So Far And Out Of Sight – epilogue

I wanna be home again and feeling right

He feels elated, almost weightless as he climbs the stairs to his room, the woman he loves, has loved for a long time, following him on his heels. His feet don't seem to touch the ground, because this doesn't seem real, it's more like a dream – most of what happened in the last twenty-four hours feels like a dream, actually.

Emma Swan has told him she wants him, she wants to be with him, and now, after they returned to Storybrooke, she's acting on it. When they entered Granny's Diner, where her entire family and the entire town, basically, were waiting for them, she took his hand in hers before she walked inside, for everyone to see, and didn't let go of it until she hugged her parents. She has told him she wants to be alone with him, and she has agreed to let him court her properly. Yes, she really and truly wants to be with him.

Good form would have demanded, of course, for him to court her properly before their relationship went any further, to take her out for dinner or a dance before taking her to his bed, and Killian wouldn't have dreamed of doing it any way but the right way. But she has expressed her wish very clearly, and who is he to deny her what she so obviously wants?

So yes, he's elated, but also nervous, because he knows this step they're going to take will change his life for ever. He's nervous, because in spite of everything that has happened since she found him at the docks in New York, in spite of the casual intimacy and displays of affection she granted him and the words she said to him, back in New York and downstairs at the diner, mere five minutes ago, he's still anxious to see if she'll stick to it. She has accepted Storybrooke as her home, of that he's sure. But their relationship – is she really ready for this, or does she only think she is? Ready to open up on every level, to let go of all her inhibitions and take the ultimate leap of faith of really letting him in, and not only in a physical way? Ready to allow him to show his vulnerability? And what if – despite the good intentions she has, of that he's certain – she isn't, in fact, ready for all this and retreats into her shell again, at least partly? Will he be able to recover from that?

"You alright?" her voice suddenly startles him from his swirling thoughts, and he notices that they're standing at the door of his room, his fingers firmly closed around the key.

He turns to look at her, and Emma smiles so gently and openly at him, so calmly... it's almost like she's reading his mind or simply sensing his worries and trying to reassure him, and suddenly he feels a bit lighter and returns her smile. "Of course, love."

He looks down at the key in his hand and then back at her again, and she raises her eyebrows and nods in encouragement. Finally, he can get his fingers to move and unlocks the door. Swaying out his arm invitingly, he motions for her to get inside and follows right on her heels as she does. He closes the door behind him and puts the key on the small dressing table, drawing a deep breath.

Emma turns around to look at him, and both are standing there motionless for a moment. She scrutinizes him, drinking in every sparkle in his eyes, every line of his features, every shadow on his face and every crease on his forehead. The mere ghost of an incredulous smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth, and his expression is a nothing short of adorable mix of awe and insecurity that touches her deeply; his expression mirrors her own feelings, after all. Finally, he clears his throat and opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Emma interrupts him quickly, because she knows already what he's going to say.

"Don't," she whispers with a single shake of her head, and he raises his eyebrows in question, confusion adding to the mix of feelings on his handsome features. She specifies, "Don't ask."

He licks his lips, as if he's trying to find the right words to reply, but apparently her addition hasn't done anything to clear his confusion. Emma sighs, because yeah, words have never been her forte, and so she takes off her jacket and drops it carelessly to the floor to show him what she means.

"Yes, I'm sure," she explains, having anticipated his question; the blush tinting the tips of his ears is proof enough that she was right. "I want this, and I want you," she continues and steps closer, drawing a deep breath. "And I need you to stop being a gentleman right now," she demands.

His eyebrows tick up again. "And why is that?"

She takes a step closer and lays a tentative hand on his still leather-clad arm. "Because we're in the bedroom."

Killian shakes his head, as if he's trying to clear off some cobwebs, and suddenly there's his full-bloom, brilliant, rakish smile. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

Now it's her turn to frown in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he tilts his head, "Being a gentleman in the bedroom..." His voice drops a nuance before he goes on, "...probably doesn't mean what you think it means."

He raises his hand and touches one of her locks, never taking his eyes off hers as he lets it slowly run through his ringed fingers. His gaze is intense, a mix of emotions and predatory promises, and she feels heat rising in her stomach. Suddenly, she finds it difficult to breathe. "And what does it mean?" she asks and thinks he must be aware of her quickened heartbeat, as she hears it so loud herself.

He nods and lets his tongue peek out to glide along his bottom lip lasciviously. "You're about to find out."

Emma exhales slowly. "Well, then show me."

He takes a step back, letting her hand fall away from his arm, and shrugs off his leather jacket; it falls to the floor not far from where hers has landed. She smiles in eager anticipation, and he reaches out for her, combing his fingers into her hair and pulling her near by the back of her head – firmly, but not without quickly scanning her eyes. She follows his pull eagerly, and in one fluent move curls her fingers around the lapels of his waistcoat to anchor herself as he pushes forward and locks his lips to her own. It's the first time he initiates a kiss, and holy shit, that man can kiss. Not like she didn't know that before (because that first kiss in Neverland? Yeah, she did have her major difficulties handling it); but the physical confidence he displays now in the way he's claiming her mouth with his lips and tongue has something heavy settle deep inside her, like a weight that's pulling at her with invisible strings, urging her legs to yield. It's breathtakingly seductive, and she holds on to his waistcoat like to dear life. Killian wraps his other arm around her, pulling her body flush against his, and she feels her baser instincts kick in and take over.

Eventually, they have to break apart and come up for air, a moment that Emma hates, because really, she could continue kissing him forever; on the other hand she loves it, loves seeing the expression in his eyes, that enticing mix of wrecked, bashful, and you-ain't-seen-nothing-yet. They are leaning their foreheads against each other, both almost paralyzed for a second.

"A good start for sure," she finally teases a little breathlessly, and he chuckles. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and almost purrs, "I wonder if you can top that."

His eyes darken at her barely veiled challenge, and for once he doesn't have one of his polished replies for her; he lets his mouth speak for him in another way instead. Emma wraps her arms around his neck as the next kiss is about to literally sweep her off her feet. She reciprocates, gives as good as she gets, and her fingers grasp at his hair, pulling slightly, eliciting a growl from deep in his throat that makes her toes curl.

"Too many clothes," she gasps against his lips and brings her hands to his chest, her fingers blindly fumbling to unbutton his vest while she fuses her mouth to his again. His hand and hook are resting against her hips while they continue to kiss, his fingertips burning against the patch of skin above the waistband of her jeans. In her mind, Emma thanks her fairy godmother (briefly wondering if she actually has one) that he's wearing one of the waistcoats with fewer buttons today, because her lack in finesse is as blatant as her lack in patience right now.

When she's reached and undone the last button, she tries to push the garment from his shoulders, but that's simply not possible as long as they're glued together, so he takes a step back, reluctantly letting go of her mouth, to shrug it off. For a moment, they stand at a hand's breadth distance between them, looking at each other and enjoying the sight of the other one's disheveled hair, flushed face and kiss-swollen lips. Emma is the first one to break the moment.

"Much better," she comments with a cheeky smile and steps forward again. He leans in, expecting another kiss, but before their lips touch, she ducks her head to the right and brings her mouth to the side of his throat, enjoying his little gasp of surprise. She can't help but hum in contentment at the feeling of his warm skin against her lips, the scruff making for an exquisite tingle. She kisses along his neck, and his scent is making her dizzy as she noses her way down.

Killian lets his head fall back, his fingers subconsciously flexing against the skin of her hip. His voice is wrecked. "Bloody hell, Emma..."

"Hmm?" she murmurs in question and nips at his Adam's apple.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me," he manages to get out in a strained voice.

When she finally speaks, her warm breath is like a caress against his sensitive skin, making him shiver visibly. "Something I've been wanting to do for a long time," she admits.

He leans back a little to look at her, and she stops what she's doing, eyeing him questioningly. Immediately she understands that he doesn't trust his ears, and honestly, after all of her running and hiding, avoiding and denying she can't really blame him for being a little more than taken by surprise by her willingness to open up like this.

He tilts his head in an adorably bashful way. "Really?" he asks incredulously.

She smiles. "Yes, really."

Then Emma takes one step back, out of his embrace, and crosses her arms to pull her turtleneck sweater over her head and toss it away; the last thing she sees before the fabric blocks her view is the flash of blue as his eyes widen. She stands before him in her bra now and delights in his enraptured expression, looking at her with his mouth gone slack, but it's not lewd or greedy or anything, it's more an expression of incredulous wonder and enchantment, like that of a child looking at a Christmas tree maybe for the first time.

She smiles and motions vaguely to his torso, still covered by his dark navy blue shirt with the grey floral patterns she would never in her wildest dreams have associated with Captain Hook of all people, and admonishes softly, playfully, "Your turn."

Suddenly, Killian is all tense again, but only for a brief second. Because now is the moment he has to make the dreaded decision, the one he's always had weighing on his mind whenever he dreamed of getting together with Emma in an intimate way. He knows he's handsome – devilishly handsome, in fact – and he's well aware of his undeniable physical appeal and the way it affects her. But he's even more aware of the one defect that has been tormenting him for hundreds of years, the one that he often felt defined him (and to many people, it did). Oh, it's not that any of the women he's been with in the past – a fair amount of them – has ever complained about it; on the contrary, most of them found it even appealing, the inherent danger adding to the thrill of being in the bed of a pirate captain. He never even wasted a second thought on whether he should or shouldn't take off the metal attachment that provided him with his moniker, and they always liked it.

But Emma... she isn't one of them, a woman who doesn't mean more to him than a mere exciting pastime. She means the world to him. He doesn't want to take her to bed as Captain Hook, he wants to do it as Killian Jones, and even though for a moment he hesitates, afraid she might be put off by his defect, he ultimately decides that he, too, has to take a leap of faith.

When he reaches with his right hand to take off the hook, Emma immediately understands what he's about to do and tries to stop him with her own hand on his, "Don't."

Only when Killian freezes she notices his questioning, slightly alarmed look, and she could slap herself when she realizes that maybe that came out completely wrong. Maybe it made him think she's repulsed by his scars and mutilation, when nothing could be further from the truth. Unfortunately, it's not like she's been very sensitive about it in the past, she thinks, a wave of guilt washing over her when she remembers all the occasions she's made thoughtless and flippant remarks about him lacking a hand.

"I mean," she adds hastily, "you don't have to. Not on my account."

He looks at her skeptically, his blue eyes shadowed for a moment by that type of doubt Emma knows so well... not a doubt about the other person, but about oneself; that ugly, nagging voice that has been her companion for far too long, like a parasite living in her soul, always sneering, but how could anyone want you?

"Hey," she says firmly, "when I said I wanted you, I meant I wanted all of you." He remains silent and licks his lips in an obviously nervous gesture, and she clarifies further, "I meant there's no part of you that I don't want."

Killian raises his hand to rub an invisible spot beneath his ear and finally nods. "Good. Then..." He swallows and looks at her with determination. "If you allow, I'd prefer to take it off." When she frowns questioningly, he adds, "No walls tonight. No armor."

She huffs a nervous little laugh. "That sounds scary."

"Aye," he simply replies. "It is."

Emma draws a deep breath and nods with a smile. "Okay. No walls and no armor."

So he firmly grasps his hook and twists it with a click, detaching it from its brace so he can take it off and deposit it on the desk underneath the window. Then he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, standing motionless for a few moments, looking at her from underneath his long eyelashes. She lets her gaze wander across his body, admiring the strong lines of his torso, the firm planes of his stomach and the broad shoulders. His arms are well-toned, and the generous dusting of hair is something she never used to think she could get attracted to – and she doesn't even know if she'd find it appealing on other men, but that doesn't really matter now, because she's here with the only man that matters – Killian Jones, and he's simply gorgeous.

The leather sheath that normally holds his hook covers his left forearm up to his elbow and is held by a complicated looking combination of leather straps that lead up to his shoulder. He reaches up and loosens them, impressively deftly with one hand, but not really surprising at this point, because so far she has barely see him failing with any task. He has to pull a bit on the rigid leather brace to get it off, but finally his arm is uncovered, and Killian immediately – probably out of habit – drops it to his side and holds his wrist down, as if he's trying to keep it out of her sight.

But Emma reaches out for his forearm, silently praying for him not to shy back. She searches his eyes, hoping she can convey encouragement, and almost holds her breath when her fingertips brush over his skin. A muscle in his jaw ticks, but he doesn't flinch or look away and allows her touch, and so she curls her fingers around his forearm and raises it slowly, gently, and relieved that he follows her soft pull. She doesn't even look at it, never taking her eyes off his, as she carefully touches his scarred wrist to her face. He's watching her silently, his slightly parted lips giving him an expression of wondrous disbelief again, as she caresses his skin with her cheek. She thinks back to that night back in New York, when she watched him in his sleep, and the blanket had slipped from his arm, uncovering his maimed wrist, and how she asked herself how the scarred skin would feel under her touch. It feels warm and soft and smooth, just like the rest of him, and she feels a deep gratefulness that he allows her to see him where he's vulnerable.

Killian's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows hard, and his eyes sparkle when she slightly turns her head to the right and presses a tender kiss to his marred skin almost reverently. The blunt end of his stump is numb, but the skin of his inner wrist is as sensitive as on his right arm, and when he feels her soft lips on his skin, his eyes flutter shut, and he can feel tears prickle behind his eyelids.

Emma sees the raw emotions on his face – relief, joy, sadness, gratitude – and, deeply moved by them, realizes that she has barely any choice but to fall in love with this man. Before she can think any further of that, or get scared by it, she lets go of his wrist and wraps her arms around his neck, raising to her tiptoes for a kiss. His eyes fly open, almost startled by her move, but he immediately encloses her in a passionate embrace, welcoming her lips. His body is warm against hers, and the hair on his stomach surprisingly soft and silky against her skin. The heat between them rises quickly as they kiss, and it feels like they can't get close enough to each other – at one point, he bends his knees and dives down to wrap his arms around her hips, scooping her up, and immediately she wraps her thighs around his hips and holds on to his shoulders as he carries her over to the bed.

Carefully, he lets her down to stand on her feet again, and they never stop kissing, hands roaming everywhere, caressing, exploring, marveling. Emma can't seem to get enough of running her palms over his chest and stomach, enjoying the feeling of his body hair against her skin – the one on his chest is more coarse and wiry, the one on his stomach narrowing down to a dark path disappearing in the waistband of his denims more soft and smooth like silk. She wants – needs – to feel more of it, and so she reaches behind her back with both hands and unclasps her bra, slipping it off in the blink of an eye and molding herself against him again. It feels incredible, the warmth of his skin and the tickling caress of his hair one of the most sensual things she's ever felt. He gasps audibly when she presses her bare breasts against his torso.

"Gods, Emma..." he murmurs against her lips.

"Touch me," she whispers in response and leans back a little, so he can look at her.

He does so, with his mouth hanging open, and this time, behind the pure incredulous adoration and wonder she reads something else in the midnight blue depth of his eyes, something all-consuming and scorching, a burning hunger; very similar to the one she feels churning deep in her own stomach. She swallows when he slowly raises his hand to her chest after a moment, and her nipples harden at the mere anticipation of his touch. But then he turns his arm and merely brushes the back of his hand between the valley of her breasts, slowly stroking down along her sternum and over her stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Just when she's about to get really impatient, because seriously, she would expect a little more pillaging and plundering from a pirate captain, his fingers grasp the button of her jeans and pop it open. The breath she lets out is almost one of relief as he finds her zipper and pulls it down.

She smiles as she takes over and pushes the pants down over her hips, making quick work of toeing off her boots and losing the denims altogether. The color of his eyes grows even a nuance darker, if possible, and she feels pulsing heat between her legs.

"Fair's fair," she says and reaches for the button of his jeans now, because damn, it looks like if she doesn't take matters in her own hands, he'll just stand there looking at her for hours. Not that the way his eyes roam over her again and again isn't hot as hell, but she desperately needs more now.

Her fingers tremble a bit when she fumbles at his button, and she can feel the muscles of his abdomen clench as her knuckles brush against his skin, but otherwise he holds completely still. When she has them open, a little tug is enough to have the denims fall from his slender hips, and like she did before, he quickly gets rid of them. Emma highly appreciates that his underwear of choice are boxer briefs and not some other sort – not that she has ever thought about it – as they highlight his assets well enough and don't do anything to hide his desire for her. Automatically, she reaches out to touch him, but he stops her with his hand at her wrist.

"Not so fast," he admonishes hoarsely and runs his fingers up her arm. "Get on the bed, so I can worship you properly."

Emma bites her lip and smiles, because of course he would say something like that. What thrills her the most about it is the combination of old-fashioned words and the firm, almost commanding tone. Someone has clearly woken up from their earlier enchanted stupor and seems ready to take over the helm, and she can't wait to find out about that gentleman-in-the-bedroom thing. A wave of desire floods through her veins as she climbs on the bed and shifts to the side to make room for him to join her, and he follows immediately, lying down beside her.

She lets her head sink on the soft pillow and reaches out for him with both arms, pulling him down with her. Killian follows eagerly, diving in for another deep kiss she feels all the way down to the tips of her toes. Honestly, she could lie here and keep kissing him for hours, slowly simmering in the heat created between their bodies, fueled by their lips and tongues and hands finally caressing and exploring what they both dreamed of for so long. But eventually, she feels again that restless impatience that just craves... more.

Before she can even start to squirm, as if he has read her mind (or probably he's just feeling the same), his mouth leaves hers and wanders to lay hot, lazy kisses all along her jaw and throat, and she presses her head deeper into the pillow, arching her long neck into the touch of his lips.

As he wanders lower, he murmurs hoarsely, "I have dreamed about this so many times," before his lips close around one of her nipples, eliciting a moan from her and causing her to arch off the mattress. His hand gently cups her other breast, brushing his ringed thumb over the erect peak a few times while her fingers entangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and her eyelids flutter shut.

He growls deep in his throat, and Emma can feel the vibrations reverberate in her entire body and soul as his mouth travels down across her ribcage and her flat stomach, leaving behind a path of scorching heat. For a moment, his lips and hand seem to be everywhere, and with her eyes closed, this sensation becomes even stronger. He slides further down along her body, his weight making the mattress move, and she opens her eyes again to look at him when she feels him curl his fingers under the elastic of her panties on one side. She smiles and eagerly lifts her hips, adding her own fingers on the other side and helping a bit, as he doesn't have his hook on to tug them down properly. Once the fabric has passed her hips, it's easy for him to peel them off, and she spreads her legs invitingly to accommodate him.

He brushes another kiss over her abdomen and climbs between her thighs, smiling down at her, slowly caressing her left leg down to her knee. Then he nudges her gently to plant her foot on the mattress, and she does the same with the other leg.

"No dream could ever come close to this," he declares almost solemnly before settling down, bowing his head to her center that's already aching for him.

"Oh God," she breathes and closes her eyes again the moment his tongue touches her most sensitive spot.

She didn't expect this, but then, she should have, because he even said it: he wants to worship her, and it's clear now what he meant by being a gentleman in the bedroom. Now Emma has let men do this to her, but she was never particularly fond of extending this game, she always saw it more as a means to an end, to fire up her libido quickly and get to the good stuff. Mostly, a few licks did the trick, and if a guy tried to linger a little longer – which happened rarely enough – she always used to grow impatient soon. Because – apart from the fact that not many men were really good at this – as soon as it got more slow and thorough, it always started to feel too intimate, and that always made her feel vulnerable. And being vulnerable was never something she was good at.

But right now she doesn't feel the immediate urge to hurry this part up, not at all, because – again – holy shit, that man can kiss. It's true, she has thought often before that his mouth should be outlawed – even before she had ever felt it anywhere on her – but she's understanding only now how illegal it really is. He uses his lips and tongue equally, playfully, sensuously, and damn, even his teeth – and God, he's really good at this. She moans and wants to melt into the mattress, her hips heaving in their own accord to meet his moves.

He hums in appreciation against her heated flesh, and she almost fucking loses it, and now impatience is getting the better of her.

"Come here, please," she pants, because really, where's the point in hiding now how wrecked she already is? "I want you inside me..."

He stops his ministrations to press a kiss to the tender skin of her groin, against the madly thrumming vein there. "Patience is a virtue, Swan," he murmurs and flashes her a cheeky grin that elates her even more against her will. Honestly, she should have expected that, too... it might or might not be a delicious sort of payback for the endless patience she had compelled from him. He even might plan to make her beg, nothing less than what could be expected from a pirate – and really, not an unpleasant prospect at all.

She huffs in – not completely feigned – frustration. "I thought you were being a gentleman in the bedroom," she all but whines, "doesn't that mean giving your lady what she wants?"

He chuckles darkly, and the sound sends a fresh wave of arousal through her veins. "Oh no, love," he contradicts, a devilish spark glinting in his eyes. "That means giving your lady what she needs."

Emma shivers in anticipation. "And what is it that I need?"

His expression shifts a little and grows softer, less playful. "To be taken care of," he replies in a deep, almost soothing tone, "To be uncovered." She swallows and just looks at him with wide eyes, and he asks in the most sincere voice, "Trust me?"

That is not really a question, even if it terrifies her. She draws a deep breath and nods. "Yes."

Without further reply he lowers his head again, and somehow she can't help thinking she has maneuvered herself into something really frightening, on the other hand she feels absolutely safe with him. She lets her head fall back again and closes her eyes.

Killian is enchanted, there's no more appropriate word. Never would he have dared to hope that she could be so forward, so openly showing her desire and giving up control at the same time. Because yes, this here is about falling and catching, trusting and reaching out and touching – touching her mind, her heart and her soul, showing her that he's not just going to do what's necessary to give her satisfaction so that he in return can take what he needs. He's determined to show her that he's into this for the long haul, that he's going to stay and lead her and follow her everywhere she wants. He still can't believe his luck, and part of him is afraid that he's going to wake up any moment from this wonderful dream of Emma Swan splayed out before him on his bed, naked and defenseless, letting him taste her. But then her soft, rhythmic moans assure him that he's not dreaming; they ebb and flow and come in sync with the strokes of his tongue, the press of his lips.

Her body is moving in the rhythm he sets with his ministrations, and he pays close attention to her various reactions and responds to all of them adjusting his pace and intensity. At some point, he can tell by the urge in the sounds she makes and the firmer tug at his hair, that the tension is building up in her, that she's almost there, almost... and he slows down. Her moans become laments, but she doesn't really protest in earnest. He can feel her impatience, sure, but in the end, Emma follows his lead without trying to push, and he's in awe of her willingness to let go and give up any control, of this display of utter trust.

He repeats his game, relentlessly, brings her high again to the verge of release, has her teetering there for a bit and then retreats again, his scruff scraping along her inner thighs and at the edge of her sanity. She's getting the hang of it, he can feel it, she settles into his rhythm – tenses when he works her up and relaxes again when he soothes her, and even though she softly complains every time he denies her the ultimate push, he knows she's enjoying this.

Emma does enjoy it, but it's a fine line she's balancing on, a line between pleasure and torment. All the sensations that are currently assailing her – it's almost too much to bear. Yes, she's practiced this before, and she mostly enjoyed it as an effective, quick way to work her up and give her that first release really fast, so that she could enjoy toying around for some more. Yes, she's used to take what she thought she needed – but this is so much more, it's what she never knew she really needed... it's like Killian said, being taken care of, really taken care of, and not just giving in to her most urgent desires. He is meticulously working the tension off of her, the ever-present pain and loneliness she never really forgot, he's slowly opening her up, and she can feel all sort of things, broken pieces of her, fall into place with every time he makes her relax after an almost-peak. It's like he's peeling away layer after layer of her covers until she feels raw and exposed, but in a freeing way... and he still continues, showing her that what he discovers is precious. That she, Emma Swan at her core, with all her flaws and scars, is precious to him. And it starts to dawn on her that this – this is really the good stuff.

So, she's lying there, sweat prickling on her skin, not really knowing what to do with herself and all the bliss – physical and emotional – that's got her in its hold. The shivers that ripple through her are a mix of arousal, impatience, rapture, and something deep and huge and powerful that frightens the shit out of her but is also impossible to ignore. And she doesn't want to ignore it any longer. The moment she lets herself fall completely, lets go of the last bit of internalized inhibitions, casts them out, she feels completely free and home and surprisingly not weak at all. Her own voice rings in her head, Love is strength, and so maybe she didn't fully believe it back then, but she surely believes it now. A tear prickles behind her closed eyelids.

Without being aware of it, she makes a noise between a sigh and a sob, and suddenly he stops his ministrations, giving her a second to breathe. Emma opens her eyes and looks down at him just to find him watching her, his brow a little furrowed in the slightest worry, and so she smiles, hoping to make him understand that he has absolutely nothing to worry about. He smiles back, a dazzling smile, the happy sparkle in his eyes nearly blinding her, and she can't bear it for one more second not to be able to feel his heart beat against hers, his weight pressing her down, anchoring her. And so she reaches for him with both arms, an almost pleading gesture beckoning him near, and it has nothing to do with her wanting him finally inside her.

"Come here, please," she says again, her voice a little rough around the edges, but also unspeakably soft, "I need to feel you."

He leans his scruffy cheek against her thigh and continues to gently touch her, his fingers resuming the caresses where his mouth stopped working her only moments before. "Are you not feeling me right now, love?" he asks tenderly, only the tiniest tease in his voice.

"In my arms," she simply replies, aware of the vulnerability in her voice, but completely unafraid of it.

He smiles, and his eyes light up even more brightly, if possible. "Say my name?" he pleads.

Only now she realizes that she hasn't spoken his name since they've entered this room, and she's aware of why that is. One nighters always were as far as Emma Swan ever went, and calling her respective partners by their name would have created a nearness and intimacy she neither needed nor wanted. That old habit of hers has always been one of many she used to keep her walls up and protect her heart, but it feels like none of it is necessary any longer, and God, she is so fucking tired of both. And like she once said to him, she's also tired of living in the past, tired of being held prisoner by her own fears and insecurities. Besides, she remembers, she promised it half an hour ago – a promise made to him and also to herself: No walls and no armor.

Emma swallows, because her mouth is so dry, and she wants to savor it, saying his name like this for the first time, saying it with emotion and devotion in her voice, addressing her lover.

"Killian," she whispers, feeling her lips pull into a smile and that tear finally trickling out of the corner of her eye.

She doesn't have to ask again, he glides up along her body, briefly hovering above her before he lowers himself into her waiting arms, and it feels even better than she imagined, his warmth, the smoothness of his skin and the coarseness of his hair, and his scent engulfing her as their bodies are pressed together now from chests to hips. She wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him nearer, and with a barely perceptible shift of his hips he brings himself into the right position, the feeling of his hot tip grazing over her sensitive center making her tense in eager anticipation.

His eyes lock with hers as he slides in slowly, oh so slowly, and for a moment nothing else exists in the world. He takes his time, obviously he can't be bothered to rush this moment, because yeah, patience is a virtue, and this man has proven to be one of the most virtuous men she ever met, so he's allowed to savor this. And he does savor it, savors every single warm inch of her welcoming him home, until he's fully settled and stills to give both of them time to adjust to the feeling of their bodies finally being joined like their souls have been long before.

Emma exhales. "Killian," she says again, and he tilts his head while his hand cups her cheek and his thumb finds the wetness at the corner of her eye and brushes it away.

"Emma," he replies and pulls back slowly, almost tentatively, just to slide back in again, and she hisses, it feels so good. He repeats the move and soon finds a rhythm of gently rocking back and forth which she adapts to immediately, as if they have done this a hundred times already, as if they were always bound to end up exactly here.

"Move faster, please," she urges breathlessly after a while, and he doesn't have to be told twice.

He picks up speed and force, the sounds she's making and the way she's pulling him closer encouraging him to do so. Soft pleas and curses are falling from her lips as she lifts her hips to meet his thrusts. He has worked both of them up with his tormenting foreplay, so that the need for release is almost overwhelming, and he's relieved to see the same frenzied urge in her eyes he feels rushing through his veins, so he holds back only the tiniest bit, until he can be sure she's not going to be left behind. When her short nails are digging into his back and her body starts to tense and tremble, he lets go of every restraint and lets his raw, animalistic instincts take over.

Her inner muscles are finally clenching around him as she cries out his name again, and it doesn't take but a few more thrusts for him to reach the point of no return, too. And as they both go completely still again, the room falls quiet except for their breaths that come out more like pants.

Emma's eyes are closed while Killian is watching her intently, like he has done for the whole time, the sight of her letting go and falling apart beneath him unlike anything he's ever witnessed before, and he knows it's something that will be ingrained in his brain forever. Her face is soft and relaxed now, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, but in these few seconds his nervousness wells up again. What if...

But any insecurity is blown away when she opens her eyes and they're soft and deep, even if she doesn't smile yet, and he can feel her fingers running along his ribs in an absentminded caress that tells him more than anything what he needs to know about her state of mind and feelings.

She swallows before she finally says, in a still breathless voice, "Wow."

Killian nods his head once, mesmerized by her eyes, because that one word expresses his own feelings perfectly well. "Aye," he replies almost solemnly.

Her eyes widen in feigned surprise. "What, aren't you gonna be smug about it?" she teases softly.

And just like that, he relaxes completely – seeing her so absolutely comfortable and at ease with him, with them, with what just happened, that she can even tease him about it... that's everything he ever could have hoped for.

He looks down at her and raises a devilish eyebrow. "Oh, you think we're already done here?" he asks cockily.

Finally, her lips pull into an expectant smile full of mischief. "We're not?"

He tilts his head. "Not unless you claim it was a one-time thing."

She laughs, a carefree, wonderful sound. "I don't have all that willpower," she then replies and wraps her arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

There's a faint trace of her own taste on his lips, reminding Emma of what he just did to her, did for her, and unlike what she might have expected, it's really erotic to her. Her whole body is still tingling, honestly, and it embarrasses her a little that she's already thinking that she craves more, that she can't get enough of this, of him. But what shocks her even more is that this for her also encompasses the emotional intimacy that's binding them, the tenderness, the nearness – the cuddling. And that has always been something she hated and never did. The caresses and embraces, the whispered words of tender nonsense – she doesn't know how that works.

Normally, after sex, she always used to want a bathroom, clean clothes, and her bed to herself. Not awkwardly lying next to another sweaty body she didn't plan on ever seeing again, at least not naked.

But this here – and it doesn't even surprise her – is different, like everything has proven to be different when it comes to Killian Jones. She doesn't care that she's not in her own bed, she doesn't care that they are both sticky with sweat or that his eyes are looking at her like he's staring right to the very bottom of her heart and soul. She doesn't even care that his fingertips are resting against her face and that his thumb is slowly caressing the apple of her cheek. She doesn't want a bathroom, clothes are obsolete anyway as they're very clearly not done here yet, and she doesn't want to be in her own bed by herself.

Oh, and she's planning to see a lot of Killian Jones in the future, and yeah, she hopes they will be naked on many occasions.

No, she's exactly where she wants to be. Where she belongs.

She shifts a little, and immediately, he lifts his weight on his elbows and moves off of her, which causes him to slip out. With a quick flick of her wrist she takes care of the mess that makes between them. Both are lying on their sides now, facing each other, and Killian has tucked his left forearm under his head, while Emma rests on her right elbow, looking down at him. The thought crosses her mind that she could study his face for a very long time and would still not get enough of it. Her lips pull into an involuntary smile, and she shakes her head at how besotted she feels and probably looks. And really, besotted? She didn't even know that word existed in her vocabulary.

"What?" he asks with an amused smile crinkling the fine skin around his eyes when she remains silent.

"You lied to me," she says quickly, before this gets too sappy, assuming a playfully severe tone.

For a moment, he's completely thrown off track and frowns ins confusion. "Excuse me, love?"

"You didn't come to New York for a fresh start," she tells him, and he averts his eyes for a second, confirming her suspicion. "You came for me."

"Oh. Well." Killian lifts his hand to her wrist and starts running his fingers up and down her arm in an almost casual, feather light caress causing a pleasant tingle on her skin. "Who says these are mutually exclusive?" he then asks. "A fresh start, isn't that what we're doing?"

She presses her lips into a smile. Of course he was too clever to lie to her, he had always had unwavering faith in her super power. "Probably." She tilts her head down to press a kiss to his bare shoulder before she tells him softly, "Thank you for not giving up on me. On this."

"This?" He echoes and frowns in confusion.

Emma nods. "This," she confirms, "me, coming back to Storybrooke." She draws a deep breath before she adds, "Coming back to you."

He raises an eyebrow. "Back to me?" A twitch around the corners of his mouth is accompanying the slight irony in his voice.

She snorts a little laugh. "You know Storybrooke wasn't the only thing I was running away from."

"Mhm," he hums in vague agreement and lifts himself on his left elbow, not bothering to hide his stump from her sight any longer. He takes one of her slightly disheveled locks and lets it run through his ringed fingers, marveling at the cool, silky feeling against his rough skin. "You're home now," he says, his voice low and warm, "that's all that matters now."

Emma fixes her eyes on his. "I am," she replies firmly, almost solemnly, hoping to convey with the seriousness in her tone and her eyes that, again, Storybrooke isn't the only thing she's talking about. But she has a suspicion that he knows, that he knew all along. Because yeah, apparently she is an open book to him, the last two weeks have proven that all over again; she can just as well accept it as a fact.

"You know what I'd like to do?" she asks, following a spontaneous idea.

And just like that, there's the pirate she remembers. Killian lifts a clearly indecent eyebrow and smirks sinfully. "I can imagine quite vividly, love," he drawls, and another shiver ghosts down her spine when she thinks of all the things she wants to explore with him tonight and tomorrow night, and the night after.

But instead of giving away anything, she rolls her eyes. "That's not what I meant."

He switches his tone immediately. "Well, anything your heart desires," he replies, "you shall have."

She remembers he said something similar the evening before, when they were talking about their dinner choices. This is all sorts of sappy, and his words should sound ridiculously clichéd, but Emma knows for sure that he truly means those words, in every way, and that almost takes her breath away.

She smiles. "I'd like to spend some time on your ship," she tells him.

To her surprise, he looks completely flabbergasted. "What?" he blurts out.

A little startled by his reaction, she shrugs. "I just thought it would be nice to go sailing and not... I don't know, heading on a journey to danger and death?" she suggests.

"That is indeed a pleasant thought," he replies reluctantly and fidgets with his fingers on the sheet, slightly distracting Emma when she remembers the sinful things he did to her with those fingers only shortly before. But then she remembers that very often, that gesture of his is a sign of nervousness.

She frowns and asks, "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I'm afraid the Jolly Roger isn't..." He hesitates, searching for words, before he continues, "...available at the moment."

"Available?" she echoes. "What does that mean, was it damaged when you came over?"

Killian sighs and sways his head in negation. "It means my ship's not here."

She is confused. "But... when you came to New York, you said you left it here?"

He scratches behind his ear. "Not exactly," he contradicts slowly. "I... I said she was left behind."

Emma recalls his slightly odd word choice; back then, it didn't raise any suspicion. "But where?" she blurts out. "Where is it... she?"

He averts his eyes. "I don't know."

This thing gets more and more mysterious, and she can't imagine why he's being so evasive after being so open with everything; it's an unsettling feeling. How is it possible that he doesn't know where his freaking ship is? "What? Why? I don't understand." Impatience sneaks into her voice. "Where did you leave your ship?" she wants to know.

He sighs again, clearly uncomfortable now, and she wonders why that is. "In the Enchanted Forest," he finally tells her, "Before coming back for you for the first time."

Emma sits up. "But how did you do that, if you weren't brought back with the others, with my mom's curse?" She leans a little forward, searching his face. "I always assumed you only managed because you had your... magical ship?"

He seems to squirm. "Well, your assumption was not entirely wrong, love," he replies cryptically.

She throws her hands up in an exasperated gesture. "Oh dammit, Killian, why the secretiveness?" she blurts out. "Just tell me! Tell me what happened!" When he still hesitates, she adds softly, "Whatever it is, it won't change anything between us... about this." She reaches out to cover his hand with hers, to soothe his apparent uneasiness. And she realizes, it's true: whatever happened in the missing year, whatever he did – what's important is who he is now, and what he means to her.

Killian sits up as well and averts his eyes again. "Even though the Jolly Roger is made of enchanted wood, she isn't capable of traveling through realms without a portal," he explains.

"Yeah, I know," she interrupts impatiently, "Which is why we used the magic bean to get to Neverland."

He nods. "Precisely." Then he fixes his eyes on hers again, a determined, but also anxious expression in them. "There was no other way for me to open a portal than to purchase a magic bean."

"What? You make it sound like you can buy them anywhere." She shakes her head. "They aren't easy to come by."

He tilts his head and averts his eyes again. "They are, if you have something of value to trade."

Emma is clueless. "And what was that?"

In a casual voice he replies, "As luck would have it, I ran into someone who was in possession of a magic bean, but in need of a vessel." He falls silent, draws a deep breath and looks at her, his face almost expressionless, refusing to give any more hints.

There's a rather long pause in which she's trying to process what he's saying, struggling to figure out with her brain the meaning of his words her heart already knows; when it finally dawns on her without room left for any doubt, her eyes widen, and her voice is almost toneless. "You traded your ship for me?"

Killian is tempted to give her a seemingly nonchalant answer and play it light, as he doesn't want this to weigh on her, to scare her... but then he thinks – hopes – they're past that, and he opts for a sincere, almost apologetic "Aye."

She looks away, apparently needing a moment to process the thought, and he prays that of the obviously struggling emotions within her fear is not the one to win. Finally, she seems to have regained her ability to form coherent words. "But why... why did you never say anything?" she questions, only the tiniest hint of reproach in her voice.

"For what purpose?" he asks back. "Putting even more pressure on you? Making you feel guilty or somehow... indebted to me?" He tilts head, looking at her intensely now, like he's staring right down to the bottom of her soul, where her deepest fears and insecurities are located. "Giving you even more reason to run?" he adds calmly.

You're something of an open book, the memory of his voice, a little cocky then, ghosts through her mind. Alas, I know you better than you know yourself. And this should really make her want to run, and some time ago, it would have. But not anymore. Emma straightens her back and focuses on him, still silent though.

"Remember when I told you I would win your heart without any trickery?" he asks in a soft voice and leaves it up to her to draw the conclusion that comes full circle now. She's already told him that he won her heart, and now she has even the proof that he kept his promise made a long time ago, back in the oppressive jungle of Neverland – that he's done exactly that, but without any of the seductive, manipulative tricks he, a pirate, surely had up his black sleeve.

She swallows and shakes her head in disbelief, still having difficulties to wrap her mind around the dimension of what he really did, what he sacrificed, without any guarantee that she'd even remember him, let alone reciprocate his feelings. "But that ship... was your home," she argues. "Don't you... don't you miss it?"

"Not as much as I missed you," he replies, the truth and simplicity of his statement hitting her right in the pit of her stomach, like one of his truth bombs. You don't have a home until you just miss it, her own words, ultimately proven to be true to her by her failed attempt to find it in New York. And he missed her, more than anything else. More than his ship that had been his home for hundreds of years. He's telling her that she is his home. And he is... he–

Emma looks away for a moment and snorts a nervous, choked little laugh, because yeah, this is fucking frightening, because it's huge. "I hate you."

After studying her expression for a moment – scared and a little lost, but also hopeful – he raises his hand and cups her face, urging her with an only very gentle pull to look at him again. When she does, he strokes his thumb over the apple of her cheek, almost drowning in the depths of her green eyes, glistening again with unshed tears.

Then he tells her softly, "I don't think you do."

And she remembers what she thought shortly before – that she has barely any choice but to fall in love with this man, and she realizes that was wrong. Because, to be honest, she doesn't have any choice at all.

It's already too late.