he'd have done whatever she wished. He was obeying her wishes, even now – if it were solely up to him, Emma would have never left. She'd still be here, even now, sighing into his mouth, curling forward into his arms, lips searing against his.
They would set the forest on fire.
Killian swallowed hard, dropping his hand. He didn't – he had very little idea what to make of this. He hadn't ever expected her to play along, let alone answer his challenge so… aggressively. The moment he'd realized she was actually considering it, he could have sworn his heart stopped. His breathing certainly had.
But she'd said it was a one-time thing. And while normally Killian would have scoffed at the mere idea of a kiss like that being a solitary event, one could never be sure with Swan. She was a singular woman; he'd not met another like her in over 300 years of living, and he doubted anyone ever would. Emma was clever, lost, brave, broken, strong – and no matter how he tried to figure her out, no matter how surely he believed he understood her, Killian could never quite feel satisfied with what he knew. He wanted more – that had not been a lie. He wanted to know her, completely. Down to every last story, every last look, every single coaxed-free smile and every single touch. He wanted to breathe her in until his lungs were full of Emma alone, to crawl into her and never come back out, to kiss her again.
He believed – hoped – she wanted the same. Not as much, perhaps, but Killian thought she wanted it. He'd always known she found him attractive, but that kiss – that was no mere thanks, no simple lust. That was not just the answer to a challenge, he'd swear by it. She'd said it herself – they understood each other. They were souls forged in the same fire, weathered through the same storms, and she had to feel that pull as much as he did. Oh yes, she wanted it.
And yet, she'd called it a one-time thing. She still had feelings for Baelfire, her Neal, and her son was still lost – whatever desire Emma may feel, it was entirely possible she'd ignore it, at least until she found Henry. And the longer she ignored it, the longer she'd have time to doubt, to fear, to make the same mistakes she'd made atop the beanstalk. The thought of only getting to taste her just this once, of never holding her so intimately again, was excruciating.
Killian closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He should take only encouragement from this. He'd never dared expect Emma to give him so much, so soon. And he'd made his choice, several times over now. Holding the bean in his hand, staring at the ocean with her words repeating in his mind. Allowing the Crocodile aboard his ship. Watching her dying on his deck, he had decided there was no point in pretending not to feel. No point to playing it safe.
Killian still mourned Milah – he always would. Baelfire was as much of a hole in his heart as ever, torn a little fresher but no less painful. And as his adventure with the Prince had so viscerally reminded him, Liam was an old scar that never stopped aching. He mourned too the hundreds of years he'd wasting chasing a revenge that only ever hollowed him out further. All he'd known for so long was endings – but he didn't want that anymore. In Emma, he saw a beginning, he saw a future. She was the sole bright spot left in him; and with every new day spent in her presence, the air tasted fresher, his vision cleared further. With Emma, Killian truly believed he might find that villain's happy ending Regina spoke of.
He had known all this already. He'd thought long and hard on it, and had decided to forge on with Emma, to fight for her as best he could. He'd known from the start it would be a long, hard fight, more akin to war than any simple battle, but he was eager to enlist. He'd supported her, believed in her, let her lead him, he'd almost even spoken to her of Milah – and if they had been alone, he might have told her more. Killian had thought he fully understood what Emma was coming to mean to him; it was both utterly new and achingly familiar, but despite everything else, despite his uncertainty about her feelings, he'd at least thought he understood his own.
He hadn't had the slightest clue.
The moment their lips touched, the moment she kissed him, Killian was lost. Completely and utterly. She had been absolutely correct: he couldn't handle it. She'd bested him yet again, and he adored her for it. More than adored her. If she'd only let him, he'd give her all of himself – he'd take all of her, too, but that only seemed fair. He'd offered her his services to help return her son; now he wanted to offer her everything else. Killian had been loyal to Milah's memory for so long, but even so he recognized instantly that this kiss was unlike any other. Kissing Emma had rebuilt him, destroyed him, given him hope and life and broken him beyond repair. If he were a compass, she'd be his True North; a ship, and she his sea.
If anything happened to her, he feared he'd forget all the lessons he'd learned since meeting her. He'd chase revenge a thousand years if anyone took her from him now; and he didn't even have her yet, she'd called it a one-time thing.
The thought brought him back, and Killian blinked, licking at his lower lip (her taste was fading, gods he wished for more). It had already been several minutes – he'd best start gathering that firewood.