(Mild Whump Warning. And smut. Definitely smut.)
His tongue sat dry in his mouth, leaking the foul iron tang of blood into his bruised cheek and between his teeth. If it weren't for the castle healer's opium supply, Killian might have passed out from the pain instead of staring deliriously at the white-marveled ceiling of the sick ward. He couldn't help but think that this was some kind of cosmic payback for the pain he caused on his hunt for the crocodile- some kind of cruel comeuppance for the life he left behind when his brother died, and again abandoned when his love was killed in front of him.
The chains around his wrist secured him tightly to the bed, rendering his hand useless in escape. His hook lay wayward on the bedside table, angled away and out of his reach, next to its detached brace and leather harness. Killian shifted his weight stubbornly, only to be met with another bite of pain and a searing flash up his ribcage. The gash that snaked across his torso wound from his navel to his chest, curving only under his arm to end on his side. The nurses had done well enough to suture it, but the shame that came from being blindsided didn't falter for a second.
After all, he was the incorrigible Captain Killian "Hook" Jones- famed villain and scourge of the 7 seas- and he had been slashed into defeat by a girl.
The blow might have been softened if she had been old enough to know what she was doing, but the young maiden's attack had been purely an accident. He, the most feared pirate in all the realms- the scoundrel that the men feared and the women lusted after- was maimed most avidly by an unintentional persecutor.
The girl had been recklessly running through the dusted corridors of the port village, swinging a heavy sword after her younger friend, another girl who couldn't have been more than 17. They were play fighting, shrieking down the cobblestone pathways with giggles and whips of frosted blonde and brunette hair.
She had caught him by mistake, aiming for a sac of flour in a lonesome cart that her friend had jumped behind. The pirate captain happened to walk out the tavern door that laid right in front of the flour cart at the most inopportune moment possible, and ended up sprawled across the pavement with the bloodied wound streaking around his body like a messily carved promise.
Blue eyes flashed wildly at his surroundings, daring to lay a glare upon his attacker, only to find a trembling little lass with wide green eyes and tangled blonde locks peering down at him guiltily.
"Shit- Ruby…shit… oh, Gods. Fucking-seven-hells- shit." She cursed frantically, her hands flying to her hair as her face paled. Her sword had clattered to the ground the minute she'd seen the damage it had done. It shined as a stark contrast against the stone, coated by the dark wash of the Killian's blood.
The younger girl, a tall brunette with dark eyes and a pale complexion, jumped from behind the cart and scampered to the blonde.
"Holy shit…" She mumbled at the scene, offering little more than the mortified assessment. The blonde huffed exasperatedly, hands twisting knots in the fabric of her dirtied skirts.
"Yeah, we covered that bit!" She snapped, but her voice was trembling and she had to avert her gaze from the grunting man on the floor.
The brunette- Ruby, apparently- paid no mind to the other girl, kneeling shakily to inspect the jagged injury.
"It doesn't look too deep, but he needs help, Emma. We have to get him back to the castle."
That remark had Killian nearly jumping out of his skin, twisting urgently to sit up. The blasting pain that responded knocked him right back down, and the two girls became a little blurrier as he struggled to breathe.
"No," He wheezed out, "No castles." The girls shared a nervous glance, before the blonde one, Emma, kneeled and grabbed his hand in hers.
She stuttered warily, holding back terrified tears,
"I'm sorry, I swear, it was an accident- gods, I'm sorry."
If he hadn't been gutted so thoroughly, he would have felt the need to comfort the girl, but his pain won out as he let a hiss fall from his lips. Ruby's attention seemed glued to Killian's left side, and the brunette sucked a deep breath in.
"Emma-" Ruby started, and Killian had an inkling as to what the girl's sight had locked on.
Emma continued obliviously, despite her friends attempts to get her attention,
"It's okay, my parents will help you. You're in good hands."
He couldn't help the indignation at that one, because she had bloody stabbed him, but was interrupted by the other girl.
Ruby seemed to choke on a gulp, and smacked Emma's arm, beckoning wildly to Killian's left side- directly to the deadly curve of metal that rested in his sleeve.
"Emma!" She bit out, red lips curving into a grimace, "He's going to need it. You managed to maim Captain fucking Hook."
Killian's weary body chose that moment to let his vision tumble into a black stupor, and he promptly feel unconscious.
The metal chain clanked loudly against the frame of the cot he was tied to, outlining his strained curses.
It seemed like hours had passed until the door opened, letting light peer into the dimly lit castle room only for a minute, as the blonde girl from before, Emma, slipped in.
She hesitated by the entry way for a minute, before jutting her chin in the air and steering herself to sit confidently in the wooden chair by his bedside.
He raised an eyebrow (which took nearly all of his energy in itself) and tilted his head to get a better look at her. She was older than he had originally assumed- early twenties, maybe- porcelain cheeks dusted with freckles and a soft blush arching its way across her features. Her hair was combed back, now, and she rested in a pristine white nightgown instead of the tattered dress she had on in the village.
"Sorry," She began meekly, but it sounded more like a question, and she didn't bother to finish.
Killian stared at her for a moment in cold silence, before cracking into a weakened chuckle. He found himself heaving in laughter within minutes at the sheer ridiculous nature of the situation he had found himself in, and the girl seemed too surprised to join in on his humor. The laughs turned to coughs, and he was quickly desperate for air, gulping down what little oxygen he could as tears sprang to the corners of his eyes.
The girl jumped up, fear decorating her dainty features, and fled hurriedly.
She returned after barely a minute, carrying a ceramic jug of what he hoped was rum.
It wasn't.
He gulped down the liquid as soon as she handed it to him, until the water it had turned out to be was dripping down the corners of his mouth.
Emma swiped a delicate finger along his chin, wiping away the droplets that strayed. His eyes flickered to her immediately, and she froze, her cheeks lighting up an embarrassed pink.
"Sorry," She said again, tucking her hands back into her lap and curling back into the chair. He briefly peered under his dressing gown to ensure he hadn't ruptured any stitching, and turned back to the girl.
"For which thing, love, attacking me unprovoked, locking me up, or teasing me with that sweet touch?" He drawled, unable to grasp the energy he had found in the hilarity of the situation mere moments before.
She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, dropping her chin to her hands.
"Your crimes of piracy are what got you locked up, and I told you it was an accident, Hook."
She didn't bother to address his more inappropriate implications, and he licked his lips bitterly, eyes closing with a sigh.
"Figuring as we've become so well acquainted, you might as well call me Killian. Or Captain, if that's what you prefer," He was half joking, smirking maliciously at his title, "After all, having felt the metal of your blade in my chest has stirred up quite the hope for future penetrations, wouldn't you say?" He managed a sultry wink, and his voice pitched low and rumbling towards the end of his remark.
She stuttered, nearly choking at his compulsive flirtations.
"You're making me regret not leaving you there to die in the street."
He stubbornly furrowed his brows and silenced himself to an empty conversation, but Emma seemed to have other plans.
"Look, you should be healed enough to face the trial my parents want to give you in about two week's time," He looked at her questioningly before she rolled her eyes and confirmed, "Yeah, princess, pirate, whatever. Anyways, I'd say that getting stabbed is punishment enough, and I'll see what I can do to help you."
He was about to shuffle in that dark tone of his that he didn't need her help- he had survived more dire straights on his own. Something about the determination in her eyes as she stood to leave dampened the words on his tongue, and he clenched his jaw to nod in thanks instead.
He couldn't tell how much time had passed before he interacted with again, because the small room in the palace's infirmary wing was void any windows and each second seemed to drudge on for hours. Nurses and castle maids fluttered in and out without words, and every attempt he made to speak to them was rebuffed with shaken silence as they scurried from the room. Not even his usual charm could persuade them to help him, resulting only in blushingly quick exits, and at one point, a smack to his cheek for suggesting a nurse help him to "relieve some tension".
The King did stop in at one point, observing the pirate darkly and maintaining a menacing distance.
"Your Majesty," Killian began, a bored smile gracing his face as he lazily proclaimed, "I can't say we've had the pleasure to meet. Your lovely daughter, however... well, we've become quite close, I'd say." The King's wary look morphed into one of fury and contempt.
"Be careful with how you speak of my daughter, pirate." He stepped towards the bed, and he couldn't help but notice that the same calculating stair, blonde hair, and stubbornness of the young princess looked directly at him in the face of her father.
Killian licked his lips, and raised an eyebrow.
"The same daughter who stabbed a man, unprovoked and defenseless?"
The King at least had the good grace to falter at that, pausing in hesitation.
"As unfortunate as her accident was for you, it's brought a great deal of safety to our kingdom. The villages and ports will be better off without you ransacking and murdering among them."
Killian tilted his head defiantly and maintained what little power he could, meeting the King's gaze.
"Think of me what you will, but I don't start battles. I finish them. Any man I've killed is one who was given the chance to defend himself and his honor." The King scoffed at him indignantly, but Killian had enough, and went in for the kill. "Any woman I've bedded is one who was done so willingly, and that sweet daughter of yours will be no exception."
That earned him a sickening punch to the jaw, a tear in his stitches, and a firm death sentence moved up to a week from then.
Pirate he may be, but he never seemed to learn when to quit.
He did, however, learn that three days had passed since he last saw the princess. She told him as such, after tiptoeing covertly into the cell where he had been moved once the palace doctors cleared him. Her blonde hair was neatly combed again, but a different nightgown adorned her small frame, one of pale blue with silk embedded along the collar and sleeves. She brought him whiskey, this time, in a little leather flask that she had snuck from the kitchen.
"Stealing for me, are you, Princess? I knew there was a little pirate in you." She glared at him for that, snatching her hand back from his reach after he took the flask from her. The whiskey was fine and rich as it coated his tongue, but he shook his head at it, anyways. "I much prefer rum, darling."
"Then it's too bad I don't care what you prefer." She told him icily, but it did nothing to stop the animalistic urge that tugged his lips into a hungry smirk.
"If that's true, then why are you here?"
She paused nervously, awkwardly taking the flask back to have a pull for herself.
"I'm not here for you," She enunciated, "I'm here for myself. For some reason that's lost on me, I still feel guilty for stabbing you. Which is absurd, because all interactions I've had with you prove that you deserve it."
He grunted at her insult, blue eyes flashing darkly. He has half a mind to grab her forearm and shove her roughly against the wall, show her exactly how much he can prove to her. Instead, he shakes his head.
"In that case, I relieve you of your guilt. I forgive you. You're free to go." His tone was cold and detached, but she must have sensed some hint of a playful challenge, because she hardened her glare and huffed.
She snapped defensively, "You don't have the control here, Killian, I do. I don't need your forgiveness."
"You bloody well have it anyway, then," He growled back, ignoring the reminder in the back of his head that she called him by his name instead of by his moniker, and retrieved the flask from her hands. He gulped down the rest of the whiskey without so much as a breath or a stutter.
She softened a bit, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, sitting on the stone floor next to him. He risked a glance at her, finding a hesitant voice that he hadn't heard in years insisting to him that she needed to be comforted, and not dealt with by such a cruel and harsh hand as his own.
"I'm sorry." She told him, her hand twitching as though she wanted to wipe the drops of liquid from mouth again, and he could feel his body humming that he'd quite like her to try, and feeling her soft skin under his mouth would be an ambrosia to his wounds.
He sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face to massage his temples. A headache bloomed behind his eyes, but he let Emma's soft breathing next to him calm him down. If he leaned to his right a little, their shoulders would be touching, and he thought to himself wryly, that power was a tad too much for him.
"You seem to say that a lot."
She hummed quietly in agreement, before a small gasp sounded from her throat and she turned to look at him. He went rigid at the sound, the laces of his pants fractionally tightening at the noise, and he shifted himself uncomfortably.
"I have an idea," She whispered conspiratorially, and he raised an eyebrow.
"And what would that be?" He murmured quietly, leaning in slightly, breath ghosting over her face. Her own breath caught, just barely, and Killian had to be really listening to hear it. The more primitive part of him, the part that wanted to throw caution to the wind, along with her underthings, and just fuck, wormed along his tongue, and he licked his lips unconsciously. Just a centimeter more, and he could claim her mouth with his own, taste those delicate lips, a soft red that he longed to explore, and trace the ridges of her neck with his aching fingertips.
Unfortunately, he knew his limits, and that if he would take her, she'd need to be ready, and she wasn't quite there. Yet. The sexual tension would have to be a little headier for her to give in, and he decided that as torturous as waiting for her may be, it would be worth it. He pulled himself away as she flushed, clearing his throat unsteadily.
She blinked, as if shaking herself out of a dazed trance. With the newfound room between them, he had time to study the affect that their near-encounter had on her: pupils blown wide, only a sliver of green left visible around them, florid pink skin and heavier breathing than she'd had a few minutes prior. The most surprising, though, was a gentle buzzing in her hands, surrounding in a fluorescent haze of white energy. Those hands- ones that he had spent the last night dreaming of wrapping around his cock, with unfaltering intent and a soft moan in the sweet caress of her voice- were encased in a pale glow that was barely noticeable, faint shimmers of light escaping from her nails.
She followed his stare to her hands, swallowing thickly.
"That's the idea, actually."
He furrowed his brow, trying not to gulp at the new discovery.
"You have light magic?" He weakly questioned, trying (and failing desperately) to keep the awe out of his tone. He'd heard the rumors of light magic's existence, of course, the strongest form born of true love, heard the legends of what it was capable of. It was the stark opposite of the dark magic that had claimed his lost love. It was the complete destroyer of all pain and evil. And, apparently, it looked like that. She nodded sheepishly.
"Sorry, it's... er... tied to emotion... I can't always control it," She said in a repressed and hushed voice, her nervous jittering verging on embarrassed. He couldn't understand, for the life of him, how she could be ashamed of such raw good. Then, in a spark of terror and self-doubt, he wondered- if her magic was capable of destroying the greatest of evils, and snuffing out the worst of the world's darkness, then what would happen if it got too close to him? That thought pushed him to frantically back away, his back hitting the stone wall with an upsetting 'thud'. She looked up at him immediately, a flash of hurt making its way across her diaphanous face, and Killian felt a harsh wash of guilt, because the last thing he wanted was to make her think that he saw her as a monster, or as something to be feared-
"It's not you," He promised, the urgency in his tone jolting her onto her knees, "It's just...Princess, if you truly wield magic known to crush any darkness, then... what happens if it touches me?" He licked his dried lips, eyes wide with a fear he hadn't shown anyone in centuries. She tilted her head at that, and the offense that had painted her face was rinsed away by a tell-tale image of empathy.
"You're not evil," She told him tenderly, reaching a hesitant and slow hand out towards him. He doesn't flinch as it gets closer to his blunted wrist, his instincts from spending years as a pirate captain finally kicking in and insisting that he mustn't show any weakness.
"How could you know?" He asked sharply, the solemn resignation in his expression causing her to scoot closer.
"I don't," she responded in the same hushed voice, raising a glowing hand to his wrist, "But I believe it."
He'd barely known her half a week, but a familiar tug in his gut spoke of memories he had of Milah. A feeling that he hated to admit was stronger than the one he felt for his lost love glided down his throat, and he was quickly choked up with the unnamable emotion.
"If I can heal you, then we call it even."
It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Her fingers wrapped carefully around his arm, and Killian froze when the tugging sensation grew stronger, spreading through his limbs and warming the place where his wrist was wrapped in its usual bandages. The glow spread from her hand to his appendage, surrounding it in a light that grew brighter with each second.
There was a brief sting, but it subsided when waves of pleasure drowned it out, and Killian shuddered at the warmth, willing himself to settle down. Coming in his pants like a fucking teenager was decidedly not sexy, and he begged any deities that may exist to suppress the blood that he knew was currently rushing south.
Emma's eyes were closed and her tongue was poked out of the corner of her mouth in concentration, which absolutely didn't help his situation, and his wrist was resting in her palm just above where he was hardening in his leather breeches, and if she moved just a bit lower-
and then she did move, but to his chest, where the gruesome gash she had created lay, and he felt the tug there.
Before he knew it, she was leaning back and opening her eyes, and his heart was racing faster than it ever had. The glow was gone from her palms and his body, but so was the pain he had been feeling for hours. He rushed to unbutton his vest, and she turned away speedily.
"Woah, woah, what the hell are you doing?"
She sounded panicked and he chuckled a little at the innocence in her voice, tossing his vest to the floor next to him, and working on the remaining buttons of his cotton shirt (anyone who knew Hook knew that he left his undershirts open nearly to his naval).
"I'm merely admiring your handiwork, love."
And admiring, he was. Where the angry gash had twisted along his skin, a shiny grey scar now rested in the shape. If he looked close enough, he could see that it danced into a pattern not dissimilar to the curved neck of a swan.
His brows furrowed.
"Oi, you left a scar."
She rolled her eyes and let out a stressed breath, running a nervous hand through her long hair.
"You deserve it, pirate."
Frankly, he'd never been more turned on in his life.
"Tell me, Emma, what else do I deserve?" His shirt was hanging open on his torso, the planes of muscle and lean skin painting themselves underneath the black material and the rampant dark hair that covered his chest. His eyes had darkened again, and the restraint of his leather pants was doing him no favors.
Emma's eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she noticed exactly that, everting her gaze and blushing profusely.
"Shut up and put your shirt on." She commanded feebly.
He didn't have the energy to focus on her nervous avoidance, though, because his eyes were drawn to his wrist. He slowly pulled the bandages off, worried to see the scars underneath. What he found, however, was the same grey glimmer that adorned his chest and side. Gone were the ugly dark lines that told of alcoholic disinfectant and primitive cauterization. Gone was the dark purple and blue bruising that he had believed permanent, and gone was the subtle burn that he had grown so accustomed to. It was neat and clean, filed into a flattened appendage, as though it had always looked that way.
Emma was anxiously rambling a few feet away from him, moving to stand.
"I couldn't bring back your hand, but I did what I could. I'm sorry, I know it's not much-"
"Not much?" He echoed in disbelief.
"Yeah, but I mean, to be fair, you did rob a few of our navy's ships last year, so I guess..."
She trailed off, not quite knowing what to say, but he was standing too, now, twisting his arm cautiously and shaking his head.
It only took him a few steps to reach her, and barely a second to tilt his head down, slanting his mouth over hers. He greedily swallowed her surprised and convulsive gasp, pulling her flush against himself. She was just as soft as he had expected, if not more, smooth curves resting underneath his wrist with the same innocence he had hoped he could taste filling his mouth. She was sweet, the taste seeping in through the heat of her tongue and draining him of the fervor with which he had kissed her to start with. A strand of her sunshine hair tickled his forehead, and he found himself harshly brushing it away with his hand, cupping her cheek, then the back of her jaw as he wandered into her mouth with his tongue, reveling in her unsure movements and needy pull on his hair. Her fingers tugged incessantly on the black tendrils at the nape of his neck, moving up to tangle themselves in his scalp, and he growled a low moan into her mouth. His hand was now pressed firmly on the small of her back, and he was pushing forward with so much force, he thought she might snap. She didn't, though, just tilted to the side to give him better access, sweeping her tongue along his and grabbing him by his necklaces, bringing them as close to her heart as she could. If Killian had half his brain left, he'd have taken the opportunity to mouth along her exposed neckline, leaving red marks in his wake and dragging heavy fingers to the wealth of her ass. Before he could entertain the thought, though, a shout rang through the halls, and the sound of a horn pulled them apart. Emma pushed away from him as though he was on fire, and he barely had a chance to gaze upon her thoroughly debauched appearance- hooded eyes, swollen lips and feverish complexion- before she was dashing through the cell door, leaving him only with the knowledge that her parents had realized she wasn't soundly asleep in her bed.
"Quit cheating!" She demanded, as he set down yet another hand of winning cards. Killian just chuckled darkly and collected the deck back to reshuffle. The last two days had led to late night card games and careful conversation, only going as far as stolen kisses and her refusal to talk about it. He couldn't help feeling drawn to the young princess, like a moth to a flame. Each night she snuck in, he seemed to gain a piece of a puzzle that he hadn't known he'd been solving. Her bubbled laugh and her shining smile seemed like corner pieces, but the moments of silent tension, where he couldn't tell if she was about to kiss him or smack him- those were lost in the middle of the mess.
There was something artful in his steady hand and the flow of the cards that had Emma mesmerized, before a loud knocking on the other cell doors grabbed her attention. Both sets of eyes trained on the door, his blue ones narrowed in defense and her green ones wide in curiosity.
The door creaked open to reveal a young boy, maybe 13, tiptoeing into the room with a sheepish grin on his face.
"Leo," Emma hissed, "What are you doing here? You'll get us caught!"
The boy shrugged noncommittally,
"I wanted to see if it was really him."
Killian analyzed the lad's disheveled appearance: fine cotton linens sewed into a pajama set, ruffled brown hair, and the same green eyes as Emma.
"This is my brother," Emma began in uncertainty, looking back at the boy pointedly, "Leo, be nice."
The boy snorted and stuck out his hand. Killian's eyed it for a minute, before grasping it and shaking it firmly.
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my boy." He nodded.
"So you're a pirate, huh?" Leo blurted out ungracefully, and Emma elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
"Leo!"
"Quit being so protective of him, he's in my dungeon too!"
Killian let the two bicker for a minute before interrupting.
"You two are hot-headed enough to be pirates yourselves."
Emma shook her head disapprovingly, but Leo's face stretched into a wide grin. Taking it as a hint to continue, Killian directed towards him, "In fact, if you ever get tired of this royal business, I'm sure I can find a place for you on my ship." Emma let out a strangled yelp at this, shoving her brother behind her.
"Not if I can help it!" She insisted, but a playful gleam in her eyes let Killian know he wasn't about to be at the receiving end of her sword again.
"You're gonna die in two days anyway," Leo reminded him, and the weight of the trial seemed to blanket a little heavier than before. Killian tilted his head up and met Emma's eyes, which were averted and guilt-ridden.
Killian smiled openly, covertly tucking Emma's hand into his own.
"Don't be so sure of that, my boy."
Leo dawned a skeptical look and shook his head.
As it turned out, Leo was a fine young lad. At first, Killian had been wary to spend time with the prince in his little cell, given how similar the boy looked to his father, but Emma assured him that he wouldn't be any trouble. No trouble, it seemed, was an understatement. Leo reminded Killian so much of his younger self that the two got on strikingly well, even going as far as to become "thick as thieves" (as Emma had called them). The day before Killian's execution, however, the lad was ushered off by his sister fairly early into the evening. She had used the measly excuse that their parents would find out that Leo had snuck out of bed, because he was so lousy at being stealthy compared to Emma. The boy had grinned and told her that he was, considering what happened to Hook, a much better swordsman than her. The minute that Emma caught Killian snickering at that, Leo was kicked out.
As they sat across from each other in his cell, Killian cocked his head to the side.
"I know you're not worried about your brother getting caught. He's quiet as a mouse." He reminded her, but she continued to stare at her own fidgeting hands.
He sighed and took them in his own. "What's wrong, love?"
When she finally looked at him, he saw that her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. He faltered for a moment, before his expression turned soft and he reached to wipe away one that had fallen.
"Come on, darling, none of that," He chided, tilting her chin up with his index finger. "I'll get out of this, I always do."
She shook her head, moving close enough to him that she could lean into his touch. His arks found her waist and her thighs, lifting her easily onto his lap.
"I'm a survivor, love," He promised, lips ghosting over hers, "You don't have to worry about me."
"I'm not worried," She stubbornly insisted through tears, and Killian chuckled softly.
He leaned down to kiss her gently, then, his hand on the beck of her neck dragging her closer to him. She sighed sadly into his mouth, spiriting feather-light touches on his cheeks.
"I don't know how to get you out," She admitted, ducking to rest her forehead against his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her tightly and protectively, settling the weight of his chin onto the crown of her head. "The only reason I managed to steal the keys to your cell every night is because they've put Sleepy on guard duty for the dungeon this month. There's plenty of other locked doors on the passage to get out of the castle, not even I have access to them."
He could feel the resonation of her voice against the junction where his neck met his shoulder, and she pressed soft kisses to the column of his throat as he tried to respond.
"Sorry- did you say 'Sleepy?'" She looked annoyed at that, tilting her head up to glare at him.
"Is that really all you got from what I said?"
He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in his throat at the image of her adorable frustration. She scowled and tried to move off his lap, but he held her tightly against him and prevented any movement.
"Wait, wait, love," He laughed as she struggled against him, "It's just, well, you're quite cute when you're angry." She smacked him on the chest, and buried her head into his shoulder.
"I'm serious, Killian." She whined, and he sobered up.
"I know, darling." He pressed a kiss to her hair and hummed. "If I'm to die tomorrow, though, we might as well make the best of it now, yeah?"
He raised an eyebrow suggestively and she growled, hitting him again.
"Dammit, pirate, why can't you take this seriously?"
His hold on her waist tightened at that and he narrowed his eyes.
"Because, Emma, all week you've skipped around the topic of how I've come to, god forbid, mean something to you, and you suddenly want to have a serious conversation about the situation the night before?" He tucked her head back into his chest and mumbled against it, "I just don't see the point."
She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, as though she was trying to disappear from sight.
"I'm sorry." She whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Damn the 'I'm sorry's. You've done nothing to apologize for, Princess. If anything, you've saved me."
She looked up to him questioningly at that, wide eyes peering into his own.
"What do you mean?"
He shifted her weight on his lap, so her back was flat against his chest and he could lean his chin against the top of her head.
"I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love, my Milah," His voice became quieted and soft, because they hadn't known each other long, but this was a big deal, and he hadn't felt anything more true as long as he's lived, and bloody hell, what if she doesn't feel the same?
"That is, until I met you." He finished, and the moment of silence that followed was the longest in his life.
She turned around unsurely, straddling his lap and tucking her legs behind his back. Her eyes had gotten watery again, but she refused to let another tear fall, reverently tracing her fingers over his jawline, across the stubble that littered his face, up his cheekbones, and smoothing out his wary brows. His grip on her waist was vice-like and nervous, as though he feared she'd run away if given the option.
She shook her head, and he was much better with words, anyways, so she might as well just use action instead of talk to answer him, and the moment she kissed him again, her head was swimming and he was her only anchor, stray fingers trailing the airy lace of her nightgown and the drag of stubble scratching her cheek. Within seconds, the atmosphere became too much, too emotional, and she had to take control, had to knock his head back against the concrete of the cell wall, plundering his mouth roughly with her tongue instead of basking in the gentleness of it all for a second more. He responded in kind, groaning against her and taking a fistful of her hair to pull her away, only to give him access to her jaw, nipping along the smooth line of her neck, laving with an experienced tongue and biting down with barely a scratch of his teeth every time he heard her whimper at a sensitive spot. She unconsciously ground her hips against his when he reached the same junction of her neck and shoulder that she had found on him earlier, sucking lowly at her pulse point and allowing his hand to wander from her waist, up, up, up, and she was dragging his mouth back to hers and pushing against him with such force that she nearly felt their teeth clacking against each other. She didn't mind though, tangling her tongue with his as she inhaled his scent of sea and rum- the good kind, that she had snuck in the night before. His actions become more strained as she shifted her hips, and he couldn't stop his own from bucking up when she grated against his length. He was hardening, fast, and Emma knew he'd protest- something about honor and good form, and taking a princess's maidenhead, or whatever- but she wanted none of his arguing, opting to tug unceremoniously at the buttons of his vest.
"Emma," He panted against her in warning, but she ignored it, shutting him up with her tongue's ministrations. The heat and wetness of his mouth was easily enough to get lost in, but a coil was wrapping itself tightly in her gut and she intended to release, so she bit down on his lip, fingers becoming more frantic as theyshoved his vest to the side and made quick work of his shirt. He growled at that, fitting his palm under her ass to push her onto her back, her hair fanning around her face like a golden halo. He dove back in, kissing her with such reckless abandon that she didn't even notice her legs wrapping around his waist, and knocking him down to his elbows above her. He moaned, a low rumble that was so choked and fucked that she found herself hell bent on eliciting it again, and he snapped his hips roughly against hers. A sharp stab of lust shot straight to her core, and she rocked her hips up to meet him again, his mouth trailing wet kisses along her jaw. When she finally got his shirt off and ventured with her fingers over the hardened muscles of his abdomen, tugging on dark hair dusted across his chest, he was well on his way to undoing the lace fastens that wrapped around the back of her nightgown. He fiddled with them furiously, groaning in frustration when he couldn't just rip them apart.
"Killian," She giggled, meeting his hungry stare with unbridled interest, "It looks like you need some help."
He scowled at her, flipping her roughly onto her stomach to give him better access to the ties. He tugged harshly on the string until it gave way, and shoved the loosened shoulders of the dress down as far as he could while she was trapped against the stone beneath him.
"Someone's impatient," She teased again, only to gasp when he smacked her sharply on the ass, chiding her darkly, "Watch your tone, Princess."
He kissed his way up her spine and shoulder, brushing hair out of his way to growl in her ear, "I'll show you impatient."
She rolled back onto her back to capture his lips in a heated battle again, her small hand slipping down to palm him through his pants. He groaned when he felt her through the leather, involuntarily bucking up into her touch. Two could play at that game, he supposed. He focused on dragging the laced gown down her body, lowering his kiss-swollen lips to the blushing skin above her collar bones, marking an unbearably slow pattern across her chest. The cool air of the dungeon hit her the minute he slipped the dress over her breasts, puckering the nipples into stiffened peaks. She tangled her hand in his hair and squirmed under him in frustration when he stopped moving just above her heaving chest.
"Killian," She choked out as he blew a warm stream of air over her, and she was already so damn sensitive, just move already, dammit, "Please."
He licked his lips and hummed, gently trailing his hand over the globe of her right breast, middle finger tapping lightly on her nipple, before rolling it between his thumb and his index finger, stimulating with the cool metal of his rings and the fiery heat of his hand. She trembled under his touch, pulling roughly on his hair in annoyance.
"So responsive, Princess," He breathed playfully, pressing what had to be the world's lightest kiss to the unattended nipple, causing her to whine loudly.
"Dammit, Hook, just.. fuck," she wrestled out, because it was impossible to think clearly when he had begun to test the weight of her breast in his palm, kneading it and tracing patterns with his thumb and her whole body felt like it was on fire, and gods, now he was tilting his head in that terrifyingly calculative way of his, closing the gap between his mouth and her flesh, but not before smirking and replying,
"That is the goal, love."
She lost count of how many times his name fell past her lips as he traced the contours of her breast with his tongue, pausing to scrape his teeth over each mark he made, until he finally took a hardened nipple into his mouth to continue his path of chaos, pinching with his teeth and soothing with his tongue and savoring the gasps she made as she writhed beneath him.
He paced his venture to her stomach, pulling the gown even lower, and glancing back at her with blackened eyes for confirmation.
She was buzzing with nerves, flickers of light sparking from her hands, but she nodded enthusiastically, caressing his cheek with the pad of her thumb. He dragged the lace down her legs and off her feet, leaning back to take in the view. She was a beauty unimaginable, with her hair falling in languid strands over her face and down her shoulders, mouth parted in anticipation, with soft puffs of air escaping every heave. He made a point to press earnest kisses to her calves, then her thighs, hesitating at her pelvis to suck a mark into her skin, teasing the textured flesh between his teeth and holding her gaze the entire time.
"Bloody marvelous," he murmured, dragging a finger through her folds, licking his lips at the glisten of her sex, "Already wet for me, too. That's a good girl," He soothed, leaving a warm kiss to her hip.
A tremor shook through her as he pushed forward into his observations, abandoning his task of memorizing the ridges between her thighs and instead pressing a lone finger into her heat, taking in the way she moaned like a desperate woman with hungry eyes and a sly smirk.
"Like that, do you?" He implored, but she couldn't find words to respond, whimpering weakly and tugging on his hair as he urged deeper.
He added a finger, slowly pumping the two and curling them inside, not nearly enough to make her fall, but enough to tighten that coil in her gut, sending a heady rush of heat through her. "Bloody fucking hell, you're tight," He swore and his thumb traced the bundle of nerves above where his the rest of his hand was otherwise preoccupied, pressing down lightly. He hardened impossibly at the resulting cry that tore from her throat, pulling his fingers from the vice of her cunt to cup himself through his pants, yanking on the laces. He ducked his head to lick a steady stripe through her seams with the flat of his tongue, stirred on by the way she pulled at his hair, and held back a groan at the tang of her melting into his mouth. His tentative start fell away for a seasoned lover to take control, delving into her folds with the ferocity of a man starved. He loosened the laces of his pants enough to relieve some tension, quickly returning to his task with his fingers, wasting no time in curling two as deep as he could inside of her heat, dragging his tongue up to circle her clit. She was gasping for air, now, magic leaking from her fingers into his hair, illuminating his artful work. The promise of release drew closer and closer, until she was shaking and slamming firmly down the line between crashing and flying, and she couldn't say she cared which way she ended up going. It wasn't until he settled his focus on that same nub of nerves that she lost control, convulsing and floating, floating, floating- until that warmth spread from her toes and got lost somewhere up near her head, and she was held still only by Killian's grip on her waist.
She stilled after a few seconds of panting, her eyes clearing from the dizzy haze of her orgasm.
"Welcome back, love," Killian smirked, his mouth and beard coated in the wetness of her release, and she pulled him up enough to hold him firmly within reach, kissing him as though her life depended on it.
He gave as good as he got, ignited by the spark of her magic on his neck, and Emma quickly noticed that he was in need of some release, himself.
Her fingers loosened the laces of his pants the rest of the way, and she pecked him quickly on the lips before slipping her hand under the constraints of his pants to wrap resolutely around his length. He hissed at the sudden touch, and allowed her to pull the leather breeches off and cast them to the side. She seemed nearly curious, testing the feel of him in her palm, giving him an experimental stroke, and he choked on his own pleasure.
"Love, if you don't stop that, this is going to be over unimpressively fast." He warned, and she smiled coyly.
"I suppose you should finish what you started, then." She shifted her hips to give him room to slide between them, but he had other ideas, hitching her legs over his shoulders as he lined himself up.
He leaned in, a devilish grin on his face, and admonished in a sultry, "Gladly", before pushing into her with one heavy thrust. He cursed loudly at the welcoming sheath of her cunt, uttering words that were unreasonably vulgar, even for a sailor. Emma had gasped, stiffening at the intrusion, and he gave her a minute to adapt to his size, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. She could tell he was barely containing himself, barely preventing his greedy urges to take over and just have her as roughly as he wanted. She swallowed hard, getting used to the thick drag of his cock, fit so perfectly snug inside her, and pushed her hips against his, allowing him to sink deeper. They both moaned at the movement, and he seemed to let enough control go to push in the rest of the way, until he was as deep as he could get. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder, and she pleaded faintly.
"Please, Killian, move."
He let out a strained groan and complied, pulling out enough to slam roughly back in, shoving her into the cement floor with the force of his hips. A broken cry dribbled from her mouth as she clenched around him, the heat in her stomach returning tenfold. He set an unrestrained pace, his movements uncoordinated and lacking of their usual finesse, but unimaginably satisfying nonetheless. Each snap of his hips was enunciated with a struggled groan, and his fingers left red imprints on her hips as he pushed into her.
"Watch, Emma," He commanded, his voice barely supporting him, "I want you to watch."
She obliged, tilting her gaze down to where they were joined, but her eyes fluttered closed with one particularly deep thrust.
"There," She moaned, in a voice that was supposed to lead a kingdom, but could only manage to beg for what she needed, "Right there, please, Killian."
He found the spot again, lifting her ass to angle her hips enough to give him better access, and gods, he got it, each rhythmic slam landing exactly where he intended it, and the punishing pace had them both panting within minutes.
He could feel her walls start to flutter again, clenching around his cock, and he knew he wasn't far behind. She was overheated and shaky, pulling him into an indolent and feverish kiss.
"Killian, I-I..." She warbled against his mouth, and he nodded knowingly, screwing his eyes shut and pounding into her hard enough to scrape her back against the floor.
"Fucking hell, Emma, you feel like heaven." He pleaded, shaking his head in ecstasy. "Go ahead, lass." He murmured, and it was all the permission she needed. Her walls clamped down around him as the waves of pleasure hit, drifting further and further up her bones until her muscles felt like jelly and the sound of his name was the only one she knew. He cursed and stuttered in his pace, finally spilling himself into her with one long stroke. He gave three more hefty thrusts before he was worn out, hair soaked with sweat and the after-glow of satisfaction drenching him.
She pulled him down next to her, and the unwelcoming stone of the dungeon was anything but comfortable, but she didn't need comfort, she needed Killian, and holy shit, he was going to die the next day, and suddenly she was clinging to him for dear life and kissing him with all the energy she could muster, forced into a single ounce of passion that rocked him back on his side with a surprised grunt and a heavy hand in her hair.
They didn't move for what felt like hours, just listening to the sound of their heartbeats and the soft sway of their breathing in each others arms. Emma was the first to break the silence.
"As much as I enjoyed that, we still don't have a plan to get you out of here."
He hummed and a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"I happen to quite like where I am at the moment, thank you very much."
She grinned, swatting at his stomach.
"You know what I mean, Hook."
He sat up suddenly, turning to her with wide eyes and a grin.
"That's it! That's it, love, you're a genius! That's it!"
She sat up, stretching the sore muscles in her back.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"My hook!" He laughed, smacking himself in the face with the palm of his hand. "Bloody, hell, Emma, my hook."
He scrambled to the pile of clothes, tugging on his pants. Emma wrapped her arms around her torso, feeling a little too exposed, all of a sudden. He shrugged on his shirt, and took her face into his hands, kissing her firmly and stealing the question from her lips.
"There's a lock pick attached to my bloody left wrist half the time, Emma. I can pick the locks on those doors that you can't get the keys to, I just need my hook!"
She beamed at him, finally catching up. Emma scampered to her nightgown, pulling it back on and expertly tying up the fastenings behind her back while Killian finished buttoning his shirt and vest.
"Back in a flash," She promised, accenting her exit with a chaste kiss to his cheek and a mischievous smile.
King David and Queen Snow sat impatiently on their thrones in the trial hall, awaiting the prisoner Captain Hook's arrival to his sentencing.
"What the hell is taking so long?" David grumbled, and Snow patted his arm comfortingly. If she knew her daughter as well as she thought she did (and unfortunately for David, she did), then a grinning Emma would stumble into the room any minute with her hair mussed and her skirts ruffled.
And that, she did. Leo's face soured knowingly at his sister's appearance, scrunching his nose in disgust. He fiddled with his new deck of cards, which had been gifted to him by a certain self-titled 'scourge of the 7 seas', who really wasn't so scary if you knew he was into your sister.
The royal family waited for much longer than they should have for the captured captain to be brought to them- given that the pirate had already long-since escaped, and was well on his way back to his ship. Emma had a blushing glow about her, as if she was holding back a smile the entire time that the guards prattled on about the pirate's mysterious escape, and how 'no one knows where the cell keys or his hook went, your majesties'.
That wasn't strictly true, though, because Emma knew quite well where they keys and hook had gone. In fact, if they ever were to resurface again, one might be able to spot the Princess's sly fingerprints and the captain's coy reflection in the shiny metal surfaces.
David thought himself to be a fair king. Sure, he let his temper get the best of him when it came to the protection of his family, but he was mostly calm and collected, with an empathetic streak and bravery as bold as it was stupid. He had his low moments, of course, when he felt as though one of his own was being hurt. When Emma found out that she was with child, his fatherly hackles raised and he swore to behead the son of a bitch that knocked her up and disappeared without a word. His daughter had laughed at that and insisted that she was fine, and that the father of her child was a good man and didn't leave without a trace. He was on the run and Emma couldn't offer him the protection he needed, but she said she knew exactly where he was, and that if he knew about the child, he'd run back without an ounce of concern for his own safety. She laughed to her father that her man "wasn't a very subtle presence in any room". David wasn't convinced, though, constantly asking why Emma didn't just tell her beau to return, that she was pregnant, that he'd surely be welcomed by the royal family. She had always shrugged in response, mischief dancing happily in her eyes, and hugged her father. "Get some rest, dad," She'd always say, shaking her head and leaving him in a fit of chuckles. David scowled, every time. Damn rest, he'd had enough rest. What he needed was to meet the father of his grandchild, look him in the eyes, and shake his hand.
When the castle's doctor announced that Emma would likely be having twins, David nearly sent out a damn search party for his would-be son-in-law. It simply wasn't fair for that poor bastard to not know that he was gonna have kids running around any minute, and to stay in hiding from whatever threat that Emma didn't think she could protect him against. Snow had talked him down, refusing to share her suspicions about who the father was or why he didn't need to be found, but sure of her daughter's choices nonetheless.
When David first met his grandchildren, he was ecstatic. His grandson, a happy little boy named Henry, was the epitome of his mother, with green eyes and a sweet face. Henry's hair was much darker than Emma's, though, a smattering of dark brown across his tiny head. How curious, David had thought, he must get it from Snow. His granddaughter was a beautiful princess that had been rightfully named Hope, and she, too, looked so similar to her mother. Their faces were nearly the same, with a full head of the same soft blonde hair, and the same pink cheeks and bubbling laugh. Where Emma's eyes were green, however, Hope's eyes were a sparkling blue, so eerily familiar that David had paused for a moment when Emma had placed her in his arms. He shook it off, though, because this was his family, and a proud one it was.
Hope and Henry were barely a few weeks old when Emma's mood perked up from content to humming with excitement. She had just woken up one morning with a seemingly unmovable disposition, smiling brightly at anyone who crossed her path, and warning her parents that today was going to be a very good day, indeed. She spent the better part of the day cradling the two newborns and staring happily at the horizon on the balcony, her eyes trained on the sea. David asked her if she wanted to look at the flower gardens on the other side of the castle instead, because the view was much nicer, but she shook her head and stayed focused on the southern port of their kingdom. David tried to follow her stare, but honestly, he didn't see much, just a few ships in the docks and the same old sea that was always there. He sighed and resolved to entertain himself in the castle library.
Snow rapped on the grande doorframe of the library with her knuckles, a nervous smile playing along her face.
"Charming, you might want to come to the throne room. There's er... um...a visitor." She tried gently, and his brows furrowed in confusion. They didn't have any meetings with foreign rulers or otherwise friends set up for weeks, who would just stop by the palace without so much as a warning?
The two stopped in Emma and the babies chambers on their way to the throne room, and the princess didn't need them to say anything to smile widely and usher her father over to carry one of the twins. He picked up his granddaughter gingerly, cradling her head in his arms. Those eyes stared back at him cheerily, as though she, too, was in on the secret that he just couldn't manage to decode. By the time they made it to the throne room, Emma had handed Henry to her mother, and shoved the doors open with unfounded excitement, shouting something unintelligible before taking off and jumping into the arms of a figure who's image was blocked by the kingdom's head knight standing in the way of David's view. He caught sight of a hand adorned with rings that wound tightly around his daughter's waist, and a tearful, "I knew you'd come back," uttered in her voice. David stepped further into the throne room, but Hope started cooing and squirming in his arms, and he had to stop to softly hush her.
"It would appear I was right, then," A familiar voice called, and in the most annoying moment of David's entire life, he realized why Hope's eyes were so damn unsettling, and why Henry's hair was too dark to be a remnant of Snow's, and why Emma had been staring at the docks all day, and why David hadn't caught sight of two hands around his daughter's waist.
Captain fucking Hook had his arm wrapped tightly around Emma's shoulder and was staring longingly at his children, one of which was nestled in David's arms.
"If you don't mind, I'd quite like to hold my daughter. I'm sure you understand the feeling, your majesty."
Killian got to hold his daughter, alright, and he got to hold his son, too. He got a fucking marriage and a formal pardon from a grumpy King that was now his father in law and a prideful queen that "just knew it was him, all along". He got a career change from pirate to privateer, and his crew of former-pirates joined him in the ranks, and he even got a comfy wardrobe upgrade that involved velvet vests as well as silken ones.
David did make sure, though, that Hook also got a mean punch to the jaw, and a scar from a sword that absolutely intended to run him through. Emma healed it, and all was fine after the chaos of, "Dad, holy shit, you just stabbed my fiancé," but David knows that if his son-in-law ever bothers him too much, he just has to poke the side of his torso, where a scar from Emma and a scar from David meet to form the spitting image of a swan.