First Encounters of the Close Kind

Cowardly Killian just seemed exceedingly jumpy around Emma to me… I had originally intended for this to all be cutesy and funny, but it wanted to be somewhat… heavier. So this is what came out as I typed. I'm not sure about how it turned out, but I'll leave it to you to judge.

Killian feels his face flame red even as he paws quickly through the clothing chest they'd found in Captain Blackbeard's quarters. Just remembering it was mortifying.

She – Emma – had run straight into him, and all he could do was stare like a dumbstruck idiot. Which, to be fair, he had been. Both dumbstruck and an idiot, that is. But still. To once be suave and collected in front of a woman? Not bloody likely, he sighed hopelessly to himself.

And of course she had to be beautiful. He'd stumble all over himself with most any female that crossed his path, never mind one so lovely as Emma.

When you're an orphan by the age of 12 and forced to beg for the chance to swab decks in exchange for some bread and a corner of the ship hold to curl up in, you don't exactly become well-versed in navigating exchanges with the fairer gender.

His standing on the ship did him no favors; as was the case when the boy appeared, Killian was often left to clean and guard the ship while the pirates themselves went off to first acquire supplies, then acquire female company for the few nights they were in port. The few times he'd been given a reprieve as a randy teenager yielded nothing for any attempts at imbibing in the libations of the taverns had left him too red and itchy to contemplate trying to woo a woman. Some men, he knew, exchanged coin for the company of certain women, but he had little to his name anyway. As time passed and he grew older, his inexperience became a source of shame. He now routinely turns down his few chances to head to town, preemptively embarrassed at the prospect of a woman finally inviting him to her bed, only to find how impossibly inept he was.

Finally Killian happens upon a few sets of smaller clothes, likely left in Blackbeard's chamber by one of the many women the captain had had over the years. Killian plucks a few articles from the chest and tucks them into the crook of his hooked arm, then crosses the room to where Emma is rifling through a wardrobe.

"Uh… I found these," he manages to stammer.

Emma looks up with a smirk and he feels himself flush hotly again. He holds his arm out, the clothing perched on it, while scratching at his ear shyly.

With a bemused smile, Emma takes the clothes and shakes out the creases, holding them up to herself. "This should work," she declares, dropping the shirt away from her figure.

Killian averts his eyes immediately. The obvious swell of her breasts in her dress is already dangerously close to inciting a stirring in his trousers; he can't afford to let his gaze linger.

"I'll leave you to it then," he says hurriedly, intending to join Henry up on the deck.

"Wait!" Emma blurts out. "I need help getting this stupid dress off…"

Killian freezes.

"It's too tight. Laces and corsets and stuff," she adds, clearly unaware of the torture she is about to inflict.

"Perhaps your boy could assist?" Killian manages to squeak.

Emma snorts. "Because every mother wants their kid to help them change clothes. No thanks. Just get over here."

He manages an uncomfortably dry swallow. But seeing no way out of the situation, Killian steels himself and turns back towards Emma.

She merely smiles demurely and turnes her back to him.

So Killian reaches gingerly to sweep her hair over her shoulder and examine the dress itself. A line of infinitely small buttons fastens the fabric together down her spine. Especially with a hook and only one hand, it is not easy, but eventually he manages the feat, and even stays relatively unaffected given the focus the task required.

But then the dress slipps from her shoulders and she quickly wriggles her arms from the unwieldy fabric.

Killian's breath catches in his throat at the sight of so much alabaster skin bare to his eyes. Her back. Arms. Shoulders. Neck… He says a silent thank you to the skies for Emma having caught the dress to hold it in place at her waist, otherwise…

He coughs and reaches down to adjust himself in a feeble attempt to quell the surge of arousal bubbling up inside him.

"Can you just loosen the laces on this thing too? I miss breathing properly," Emma quips lightly.

"Aye," Killian chokes out. A quick tug on the ribbon should have been enough, but it is his luck that it has become terrifically knotted. And in the dim light of the shadowed cabin, it requires him to kneel behind her in order to get a better view of what he is working against.

And a better view of her backside. Just inches from his face.

Any hope of controlling his arousal is futile, a painfully obvious bulge now evident in his leathers. He just hopes that once the task is done, he can make a quick exit to the cool air of the deck above without her noticing.

Eventually the knot is defeated, and lest the lace loosen any further whilst he is still in the room, Killian leaps to his feet and stumbles hurriedly to the ladder behind him, tripping on something along the way.

Which, unfortunately, gives Emma enough time to whirl around at the noise. He can't be sure what she sees, but he can be sure that he blushes an even deeper crimson as he races up the ladder.

Backing away from Killian shakily, Emma is relieved to see Henry appear from around the corner and with him the promise of food and distraction from the sparks that were clearly flying. Even as she dutifully follows her son, the memory of reaching around Killian to grab his sword remained vivid, the feel of him jumping as she did so… Emma feels her stomach flip flop at the recalled sensation.

He is so different, this Killian. A cocky, scheming pirate in disguise. A brazen, drunk, horny pirate in a tavern. A pushy stranger dressed like a pirate in a New York hallway.

Those three she could reconcile with each other.

This painfully shy version with next to no confidence? Emma still can't quite wrap her mind around it.

Not that his bashful blushing and awkward bumbling isn't endearing, because it absolutely is. That adorable ear scratch that even her version of Hook does when uncomfortable is present in full force and there is still clearly an undeniable electricity between the two of them. There always is.

And now, now she walks a fine line. She gathers from Henry that it had only been a couple days at most since they'd actually been cast into this alternate reality concocted by Gold and the author. But even with her real world memories still firmly in tact, it feels like ages that she'd been imprisoned in the tower. And ages since she's seen Killian. Or her version of Killian.

This closeness is dangerous. She misses her Killian, her Hook, and this version is still the same person, even if he doesn't know or remember it, and he is clearly interested in her (it could have been a trick of the light, but she doesn't think she'd been imagining it when she'd caught a glimpse of a telltale tenting in his pants when he'd hurried out after helping her undo that horrific gown), and it would be so easy to act on it, lean up and kiss him in the midst of their sword fighting lesson. But for as responsive as he is to her, there is a skittishness to his reactions. Like he is both tempted but terrified by her.

That, she couldn't figure. But it matters little, she reminds herself. Even if this isn't the same as their adventure through time, it is probably still best to avoid any unintended consequences. Rein in those feelings and hormones and focus on getting back to her own world, where Hook is back to his normal self.

She shoots one last furtive glance at Killian before hurrying to catch up with Henry.

With Henry out like a light, Emma still tosses and turns in the small rented tavern room, unsettled by the events of the day. At home, this would be the point at which she'd shoot Hook a text or two, maybe call to hear his voice to calm her down. That is, if she wasn't already with him for the night. The arrival of the Jolly Roger had been fortuitous, given that Emma's close-quartered living situation persists, as does the thinness of the walls at Granny's. And for as amazing as the long-delayed sex had been (and it had been aMAZing) (every time, not just the first), it's actually been the aftermath, the snuggling, the cuddling, the comforting warmth of his embrace as they drifted to sleep skin to skin, that was the most pleasant surprise for her. She'd never had that. Ever.

The unnerving prospect of potentially being stuck in this twisted reality leaves her longing for that newfound sense of comfort.

But her Hook isn't here. And it isn't him in the room across the hall either. Or he is, he just doesn't know it.

She has the fleeting thought that maybe she could go to him, this quiet, meek Killian, and ask to just lay with him for a bit. Or even just a hug. But she attempts to quash the idea as quickly as it springs up. She'd already dealt with her Hook being not exactly pleased with her getting too close to another version of himself. Then again, he hadn't yet been her Hook, per se, at the time. So a little jealousy over his past self getting what he hadn't yet really had wasn't exactly outrageous.

But now? She can't really imagine normal Killian being too upset with her wanting to be held by this alter ego, especially considering it isn't even really a second him. It is him, just him given false memories and traits. Not if it might offer her a bit of the comfort that she really does need right now.

Against her better judgment, Emma slipps from beneath the rough sheets on the lumpy mattress. She'd gone to bed in her clothes for Henry's sake, so there is no need to pause to dress before stealing silently out of the room to knock softly on the opposite door. She holds her breath, telling herself that he may not even answer, probably already asleep.

Then the door swings open.

He is dressed much like her, the outer layers shed, down to a thin shirt and his leather pants, feet bare. His hair is mussed and he's washed away the dark liner from his eyes. Emma bites her lip. He is her Hook.

After a beat, she manages to find her voice. "Hey."

"Is everything alright?" He inquires, his eyes darting to the door of her room behind her. "Your boy?"

"Yeah, no, he's fine. I just... miss you?" She offers, suddenly feeling as shy as this Killian seems to be. "Other you, I guess," she adds with a shrug.

He reddens, stammering again as he had after their sword practice with his hand headed for just behind his ear, as usual, "Ah, I'm not sure what I could do to help with that."

Emma eyes him, contemplating for a moment until the utter exhaustion and weariness of the day catches up with her, and she doesn't give a damn anymore about what she should or shouldn't do. "Could I just..." she begins with a question, but ends by simply drifting towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder, her cheek to his chest.

She feels him draw in a sharp breath and tense immediately. But she clings to him, hoping he'll soften and hold her against him.

Softening is not what she feels.

For as opposed to the hug as he seems to be, Emma is sure she could feel the warm, now familiar swell of him against her hip. She feels a fluttering in her belly in response, the sparks of their sword lesson returning before she can tamp them down.

Though she doesn't even get half a second to determine how to react before Killian pushes her away. His head hangs shamefully as he hurriedly turns his back to Emma with his hand and hook making a feeble attempt to shield his body's response from her gaze.

"You should go back to your room," she hears him say quietly as he sits on the small bed with his back to her.

Emma hesitates. On one hand, she can't deny that her own hormones were buzzing from embracing him and feeling his hardness against her, and she's already spent the evening convincing herself not to act on this attraction. On the other hand, something about Killian's demeanor, not even just shy anymore, but almost ashamed, tugs at her heart and begs her to try to comfort him somehow.

She makes a split second decision, stepping quietly into the room and closing the door behind her.

Killian lets out a deep sigh when he hears Emma pull the door closed as she heads back to her own room and her boy.

He grips the mattress with his right hand as he remains perched on the edge of the bed. His body's obvious betrayal of himself juts up noticeably from his lap; yet again, as ever before, he will be relegated to taking care of himself to achieve any semblance of restful sleep.

A self-deprecating chuckle slips out as he moves to unlace the uncomfortably tight leathers. Perhaps he can take comfort in the fact that somewhere, in some other realm or lifetime, his other self is a confidant pirate who has clearly been successful in navigating matters of the heart, and bed, with Emma, and who knows how many others.

"Killian…"

He almost jumps out of his skin as Emma gingerly sits beside him, softly whispering his name. In one fell swoop, he manages to scramble further up the bed away from her and also drag the rough sheet to cover his nearly exposed nether regions. "Emma, you shouldn't be here," he warns shakily.

She lets out a wry laugh. "You're probably right."

Killian squeezes his eyes closed, willing her to leave, willing his body to calm down. Neither happened.

"It's ok, you know."

He draws his gaze up to meet hers questioningly, even as he still clutches the bed linen over his lap.

She nods in the direction of said linen in said lap.

He reddens further.

Emma continues softly, "I'm not exactly… unaffected by you either, you know. You're still the same person."

Killian laughs bitterly. "No, not the same, I'm afraid." He is quite sure his other self has never shared a bed with her in this particular manner, crawling away from her lest he embarrass himself even further.

"But you are," she insists. "And I thought maybe just… being with you… might make us both feel a little more normal, given how crazy the rest of all this is?"

Cheeks aflame, Killian looks down, mumbling, "If normal is you being in bed with me – him – then that just makes it that much more clear that I am not him."

Emma lets out a soft chuckle, "Well, I know this you was never with me, but…"

"Anyone," he corrects before he can catch himself. Killian cringes at having let on far too much. More than he's even let on to anyone, though he is sure his shipmates suspect.

If Emma had suspected at all, it certainly doesn't show in her "What?" of confusion.

Well, at least the mortification of this moment has eased the throbbing in his trousers. Resigned to the truth being out, Killian sighs his clarification. "Not anyone. This is not normal with anyone."

She is quiet for a beat. He keeps his eyes downcast, even as he hears her eventually whisper in disbelief, "…Ever?"

He nods in reluctant confirmation. "Aye."

And just like that, realization softens her voice such that she murmurs his name as if speaking to a small child. "Killian…"

"Just leave, Emma," he sighs, defeated. He's not been able to keep his secret, but can't bear her pity.

He still refrains from looking up at her, not wanting to see that same pity he's just heard, so when he hears her shift, the rustle of the bedding, he once again assumes. This time that she is rising from the edge of the bed to retreat back to Henry.

But she'd ignored his will once more, for the next thing he knows, she's crept up the bed towards him, until she's kneeling just beside him and cupping his face gingerly, coaxing him to look up at her.

His emotions war inside him, humiliation and discomfort tempered by a renewed fire, stoked by the simple touch of her hand to his cheek. "Emma…" he protests weakly.

"Please, Killian," she asks simply as her thumb traces his lower lip. "I need you tonight."

With those words, he knows he'll do anything in his power to help her, could never deny her anything, in this or any lifetime. Still, his prowess – or lack thereof – can't possibly be of use in this moment. Hesitation is clear in his voice when he finally meets her gaze and speaks. "I want to, Emma, but…" He trails off, reluctant to voice his inadequacy again.

"Let me do this for you?" She asks, suddenly timid herself. "Us?"

Killian is quite sure his other self can never deny her anything either. He feels his eyes slip closed and nods almost imperceptibly.

The next thing he feels is the heavenly sensation of her soft lips brushing over his. He's had a few awkward kisses in those taverns before the allergies became too unbearable to proceed further, but none compare to the feel of Emma coaxing his mouth open with her tongue.

He readily complies, parting his lips under hers, a moan slipping out of its own volition as he does so. A shiver runs up his spine at the first touch of their tongues and long gone is any worrying about the evident arousal in his lap, now back with a vengeance.

Still unsure, Killian is more than willing, but follows Emma's lead. She's still perched in an awkward kneel next to him, but as he relaxes, he feels her shift. The hand that had been on his jaw slips behind his neck, her fingers toying with his hair. Her other hand lands on his chest, her thumb teasing the skin exposed by the deep vee of his shirt as she lowers herself to sit sideways on his thigh.

Tentatively, he slips his hooked arm around her waist to hold her to him, the other behind her shoulders to cradle her head to his.

Losing himself in the overwhelming pleasure, Killian grows more confident, relishing the feel of her in his arms to the point that he nearly misses that she's stealthily managed to unlace his leathers.

He pulls back from her kisses with a gasp as she nudges him free of the garment. And when she grips him experimentally, it's too much. He tries to fight it, but a split second shudders at the touch, letting out a strangled grunt and spills over her hand.

The daze of pleasure is short-lived as he unceremoniously pushes her from his lap, leaping to his feet flustered and horrified at himself. "Bloody h- I'm sorry," he apologizes furiously, "I'm so sorry-"

He's cut off by Emma standing as well, gently quieting with her clean hand over his mouth. "Shhh…"

Killian stills obediently, having few other options aside from fleeing the room. He'd tell her to leave, but she hasn't been inclined to follow such instructions yet.

His eyes are downcast in embarrassment, but he catches a glimpse of her feet moving away from him. Curious, he lifts his gaze in time to see her wiping her hand with the small rag next to the basin of water in the corner.

Done, she turns back to him, her eyes searching.

He wants to disappear. He shifts uncomfortably under her studious gaze, and hurries to tuck himself back into his leathers.

But she crosses the room in a few strides and reaches out to still his hand.

Killian looks up questioningly.

With his eyes still on her, she grips the thin shirt covering her torso and lifts it up over her head. She's bare beneath, a sight for him to behold.

Her trousers follow as she unfastens the waist, pushes them down, and steps out of them.

He's seen no other woman nude, but it is of no matter at that moment; he knows that she, Emma, is singularly perfect.

She pads back closer to him and he sucks in a breath sharply, waiting for her next move. She stops in front of him, impossibly close, her warm breath tickling his chest hair as she begins to unfasten the buttons on his shirt.

He balks when, slipping the shirt off his arms, Emma skims her hand over the leather of the brace that holds his hook. He's surprised when she pays it no mind, though he fleetingly realizes he shouldn't be; she's used to it, given that his other self must wear the same contraption.

Then she's back at the laces of his leathers, loosening them further until she can push them to the floor. As she rises back up, she brushes his still limp cock and looks up at him with a coy smirk. "Think we can make it a little further this time?"

Killian lets out a nervous chuckle, not trusting his vocal capabilities any more than any other bodily function at the moment.

And then she's reaching up, pressing her lips to his again, and he starts to care a little less about his rather quick reaction a moment ago. When he feels her grab his hand and lift it to her breast, he pulls back to watch, wide-eyed. Emma's hand over his, guiding him, Killian tentatively cups the smooth, pale skin, exploring the soft weight of it. Lingering embarrassment dissolves into something resembling pride as a mere experimental brush of his thumb over her nipple is able to elicit a soft hiss from her.

He repeats the motion and she shudders against him as the skin tightens to a pebbly texture. Mesmerized by her response, he ventures a gentle squeeze.

Her breathing grows heavier as he drags his thumb over the nipple once more and he tears his gaze from his hand to focus on her face. Her cheeks and neck have gone pink, her eyes fluttering mostly closed.

Killian reaches to massage her other breast, uttering in the barest whisper, "Emma, you're exquisite."

She pulls her eyes open long enough to make eye contact with a smirk. "Speak for yourself," she replies, raking her nails over his chest.

He shivers at the contact. And he wants more, but hesitates, unsure.

Emma must sense it, because not a heartbeat later, she's gripping his wrist and leading his hand down. "Touch me, Killian," she breathes.

He holds his breath inadvertently as his fingers slowly venture between her legs. Soft, slick, warmth welcomes his touch and Emma's legs wobble, leaving her to clutch at his shoulder for support. He wraps his hooked arm around her lower back to holder her to him.

In his embrace, she launches herself upward, capturing his lips in a kiss once more, and whimpers into his mouth as his fingers explore further.

With such responses, Killian learns quickly, probing deeper, alternating with brushes against the hardened nub. His earlier lapse is rapidly becoming a non-factor, the noises she's making doing well to rouse him a second time.

Suddenly, she's pulling back ever so slightly, panting and lips swollen as she pushes at his shoulders. "Sit," she urges.

Killian does as she says, allowing himself to be led a few steps backward until he's seated towards the center of the lumpy mattress. He's nearly at full mast again, his swelling erection jutting up towards her as she crawls toward him. He's in awe as she kneels astride him, hovering above his lap such that her breasts are temptingly eye-level.

And as if she's reading his mind, she runs her fingers through his hair, murmuring, "Do it."

He seeks out her gaze for assurance, and when she nods, he leans in and gingerly darts his tongue out, sweeping it over her puckered nipple.

Her response is a low moan and a tug to his head, pulling him ever closer. Killian obliges what he takes to be her implied instruction and opens his mouth to take her in. She digs her nails into his scalp as he continues eagerly, swirling his tongue over her.

In time, he moves to pay the same attention to her other breast, and, growing more confident, wanting even more of a response from her, Killian reaches once more between Emma's legs, rubbing, teasing, stroking. All while continuing to lavish her breasts with attention from his mouth.

More of a response is precisely what his actions earn him, for a few short moments later, Emma's hips are bucking against his hand and her whimpers are near-constant. "Please, Killian, oh god, don't stop, please don't stop…"

He works her frantically with his hand, wanting so much to give her the release that she needs, but not knowing quite how, or if he would get her there.

But his fears are unfounded; a moment later, she tenses, letting out a strangled cry before she slumps against him weakly. He continues to stroke her gently against the soft fluttering he feels around his fingers.

Once her breathing slows a bit, he feels her pull back from where she'd rested her head on his shoulder. She meets his gaze with a sleepy smile and pulls him into a slow, lazy kiss. When she pulls back once more, she glances downward with a smirk. "Ready?"

"I'm not sure I ever could have been ready to meet you, never mind this," Killian admits shakily.

Then, without hesitation, Emma reaches between them, and guides him into her as she slowly sinks down onto his lap.

Killian can't help but lie back, covering his face with his hand to bite back the cries of pleasure that threaten. He fails to muffle a whimper when she rises up off him, only to sink down and sheathe him in her warmth again. He's quite sure death could take him now and he wouldn't care in the least.

As her rhythm grows steadier, his hips buck of their own accord to meet her, his body somehow knowing to do what he didn't.

She's a vision there, riding him, her head thrown back, her breasts heaving. And he knows that, in spite of the reprieve offered them by him having spilled once before, he will not last much longer.

"Emma…" he warns, grunting as he fights his body once more.

And as if these versions of themselves hadn't just met only hours before, she understands his implication immediately. She lets him slip from inside her and eases herself down to lie next to him, reaching for him, coaxing him atop her.

He crawls to his knees between her legs, and he can't decide which sight he prefers – Emma straddling him, or Emma on her back and ready to welcome him back into her body. Both are more than he ever could have imagined for himself.

Leaning down, he rests his weight on his hooked forearm and grasps himself in his hand, guiding himself back to Emma. He eases in tortuously slowly, wishing to prolong this moment as long as possible.

He knows much longer won't be possible.

Once buried inside her, he dips his mouth to hers, capturing her lips and kissing her deeply. His hips begin to rock against her, some long-buried primal instinct taking over.

"Emma…" he breathes, his thrusts coming faster.

She locks her legs around him, pulling him to her, and he's lost. A tortured moan escapes as he feels his release flood into her, and he collapses weakly atop her.

He's still deep inside her, the two of them holding each other, when he wonders what will happen when they succeed in their mission. She claims that he is this other Killian, of her world, and that his entire lifetime here is merely a false memory. He can only hope she tells the truth and that he's not here forever as a separate entity, for as miserable as his lonely existence was until this morning, he's not sure if he could bear a reality in which he's stuck here without her once she's returned to his other self.

Emma pulls him back into the moment, kissing him softly as she lets her legs fall from their position around his waist.

"Thank you, Killian," she whispers, suddenly appearing uncharacteristically shy.

"It is I who should be thanking you," he corrects, slipping limply from her as he moves to lie next to her. "This…"

"I know," she replies softly, resting her head on his shoulder.

He knows she should probably return to her own room, but she's already drifting off next to him.

He allows himself to do the same.

Emma blinks, squinting in the dim blue light of early morning. Her elbow encounters solid warmth beside her and she immediately feels herself flush as memories of the previous night rush back.

But she doesn't have time to reminisce or regret or rehash or whatever; she'd left Henry alone far too long already and could only hope that he hadn't noticed her absence.

With Killian not yet stirring, she slips from the bed carefully and creeps across the room to retrieve her clothes. She tugs them on as quickly as possible.

She paused reluctantly at the door, casting a wistful glance behind her to where Killian still slept.

Just as she was about to exit the room, she hears him, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Thank you, Emma, again. I'll not forget this, nor you, love, no matter the life or realm."

She smiles, closing the door behind her as she returns to her room across the hall.

Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed.