Killian is a magician. Emma is his assistant. Light-ish Smut.

Killian had been a magician for years. He'd known Emma almost as long. She became his assistant after a rather interesting audition in which she told him she wanted to see some real magic. (If that wasn't an innuendo he didn't know what was.)

Less than a year after that, they began a relationship. It was a mutual attraction, the spark was definitely there, and he had absolutely zero complaints about the way she always seemed to get riled up after a show, pushing him onto one of the magic trunks in the back room and having her way with him.

Honestly, he looked forward to that part more than the show itself.

This time he was stuck to the wall with knives pinned into scarves she'd tied around his wrists. Tonight's show had been particularly exhilarating. He'd done the Chinese Water Torture Cell for the first time-quite successfully, he might add- and while not as exciting as being buried alive-Emma still wouldn't let him try that- you're not Houdini, Killian-it still gave him a rush, and apparently her too since she'd jumped him as soon as they were backstage, practically dragging him into the dressing room.

She'd taken his top hat that he still insisted on wearing-it made him look dashing, dammit-and placed it on her own head. He watched, attached to the wall, as she stripped out of her sequined costume until she was left in nothing but her stiletto pumps and the ribbon tied around her neck to resemble a bow.

He was straining against his bonds when she started stripping him, pulling his pants off, then his coat, leaving him in only the now wrinkled white shirt and colorful vest. (She liked that vest.)

And like many times before, she ran her mouth over every inch of him, making him squirm and cry out, struggling against the constraints on his wrists. When she finally reached over and placed a graceful hand on the knife he was ready to go ballistic. Standing on her tiptoes, she whispered in his ear: "The magic words, Killian."

"I love you."

He felt her smile against his ear as she pulled back, taking one knife with her. Before she could pull the other he was doing it for her. He flung it aside and crashed into her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her for all he was worth. No time was enough. A thousand times would not be enough. No magic trick, no escape could make his blood heat up, make his heart race like she could.

He lifted her, legs straddling him, and walked blindly to the nearest table, scattering the props off it with one hand, lips never leaving hers. Her head fell back, top hat tumbling to the floor and long blonde hair cascading down like a waterfall of precious gold.

When they broke apart, murmuring words of devotion and exaltation, his hand found hers, clasping it, feeling the warm band on her finger, smiling at the feel of it as her other hand found his and touched the matching piece of metal.

"For" kiss, "this" kiss, "next" kiss, "trick-"

"Killian?"

"Hmm," he breathed against her lips.

"Just do it."

"As you wish," he smiled, watching her slide back onto the table, green eyes mischievous, her hands never leaving his, before he climbed up after her.

And on the table, two hearts beating in tandem, they performed his favorite bit of magic.