Submitted for CS CocktoberFest on Tumblr. Set at the end of 4x03.


She's beyond angry, storming out of the diner and past Killian as he sits at one of the outdoor tables, a drink in his hand. He raises it to her as she passes, smiles and calls out jovially, "Swan! Don't make a man drink alone!"

She doesn't slow down, doesn't even look at him as he gets up to follow her, sensing her continued anger. "Not in the mood for a drink or a man," she responds sharply. She can hear his footsteps follow her off the sidewalk.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you today, all right? I know you feel like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. But at some point," his hook snags on her arm and pulls her around towards him, "Even though we're quite different, you've got to trust me." His eyes are beseeching and she feels her annoyance flare hard and fast.

"That's what you think this is about? That I don't trust you?" She shouts back. He has the decency to look a little ashamed before he covers it with a raised brow and set jaw.

"Is that not what it's about?"

"Of course I trust you." She wants to hit him he's being so stupid. And all of a sudden all the fight leaves her as he looks at her sadly, completely lost. He doesn't understand, he doesn't get it.

"Then why do you keep pulling away from me?" His voice is just as desperate as she feels.

"Because everyone I've ever been with is dead!" It's hard not to explain without the anger now, but she has to hold onto something other than the stinging at the corners of her eyes. "Neal and Graham. Even Walsh. I lost everyone. I..." Her vision blurs just a little and she feels a hot tear slide down her cheek and settle at the edge of her mouth. "I can't lose you, too," she finishes simply, staring into his eyes and willing him to understand the rest. She can't say it yet, she doesn't think she's brave enough, but she needs him to know somehow anyway.

Killian's gaze softens as he looks at her, as her words sink in and his heart grows. Lost girl, always a lost girl. He's determined to make sure she never feels that way again.

"Well, love, you don't have to worry about me," he responds with a comforting smile. "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's surviving."

She can feel the lump in her throat tighten even as she takes a deep breath, even as she tries to will herself to believe him. He keeps looking right at her and the intensity is helping, but she still feels like if she doesn't do something he'll slip away. She looks down at his lips quickly and it's enough for him to pull her into him by her belt loops, good hand burying itself into her hair and settling on the back of her neck, lips sliding sweetly across hers in a toe curling kiss.

Her breath rushes out as they break apart for a moment, her hands pulling him back in again by the lapels of his ridiculous jacket. His hand travels down her arm, pressing insistently against her hip and coming to squeeze her closer by her ass.

Emma can hear her blood rushing, can feel her heart pounding in her chest and she's sure he can too as he pulls away to stare at her, his blue eyes locked on hers. There's a question there, and she nods almost imperceptibly as she steps away, fingers curling around his hook as she leads him through the dark streets to the docks.

The Jolly Roger is docked proudly amongst the smaller vessels, her mast shooting into the sky, sails tied back as she rests. The gangplank is pulled up on the ship but with a flick of her wrist, it slides down towards them, allowing entrance. They hurry up to the deck, the wood creaking under their feet and the ship swaying softly as they slow in front of the captain's quarters.

Emma turns around to him, bites her lip just a little, and smiles. His eyes are soft, almost reverent. He looks at her like she's the night sky, holding up all the stars. To him, she is. This beautiful, brave, brilliant woman inspired him, pulled him, like the moon and the waves. The day he met her he knew he'd never be the same. He takes a slow step closer, hand coming to brush against her cheek, thumb caressing her chin, her lips, her dimple as she smiles at him. He had never dreamed that he would find someone like her, someone who made him want to be better. Her hazy green eyes flutter closed as he leans closer, the dark lashes dusting across her pale skin. He brushes his lips against hers, once, twice, and finally she has had enough and she's pulling him to her, fingers buried in his hair, mouth insistent and demanding.

The smoldering ashes in his gut burst into flame and he drags her towards him, closer and closer until it feels like they might just merge into one, but it's not enough. He pushes her back towards the door, opens it behind her as they stumble in, and kicks it closed behind them.

Her ass hits a table and she hops up, ankles locking around his hips and tugging him in. Her hands trail down his neck and undo his buttons, opening his scarred chest to her. Killian shucks off his jacket, kicks off his boots, tugs her leather jacket away and tosses it on the floor. Emma pulls her shoes off and opens her arms to him, the two coming together in a fury of teeth and lips and tongue, hands wandering and searching and inching under clothing. She feels the hard planes of his chest, the taught muscles of his abdomen leading into his trousers. He's strong and solid and she wants every inch of him nearer to her. His good hand wanders under her shirt, pulling at it in need, sliding across her back and just under her bra, dipping into the hem of her jeans just above her continue like this, tongues battling for dominance, breath combining into one, backs arching into one another for a while. Her legs hooked over his waist pull him impossibly closer with every moment.

When they finally pull away, his shirt is entirely unbuttoned, slacks untied and hanging loosely over his hips, the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath them. His hair is disheveled, eyes bright with want, lips red and cheeks flushed. Her mouth goes dry at the sight. She, in turn, has already lost her shirt, jeans unbuttoned but still on.

"Shall we to the bed, milady?" He asks huskily near her ear, nipping lightly at the skin just underneath it. She shivers even as a laugh escapes her.

"Idiot," she murmurs back against his lips, sliding off the table and sauntering away from him towards the narrow bed. She slips her jeans off as she goes, unhooks her bra and hears him rush up behind her. His good hand moves over her hip and in between her legs, over her panties. She gasps, head falling back into his shoulder as he holds her there, fingers deftly searching her, nudging the cloth aside and burying themselves in her soft curls.

"My gods, Swan." His breathing is coming hard, tongue lapping against the pulse on her neck, biting and soothing in turn. She can feel his hardness against her ass and she presses back as best she can but she feels like she's strung tight, muscled tensed as his digits dip into her, wiggling and twisting and pumping about. She jerks in his arms, the tip of his hook accidentally grazing her stomach. She hardly feels the sting though, whimpering in disapproval as he steps away and removes the rest of his clothes. She sees his cock bob up proudly towards his stomach and feels the responding twist of the coil in her tighten just a little more. Fingers reaching up behind her, she unclasps her bra and lets it fall to the floor. His eyes snap to the movement, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

She lowers herself to the bed and he descends on her. She gives as good as she gets, a tangle of limbs and sweat. She rolls him over and leaves a trail of kisses down his abdomen, feeling his pulse quicken, his fingers tighten in her hair as she wraps her mouth around him and sucks hard. He nearly arches off the bed as she pulls him into her throat and out again, tongue swirling around the tip, cheeks hollowing. She looks up at him and sees his gaze locked on her, the veins in his neck throbbing along the tense muscles. He groans, his shaft twitching in her mouth when she fondles his balls softly, fingers creeping along the fragile skin, massaging soft enough to avoid injury.

He pulls her head away with a soft pop and she crawls on top of him, kissing him hungrily. He can taste himself, the muskiness and arousal, but he lets the thoughts slip away at the image of her around him, eyes bright and lips stretched. She is so much more than he deserves.

Rolling them over again, he grins at her wickedly, good hand moving down to enter her warmth again. What he meets is a cavern of incredible softness, leaking at the edges. He moves down to lap up the excess, feeling her shudder in return.

"You-you don't have to-" She gasps as he twists his fingers, the cool metal of his hook holding down her pelvis, the tip pointed strategically away. He doesn't want to hurt her again. He looks up at her and catches her eye. He's a sinful sight, he's sure, stubble dewed with evidence of her lust, hair mussed up.

"Now, darling, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't return the favor?"

She wants to laugh, but the sound is cut short in her throat as he bends forwards, sucking hard on her clit, fingers pushing in deeper and rubbing hard at the rough spot on her wall. Like an electric shock, she comes, tugging at his hair, back arching off the thin mattress, head rolling back. It was so sudden she couldn't even stop herself from the surprised shout she gives, thighs quivering and trembling, core pulsing around his hand. He milks every last second of pleasure from her and revels in it. Swan, his lovely Swan, coming undone at his hands.

He decides in that moment he wants to give her this feeling everyday, for as long as he lives. She deserves the ecstasy rolling through her spasming muscles. With some practice, he reckons he'll be even better at it.

Her hands weakly tug at him as she settles, breathing out in short gasps as though having just run a long distance. Her skin glistens with sweat, a bead of it gathered just on top of her upper lip that he kisses away languidly. He's keenly away of his own needs demanding his attention, but he pushes them away in favor of her, of watching her calm and relax, eyes opening to him. She smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"We're not done yet, Killian," and it's the last blow to his self control as he hikes her legs up around his waist and sinks into her. A long hiss escapes through his clenched teeth, his core tightening in bliss. She is so warm, so inviting, her arms coming to encircle his neck as she kisses up his jaw, the corners of his lips, urging him to move, to go faster, harder.

They rut against each other, skin slapping against skin, kisses dissolving into gasping mouths that breath each other in and out like one being. They heave and twist, shaking with the effort, moaning needily. They crest together, her nipples rubbing against his chest hair, lips locked together in passion. He pumps twice more, pulses, empties and settles, his weight a comfort on hers. She feels him soften in her and slip out and he shuffles to the side, pulling her naked body against his, nestling his chin into her hair and breathing her in as they both catch their breath.

"That was..." He says and she gives a breathy laugh.

"Not a one time thing," she finishes for him, fingers curling around the hook slung over her hip.

For the moment, the creeping dread in her is held back and she's able to enjoy this, the feel of him pressed against her, the soft kisses tickling her shoulders. Emma sighs.

The cold feeling is there still, hidden deep within her, and she knows it will show itself again the next day. In the meantime, however, she's determined to enjoy the moment.