Prompt: I've always wanted hook taking a shower at Emma's while she washes his clothes (he gets new clothes?) And he walks out in just a towel. Others have done it better than I can, but here's my contribution. Just a bit of humor and perving on Hook, because reasons.
"Payback, my dear. It's a bitch."
The best foster home Emma had ever had was helmed by a single, older lady by the name of Alice. Alice was a kind-hearted soul who loved to bake sweets — cookies, pies, cakes, crepes, brownies — and had an old proverb or saying for every occasion — "measure twice, cut once," "you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear," "a fool and his money are soon parted."
Her favorite saying, though, was frequently used (without an ounce of sympathy) on the boys under her care when they, singly or together, made the mistake of messing with 7-year-old Emma Swan. "Payback, my dears. It's a bitch."
Emma can hear old Alice's voice in her head right now, reminding her that "what goes around comes around." After all, Hook had been nothing but helpful chasing down a burglary suspect for her, and it was awful of her to be amused when they had both landed in a huge mud puddle. She might have had fun laughing her ass off at Hook, covered head-to-toe in mud, but as payback she was now being cornered by a wet-from-the-shower, nearly naked pirate with no concept of personal space.
"Darling, if you wanted to get me naked," Hook said, smirking, "you could have just asked. You didn't have to abscond with my clothes."
"Um," she said.
Getting words to form was disturbingly difficult, her attention caught by a drop of water falling from his hair and rolling ever so slowly down his chest ... and holy shit she had to grip the kitchen counter behind her just to prevent herself from grabbing those fantastically muscled biceps and lapping up that drop of water with her tongue. A mental image of herself dragging a hand through the hair on his chest, down, down, down to where the towel was just barely hanging onto his hips literally made her weak at the knees.
Pull it together, Swan.
"Your ... um." She wrenched her eyes back up to his face and cleared her throat, tightening her fingers further on the edge of the counter. Why exactly had she thought it was a good idea to offer Hook her shower? "Your clothes are hanging in the laundry room. I did the best I could to get the mud out of them, but they still need to dry."
"And until then?" He leaned in closer, still not technically touching her but close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.
Her gaze skittered away from his eyes and back to his chest. Good lord, just looking at him made her warm all over, like she'd never seen a naked man before. Truthfully, she had fantasized a time or two (or a few hundred times; who's counting?) about him, but she hadn't imagined just how built he was under all that leather. She just knew she was blushing, and the bastard had to know the effect he was having on her.
Was this his idea of the "fun" beginning? Because that would be very bad.
Well, actually, it would undoubtedly be very, very good, but that was bad.
For reasons. That she was having trouble remembering at the moment because damn, more water drops were sliding down his chest, and his hair was certainly not the only thing drenched at the moment.
Eyes up, Emma.
"I was hoping David would be back by now," she said slowly, forcing her eyes back to his face. "He can find something for you to wear, when he ..."
She trailed off as Hook casually dropped his hand on the counter beside her, and leaned in even closer. "When he?"
She felt a tingling in her fingers, just dying to reach out for him, and a tremble in her thighs. And she totally was not thinking about hopping up on the counter and wrapping said thighs around his waist.
She. Was. Not.
OK, maybe for a second she was thinking about having him right in the middle of her mother's kitchen, but then she registered the smug look on his face. The bastard was challenging her, and here she was about to throw in the towel (so to speak) just because of a bit of toned, muscled, extremely lick-able skin right in front of her.
Emma Swan does not back down from a challenge.
Taking a deep breath, she spoke briskly, "When David gets back, he can find you something to wear. Until then ..."
She stared directly into his eyes, dropping her voice into a breathy whisper. "Until then, you need to back off. If you get any closer ... well, I'll be all wet."
She expected a laugh or a grin, maybe a cheesy innuendo to play off hers. Instead, he visibly gulped, his blue eyes blackening and his breath stuttering.
"Emma," he half-whispered, half-groaned.
If her panties hadn't already been soaked, the desperate way he said her name would have done her in, but before she could react she heard someone rustling at the door.
She pushed Hook back, hand lingering only just a moment longer than necessary on his chest. "Get back in the bathroom," she hissed.
The idiot was just grinning at her, so she pointed out the obvious. "David has a sword. And a gun. And an overprotective streak a mile wide."
Hook chuckled and stepped back, just as the towel gave up its effort to hold onto his waist. He grabbed it before it hit the ground, smirked at her once more and strolled back to the bathroom without bothering to cover up again.
And Emma totally did not look at what he was showing off.
Well, maybe just a peek. Or two.
Just because she suffering payback didn't mean she couldn't enjoy it a little, right?