A/N: No plot just 2,000 words of pure sex.

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT.

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Finally.

Jesus-fucking-Christ finally.

She falls back onto the bed with a soft little gasp, one that stops just short of a moan, the sound breathy and low and all too desperate as he quickly covers her body with his, leaning into her heavily so that she can feel all of his weight—every hard and solid inch of him—pressed up against her, setting her skin on fire as hot need rushes through her veins and liquid warmth pools low in her belly. His good hand resting near her head, his hook sweeping up the side of her body, briefly she considers putting a stop to it—maybe she's not too far gone, maybe she can work up the willpower to push him away and call it a night, blaming their actions on the alcohol that's surely still coursing through her system. After stumbling across him drinking alone—dark and brooding and so unfairly tempting—a few pulls from his flask and one too many pints later, and she knows she's not in the most coherent state of mind.

But his lips are warm on her neck, and she can feel the soft graze of his teeth hovering just above her pulse point and dammit all she can concentrate on is that mouth—that stupid delicious sinful mouth— and how she wants to feel the scratch of scruff and hint of tongue work its way down her body; the image of his dark head bent low between her thighs and driving her into a frenzy flashing before her closed eyelids in perfect clarity.

And that does it.

All thoughts of pushing him away fleeing her brain, she lets out a soft little whimper, arching her hips up in needy and silent demand…

More.

Pulling back a little, black hair tousled from her twisting and searching fingers, blue eyes intense and focused and shining with unmasked lust, he shoots her a slow and lazy smile, one that hints of sex and sin and the promise of dark and unyielding pleasure. Her stomach clenches a little at the sight; a hot blush spreading across her skin, fingers curling into themselves involuntarily as she lets out a soft nearly broken moan; the hushed sound causing her to cringe and tense when his smile grows, his eyes narrowing and darkening considerably.

And she's so very, very fucked.

Leaning forward suddenly, his lips catch hers without warning, branding and claiming her in a searing almost brutal kiss; a low groan sounding in the back of his throat as he hooks an arm behind her back and pulls her towards him roughly so that she's crushed against his chest and pressed into the entire length of his body once more—the potent taste of whiskey and spice lingering on his tongue as it tangles and moves against hers hungrily. And Jesus Christ she can feel him, hard and heavy between her thighs; all thoughts of foreplay dissipating as hot and desperate greed consumes her whole.

She needs him.

Inside of her.

Buried deep.

Every thick and solid inch of him fucking her hard into the bed.

"Please." the plea is soft, mumbled against his lips, her fingers finding their way into his hair once more, tugging and pulling restlessly as she whispers the breathy request again, body shifting upwards shamelessly, desire mounting and peaking. "Please." She feels him tense against her with the moaned word, his hips rutting into her lightly, the tip of his cock sliding between her wet folds and teasing her a little as his lips tear away from her mouth only to content themselves with the line of her jaw, working their way down—hook pinching into her skin as she feels him smile into the base of her throat

"That's a good girl, let me hear you." His voice is a low and quiet purr in her ear, the lilting sound causing her to shiver in his hold; and unable to help herself she presses against him again—a quick tilt of her hips—gasping when he brushes her clit, dimly realizing with the sound that she's only feeding his already over-sized ego. But with the haze of liquor dulling her wits and lowering her inhibitions she's unwilling to let her own stubborn pride stop her from getting what she so desperately wants.

"Killian."

He growls a little at the sound of his name; and pulling away and releasing her so that she falls back against the mattress with an undignified little thud, he sits back. Looking down at her with bright and ravenous eyes; his hand drifts downwards to grab his cock— slick and gleaming with evidence of her own arousal—pumping it slowly, tauntingly, he puts himself on display for her, her heart skipping a beat and mouth going dry at the undeniably erotic sight.

"Tell me what you want Emma."

She almost stops the whine that catches in her throat, a tiny strangled whimper escaping her lips instead; and watching him through heavy and unfocused eyes, she bites the inside of her cheek and digs her fingers into the bed, her entire body hot and nearly pulsing with seemingly insatiable need as she waits with little patience for him to make his next move.

And God does he need to move.

Now.

"Quit fucking around Hook." she throws his moniker in for good measure, hoping her voice sounds more demanding than it does desperate; her husky and low tone telling her it most likely falls with the latter as the sound rings out wavering and small and almost completely foreign. And she wants to curse herself—curse him— when his hand starts to pump his length faster, a wicked smile pulling at his lips as he stares down at her hard, unblinking, and determined.

Damn.

Pirate.

Part of her wants to lunge forward and just take what she needs, while another part silently acknowledges that she wants to play along.

Wants to let him be in control.

Wants to give in to him completely.

"Fuck me." she whispers it softly, resignedly; and swallowing over the sudden tightness in her throat, she props herself up on her elbows, spreads her legs a little wider and holds his stare. "I want you to fuck me."

She sees the look of triumph that crosses his features, hears a deep almost animalistic groan ripple up from his throat, and then, before she really has the chance to brace herself, he's pushing forward and covering her body with his again; her breath hitching as she steadies her hands on his shoulders and tries to regain a little control—all efforts fleeing her as she feels him rear back, murmur her name into her neck, and then thrust into her hard and fast without any further warning.

For a moment everything darkens, slows down, and the world disappears.

Her body ignites and she's overwhelmed by unyielding sensation—the stretch, the burn, the pleasure.

There's a noise, a voice, high-pitched and loud ripping through the air and it takes her a good minute to recognize it as her own—the sound so terrifyingly unfamiliar.

She's lost.

Out of control.

Completely gone.

And she fucking loves it.

When the world finally comes spiraling back into focus, she just barely registers the string of lewd praises tumbling from his lips, his breath warming her skin as he mutters things—terrible, terrible things—into her ear, explicitly telling her how hot and wet and tight she feels wrapped around him, how delicious she looks with his cock seated deep inside of her. Holding onto him, she bites back a sob as he pulls out only to push right back in, her body canting up to meet his thrusts as he sets a fast and punishing unforgiving pace—fingers digging into her thigh and pulling her tighter against him as he quickly finds that spot, the one that has her toes curling and her breathing coming in and out in short little pants.

She's not going to last long.

He's got her too tightly wound.

And she's been wanting this since forever.

She can already feel the sparks of heat gathering in her core—her body buzzing with the promise of climax, a fire thrumming fast in her veins with every push and pull.

"Give in love, let go for me." He bites the words out in a dangerous tone and feeling the pressure begin to gather low inside of her, she releases her grip on his shoulders and falls back onto the bed, moaning weakly when he makes use of the new position, adjusting himself so that he's kneeling between her thighs, eyes drifting down to look at their joined bodies—his good hand leaving her hip to drift to her clit, circling it fast and rough, causing the tension inside of her to pull tighter, harder, as the dull side of his hook forces her legs even wider, spreading her further.

And dammit he's going to be the end of her.

"Emma."

Her name is a threat and a promise all wrapped up in a tone made from velvet and sin, and without any warning at all she comes hard and fast; sparks of light dancing behind her eyes as her fingers grip the tangled sheets beneath her, his name, low and broken, whispered from her lips as he continues to fuck her into the mattress—relentless and greedy, still seeking out his own release as he continues to feed hers. She's not sure how long she's gone, teetering somewhere between pleasure and pain, but when she comes down and opens her eyes again, she dimly registers that he's slowed his pace. His eyes, bright and burning, are staring at her with such concentrated intensity that her stomach flips and clenches even as little warning bells ring in her ears. And before she can stop herself, completely driven by unchecked desire, she's surging forward, needing more, craving it. Panting and moaning, she pulls him back down onto her, swearing softly as he slides even further into her, her legs wrapping around his waist and crossing at the ankles as she urges him to start moving again, her inner walls fluttering a little with the aftershocks of her orgasm, the feeling causing them both to groan in unison. Blinded by lust, she bites and nibbles and sucks at his neck, needing him just as wrecked and devastated as she is, wanting to see him crash and burn and come undone.

"I want you to come inside me."

His hips falter and slow at her words and then with a low curse and a deep growl he pistons into her, fast and stilted; hook biting into her thigh and marking her as his as he mutters her name violently under his breath and finally, finally comes—mouth parting slightly and arms tensing and quivering as release wracks his body, rendering him nearly motionless save for a few more sharp and erratic thrusts. Collapsing on top of her with one last shuddering breath, she gasps a little as his sweat slicked body lays heavily on hers, nearly crushing her with his full weight—their labored breathing the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

And as they catch their breath, come off their high, and everything slows back into focus, she waits for it…

The regret.

The embarrassment and panic.

But as he pulls back, easing some of his weight off of her so that he can look down at her, blue eyes a little more clear and a little less hungry now, good hand coming up to brush away a tangled and damp strand of hair from her forehead, she can't muster up the will to care, unwilling to give in to the urge to worry, unable to feel anything other than deep-rooted satisfaction.

She feels good, her body tingling and sore and so thoroughly, thoroughly used.

And when he bends his head with a crooked little smirk, brushing his lips over hers once, twice, before indulging them both in a slow and somewhat lazy kiss, the only thing that truly registers in her head, edging out all the whispered voices and uncertain emotions, is the same damn thought that got her here in the first place…

Finally.

Jesus-fucking-Christ finally.