She likes the leather jacket. Loves it, in fact.
Loves the way it fans around him right now as he and David take their turn at sword practice. They are easily the teachers in this informal dueling club they've formed in the middle of the Enchanted Forest, biding their time and honing their skills until the witch finally strikes at them.
Shifting her weight to the other leg, Emma tries to memorize their movements and take notes (she's up next against Mulan). But her dad wields his sword with the stature and strength of a bear, and Hook strikes with the speed and lethalness of a cobra. She is neither of those things.
The men's tussle brings them feet from her, and Emma's head turns to follow them as they pass. The creak and smell of leather stand out over the clashing of their swords, and she remembers the feel of it in her greedy hands, soft and smooth and the only anchor for her own body after his lips leave hers and she finds that she couldn't handle it after all.
"Swan."
She startles to find Hook watching her, one eyebrow raised, along with dozens more eyes on her, too. With the burn of a blush and a few recovering blinks, it dawns on her that he'd said something and that she'd been ogling. Everyone knows they're a-a…thing...now. But still.
"What?" Geez, how oxygen deprived can she sound?
Sauntering over like he knows exactly why she's the shade of the vest he's wearing, he places something bulky in her arms and tuts, "Poor example to set, princess. Small wonder your form hasn't improved despite your obvious potential."
She hopes the glare she shoots at him is warning enough to knock it off. Her dad is right there!
But he just leans in closer, drowning her in the scent of him—outdoors and sun and spice—and murmurs, "Hold this for me, would you, love?"
Emma barely has time to ponder why he hesitates so long, this near before going back to David when, with his own shaky breath the only warning, his lips softly brush against her cheek, leaving her pulse stuttering more for the lack of innuendo and bravado than if he'd kissed her like he had in Neverland. And damn it if she doesn't find herself unsteadied by a simple peck.
(He hasn't tried anything more than a hug since New York, okay? Plus, in general, well, it's been a pretty lonely couple of years.)
It is truly a testament to his devilishly handsome face that it takes a few moments for her to realize two things: what she has and what he doesn't.
His coat.
It'd been so cold in New York when he found her, and again in the Enchanted Forest when they got back, that the last memory she can scrounge up of him without it involves shared coconuts sitting by the campfire and him watching her not knowing that she knew he was…and hell, is hindsight twenty-twenty.
Eventually her face doesn't feel like it's burning with the brightness of a thousand suns, and everyone else forgets about her and refocuses their attention on the prince and the pirate. Mulan shifts restlessly beside her, and it's enough to get Emma to concentrate again, too. A few more minutes pass in a stalemate until Hook suddenly makes a well-timed lunge, flicks his wrist, and disarms David in a move so fast that Emma's mouth actually pops opens in surprise.
She starts walking out into the center of the group to give Hook his coat back and have her go at swashbuckling. She snorts at her choice of word. As she approaches, Hook and David share a laugh and clamp each other good-naturedly on the shoulder before the Hook bends down to pick up the sword he bested from his opponent.
It is so ridiculous of her—really, she should not let that man distract her more than he already does. (Who is she kidding? It doesn't really matter. Mulan is just going to kick her ass anyways). But Emma can't stop herself from watching him. The flexing of his muscles as he moves and the line of his pants that mercilessly leaves little to the imagination….
Well, as much as she loves his coat, she thinks him not wearing it is really nice, too.