This started out as something dirty and rough because my muse wasn't playing nice and then it kind of… shifted.

Set after the mid-season break. Enjoy :)

…

Everything Has Changed

…

"Killian," she calls, charging through the door and slamming it behind her. When she is not immediately greeted by his response, she tries again – louder still, "Killian!"

From somewhere in the depths of the apartment she had recently purchased for herself, she hears a muffled answer. Her body surges forward and in the direction of his voice, making it halfway down the hallway towards the bedroom she has long given up the pretence is hers alone before she hears his footsteps carrying him towards her.

"Oh thank fuck," she sighs out upon seeing him.

His sentiment isn't quite as relieved, "What in the devil happe-"

But he's cut off as Emma launches herself at him, hands meeting the top of his buttoned shirt and ripping it outwards and off his shoulders. Her lips are on his in the same breath and legs wrapped around his hips a moment later. Everything is desperate and breathless, their lips bruising in seconds. She moves her attention down his stubbled jawline and to his neck, biting down as he groans.

"Darling, not that I'm complaining…"

The question not asked dangles in the air, but she hastily pulls herself back up to his face, hands braced on his cheeks, one thumb pressing on his bottom lip as he breathes heavily onto it. Her eyes are frightened and intense, more green than grey and he knows that means that she's been crying.

"Swan," he breathes.

She shakes her head, her own breath hitching as the tears well up again. "Just…" she kisses him where her thumb lies, "Please just…"

And he nods, pressing her into the wall behind her and shifting his hips to roll into hers. Her head lolls back, eyes closing and teeth taking her bottom lip hostage. He does it again, relishing in her pleasure and taking the moment to take in her appearance.

Her clothes are torn, hair windswept and chaotic. There are smears of dirt and blood on her face, ugly purple bruises already marring her pale skin and he aches to heal them all.

When he doesn't move for a while, her head tips back up, eyes opening and looking upon him with intensity, "Don't stop."

Every bone in his body is desperate to know what happened out there. She was supposed to have just been on a normal shift. Patrolling the streets of Storybrooke as it returned to normalcy after the mess that was Shattered Sight. But the way she has herself pressed against him screams anything but normal, anything but quiet.

What she needs right now is not an interrogation so he pulls away from the wall, carrying her to the next doorway, bracing her against the frame and switching on the light to the bathroom. He doesn't ask if this is what she wants but she nods anyway, kicking the door shut behind them with a booted toe. He sets her down, reaching into the shower to switch the water on and, in the brief seconds he has his back turned, she manages to strip naked.

She steps up to him, kissing his gobsmacked lips again and helping him rid himself of clothing as well, including the brace that holds his hook, before stepping backwards and into the warm stream of water. She hisses and gasps when it touches her raw skin and it's only then that Killian realises how scraped and bruised Emma really is. Her thigh is red where it looks as though she slid along the ground, while a black bruise is forming on the side of her ribs.

He almost asks, but stops himself. He just wants to make her feel good.

She guides his hand between her legs, leaning back against the cool tile while the hot water streams down her belly and into his cupped hand. Moans of pleasure escape her as his fingers play across her most sensitive skin, the dirt and blood of the day washing away beneath their feet. He stays intent on the way her body moves, focuses on how she lifts up on her toes when she's close to tumbling over the edge and catches her against his chest when she breaks.

He brings her down slowly, their foreheads pressed together while the water beats down around them. She gasps for breath and he kisses her, taking it from her again and again.

Her hand wraps around his length and he shakes his head, "Tonight isn't for me."

She insists though, moving her hand with purpose and making his legs shake with how she knows what to do to him, "It's always for both of us. That's how we work."

He's positively vibrating when her hands move back up to his neck and her legs wrap around his waist again and she tells him it's okay to let go when he enters her and can barely keep it together.

…

Her hair is almost dry when she tells him. They had fallen into bed, naked and vulnerable and wrapped up in each other, tracing patterns on each other's skin just to stay awake and not lose any part of this moment. It's been silent for some time when Emma kisses his neck and whispers, "Gold is back."

He feels his heart contract and his lungs seize up. He's always been a man to face his fears, a man to fight, but his priorities have shifted now with her. Everything is different. She soothes him and promises that they'll figure this out, that he'll be kept safe. He hopes she realises that his fear is not for his own life, but for hers.

For six blissful weeks the world had righted itself and spun on an axis of normal. And now, now it is spinning out of control again. Emma curls into his side, pressing every inch of skin that she can against him, aching for the comfort of their familiarity. It takes time, but her eyes finally slide shut.

He stays awake though, watching her sleep and daring to hope that he's picked the right side this time. His feud with the Crocodile is one that has lasted centuries and he's not naïve to think it could be over as simply as the man being exiled.

Eventually he lets his eyes close as well, dreading the nightmares that are sure to come. But even as his heart rate picks up and he feels the darkness threatening to envelop his soul, her hand comes to sit on his chest, her lips touching just beside it.

"I love you," she whispers to the night and he's not even sure if she knows she's said it. He breathes the words back to her anyway and a warmth grows from the place her hand lies on his chest out and into every extremity of his body. Magic, he realises.

He kisses the top of her head, breathing in her warmth. And maybe, just maybe, they can fight this fight and win it.

…

Thoughts?