A/N: I personally have nothing against strip clubs or strippers, this was only written for fun and for the CS hiatus challenge day 94.

Killian Jones was a simple man. He took cream in his coffee, wore black, leather jackets and cherished his lady love. He was a naval officer who woke up every morning before sunrise, enjoyed the calming view of the sea and loved his brother dearly. He didn't need much, didn't take anything for granted or make a fuss about money or fancy cars. Give him a good book to read or a spot behind the wheel of a boat and a glass of rum and he was set. And he wouldn't say he was a highly moral sort of lad. Sure, he had his values, believed in good form, but overall he was simply a good man because he wanted to be, not because he needed to be. The same rang true when it came to his relationship. Being a newly married man, he was the genuine kind of happy - no scratch that - he was the over the moon, utterly love struck, grinning like a bloody fool kind of happy.

Emma Swan was his true love, his rock that kept him grounded, his angel in human form. Which is why when the men he worked with asked him to go to a strip club, he politely declined every time. Well, those were only just a few reasons. But, still, his mates didn't understand. They too were married or had a girlfriend, but they went to unwind from the tiring week. Not Kllian, though. His idea of unwinding was spending quality time with Emma. Liam understood and not because he was a married man himself and felt the same way he did, but because he knew Emma. That's why when Killian was asked to go to a strip club, Liam would just smirk and shake his head knowingly.

Killian would talk about her all of the time, but they still didn't comprehend. He told them how Emma was strikingly beautiful, she had a kind heart and she was somewhat of a kindred spirit to Killian. He explained how she lost her parents, grew up in the foster system and overall had a bad childhood, but she was the best lass Killian knew. She was the strong, independent type, had a wicked ability to tell when people were lying and always gave no-nonsense, straight-forward sort of answers. Emma held a job as a bail-bonds person, drove a yellow bug, wore a red, leather jacket and took cinnamon in her hot cocoa. Nonstop, he went on and on about his wife, but they never seemed to cease the invitations.

Even when Killian was at the bar with them and had a few drinks, Killian didn't hesitate to decline such an absurd idea. Even if Killian didn't believe that a woman should put herself on display in front of a crowd of men or believed that a woman's body is something sacred that only one other person should have the privilege of seeing. Even if Killian didn't believe in having a wandering eye or that the bond between a husband and wife was too special to look elswhere. No, the reason why Killian politely declined actually had nothing to do with his beliefs.

Maybe it was his fault, though. He couldn't adequately describe just how much of a marvel she actually was, even the pure, undeniable beauty of his blonde goddess. He did, however, have photographic evidence. And not just a nice photo that he could show everyone he met. No, there was a particular photo that was taken on their honeymoon not too long ago. It was a rather private one that Killian tucked away within the confines of his wallet.

In this particular photo, Emma's long, golden locks with soft curls were splayed over one shoulder, high cheek bones, perfectly soft lips were shown flawlessly. And her green eyes were glowing with love for the man who happily took the photo. She had a light tan from their trips to the beach that week and was clad in nothing but thin, sheer black lace. The swell of her pert breasts were on full display, her creamy, smooth skin, the slender curves. The long legs that went on for days and held a pair of black, thigh-high stockings and were clipped to the matching thong that was merely a scrap of fabric. He loved every inch her decadent skin, among all of her other wonderful qualities but he loved having a reminder of what he had to look forward to at the end of a long workday. (Not that he needed a reminder.)

Still, how could he possibly describe such beauty to his mates? How could he possibly explain in words why he was not interested in going to a strip club?

Week after week, month after month, the begging and pleading never stopped. It was a 'Come on, Killian have a little fun' or 'just come to take a load off'. 'It's not like you're cheating', 'You're just looking, not touching', 'it's your birthday, live a little'. The excuses to get him to go never ended. Still, he politely declined.

Finally, one night at the bar, he was fed up. He was fed up with being nice and polite. He was fed up with being asked to go to a bloody strip club for the umpteenth million time. He was done. And the solution was simple, really, although he would normally cringe at the idea. It went against everything he believed in but it was the only way to get them off of his back. It had to be done.

So what did Killian do?

As he was sitting with the guys from work, he pulled out his wallet. He could have kicked himself for this. Emma would never forgive him if she knew what he was about to do. He would never forgive himself, but it was still by far better than the alternative.

Opening the black leather, Killian reached into the hidden slot of his wallet and slid out a photo. It was the one Killian had taken during their honeymoon and maybe he had completely lost his mind by showing them this very private photo of his beautiful wife. Maybe he had gone off the deep end or had a few too many drinks in him and maybe he would regret this decision in the morning. Then again, maybe not.

After Killian showed the guys that photo, the one that very adequately proved that what he had at home was far better than any stripper he would encounter, he was never asked to go to a bloody strip club ever again.