Emma is laying in bed with Killian just as she has nearly every morning for the last...oh twenty years or so: her head on his chest, her own breath synchronizing with the rise and fall of his, and his steady heartbeat thrumming under her ear. Now that their kids are older and less likely to barge in or need them, this is her favorite way to wake up in the morning—tucked into his side and his chest under her hand, and no place to be. Snuggling in as close as she can, Emma begins to gently slide a tuft of his chest hair between her fingers and Killian gives a contented sigh in his sleep. She likes to accuse him of being part cat because when she plays with his chest hair, like she is doing now, he practically purrs for her.
This morning, as the sunlight slants in through the bedroom window, Emma notices something she's been ignoring and avoiding the implications of for some time. Interspersed throughout his dark hairs, are sliver and white ones, gently reflecting the light and practically shimmering in patches where the dark hairs are outnumbered. It's not that she minds or thinks he will stay young forever—this really isn't Neverland or even a cursed Storybrooke anymore—time just sort of...snuck up on her. Given how often their lives have been cursed or in mortal peril over the years, she hasn't given much credence to the idea they would get the chance to grow old gracefully or otherwise. Of course, she has the random gray hair or three as well, but in her mind's eye, she and Killian are always...well, younger. More "Hook and Swan" and less "the Joneses." But this normal thing—getting gray—is truly unexpected and she's strangely grateful for it.
Emma wriggles out from under Killian's arm and props herself up so she is eye-level with her sleeping pirate. He is starting to go silver at his temples, and his "perma-scruff," as she likes to call it, is peppered throughout with flecks of white and every permutation of gray. She thinks he looks roguish as ever, turning her on faster than a weather change in New England. She combs her fingers through the hair that curves around his ear and sighs.
"Something amiss, love?" Killian's sleep-heavy voice asks quietly.
Throwing her arm back over his chest and planting a soft kiss under his ear, she shakes her head. "Nope. Just admiring the view."
He tilts his head to nuzzle with hers. "Why the sigh?" he asks.
Emma wrinkles her nose and grouses, "We're getting older."
"Aye, my lower back concurs," Killian agrees with an exaggerated grimace. He rolls over on to his side so he can look at Emma properly. He throws a leg over hers and pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist.
Emma touches an errant, steely-colored lock falling over his forehead and says, "So does your hair."
Killian responds with a raised eyebrow and a jibe, "Says the woman who's almost entirely responsible for its current state. It's a miracle I've not gone completely white with all your death-defying shenanigans, Savior." He looks at Emma sidelong and inquires cheekily, "Thinking about trading me in for a newer model, love?"
"What?! No!" Emma feigns shock at the thought of it and laughs. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his scruffy cheek. "I like my dinged up, crusty old pirate just fine, thanks. Besides, I've finally broken you in," she states proudly.
With a low chuckle, Killian says, "Oh, you've broken me alright, lass."
Emma rolls them over so she is stretched out on top of him, one arm folded over his chest propping her up, and the other raking through his hair, which even feels different than it used to. It's somehow tougher, stronger; like he is. She gives him a soft smile that highlights the laugh lines around her eyes and accentuates the roundness of her cheeks. "I like you all salt and peppery. I feel like I'm sneaking off with a mysterious older man," she confesses with a twinkle in her eyes.
"You've been doing that since day one, darling. Three hundred and some years is a pretty sizable age gap." Killian runs his hands up and down Emma's back causing her to shiver and rub against him the way she always does, and he always likes, in response. He gives a satisfied smirk and continues, "I'm glad you like it though. I would hate to have to visit the magical apothecary for some sort of age-reversing potion just to keep you with me."
Emma taps him on the nose and rolls her eyes. "That doesn't exist and you know it."
"Then I shall return my bottle of 'Grecian Formula' to Sneezy's straight away," Killian says, making the motions to get out of bed. Emma clamps her arms and legs around him, keeping him in place and smiles against his chest.
"You are incorrigible," she laughs.
"The better to distract you from my fading beauty, love."
"Stop. You look...distinguished," she says, nodding to herself.
Killian shifts to deposit Emma back to his side and crosses his arms over his chest. "Every pirate who sailed the high seas just rolled over in their watery graves," he says, affronted. Emma practically giggles as she hears him mumble to himself, "Pfft...distinguished my arse."
"Would you rather I profess my excitement that someday you will look like the Gorton's fisherman?" Emma asks archly. Killian still won't look at her, but she sees his one dimple starting to emerge in spite of his apparent "disgust."
"Perish the thought. I guess I'll take 'distinguished' then, if I must," he sighs. Running his own hand through his hair, he admits, "I'm just happy I still have hair. And a head, quite frankly. Saw far too many heads of my brethren swinging from yardarms in my time. I'm not sorry to have escaped that particular fate."
Emma cards her fingers through his chest hair again. "Not sure half the women and more than a few of the men would even notice if you lost your head. They can't seem to make the trip up from your chest to your face anyway," she teases.
His grin is unmistakable this time and he scoops Emma up to lay atop him again. He gives her a saucy smile. "Mmm. I've got a reputation to uphold. Can't be a devilishly handsome pirate all buttoned up, can I, love?"
"Uh uh. That would just be...wrong," Emma says as she kisses the hollow of his throat, then makes her way up his neck and along his jawline to his ear. She whispers, "If it were up to me, old guy, you'd be naked all the time."
"Think of the therapy bills we'd be responsible for."
"That's not what I'm thinking of at all," Emma says with a slow shake of her head then bites her bottom lip and winks at him.
Killian's eyebrows rise toward his graying hair and he asks, "Oh no? If it's not the well-being of others, what are you thinking of then, love?"
She kisses the shell of his ear and whispers into it, "Are you deaf now too? Or did you miss the part where I said you should be naked all the time?" He squirms as the air from her mouth tickles his ear.
"Like this?" he asks holding up his pajama bottoms then tossing them away.
"Aye, Captain Graybeard."
Emma began removing her own pajamas and as Killian helps pull her top over her head, nose caressing the bottom of her closest breast just as it's being revealed, he hears something pop and Emma gasp.
"What is it, love? Your shoulder again?" he asks, gently backing away and releasing her shirt so it can slide back down.
Gingerly, Emma rotates her shoulder as she brings her arm down. "Yeah. I moved the wrong way. I think you are going to have to do all the work this time."
"That's what you said last time, darling. It's a good thing I'm not old or anything."
"Yeah. Good thing." Emma smiles at him and cups his face in her hands and kisses him soundly.