A/N: I know I'm so late to the game on this one; I didn't have time to type this up last week (yes, I write often by hand). Let's just pretend I posted this before Sunday's ep, okay? I realize a lot of these stories are similar, but I just can't get enough of these two. Also this was supposed to be shorter. It got away from me. I'm not sorry.

This is unbeta'd, so apologies for any mistakes.

"You did not," Mary Margaret said, glancing towards the curtain that separated them from the living room.

"Why wouldn't I?" David spread a tartan blanket over the bed. "He's a pirate."

"David, that's not really fair."

"Isn't it? It's true."

Mary Margaret smoothed the blanket. "So our daughter's dating a pirate. Who are we to judge if he makes her happy? I can't believe you asked him that."

"It was a perfectly reasonable question," he frowned, crossing his arms.

Mary Margaret went around the bed to pull her husband's arms down. David tugged her into a hug. "We already know his intentions," she murmured. "They're in love, David."

He sputtered wordlessly.

"Okay, so maybe Emma doesn't know she's in love yet. Just… go easy on him, would you?"

At his hesitation, Mary Margaret pulled away enough to look him in the eye. "Do I need to remind you he saved your life? And Emma's? And brought Emma back to us—"

"I know, I know!" He sighed. "It's just, we missed the whole dating thing the first time around, and now that we're here, she goes and chooses a three hundred year old pirate."

"You and I know better than anyone you don't choose who you fall in love with."

Soft murmurs floated out from her parents' bedroom.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Emma said, shifting to look up at Killian.

His heart stuttered at her closeness. He didn't think he could ever get used to the feeling of Emma Swan pressed against his body. His eyes fluttered as he tried to ignore the way she made him feel. "Probably me," he smirked.

They were sitting on the couch, nestled in a mound of blankets. After Mary Margaret came home and Emma had warmed up a bit, Killian carried her over to the couch, despite her rather vocal protests. Henry went up to his room soon thereafter and then Emma realized Elsa had no place to stay, so she offered her bedroom, at least for the night. Under the pressure of the Savior, Snow White and Prince Charming, Elsa had finally caved. That left Emma and Killian alone on the couch. Somehow, Emma managed to maneuver the blankets over him too, so they were separated only by the thin fabric of both their shirts.

Emma rolled her eyes. "You're not always the center of attention," she said dryly.

"I think tonight we are." Unconsciously he pulled her closer. "Before the cave in your father asked me my intentions."

Her mouth dropped. "He what?" She struggled to get up.

"Easy, love," Killian laughed, tugging her back down. "Take it up with him tomorrow if it bothers you. The man's got an infant; he has to sleep sometime."

"What, so now you're buddies? What did you say to him?"

"That you're not loot. That whatever we become is up to you as much as me."

"Hmm." She tucked her face into his neck.

Killian rubbed his cheek on her head and pressed a kiss to her hair. His swan smelled divine. He closed his eyes. It was excruciatingly wonderful to be pressed against her like this.



"Thank you. For saving me." She chuckled suddenly. "Why is it that I feel like I'm always thanking you?"

He rubbed her arm. "You never need to thank me, love," he said softly. "I'll do anything for you."

Emma looked up at him. "I know."

Killian dipped his head; he couldn't resist. His lips brushed hers so lightly, the kiss might not have happened except for the burning feeling left behind where their skin had touched.

Emma's smile was bright. "Come here, pirate." She snaked a hand out from beneath the mountain of blankets and slid it around his neck.

Emma's mouth opened beneath his lips. He ran the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip tentatively, eliciting a moan. Emma froze at the sound, shocked at her own reaction. He stifled the hearty laugh that escaped him at her expression. "Better keep quiet, lass," he whispered, kissing her temple. Delicately, he bit the shell of her ear. Emma hummed in pleasure.

Spurred on by the sounds she was making, Killian done something he'd only dreamed of doing: he sucked on the soft skin where her strong jaw curved into her graceful neck. She tasted as good as she smelled. Killian groaned softly, pressing open-mouthed kisses downward until he latched onto one elegant collarbone.

"No hickies!" Emma gasped.

Killian pulled away, unable to hide his grin. "Hickies?"

Emma laughed. "You know. Bruises from kissing?"

"Oh. Love blots."

"Well that's not adorable," she muttered. "Love blots, sure. None of those."

Killian waggled his eyebrows. "At least none where they can see."

She shrieked when he dove beneath the blankets.

"Shh!" his dark chuckle was muffled.

Emma squirmed in delight as Killian kissed his way—very gently—across one collarbone to the other, making his way back up the other side of her neck.

"David, I swear to god, if you go out there…" Mary Margaret had a death grip on her husband's arm.

Emma's muffled shriek was followed by quiet laughter.


"Leave it alone." She glared at him.

Emma laughed again and Mary Margaret smiled. Her girl was finally happy.

Emma grabbed Killian's head with both hands when he stopped to take a breath. She brought his face up to hers, intending to kiss him senseless, but she stopped when their eyes met. The corners of his eyes were crinkled in a smile; his pupils were wide with desire. She ran a thumb across one cheek, following the scar that stood out against his flushed skin. He leaned into her palm. Emma was filled with an emotion she couldn't place, but it felt dangerously like love. Not the love she thought she had felt for Walsh, or even what she had felt for Neal once. It wasn't something she had experienced before. It was adoration and lust and friendship and devotion… The thought crossed her mind that she would like nothing better than to spend every day of the rest of her life with this man, but she pushed it aside. It was too soon for that.

Killian watched her watching him. Ever the gentleman, her pirate. He always waited for her. She drew his face down, trying to convey all of her emotions with one desperate kiss. Their tongues didn't battle; their lips didn't clash. It wasn't a challenge, a dare between them anymore. The kiss wasn't slow and tender either, but it was more passionate than anything she'd ever experienced.

Emma moaned when Killian pulled away. Both were breathing hard, their kiss-bruised lips and lustful eyes swollen in the dim light.

Killian closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Emma's. "Much as I would like to continue this, love, it's neither the time nor the place to do so."

He silenced her wordless protest with a chaste peck to the lips and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You," he tapped her nose, "very nearly froze to death today. I realize you're the Savior but that doesn't exempt you from sleep. Also, your parents, your son, or your guest could interrupt us at any time."

Suddenly Emma was aware of the curve of Killian's hook tucked into the waistband of her pants, while his erection made itself rather emphatically known at her thigh.

"Oh, fine, be the responsible one," she pouted jokingly.

"Being a gentleman has its price," he teased back. "Come here," he hauled her to her feet. "Let's get you settled."

Emma stood wrapped in a blanket while Killian made up the couch. The back cushions came off, a fuzzy blue blanket was folded down the length of the couch, like a sleeping bag without a zipper, and her pillow went on one end. Killian laid a few more blankets on top for good measure, eyed his handiwork, then looked at Emma.

"Emma?" his brows drew together.

She was biting her lip. "Would you stay for a while?"

He stilled. "Is that what you want?"


"Then I will."

"Here," she ducked into the bathroom, trailing her blanket, and pulled something off a pile of folded clothes.

"Whose are these?" he frowned, holding out tattered plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt at least four sizes too big for Emma.

"Jealous?" she laughed. "They're my favorites. You'll be more comfortable than in those." She raked her gaze across the snug leather pants, running her tongue across her bottom lip in a fair imitation of Killian.

"Heh." He swallowed. He was treading in dangerous waters here, but he could deny her nothing. "I'll see you to sleep and then I should go."

When he emerged from the bathroom wearing the, admittedly, comfortable pants and the shirt, Emma's eyes brightened. She sprang up and swaggered over to him.

"You look…at home," she breathed, leaning against his chest. Killian's arms came around her involuntarily.

"So do you," he smiled down at her. He wasn't talking about the sweatpants she was wearing. Gods, if he could keep this woman in his arms…

Emma sighed, squeezed, and then gestured him towards the couch. After a moment's hesitation, he took off his brace.

He thought Emma was just too tired to notice, until she took it from him and set it on the side table without saying a word. She took his handless arm gently, pressed a kiss to his stump, and drew him towards the couch. Killian slid between the blankets, tugging Emma after him. She snuggled herself against his chest. It was Killian's turn to sigh as he pressed his face into her hair.

The couch was small, too small for two people, but perhaps it was better that way. Killian's arms were wrapped around his love; her feet prodded their way backwards, settling themselves between his legs; his face rested at her neck, just behind her ear.

Faint clanking and low voices drew Killian slowly out of sleep. His first thought was that it was too warm. His second was that Emma was still nestled against his chest. His handless arm cushioned her head; the other was wrapped securely around her waist. Killian breathed in deeply, nuzzling into her hair. At his movement, she stirred and rolled towards him. One arm settled itself around his neck. Killian smiled, his eyes still closed. "Morning, beautiful."

"Mm." Emma grunted, tucking her head beneath his chin.

Killian slid his hand up her back slowly. His fingers found their way through her hair to massage her scalp.

"That feels good," Emma mumbled. She pressed a kiss to his chest.

"Oh, good, you're up!"

Killian's eyes snapped open at the sound of Henry's voice.

"Killian, want some hot chocolate?"

"Sure, lad," he croaked, watching Henry bound away. "Swan," he whispered, "your entire family and Elsa are watching us sleep on your couch."

Emma's bleary eyes opened. "Ugh. Of course they are." She sat up and yawned.

Killian swung his legs off the couch, careful to keep the blankets over his lap.

"Killian, bacon or sausage," Mary Margaret called, hovering over a frying pan.

"Sausage, please."

Henry was topping three mugs with whipped cream and cinnamon. Elsa was at the kitchen table in a matching pajama set printed with tiny snowflakes; she already had a mug and looked as thoroughly bemused as Killian felt. David held baby Neal and was looking everywhere but the couch where his daughter had spent the night with a pirate.

"Gives new meaning to the phrase 'rude awakening'," Emma muttered in Killian's ear. She stood and reached down to pull him up. When he resisted, she frowned.

"Swan, I need to take care of…something…first," he said in a low voice, shifting the blankets slightly.

Emma's eyes widened. "Oh. Henry," she said loudly, turning towards the kitchen, "did you make me one?"

Thankful for the distraction, Killian darted into the bathroom to subdue his morning erection, which was not due entirely to sleep. When he emerged, Emma was spooning heaps of scrambled eggs onto six plates.

"Killian, grab the hot sauce, would you?" she said absently.

He'd been to the loft often enough to know about the little bottle of spicy liquid that lived near the stove. His swan liked her food hot.

Emma ladled out the last of the eggs and sat, smiling up at Killian, who offered her the glass bottle. He settled hesitantly next to her, still absorbing the fact that he had slept with Emma Swan and was about to eat breakfast with her family.

Henry pressed a mug into Killian's hand. Emma leaned across him for the box of cinnamon. Mary Margaret asked him, "pepper?" holding out a silver shaker.

Killian reached out and abruptly realized he wasn't wearing his brace. Strangely enough, no one seemed to have noticed, least of all Emma, who was eating ravenously with her left hand resting on his thigh. Rather than feeling exposed, sitting at this table in strange clothes, surrounded by his one-time opponents, Killian felt inexplicably warm. He accepted the shaker, smiling shyly at Mary Margaret.

Perhaps she knew what he was thinking, because she patted the back of his hand and smiled back.

They all tucked in to the overflowing plates of food. Eggs, bacon and sausage, potatoes, and toast created a mouthwatering aroma. It smelled like home. Not quite his, yet, but the possibility of home. Of a future.

Over the clink of silverware, David, Mary Margaret and Henry quizzed Elsa about her sister and crafted a plan for the day. Killian took the opportunity to lean closer to his love and whisper in her ear, "Swan, is this a dream?"

She smiled. Killian wasn't sure he had ever seen a smile so beautiful and open. Emma squeezed his thigh and said, "Nope."

She leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "if it was, we wouldn't be wearing so many clothes." She giggled and pecked him on the cheek.

Killian struggled to maintain a neutral expression, while David eyed them both. After a moment, Killian shrugged and smirked. The prince may as well get used to it.

Reviews and concrit are much appreciated!