3.
He will never get over the way that Emma kisses - with her whole heart and soul, with everything she has (he can feel it the way her lips move against his, with care, with intent). It is very different from how Emma approaches life (tentative, guarded, ready to flee at a moment's notice) but, somewhat surprisingly, her kisses seem to be how Emma approaches whatever it is that exists between them.
Her hand twists in his hair and his fingers flex against her hip, pulling her closer towards him, pressing their bodies closer together. His heart hammers in his chest, his blood sings in his veins, and he cannot think of anything but the touch and taste and feel of her in his arms.
Killian did not intend to spent tonight on Emma's couch, wrapped up in her, but he does not have a problem the change in plans.
She has been tense and agitated since learning that the Snow Queen has plans for her - frustrated and distracted and working herself to the bone at the sheriff's station looking for clues. He has been there, helping as much as he could (which is not much, considering he does not possess magic and cannot protect her from than he already does) and she has appreciated it, rewarding his dedication with stolen kisses in the hallway or gentle touches when other are around (and, since he's a pirate, he hordes what he can get, each moment more precious than all of the gold in all of the realms).
Tonight, though - this is different, the way that she rocks her hips into his (she must feel how much he wants her, she has to know) and the way she deepens the kiss, body pressed against his own (he has no idea where he ends and she begins, they are so entwined).
Tonight, he had only meant to walk her home, to keep her safe.
And then she invited him in.
She stops kissing him, leaning back, and the loss of her warmth is like a shock to his system. He opens his eyes, catches her smiling down at him with kiss-bruised lips. She brushes her hair out of her face, eyes blown wide and so very green.
"I'll be right back," she says softly, voice hoarse and it does things to him, makes him shiver to hear the need in it, and she's sliding off his lap and heading across the room to her bedroom. He hears the door of her small washroom close, and he exhales, feeling the tension that is coiling deep in his belly grow.
They have stolen moments - kisses, touches, he even copped a feel during a hug once, and she didn't seem to mind at all - but Killian wants more, and so, he thinks, does Emma. It doesn't help that there's a crazy witch in town hellbent on creating a perfect magic family with Emma and Elsa, or that there is always a demand on her time, from her parents or a townsperson or someone else who needs the Savior or the Sheriff (how can one woman be so much to so many people?)
He closes his eyes, rubs them with his fingertips. He is tired, and there is need coursing through even the marrow of his bones, he wants her so badly, wants all of her - wants her just to himself, if only for a night (wants every cry and whimper, wants every smile and sigh, wants the woman he loves just for himself).
The pirate in him would claim that time with Emma; the new man - the honorable man - will wait for her to give the word (and considering he has yet to tell her of his hand, and his deal with Gold…it would be better to wait).
"Killian!" he hears Emma call out, catching his immediate attention. "Can you come in here?" He hears movement, and the creak of the door, and he stands, hoping that everything is all right.
He travels on bare feet across the (cold) wood floor and as he nears the doorway, he calls out, "What do you need - "
And then he stops.
And stares.
Because as it turns out, there is absolutely nothing wrong, and absolutely everything right.
"Close the door," Emma says softly, playing with the ties of the short black silk robe she wears, and Killian can't help but follow her directions. It clicks shut behind him, and he turns the lock for good measure before cocking an eyebrow.
"Clearly you're in need to my assistance," he tells her, hand and hook spread in supplication, watching as Emma rolls her eyes and smirks at him, but it lacks any of the venom of their earlier encounters. Rather, there is a heat in her gaze, a flush on her cheeks when he's close enough to run his fingers over the silken tie, noting the way that her blush continues down her neck to where the robe covers her (he cannot wait to see how far it goes).
"Your assistance would be appreciated," she practically purrs, draping her arms around his shoulders and closing the distance between them. He can't help himself - he slides his hand around to her back, stroking the soft fabric lightly, enjoying the slight intake of breath when his fingers drift downwards.
"Did you plan this?" he asks, because he's curious (and because he wants to hear it, wants her to say how badly she wants him, wants to remember this moment forever). Emma cocks her head to the left, her breath hot against his neck, the warmth of her body radiating out from beneath the cool silk.
"More like seizing the moment," Emma says, and then her lips slide over his again, hot and desperate and he is ready, so very ready for this, for her. The slickness of her mouth and the smoothness of the silk drive him wild as she presses herself into him, hands moving desperately from his shoulders to his vest, working at the buttons, and he lets go of her to help, wanting to be free of his clothing as quickly as possible.
The vest is easy, but the shirt takes some work as Emma's hands pull it from his pants, fingers spanning across his stomach, and just the touch of her is a new level of intimacy for them (and he cannot wait to do the same, to take feel her skin beneath his palm). He breaks the kiss, stepping back to help the buttons of his shirt, and without saying anything, Emma helps him push it off his shoulders, gently working it around his hook before grabbing him by his charms and pulling him back for another bruising kiss.
There is a moment, between the time his lips meet hers and her legs meet the back of the bed, when Killian considers taking things hard and fast, pushing them both to their limits, seeing just how far they can do.
(He doesn't.)
(If this is the only stolen moment they get between ice monsters and delusional snow queens, then he is going to savor over bit of it.)
With little effort, he pushes Emma back onto the mattress and she goes easily, leaning back, hair spread out like a golden halo around her head. Her fingers move towards the tie of the robe, but he shakes his head (he is going to be the one to unwrap this present, not her).
He reaches forward with his hook, tracing the edge of the robe lightly, watching Emma gasp at the sensation of cool metal on her overheated skin. Her eyes flick upwards, meeting his, and he smiles down at her.
And then he gets to work.
His fingers quickly take care of the tie while his mouth finds the places on her neck that make her moan and arch against him, hands on his shoulder, fingernails digging in. When he uses his hook to push away either side of the robe, he can't help but grin: that blush does go all the way down.
"You're a bloody marvel, Emma," he tells her, and she smiles back up at him.
"You're not so bad yourself," she says, slightly breathless, before her fingers are in his hair and she is pulling him back down.
Emma, as it turns out, is incredibly responsive to his touch (the rasp of his beard against the skin between her breasts, the feeling of his fingers against her skin, the way that her body arches and she moans, groans, whimper and whispers don't stop Killian don't stop) as he makes his way down her body.
And then her phone rings. Or vibrates, or whatever it does when someone sends her a written message.
She groans, this time not in pleasure, one hand leaving his hair to reach towards her bedside table where her phone rests. Killian places his head on her stomach, taking a moment to close his eyes (and to undo his belt, and relieve some of the growing tension inside himself, which spirals upwards with every sound Emma makes).
"Something the matter, love?" he asks as she throws the phone back towards the table (it misses, crashing onto the ground but Emma doesn't seem to care as she closes her eyes, head on the pillow).
"Mary Margaret - probably sending me another picture of my baby brother," she tells him. Her eyes snap open, green eyes blazing, and she arches an eyebrow.
Her meaning is clear: she needs a distraction, and badly too. And Killian is more than willing to accommodate someone as lovely as Emma, someone he cares so much for and who deserves more than to be at everyone's beckon call.
He returns to work, mouth blazing a trail further south, and Emma's moans become breathier, her whimpers higher, when his head dips between her thighs.
And just as soon as he can begin, there is a pounding the door, a frantic ringing of the bell and Emma jumps off the bed, leaving him there as she quickly reties her robe, running her fingers through her hair, murmuring something about murder as she charges towards the door.
"Stay here," she tells him, and he couldn't go anywhere even if he wanted to (his ardor is not dampened by the sudden interruption, not now that he's tasted and touched her, felt her hands on his own body - not when he knows that with the sheer force of her anger she could dispatch any of the dwarves or the Evil Queen for interrupting this moment).
It is the sound of her mother's panicked voice, her father's frustrated words, that cools his blood. He listens to the conversation as best he can from behind the closed door, standing and slowly redressing (something about Belle and runes?). His shirt is completely buttoned before Emma slips back into the room and into his arms, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
He can feel the frustrating vibrating through her, evident in the way that she grips his shirt and presses herself into him - and even more evident when the water glass on the dresser starts to bubble frantically (an outward manifestation of her inward turmoil, and one that Killian is not at all surprised to see).
"Quite a parlor trick," he says softly, and Emma looks up, confused, frowning, until she glances over at the water, and the bubbles fade rapidly, the water becoming calm once more. There's a crease in her forehead that is all too familiar to him as she stares at the glass, and he strokes her back carefully, cautiously, unsure of what to say, only wanting to soothe her.
"For what it's worth, Swan, I appreciated your initiative," he finally says, and Emma laughs a little, some of the tension within her dissipating. She turns her head, presses a final kiss to his lips, and sighs.
"David and Mary Margaret say that Belle has a breakthrough where the Snow Queen is concerned, and they wanted to let me know right away. They're outside in the living room." She sighs, heading towards her dresser.
"Should I stay here, then?" Killian asks, feeling something prick at the skin at the base of his neck (shame? Embarrassment? He does not know what to do, has lost his usual swagger).
"No," Emma says. "I don't care if they know that you're here, or that we were…" she gestures between the two of them, and he smiles and shakes his head. "I'm a grown woman, not a little girl, and sometimes I just want to be with my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend, eh?" he asks, grabbing his vest and buttoning it up slowly. He expects Emma to roll her eyes and shake her head, but instead she merely shrugs, and says nothing more, grabbing a pair of jeans out of her dresser and heading towards the bathroom.
Killian finishes dressing, and prepares to head out to meet parental judgement (and if they are surprised to see him here, and Emma answering the door in nothing but a robe, they say nothing about it).
…
Two days later, Emma blows a hole in the sheriff's department then flees, terrified and alone and afraid.
He drinks with David that night, both of them worried and anxious as to where Emma could be.
When she returns, she only talks about her magic, and getting rid of it for good.
Suddenly, his mistake does not seem so urgent.