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pocket-anon · 7 years

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The Long Way Home (8/10)

A thousand and one apologies again for being so late to post today. I know some of you may have been waiting up for this as you so kindly did for last week’s update, and I am incredibly sorry that I couldn’t get this out sooner. I’m working one of my 84-hour weeks right now, so real life has been busy, and I also decided to run through this chapter for the fiftieth time, which took forever because my brain is mush and apparently also very hard to satisfy today where words are concerned. But it’s very late now, and I’m finally sliding this out there and carting myself off to bed. I hope you lovely people enjoy. Thanks, as always, for your generous support.

ADDENDUM: Special thanks to @kmomof4 for inspiring a little extra humor that got thrown into this chapter after the original posting. I’m terrible, guys - I tweak my chapters after they post all the time. But trust me, IT’S BETTER NOW.

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback. Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic! Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3. Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.

Summary: After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves. When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet. But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels. A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of. (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU. Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut. Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

Hook stares. “Wait. What?”

“It was me,” she repeats.

“You cursed… yourself?”

“It’s a long story.” Emma scoots forward, and he moves off the bed to allow her to swing her legs over the side. She winces, her bones and muscles creaking and with dissuse. “It can wait a minute though. I need to see Alec.”

Hook tenses, a shadow of grief crossing over his face, and Emma picks up on his sudden shift in mood instantly. Dread fills her wide eyes. “What is it?”

“He’s taken a turn for the worse,” Hook says quietly. “The wound looks terrible, and he’s been feverish for a day. I told him yesterday that the leg is too far gone, but he begged to wait until we reach port to see what the surgeon thinks.” He shakes his head, his features grim. “Roberts says he started having difficulty breathing this afternoon. I don’t know if he’ll last the night.”

Emma turns ashen before she swallows hard, her jaw set with determination. “Then there’s no time.” She grabs his hand, and white smoke engulfs them once more, this time transporting them to the crew quarters. Her legs nearly give way as it clears, her feet landing on the floor for the first time in days.

“Whoa!” Hook throws his arms around her before she can sink to the floor and guides her onto the bench next to Alec’s berth. “Steady, love.”

She clings to him a moment and rewards him with a grateful smile before turning her attention to their dying friend.

Alec looks much worse than he did when Hook last looked in on him earlier this morning – he’s pale and damp with sweat, his breathing is labored, and he appears a little delirious, his forehead wrinkling and his eyes slightly glazed over as he blinks up at them in confusion. “Milady?” he wheezes.

Emma reaches forward and layers one of her hands over his. “Yes, I’m here,” she answers with a strained smile. “It’s going to be alright. Do you trust me?”

The way the muscles in his neck tense with every breath makes it difficult to discern his nod, but he grunts. “Y-yes.”

“Good.” She positions her free hand a few inches over his heart, and the men watch her bow her head as though drawing on something from deep within. Brilliant light suddenly bursts forth from the center of her palm. Alec’s eyes grow huge, and he whimpers as the beam widens into concentric golden rings that shimmer and pulse and appear to absorb into his chest. His whole body shudders, but despite a few initial gasps and gulps, his breathing slowly eases. The muscles in Emma’s face twist tighter still, her hand now quaking with effort as she gradually pulls the light down his torso to give his leg the same treatment. A few long moments later, the magic vanishes and she slumps forward, visibly spent.

Hook drops onto the seat next to her and bears her up, draping his arms around her shoulders. “I’ve got you.” He cradles her to his chest and turns his head to watch, amazed, as Alec pushes himself up to a sitting position with clear eyes and a rosy undertone to his skin that hasn’t been there in weeks. “Alright, mate?”

The young man rubs a hand across his breastbone in awe and leans forward to throw off his blanket and untie the bandage. His jaw drops when the linen falls away to reveal his leg completely healed without so much as a scar to hint at the original injury. “Bloody hell!” He gapes at Emma. “I didn’t know you could do that!”

Emma chuffs with a tired smile. “Neither did I until a few minutes ago.”

Hook gives her shoulders a squeeze. “Come, love. Perhaps some food and more rest are in order.” He tries to help her to her feet, but her legs remain unsure, and at her first wobble, he patiently bends and hoists her into his arms.

“Go tell Smee to change our heading. We resume course for Misthaven now,“ he informs Alec. “Roberts can help you find a spare pair of trousers. I expect you back on duty tomorrow.”

The young man nods eagerly. “Yessir. And thank you, milady,” he tells Emma, his voice heavy with emotion. “This is a debt I can never repay.”

Emma’s tired eyes twinkle as she winds her arms around the Captain’s neck. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Hook gives his crewman a solemn smile and carries her out the door.

Though it’s a little awkward toting Emma down the narrow corridor, he savors the sensation of having her arms wrapped around his neck and the warmth of her body nestled against him. She’s a gift from the gods, this woman, and he simply can’t reconcile the inequity of the fact that she’s his. Precious cargo. That’s what he’d once called her. Hook smiles wryly as he bears her back to his quarters. If only he’d known the truth of it then.

Emma lets out a sigh when he deposits her back upon his berth, her fingertips grazing his neck as they pull away. He shivers, sorely tempted for a moment to follow her into the bed and ravage her with kisses, but as much as he wants to realize the fantasies that have kept him company the last few weeks, one look at her weary expression reminds him that this is not an ideal time for either of them to address that aspect of their relationship. And there are more pressing matters.

He props her back up on the pillows and fetches her more wine and his dinner plate. “Are you alright?”

She fixes him with another thankful smile and nods, raising the drink to her lips. “I’m fine. Healing just takes a lot out of me.”

“You’ve done it before?” He resumes his position on the edge of the bed.

Emma hums. “Only a few times. Not many people know I can, and we try to reserve it for times of urgent need.” She sighs and reaches for a piece of hard tack. “I’m just glad I remembered that I could do it before it was too late.”

Hook leans forward and kisses her forehead. “As am I.” He grins, helping himself to some of the food as well. “Now. If you feel up to it, tell me your story.”

Emma nibbles while she considers how to begin. “I was kidnapped in January, a few weeks after the winter solstice,” she says finally. She hesitates and eyes him nervously. “By the Dark One.”

The Crocodile. Bloody hell. Anger darkens his face, and he nearly forgets to swallow the food in his mouth. “What?”

She cringes the tiniest bit at the hardness of his tone. “There’s… there’s a dagger. His power is tied to it.”

Hook nods gravely. “Aye. I’ve heard of it,” he replies. “They say it’s the only thing that can kill him.”

Emma studies his face thoughtfully. “Yes, well, what’s less well-known is that it was once part of a larger blade.” She wets her lips. “The sword, Excalibur.”

“The King’s Steel?” He frowns.

She bobs her head again, absently finishing the rest of her biscuit. “Excalibur was forged to cut immortal ties. Reuniting the dagger with the rest of the sword – making it whole again – restores its power to kill immortal beings.”

His eyes widen. “Like the Dark One.”

“Y-yes,” she acquiesces slowly. “But also the fairies.” She sighs. “The Dark Ones have been at odds with the fairies for millennia. This Dark One wants to use the sword to wipe them out.”

His eyes narrow in confusion. “But what do you have to do with any of this?”

Emma snorts. “He needed my help.” She takes another sip and offers him what remains of the wine. “Only one of the rightful rulers of a kingdom can pull Excalibur from its stone,” she explains. “And the only way to re-forge the blade is with a Promethean flame.”

“A what?”

“A fire lit from the last spark of the fire Prometheus stole from the gods. The Dark One has the spark, but only someone with light magic can ignite the flame and use it.”

“So you suited his purposes perfectly.” Hook scowls, draining the glass and setting it aside.

She hums the affirmative. “He ambushed me when I was out riding – took me right off my horse, I think. I woke up a prisoner in his castle. He treated me well enough.” She arcs an eyebrow wryly. “You know, except for the part where he threatened to hurt my parents if I didn’t help him.” A glance at Hook causes her to slide her hand into his as though she can see the way his blood is threatening to boil, and she continues hastily. “Anyway, getting Excalibur was quick work,” she says, clearing her throat, “and I needed more time to come up with a plan, so I pretended to have trouble lighting the flame.” Hook smirks, slightly consoled, and she gives him a half-hearted grin. “There wasn’t much to work with, but he did have a potion for a memory curse brewing at the time. I waited until it was ready before I lit the flame, and when he forced me to reforge the sword, I magicked it somewhere he’d never find it and then took the potion to wipe my memory so I wouldn’t be able to tell him where it was.” She smiles sadly. "I didn’t want to have anything else he’d threaten my parents’ lives for.“

Pride surges through Hook’s chest at the thought of Emma outwitting the Demon, and he impulsively leans forward and gathers in her his arms. “You’re bloody brilliant, Swan,” he says, planting a fierce kiss in her hair. “Amazing.”

Emma chuffs and hugs him back with a little shake of her head. “Yeah, well, let’s not oversell it. I didn’t realize how powerful the memory curse was going to be,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “I thought I’d lose a few days or weeks, and instead I lost everything. I blacked out, and the next thing I remember is waking up in an alley in Vicarstown. I assume he sent me there, but I have no idea why.” She tenses suddenly and raises her head, her green eyes horrified. “Gods, that was almost three months ago. My parents must be worried sick.” She darts a look at the small mirror above his washstand, wiggling from his arms and moving to get out of bed yet again.

He arches an eyebrow and stands. “What are you doing now?”

“Mirror magic,” she answers simply, letting him help her up and over to the corner. Her bare feet shuffle haphazardly across the floor. “I want to see them.”

Hook’s brow furrows at the idea of her doing even more magic when she’s still so tired, but he holds his tongue and watches curiously, hand still in hers, as she focuses on the glass and sucks in a deep breath. Her eyes fall closed, a wrinkle appearing between them, and suddenly the mirror begins to glow, spilling golden light across the dim cabin. Their reflection disappears, replaced by the image of a woman standing on a castle balcony. Her coifed dark hair is streaked with a touch of gray, and her classically beautiful features are despondent as she stares out over the forest below.

Emma looks up, her expression falling as she sees the familiar face. “Mother…” she murmurs sadly, reaching out to lay her fingertips on the glass.

They continue to watch as a handsome, middle-aged man with a fine tunic and a weary countenance suddenly appears at the woman’s side and wraps his arm around her shoulders. She leans her head against him, and he presses a grieved kiss to her temple.

“Papa.” The image of the King and Queen vanish from the mirror, and Emma bites her lip and whirls, looking distraught. Her eyes lock on to the windows, and she peers out at the night sky with a distant gaze, her lips moving as though in silent prayer.

“Emma?”

She blinks out of her reverie. “When word gets out that I’ve returned home with my memories restored, my family and I will be in danger all over again,” she whispers.

He sighs and tugs on her hand, pulling her gently into his arms. “Tell me what you need.”

“You don’t have to come with me.” She shakes her head, looking forlorn as her hands fiddle with the charms that hang around his neck.

He snorts. “Like bloody hell I don’t.” He tips her chin upward and stares into her eyes resolutely. “I love you, Swan, and you’ve got a head full of memories now to prove it.” He smiles as her sad expression gives way to an awed flush. “I go where you go, and this ship is at your disposal. As is the rest of the crew, I suspect,” he adds with a chuckle.

Emma gives a quiet laugh and tips her head coquettishly. “I thought you were through serving a monarch.”

He rolls his eyes. “I serve at the pleasure of the Lady Swan,” he says, grinning and touching his lips to her forehead. “I won’t hold it against you that you turned out to be a stuffy royal.”

“Hmph.” Her dimples flash despite the anxiety that remains in her smile, and she closes the distance between them to press a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Thank you,” she whispers, lashes still lowered and fingers reaching up to stroke the side of his face. She exhales and tips her head forward against his. “I think we need help.”

“From whom?”

Emma cranes her neck to look away. “From her.”

Killian follows her line of sight out the window, squinting for a moment until he spies the tiny pinpoint of sapphire-colored light speeding over the darkened waves toward them. His eyes widen as it sweeps in through the open window and swells into a giant glowing ball, the light then dissipating to leave a human-sized fairy in their midst.

Emma hobbles over to her eagerly. “Blue!”

The fairy, a slight woman with big chocolate eyes, matching ringlets, iridescent wings, and a fancifully wide skirt that looks a bit like a jellyfish embraces her with a happy cry. “Emma! At last!” She hugs the Princess and then holds her out at arm’s length. “I was so relieved to hear your call just now! We’ve been worried!”

Emma nods regretfully. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing all the way out here?” Blue demands. She raises a disapproving eyebrow at Hook. “And in the company of pirates?”

Hook bristles.

Emma colors. “Blue, this is Captain Killian Jones.”

“Captain Hook,” Blue supplies flatly. “I know.”

At the fairy’s frown, Emma returns to Hook’s side and makes a show of taking his hand and clinging to his arm.

Astonishment transforms Blue’s pretty features, her mouth growing round. “Oh.” She cocks her head, as if reading the energy between the two of them, and blinks. “Really? True Love?” One eye pinches as she peers more closely at Hook, examining him up and down, and he does his best to remain stoic, his jaw clenched in defiance despite the unsettling sensation that she’s somehow weighing and measuring his very soul. At last the delicate lines on her brow fade and she gives an appeased hum. “That’s going to be an interesting conversation with your parents.”

Emma squeezes his hand. “Yeah, well, that’s the least of our problems,” she says dryly. “Blue, I was taken by the Dark One.”

The fairy’s attention snaps back to her. “What?” She watches Hook help Emma into a seat at the table. “Tell me everything.”

Emma proceeds to relay her tale again, only pausing from time to time to answer pointed questions from her friend. Blue’s lips disappear into a tight line at the first mention of Excalibur, and her eyes glimmer dangerously when she learns that she and her kind are the targets of the Dark One’s latest plot. The only break in her quiet outrage is a small smile when Emma details how she spirited the sword away and sacrificed her memories. “I’m proud of you, Emma,” she comments. “You’ve done well.”

Emma grins weakly. “But what do I do now? Can you remove the memory again?”

The fairy shakes her head apologetically. “Unfortunately, no. All memory curses stem from dark magic. I cannot create one.”

“Then we need a new plan,” Emma insists. “No one I love will be safe as long as I have what he wants.”

Hook licks his lips. “Perhaps the best strategy is to attack first then.” He leans forward on the table beside her. “You have a weapon that can kill immortal beings, love. Just end the bloody Crocodile once and for all.”

Emma’s face falls. “I… I know you’ve spent most of your life looking for a way to get your revenge against him,” she acknowledges quietly, shooting a nervous look at Blue before fixing him with a pained expression, “But I can’t do that.”

His brow crinkles with disbelief. “Why not?”

“Because murder and revenge change you,” Blue answers firmly. “They turn your heart dark. If you love her, then don’t ask that of her.”

The thought of corrupting Emma causes Hook’s stomach to feel leaden, and guilt rears its head as he remembers how upset she’d been to kill the naval captain, even in his defense. He glances at her, chastised, and swallows, his eyes falling to the table. “Then let me do it.” He turns and offers the fairy a sad half-smile. “I’m already a villain. My heart’s as dark as they come. Let me pay the price for killing the Dark One. Then Emma and her family will be safe.”

“No!” Emma protests, panic creeping into her voice.

To his surprise, Blue eyes him thoughtfully. “It’s true that your course has been far from straight, Captain,” she says at last, her features stern, “and there has been immense suffering in your wake.” Her frown lessens. “But there’s always hope for a person capable of True Love. Your heart may not be as dark as you think, especially if you’re willing to let Emma’s light guide you now.” She lifts an eyebrow in challenge. “Will you do that? Try to be the man she needs you to be?”

A lump rises in Hook’s throat, and there’s a great weight on his chest as he shares a look with Emma, her eyes emotional and slightly embarrassed. He nods and reaches for her hand.

The fairy smiles. “Good.”

Emma blinks the moisture out of her eyes and sniffles loudly, clearing her throat. “Blue, can’t I just give the sword to you?”

Blue shakes her head again. “That won’t keep the Dark One from coming after you, Emma. It’ll only leave you without the weapon you may need to defend yourself against him when he does.” She lays a hand on her shoulder with a kind smile. “Have hope. You’ve already bested him once, and you have some of the strongest light magic I have seen in a long time. Am I right in thinking you did something big several days ago?”

Emma exchanges a stunned glance with Hook. “You know about that?”

Blue looks pleased to be correct. “I felt it. All the fairies did. What happened?”

“She transported the ship out of a hurricane,” Hook says, gazing at Emma with admiration. “Saved us all by moving us bloody near 90 nautical miles and out of harm’s way.”

Blue’s eyes grow huge. “Truly?” As Hook sounds the affirmative, she looks to Emma and beams. “You’ve always had a knack for teleporting, but I’m still impressed you were able to send anything that distance, much less a ship this size, Emma. Little wonder we sensed it, even from so far away. It gave me hope we’d find you. We knew you’d gone across the sea.”

“How?” Hook asks.

Blue smiles patiently. “Her parents summoned me a few days after she’d gone missing. I used a locator charm on one of her hair combs. We tracked it for a day but lost it when it went into the ocean. We had to assume she’d gone over the water. Your parents refused to entertain any other possibilities.”

“That must be when they sent communiqués to their allies,” Hook tells Emma. “Like the one I found on that ship from Glowerhaven.”

Emma traces his knuckle with her thumb, the corner of her mouth twitching before she sighs again. “Well, we have to think of something.”

The fairy nods with a bounce of her brunette curls. “We will do everything we can,” she promises. With a wave of her wand, she takes to the air and winks back down to her normal size. “I’ll alert your parents, tell them what’s happened.”

Emma turns to Hook. “How long until we get there?” she asks him anxiously.

He inclines his head. “From here with strong winds? Perhaps a week.”

“Then we’ll see you then,” Blue says, swooping toward them in a graceful arc in order to float in front of Emma’s nose, her dragonfly-like wings flapping lazily back and forth.

“Tell my parents I love them,” Emma implores.

“I will. Be safe, Princess.” Blue darts over to give Hook one last tiny, but no-less penetrating stare. “Look after the one you love, Captain.”

Hook nods soberly, and they watch as the fairy loops out the window and off into the night.

* * *

Emma sighs with deep, penetrating weariness as Blue’s departure makes the cabin grow dimmer once more.

Still standing beside her chair, Hook hums and tugs on her hand. “Come, love. Back to bed. I daresay you’ve done enough for one evening.”

She has no words to contradict him as he helps her up and back over to the berth. “And what about you?” she asks, settling back against the pillows with a little groan. “You haven’t slept well in three days.”

He chuckles. “Aye. Now that I know you’re alright, I think I could do with a night’s rest.”

The thought of him leaving her alone in his cabin in order to go sling up a hammock somewhere else makes her frown, and Emma bites her lip, trying to ignore the fact that her parents would most certainly not approve of what she wants to say. “Would you…” She swallows. “Would you stay here with me? To sleep,” she adds, feeling the warmth creep into her face.

Hook ducks his head and scratches behind his ear, trying to wipe the foolish smile off his face. “I suppose I could manage that,” he says, his tone causing her heart to skip a beat. Despite the signs of fatigue around them, his blue eyes gleam with mischief when he glances back up. “I serve at the pleasure of the Lady Swan.”

She blushes even harder and rolls her eyes, scooting over to turn down the lamp above the bed while he pads away to address the others. The room slips into deeper darkness as the flames are extinguished one by one, leaving his figure outlined only in dim moonlight.

Hook turns back toward the bed, and Emma watches, intrigued, as he absently reaches for his left arm, jerking the sleeve up to fully expose his brace and reaching for the straps that hold it in place. He catches her looking, and his hand pauses, his step slowing. Something flickers across his face, and Emma blinks as she realizes he actually looks self-conscious.

She offers him a gentle smile. “Need some help?” she asks softly, moving to kneel on the edge of the berth and beckoning with her hand. “I’m rather good with fastenings.”

Hook folds his lips together, and he hangs his head, hesitating a moment longer before coming toward her and gingerly offering her his left forearm. “It’s… It’s not the prettiest thing, love.”

Emma cradles the brace in one hand and follows his gestures to undo the two studded straps that secure it to his arm, holding her breath as she eases the leather shell off and sets it, hook and all, aside. Her fingers tentatively survey the contours of his stump and the long, shiny scar that runs across the puckered flesh, and she feels him tremble. “It’s part of you,” she murmurs. “That’s all I care about.” To make her point, she sets the arm on the curve of her hip and reaches for his neck to pull him in for a slow, quiet kiss, grinning at the sheen her gesture leaves in his eyes. “Come on.”

He smiles shyly and takes a second to hang the hook and brace from a little loop of leather tacked up behind the elaborately carved support that overhangs the foot of the bed. Then he’s back in her arms, crawling up on to the berth and plying her mouth with more grateful kisses as they lay down together beneath his blanket. His movements are quiet and unhurried – his hand gliding up her back, his lips pulling tenderly against hers – and while she sighs blissfully, it seems clear that his touch isn’t driven as much by a physical need for her right now as it is by an emotional one. There’s something revealing and intimate about this moment – strangely more intimate than if they had simply fallen in bed together in a passionate frenzy, she imagines. This is real. This is the man without the persona, without the bravado, without the preening, without all the leather and steel - without the Hook - that normally separates him from the rest of the world. This is a bone-tired man with weaknesses and self-doubt – a man who wants to be with her not just for physical pleasure, but for the comfort of his soul.

Momentarily sated, he pulls back and drops another pair of kisses on the tip of her nose and then her forehead, his beard tickling her skin while his arm encourages her to snuggle into his side. Emma tucks her cheek into the hollow just below his shoulder and inhales deeply, savoring the smell and feel of being surrounded by him, and despite now being aware of the danger that awaits her at home, it occurs to her that, for the first time since before she was kidnapped, she feels really and truly safe. She strokes the space over his heart and lets her hand drift over his left arm, running her palm down his bicep until her thumb rests in the crook of his elbow. A smile finds her lips as he noses her hair and plants one last kiss on the top of her head. “Good night, Killian Jones.”

He rumbles against her, his voice thick. “Good night, my princess.”

In the warmth of his embrace, sleep claims her almost immediately, and the night passes in a dreamless blink of an eye.

Emma awakens the following morning to the indirect glow of the early sun filtering through the cabin and the crisp dawn air whistling through the still-open pane above their heads. The intense heat of the tropics is thankfully behind them, and the weather grows cooler as they sail further and further north. A particularly stiff breeze whooshes through, and even clothed and burrowed next to Hook – Killian – under the blanket, she can’t help the shiver that ripples across her skin.

He beneath her, shifting groggily and pulling her closer, and she smiles to herself at the notion of being cuddled by a pirate of his intimidating reputation. Her eyes meander over his face to study his neutral features – the dark locks draped boyishly over his forehead, the normally expressive eyebrows, the thick lashes, the high cheekbones, the healing cut, and the soft lips framed by his beard.

Formidable and extremely complicated, to be sure, but he’s got himself an honorable streak that would surprise you.

She chuffs inwardly as Maggie’s words resurface in her mind. The woman did have a talent for judging character. Emma reaches upward to deftly brush the hair away from his face. She loves him. She can’t deny it now. She’s spent her whole life hearing about True Love and dreaming of the day she would find a man who loves her the way her father loves her mother, and now she’s found him. But how is she going to explain him to her parents? To the kingdom? She doesn’t know whether to bless or curse the Fates for throwing her together with Killian Jones, she thinks, dragging her fingers softly from his hairline to his temple and down along his jaw. Because, gods above, she doesn’t know how to keep him, but she has no intention of letting him go.

Another cold gust needles her, and she winces again, flicking a glare in the direction of the window and raising her arm for a moment to magic it shut with a little twist of her hand. The vehemence of her command causes the window to close a little more forcefully than she intends, and the resulting thud jolts Killian awake, his arm reflexively tightening around her torso and his breath seizing in his chest while his sleepy eyes fly open.

“Wha—?”

“Sorry! Sorry.” Emma grimaces and lays her hand back on his chest soothingly. “That was me.” She watches with amusement as pleasant confusion settles over his features. “I closed the window,” she explains apologetically. “It was cold.”

He glances at the distance between her and the window and frowns. “How did you…”

She raises her hand a few inches off his chest and waves it in a half-hearted flourish.

The lines disappear from his brow as recognition lights his face. “Ah. A little early morning magic, I see.”

Emma nods. “Sorry. It was lazy. I didn’t feel like getting up.”

A shiver of an entirely different nature zips down her back when Killian hums happily against her and brushes his lips across her crown. “I can sympathize,” he murmurs into her hair. “Did you sleep well?”

She chuckles, suddenly feeling a little shy, her fingers wandering up to trace his partly-exposed collarbone. “Mm-hmm. You?”

“Best night I’ve had in ages.” He moves a little, and Emma shimmies upward in the bed at his silent bidding so he can drop a kiss first on her forehead and then on her mouth.

His sweet little gesture of affection quickly morphs into something entirely different when she parts her lips for him and invites him to explore. Killian’s rumble of approval reverberates through his ribs, and he rolls up partway on his side and seals his mouth over hers hungrily, his tongue grazing her teeth and his breathing growing labored. She moans and does her best to keep up, suckling at his lower lip and sighing with gratification when he changes his angle and comes deeper still. Heat begins to coil in her belly as he thoroughly plunders her mouth, and suddenly all she wants to do is touch and be touched, her hands flying upward to stroke his neck on one side and bury her fingers in his hair on the other.

In her life as a royal, she’s only been kissed – really kissed – by two men. One was the scruffy stable boy she used to flirt with back when she was too young to know better, the boy who snuck kisses from her when no one else was looking and who broke her heart when he and one of the scullery maids stole some of the silver dinner service and ran away together a year later. The other was a would-be suitor from the cadre that came seeking her hand last year – an arrogant prince who’d cornered her in the gardens and managed to plant a kiss on her before she returned the favor with a fist to his nose. But none of those kisses prepared her for this – for this passionate, desperate dance of lips and tongues that Killian is leading her on now, for the rough drag of his beard over her skin, for the way her body seems to vibrate and move of its own accord in response to him, for the way she wants. She feels on fire with this man, and all she wants to do is burn brighter.

She tugs him down on top of her and swallows his low groan, feeling deliciously wanton as she enjoys being covered by the solid weight of him. Propriety and consequences be damned. The future can wait. This man is her True Love, and right now, she’s awash in the temptation to do exactly what she likes with him.

He kisses his way across her cheek and over to her ear. “What would you have of me, Swan?” he whispers, nipping at her lobe and then ducking his head to sear kisses beneath her jaw.

She pants, thrashing restlessly beneath him while her hands navigate the planes of his back beneath his half-tucked shirt. “Everything.”

He pulls back, eyebrows twitching upward, and looks down upon her with heartbreaking adoration, reaching up to thumb her chin. “Are you sure? Have you ever…?”

“No.” She shakes her head and cups his face in her hands. “But I’m sure. Do I have your heart?”

Killian nods solemnly.

“Then I want the rest, too. Please,” she breathes. “I want you.”

He lights with a brilliant smile and lunges forward again, drawing her lips into a slew of aggressive kisses that reduce her to the most primitive of thoughts. His nimble fingers make short work of the buttons on her shirt, the cotton falling open and the two of them wriggling to pull it free. It flutters unceremoniously to the boards, and he lays his hand on the swath of skin just above her hip, letting it drift over her belly as though memorizing every square inch before moving upward toward her ribs.

His fingers reach the wide strip of linen she’s been using to bind her breasts in lieu of her corset, and he pauses. “May I?”

Any nervousness she feels at being revealed to a man for the first time is assuaged by the worshipful way he gazes at her, and she nods wordlessly, reaching for the flat knot at her side and tugging it loose. Emma bites her lip as Killian pulls the loops of fabric away, her heart pounding when at last they hit the floor next to her shirt.

He pauses to drink her in, lips parted in awe and eyes darkened as they rake down her bare skin. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, leaning forward to capture her lips again. His hand finds her left breast, caressing and cupping the soft flesh reverently and tweaking her nipple to a rigid peak with his thumb.

Emma whimpers softly into his mouth, gradually becoming aware of the hard outline of his arousal pressed between them, and when she arches in response to his continued ministrations, the momentary jolt of bliss she gets from grinding against him makes her gasp. Oh. She braces a foot on the mattress in order to lever her hips firmly into him again, and they groan in unison at the pressure.

“Swan,” he growls, “you’re not making it easy for a man to take his time.”

She rolls her hips upward again in reply and grins wickedly at the even more choked noise it pulls from him.

“Minx.” He grants her one more dizzying kiss before determinedly pulling away to refocus his attention on her breasts, exploring her curves with his mouth while sparks dance across her skin and the warmth between her legs grows more intense.

Killian blindly looses the buttons on her trousers, and his hand slips delicately beneath the waistband, calluses brushing down over her mound in search of her most sensitive places. She gives a little gasp when his questing fingertips finally glide through her folds. “Bloody hell. You’re so wet,” he rasps appreciatively. He grazes that spot that makes her see stars, and his parted lips smile against her when she keens, his tongue still swirling across her pebbled skin and his warm breath doing little to tame her shivers. “Good?” he asks, amused. His fingers find her nub again and begin a slow, steady rhythm that causes waves of pleasure to wash over her and her heart rate to accelerate exponentially.

Emma moans in reply, her lower lip between her teeth. She’s touched herself before, of course, but those curious, hesitant experiences late at night in the privacy of her bedchamber pale in comparison to the sensations coursing through her from the perfect combination of friction and pressure he’s somehow generating now in the slick between her legs.

Killian strokes her a few exquisite moments longer, and her breath begins to stutter uncontrollably. Then his hand slows. Emma whines with frustration.

“Steady, love,” he laughs quietly, the knowing smile more than obvious in his voice. “All good things.” He pushes off her a bit in order to slip further down her torso, the top of his dark head bobbing back and forth as he kisses a wandering line across her stomach, his mouth hot and his chains cold as they drag across her flesh. His hand withdraws from her trousers, fingertips folding over the waistband in question. Emma lifts her hips off the bed and helps him pull, the last of her clothing landing on the floor somewhere behind him with a muffled thump. A guttural moan escapes him as he appreciates her completely nude form, his hand wrapping around the flare of her hip bone and his neck craning downward to resume his path of kisses just below her navel.

Her fingers card anxiously through his hair as she watches him descend, scarcely able to believe he wants to do what he’s doing until his nose dips out of sight and he licks a gentle stripe along her opening. A little cry rips from Emma’s throat, and he groans at the taste of her.

“Bloody hell,” he breathes, pressing forward with his mouth again.

She writhes under his heavenly torment. “Killian…” she pants. “Oh, gods…” Her eyes clamp shut as he laps and suckles and pushes her back to the brink, every coherent thought gone from her mind except, More… more… more.

He closes his lips around her sex in the most intimate of kisses and hums, the vibration shooting straight to the base of her spine, and she gives a muffled shriek and clenches her fist in his hair to urge him on. Her sudden roughness causes him to grunt enthusiastically, and he redoubles his efforts, picking up the pace and tonguing her harder and faster until she’s finally overcome by blinding euphoria.

Emma bucks against him, riding her orgasm out long and hard with a weak, wrecked sob. Never in her life has she ever even imagined anything close to this, this pure, unadulterated pleasure – warmth and love and hedonism all wrapped into one all-encompassing tidal wave that makes her happy to drown. And when at last she begins to come down, she falls back against the pillows, her heart thundering like an unforgiving drum and every inch of her buzzing pleasantly. Her chest heaves, and her legs quiver on either side of his shoulders, and Killian chuckles and swipes the moisture from his beard on the inside of her thigh before crawling back up.

He scatters a few more kisses across her skin as he goes, finally nipping playfully at the corner of her mouth, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I daresay you enjoyed that, love.”

Smug bastard. She chuckles, her dimples appearing as she savors her tang on his lips and the molten sensation of her afterglow. "Yes. Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Killian laughs richly at her retort, eyes dancing. He cups the side of her face and thumbs her cheek. “Ready for more?”

“Mmm.” She kisses him again. “I think so.” He pulls the chains from around his neck and deposits them on the shelf, and she helps him remove his shirt, thoroughly enamored with the sight of him stripped the waist even as she recalls what she’s heard about coupling from her handmaids. Her brow wrinkles. “Will it hurt?”

He hesitates, his expression turning somber. “It may at first,” he admits. “We don’t have to–”

“No.” She cradles his head in her hands. “No, I want this. I trust you.”

To her surprise, his eyes grow wet, the steel blue shimmering like the ocean. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, nosing her cheek and fusing his lips to hers with a sharp intake of air.

They fall silent for a bit, the only sounds between them the whispers of skin on skin and the rustle of the sheets beneath them. His hand moves back down between her legs and begins to pleasure her once more, the swollen flesh still slippery and sensitive to his touch. Emma arches her back, wrapping her arms around his neck and smoothing her hands over the spot between his shoulder blades. She gasps when he probes her opening, and he presses slowly inward until it his finger is seated up to the ring, gently working back and forth and curling it against her walls.

“Alright?” he murmurs.

She nods eagerly, relishing the strange feel of him inside her.

She feels him introduce a second finger, his hand increasingly hesitant as he works to stretch her further and further, pausing at every hint of discomfort in order to let her adjust before proceeding again.

At last he seems satisfied. “Ready?”

“Please.” Emma blinks up at him ardently.

He flashes her a smile and pulls away to remove his pants, sighing with relief when his rigid length is finally released from the constraints of the heavy leather. It bobs against her leg as he climbs back aboard, bracing himself on his forearms. “Hold tight, love.”

He guides himself to her entrance and pushes forward in increments, groaning as she envelops him bit by bit until he’s buried to the hilt. “Oh, Swan…” He brushes a lock of hair from her forehead and gazes down at her, panting rapturously. “Emma…”

“I’m okay,” she hisses, despite the mild discomfort. He feels enormous, filling her and pressing against places she didn’t know she had, but the look on his face – helpless and wondering and so in love – makes her think she would do this a thousand times if it made him happy.

Killian snakes his hand back down between them and slips back to the apex of her thighs to rub her in firm circles, and she does her best focus on the work of his fingers, gradually relaxing as the pleasure seeps into her blood once more.

He watches her expression intently, his face hopeful. “Better?” When she nods, he grins and kisses her hot and sweet. “I love you,” he murmurs, nuzzling her forehead. “Stay with me.”

He begins to move, his face becoming a mask of concentration as he works his way from shallow movements to deeper and deeper thrusts. He grunts and shifts above her to change his angle, and Emma shudders at the new pressure it creates low in her belly and the way he drags along her folds.

“There!” she tells him, her breath hitching in her throat. “There…” She tilts her hips up a bit, and Killian picks up speed, sweat glistening on his forehead and his eyes clenched shut as he begins to lose himself in her.

They chase their release together, her whines growing more and more strained, and when she finally falls again with a cry, he’s right behind her, stifling a roar in the side of her neck as he comes. His hips slow, their movement becoming more erratic with fatigue, until at last he moans and slumps against her.

Emma clutches him to her as they catch their breath and gently cards her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “I love you,” she whispers.

Killian sighs, his arms tightening around her. “Heaven knows why,” he mutters.

She turns her head to place a kiss in his hair. “Because even after all these years, you’re still capable of good things.” Her fingers dance across his back soothingly.

He hums. “Good things,” he echoes soberly.

“You were a hero to all those slaves,” she offers.

Killian chuffs. “I’m hardly a hero.”

Emma frowns into the side of his head before she turns her eyes upward to search the ceiling. “Why did you do it?” she asks at last. “Agree to go after the slavers, I mean.”

He pushes himself up a little to look at her, brow creased in thought, and rolls to settle beside her, his right arm encircling her when she wraps herself around his side. “I wanted to be a better man for you, I suppose,” he answers, shifting them a bit atop the pillow before she lays her head on his chest.

She bites her lip at his confession, tipping her head forward and curling a hair closer.

“And then…”

She looks up at him curiously. “Then?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his thumb stroking her shoulder restlessly. “I told you that my father left me and my brother in the service of a ship’s captain,” he starts slowly. “What I didn’t tell you is that he sold us to him and we spent the next six years as slaves.”

Emma’s breath catches, and she looks up at him wide-eyed.

Killian nods slowly. “We eventually escaped and were given positions in the navy, though the credit for that goes entirely to my brother, and I regret to say I was more burden than help to him back then.” He swallows thickly. “Anyway, being on that slave ship brought back memories I thought I’d purged a long time ago.” He blinks. “There was a boy there who was about the same age we were, and when I saw him, I…” He licks his lips and stares helplessly at beams above, eyes darting back and forth until at last his chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. “Suffice it to say it felt good to free them. You were right, love – it was the right thing to do,” he says, his voice growing softer as he places a kiss on her temple.

Her hand slides up to lay over his heart. “I don’t know. Sounds to me like you earned a mark in the hero column,” she muses, enjoying the steady beat beneath her fingertips.

“I hope so.” He sounds unconvinced.

Emma reaches for his face and rubs his jaw affectionately. “Trust me.”

Killian’s strong arm contracts around her, pulling her up until they’re nose-to-nose. His eyes shine with emotion, and his lashes flutter closed as he leans forward to capture her lips once more. “With my life.” (*)

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