Emma likes driving Killian's car. It's shiny and new and has heated seats.

It doesn't make any of the strange noises the bug makes.

He doesn't like driving when she's in the car, still. On occasion, he's done it – but only across town. When they go further, like down to the Home Depot in Portland, she drives.

She sees him getting tense, his hand balling into a fist, his eyes snapping shut and his breath sucking in through his teeth suddenly. And when she sees it, she slides her hand across the console, squeezes his thigh, and smiles.

His breathing evens out.

"Are we really doing this?" she asks as they pull into the parking lot, the bright orange letters welcoming her with a shiver of nerves. "We haven't even found a place."

He shrugs, visibility relieved when she pulls into a parking spot. The tension drains out of him, the easy grin she loves appearing. "We're not going to buy anything, love. It's meant to be fun, if I recall. This being your idea and all."

She grimaces, mentally kicking herself. This was her idea – and it seemed like a good one at the time. Killian's idea to look for a house was romantic, but there is nothing romantic about sifting through hundreds of listings, bickering.

She wants to live with him, she does. And when they started looking, she told herself she didn't care so much about the house, as long as they live in it together.

But she really wants to stay in this town. And have a fireplace. David's mom had a fireplace, and he's got one, and there's just something so damn cozy about a fireplace.

Killian wants to be by the water.

These shouldn't be difficult things to find in their small Maine town, but they are. Killian has more money than she does to put toward the house, but between the two of them, it's not a huge sum. Enough to buy something small, comfortable – neither of them want to take on the sort of project Mary Margaret and David did.

So far, the houses for sale are huge and out of their price range…or small, dilapidated properties that need to be torn down or have years spent restoring.

Emma doesn't begrudge him his desire for the water – she understands it. The water to him is what the fireplace is to her: home. She's had a lifetime of dreaming of a house of her own…and just as long to be certain it wasn't in the cards for her.

So now that it's in her grasp, now that it's possibly real, there has to be a fireplace. And Killian has to be near the ocean. Because he's got a lifetime of hopes and dreams going into this house, too.

It's a lot of pressure to put on fifteen hundred square feet.

So in a fit of frustration, Emma told him just that.

"I'm tired of 'lots of charm' and 'you have to see it' descriptions, Killian! It's code for run down and there is no photo that makes this place look appealing! This is supposed to be fun." She sighs, tossing the tablet onto the couch cushion next to her. "We're supposed to fight over paint, not all this other crap."

Killian rubs her arm, trying for soothing. He's not really fighting with her over anything – his one veto is on places more than a few miles from the water. Emma is the one who doesn't like painted cabinets or "weird" layouts.

"Can we do that?" she asks, her head falling back to his shoulder as she stares up at him with wide, green eyes filled with hope. "Can we go to Home Depot tomorrow and look at paint colors? We've got the day off. It could be fun."

"Of course, love." He drops a kiss on her forehead, then another one her cheek, and another on her nose. She's smiling by the time he gets to her mouth, turning into his arms and curling against him.

So here they are in the parking lot of Home Depot.

"Shall we?" He gestures toward the massive store.

"We don't even know what the house is going to look like. Maybe this was a mistake."

"Swan, you're in need of some amusement. That's the point, love – we don't know where we'll be. So there's no pressure to pick the perfect color for the parlor – we don't know what the bloody thing looks like."

"No one says parlor. Our house isn't going to have a bloody parlor."

"You're quite miserable at that."

"I know." Emma grins up at him, stretching to kiss him. "You love me anyway."

"That I do."

He grabs her hand as they walk to the door, tugging her close. His whisper is conspiratorial, and she can't see it, but she just knows he's got that smirk on his face. "I should warn you, Swan. I'm quite partial to red."

"We are not painting a single room in our house red."

"What's wrong with red? It's a bright, vibrant color."

Emma lifts her eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips even as she leans into him, his arm around her shoulder a welcome weight. "Don't think I'll be taking my eyes off you for a second in there."

"I would despair if you did, love." Her glare only makes him laugh, tugging her closer to press a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Pick whatever you fancy," he tells her when they arrive at the admittedly intimidating wall of paint samples, the cards and books and possibilities stretching endlessly before them in a variety of lighting. "Don't think about it – just choose as you like."

"What about you?"

"I will do the same."

She knows he's up to something purely by the grin he offers her, but she just shrugs. "All right."

He wanders off to the other side of the display and Emma has to resist the urge to keep her promise to watch him like a hawk, but there's something tempting about just picking pretty things. So that's what she does, her fingers sliding tentatively over the paint chips. Before long, she's accumulated a stack of them in soft grays, misty greens and gentle blues. They're the colors of the ocean – and they remind her of Killian.

She feels him behind her, the solidness of his chest just inches from her back. She leans into him, the soft hairs of his beard tickling her ear as he leans down to murmur in her ear. "Find anything you favor?"

"Way more than we'll ever need." She holds up her stack of colors, fanning them out for his inspection. "I figured these might work just about anywhere. They make me think of the sea."

His eyes soften as she turns to face him, and in spite of the other shoppers milling about, he tucks his own paint samples under his arm, freeing up his fingers to cup her cheek and kiss her. "You are a treasure," he says quietly, for her ears only.

She smiles back at him, the weight of the emotion in his gaze tugging at her, making a blush rise in her cheeks. It's one thing for him to be like this when they're alone, to say these things to her, but there's other people around.

It's never been like this with any of the men she's dated – other men haven't been like this. She takes the knowledge, tucks it away to hold close to her heart on the days when it's not so easy, when it's hard, when it's not just them in this little bubble of happiness.

"What did you find?" She looks pointedly at the stack of paint samples he's got tucked under his arm, curious more than anything. Are their tastes even remotely the same? Is this actually going to be an argument?

"Oh, a few things." He chuckles, a low noise that sends shivers down her spine as he grabs the handful and holds them out to her. "I'd be much obliged to hear your thoughts, love."

He holds the colors out to her, an array of fire engines and peppers and hot sauces and reds. Her eyes fly up to his face, but that's when she sees it – the twitch of his lips, the mirth dancing in his gaze.

"You can't be serious."

His eyes go wide with innocence, the smile slowly winning. "Do you mean to tell me I can't have even just one?"

"Not in those colors. Those colors are….awful, Killian. They're just…I am not having a house painted up like a fast food place or a… a scene from a horror movie!"

He laughs so hard at her sputtering indignation he nearly drops the samples all over the floor. "The…look…on…your…face…"

She freezes in place, her eyes narrowing at him as he struggles to catch his breath, to stop laughing like a fool in the middle of the aisle. "You don't actually want red paint, do you?"

He shakes his head, managing to get control of himself – barely – and straighten to his full height. He drops the stack of red samples into the bin a few feet away, turning back to her to sweep his hand into her hair. "Emma, we can paint the walls whatever colors you please. It doesn't matter to me. I just want to be there with you."

"And by the ocean," she tacks on wryly, remembering their seemingly endless internet searches.

"And by the ocean," he agrees, massaging her scalp lightly where he's threaded his fingers through her hair. She leans into his touch, her eyes sliding shut for a fraction of a second with a small noise of contentment.

With a sigh of regret, she steps out of his hold and gestures to the rest of the store. "Want to look at stuff we don't even know if we need yet while we're here?"

"Sounds delightful." He takes her hand, entwining their fingers as she heads in the direction of the appliances. They spend the next hour or two wandering through the aisles, Emma's fingers running over lamps and faucets and fixtures while they aimlessly make plans for the sort of home they're going to find, one day.

"You were right," she tells him as they get into the car to head home. "It was nice to do this, no pressure over finding things to fit a place, but just looking."

"Of course I was right." He flashes her a grin even as she swats his arm. He catches her wrist the second time she tries it, pressing a kiss to her palm. His eyes lock on hers, and something shifts in them, the playfulness giving way to a burning desire.

It's been two weeks, and they still haven't had sex. They made this (ridiculous, regrettable, foolish) agreement that they would go on dates, start over, before they had sex again. It seemed romantic at the time they agreed, to get back to the simple pleasures of their relationship, to enjoy just kissing each other, but the last few days, it's become downright torture to be around him.

"This could count as a date, you know," she says slowly, her eyes on his lips and where they hover over her skin. "That would make four. We agreed on four dates."

"We did agree on four dates. But Home Depot is hardly a date." His protest sounds half-hearted at best, even to himself. Four dates didn't seem like that long when they agreed, but between their work schedules and the house hunting frustrations, they've only managed three so far.

"We can stop for dinner. Dinner is a date." Emma's breath catches in her throat as his lips brush over the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist, his nose skimming along the fragile skin. She can feel her heart thrumming in her chest, lust racing through her veins.

"You'll be the death of me, Swan."

"It will be a good death." She offers him a saucy smirk, reclaiming her hand and turning the key in the ignition. "Dinner. Home. Naked. That's how this is going to go."

He shifts in his seat, tugging at his jeans as she backs out of the parking spot. "As you wish." It thrills her to hear the hoarseness of his voice, to see him adjusting his clothes in a fairly useless effort to ease the obvious strain on his zipper.

Emma turns her head just slightly, trying to hide her smile. She shouldn't take pleasure in this (it's taking all of her self control not to squeeze her thighs together herself) but this was his idea. He can suffer a little.

It's tempting to skip dinner, to go straight home and say the hell with it, but she knows this has gotten to be more about Killian keeping his word than the actual dates. He told her he wanted to take his time – he told her he wanted to prove to her he's not just in it for the sex, enjoyable as it is. He promised her a fresh start, and he's determined to give it to her.

Doesn't mean she can't have a little bit of fun with him along the way. That's what this day is about, after all – fun.

Dinner is torturous. Emma knows full well she's only got herself to blame by making it worse. When he makes his usual innuendo-laced comments, she doesn't laugh or roll her eyes like she usually does – she licks her lip or leans forward across the table, holding his stare.

"You are a bloody minx," he growls in her ear as they walk out to the car, his hand possessive on her hip. They stop on the driver's side, the keys in Emma's hand. She only grins up at him, pleased to just once have the upper hand with him. He's usually the one with the smug smile, the one who just knows he's making her crazy, but it's her turn tonight.

"We'll be home soon."

"I am sorely tempted to have you right here," he whispers in her ear, voice full of promise. Emma starts to laugh, but it's suddenly not very funny as he hauls her body forward, his hips pressing into hers even as he backs her up against the car. The parking lot is dark, and he takes full advantage of the relative isolation, blazing a trail of damp kisses down her throat that make the cold winter air barely noticeable.

His lips meet hers in a blaze of heat, needy, insistent kisses that have her pulse thudding in her ears, make her acutely aware of every inch of her body. "Get in the car, Emma." The words are low, dangerous with warning, the sound of a man very close to losing a tenuous grip on his control.

"You get in the car, Killian." She offers him the same smug look he likes to give her, holding his gaze with innocent, wide eyes. It almost works, but he can feel her, her body shaking ever so slightly, and it's enough that he only smirks before capturing her in another searing kiss.

Then he gets in the car.

It takes her full effort to keep her concentration on driving. She knows he won't keep up their game in the car, no matter how heated things get, but it's a struggle to remember that, to not let her hand slide over his thigh. Luckily, they're not far from home.

The door isn't even closed behind them when he gives in, spinning her around and pressing her to the door as he kisses her with all the desperation of a starving man. He is starving, starving for the feel of her body welcoming his, the slide of her skin against his, the way her breath catches right before she tumbles over the edge…he needs all of it.

Emma reaches blindly behind her, fumbling for the deadbolt. As soon as she hears it click into place, she drops the keys on the floor, hitching her legs around his hips and holding on for dear life. It's impossible to bite back the moan that rises in her throat as he tilts his hips into hers, using the leverage the door affords to press exactly where she needs him.

She doesn't care if they make it to the bed, or to the floor, or anywhere. She'll gladly let him have her right here, against the door, for anyone walking down the hall to hear.

Killian has other plans.

He backs away from the door, his fingers splayed across her bottom as he turns for the bedroom, bumping into furniture and walls as they go. Emma can't help but laugh every time, and she can feel his lips curling into a smile when she does.

They fall into bed together, a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothes. It's a frenzy of lips and hands as they undress each other, one savage kiss after another, but everything slows down as he plunges into her, holding himself still for several long seconds to simply savor the sensation.

"I love you so damn much," he tells her, reaching for her hand with his and twining their fingers together. Her response is lost in their kiss, slower this time as he begins to move, long, deep strokes that slowly wind her tighter and tighter. His grip tightens on her hand, and she squeezes, the nails of her other hand digging into his back.

It isn't long before he hears that catch in her breath, her eyes sliding shut and her lips parting as she moans with the pleasure of her release. It's enough to give him that last push over the edge, his arms shaking with the effort as he struggles to not let his weight collapse on her.

"Killian," she whispers, still breathless as he slides to the mattress beside her, releasing her hand only to wrap his arms around her. "I need to tell you something."

"Mmm?"

"I'm never going two weeks without this again."

He picks his head up from the pillow, a slow smile curling his lips. "Swan, you don't have to go two bloody minutes." Her shriek of laughter is lost as he rolls her onto her back, his breaths still coming in pants. His hand slides down her waist, brushing over the inside of her thigh before coming into contact with the place that makes her laughter turn to moans.

"I need to tell you something else," she mumbles as she curls into his chest, after they've exhausted themselves a second time. Her palm runs along his abs, fingers curling around his waist.

"Anything, love."

"This is my favorite of our dates."

He chuckles, running his fingers through her hair and reaching to pull the blankets up around them. "Mine too."

This chapter would have gone up much sooner if not for Tumblr. Tumblr is both amazing and terrible. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!