A/N: Follow up to "No Rest (For the Wicked and Weary)" ... but this one is much less plotty and much more smutty. ;)

Bring Me to My Knees (Make Me Testify)

When Emma woke up, the first thing she noticed was that the hold was empty, except for herself. The second thing that registered in her slightly foggy mind was that she didn't hear the usual sounds of people walking around up on deck above her.

She frowned. That was strange. Where the hell was everyone? And why hadn't anyone woken her up - if they'd disembarked? She sighed, swinging her legs over the edge of the hammock and carefully climbing out - she'd flipped that fucking thing more times than she'd care to talk about, and she really wasn't in the mood for another scrape or bruise from it.

She stretched her arms over her head, working out some of the kinks from sleeping in that uncomfortable death trap that the Captain dared to call a bed. She rolled her eyes when he crossed her mind, yet again.

Why couldn't she stop thinking about him? It had been ... well, awhile ... since their night together. One night. That's all it had been, though he'd extended an open invitation, she had yet to take him up on it. And she wouldn't. It was the principle of the damn thing now.

They hadn't talked since it happened, not really, not alone, and definitely not about it, but she knew, just from the way he looked at her when they were up on deck, that given the opportunity, he'd pounce.

And she was pretty damn sure she'd probably let him.

Which was all the more reason she needed to avoid the sonofabitch.

Just catching his eye when they were up on deck was enough to make her breath catch, enough to make all those images of that night rush back at her, making her almost weak in the knees as she remembered. Just thinking about that night was enough to send desire sparking through her, and the most vivid imagery of what she'd like to do to him, and what she'd like him to do to her - sometimes at the most inopportune times - and she was just grateful nobody on the ship could read minds.

She scrubbed her hands over her face in frustration, trying to dispel the traitorous thoughts from her brain, the ones that constantly told her there was no harm in going to him again ... she'd probably feel better for it, at the very least. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought about it, far too often for it to be a fleeting notion. She wanted him again. It had been incredible ... more than incredible. And it had felt right ... but it shouldn't.

She knew that it was more than just the fact that he'd rocked her world (and vice-versa, thank you very much), and it was precisely that knowledge that made her keep her hands - and everything else - to herself. He was dangerous. Dangerous to her heart. And if she let him get too close, he could engulf her like a tidal wave. There had been a few moments, that night, where it had almost been too much. She couldn't even begin to deal with that right now.

Emma reached for door, planning to head up on deck and see where everyone was. The moment she opened the door, she found herself face to face with ...

"Hello, love."

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, her tone coming out much sharper than she'd intended, partly in surprise from seeing him there, partly just ... from him. The room always seemed so much smaller when he was in it.

He gave her a smirk, leaning against the doorframe as if he hadn't a care in the world. Emma swallowed, trying her damndest not to let her eyes wander from his face. "It's my ship," he told her, his tone of voice betraying nothing about how he was actually feeling, though his eyes were a different story altogether.

"Where is everyone?" Emma asked slowly, the heat in his eyes making her heart speed up.

"Away," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "They'll be back ... eventually."

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. "That's all you're going to tell me? Why didn't anyone wake me up?"

"That would be your mother's orders," he said, giving her a cheeky grin. "She said you needed rest," he added, lowering his voice, eyes flickering over her. "That you've been rather tense lately."

"And they just left the ship, and you on it, knowing I was still here?" Emma asked dryly, knowing full well there was no way David would have ever allowed that to happen.

He gave her a smirk, one that went right through her, and she could feel the desire for him burning between her thighs then. Oh, God, this was not going to end well ...

"I told them I had a few things to take care of, myself," he told her, leaning a bit closer. "Didn't say what."

Every instinct in Emma's body was telling her she ought to be backing up if she didn't want ... but she couldn't seem to make her feet cooperate, nor did she really want them to. Much like the other night, he was drawing her in ... a magnetic force, opposite her own, tugging at her, making her yearn to be touched.

"Then what are you doing here?" she couldn't resist asking, even though she knew damn well, and she should be getting as far away from him as it was possible to get.

She fully expected that he'd give her some smartass retort, some glib reply, so when he actually spoke again, his expression as earnest as she'd seen it back in Rumplestiltskin's cell, it knocked the breath out of her lungs.

"You've been avoiding me," he began, gesturing at her with his hook hand.

"No, I haven't," she began, but he took a step forward then, pushing off the doorframe and entering the small room. She took a step back, her eyes widening a little.

"Don't," he said, and his voice was cold, leaving no room for argument. "I wasn't speaking platitudes at you, love, when I told you my door was always open, and yet you've not spoken five words to me since that night."

"There's ... nothing to say ... " Emma said helplessly, feeling lost at sea when she looked into his eyes.

"Oh, isn't there?" he asked, his tone almost sarcastic now. "Forgive me if I beg to differ on that point. He took another step into the room, and then another, forcing Emma to either back up or find herself pressed up against him, and she honestly wasn't sure which she wanted more at this point. Her back hit the edge of the wooden desk in the room then and she gasped in surprise, eyes darting back up to his. He was impossibly close, if she leaned any closer, she'd be able to feel his breath on her face, she'd be able to ...

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. "What do you want?" she finally asked.

"Why won't you talk to me?" he asked her, and there was no accusation in his voice. Just the question ... and no small amount of hurt, which Emma didn't understand at all. "Emma, look at me."

She finally opened her eyes again, and immediately wished she hadn't. She was lost, completely and utterly, and she didn't know what to do about it. "Hook, I ... "

"Should've known," he said, cutting her off before she could voice her protestations, shaking his head contemptuously, and Emma's brow furrowed at the new tone in his voice.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, confused. "Should've known what?"

"That you'd be the type to give a man a taste," he said pointedly, his gaze trailing down over her body, no small amount of desire in his eyes, "and then deny you loved it."

Emma's jaw dropped a little then at his words, sure she must've heard him wrong. "What did you just ... "

"You heard me," he said, a growl in his voice as he leaned closer. "You can't fucking sit there and tell me you didn't feel that, Emma, I was there, remember?" He reached out, his hand skimming down over her side, coming to rest at her hip, squeezing just a little. "I'm not the only one who wants it again." He leaned in then, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke again, his voice a whisper laced with pure sex that went straight through her and made her want to moan. "Deny it all you want, but I saw your face, love, and it was my name you were screaming."

She wanted to slap him. Hard. She wanted to shove him back and punch him in the face and hopefully break his nose for everything he was saying, for making desire pool between her legs, for making her breath hitch in her throat and her heartbeat speed up in her chest, for making her want him so desperately.

She wanted to pull him to her and kiss him hard enough to bruise.

She raised her hand then, and he caught it with his own, lightning fast, a dark chuckle passing his lips. "No need for violence, love," he said lowly, giving her a cocky smirk. "Unless, of course, you're into that ... "

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Killian ... " His name slipped out before she could stop it, and she knew then that there was no going back.

His hand tightened around her wrist. "Emma," he breathed out, his expression beseeching, hungry. His thumb brushed over her wrist, surprisingly gentle, all things considered. "I can't stop thinking about you," he said, finally releasing her hand, his fingers moving to trail along her jawline then. "I lie awake every bloody night, hoping you're going to come to me again ... but you never do." He had her chin between his thumb and forefinger now, tipping her face up to look at him. "I want to know why."

Emma's brow creased. "There is no why, Hook," she said, desperate to keep the upper hand here, desperate not to let him see how much she craved ... "It was one night ... it was just ... "

His lips were crashed against hers before she could get the rest of her sentence out, not that she really knew where she was going with it. It was all just meant to stall the inevitable anyway, because once she felt his mouth slanting over hers, she knew there was no way to deny this any more. Her lips parted against his, and he took advantage, his tongue slipping past her lips, seeking hers.

She felt his hook at the small of her back again, his hand fisted in her hair, and a soft shuddery gasp escaped her lips, every reason not to do this flying from her mind. Her tongue twisted with his, the sensation sending a shiver right down her spine. He pulled back then, and a groan of frustration left her lips. He smirked, laughing a little breathlessly, dragging his teeth along her jawline.

"Tell me again how much you don't want it, Emma," he taunted her, his voice a hot whisper by her ear as his hand now slipped between them, rubbing her through her jeans.

Her body arched into his touch and she gasped. Bastard. He was too fucking good. "Fuck you, Hook," she growled.

"No," he retorted, flicking his tongue over her pulse point, his thumb pressing against her clit, the friction created by his fingers and her jeans making her feel weak in the knees. "Remember? You don't want this."

Emma's hands gripped the edges of the desk behind her, not quite sure how she was even standing upright at this point. There were a million reasons, she knew, not to be doing this right now, but none of them seemed to matter any more. "You're right," she gasped out, deciding to play along, even as her hips ground down against his hand, wanting to feel so much more of his touch.

He grazed his teeth along her neck, nipping at the skin. "Just as I suspected," he muttered, fingers working at the button of her jeans, yanking the zipper down as his hook tugged them down off her hips. "Let's just find out," he growled, his lips brushing back over hers as his hand slowly slipped down to the juncture of her thighs, "how much you detest the idea of me fucking you."

Emma had to bite down on her lip to quell the cry that wanted to tear from her throat when his fingers slid over her slick folds. There was no denying that his words had an effect on her, that she didn't want him. Her head fell forward, against his shoulder and she gasped raggedly. "Fuck."

"Emma," he groaned, his hook grazing lightly down the exposed line of her upper thigh then, one finger slipping inside her, followed by another, curling them just so. "That's a good girl," he said as she bucked against him, his thumb pressing against her clit, making her almost dizzy with need. "Tell me to stop," he breathed out, lips against hers once more, his fingers still pumping in and out of her, the rhythm perfect, like he just knew. "Tell me how much you don't like this, how much you haven't been craving this since the other night. I'm not the only one who's lost sleep, thinking of all the ways I could be having you."

"Shut up, Hook," Emma groaned, his words alone almost enough to make her come. One hand moved to press against the bulge at the front of his trousers. "I hate it as much as you do," she hissed then, feeling smugly satisfied when she heard him inhale sharply. "Are you just gonna talk about it?"

"Yes," he retorted lowly, his eyes meeting hers, his fingers slowing then, moving at an almost torturous pace as he watched her face. "I'm going to talk to you until I feel you come. And then I'm going to have you again, right here. I would've preferred having you in my bed again, but you're a stubborn lass ... "

Emma gasped, biting down on her lip once more. "Hook," she whimpered, moving her hips a little, trying to get him to move faster, feeling her release starting to coil low in her stomach.

"Say my name," he hissed out, his voice fervent as he continued his slow torment of her, his thumb flicking her clit once more.

"I just did," Emma gritted out. "Fucking hell, Hook, I want more."

He stilled for a minute, and Emma thought he was going to pull away completely. Instead, he began moving his fingers faster again. "So do I," he breathed out raggedly, and then he was kissing her with an absolute desperation that she hadn't felt from anyone ever and it left her breathless, and made her come undone without any warning whatsoever. She all but shouted when it hit her, her entire body shuddering with the intensity. It was completely unfair, the things he could do to her.

"That's it," he breathed against her lips, wringing every last bit of pleasure from her with his fingers. "Gods, you're bloody gorgeous." He trailed his lips down her throat, his hand pulling away from her, pushing her jeans the rest of the way down her legs then. Once they were out of the way, he moved, faster than a man had a right to, and pressed her up against the door. "Don't lie to me, Emma," he said, his voice low and rumbling, even as he pressed up against her, letting her feel every inch of how much he wanted her. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about this every night since that night."

He was doing it again ... he was looking at her in that way, the one that made her start thinking stupid, dangerous thoughts that she had no business thinking, and she wanted to run and hide from the things he made her feel.

"Hook ... "

"Say my name, damn you," he growled, kissing her then in a way that was not meant to be sweet or gentle; kissing her hard enough to leave her lips swollen and bruised from him.

Emma reached between them, palming him through his trousers, trying to distract him from whatever it was he was trying to get her to admit to. "Hook," she growled pointedly, tugging at the laces on his pants, tired of them being in the way, just wanting the easy part of all of this, even though she knew nothing about this was ever going to be easy again. Not that it had ever been in the first place.

His hook was resting at her hip, his hand back in her hair. He gave it a tug, making her look at him. "Someone's very eager all of a sudden," he intoned with a smirk.

"Fuck you, Hook," she said, shoving his pants down off his hips, taking his length in her hand.

"Is that what you want?" he hissed out, fingers tightening in her hair when she started to stroke him. He leaned in closer to her, his voice low and dark, full of heat and promise. His hook pressed against her side, the metal cold against her skin.

"Hook ... " Emma groaned, and his hand slipped from her hair, down to her other hip, sliding over her ass. She continued stroking him, her lips parting to say something else, when she heard a noise from up above then. Her eyes widened, realizing that someone had come back.

"Get your legs wrapped around me," Hook demanded then, his tone sharper now, and she could tell he'd heard it too. "Because I'm having you against this door," he growled, leaning in and catching her lips with his again. "So you best bloody well keep quiet," he hissed, "unless you want them all to know their precious Savior is fucking the pirate."

A little shiver went through her at that, and she did as he said, wrapping her legs around his waist. She gasped out, and he covered his mouth with hers, silencing her sounds. He wasted no time, plunging forward, burying himself to the hilt within her, his own groan almost matching hers. He filled her, so completely, there was nothing that even began to compare to way they just seemed to fit.

"Why," he gasped out, rocking into her at an urgent, rough pace, "haven't you come to me again?"

"Shh," Emma silenced him, kissing him again, letting her tongue sweep out over his lips as she ground her hips back against his.

His fingers dug into her hips then, hard enough to bruise, his pace quickening. "You want it as much as I do," he continued, unrelenting in both his pace and his questioning. "You're wet and hot and your thighs are trembling for me ... why deny what we both want?"

Her throat went dry at his words. It shouldn't be possible that things he was saying could effect her just as equally as the things he was doing, but his voice, low and rough and thick with want, was making her feel like she'd never be satisfied with anyone else ever again. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she bit down on her bottom lip, a whimper escaping her. She could hear whoever it was who had come back moving around up above, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they'd come down here, looking for her. "Faster," she whispered.

"Don't know that you could handle that, love," he teased her, "without it eliciting a scream from that pretty little mouth of yours."

"Shut up, you bastard," she hissed out, her stomach clenching once more.

"I don't think I will," he breathed out, his lips by her ear then as he continued to slam his hips forward, thrusting roughly. "Because you, my lass," he nipped at her earlobe then and she shuddered, "love it. You get wetter when I talk to you, and it feels fucking," he gave a sharp thrust, and Emma couldn't stop herself from crying out before it was too late, "incredible."

Her release crashed over her then, her inner muscles squeezing around him like a vice, threatening to overtake her entire being. "Killian!" She cried out again, giving him exactly what he wanted in that moment, and she could feel him, swelling within her, his own release sparked by either hers or the way she shouted his name.

He groaned loudly, something that Emma would have sworn sounded like "my love" but he quickly silenced them both by crashing his lips against hers once more, and this time when he kissed her, it was with a hungry, desperate need that hadn't been there before.

"That's my lass," he exhaled shakily, his eyes finding hers. Emma swallowed thickly, knowing that he was about to say something and there was no way she would be able to escape the conversation. "Emma ... "

"Emma?"

It was David.

Hook cursed under his breath, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against hers. "Later," he intoned lowly at her, in a tone that brooked no room for argument.

"I'll be right out," Emma said, loud enough for David to hear her through the door. She waited then, hoping he wasn't going to try and shove his way in here, but to her relief she heard his footsteps receding, heading away from the room.

She let her legs slip from around Hook, an apologetic expression on her face. "Hook, I ... " He silenced her, shaking his head, and the look in his eyes was almost ... sad. Emma looked down. She didn't know how it had come to this, or how she was supposed to stop now, knowing that there was no escaping ... whatever this was. "I'm sorry," she said, pushing him back a little and bending to pick up her jeans off the floor. She frowned then, looking around for her underwear.

She heard him chuckle softly behind her, and she turned to face him, rolling her eyes when she saw the lacy black fabric dangling from his hook. She reached for them, but true to form, he pulled them just out of her reach as she did. "I think I'll hold onto these," he told her, widening eyes at her dramatically, a small smirk on his lips as he crossed the room. "If you want them back ... you'll just have to come find me later." And with that, he lifted part of the floor that Emma hadn't even known was a trapdoor, and was gone. She supposed that was one of the ways he seemed to get around the ship and show up randomly without anyone knowing how he'd gotten there.

She rolled her eyes as she finished getting dressed - without her underwear. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, shaking her head, knowing she couldn't exactly try to follow after him right now, not when David - and possibly the others - were all waiting on her.

She'd deal with the pirate later.