I'm supposed to be writing something else, but I couldn't focus, so here's some hot buttered fluff… (set in a happy future, cause we know the current plan for hot buttered rum probably got interrupted)

His toes are warming in front of a roaring fire, with his love tucked in against his chest and his mouth watering from just a sniff of the spicy sweet aroma coming from the mug in his hand. This is his definition of a perfect moment.

So of course, a mere second later, it spectacularly falls apart.

Emma's sudden hacking cough has her lunging forward, knocking his mug from his hand and its contents straight into his lap.

"Bloody hell…love…are you alright?"

Ignoring the mild burning sensation between his thighs, he presses his hook to Emma's back and leans in to try to ascertain her discomfort. As he gets closer he realizes that her cough has quickly transformed into a laugh and she's trying, and failing, to hide it.

"Emma, what the devil is going on with you?"

There's no anger in his words, merely confusion and a bit of mirth as the situation has definitely veered into ridiculous territory.

Emma's head turns towards him and she almost gets a word out, but then he watches as her eyes fall to his lap and she's lost to her laughter once again. The mug still somehow balanced between her hands is upright, but not for long if she isn't careful. Part of him aches to reach out and grab it before she ends up in the same state as he has found himself, but a much bigger part just wants to sit back and watch her laugh.

So he does. With wet pants and an exponentially widening smile, he luxuriates in the beauty that is a happy Emma Swan. Radiant is the best description of what he sees, all flushed red cheeks and hair tumbling about her in wisps of curls and waves. As the bright green of her eyes finally meets his he mentally stows away this moment as one he will forever cherish and call upon to lighten future darker times.

"I'm sorry, I just…Killian, how much rum did you put in this?"

"Exactly the amount called for in the recipe, darling. I am rather meticulous, as you well know."

If it was actually possible for her cheeks to redden further, he'd wager they would as she clearly caught on to exactly all the ways she would know.

"Did you use my rum or yours?"

"Love, you did not procure rum. I maintain that you were swindled into buying colored water from the thief running The Rabbit Hole. The drink that you are holding and I am currently wearing was made with the finest rum to sail the seventeen seas."

"Don't you mean seven seas?"

"Not with the number of realms I've visited and the years I've been alive. Seventeen is on the low end of my estimations…"

"I forgot, you're like 400."

Too amused to argue at the additional century she has laid upon him, he takes this opportunity to lean in and cup his hand over the top of her mug and pull it from her hands.

"I'll be more than happy to finish yours if you can't handle it…"

Her eyes track the rim of the mug as he lifts it to his lips and the tip of her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip as he takes a hefty swig. It burns his throat as it goes down, the spicy liquor perfectly balanced with the buttery brown sugar. Warm fingers press down on his arm just as he goes for a second sip. Steadying the mug, he shifts to accommodate his love moving astride his lap, obviously uncaring about the rum from his jeans seeping into her thin leggings. She makes a flirty show of grabbing her hair and gathering it over one shoulder before closing her fingers over his on the mug.

"How about we share?"

Too affected by her nearness to form words, he helps her lift the mug to her lips and takes a big gulp of air as she opens her mouth to take a small sip. Her nose crinkles adorably as she drinks and he falls in love with her all over again. A grunt of protest escapes his lips as she pulls the mug fully from their joined hands and places it behind her on the coffee table, both because he wanted more of it and because he thought for a moment she was abandoning her perch on his lap. Thankfully, the latter does not come to pass.

When she leans back in she comes even closer, the tip of her nose just brushing his as her fingers link behind his head.

"Not your favorite drink, Swan?"

"It's okay, but I have a much preferred way of tasting my rum."

His "do tell" doesn't make it from his lips as they find themselves suddenly occupied by a demanding and toe-curling kiss. If Emma Swan wants her rum with a side of Killian Jones, he's more than happy to oblige.