A/N: Don't ask me where this came from or where it fits into canon because the answer to both questions is: I HAVE NO IDEA :) Just enjoy it as a stand-alone piece the aftermath of Captain Swan having car sex from a friend passing through. Rated M for somewhat explicit descriptions of sexy times. Title from Gods & Monsters by Lana Del Rey. Also the ending is pretty piss-poor, mostly because I couldn't think of any way to continue it.

The strangely echoing sound of her vibrating phone in her jeans pocket breaks her post-coital haze and lack of connection with the outside world. She put one hand against his solid chest, feeling the light sheen of sweat there, and pushes herself away from him to scrabble around on the floor of her VW bug to find the clothes she'd so eagerly discarded before. It had been a bit of a struggle, her jeans combined with Hook's penchant for tight clothes in her cramped back-seat whilst trying to make sure their lips stayed somewhere on each other's skin at all times.

Emma shivers slightly at how undignified it all is, and how satisfying it was, and how it's worrying that she doesn't care much all that much about the former. Her arm goes up to cover her breasts, which is somewhat futile considering what they've just done and how much they've just seen of each other but feels necessary anyway. She doesn't look at him as she feels around for her jeans and even more surprisingly, he hasn't said anything to her. Emma had expected him to make any number of smug little comments about his proficiency (and she wouldn't even be able to roll her eyes dismissively any more because damn.) Despite his uncharacteristic silence, Emma could feel his eyes on her like a weight.

Emma's hands finally alight on her jeans and she forces the buzzing lump out of her pocket and answers it breathlessly. She barely maintains a coherent conversation with Mary Margaret who's worried about why she isn't back yet. After a few careful responses and assurances she's on her way, Mary Margaret is satisfied and says goodbye. Emma finds her bra next, Hook's earlier groans of frustration against her skin when he couldn't get it off echoing in her head as she reattached the clasp. He hasn't said a word since he moaned out her name in her ear as he came, which rather than being a bit of a relief as it was a minute ago, is now slightly worrying.

"I have to go... home," Emma addresses the hand that's resting on the edge of the leather back-seat because she hasn't summed up the courage to look him in the eyes yet. It's a fairly dumb thing to say of course, as though he didn't understand that much from listening to half the conversation with Mary Margaret, but it's as good as anything she can come up with right now to cut the tension.

After a period of silence, Emma concentrates on redressing herself with shaking fingers because she's starting to regret this whole inexplicable misadventure. She'd just fucked Captain Hook on the back-seat of her car. With hindsight, she wonders how she could have ever be deluded enough to think this was a good idea. It's undeniable that there's been some sort of attraction between them ever since they met, one which Emma had tried to ignore, but her actually acting on it is a whole other kettle of fish.

"Emma," Hook finally murmurs and Emma hates the warmth that spreads through her because it sounds so much like before.

She'd straddled him and he held her face in his good hand and kissed her, hot and passionate and close. She hadn't even realized how tense she was feeling until he'd kissed up her jaw and whispered with a touch of amusement, "Relax, love" before dropping a sweet kiss to the hollow beneath her ear. Emma doesn't like being told what to do, but she'd followed his instruction anyway, then bucked her hips forward—his answering moan and expletive was a victory.

Now, he says, "Look at me."

Emma does, a bit reluctantly. He's still mostly naked and sweaty which is a distraction Emma really could do without right now—the freshly fucked look suits him. She gets the feeling 'the talk' is approaching so she heads him off at the pass. "Look, you don't have to say anything; I get it."

"And what is it exactly that you 'get'?" he asks, his voice free from its usual teasing for a change.

Fighting off annoyance that he's playing oblivious, Emma responds, "Hook-"

"Killian," he interrupts, and she doesn't understand the pleading tone he takes on. "Call me Killian, Emma."

Emma sighs but obliges. "Killian. I know your objective here. I know your revenge against Gold is the most important thing to you and I know that nothing will stop you exacting it. But I also know it's my job to try. So practically speaking, this-" she waves a hand in the space between them "-means nothing to you. Which is fine. I don't need you to tell me that; I get it."

Killian considers this for a moment, keeping his eyes on her. Emma couldn't look away even if she wanted to. It occurs to her vaguely that she really is supposed to be getting home and Mary Margaret will probably be getting worried again right about now but it's important that they redefine the boundaries they had allowed to get so damn blurry lately. "Well, you're right, love," Killian concedes finally. Emma nods decisively; she had expected this answer but somehow it still hurt a little bit to hear it. She grabs her jacket, the last article of clothing left to put on, and moves to get out of the car. Killian grabs her wrist lightly; she looks at his hand then up into his eyes.

"At least about the first part," he continues softly. He swallows and looks away. "There is nothing that can stop me. I've waited too long to give up when it's within my grasp. I will have my revenge on my Crocodile, by hook or by crook... no pun intended." He grins suddenly and Emma rolls her eyes.

"And the second part?" Emma wonders out loud.

He stares back at her, head back against the glass of the window. He seems to be considering what to say; they are in unfamiliar territory, their conversations aren't usually this serious. "Despite everything, despite our allegiances and our pasts, this... this isn't meaningless to me. You need to know that. There's something between you and I, Emma. Something I haven't felt since..." Milah died, Emma finishes in her head. Killian nods slightly, as though he knows what she's thinking. "You- you feel it too, don't you?"

Emma's not sure he even really meant it as a question he wanted an answer to, but all of a sudden, he looks uncertain—if she hadn't spent the afternoon memorising every line and contour of his face as she kissed it, she wouldn't have recognised him. Emma could have laughed: the great and fearsome Captain Hook needing her assurances that she wanted him too. It's so... human of that she didn't consider him so before, but right now he looks more like Killian Jones than he's ever done before, even as he was making love to her. The ghost of a smile crosses Emma's face, unexpectedly endeared. She slides towards him again, and rests her hands on either side of his neck.

"Do you think I'd be here if I didn't?" Emma asks, eyebrows raised.

Killian smiles, wide and genuine. "Touche."

A/N: Sorry about the end!