A/N: I own only Morgan Jones. Killian belongs to ABC/Disney.

For what seemed like an eternity, Killian Jones lay awake in bed, staring into the shadowy oblivion of the bedroom ceiling. He lay on his back, his hands folded behind his head, his mind a nebulous hurricane of thoughts and memories. Beside him, his wife Morgan slept peacefully, her back to him; she shifted ever so slightly, causing the compass rose tattoo on her left shoulder blade to ripple gently. When she stilled, he turned his head to observe her, wondering where her dreams took her. He knew that beneath the blankets she was nude, just as he was, and he longed to ghost his fingertips over that soft, creamy flesh. But this was one of those nights that she was actually resting, and he forbore to wake her.

For a few moments longer he studied her, but she had stilled again in her sleep. Not wishing to disturb her, he sat upright and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He retrieved a pair of black sleeping pants from the floor and slipped them on. He rose from the bed, glancing back over his shoulder to make certain that he had not disturbed Morgan from her slumber, then quietly exited the bedroom.

He walked several feet down the darkened hallway and paused outside of their son Adrian's room; he made to open the door, but remembered that Adrian was spending the night at Regina's. He continued down the hallway then, and down the shadowed stairs. As he made his way into the living room, he could see snow, a veil of glittering white in the light of the street lamps, beginning to fall outside. He lowered himself down onto the sofa, watching the flakes dance in a soft breeze. The clock on the mantle chimed the late hour, yet it sounded as distant as the requiem of the church bells that echoed through the night.

If it's so close to Christmas, why do they sound so mournful? he mused.

The snow landed with soft patters outside the window, and for some while he watched, musing, his gaze softening until the flakes seemed to become amorphous little blurs of white. His mind was far away, but he made no move to stop it from wandering where it would. It meandered through the labyrinth of memories of his past, to what Morgan referred to as "the Fairy Realm," where magic still ruled and permeated every aspect of existence. Here in this world, no one possessed it, or if they did, they did not believe in it; those that did believe in it, those that did possess it, undoubtedly discovered that magic's actions were not universal - magic did not work the same in all realms. In this world, technology and consumerism were sovereign, and magic had taken up residence in the shadows, scorned by those who considered themselves rational beings as nothing more than make-believe.

How ignorant the people of this realm were - even the peasants of the Fairy Realm knew well the power of magic, and quite a few possessed it to some degree.

He heaved a heavy sigh, his vision sharpening so that the snowflakes became individuals again. A soft creak on the stairs, however, prompted him to start. He turned his head and found a lithe figure making its way step-by-step down the flight, until it reached the landing. His wife, clothed now in a black silk robe, her dark hair tumbling in soft waves around her shoulders, stood on the cold hardwood landing, her hand on the banister.

"What are you doing up?" she asked, her voice edged with the residue of slumber.

"I couldn't sleep. Did I wake you?" His tone was apologetic, and for a moment he feared that he had indeed woken her.

"I just happened to turn over and realized that you weren't in bed," she answered as she seemed to glide towards him in the dimness. She sat down on the sofa beside him, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his icy blue eyes. "What's wrong?"

"My mind's going a mile a minute. Nothing's wrong, it's just-"

"Insomnia again?"

He nodded, almost sheepishly, but stiffened when her hands, warm and soft, came to rest flat against his bare chest. Her lips found his, capturing them, claiming them in a passionate kiss; his hand immediately reached upwards to cup the back of her head as he parted his lips, allowing his tongue to dance with hers. Neither could repress a soft groan as the kiss deepened. In their cores, a pleasant, tingling warmth began to rise; this sensation was all too familiar to the both of them, the stirrings of a latent desire for one another that was always present.

When air became a premium, the couple separated, breathless but no less satisfied, at least temporarily. The right corner of his lip curled upward into a smirk.

"I know what will help you sleep, love," she murmured against his lips.

"Oh do you?" He took her lower lip between his teeth and sucked lightly, his hand skating down her right side.

"I do," she replied as she pressed the heel of her hand flat against his shoulder, gently pushing him into the backrest of the sofa.

He blinked, astonished, then pouted, as she moved from the sofa to sit on the coffee table in front of him. Her pale green eyes glimmered in the soft light from the street lamps outside, and her porcelain skin provided a striking, but beautiful contrast to the darkness of her robe and hair. Her fingertips wandered to her neck, where she caressed her collarbone before drawing them down her breastbone, to the valley between her breasts, which was exposed due to the robe's parting, and down to the sash. She sat with her legs crossed, her eyes never leaving her husband's, and began to slowly untie the sash at her waist. He straightened ever so slightly, his eyes flashing with naked, pure desire. She allowed the robe to fall, the silk softly tickling her flesh as it pooled on the table beneath her. She uncrossed her legs and partly spread them, looking at him knowingly - the knowledge that he desired her, that he wanted her, and that she desired and wanted him, that in this moment they were husband and wife, man and woman; everything else had long since faded away into the din of the reality beyond their own private realm. He longed to bring her into his arms again, but he refrained from any movement.

Instead, he studied her. He knew her body as well as he knew his own, and yet he found himself utterly breathless every time he came to look upon her nude form. Bathed in the soft warmth of the streetlamp outside, she looked ethereal, and for a moment he was unable to believe that this beautiful creature was his wife. It illuminated the tiny droplets of moisture on her skin, evidence of her own desire, her pale, creamy flesh, and her pale, icy green eyes. Her scars on her wrists, long since healed over, shone even paler than the surrounding flesh, but instead of repulsing him, he found them meaningful - they told her story, they were a part of her, and he was not ashamed of them. His eyes trailed from hers, down the length of her elegant neck, to her soft, full breasts, and down the length of her abdomen to the dusky triangle between her thighs. She smiled when his eyes met hers again.

"Do you like what you see?" Her voice was low and seductive, having deepened slightly as a result of her own arousal.

"Yes…"

His reply came out as a dark, husky whisper. As he watched, she lifted her hand to her mouth and seductively sucked on her first finger, then trailed it from her lips down to the valley between her breasts, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. Staring almost intently into his eyes, she lifted her hands to her breasts, gently massaging them and lightly pinching her hardening nipples. She knew he loved to watch her as she touched herself, and she had every intention of giving him a show.

Though outwardly stoic, Killian felt the familiar fever of lust searing outward from his core throughout the rest of his body; he could feel the warmth more keenly in his loins. Oh gods, he wanted her.

As if sensing the fever overtaking her husband, Morgan continued with her display, allowing her right hand to caress her abdomen and thighs. As she neared her womanhood, she could feel the heat and wetness emanating from it. She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and glanced down at her hand, then quickly returned her eyes to those of her husband's.

He could no longer see her hand, as the lamplight casted deep shadows in that area of her body, though he could see the small, circular movements. He watched as with her other hand she continued to massage her breast, her eyes half-closed in pleasure. She bit her lower lip and moved her right hand rhythmically and methodically; she had inserted two fingers and she could feel that they were covered in her nectar. He knew how wet she was, and he longed to taste that wetness. He could see her cheeks flush with a soft pink, which deepened in color as she grew closer to her peak. She threw her head back, softly moaning, as her pace quickened. She had spread her thighs apart now, affording him a fairly decent, albeit shadowed, view of her most treasured place. She was in her own world now, for her eyes had closed completely; she was blind and deaf to the outside world, though she knew that he was still watching her, still lusting for her, loving her. It was that knowledge that excited and aroused her the most. Of all the women he had been with, it was she who held his heart, his love, who had given him more than he could ever have anticipated.

He knew that she was doing this for their mutual pleasure, though he felt a voyeuristic thrill all the same. This was a display that was to take place only behind closed doors, perhaps by herself, but now there were no prying eyes, save for his, and it was for his eyes alone to witness.

It was not long before she uttered a soft cry of his name as her body tensed, then relaxed. She withdrew her fingers and lifted them once again to her mouth, tasting the sweet, yet salty product of her own desire, then circled her nipple with the moisture, causing it to glisten in the moonlight. She then traced the same path as before, from her breasts up to her lips.

He could take it no longer.

He reached for her and pulled her once again into his lap and kissed her. He caught the taste of her arousal, and he found himself wanting more. He broke the kiss and traced the glistening trail she had left for him with his tongue, tasting what remained of her nectar on her skin. With her taste his arousal grew, and he could feel his pajama bottoms becoming even more confining. Yet he did not remove them - he wished to focus on her. She ensnared her hands in his dark hair, clutching him close to her as she tilted her head back, her lips parted as her breath caught in her throat. She felt him gently nibble the sensitive, creamy flesh of her breasts, then take a nipple into his mouth, suckling it.

"Ah…Killian…"

"You're beautiful, my Morgan," he whispered, his breath hot against the fullness of her breast. "You're perfect."

He shifted slightly to lay her down on the sofa, with her right foot resting on the floor beside it while her left leg remained bent at the knee. She did not protest as he did this, but sighed when she felt his lips on her abdomen, kissing and nibbling down its length until he came to her thighs. He licked and kissed the sensitive flesh, causing her to gasp slightly and her thighs to tremble. The hair on his face scratched her skin, though the sensation was by no means unpleasant; indeed, it only heightened her pleasure. He felt her rest a hand on the crown of his head and, upon glancing up, found that she was massaging her breast with her free hand.

"Killian, I can't…take it," she panted. "Please…touch me…I want you to…."

He obliged her. He licked her outer lips, while with his thumb he circled the pleasure bud he found hidden in those creamy, pink folds. She cried out, arching her back, as he entered her with his tongue, savoring the taste of her juices. He rubbed her bud harder as he flicked his tongue across her opening, then entered it again. He withdrew and began to flick and suck the sensitive pearl, inserting two fingers into her wetness. He began a steady rhythm, paying special attention the the most sensitive spot inside her. She moaned loudly, unable to help herself. Without withdrawing his hand, he moved so that he was lying atop her and kissed her, taking her moans inside his body.

"Shh," he murmured, sucking on her bottom lip. "We do have neighbors, my darling."

Any other moment, she would have cared. But in the haze of pleasure and desire, all she knew were the beautiful man lying against her and the delicious sensations he elicited from her. She cared about nothing else. She whimpered, bucking her hips against his hand as he circled and rubbed her bud again with his thumb. He could feel her thighs trembling even more now and could feel her tightening around his finger. She was close…so close.

He kissed her deeply, sending her over the edge. She moaned against his mouth as her climax rolled through her trembling body, sending shockwaves of pleasure searing her every fiber and deep into her core. She clutched his shoulders, deepening the kiss as she rode her orgasm. His fingers still moved inside her, though much more slowly, and he was no longer rubbing her, knowing that she would grow painfully sensitive in the aftermath of her climax. He could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm rippling through her womanhood. Her body spasmed once…twice…three times, before she finally went limp beneath him, breathing harshly. When her spasms subsided, he withdrew his fingers and tasted the sweet remnants of her nectar, then caressed her lips, inviting her to do the same. She did so, suckling seductively on them as she looked up at him.

After a moment of recovery, she placed her hands on the waist band of his pants and gently slid them over his hips, then the curve his bottom, her hands brushing delightfully against the lightly tanned skin. He sat upright and removed them completely, throwing them aside so that they came to rest by her robe. She, too, sat upright, though did not move into his lap as he wanted, not yet. She instead kissed him, grasping his hardened member in her hand and stroking. He groaned.

"Well-endowed" was not a statement sufficient enough to describe him. In fact, the first time they made love she was unsure of whether he could have possibly fit inside her. Yet now she knew better, and it was that endowment she craved.

She straddled his hips again, and used her hand to guide his hardness into her. They moaned in pleasure as her warm, tight wetness surrounded him. She began to ride him steadily, clutching his shoulders for support as she leaned forward to kiss him. Her fingertips of her right hand found their way from his broad shoulders down to his chest, where she idly toyed with the dark curls that were sprinkled across the warm flesh. He placed his hands on her hips to help steady her as he broke their kiss, and tilted his head back, groaning her name. The world around them ceased to exist as they became lost in the pleasure and in one another, feeling the ebb and flow of sensations beyond the description of words. The pleasure seemed to flow between them like a river, joining them as one. The flow increased in intensity and strength as the climax drew nearer and nearer; his pace quickened as he bucked his hips to meet hers. They had fallen into a steady, but quickening rhythm. The waves of ecstasy coincided with their moans and sighs.

When she felt him growing very close, she made to withdraw from him, but he stopped her.

"No," he murmured. "I want to…come inside you…."

She, too, was close to her climax, and though she wanted him to experience the same oral pleasures he had given her, she found that her body had won over her pleasure-clouded mind. It took only two more thrusts for him to do just as he had wanted, and as she felt the first burst of warmth inside her, she threw her head back and moaned his name, her wetness spasming around him as she reached her own climax. Together they rode the final waves of mutual ecstasy, trembling and shuddering. It was almost unbearable.

When at length the spasms and pleasure waves subsided, Morgan collapsed against Killian, both covered in a thin film of sweat and panting. They shared a soft, tender kiss as the haze of desire cleared, leaving in its wake the familiar contentment of the afterglow. The snow continued to fall beyond the frozen glass of their window, and for some time they sat in each other's arms, content and satisfied, watching as the tiny flakes came to rest with their fellows.

"Are you growing tired, my love?" Morgan asked after some time, sensing that this was indeed the case.

His eyes had begun to drift closed, but he opened them again and looked down at her, smiling as he brushed a lock of dark hair out of her eyes. "I do believe, my Morgan, that we've found a cure for my insomnia."

She smirked. "Perhaps we should tell Archie that you've found...alternate methods."

He chuckled. "Indeed, and I daresay this method is the most preferable." He paused to kiss her tenderly on her lips. "I love you, my Morgan."

She could not repress a tender smile. "And I love you, my Captain."

Their lips met again as their bodies entwined once more, just as another veil of snow began to grace the darkness beyond their own private realm.