A/N: Please note this chapter contains M-rated material. I own Morgan, Vanessa, Claudia, and others that do not appear in either canon.

Chapter 10

Morgan sighed as Killian's hands - strong, warm, and slightly callused - skated across her creamy flesh, caressing her sides, her flat stomach, and upwards to cup her breasts. He was on top of her, his body softly moving against hers as his lips danced across her throat. She entwined the fingers of her right hand in his hair, while with her left she gently raked her nails across his strong back. She could feel, however barely, remnants of old scars. His body was no stranger to them, as he had them in multiple places; they told stories of battles and hardship that he'd endured over the years.

In the back of her mind, she was aware of a draught emanating from the window, which ghosted over their naked bodies. Yet they were too warm and too absorbed in one another to notice.

His lips found their way up to hers, and he wasted no time in capturing them. The kiss that ensued was deep and passionate, her tongue dancing suggestively with his. He groaned low in his throat as she used her hand in his hair to press his mouth harder against hers. She could feel his kiss in every fiber of her being, intensifying the ache in her core. Her heart ached as well, but it was a pleasant ache, the kind derived from such a deep love that even the sea itself envied.

"I love you, my Morgan," he whispered against her lips, his sea-blue eyes glimmering with sincerity, love, and passion. This side of Killian Jones had, up until Morgan, remained hidden, buried under pain and private torment. She was the only one he had ever deemed worthy of sharing it with, the only one who would never think him weak or cowardly.

"I love you, too, Killian," she answered, the words now a soft whisper.

He smiled at her before lowering his head to her breasts, whereupon he began to lavish them with attention via his lips and tongue. She arched her back, allowing a soft moan to escape her lips. Instinctively her legs wrapped around his waist, and he paused in his ministrations to look up at her, smirking devilishly.

"Impatient little minx, aren't you?" His voice was low and husky, his breath warm on the sensitive flesh of her breasts. He returned to his ministrations, eliciting from her even more soft moans and sighs of his name. He felt her run her hand through his dark hair, while with her other she caressed his forearm.

She lay back against the pillows, enjoying this intimacy, these private moments with him. He, too, enjoyed these private moments they shared, not just for the physical pleasure, but the sense of security and closeness, which had been so rare in his life before her that they were essentially nonexistent. She allowed him to touch her where he would, and he smiled at her as her hands wandered over his flesh.

With her every touch she felt him growing more aroused, and at length she asked, "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Not too much," he answered as he kissed her. "It does tend to throb though."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling against his neck. "Shall we remedy that?"

A low chuckle emanated from his throat, causing it to vibrate against her cheek as she nuzzled him. She looked up at him, grinning.

"We shall indeed, my Morgan," he answered her seductively, shifting his hips into position.

He inched forward until he was pressing at her opening, begging entrance. She granted this to him, sliding forward ever so slightly until he was entering her. She moaned softly as he continued to slide into her, groaning her name as her warm wetness sheathed him. He tilted his head back, his eyes closed in pleasure, and she took advantage of the opportunity to run her tongue from the base of his neck to his jawline. His flesh quivered, and she felt his member twitch inside her.

"Oh gods, Morgan," he groaned softly in her ear as he looked down at her, beginning to move in a steady rhythm. She gripped his shoulders, then gently pushed on them. He quirked a brow. "What?"

"Sit up," she told him.

He did so, albeit reluctantly, but found that she had not broken the contact between them. On the contrary, she still held on to him as he moved to sit upright. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He sat cross-legged, with his arms around her and she situated comfortably on his lap. He found he was still buried in her. Striking sea-blue met pale, icy green as his gaze met hers. His entire being was focused on her, and hers on him. Their union, their love, was now made manifest in an intimate, physical manner, and the magic was there - they could feel it, a dull humming in their blood. With every thrust it crescendoed before dulling again.

Their rhythm had grown in intensity and depth, and they struggled to keep their moans of pleasure quiet. Adrian, after all, was still in the house. He knew quite well that his parents were having what he referred to as "a moment," but they still did not wish to call attention to such a private moment.

Killian buried his face in his wife's neck, his beard scratching the soft flesh, though not unpleasantly. She tilted her head back, her lips open in a wide 'o' of pleasure. Her breath escaped in soft gasps as she rode him, and she could feel his nails rake across her back. The pain, however minimal, only heightened her pleasure. She felt his warm, wet tongue ghost across her collarbone and the base of her throat, and in response she ensnared her right hand in his dark hair, quickening the rhythm even further.

Morgan knew her husband's body as well as she knew her own, and she could feel his muscles - strong and hardened after centuries of life at sea - become taut. Inside her she could feel him beginning to throb, a sure sign of imminent climax. Her own body mirrored his, and around him she was beginning to tighten considerably.

They clung to one another as they moved faster, the thrusts now hard and deep. Their sighs had increased to moans that they struggled to keep quiet, and they became swept away with one another, surrendering completely to the magic that was their lovemaking. He placed one hand on the back of her head, urgently pressing her mouth down on his. She moaned low in her throat as his tongue danced with hers, and she could feel their bodies beginning to tremble as the pleasure reached the very precipice.

All at once, the flood gates burst open, and they abruptly broke the kiss, crying out one another's name as they reached climax together. She felt him spill himself into her, and she knew that her own juices had rushed to meet his. They shuddered and trembled, and they could feel their most intimate places spasm as a result of the release. They clung to one another in the wake of the tidal wave of pleasure that had overwhelmed them, and at length, spent and satisfied, Killian collapsed back onto the pillows, bringing Morgan with him.

She lay her head on his chest, now warm and slightly damp with a thin film of sweat. He had not released her from his arms, and even now he still held her tightly, protectively, to his side. He brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and smiled at her, a gesture she returned.

"That never gets old," he panted as he began to regain control of his breathing and racing heart.

"I should hope not. I'd be worried if it did," she answered breathlessly, draping her arm across his hardened stomach. "I've noticed something."

"Hm?" He had taken to caressing her naked back lightly with his fingertips, his eyes closed in bliss.

"You've not gone anywhere near Rumplestiltskin."

At this, his eyes snapped open and he looked down at her. "Why bring him up now?"

"You said that you wanted revenge against him, and you've made no move to do so. I'm just puzzled - I know that you're by nature a vengeful man, and he took the woman you loved, did he not?"

He scoffed at the mention of it. "I never loved her. I was in lust with her, yes, and I was desperate. But love? She never knew the meaning of it. Until I met you, I didn't either."

"Then why get revenge against him?"

"My hand," he replied simply. "He took it, remember? We did go to Lake Nostos before the Curse was cast, but I'm not certain how the Curse being broken will affect it - and you know it will break."

"I'm hoping it will."

"Yes, love, exactly. The point is, I'm still going to skin myself a crocodile, one way or another, but there is another motive aside from my hand."

Morgan had been toying with the pendant he wore round his neck when she looked up at him. "What's that?"

"I want revenge for you."

"Me?"

He nodded. "Rumplestiltskin knew Cora, did he not? He knew what she was doing to you, and yet he stood by and did nothing, not wanting to get involved, not wanting to save an innocent child from her suffering. He stood by and let Cora hurt you again and again."

"Killian-"

"Morgan, I can't let that slide. The only reason why I haven't gone after him is because I want no harm to come to you or our son, which will inevitably happen if I do, at least right now. You two are the only ones I have in this world, you two are my reason for living. Without you I have nothing. He still has some power in this world; magic still exists here, just not in the same form as it does in the Old Realm." He had taken to running his fingers through her dark waves, his lips pressed to forehead as he finished speaking.

"And the Winchesters?" She drew her fingertips lightly across his chest, the dark curls tickling her fingers as she did so.

"What of them?"

"Where do they come in?"

"They're to help break the Curse, aren't they? By killing these creatures."

"I don't know if I can keep them in Storybrooke then, as the creatures aren't limited to here."

"Keep them here because they have knowledge of what the denizens of this world call the paranormal. They can at least help Emma in that way. If we let them go, there's no way to know if they'd ever return."

The truth of this she could not refute. "I suppose."

He smirked in that charismatic, slightly crooked way of his that always drove her mad. "You'll know what to do, my Morgan."

She settled on his chest again, hearing a deep rumble there as he began to sing to her an old sea chanty. She closed her eyes, allowing his voice and her fatigue to lull her into slumber.

"You told her?" Dean hissed to his brother, who sat beside the cell in an old chair. "You told her what we do, when we promised Dad we wouldn't?"

Dean's anger and annoyance were palpable, even from Sam's distance, but he stood his ground. "She has a right to know. She asked for the truth, so I gave it to her."

"Did she believe you?"

Sam shrugged. "I honestly don't know. She said she'll look over the evidence again-"

"I'm sure she would," Dean spat bitterly. "So the bitch has us trapped here and she knows what we do."

"Dean, think about it. In the off chance she does believe us, who's to say she can't help us find Dad? She's got access to police records and such, right? She's probably got a detective friend or two who may be able to help us-"

"Oh yeah, sure, and then they arrest Dad for credit card and insurance fraud."

"Dean, we have no idea where he is. It's been weeks since we've seen him, and we didn't get this text until a few days ago. I don't think he's on a hunting trip anymore."

Dean, who had been staring at the ground with his brows furrowed, looked up at his brother in surprise. "What?"

"It's just…it's this feeling I get. I don't know why, I can't explain it, but you know I've got…you know I'm different. I always have been. My feelings have never been wrong, and I think we've gotten ourselves involved in something beyond what we've dealt with before. This town is just flat-out weird, it has its own feel to it that other small towns don't."

"What're you getting at?"

"There's something going on here that's a hell of a lot more involved than just a few reapers or ghosts. Those we have experience with. Those we can deal with. But this? I don't think we've ever dealt with this before, not on this scale."

"How big are we talking?"

Sam shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know."

Dean sighed and leaned back against the cold, concrete block wall behind him. Sam just watched him, almost sympathetically.

"Jesus Christ, what have we gotten ourselves into?" Dean muttered as he rubbed his face with his hands.

"Claudia!" Vanessa Gold cried to the little girl hurrying down the street in front of her. "Claudia, wait!"

The girl paused midstep, turning to face her mother. "You're slow, Mom!"

Vanessa at length caught up with her, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "Your father will still be there, you know."

"But you said we could have a race!"

Vanessa couldn't help but smile. "That I did, but you won. So come on, sweetheart." She placed her arm around her daughter's small shoulders, and together they continued down the street. The wind was cold, but not biting, and every few moments a flurry of snowflakes would blow past. Vanessa, using her free hand, tightened her coat around her so as to keep out the cold, while Claudia seemed not at all fazed.

At length they came to stand before the pawn shop, whereupon Claudia immediately pushed the door open. A soft tinkling sounded from above the door, the result of a little bell. Claudia loved the little bell above the door, a sound she always associated with her father.

Presently, John emerged from the back, supporting himself on his black lacquered cane. His face, which had been arranged into lines of concentration, softened into a smile as he came to look upon his visitors.

"Daddy!" Claudia cried as she ran to him.

He could not lower himself to her level, as the pain in his leg was much too strong to allow it, but he did open his arm to her, welcoming her into a warm, one-armed embrace. "You two are late, dearie."

"Mommy and I stopped at Granny's," Claudia replied as she looked up at him with bright, dark eyes.

"Did you? What did you have?" He stroked her dark hair, smiling lovingly down at her.

"A hotdog."

Vanessa, meanwhile, had taken to browsing about the shop. She came to stand at the counter, her eyes focused on a dark lacquered box, engraved in silver with the letters S.C. on the side, that rested on a shelf behind the counter. She had been in the shop countless times, yet this was the first time she had noticed the box.

"Honey," she called to John, "what's in that box?"

"What one?" he asked, looking up from his daughter, who still had her arms around his waist.

Vanessa pointed to the appropriate object. "That one."

He followed her finger, and a look of recognition passed over his features. "Ah, that one. That - please let go, Claudi, Daddy needs to get over there - that is going to remain there for some time."

"But what's in it?"

"A very powerful, magical artifact," he replied, "one of the few magical artifacts left in this realm."

Vanessa looked at him, confusion evident in her hazel eyes. "I thought there was no magic in this realm."

"Oh, there is, darling," he answered her as he limped to the shelf behind the counter. "Magic exists here, but it doesn't work in the same way that it does in our realm. It's much more subtle, and only a select few can feel it, so it's thought that magic doesn't exist. It does. From what I gather, it exists everywhere, just in different forms." He lifted the box down from the shelf and placed it on the counter in front of his wife. "At any rate, this artifact was constructed in this realm but still possesses a strong magic of its own."

His hand remained draped protectively over its lid, and she noticed he made no move to lift the lid to reveal what was inside.

"Why won't you let me see?" she asked him. She did not sound hurt or offended, but genuinely curious.

"Because, my love, there are those who would literally kill to have this in their possession, and simply knowing of its existence is enough to mark you for death if the wrong people find out." He removed his hand from the lid and cupped her cheek. "I'm doing it for your safety. By rights I shouldn't have even acknowledged it."

She tensed. "Surely it's not your-"

"No. No, it's not. That's hidden elsewhere, safely I might add."

At this, she relaxed and let out a soft, barely audible sigh of relief.

"Darling, I'm going to ask you to trust me," John said quietly, keeping his voice down so that Claudia, who was currently adjusting her backpack on her shoulders, would not hear. "The object in this box is extremely dangerous, both from a physical standpoint as well as a magical one. You mustn't say a word of it. I'm not going to show you what it is, but you have to realize that it's for your safety as well as Claudia's. Swear to me that you won't say a word of it."

She did not hesitate to answer, "I swear."

He seemed satisfied with this, and promptly returned the box to the shelf, pushing it back into the shadows, out of sight.

"It's best we don't acknowledge it, at least not now," he said quietly.