Rating: T - Soft M (for implications)

Emma grimaced as she backed the bug up into the spot that was only just big enough to fit it bumper to bumper, at least two blocks from where she needed to be – two blocks in the pouring rain, which was honestly just the last thing she wanted to be dealing with after a stressful day.

Knowing there was no putting it off – she was already late – she took one last glance at her makeup in the rear view mirror, a little tired and faded, but it would have to do. She leaned forward and wriggled out of her leather jacket, slinging it over her head and making a break for the sidewalk and one of the few awnings that provided a small square of shelter from the downpour.

Taking in her surroundings and making sure she was going in the right direction, she set off. Luckily, the sidewalk wasn't completely running with water, and she managed to avoid any of the larger puddles at the crosswalks. She was glad it hadn't been a honey-trap day – heels would not have been her friend in this weather. She finally saw the familiar entrance ahead and dodged, shivering, into the lobby of the bar – makeup still intact and her curls only slightly wet.

It would have been nice to be in something that didn't have mud splattered up the back of her legs, but her skip had taken a lot longer to show than she'd anticipated, so her regular work jeans and tank were just going to have to do.

To be honest, she'd looked worse.

She shook off her jacket and looped it back over her arms, letting its warmth chase away the chill the rain had left behind.

The noise from the bar was that perfect level between too much and just enough that it felt like even in such a crowded space you had some privacy.

It was also the perfect level to highlight the laugh that rang out above the murmur of conversation and music, light and melodic and sensuous in a way that Emma had always been a little jealous of – her own laugh far more of a snort. She knew before she even looked across the room what kind of woman a laugh like that was attached too, and sure enough, once her eyes traveled up, she was right.

Past the crowded tables and hovering at the end of the bar was tall, leggy and brunette, her hair curled delicately and swept to one side, exposing a strong jawline and dark lips quirked in a seductive smile. One of her hands, nails painted a dark crimson, clung to a martini glass – not Emma's kind of drink – as the other traced nimbly down the back of the man who was taking up the last stool.

Down the back of a black leather jacket that looked entirely too familiar.

A chill shivered down her spine and settled sickeningly like lead in her stomach as she took a step closer, moving around the crowd to see Killian hunched over his glass, a look she couldn't quite place on his face.

She caught the roll of his shoulder, saw his jaw tick as he turned and said something she was too far to hear, and while her brain was screaming that he was uncomfortable with the way the woman was looming beside him, her body was suddenly frozen in place, unable to look away as he smiled at something she said and took another sip of his drink.

He's not an ass, Emma reminded herself sternly. Always a gentleman, he would say. He's not gonna toss the woman onto her ass just because she's coming onto him.

But that was absolutely what Emma wanted to do, and in the few seconds it took her to cross the floor and reach them, anger had eclipsed the fear and jealousy and hurt that even the thought of him being interested in someone else brought to the surface.

She didn't even care that her hair was wet, her cheeks probably flushed more than was subtle after her run through the rain – she wasn't going to let one leggy brunette make her feel small and grungy and like nothing. She grabbed the stool beside Killian and slid confidently onto it, unable to hide her smirk as he turned to find her before she'd even said anything or touched him. His scent was warm in the air around her, filling it just as surely as hers was, and she knew he'd smelled her before she even sat down, that he'd immediately taken notice of how riled she'd become in the past minute.

"Hey there," she murmured – so she wasn't the most eloquent – leaning in and swallowing his smile with a possessive kiss.

His lips quirked against hers with amusement before he returned her passion in kind, his mouth opening as he breathed her in. Every ounce of jealousy that had been burning along her skin disappeared as he moved against her, their lips and tongue tasting each other with the familiarity of lovers. His eyes sparkled as they parted, his hand rising to cup her cheek and gently stroke the round swell of her blossoming smile.

"Hello, love."

Emma's eyes flickered past Killian toward the woman leaning against the wall, a distinct frown line now marring her otherwise perfect face as she watched them, brown eyes narrowing. Emma leaned to the side and graced her with the kindest smile she could muster – most definitely a honey-trap special – making certain her claim mark was more than visible on her neck. If the woman hadn't noticed Killian's beneath his collared shirt, nor picked up on their shared scents, maybe seeing Emma bare hers so blatantly would get the message across.

He's mine.

"Emma," she stated, meeting the woman's eyes unerringly before letting her gaze slide back to Killian, "and this is?"

Her tone was polite, disinterested almost, as if there hadn't been a moment only seconds earlier when she was writhing with jealousy and rage at the woman's audacity, putting her hands all over her mate.

"Ah, I'm not sure I caught it – your name, lass?" Killian chimed in, turning just enough in his seat that it was clear he wasn't ignoring the woman, but never taking his eyes from Emma.

"Aubrey," the woman deadpanned, looking more than a little stricken that Killian apparently hadn't taken the interest in her that she had in him, and was wishing she was anywhere else in the bar at that very moment.

"She was just inquiring about my jacket, love – was this the one you got for me during that first anniversary trip? Do you remember the place?"

Emma hummed and leaned closer, adjusting his collar slightly before running her fingers lovingly along the worn leather, her tongue tracing her lip as memories of that exact trip flooded back to her.

"It was. Remember that little shop we found off the beaten path when your bike broke down and we had to walk it to the nearest garage?"

"Aye, that's right. I actually remember that trip quite fondly, Swan. In fact, I think the walk would have been far quicker if you hadn't – "

"You were kind of tempting, all covered in grease," Emma laughed, cutting him off with a look and then turning her attention back to the woman who was clearly getting more uncomfortable by the second and wondering if she could still escape with a little bit of dignity – as if she hadn't gotten caught trying to put the moves on a mated alpha.

Emma sighed, deciding to go easy on her. After all, she'd just admitted how very tempting her mate was. It was hard to blame the woman, even if it was something Emma would never have done herself.

"So anyways," she continued, "I don't know the name of the shop, but if you ever find yourself riding the coast outside of Newport, look for a garage next to an ice cream shop and a thrift store – the woman who ran it had some really nice leather."

Emma's eyes flickered down to the woman's tight sheath dress with a knowing smile, conveying with a single look that she was well aware the woman had just as much interest in the origins of her mate's jacket as she had in having a motorcycle between her legs.

Knowing the conversation was over, her eyes drifted back to Killian. Her mate was looking at her, mouth open and tongue tucked into his cheek, one eyebrow nearly disappeared behind his messy locks – and all of it accompanied by a fairly smug look.

The brunette disappeared with a bitter, tight smile and Emma bit back a smirk, her own tongue darting out to wet her lips as she focused on her mate.

"What are you smiling at?" she murmured, reaching out and brushing the hair from his eyes.

"I don't often get to see you jealous, Swan," he teased, draining the last of his rum and signaling the barkeep for two more. "Typically, it's me brooding in the corner while some other man drinks you in with his eyes."

"Hey, that's for work – and she was using more than just her eyes, buddy."

He hummed in agreement, swirling his refilled glass gently before taking a sip and sliding the second in front of her.

"Aye, the lass was either quite stubborn, or quite thick – she truly didn't seem to hear a word I said."

"Eh, she was probably just hopeful," Emma sighed, knowing in her gut it was true.

She'd gotten pretty damn lucky in the love department – Killian was a catch in every sense of the word, and no matter what he said, she knew she'd be spending the rest of her life beating women away with sticks. With her luck, he'd end up looking even more dashing once his hair had gone gray, and she'd just look...old. It was almost unfair.

"Hopeful that a claimed alpha was going to give her the time of day?" he asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

"Just...hopeful that someone like you would notice her – the same way I still feel sometimes."

"Oh, Emma," he murmured, pulling her more closely between the spread of his legs as he sought her eyes, his hand moving to cup her cheek and lift her gaze to his, thumb brushing against her weak smile. "We make quite the team, don't we – because there isn't a day that goes by that I don't thank the universe you're still by my side each morning."

"Oh my god, Killian," she hissed, heat flushing her cheeks that ached from the grin she couldn't shake, her eyes burning with tears as she squeezed his thigh a bit too tightly. "You could just say love you too, babe."

"Well, that doesn't sound very much like me, love, now does it?"

"No wordy enough?"

"I prefer eloquent."

"Look," Emma muttered, glancing past the busy bar and toward the hallway heading off nearby. "I was going to suggest we try for a repeat of Rhode Island in the bathroom down the hall, but if you're going to go all Lord Byron on me..."

"Oh, were you indeed?" Killian nearly crowed, knocking back the last of his rum and tracing the smug curve of her lip with the pad of his thumb. "Don't forget, Swan, as much of a gentleman as I may be..." and he leaned in closely, his lips against her ear and voice dropping into that tone that bordered on feral, evoking the feeling of his body covering hers during the fog of his rut, his knot stretching her as she writhed and keened beneath him "...I'm also a bit of a scoundrel."

"It's a good thing I love both parts of you then," she quipped, dragging her lips along his stubble and placing a soft kiss to the corner of his smirk, "but it's the scoundrel I'll be waiting for in the bathroom."

And slipped coyly from his presence, both of their scents mingled and heady and swirling with need, she swaggered across the bar and down the hall, knowing her mate wouldn't be far behind, his eyes only on her – always.