Ooops, I'd posted this awhile ago on Tumblr, but forgot to here. Based on the S3 finale CS feels inspired by the sneak peek before 5x11,and all the gif sets showing just how not-into-it Killian is in the past with Regina. Little ficlet where he remembers that damn bar wench he kisses, to his annoyance.

He actually has to steel himself against a flinch as the Evil Queen's dark red talons rake down his arm. Which is ridiculous; Killian Jones hasn't flinched in centuries: he's Captain Hook, indisputably the most feared pirate in all the realms, brutal and merciless, a notorious rogue with women…well. It's looking more and more as though it should be amended to 'former rogue with women'. Ever since that damn bar wench he kissed, the touch of another hadn't brought the usual mindless lust to the surface; in truth, the thought of a strange woman's lips on his, hands on his body, or legs wrapped around his waist lately inspire only revulsion, disinterest, or both in succession. Usually both.

Pathetic that the great Hook has been reduced to this level of discontent, and over a woman with whom he only shared a few—all right, a lot—of drinks with, and whose name he never even learned. And yet…she'd been different. Not the simpering, bashful types that put up no real resistance to his dominating, charming overtures. True, it didn't make any difference to him who he was rooting at the end of an evening, they were all the same, but…she wasn't. And she wouldn't have been in that respect, he just knew. She'd literally caressed his hook, not stared in fear or awe. And with that coy tilt of her head, batting lashes, and abundance of cleavage, she just might have had a better handle on instigating dalliances than he. Though Killian hadn't minded, had very much wanted to be under her spell. And once he'd gotten his hand on the smooth curve of her hip, had her blonde waves tickling his face, her pliant mouth parting beneath his, all else had ceased to matter. Only his need for the mysterious wench was imperative. And then—

Nothing. Then, nothing.

How many times he's cursed himself for drinking to the point of blacking out that night is innumerable at this point. Killian can feel himself start to tune out the Evil Queen; her overpainted lips move, but he registers nothing. In the back of his mind, he knows he should be showing her a certain level of respect. From where he stands, she's the best bet at present to being the key to his revenge, not to mention could strike him down where he stands with a flick of her wrist.

Face facts, Jones, his common sense finally rears its head. You finally have it within your grasp to kill the Crocodile. Buck up, give the wretched harridan what she wants, and take what you need in return.

Sometimes, still, usually in that vulnerable time before drifting off to sleep, he wonders what would have happened if he hadn't had so much rum. Wonders what the soft skin of her thighs against his hips would be like, how she would sound as he laved his tongue to her most intimate areas, how her expression would be in the throes of passion, and even if…if she would have liked him the next morning. Lingered, possibly, drawing nonsensical patterns on his chest with her fingertip after another unhurried session of lovemaking. But how long before she would have seen the broken monster under the suave exterior, or decided her efforts were better utilized elsewhere, and dashed any light possibilities that had arisen in his blackened soul?

Killian polishes off his goblet of wine, throws it over his shoulder with the utmost nonchalance, showing this queen that she doesn't intimidate him in the slightest. He steels himself to follow her into the carriage. She leers at him so obviously, maybe he'll give her a pinch on the arse just to make her think he desires her, stay in her good graces, and more importantly, keep his own mind from straying back to the blonde she-devil that won't leave his musings.

Keep going, you're so close…so close. And with a more determined step, Killian firmly shuts the carriage door and leans back against the headrest.

It wasn't as though he'd ever see her again.