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Chapter 10: Lost Boy

When she woke the next morning, she was still tucked under Killian's arm, her head on his shoulder, his warm body rising and falling with deep, even breaths. He looked so young and innocent as he slept, his features relaxed and his brow without its characteristic furrow. His full lips, slightly parted, were without trace of the usual smirk or sardonic half-smile. One arm was flung over his head, and she could imagine for a moment how he might have looked as a young boy, his face fuller and less weathered, the scruff that covered the lower half of his face not yet grown. He must have had an almost feminine prettiness. How had that angelic looking little boy become the violent and menacing Captain Hook?

She traced her fingers lightly over the muscles and scars of his chest and down along his lightly furred belly, enjoying the feel of him while he lay unaware. The dawn light was just beginning to break and she could hear the mournful cries of the seabirds as they circled overhead. She could hear them call to each other, then silence, followed by a sudden splash as one of the larger birds plunged into the water to snatch up its luckless prey. Thinking of prey, her thoughts wandered to yesterday's disconcerting series of events, and the scenery-chewing performance that was the Captain.

Remembering her forwardness from the night before, she blushed, pondering the contrast between the roughness of their sex—his evident excitement at her aggressiveness—and the tender and loving way he had comforted her and sung her to sleep after her nightmare. It seemed to her he had consciously adopted two distinct and quite opposite identities –the romantic and gentlemanly Killian, and the darker, more predatory, Captain Hook. She considered that the loss of his family and the possibly horrible circumstances surrounding that loss might be responsible for the duality she saw in him. Perhaps he kept his dangerous emotions and bloody memories caged inside Hook, only free to be lighthearted and loving when he reverted to Killian again. If she were honest with herself, she admitted that she found the Hook side of his character more than a little thrilling, and a part of her enjoyed playing with fire when she played her little game with him.

She continued caressing his belly, which she found unaccountably sexy, the ridges of his muscles hard and unyielding even in a state of total rest, her hand delving lower to discover he was already fully aroused. She touched him experimentally, and he snapped his eyes open, immediately rolling her over on her back. He began a slow exploration of her body, nipping and kissing down her neck to her breasts, pulling first one and then the other into his mouth and sucking on them until she cried out with mingled pain and pleasure. Gently nudging her thighs apart with his knee, he reached between her legs and gently stroked and probed her folds with deft fingers. She was already slippery with arousal and the tension was building in her belly. Impatiently, she tried to pull him to her, opening her legs wider, but he resisted, proceeding to take his time with her, moving at a leisurely pace for what seemed like hours, teasing her and obviously restraining himself. Moving between her thighs, he began to kiss and bite them gently, sucking on the tender flesh in a way she knew he would leave a trail of marks, knew that was his intention. When he reached the apex of her thighs, she impatiently rolled her hips towards him and wound her hands in his dark hair to pull him into her. Grasping her thighs, he held her down, spread her legs further, and then began to tease her with his lips and tongue, sucking her sensitive center until she moaned beneath him. He slipped his fingers into her, his rings cold against her flesh, and she shuddered as he began to curl his fingers and stroke the spot deep inside her that wound her tighter and tighter until she fell apart around him with hoarse cries. He let her ride out the aftershocks, but then began stoking her again until she literally begged him to fuck her. She cried out in pleasure as she felt him enter her, thrusting and rotating his hips in slow, deliberate strokes. Sitting up and pulling her legs towards him, he adjusted the angle of his strike to precisely probe her most sensitive spots. Moving faster now, he drove each thrust deep into her belly until he felt her walls begin to clench around him. Feeling the hard contractions of her orgasm around his agonizingly hard cock, he could hold back no more and spilled his release into her with a deep and satisfied groan. He continued to pulse inside her as she tightened around him and wrapped her trembling thighs tightly around his waist, wringing the last shudders of pleasure from both of them.

Gazing into her eyes when they had stilled at last, he kissed her tenderly and rubbed the tip of his nose playfully against hers. He had been the very beau ideal of a gentle and considerate lover, totally the opposite of his roughness the previous day. She smiled up at him. "That was …. beautiful,' she breathed. Then, more shyly, "And thank you for last night."

He grinned wickedly. "Actually, I should be the one thanking you."

She blushed, disconcerted. "I didn't mean it like that! I meant –- for holding me, singing to me, when I was frightened."

His expression instantly lost its impishness. "Anytime, love." He smoothed her hair, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

"Now I have a question for you," he said in a challenging tone. "For a virgin who claims to have had little sexual experience apart from our own little – encounter, shall we say – two years ago, you seem rather remarkably adventurous. One might describe you as quite…. precocious, my Princess, despite your very pretty blushes."

"You're not the only one who indulged in filthy fantasies the last two years," she confessed. The truth was, she'd grown up a lot from the naïve girl she had been when he first danced with, then seduced her. Her encounter with Killian, and the subsequent passion he had awakened in her, had caused her to develop a rather keen, not to say obsessive, interest in sex.

"Oh my," he leered at her lasciviously, "and did you perhaps touch yourself thinking about all the nasty things you wanted me to do to you, when I had my wicked way with you?" He began to flick his tongue lightly from the base of her throat to her earlobe. He nipped at it and then thrust his tongue into her ear suggestively, tickling her and exciting her at the same time.

"I may have done," she said breathlessly, giving him a sidelong glance. She could tell she was winding him up again. "Maybe I had a few fantasies about what I'd like to do to you."

"Quite the little strumpet, aren't you?" Idly, he moved his hand to her breast and began to play with her nipple.

"To be perfectly honest with you, I did have a little instruction on the general subject, and from an expert in the field," she replied, running her fingers through his hair.

"Oh?" He pulled back, cocking a brow; now he was really interested.

"Actually, I talked about it a lot with Regina. She knew—knows –a lot of things about how to pleasure a man, as well as what I might enjoy in return. She also had a couple of rather exotic foreign books with titles like "The Art of Love" that included detailed instructions and diagrams."

"Diagrams?" he laughed. "You're joking."

She wrinkled her nose. "Honestly, some of them looked intriguing but I'm pretty sure that some might require formal training, perhaps as a circus performer?" She grinned at him and they both started to laugh.

A thought suddenly struck him, causing him to pull away for a moment, throw himself on his back, and stare at the ceiling with a broad, amused smile. "Well, I'll be damned. I knew the Prince of Thieves seemed like an unusually happily married man and now I know the reason why."

Now she was surprised. "You know Robin?"

"Naturally. We've worked together a few times, and I've helped him out when he and his men needed a quick escape. There is such a thing as honour among thieves, you know."

He gave her a roguish grin and chucked her under her chin, returning to his earlier ministrations. "But I digress, tell me what, er, other interesting things you learned in the course of your discussions with the former Evil Queen?"

Emma smiled inwardly and didn't answer him, remembering how horrified she'd been when Regina had told her about practices like using her mouth on a man. It had sounded utterly revolting. And Regina, with her customary directness and sarcasm, hadn't exactly sugarcoated it.

"Men have no idea what we're dealing with down there!" Regina told her. "Teeth placement, and jaw stress, and suction, and gag reflex. And all the while bobbing up and down, moaning, and trying to breathe through our noses. Easy? Honey, they don't call it a 'job' for nothing!" Then her voice softened and her eyes took on an almost dreamy look. "But don't get me wrong – with the right man it can be fabulous."

Last night with Killian had proven to be that and more, fortunately.

"Umm, she talked about things like how to use your mouth to please a man. But she warned me that it might not be pleasant if the man happened to have something she called 'funky tasting spunk'."

He burst out laughing again. "You're joking," he said, gasping with laughter. Emma couldn't help from laughing too, and pretty soon they were falling all over each other with mirth.

He composed his features into a faux serious expression. "I'll try to watch my diet, darling." That caused both of them to fall about again, shaking with amusement.

He turned serious again, cupping her chin in his hand and gazing into her eyes. "Much as I'd like to have you again this morning, not to mention continuing our informative conversation, I've got a ship to run and can't tarry here all morning, much as I'd like to." He gave her another kiss, then slipped quickly out of bed to dress, before he could change his mind.

####

The morning tryst had put both of them in a good mood for the rest of the day. Emma spent hers pleasantly, enjoying the fine weather and closely observing the activities of the crew. Always curious, she wanted to understand exactly what was required to sail a vessel like the Jolly Roger, and she tried to memorize every task and movement she observed. The men were polite enough and even seemed flattered by her questions and interest. Killian was both above and below deck throughout the day, steering the course, conferring with the quartermaster Gates about current supplies, and having a long discussion over maps with Adams the master pilot. Every so often he would catch sight of her, their eyes would meet, and they would give one another a small, secret smile. Other times, he would brush past her and lightly squeeze her arm or caress her back in passing. She would return his caress with a smile from under her lashes or a flutter of her fingers.

These glimpses, indeed, her very presence on his ship, filled him with a sense of joy that he didn't think he had experienced since he was a boy, before everything had gone so horrifically wrong. The thought that he could lose her, probably would lose her, once they got to Pontus, made him unbearably wistful and sad. He had to find a way to convince her not to go through with her plans to marry the Prince, and he had to find a way to square that with his crew. The very thought of another man touching her, holding her, possessing her as he had done, literally made him sick to his stomach. Hot jealousy began to bubble up inside him, but he struggled to suppress his violent emotions and focus instead on devising a plan to keep what was his. He'd been in impossible situations, before, he told himself, surely he would find a work around for this one.

By the evening, he had talked himself into believing that even so unremitting a cad and scoundrel as himself could still pull off a happily ever after, if he were devious enough. Noticing how happy and relaxed he seemed over their dinner of freshly caught fish and some good-ish hock wine later that evening, Emma asked Killian to tell her more about the man he called Richard Sharpe. She had expected him to resist her inquiries, but to her surprise, he spoke freely, seeming almost relieved to unburden himself.

"When I lost my family, I was quite young," he began. "No more than eleven. Richard looked after me. He had come quite accidentally from a world without magic, where he was an experienced, even famous soldier. He'd gotten into trouble – again—and was drinking off his troubles and pondering his next move. He met an eccentric fellow with a large and strange-looking hat by the name of Jefferson at a pub. The next thing he knew, he had tumbled through a portal into our world. He met my father and offered his services as a seasoned swordsman and warrior. Very quickly, he became one of my father's most trusted men. Though of different worlds, they were very similar, completely bound up with the ideal of honour. They were kindred spirits in that way, you might say, two versions of the same person."

"Was he the person who trained you to be a gentleman?" Emma asked. Emma took another sip of her wine and leaned forward, entranced.

` He grinned. "Yes and no. I'd already had a deal of training with my family, but Richard made sure I continued to hone my skills in warcraft, including swordsmanship, military training, and how to be a leader of men. He tried as best he could to teach me as my father had, but there were differences—Richard knew how to fight dirty when necessary, and my father didn't."

"Your father sounds like a good and honourable man."

"Oh yes, he was. And it got him and most of my family killed." A bitter, angry look came over his countenance at the memory of what had happened. Shakily, he picked up his glass, drained the contents, then poured another. Anxious for him, Emma caressed his face and took his hand, stroking it soothingly. "I'm so very, very sorry," she whispered.

They were silent for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts.

He looked so lost and miserable she decided to try to distract him by changing the subject slightly. "This man, Richard, was he a knight? How did he learn to fight 'dirty' as you say?"

Grateful for the distraction, his face lightened a bit. "He told me he learned to fight dirty the same as any other common soldier – Saturday night in the gutter. Believe me, it comes in handy," he smiled wryly, remembering the many times Richard's tricks had saved him during a swordfight or a tavern brawl.

Seeing her perplexed, he explained, "Richard was a professional soldier, the son of a whore, raised in an orphanage. He was smart, fierce and talented. He was promoted through the ranks but never accepted as "one of our own" by the officers, who were for the most part gentlemen who obtained their position through rank and money, not merit. He got into trouble frequently, often because of women—couldn't bear to see a woman dishonoured or disrespected, and was in trouble for dueling more times than he could remember. He also disobeyed or ignored orders if he deemed it essential to vanquish the enemy. That's how he came to my world, which was, as he discovered, a hundred times more brutal than the one he came from."

"Is he the one that brought you to my world?" she wondered, toying with her wineglass.

"Partly. After my family was killed, Richard and I were on the run, hiding from the men who betrayed and killed them. We were also interested in securing vengeance not only against the killers, but those who had been behind it. Part of our disguise, as I told you before, was joining a traveling band of actors. We later took ship with a pirate named Salladhor Saan to a place to the East called Lys. From there, we eventually met the real Captain Hook, who had a cache of magic beans that enabled him to open portals and cross worlds. We joined his crew to escape my land for good. At first, we returned to Richard's world, the same world in which Hook had been born. But eventually, Hook heard about a place called Neverland, an enchanted island where no one ever grows any older. We thought to join him, but it was a terrible mistake."

"Why? It sounds like a kind of paradise." She poured them both another generous glass of wine.

"Aye, it seemed so, but it was an accursed place, run by a manipulative, demonic being who goes by the moniker of Peter Pan, yet has the appearance of a fresh faced teenager. He ran the place as a dictatorship and his hobby was stealing children from other worlds. They call them the Lost Boys. We were trapped there for what turned out to be hundreds of years before we escaped to this world. That's when I took over from Hook and began my storied adventures as a notorious pirate and career criminal. The last I heard of Hook he had retired quietly to grow cabbages, and for all I know has been dead these many years."

Hook fidgeted, running his hands through his hair nervously and tossing back another glass of wine. Finishing her dinner, Emma folded her napkin and placed it carefully on the table. "What happened to Sharpe? Is he still alive?"

"Aye, but after I decided to continue with piracy and the captaincy of the Jolly Roger, we parted company. Richard said he might have been born in the gutter, but he had no intention of dying there. He'd had trouble enough engaging in piracy in the first place. The only way he could rationalize it was that he had taken an oath to protect me from harm, and he said that when he was a soldier he was constantly accused of 'swanning about like a bloody pirate' so he decided he might as well give it a go.

"He tried to talk me out of piracy and thievery but I didn't want to hear it. I wanted to be on my own, completely independent, and never beholden to anyone or anything again. And I never, ever wanted to experience the kind of hurt or loss I had in my youth. Richard told me that my father would have been ashamed of what I have become, and he's right." Killian slumped in his chair and cast down his eyes, a glum expression on his face. He rubbed the back of his neck a few times, as if uncomfortably sore. She wanted to ask him more about his family, and how they had died, but she could see it remained a raw and painful subject for him.

"I'm so sorry," she said, taking his hands in hers. "But isn't it possible that you could be both? A pirate and a good man?" She stroked his face gently, but he shook off her touch.

"I should never have told you all this. It's over and there's nothing I can do about it. Talking about it just reminds me of what it means to be weak and powerless in a world full of monsters and predators."

He sat back, arms folded across his chest, brooding. He stood up, pushing his chair away and began pacing up and down restlessly. Then he sat down on the bed pulled out his flask, and took a hefty slug.

Full of concern for his evident distress. Emma rose and walked over to the bed to put her arms around him. She felt him beginning to relax again as she rubbed his back, the tension ebbing from his shoulders. "I'm relieved to learn that at least you weren't all alone, and that someone remained who cared enough to raise you, she said softly. "Richard obviously was someone you idolized."

"Aye, I was lucky, he saved my sorry arse on many occasions. And most of what I know about fighting and keeping order among a rabble of violent and unruly men I owe to him. And much of it isn't what you'd expect."

"Like what?" she prompted, playing with his necklaces.

"Well, for one thing, I am probably the only pirate or naval captain in these realms who never flogs his men."

Noticing her raised eyebrows, he continued, "Richard was flogged once, for something he never did, and still bears the scars on his back. He told me flogging only teaches one lesson to a man: how to turn his back."

"And women?" she prodded, "You said he couldn't stand to see a woman disrespected? He sounds a like the very model of a chivalrous knight, very similar to my own father." She sighed a little, imagining a romantic hero.

"I probably let him down there too, as I did my father, who was a famously faithful husband." Killian admitted.

"In my defense," he continued, "Richard never had to do much—other than be himself—to have every woman from countess to courtesan falling all over him. It made other men, especially his social superiors, jealous."

"Actually, that sounds quite a lot like you." she said with a wry smile.

"Aye, its true," he sighed with deliberately exaggerated resignation, "Like me, Richard was cursed with a very pretty face and what some might call sexual charisma." He gave her a devilish smile.

"But, unlike me," he continued in a harder tone, "he was a courageous warrior in the king's cause, celebrated in stories as a hero, and an honourable, trustworthy man who regularly aided the weak and rescued damsels in distress."

"You rescued me," she said softly.

"Ah perhaps I tried," he said quietly, "but you weren't really a damsel in distress, and from what you've told me of your intentions to go through with your contracted marriage, you didn't want rescuing."

She said nothing and her silence spoke volumes. He sank further into gloom, reached for his rum flask, and downed another slug.

"I should also tell you that Richard despised my flirting and careless ways with women when I grew up. He said I was a cad and a bounder and if I'd been anyone else he would have called me out."

"I take it you parted on bad terms, then."

"Aye," he said sadly. "That we did."

They remained side by side on the bed, Emma's arms around him and her head on his shoulder, as he continued draining the rum, for a long time.

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