Emma dipped her feet into the cool water of the lake. They ached from all the dancing. She'd heard that the Scots liked to party, but Merida and her family certainly knew how to throw a celebration. The least we can do, they had insisted, Especially after all you have done for us.

The cramp in her toes was subsiding and she began to dry them on the long skirts of her dress. Tiredness swarmed over her like a warm summer breeze, lulling her gently back and forth as she squeezed her eyes closed and breathed deeply. Never had she dreamed that she would crave the feeling of exhaustion; of that pull towards sleep which she had desperately missed in the past month or so. Just as she now relished all her senses - the crisp tastelessness of water, the biting chill of a nighttime breeze, the warmth of Killian's hand in hers-

Now everything just seemed so much more.

Setting aside her thoughts, she pushed herself to stand, wiggling her toes in the grainy sand of the water's edge, enjoying the nipping bite of the tiny blades of grass that protruded through it. It was only a short walk back to the marquee that had been erected in the woods. Fresh white canvas was accented with swags of the DunBroch's tartan, the peaks of the tent topped proudly with their flags. Even from this distance, the music was loud enough to suffocate any other sound. Bagpipes and fiddles and drums - it was intoxicating and mesmerising, washing away her tiredness, her weary feet now itching solely to dance further.

A second later she was dipping under the canvas, the body heat inside the structure hitting her like a thick and heavy wall, making her draw back on her heels as she stood tall. It seemed like everyone was moving as one. Even those not currently taking part in the energetic jig were tapping along or or clapping their hands in time with the fiddler. Edging her way around the crowd, she found the spot where she had left her shoes under one of the tables that had been pushed aside after the banquet had ended. They were cool against the skin of her feet as she slipped them on, pinching only a little as she took a mouthful of wine from the goblet she had left in the same place. Gently, she wound her way through the bodies that filled the makeshift room, her eyes scanned over them. Searching for the signature black leather of Killian Jones.

Killian.

Her love.

Her anchor, her hope, her guiding light in the darkest storm-

(Hell, it was cheesy to the modern girl inside, but it didn't make it any less true).

As she picked her way over the trodden earth that served as a floor, she relished in the feel of the skirts twisting about her ankles, of the flower crown hugging her head… of home. Well, not in the literal sense. But now, slowly but ever more surely, she was beginning to feel at home in this world of princesses and magic and fairy tales. It had only taken some time a loving family and a very persistent pirate. Speaking of which-

Her eyes landed on him a second later, right in the thick of the melee, arms aloft, flask in hand. A half smirk on his lips, that widened into a full brimmed smile when he turned and caught her looking at him. Too far away to call to, she lifted a hand and waggled her fingers, a small shot of desire warming her belly he raised his eyebrow and sent her a smouldering glance.

She didn't know how he did that - sent her blood burning with just a look. Perhaps all this time he had been holding back, being… gentlemanly. But that time was passed. They'd already made love on more than one occasion.

The first time had been special: slow and meaningful, when they had finally found a moment's peace and quiet after all the turmoil and pain that curses and magic had inflicted. The memory sent a flutter to her chest. He'd been so reverent. Almost as if he was scared he could break her. His eyes had stared deep into hers, like he was looking deep inside her, to her depths, making sure it was her. His Emma.

And now that dam of want had finally been breached, it seemed to flood her regularly. The wanting was so very bittersweet, when tempered by what had come before. But at the same time, she was learning to throw caution to the wind a little, to live in the moment. For, as Killian once said, the fight is never over and that makes it all the more reason to enjoy the quiet moments. Or not so quiet in this case.

This time there was more kindling to her desire.. As he danced, she watched his face sheen in sweat, tendrils of midnight hair dipping over his forehead and somehow making him even more devastatingly handsome. She squirmed on the spot where she stood, feeling that historic conflict inside that made her want to push away her own needs and instead worry about what problem would come next. Because it would come. And she would be ready. So for now, she needed to take a moment for herself. Henry was being well entertained by Merida's brothers. This kingdom was safe. The darkness vanquished-

Saviour she was, but selfish she was entitled to be.

A part in the crowd allowed her to take a step further into the throng, just as Killian span in her direction-

Her heart leapt into her mouth.

Around his waist, instead of the expected hug of leather, was at bolt of DunBroch tartan. Hitched up and tied with his leather belt, below she could make out the shape of his legs and his boots even in the darkness. He was wearing a goddamn kilt.

The heart, that recently resided in her mouth, now began to pound against her ribs. It shouldn't be a turn on, it shouldn't… But after the wine and in the sultry heat of the tent, the way his hair was screaming 'sex' and that ridiculous outfit-

"Swan," he suddenly breathed into her ear, somehow now behind her, hooked arm about her waist. Pirate, she thought.

"Killian," she replied, a shiver in her voice as his lips ghosted over neck, her heartbeat's traitorous thud barely all she could hear. "A kilt?"

"Our friend Merida here dared question that I would wear such a thing in public-"

Emma rolled her eyes and twisted around in his arms. Up close, she could see how the heat and the alcohol had pinked his cheeks, the perfect tangle where he had ran his hands through his hair, almost taste the salt she knew lingered on his skin-

"Never could resist a challenge, could you?"

"Aye," he smiled, pulling her hips in line with his own, "Why do you think you were so appealing?"

"Killian-" she laughed, swatting her hand against his chest, her voice catching when he took hold of her wrist, pressing a careful, damp kiss to her hand. His eyes were suddenly serious, meeting hers with the same gaze he had bestowed upon her that first time they had made love.

Gingerly, she laid her palm against his chest. The thin linen of his shirt was damp, clinging to the lithe muscles and beneath she could just feel his own rapid heartbeat. Her fingers slowly crumpled together, pulling at the material, dragging his mouth closer to hers.

It was not so busy for her to forget herself in the crowd. With barely held restraint, she flung her free arm around his neck, digging into the sweat soaked hair as their lips joined. Not chastely, but with withheld passion. His hips were rocking against her own, her skin tingled, naked want making her drowsy with need-

It was only a kiss, but she needed more. Sliding her palm down his back, she found the rough wool of the kilt to further fuel her desire. Now. Now was the time, no waiting, no denying-

Pulling away, she scraped her teeth against his lip, triumphing in the low growl that it elicited. She reached up on her toes and whispered, "Come with me."

/

A smile of anticipation on her lips, she had led him through the crowd, avoiding the gaze of their friends, not wanting to stop or delay her intent. They were just outside the marquee, far from prying eyes, when he grabbed her tight against him-

"My love," he panted before suffocating her with a searing kiss, his good hand grasping at her corset-encased breasts as his hook dug into the curve of her waist. Dizzy and weak-kneed, she clung to his shoulders and gasped for breath. "I saw the want-"

Before he could finish, she was kissing him again, grinding her hips against him, relishing the growing hardness under the kilt, balling up the wool in her fists, desperate to touch him-

"Swan-" he gasped, "Someone may happen upon us-"

Whining, she pulled back, knowing he spoke the truth. She fixed him with a cheeky gaze and with a swirl of her hand, they were engulfed in the mist of transportation.

"Much better," he murmured when they reappeared in the lodge that had been offered to Emma for the evening. Rustic and simple, it was hung with thick tapestries and warm furs, a small fire warming the space and an overstuffed bed waiting patiently in the corner.

In a swirl of kisses, they danced together to the distant sounds of the celebration. Without care or attention to the possibility of being interrupted, they pulled and tugged at each other's clothes, unbridled passion pouring forth in a way she had once feared was never possible. But it was and she was she and both he and she were alive and everything was melting together in such a way that she was helpless against his assault of sensation.

He tugged at the laces of her dress; impatient, uncoordinated movements that tangled his fingers and resulted in a muttered swear and the swift action of a hook slicing through the offending ribbon. Corset and silk fluttered to the floor as he reached for his own shirt and tugged it away. Heat sank within her, settling between her legs, making her throb as she watched his muscles flex whilst he tossed the sodden shirt aside. She licked her lips, slow even breaths barely calming her. His hands went to the belt that held the kilt in place.

"Leave it," she demanded, suddenly ridiculously turned on by the thought of semi-clothed sex - of feeling the wool against her skin-

"As you wish," Killian whispered, his voice thick with lust and alcohol, stalking the few steps to be beside her, sweeping her up in his arms and nuzzling into her chest as he walked to the bed, laying her down so that her hair fanned out. Another searing kiss gave her hands time to find the bare skin of his thighs as he leaned over her, to slide up the muscled expanse as he nestled himself between her legs, his lips nibbling against her neck as her fingers finally dug into the naked flesh of his ass. "Careful," he warned, as she tightened her grip, pulling him down to her, pressing nails tighter 'til she knew they would be marks, hitching up her chemise so she could wrap her legs around him, arching her back so her body slid against his length. "Dammit Swan-"

"You know you love it," she retorted, shrieking softly when he retaliated by nipping against her breasts through the cotton underdress, quickly finding a willing nipple to draw into his mouth, sending hot sparks to her gut.

"I can't deny it," he drawled, snatching another quick kiss until hands and hook found the hem of the barrier between them drawing it up and over her head. "But I must confess I love you more."

Heart swelling, she reached between them, finding his willing erection, enjoying it's weight in her hands - still not yet familiar but beloved all the same. The liquid heat between her legs intensified. How could she want him so much - so quickly? This new aspect of their relationship was quite the revelation-

She was dragged from her stray thoughts, by the sensation of a rough hand against her breasts, stroking and kneading the flesh, a gasp escaping her lips. "I need you-" she panted, scrambling for purchase against the bed, pushing her heels into the soft mattress, rocking her body up closer to his-

"Fuck," he muttered, groaning low and heavy as she rocked her hand over him, teasing him to the point where he would quiver and beg for release- Oh, their love maybe still new, but she was already getting the measure of this pirate's most secret desires. "I'm trying to be a gentleman-"

And she knew his male pride demanded a certain etiquette in the bedroom. But not tonight, not now.

"And I want the pirate-"

He paused, meeting her eye. And she remembered the last time she had called him that. She had been lost in the fog of darkness, but she still remembered even if the words were not quite her own. Her chin quivered, he searched her face. Perhaps he was still wary, perhaps he didn't believe she was actually herself again (and only herself). Then his expression changed, his lips lowered down to her own, his fingers traced over her hips, sweeping into her dampness as she gasped-

"If the lady insists," he teased.

His fingers danced over her sodden flesh, her gut tightened, her muscles rippled in anticipation. He teased her entrance, spreading her dampness as she ran her fingers desperately over his length. She wasn't the kind to beg. Emma Swan didn't plead. She was the goddamn saviour for Christ's-

"Please," she cried in a cracked voice, nudging his hand away, sliding her own back around his ass, rocking her hips to coat him in her arousal, triumphing in his unintelligible curses, before finally pulling him down tight against her and feeling his tip just breach her entrance. "I said now," she whispered in his ear. He drew back on his arms, a flutter of pleasure passing over his features, before being replaced by a sly grin of determination.

Slamming forth into her, she softly screamed, still unaccustomed to his length, her body stretching and learning him as she let him take control. She clung ever tighter, her fingers slipping against his sweat-damp skin, the coarse wool of the kilt rubbing against her waist. And it was Killian, Killian her love, who never stopped fighting for her, who loved her with ever fibre of his soul who was making the world dissolve in front of her eyes. With his hook, he nudged her hips wider, pressing up her leg up against his waist, angling his body til he could hit her deeply inside. Her whole body was tingling. The sensation was akin to when she used magic: light pinpricks of pleasure dancing over her, swept up in a wave of bright, white lust.

God she loved him.

It was all too much. The distant music. His body heat. The friction as they moved together. The emotions swirling around it all-

Alone and all at once, each sensation pricked at her resolve to make this last, pushed her towards the precipice-

She pressed her face into his neck, teeth scraping over his collarbone, splaying her fingers over his lower back-

Sweat and sheen and heat and need-

Swirling and turning like a magical storm of perfection under the roof of this simple, wooden cabin.

"Emma, I can't-"

She shushed him, leaning back to look into his eyes. "Come with me?" she asked in the barest whispers. He nodded, his face full of love, she could see he was barely holding on.

So she let herself fall. Made her conscious stop thinking. Pressed back the world into the smallest recess of her awareness until her only thoughts were of the moment. Of him and them.

"Emma-"

"Let go."

A frenzy of movement descended as all finess left their movements, just the seeking of pleasure and the expression of love remained. A love which burst forth in a mutual cry as the band of growing tension inside her snapped. She held onto him tightly as ripples of pleasure flooded out through her body, reaching the very tips of her toes. He was falling with her. His body stiffening, his movements stuttering.

Barely conscious, her eyelids fluttered open a few seconds later. He lay gently on top of her, his messy hair even now more sinfully dishevelled and licking against the delicate skin of her neck. He raised his head, the scuff on his chin softly scratching at her breasts.

"That was…"

"It was wonderful," she smiled. His eyes gleamed their perfect shade of blue, casting down an expression of adoration and peace.

Reaching up, he kissed her again. This time a sweet, loving, promise-filled kiss.

"I love you Emma Swan," he whispered as they parted.

She kept thinking her heart couldn't possibly get more full, but here it was swelling once more with love.

"I love you, Killian Jones."

And as they nestled together and listened the the dwindling sounds of the party in the distance, Emma Swan

counted her lucky stars that her life was filled with people who loved her. People who never gave up on her. In particular, the pirate sleeping peacefully in her arms.

A/N: I've resisted writing anything based on spoilers, but that video of Colin meant I HAD to write something (damn him). A review is appreciated if you have enjoyed this - this is about four/five hours work here! (Yes, it takes me that long to write!)