a/n: I've wanted to write a drabble for awhile but the new eps haven't sparked anything yet, so here's a short "removal of the brace" fic that I'm pretty sure is required material for cs writers.
It's something they had talked about only a little, the subject getting lost amidst the return of his heart and his confession regarding the hat. After centuries with it, he doesn't shirk from using it or touching her with it, but he is always aware of where it is, always careful not to cause any (further) damage with it.
Still, he fidgets a little when she agrees to a nightcap in his room at the inn, her fingers curled lightly over the curve of the metal, eyes soft as she asks, "Show me?"
But he won't seek to hide it from her, this woman who held his heart even before he placed it in her hands, so he guides her hand down to the base of the hook, showing her how to twist it free. She holds it in both of her hands, tracing its shape, a small smirk playing on her lips and gods but he wants everything promised by that smile, wants to let her explore every possible use for the hook. He watches her until she sets the warmed metal aside, then sets to work on the buttons of his waistcoat.
Her eyes flash wide and it's his turn to smirk, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he raises a brow and says, "I thought you wanted to see, darling."
She rolls her eyes and reaches for the flask they'd been sharing and he can't deny it — he takes his time, methodically unbuttoning the vest, shedding it, and repeating the task with his shirt.
Her eyes trail up his chest, over the scars, tattoo, and brace, but he doesn't feel exposed under her scrutiny. She reaches for the brace, palm running up it, fingers following the straps up to the buckles that keep it in place. Her eyes flick to his and he nods, then the clasps open and the leather straps fall loose. He helps her to tug it off, her hand running down the length of his stump, and he forces himself not to hold his breath.
He knows the wound is not pretty — a hasty cauterization and his rush to get to Neverland had not done the injury any favours. But her eyes are mostly on the brace, peering inside it, turning it over and examining the construction.
"That's quite the contraption you've got," she says, setting it down beside the hook.
"It's not the first iteration, I assure you."
She smiles, and the look in her eyes is the one he will always associate with their first date, after he walked her home and she invited him in for coffee.
"I've got a contraption that I wear too," she says, shifting so that her back is to him and then suddenly she's pulling her sweater over her head and he's glad she can't see the way his mouth has practically hanging open as he stares at the smooth skin of her back. There are three straps (two vertical, one horizontal) that form the back of her modern brassiere and he trails his fingers down one, brushing her skin softly.
She turns her head to look at him over her shoulder and there's that smirk again, full of mischief and promise.
"Would you like to learn how to take it off?"