Written because I wanted something like this to happen as soon as that scene began.

"I'm her father. It's my job to ruin it for her."
-Little Mosque on the Prairie

.

"Will you go out with me again?" he asks softly, eyebrow raised just a little and looking unaccountably nervous - except Emma was there herself this morning, and knowing you'll get a yes somehow doesn't help quiet the nerves at all. It's been over a decade since she's been out on a real, no-curse-involved date… and honestly, you couldn't really call her teenage fumblings dates, for the most part. It had felt like the first time, and she'd been giddy all day with nerves, right up until the moment she opened the door to see him in modern clothes, smiling and presenting her with a single red rose.

She feels giddy now, too, but it's not with nerves anymore - Emma tries to answer Killian, to meet his request with as eager a response as he met hers this morning, but something about the warmth of his hands in her own, how his voice went quiet, the way he's looking at her, has her words lost in her throat and all she can do is move her lips silently. After a few moments of this Killian starts to smile, and Emma finds her eyes lingering on his lips, and she's smiling too, and leaning forward because of course, she's always preferred show over tell.

He leans in to meet her, and - she's pretty sure this is the first time that's happened. In Neverland she all but snatched him to her; in New York his attempt at - well, she had him arrested for it; he was unconscious when she kissed him to save him from Zelena, the past doesn't really count and anyway, it was a drunken lurch forward on his part that started it; even after they returned home, Emma kissed him outside Granny's, Emma kissed him in the woods, he kissed Emma on the street last night. Up till now, however involved on both their parts, it's like they've just traded kisses back and forth.

This is the first time they've truly moved as one, eyes dropping closed before their lips meet, slow, hands linked between them sliding down and separating to wrap around each other instead, tugging closer, his warm and solid against her back (against the jacket he'd loaned her after leaving the restaurant, and she really didn't need it for the short trips between buildings and the Bug, but he'd smiled so gallantly and stood behind her and next thing she knew, she was slipping her arms into the sleeves, leaning back into Killian as he slowly lifted her hair out from under the collar, and the leather was warm and smelled new), hers pressed against his jaw, his back. This is the first time they've kissed each other outside her door after a date at an Italian restaurant, his newly-reaquired left hand (he got his hand back for this date, he ditched the pirate outfit, he somehow found the only really nice restaurant in town, he picked her up with a rose in his hand while her parents took pictures) sliding up to caress her neck, to tangle in her hair, and Emma can feel that familiar heat sliding through her, edged with that giddiness that still hasn't gone away.

Their lips are slowing, parting, his hand has lifted off her hair and they're swaying slightly away from each other, and Emma knows what this should be. It should be the end of the kiss, the end of the date; it should remain something sweet and tentative and young, like that giddy feeling in her gut, like her pink dress and ponytail and her parents taking pictures, like the flower in his hand and his jacket on her shoulders and the way his voice hushed to ask her out again. That's what this should be.

But that's not what Emma wants, suddenly - she'll blame it on him, igniting all her pirate instincts but despite knowing how impossible it is she wants to pillage and plunder tonight. She wants more at least, she wants to not let go yet, not just yet, and tonight has been all about wants over duty (she let that thief go, the thought sends a little shiver down her spine because he hadn't ruined anything and she doesn't think that ever would have been true before) so she just… doesn't step back.

Emma takes a deep breath, and their noses are brushing, Killian's not quite pulling away but not kissing her again either, hovering like he's waiting for her to pull away. So she pulls him in, instead, keeps her eyes closed and slides her hand up to the back of his neck to pull him closer, her smile pressing against his startled smile (it's awkward; it's perfect).

He kind of grunts a little, and his hand drops to her shoulder, and Emma digs her fingers into the smooth cloth of his vest and leans up on her toes and kisses him like a skull-and-crossbones flag, like she wants to take everything he's got - and she needs to stop with the pirate analogies, because she's just thought I want his booty and her loud snort of laughter against his lips might ruin the mood with anyone else. Killian, though, that kiss has got him invested, it's his turn to chase her lips and coax fire to her tongue. His turn to slide his hand up her back, under the jacket this time, and when she still can't help giggling a little (so fucking giddy, still, maybe it'll never go away) he just lets his lips slide over to mumble words against her cheek, to nip at her jaw: "What's so funny, love?"

"Nothing," Emma says - gasps, a little, as his brand new (old) hand tugs the collar of her (his) jacket aside so he can press a kiss to just the right spot on her neck. And then he doesn't move on, just starts worrying at her with teeth and tongue and she might be writhing a little, she's certainly not supporting her own weight entirely anymore - his right arm's locked tight round her waist, holding her up.

But Emma's no maiden to be deflowered, here, she's a pirate (she thinks with a wicked grin), and she lets her hands slide down his back to his ass, grabbing him and tugging him closer and relishing his startled little jump against her, the way his hips knock forward into her own.

And she's aching and off-balance now, she stumbles back and he's following, wrapped up tight around her and his mouth is back on her mouth, she can't quite recall when that happened but it doesn't matter, nothing matters but the heat of him against her, the slide of his tongue, somehow her hands are in his hair and one of his slides hot down her side, thumb grazing her breast and she's slamming back against her front door with a thump and a whimper, and god it's perfect, it's everything, it's -

Over, suddenly, as the door yanks open behind her and Emma falls backwards, right out of Killian's arms, right into her father's.

He's caught her with his hands on her shoulders, still facing Killian, and for a moment Emma just stares straight ahead, frozen - Killian's eyes are wide and more than a little horrified, his hair mussed and his clothes rumpled and as Emma watches, he puts his hands in his pockets, shifts a little to - oh god, to hide his erection.

"Hullo, Dave," he attempts, voice rough and teeth flashing in some sort of cocky, embarrassed excuse for a casual grin.

David's hands tighten on Emma's shoulders. "Hook," he growls back.

There's a beat of silence.

And then suddenly, Emma's brain catches up to reality (her father interrupting her making out with her boyfriend, this is her reality), and she wrenches herself free of David's grip.

"What," she says - wants to snarl, but it comes out more a gasp, because she can see his eyes flick down and the hollow of her neck is suddenly burning (a hickey, oh god he left a huge hickey, this is all so stupid), "are you doing, Dad?"

David crosses his arms, manages to look simultaneously smug and traumatized (it's just a hickey, Emma can't help but think almost fondly, not the end of the world). "You were being loud. I didn't want you to wake your brother up."

For the second time tonight, all Emma can do is move her mouth silently, words completely beyond her. It doesn't matter anyway, because apparently David isn't done.

"Besides," he says with a pointed look at Killian. "It's late, you should be getting to bed."

Emma winces in anticipation of the coming innuendo - as does David, barely half a second after the words leave his lips - but even though a retort has clearly occurred to him, Killian contents himself with biting his lip to (fail to) hide his grin.

"Aye," he says, straightening and taking a hand out of his pocket to run through his hair, "I see your point, mate. Till next time then, milady?"

He turns to Emma, gives a kind of little mock-bow with a wide grin and a wink, and even though her cheeks are still hot and she can't believe this is happening, she thinks he's kind of enjoying this. It's like when he picked her up and David made that comment about driving them: the glint in Killian's eye is a little more than just pleasure at messing with David, a little like joy that he has to fend off an over-protective father at all.

(Emma thinks of being fifteen, staying out all night because she knew no one would notice she was gone, and a little part of her agrees.)

"Fine," she says, more than a little grumpy, and turns to her dad. "Just let me say goodbye."

"Go ahead," David allows, not moving an inch.

With a groan, she spins back around and yanks her arms out of Killian's jacket before stepping forward to pass it to him - and then leans up to press a quick kiss to his lips, more out of anger at David more than anything else (Killian's smirking as she steps back, he gets it).

"Bye," Emma manages, barely, before David practically slams the door. The rattle of the deadbolt that follows is just ridiculous, and before she knows it she's rolling her eyes and stomping away (stomping, like a little kid).

She turns back sharply, halfway up the stairs - and meets her mother's eyes. Mary-Margaret is sitting on the couch, grin a little rueful but all too wide, and she nods a little, like she's giving Emma the go-ahead for what's about to come.

"I am an adult," Emma hisses at her father, who is still (still!) standing protectively in front of the door, like he thinks Hook's going to smash through it and steal away Emma's (long gone) virtue. "Never do that again."

She spins back around before he can reply, stomps the rest of the way upstairs and yanks off her shoes and dress the moment she's out of sight from below, pulling on a sleep shirt and sliding straight into bed. She should go downstairs, take off her makeup and brush her teeth and say goodnight to Mary-Margaret, but she's still simmering so Emma just grits her teeth and curls up next to Elsa's sleeping form (and damn it, she really needs to move out, somewhere she doesn't have to share her bed, somewhere she can't hear her parents talking about her clear as day).

"I told you not to," Mary-Margaret is saying, voice a little muffled by the blankets Emma's wrapped herself in, but still obviously amused.

"I know," David replies wearily, and a moment later there's a whumf as he flops down on the loveseat next to his wife. "You were right. She's right. I know. But... I could hear them."

(The mortification that'd taken a backseat to righteous fury abruptly decides to reassert itself. Emma snuggles down into her blankets a little further, trying not to press a hand to her neck.)

"At least we know she had a good time," Mary-Margaret's voice drifts up, even more amused than before, and David makes this horrified noise of protest, and Emma blushes, and then her mother yawns and says, "Well, come on then, let's get to bed."

And Emma thinks - her mother's been desperate for sleep ever since giving birth, there's no way she'd be up this late normally, not unless the kid was forcing her to be. Or unless… unless she took a picture of her daughter's (first) date and stayed up till she got home, sitting on that couch and waiting with David by her side, waiting up for Emma like she's fifteen years old and going out with a (gentleman) scoundrel.

And suddenly she's grinning into her pillow, because that giddiness has taken over again and anyway she practically was a teenager, making out against the front door, hickeys and all, maybe she deserved to get interrupted just this once. Her lips still feel tender, and she'll definitely have to do something about her neck, and she needs to move out soon so nothing like this ever happens again, but - just this once (she wiggles her feet next to Elsa's, imagines if she were awake and they could whisper under the blankets, before deciding that would be a little too much), it's kind of… nice.

Emma closes her eyes, and she feels warm and loved, she can still hear Killian's voice all low and nervous and - it's terrifying honestly, because this is probably the best night out she's ever had with a man and it didn't even involve any real plundering - but she can't stop smiling.

She falls asleep still smiling.