"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

The ceremony had gone by quickly - their simple vows chosen as they were the most succinct - and if Killian had to hazard a guess he would have thought barely five minutes had passed since Emma had entered on David Nolan's arm looking beautiful in a cream silk dress. Now it was over, the silver rings they had bought on their fingers, the registrar looking at them expectantly…. and a frozen expression on Emma's face.

He'd found it almost charming when she had appeared at his door the night before, drenched and with so many questions. Since this whole idea had formed, his sole motivation had been to do a good deed for someone who sorely needed a break. Of course, when she'd mentioned a kiss, well, it wasn't too much hardship to kiss a beautiful woman, was it? Now their friends were waiting, the registrar's words hanging in the air and Emma looked like she was terrified.

He took her hand in his, running his thumb across the back of it, whispering, "Breathe, Emma."

She looked quickly up at him, her expression softening as she gave him a little nod, her eyes flashing to his lips. Oh yes, he thought, you may kiss the bride. Then, she leaned up onto her toes as he tilted his head to meet her until their lips aligned and touched for a second, just like the night before, the briefest of kisses, enough to satisfy their guests.

But as he went to pull away, she didn't- instead, she reached up her hand to wrap around his neck, securing him in place as she increased the pressure on his mouth, teasing his lips open with a brief swipe of her tongue.

If he'd brushed off their kiss from the night before, it was impossible to do so now. She was kissing him; she led their actions, pulling him closer, her other hand resting on his chest, her lips so demanding- like-

Like it was real.

A late lunch in The Rabbit Hole seemed an appropriate way to celebrate their 'union'. It was the place where everyone thought their relationship had begun, after all. They had a private part of the bar to themselves and it was decked out with 'Congratulations' signs and white and mint balloons hung by Emma's eager bridesmaids (self appointed when Mary Margaret and Ruby had insisted she couldn't have a wedding without a bridal party). Their party numbered just over 20 when you counted in a few of Killian's work colleagues and their assorted mutual friends. They served dinner to their guests around four large tables, family style in big bowls - heaps of gooey mac and cheese, miniature sliders and chilli fries all washed down with American beers and pitchers of Lynchburg Lemonade.

It was a damn good party if she had to say so herself. Everyone wanted to wish them congratulations and pass on their best wishes that in fact, she barely shared more than one word with Killian. Which wasn't such a bad thing considering how hard she had kissed him at the end of the ceremony. She told herself it was because she was a little dazed at that point, but if she was really honest, a big part of her had just wanted to know what really kissing him was like.

(And it was great. Of course it was.)

It was past six by the time the hubbub had died down and Emma was able to sit for a moment, slipping off her shoes and sipping on an icy beer.

"That was kind of intense."

She looked up to see Killian grinning at her. His jacket had been long since disposed of, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened. Handsome bastard, she'd thought. Had he always been so attractive? Of was it the smile he was wearing that made him more so?

"Yeah," she nodded as he took the seat next to her and they watched their friends enjoying themselves. "I think we did good though." She winked at him conspiratorially.

"I concur," he agreed, tipping his own bottle against hers until they settled into silence for a moment. "You look beautiful, by the way, I didn't get a chance to say so earlier."

"Oh, thank you," she blushed, her hand shyly coming to her mouth. "I had some help." She added, referring to the hair and makeup assistance that Ruby and Tink had provided that morning. (And also the champagne they had brought that had totally calmed her nerves and helped her not think too much about her encounter with Killian the night before.)

"You'd look fantastic in a bin bag, love."

Now she was really blushing. Killian had never commented on how she looked before.

"Says you," she rebuffed, fussing with the hem of her skirt and arranging it over her knees, "You oughta know you wear a suit very well."

She glanced at him in time to see him grin again and make her heart do a little flippy-thing (that she really didn't want to analyze right then). "Don't get cocky," she added.

"I wouldn't dare."

Somehow it seemed the right time to say something to him that she hadn't done enough. "Thank you for this, Killian."

"You've already thanked me," he whispered, tilting closer to her. "More than once."

"I somehow don't think a thousand times would be enough."

Killian just smiled and picked up her hand and placed a soft kiss upon it.

A couple of hours later a cab was whisking them from the relative calmness of Wimbledon into the bright lights of central London. Beside them were weekend bags, both carefully packed by their crafty friends. Despite their protestations that they did not want a honeymoon, their friends had all chipped in to book them a suite at Blakes Hotel for the evening.

Of course, the room was amazing. The Corfu Suite was decorated in white and grey, a beautiful four poster bed commandeering the space. There was a bottle of champagne chilling for them as the porter took them to their room, a simple note reading 'From all of us' propped up against it.

"They really shouldn't have," Emma sighed as she turned the card over in her hands.

"They're happy for us."

"Which just makes me feel extra guilty."

She sat on the couch opposite the bed and kicked off her heels, scrunching up her aching toes. So this was her wedding night - a suite in just about the fanciest hotel she had ever been in. Pity it wasn't real.

Killian took a seat beside her, his hand finding her knee until she looked at him. "They will never know. It's more of a white lie than anything else."

Emma raised her brows but didn't offer any further comment. She knew he was right, in a way. But she also couldn't help but feel that for a real wedding, this would have been her dream scenario. She'd kinda blown that now - not that she ever expected to actually get married - but still...

"This place is amazing," she whispered, looking around at the towering ceilings and simple yet expensive looking furniture.

"It is," he nodded, picking up the icy bottle before them, "Drink?"

"I guess it is a shame to waste it," she shrugged.

He was already unravelling the foil before she had finished her sentence, popping the cork with a happy chuckle and pouring out two glasses.

"To Mr. and Mrs. Jones," he teased.

"Swan-Jones," she corrected.

"So we're hyphenating then? What about the kids?"

She offered him an arched eyebrow.

"Too far?"

Rolling her eyes, she decided to leave that train of thought and went to explore their suite. There was a small corridor from the door to the bedroom, on one side was a dressing room where their cases had been placed. Opposite it she found the bathroom - it was large and lined with expensive looking gold-flecked marble. At its centrepiece was an oversized spa bathtub, big enough to fit at least four people. It was then that her muscles decided to remind her how much they were aching after a day on her feet and just how much a warm soak would help.

"There's a spa," she announced gleefully as she made her way back to Killian.

She wasn't quite prepared for the sight of him barefoot and with his shirt unbuttoned to almost his navel, his chest hair on full display (since when did she find that attractive? she thought) as he stood nonchalantly with one hand in his pocket and the other holding his champagne flute.

"Fantastic - doesn't champagne always taste better with bubbles? Let's get it fired up."

"I doubt they packed our bathing suits Killian," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

He tilted his head a moment. "You are wearing underwear though?"

"Yeah," she nodded, sinking back more champagne. "But that's not-"

"Come on Swan, I think we deserve it after today's performance, don't you? We're both adults. Nothing neither of us haven't seen before."

Emma chewed on her lip for a moment. Yes, they were not sixth graders, and both had seen plenty of people naked… but she wasn't sure if she was fully prepared so see that much of Killian Jones. But then she did want to try out those spa jets and taking turns seemed stupid when the spa was so big...

"Fine, just give me a few minutes."

She took her glass back to the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the tub. She used some of the very fancy looking bubble bath the hotel had provided to get some suds going (which would hopefully keep them both well covered) and then went about undoing the bobby pins that held her hair in place and unzipping her dress. She stared at herself in the mirror. A simple cotton bra had seemed a good idea when faced with the prospect of anything else showing through the silk of her dress and a non-coordinating pair of lace panties had seemed similarly the sensible option when she dressed this morning. But now she couldn't help but wish for something just a little more cute. Not that she wanted to look cute for Killian, she told herself, she actually scoffed at that idea. More just a whole female pride thing. Wasn't matching underwear a basic girl thing? She sighed in resignation and tossed back half of her remaining champagne.

He knocked (of course he did) just as she was pushing the button to activate the spa jets. She called him in, trying her best not to feel self conscious as she swirled the water with her hands and tested the temperature. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as she slid into the blissful heat; he undressed quickly, leaving him in only a pair of white Calvin Klein's - the tight fitting short kind that left very little to the imagination (and in that moment Emma had a fantastic imagination) and Emma felt relieved that they would both soon been covered by a blanket of suds.

Before he got in, he topped up both their drinks.

"To you and your future in the good old United Kingdom," he toasted, to which she laughed and took a drink.

They talked for well over an hour. About work. Politics. TV. Their prediction that Mary Margaret and David would be expecting by the time the year was out. Their other guess that Belle and Jefferson would be a couple by the time the summer had started. They had so many similar opinions.

"Okay, enough gossip," Emma said as she poured out the last drops of champagne. "My feet are still aching."

"Let me help with that."

Quickly Killian was picking up her feet and depositing them in his lap. His hands wrapped around her feet and as he began to massage them, smiling at the way she softly groaned and laid her head on the back of the tub.

"Thanks," she whispered, "Where the hell did you learn how to do that?"

"I have a great many secrets," he grinned.

"Such as, you were a masseuse in a previous life?"

"Such as, I was in the Royal Navy as a lad and I learned a lot about therapeutic massage."

"You were in the Navy?"

He nodded.

"I had no idea."

"It's not something I talk a lot about. I tried to follow in my brother's footsteps. Turns out I wasn't as good at following orders as he is."

He saw the questions bubbling in her mind, but she didn't ask any more and he appreciated that. His brief brush with military life wasn't something he liked to talk about too often.

"So you tried it and it didn't work out. Big deal - it's what got you where you are now - right?"

He shrugged, considering where he was at that moment, in a spa with a gorgeous woman he was somehow now married to (legally, at least) and he couldn't say that this was a terrible consequence.

"You know why I came to England?"

"I actually don't," he admitted.

She grabbed the champagne bottle and poured out the last of it between their glasses before stretching out his arms along the back of the tub.

"I'd been living in Boston for a while, just ended a really shitty relationship. I had some cash saved up so I thought, you know, I'm gonna do something just for me. I'd always wanted to go to London, and then this guy I knew told me I could get a visa with my work experience-" She shrugged again. "Here I am."

"And so far so good?" he asked.

"Yeah… but if I hadn't of been brave enough to at least try and be different, everything would still be exactly the same."

"I like your way of thinking."

She gave him a tired smile and was reminded of his own fatigue. It had been a hell of a day.

"Maybe we should start winding down. I need to turn that sofa into some kind of suitable sleeping place."

She rolled her eyes.

"We aren't kids Killian," she teased, tossing his earlier words back at him, "We can share a bed."

He was suddenly hot. He hadn't really banked on this. He'd presumed that she'd want a little distance since they were being forced to share a room.

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose."

"It's not that big a deal, Jones. You have seen my in my underwear now."

He was definitely blushing now: she was grinning, her eyes full of amusement as she rose from the water and went to reach for one of the towels that were lain out. The water was running down her body, with little patches of soapy suds drizzling along with it. He knew he shouldn't stare but it was quite the show. By god Emma was stunning. He'd always know that, but there was something about near transparent underwear that clarified a man's feelings on that subject. The water had given him an eyeful of her breasts that were now barely concealed by her bra and the peaked nipples from the cold that were impossible to hide.

With a shaky breath, he looked away. No point dwelling on that train of thought.

But he couldn't help it… wondering what it would have been like if they had fallen into bed at some unknown point in the past. He knew how she kissed, but that only made him more curious to know how she made love - was she vocal and commanding, or a softer, more pliant lover? What kind of sensations could his hands (and mouth) pull from her? All these wondering were only intensified by her wit and her intelligence and that hint of vulnerability she was starting to let him see.

Oh why was all of this only occurring to him now?

She was safely under the covers by the time Killian came into the room, thankfully fully covered in sleep pants and a t-shirt.

When she'd seem him get out of the spa, she'd almost choked. His underwear was hiding nothing and her eyes had almost bugged out on stems. It was wrong to objectify, she knew, but damn how had she never realised what good care he took of himself?

While she dressed she'd tried to remind herself of all the reasons that she hadn't seen Killian as a serious romantic prospect before and frankly she drew a blank. She hadn't exactly been out looking for anyone, but he'd been right there in front of her for nearly two years and she'd never even considered it.

And now that was completely off the table. Great way to mess up your fake marriage for visa purposes to a really good friend of yours? Sleep with them. (The naked way.)

Emma pulled the covers up to her chin as he slid into the bed, whispering good night, before willing herself to sleep.

And willing herself not to dream of Killian goddamn Jones.

A/N: Gotta admit, I'm not sure about how this turned out! There were a few things I wanted to happen which have but, well, I guess we'll see how this slides in when all the chapters are done. Any feedback is always appreciated! Thank you for reading.