Anonymous requested: "cs smut- after emma returns the jolly roger to killian, he takes her out for the weekend and takes her at the mast, helm, on deck, over his desk, etc... Very smutty please!"

She's always amazed he can manage a ship the size of the Jolly on his own.

Emma leans on the rail, watching Storybrooke grow smaller and smaller as they head out to sea. She's nervous about leaving ("Two days, love. The whole bloody town can't get into that much trouble in two days.") (she really, really hopes he's right), but turning now and watching her pirate stalk the quarterdeck is quietly thrilling. She hadn't had the opportunity to appreciate the sight the last time she had been aboard, and takes great pleasure in making up for it now.

Actually, she finds watching him pulling and tying ropes, turning the helm, and other nautical acts much more appealing in his modern clothes. The pirate gear is a turn-on, sure, but the modern button-down lends itself to being rolled at the cuffs several times, and showing off the way his forearms flex with every task. And she wouldn't be able to see his shirt bunching and straining at the shoulder seams if he'd been wearing that leather duster. Or the way his waistcoat lifts to reveal his tucked-in shirt—because of course he tucks his button-downs in, of course someone taught him the proper way to dress to drive a woman insane. "Are you going to buy, milady, or merely content with lusting after my wares?"

God, she's practically drooling, no wonder he called her on it.

"I didn't know you were into role-playing," she calls over the wind.

He looks at her quizzically, and she laughs, climbing the stairs to join him. "A game, you pretend to be someone else. Sometimes it makes it more fun."

"Ah, a player's game. Because a princess being kidnapped by a pirate isn't thrilling enough," Killian says, a glint in his eye.

She gives him a once-over. "Here I thought I was coming along quietly."

He moves behind her, turning her; Emma grabs the helm for support as he pulls their hips together. Jesus, he knows all the shortcuts to getting her turned on now. His lips are on her neck, under her ear, and he breathes, "Now, princess, the point of this weekend excursion is most definitely not to come quietly."

Her knees go weak as he leisurely assaults her neck with kisses, whimpering when he nipped her, in absolutely no hurry at all to finish what he was starting. Asshole.

She pushed against him, grinding his harness against her ass. "Impatient, are we, princess?" he murmurs against her skin.

"Someone's… taking his sweet-ass time…" Emma says, hissing as his hand moves up to up her breast.

Suddenly he's gone, and her back is cold from the wind again. She's white-knuckling the helm, tracking his movements with wide-eyes. He has the audacity to smirk at her. "I'm a patient man, love."

Damn him.

When they finally drop anchor, she's fairly sure they're technically in Canada. But he activates the invisibility enchantment ("She keeps all magic that's done to her.") and all thoughts of border patrol fly away as he stalks back to her. He captures her mouth with his, cupping her face in his hands. "Killian…" she murmurs between kisses that leave her dizzy. "Killian, wait…"

He leaves her mouth free, kissing along her jawline, her ears, her neck, even her damn hair. "Not helping," Emma says breathlessly.

He pauses. "Quickly, Swan," he tells her softly.

"Patience," she teases, eliciting a low sound from him that may have been a growl. "Just a thought… from earlier, the pirate-princess thing…"

Their eyes meet, and his face darkens when the lightbulb of understanding goes on. "Emma, are you sure?"

She's had more than one fantasy about this—the taste of the captain during their trip to the past has fueled more than one session with the showerhead—and she nods. He rests his forehead against hers. She swallows hard. She wants this, she really does. "Just this once, okay?"

"Very well then." He takes a step back, and in a breath his entire demeanor changes. Heat zips through her entire body as she watches his stance, his posture, shit even the way he looks at her, shift and all of it transforms her pirate into the pirate. "On your knees for the captain, princess."

Oh this is interesting. She adopts her role almost too easily—maybe it's something you're born with after all. "A princess kneels for no one, captain, but a king."

Killian—no, Hook—smirks at her. "And what is a captain but king of his own domain? As I said, milady. On. Your. Knees."

Their eyes lock as she does so slowly, and he circles her, his boots thumping the deck hard. He passes his hand through her hair, pulling it ever so slightly. "What shall I do with you?" Hook muses. "A ransom, of course, but even the Princess of Misthaven should know that the captain takes the very best loot for himself…"

"My father will pay handsomely for my return, captain. Whatever you wish, it's yours."

They break eye contact for the briefest of moments—Emma's about to break a rib from trying not to laugh because David would sooner run him through if it came to that, and Killian knows it—before he steps in front of her again, bending before her to bring their faces level. "Whatever I wish, is it?"

"Yes," she breathes.

"And if I have a list of demands?"

"Every attempt will be made to meet them to your satisfaction, captain."

She hears the metal of his buckle clink, and fights the urge to squirm in anticipation. He straightens, and begins to circle her again, a shark monitoring something it finds particularly interesting. "And what if the king is unable to, or rather unwilling to, part with what I demand?"

She tempers her own lust and says with some annoyance, "Captain, perhaps if we spoke plainly—"

"I have a very short list, milady," he interrupts her, completing his circle. "My demands begin and end with your lovely self, but the details. Now, the details are the interesting bit. How do you answer my ransom?"

Their eyes lock again, and Emma smirks. "You should know, captain, that a princess is willing and capable of making every sacrifice to protect her kingdom."

Hook grins, sending shivers down her spine, and he frees himself from his jeans. "I don't believe we'll need to go quite that far, your highness. We'll start here."

She takes him into her mouth, her eyes never leaving his even as he closes them; his breathing comes hard as her tongue swirls around the tip and she takes him deep, dragging her teeth lightly along his length as she pulls back. His hips buck forward, and her lips tighten around him. His hand buries itself in her hair, and she bites a little harder as a warning, but he seems to be attempting to steady himself.

She reaches for his hips, but finds herself being pulled up by his hook, releasing him with a pop, and his lips are on hers, kissing her fiercely. The hook makes quick work of her shirt and bra—so that's why he'd told her not to wear or bring any nice clothes—and he's pushing her back against the mast, tossing the shredded garments aside. The rope digs into her skin but she finds herself not caring so much when his tongue is on her breast, the cool air making it almost painfully hard when he switches to favor the other.

Emma whines when Hook leaves sloppy kisses down her stomach, pausing at her jeans for a moment to almost rip them open and forcing them down to her ankles. Then his tongue parts her, delves between her folds, and Emma finds herself gripping the ropes to stay upright. "Killian…" she repeats his name again and again like a prayer, and only the pressure of his hook against her ankle quiets her.

"That's quite forward of you, princess," Hook murmurs into her curls.

Fuck. She can't remember her own name, let alone any stupid roleplaying game she was dumb enough to suggest in the first place, and Jesus wept he wasn't going to do anything until she apologized, was he? Fuck. "M-my apologies… captain…"

Shit, she's never going to hear the end of it, stumbling over her words like that, and the stupid, evil grin on his face before he resumes his awful, wonderful torture on her seals it.

And just as she's about to come, that bubble of heat and light inside her ready to burst, he stops.

She's going to throw him overboard and leave him for the sharks. Or whatever they had in Canada.

Instead, she finds herself being swept up into his arms and carried down the stairs and into the captain's quarters. It's warmer here, and she almost sighs in relief before letting out a little yelp at being unceremoniously dropped onto the bed. "It's no feather bed, your highness, but it'll do for now."

"Are you stealing me a feather bed then, captain?" Emma asks.

His eyes darken, and another thrill shoots through her. "That depends, milady, entirely upon how long you'll remain on board."

Killian's just tossed a football into a basketball game, and it appears he realizes there's a slight panic bubbling up inside of her because Hook is back as his clothing is discarded, his easy swagger returning as his head tilted this way and that with each piece removed. "Besides," he says, carefully removing her clothing as well, "I can't have my crew mutiny over my quarters having finer bedding than theirs. You understand the need to keep those in your care happy, princess."

The mattress is definitely hard, a time before box springs were invented, but then he's climbing on top of her and she doesn't care so much. "Of course," she murmurs as he lowers himself, his weight settling on her slowly—and don't think she hasn't added "watch Killian do pushups" to her list of things to do.

Killian's lips capture hers sweetly, lulling her into security from her panic. She pushes back, signaling that she was okay to go, and Hook is back, his mouth rough and his stubble scraping her cheeks and neck and chest raw. He thrusts inside her in the next minute, and she clings to him as his hips snap into hers with precision.

His cock hits her sweet spot, making her whimper against him. It's his turn to pray to her, her name spilling from his lips between encouragements and curses—"Fall for me, darling" and "Gods, you're warm" and "Seven hells, I can't last much longer, you're too much for me".

And she does fall, crying his name to the ceiling, waves of warmth washing over her. All the candles in his quarters flame to life as he rides her out, pulling away from her to spill his seed on her stomach—and she's really going to have to find a non-embarrassing way to ask Regina how to control her magic during sex, because this is getting out of hand.

He doesn't notice for a moment, bracing himself on his forearms as he catches his breath, a grin playing on the edges of his lips as he comes down from his high. Killian notices finally when she looks away to glare at the lantern on the desk. "Interesting outcome today," he comments.

Emma grunts in annoyance, and he kisses her cheek. Killian gets up and grabs a cleaning rag to mop her up. She wriggles under his blankets while he cleans himself, and hardly moves over when he comes to join her—it's a small bed, and she won't admit aloud that she likes to cuddle, but he knows her and they tangle their limbs together.

Killian presses gentle kisses to her forehead as her heart finally stops racing. "Was that satisfactory, captain?" she asks slyly after a while.

He chuckles. "It'll do for now, love."

Emma snorts. "'It'll do', my ass."

He tilts her chin up to look at her, one eyebrow raised. "Such language, your highness. Have you a suggestion for improvement, then?"

She smirks, and pushes him onto his back. Killian grins as she straddles him. "Practice," she says, and slides him into her again.