A/N: Inspired by the lovely ladies on Tumblr, and all the amazing First Kiss Scenarios. Just one of MANY, MANY ways I envision a first kiss between Hook and Emma. Enjoy!

I own nothing, don't sue me.

Dead Man Walking

"What if I was dying?"

Emma rolled her eyes. This past week had been interminable, for Hook had found a new way to drive her insane. "You're not dying," she pointed out.

"Not at the moment, no, but if I was ... " He grinned at her boyishly and she shook her head, wondering what it would take to shake him off this time.

The truth was, she found this game far more unsettling than any of his previous attempts at annoying her. Because the truth was she'd thought about it far more than was good or proper.

She sighed heavily. "Well, what are you dying of?" she wanted to know, then mentally slapped herself for playing along when his grin widened.

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"Yes," she said emphatically. "Because if you're dying from plague ... " She made a face of disgust.

"Point taken," he said with a slight chuckle. "No plague. Mortally wounded, but not in a way that messes with my devilishly handsome good looks." His smirk was wicked.

She gave him a look, doing her best to ignore that down-low tingle he always seemed to ignite with that particular smirk. "You really need a new hobby, Hook," she told him, keeping her own expression bland.

"Answer the question," he said, moving in a little bit closer than he needed to.

"I've answered the question," she said. "About a thousand times this week. The answer is always no. There is not a single situation that would make me kiss you." She smacked his hand away lightly when he moved to brush her hair off her shoulder. God, he was a freaking nuisance. "Stop that."

"Million dollars?" Hook had figured out, very quickly, the value of money in this world. Typical.

She threw up her hands. "You're infuriating!"

"That's rich from you, love," he said dryly. "You're actually telling me that you wouldn't grant a dying man his final wish?"

Emma paused with her hand poised on the handle of the door to the sheriff's office. "Okay, fine, but tell me why said dying man would waste his final wish on ... that."

"On what?" Killian asked, his expression completely bewildered. "On a kiss? Emma, love, you have obviously not been kissed good and properly if you need to question that," he said, and his tone had not one iota of teasing in it now. In fact, his whole demeanor had changed, from light and teasing, to hungry and beseeching.

Emma swallowed the lump that formed in her throat as she looked up at him. He took another step toward her, and suddenly all she could smell was him - rum and leather and the sea - and it was dizzying.

"What if he doesn't ask?" he said, voice low as he looked down at her.

"A gentleman would ask," Emma said, her voice just as low, her eyes still on his face. She was proud of herself for not closing the scant distance between them like she so badly wanted to.

He gave a small smile at that. "Right you are," he breathed, his hand moving to cup her cheek. His tongue darted out, moistening his lower lip and Emma was transfixed by it. "Kiss me, Emma."

"You're not dying," she whispered.

"That's where you're wrong," he said, his fingers finding their way to her hair now. "If you don't kiss me now, I might well perish."

She leaned in, her eyes closing, but at the last second, just before her lips met his, she pulled back. "Is this all part of the game?" she asked him, scrutinizing his face closely. "So you can laugh at me afterward about how easily I gave in?"

"Bloody hell," he growled, shaking his head. "You are the most maddening creature I have ever had the displeasure of knowing, do you know that?"

"I just ... " But she wasn't able to finish her sentence. He hauled her against him, and the time for asking permission was over, because his lips were on hers, and they were hot and hungry, his teeth dragging over her bottom lip, his tongue soothing the same area while his fingers tugged insistently at her hair.

She felt her back being pressed up against the side of the building, Killian's weight keeping her pinned there as he continued to assail her mouth. A jolt of something passed between the two of them, rocking her entire existence. Her hands pulled at his lapels, desperate to have him closer. A soft moan escaped his lips then, it sounded almost like her name, and it was enough to turn her knees to jelly. Her hold on him tightened, for he was the only thing keeping her upright.

And he was the reason she was falling.

She pulled away, just a bit then, her breathing ragged. She noted, happily, that his was just as labored. "You're not laughing," she managed to gasp out.

"And you've not slapped me yet," he uttered, his eyes on her face.

Her hands still rested on his chest, his hand was still tangled in her hair, and neither one of them made any move to step away. "Probably won't be doing that," she said.

He kissed her again, but this time his lips were chaste against hers, and it was over quickly ... too quickly, Emma thought with some dismay.

He pulled away then, stepping back from her, and his expression was one of great remorse. "Thank you," he said then with a slight bow of his head.

Emma frowned. "For what?" she asked, confused.

"For granting a dying man his wish," he told her, backing away from her slowly. "I've a meeting with a Crocodile that I'm late for." And then he turned around and walked away.

Emma's eyes widened as realization sank in. "Son of a bitch," she muttered. She needed to run interference on that meeting, somehow.

She wasn't about to let a first kiss as amazing as that one had been be their last.