The title is taken from William Shakespeare's "Richard III." Dedicated to the wonderful boyfriendhook and to the rest of you who, like me, want more cursed!priest!Killian fics. Un-betaed and my first awkward attempt at something almost-smutty. May Gold forgive me

He is the main suspect and Emma Swan doesn't find it surprising, not in the least.

It is a little after nine on a Thursday and Emma has gathered from Mother Superior that Father Jones has the morning free before noon-day mass. Her boots echo on the wooden floor and she wonders if she should have asked Graham to tag along. The thought of him brings irritation in her throat and she scoffs, wondering why she hadn't noticed him cavorting with the Mayor sooner. She isn't jealous or anything. Nope. Not at all.

She stops in front if the door with the brass bracket reading Father Killian Jones and she knocks. An accented "Come in" welcomes her in.

"Welcome, Sheriff Swan," he says as she steps into his office. "To what do I owe the dubious honor of your presence?"

His voice is like sin, raspy and full of deliciously dark secrets. He sits casually at his desk, papers set in front of him in a neat pile. He is dressed immaculately, in dark suit and deep blue dress shirt making his eyes stand out like the sky. It is the two-day scruff on his face that stuns her, for she has only ever seen the elusive priest clean-shaven and proper, and unbelievably, it makes him look even sexier.

Emma, you are going straight to hell.

She shakes her head, chasing the dangerous thoughts away. "So," she says, attempting inanely to clear her dry throat. "Last Tuesday. Ten pm. Where were you?"

"Not even a 'good morning' or 'how are you?'" he mocks without skipping a beat. "My, my, Sherriff Swan, where are your manners? Might I remind you, dear child, that you are in the presence of God."

She starts at his statement and her heart flutters. He smirks knowingly but she'll be damned if she lets him get the best of her. There is no way he can read minds and see that for a moment she thought he was referring to himself, because truth be told, if gods did exist, she would imagine that they looked like him.

Emma glares at him defiantly. "Tuesday night, Father Jones. Ten o'clock. Where. Were. You?"

His expression is the picture of absolute innocence. "Why Sherriff, I was in my office all night. Alone. The duties of a lowly, devoted servant of God are plentiful."

He is telling the truth and it irks her. Yet, Gold's insistence that the "despicable priest had his filthy hand all over it" tugged at the back of her mind. "Are you sure? I need a timeline here, Jones."

"Hmm," he drones and scrapes his bottom lip with his tongue. Emma stares at it transfixed. Swiftly yet casually, he stands to walk around the desk and leans on it coolly. They are now only a few feet apart. "Evening mass was at six-thirty, which lasts a little over an hour and a half, after which I bestowed the usual blessings upon our faithful parishioners, and then I took my evening meal. I was in bed a little after nine."

She studies him carefully from head to toe. She knows it is the truth. And yet…

"See something you like?"

Her eyes snap to his and despite their playful glint, she knows that it's a challenge. She is briefly reminded of their first encounter at the hospital those many months ago when she had been working on the missing case of David Nolan. Mary Margaret had mentioned that the good father and the nuns would visit the patients on an almost daily basis. She had heard of the reclusive priest from the locals, mostly all consisting of his extremely good looks and charm, and watching him gently hold the hand of a sickly young girl, she had to admit that the comments just did not do him justice. She thought she had been sly with her discreet observation of Father Killian Jones, until his eyes snapped to hers and the knowing look in his eyes conveyed that he knew exactly what she had been doing. Their first official meeting at Granny's diner had not gone any better.

It is a game, she knows, and she is suddenly aware that all the looks and the teases of the last few months have led to this moment. Whatever it is, that unspoken something that hangs between their eyes, has reached its pinnacle and Emma has quite frankly, had enough.

"Perhaps," she says, stepping closer, and she has never felt bolder in her life. A simmering heat pools in her belly and slowly seeps in between her legs.

His smile falters only slightly but his eyes burn harder into hers. "Is that so, Swan?" He says her name like a prayer. "I think a little elucidation is in order." He taps his lips.

"Please," she scoffs and moves nearer, their chests nearly touching. "You couldn't handle it."

"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it."

They would argue about it later but Emma knows that it is she who took the first step. She grabs him by his lapels, rubbing his clerical collar with her thumbs, and presses her lips to his. Quickly, his hand is in her hair and he tilts her head to deepen the kiss. His tongue runs across her lips and she groans and she opens her mouth to allow him better access. He moans into her mouth and she moves her hands to his hair, running her fingers through the soft tufts. He moves his hand down her back and uses his other arm to press her form to his even closer. With a guttural moan, and without disengaging the kiss, he flips their bodies and places her harshly on the desk. She wraps her legs around his waist and rubs wantonly against his growing hardness. He releases her lips and groans and then trails slow, wet kisses down her neck.

Emma is on fire, the raging lust between them blinding her temporarily. Something niggles in the back of her brain that what she is doing is wrong, that she is two seconds from fucking a priest on his desk (in a church), and she finds that she absolutely does not give a single damn.

"I thought priests were supposed to be well-behaved," she quips and she feels him chuckle against her neck. "Isn't this like a mortal sin or something? What would people say?"

"I am only human, darling," he replies and bites down on her shoulder gently. "Only God is my judge."

She opens her mouth for a clever retort but he silences her with a kiss and all thoughts flee her mind. Somehow she has managed to remove his blazer and it lies in a pile at their feet. Her fingers are struggling to remove the white collar that mockingly reminds her of his position and he grasps her hand, stopping her.

"Easy there, Swan." He presses a gentle kiss on her palm. "Allow me."

With a flick of his wrist, the collar is thrown on his desk and he smiles at her warmly. It is different from his other smiles, which are usually sarcastic and irritating, and the realization makes her racing heart skip a beat. She has the sudden urge to run away and never look back, that despite her mental decision that this will be a "one time thing," that damn smile will bring her back to him many, many times. He seems to notice her sudden hesitation and she coughs before he can speak.

"I'm curious, Jones," she asks in a light tone, attempting to relieve the awkward tension. "How is it that a godly man such as yourself seems so…experienced?"

He raises an eyebrow and grins. "I was a man before I took my vows."

"Really? I never would have guessed."

"Allow me to dispel those doubts that cloud your mind, my dear."

He kisses her again, and this time, it is like his smile, warm and engaging and full of promise and Emma feels as if she has found something she never knew she had been looking for. The thought frightens her and reminds her that he is a man bound by divine law, a law that she has never quite believed in, but a law nonetheless, and she places her hands on his chest to push him back. This is a game, she remembers, and when you play with fire, you always get burned.

"Why are you doing this? This—this thing… You know, whatever this is." She gestures between them. "Do you usually do this? Do you seduce women and then pretend that you are all holy and just?"

He grabs her hand harshly and presses it behind her on the desk hard, making her body arch into him. His face is suddenly next to hers and he sniffs, breathing in her scent, rubbing his coarse cheek against hers. The fear in her chest is unable to mask the fluttering of her heart.

"There has been no one else, Swan," he says, and it's a promise. He has never lied to her. "No one… until I met you."

Emma closes her eyes and swallows. There is no turning back. She turns her heard and kisses him.

Eventually, most of their clothes end up in piles on the floor and the only sounds from the room are their moans and their grunts and their sighs. They never notice as the lights flicker with every thrust or the whispers of the fates or the glimmer that envelopes Emma as she reaches her peak. They never notice the gusts of magic that curl around the room that dispel any and all intruders from disturbing their shared moment.

And as they both reach the highest point of their pleasure, Emma, in her release, never notices the abrupt stiffness in his shoulders and the sudden darkness in his eyes. The moment is brief and he relaxes and he eyes the blonde in his arms curiously. Her eyes are closed and her lips are parted and she is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. It is a shame, he muses, that she hasn't realized what she's done.

He smiles.

TBC? Review?