Hook and Emma + Massage
It happens purely by accident first. He's shuffling about the war room - shoulders sagged, body tense - and she can't help but notice the deep circles under his eyes. She tracks his slow movement around the room and frowns, watching as his fingers massage lightly at the base of his neck.
She isn't sure what they are. They've both been avoiding the conversation since they got back to the Enchanted Forest – choosing instead to immerse themselves in the wide variety of calamities that demanded their attention. How do you feel about Hook? Oh look, the Wicked Witch of the West decided to set an entire village on fire. What do you want from him? Delightful, a massive fleet of flying monkeys just ripped the sail from the Jolly Roger.
He had not been pleased.
Still, she felt his gaze on her whenever she entered a room – a warm sort of buzzing settling in her stomach when his blue eyes found her. They joked with one another – smiled and engaged in casual touching. There was a fleeting moment in the heat of the battle after she had been flung rather unceremoniously into his arms by a wayward tornado that their lips had almost brushed, his fingers grasping her face, his eyes so wide and afraid – but other than that – nothing.
She sighs as he tilts his head to the side with a wince, closing her book and sliding her legs off the table in front of her. She makes her decision easily enough, tired of watching him gripe and grumble about the room.
"Come here." She mutters.
He looks at her in surprise, hand freezing against his neck. "What?"
She rolls her eyes and stands, gesturing to her empty chair. He takes a wary step forward and – jesus, it's not like she's going to jump him. Her mind makes a decidedly unhelpful comment at that and she blushes lightly. He notices, of course.
Grinning he saunters over to her, dropping to the chair in front of her with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Was I distracting you, love?"
She shakes her head down at him, pushing his shoulders forward and moving to stand behind the chair. "Have you not been sleeping?"
His brows furrow in confusion, even as a roguish smile tilts his lips. "Why, darling? Do you wish to help –"
She smacks him lightly on the back of the head and he yelps.
"Bloody hell, woman. Such violence."
"Please." She scoffs and her fingers brush lightly at the base of his neck, pushing him forward more still so that his head is bent between his shoulders. His body tenses at her tentative touch and she ignores the flash of heat as she presses her fingertips against his warm skin. "It was barely a tap."
She slides her thumb against his hairline, thankful that he's at least taken off the ridiculous leather overcoat earlier, giving her access to his neck and shoulders. She digs her fingers into the soft skin on either side of his neck and presses down firmly.
He immediately lets out the most obnoxious moan ever.
And she knows it's stupid – knows it's out of context – but her belly clenches.
Damn it.
She presses in with her thumbs and slides her hands up his neck, scratching lightly at his scalp with her fingernails. He grumbles incoherently under his breath, body practically melting into a puddle under her hands.
"Jesus Hook, your neck feels like titanium."
He grunts in response.
"Haven't the faintest what that means, love." He moans again with a little whimper and – jesus fucking christ she did not think this through. "Is this some sort of magic?"
Her fingers still for a moment as she considers his words – honest and open and genuinely curious. The heat buzzing through her at his noises of contentment evaporates suddenly – replaced by a hollowness in her chest. The fact that no one's ever done this for him pulls at her in a familiar way and her words from so long ago echo in her mind – you and I, we understand each other.
Her eyes burn and she blinks rapidly, pushing and pulling at his muscles.
"No magic." She replies softly.
-/-
She happens upon him in the library, standing in the window, leather brace discarded on the small table next to him. His fingers rub gently at the skin of his marred wrist as he frowns, staring out at the view below.
"Hey." He jumps and turns, dropping his wrist down behind him, out of view. She frowns at that, making her way over to him. "You alright?"
"Aye." His eyes keep darting back and forth between her and the leather brace on the table and she can tell he's itching to put it back on. He meets her gaze with a sigh and a small smile. "Phantom pains. Been 300 years but it still aches from time to time."
She reaches for him without thinking.
When her fingers close over his arm his eyes widen fractionally, resisting her pull with a tug of his own, keeping his wrist firmly behind him. She arches a brow at him.
"Let me help." She says quietly and he blinks at her. Her chest tightens at the way he's looking at her – like he can see right through her – and she relaxes, gazing steadily back so he can see what he needs to. She's not good with words – never has been, not like him – so she lets him study her and read her like the open book he claims her to be.
He seems to find what he's looking for because he lets her tug his wrist between them. She doesn't look at it, instead lets her eyes linger on the lines of his face. One of her hands closes over his elbow to hold him steady while the other lightly rubs at the scarred skin of his wrist.
He sighs in relief, lips twitching. "You're quite sure this isn't magic?"
She chuckles under her breath and falls a little bit closer to him, the toes of her boots pressing against his, his breath warm against the skin of her cheek.
"I'm sure."
-/-
She can hear him outside of her door, shuffling back and forth. He's been out there for about fifteen minutes - apparently attempting to work up the courage to knock - and every time she thinks he's going to finally do it, there's a muffled curse and his retreating footsteps down the hall. She snickers to herself the fourth time he does it and swings the door open.
He visibly jumps in surprise and she chuckles, leaning casually against the frame. "Did you need something?"
His gaze narrows and his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek – a nervous gesture – and her stomach flips as she traces the movement.
"I was wondering – " A light blush streaks against his cheekbones and both of her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He rolls his eyes and huffs, staring up at the ceiling. "I was wondering if you'd assist me with your ministrations again."
She blinks at him – bravado thrown aside for obvious discomfort. She takes in the purplish-blue circles under his eyes and sighs, nodding and opening her door further. He steps in with a grateful glance, shuffling back and forth as she closes the door quietly.
She gestures towards her bed and he follows the motion of her arm, seductive smirk twisting his lips as he looks back to her.
"Really, Swan?" That tongue does something decidedly inappropriate and it's her turn to roll her eyes. "How very forward of you."
She pushes him lightly and he chuckles, moving towards her bed and falling face first into the mattress. He peeks up at her from under his thick lashes as his arms slide under a pillow, pulling it further beneath his head.
"You're the one who showed up at my room in the middle of the night." She places both hands against his back and he shuffles further down in the bed, closing his eyes as she pushes lightly between his shoulder blades.
"Aye, but you opened the door. Gods above, that feels good." He groans lightly under his breath as she presses her fingertips into the soft flesh of his shoulders. Heat flares low in her belly and she grimaces. Didn't think this one through – again.
"What would the King and Queen say about a pirate being in the princess's quarters?" The words are muffled as he presses his face further into the pillow and she snorts.
"I'm pretty sure the King would be jealous of the princess."
Hook chuckles in response, the sound doing dangerous things to her. She works quietly, a muffled groan or moan filling the silence between them, her hands pressing down on him through the thin cotton of his shirt. His body relaxes as she slowly works him and his light moans eventually turn into gentle snores. She leans back and smiles softly at him, face squished against her pillows, hand resting lightly on the open space next to him.
She scratches her fingers through his hair and tilts her head down at him, chest warming when he sighs lightly. She doesn't let herself overthink it when she moves back to her side of the bed, sliding carefully under the sheets and blowing out the lantern that sits on her nightstand.
She tells herself it's because he hasn't been sleeping – that she doesn't want to interrupt the few peaceful moments he can gather – but when he shifts and rolls, bed dipping slightly with the movement, his arms flinging around her middle easily (like they've done this a million times before) – she grins.
-/-
"Take off your shirt." She states casually and she feels like she's being horribly unsubtle but he just shrugs, slipping his shirt up and over his shoulders and collapsing face first into her bed. She blushes hot as her eyes take in the tanned skin of his back, his strong shoulders flexing and relaxing as he stretches out, the tattoo on his shoulder shifting back and forth with a shrug. She's infinitely grateful his face is buried in her sheets because she's sure he would have a comment for the look on her face.
It's become a bit of a habit – these meetings.
"Do stop ogling me, Swan." He tilts his head and gives her half a cheeky grin. She rolls her eyes and pinches the skin above his ribs lightly before nudging him closer to the center of the bed. He complies, shifting over easily.
She climbs up on the bed. He freezes.
"Emma?"
She ignores the furious beating in her chest and straddles his back, knees falling to either side of his torso. She keeps her weight forward, pressing down with her hands against the bare skin between his shoulder blades. A shock of heat runs through her at the skin to skin contact and her belly clenches deliciously.
He relaxes with a groan, but she can still feel the tension radiating as she hovers above him.
"Uh," He begins and she would laugh if she wasn't internally freaking out. Uh is not a word she thought in his vocabulary. "This is different."
She shrugs and slides her thumbs down his spine. Goosebumps erupt over his skin and she bites her lip.
"Different can be good." She mutters, again feeling like a teenager. She splays her hands out at the base of his spine and kneads the tender flesh surrounding the slight dimples. He shifts his hips and groans as she presses down harder.
"Aye." He agrees softly and her heart beats impossibly faster as she trails her hands carefully across his back – less massaging and more caressing. She lightly fingers at the tattoo over his right shoulder – two narrow lines of coordinates – before shifting down and boldly pressing her lips against his neck.
A heavy sighs wracks his chest and then he relaxes fully, fingers blindly searching for her against the bed. The rough pads of his fingertips caress her knee.
"Emma?" She hears the question in his voice, knows what he's asking without him having to articulate it. She lets her nose drift along the warm skin of his neck, lips trailing lightly.
"Killian." She replies simply and suddenly he's moving – flipping over on the bed and tugging her down to him. She crashes against him as he throws her balance, her hips falling against his (and oh jesus, those moans weren't for nothing) as he fists his hand in her shirt.
Blue eyes stare up at her wide and unblinking as their chests heave against one another.
"Are you sure?" He whispers.
She wants to roll her eyes but settles for a soft smile instead.
"Shut up and kiss me, pirate."
He does.