Killian prepares his quarters for Emma - from a prompt in the Tumblr Captain Swan chatroom.
It felt good to be back aboard the Jolly Roger. Over a week ashore had reaffirmed his attachment to the sea. A captain always has a special relationship with his ship Liam often had told him and Killian's attachment to his vessel went far beyond that of man and machine.
After giving instructions to David on what needed to be prepared above deck he had retreated to his cabin to consult the ancient rolls of sea charts that he had gathered over the last two hundred something years. He was confident they could make it – Pan's shadow would carry them.
Slowly he sat at his desk. A flood of exhaustion came over him as he let the tension he had been holding in ease away. Now that Pan was gone and Henry was safe he could… relax. Looking around the cabin he frowned. Housekeeping, whilst not his forte, was something a Captain always prided himself on. Shipshape was the saying and it was integral to the efficient working of the ship.
Shrugging off his heavy, leather coat he let his mind wander. So much had happened in Neverland. So much. But all he could think of was her: Emma.
Where was she now? Probably on deck with her son, and his father. His face dropped a little as he thought of Baelfire's presence. Yes, he'd shown Swan how confident he still was and yes, his heart still believed that maybe, one day, she could… Would…
But old loves are hard to die, he knew better than anyone, and first loves are even trickier.
He shook the melancholy thoughts away and picked himself up. The cabin was a fine one – to be sure. A captain was not expected to live the hardy life of a seaman. It had been decided to rest before the treacherous attempt at returning to Storybrooke. They had split themselves between the officer's cabins – Mary Margaret and David, Regina, Rumple, Bae – but they were one short. Quickly he made a decision, something he could do for her. He set to work.
The bed was stripped and clean linens brought out from the storage chest at the foot of the bed. He couldn't remember the last time he had changed them – these things don't seem important when your bed is bare and it's only function is as a place to rest your head. Goblets and metal plates littered the room - along with the remnants of many a meal: an apple core here, a bite of cheese there. In a blur he rushed from place to place, filling a sack with all indicators of neglect.
Across the shelves that lined one small section of wall he tidied the books and scrolls; he swept the floor, blew away the thick layer of dust that coated almost every surface and used a rag to polish the dull metal mirror that was firmly attached to one wall.
He paused and looked around, a soft smile pulling at his lips as he admired his work. It was almost –almost like it once was… So the bright white paint had faded, the furniture showed the wear of centuries of use and perhaps the odor was not so fresh-but still. Memories of his previous life began to flash before him – the Navy, King, honor, Liam…
"Hook?"
He started and looked up.
"Hook?" came the voice, followed by three small taps.
"Come in," he replied.
The door slowly opened and Emma slipped inside, closing the door firmly. She stood where she was- her hand still on the handle behind her.
"Ah, Miss Swan. How is Henry settling in?"
An uneasy smile appeared on her lips as she stepped forward, almost hesitantly. "He's good. Really enjoying being on board a real pirate ship-"
"Ah yes, the famous Jolly Roger-"
"He thinks it's pretty cool-" her smile warmed. He could tell she was thinking of her son. The look of tension on her face she had worn since he had gone missing was gone, replaced with a kind of softness he was unfamiliar with. For once, for now at least, she didn't need to fight. "He's up there with Regina now telling her your story from his book. She's actually being a good sport about it."
He softened as she relaxed into talking of Henry. She looked so beautiful when she was thinking of something that made her happy. That smile… "Maybe, one day, I could tell him the real story. First hand so to speak." As he spoke he lifted up his hook and she laughed. How lovely was her laugh?
"I think he would like that."
She wandered further into the cabin, running her finger along the long wooden table at its center as she walked, her eyes darting around the room. "Have you done something different?" she asked, turning to look at him.
"Just tidied up a little. Actually, you know-"
"Hook."
He stopped. Her voice was heavy and almost pleading.
"Killian."
He swallowed as she said that word. His name. His real name upon her lips. She took a few deep breaths.
"Earlier, before Skull Island, I wanted to talk to you. No, needed to talk to you."
She seemed lost for words. His heart began to beat a little faster, an unsettled feeling brewed inside him. She was so hesitant, so unsure, so un-Emma like.
"Yes love, I remember," was his soft reply.
"Oh man, this seemed so much easier in my head…" She continued to the end of the table until she sat, looking out over the small windows that backed out onto the now clear ocean. "It's just, well, you see-"
Silently he came up beside her, resting himself on the table before turning his head so his face was inches from hers. His voice was a hoarse whisper, "What is it sweetheart?"
Her hands jumped to her lap and her thumbs rubbed against one another nervously. Finally she looked at him.
"When I said it wasn't a competition, after we rescued Neal, when I said that, I think you misunderstood."
The pounding in his chest grew exponentially. God, he hoped she couldn't hear…
"Really?" he replied.
Nodding she tucked a strand of whispy blonde hair behind her ear. The thin daylight that made its way through the nearby window panes was illuminating her face, casting one side in shadow, highlighting the sharp yet womanly curves of her face. His stomach tightened.
"It can't be a competition if someone has already won. Can it?"
She looked up at him expectantly. He knew she didn't want to say it. He knew how hard even the words that had escaped her lips so far would have been.
"Emma…" he breathed; his face dipping as the word rolled smoothly across his tongue. Such a simple, beautiful name.
Her soft hand on his cheek was surprising as she drew his eyes back up to meet hers. Instinctively he dipped his head into her hand, enjoying its warmth and comfort.
"And I know it's crazy," she went on, "And I barely know you, and you drive me crazy and I don't see how this could ever really work but…" Her brow furrowed a little. She looked around the room – searching for the right words? "I feel it, here." Balling her fist she held it against her stomach.
This time, he kissed her. Oh so gently at first, light – like she was made of something delicate, he was afraid to touch her. Like maybe she wasn't real but some apparition. Her fingers digging into the gap between his leather trousers and thin cotton shirt soon put paid to that worry.
Deeper and longer and harder they kissed - their bodies saying more than their mouths could in that moment.
She drove him crazy. He barely knew her. What on earth could happen between a pirate and the saviour?
All rational questions. All ones he swept aside as he tuned to pick her up, grabbing hold of her thighs roughly with one hand and one sharp metal hook.
And her hands were around his neck and in his hair and they were walking and kissing and murmuring and –
Reaching the small bed below the window he laid her down in the last rays of daylight that shone on the cool white sheets. She was smiling. It was a warm, deep, satisfied smile. Him? Did he cause that?
Introspection, however, was not to be as she took hold of his good hand and pulled her down on top of him.
Underneath him she was soft; he laid his hooked armd to one side and let the other roam as they alternate between lazy tongue flicks and hungry deep mouths kisses. Her hands were discovering his body, they were so small yet strong -he felt his body begin to ignite for her.
And she was pulling away his shirt, and then hers until soft pale skin met swarthy, scarred skin in a delicious mix of sensation. He reached for her trousers and felt for a tie or a button. She seemed amused and whispered in his ear – "Let me, clothing has advanced a little in the past few hundred years." Quickly the problem was gone and she slipped him over onto his back, no mean task in the small space, and began to deftly unpick the leather thong that held his own garments closed.
The anticipation and excitement inside was almost too much to bear… Clearly evident through the thick leather, he groaned deep in his stomach as she squeezed his hardness.
Just as she began to pull the last fastening away he grabbed her hand, "Are you sure love? No going back."
Ignoring him she continued until they were both naked and she pressed herself against him, breathing heavily in his ear, "No going back Killian."
The sound of his name on her lips made his stomach flip. No going back.
"Well then love," he said with a smile, "Let's see if you can handle this."
And then she was under him. And her hands were here and there and everywhere and he felt on fire.
Her kisses burned and branded him as soft moans escaped her mouth in between each one. Her breasts, so soft and supple, were pure heaven. Hungrily he tasted her skin, ran his tongue over each pink nipple until they hardened and she begged for more.
Sharp, hard nails dug into his back. The desire emanating from her was almost suffocating. He dug a knee between her thighs as his tongue attacked her neck. The feel of her dampness against him made his hardness burn and ache for more.
She must have read his mind. Because her hand was there. And his mind was lost. And she was squeezing, and pressing and moving and-
He grabbed her arm and shook his head. "I think it's time I showed you how the English do things."
Her body continued to ripple under him as she looked up, a thin coat of sweat lay upon her forehead. "I think we American's won the last war."
"Ah, love, but we taught you everything you know-"
Then somehow he was pushing inside her and she felt so bloody hot and tight and wet he wanted to cry out and scream damnation. "Gods Emma, fuck-"
She was rocking up to him urging him deeper.
"Now now, that's not the Queen's English."
"King's actually," he quipped before silencing her with a deep, probing kiss.
And there was writhing and pushing and biting and fingers digging into flesh and sweat and curses-
So in sync – how was it possible? Her body bowed and curved beneath him. He was sailing her body with the knowledge of countless years laced with the passion of love's first spark. Yes, he told himself, this could be love.
Was it seconds, or minutes, or hours… Perhaps they would never know, but finally they reached a crescendo. Her, pressed against the glass window, he was behind her, driving inside with a passion and a force that took him by surprise.
And his good hand was on her breast, his hook pricked her thigh, and he felt her unravelling-
"Killian, oh, Killian-"
And with his name once again on her lips her was gone and lost in a swirl ripples and aches and shudders and sweat and – Emma.
Slowly, they slid back onto the bed, huddling together on its narrow surface surrounded by dampened and twisted sheets.
As their breathing settled, he settled his arm over her, reaching across to place a soft kiss on her shoulder.
"Well, sweetheart, that was unexpected-"
And she giggled and rolled into his chest.
"Emma Swan, laughing like a little girl, I thought I'd never see the day-"
"Hey!" she cried, playfully swatting his cheek before apologising with a long, searching kiss.
He shuffled onto his side so he could observe her better. She was glowing. Beautiful.
"So, this was you plan all along, get me alone, seduce me-" he raised his eyebrows suggestively.
"Hardly," she protested, before shrugging her shoulders, "I just got a little carried away."
"I've been known to have that effect on women."
He loved to tease her – push her buttons.
"Oh really?" Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. "And how many women may that be?"
He grabbed the soft curve of waist and pulled her closer, pressing him against her.
"Wouldn't you like to know." Slowly, he traced the curve of her body with the cool tip of his hook. He felt her shiver and revelled in the effect his touch had upon her. "But for now darling, I think that was a draw-"
"Hardly," she retorted, "I rocked you world."
"You whatted my world?" he asked, confused.
Shaking her head she dug her hands into his hair. "You have a lot to learn."
"And so do you. Round two," he cried as begun his assault on her anew.
And she didn't argue.
(They never did quite decide who won).
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