A/N: All right, my loves, I know it's been forever and a half, but the epilogue is finally here! Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited, and followed this fic! It's been nearly a year since the idea for this story first popped into my head, and I'm both happy (and a little bit sad) to officially be wrapping it up. Seriously though, slapping the complete label on this is a little bit overwhelming, so I'll just let you get on with the reading. :)

When they finally exit the cave system with Regina pushed unwillingly along in front, leading the way in case any traps remain, the darkness that clung to the forest before seems to have lifted. It's still night, of course, but a full moon hangs high in a cloudless sky, its light filtering down through the thick forest, bright and beating back the shadows.

Snow White carries Thalia on her hip and the little girl's arms wrap around her mother's neck. Emma's sister has grown since Killian last saw her months ago, nearly too large now for such an act, but the queen hardly seems to mind, and Killian is fairly certain (actually, he knows without a doubt), that if Emma wished to be carried, he would gladly bear her weight in his arms. It would be a blessing, not a burden.

As it is though, she seems determined to walk, to remain on her own two feet despite the exhaustion that clearly weighs on her. Her curse may be broken and her family may be safe, but – bloody hell, his thoughts are abruptly derailed as he touches his lips once more with a shake of his head, true love – he'd hoped, certainly, but it's still a reality he's attempting to come to terms with and he expects that the same holds true for her.

At the moment he has not a bloody clue what the future holds, but for now he'd simply settle for long night's sleep in a warm bed with Emma in his arms.

Killian's startled from his thoughts when David pushes past with Regina in front of him, a silent nod indicating that they ought to continue onward into the forest. Snow follows close behind with Thalia, and Killian takes a moment to study Emma.

She's standing still in the silence of the forest, looking up at the moon and then back down at her hands. She touches her hair, twisting a golden lock around her finger, and it's almost as if she can't quite believe that the events of the last several hours have actually happened. Her mood has changed drastically in the time it's taken to traverse the tunnels and return to the night air, and the smile that was on her face after they kissed is now replaced by a frown.

"Love?" he speaks quietly, concerned and not wanting to startle her.

She looks up at him, green eyes wide as she reaches for his hand. "Is it really over?" she asks, her voice smaller than he expects it to be.

Taking her hand, he draws her to his chest and wraps her in a tight embrace, nodding his head and closing his eyes as he presses a kiss to her golden curls. "Aye, love, it's over. You're safe and your family is safe. Regina is powerless. You can rest now if you wish. I've got you."

She presses her face to his chest, breathing deep and gripping his lapels, much like she did that first day they met, and it fills his heart with warmth; how far they've come since then. He makes to scoop her up in his arms, to carry her, but she shakes he head in silent protest and finally looks up at him, that fiery strength he loves so much, warring with exhaustion in her eyes. "Later," she insists. The rest is unspoken, but he thinks he understands; she still needs to be strong right now. She's never been a delicate flower and that's not about to change any time soon.

Stroking a thumb over her cheek, he caresses her face as she smiles up at him. "Come on then, love. We've got a long way ahead of us yet."

With that, she retakes his hand and links their fingers together, following her family into the forest.

The horses are blessedly still where they left them, and David helps Snow and Thalia mount the chestnut gelding before nodding for Emma and Killian to retake the large black stallion once more. Emma protests at first, but quickly admits defeat when she realizes that arguing is pointless and that all she's succeeding in doing is delaying them further.

David marches along in front, pushing Regina not so kindly forward over the uneven ground, and the rest of them follow closely behind on the horses.

Emma sits in front of him on the horse this time, secure in the cradle of his arms, and within the first few miles of trekking through the forest, her head lolls back against his shoulder, his princess sound asleep and breathing softly. Snow smiles over at him with something that he dares to hope is approval and he notes that young Thalia slumbers in much the same position within her mother's arms.

Sometime nearing dawn, the forest thins out enough for them to stop and make camp. David is clearly exhausted from walking, and after Killian aids a drowsy Emma from the horse, he takes it upon himself to bind Regina with rope to a nearby tree. A large part of him had wanted to simply leave the ex-witch behind, abandoned to starvation in a prison of her own making, but that's never been how heroes go about things, and even though he doesn't think she deserves it, the bitch'll get a fair trial. The black knights they'd left behind will likely wake in the morning with pounding heads to pull Emma's well-placed arrows from their flesh. He doesn't much care what happens to them and the king and queen hadn't seemed willing to drag along a number of extra prisoners.

With the foul woman and the horses secure, David falls quickly into slumber with Thalia curled into his side. Emma shares a quiet word with her mother before handing off the spare bow they'd managed to find before leaving the cavern, hers unfortunately turned to ash by Regina's magic. She gets started on a fire and Snow disappears back into the trees to hunt. Killian takes stock of their precariously low food stores before wandering to the nearby stream to refill the water skins.

Regina seethes, glaring at him while he works, but she remains quiet after his not so subtle threat to remove her tongue if she whines too loudly and wakes the sleeping king and princess. It's harsh and violent, but it's not as if he'd actually go through with it... probably.

When he finally rejoins Emma by the fire, it's with a cloth full of berries to accompany the remaining dried bread and whatever else Snow manages to bring back to eat.

Emma's smile is a little brighter this time, but he knows she could certainly use more sleep. Even with her curse vanquished, dark circles sit heavy below her eyes, and he feels guilt settle into the pit of his stomach once more, knowing that his absence, his decision to leave, most certainly contributed to their presence there.

She seems to read his mind, and after taking the berries from his hand, she silently tugs him down to sit next to her at the fire. Turning to face him, she cups his cheeks with cool hands and traces the contours of his face with her thumbs. Her eyes search his in the pale light of approaching dawn and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly. "I'm still having a hard time believing that any of this is real," she whispers, "that you're actually here."

He covers her left hand with his right palm and brings her fingers to his lips. "I'm here, Emma, and this is very much real." He sighs then and brings her chilled hand to rest against the warmth of his chest, over the beating of his heart. "I know it all worked out in the end, but you have to know that there hasn't been a moment in these last several months where I haven't loathed myself for leaving you, and if you'll allow it, darling, I shall endeavour to spend the rest of my days making it up to you."

"You're an idiot, Killian Jones," Emma admonishes, but the grin on her face and the tone of her voice belay the harshness of her words.

He nods solemnly anyway. "Aye, love, that I am."

And then she's tugging his face to hers for a soft kiss, and he just leans into her, wondering how in the bloody hell he got so lucky, his fingers tangling in her hair just as she pulls away.

"Do you have any idea how much I've missed you?" she asks harshly, berating him even as she kisses him again, and he makes to answer when she retreats, but she silences him with a look and he quickly realizes that the question was asked in rhetoric, because of course he has an idea – he bloody well missed her too, even if it was his own damn fault.

She frowns then, licking her lips, and before he can ask what the matter is, she's speaking again in hushed tones, quiet fury in the storm-green sea of her irises. "I love you and I've missed you and don't you ever dare to leave me again! Promise me!" Her hand fists against his chest and all he can do at first is nod, too overwhelmed to speak, because yes, she's said it already, but somehow it's just finally hitting home that she loves him, and he'd better damn well stop sitting here like a mute fool and find his blasted tongue already!

"I promise," he finally manages to spit out. "Gods, Emma, I love you."

And then she's up on her knees and pressing into him again, kissing him for all that she's worth, her fingers rough in his hair as he finds her waist and tugs her into his lap, warm and solid and pressed right where he's longed to have her every moment of these last months alone, but then David shifts in his sleep, snoring loudly on the other side of the fire and Emma freezes. She's still for several long seconds, and then suddenly her breath against his lips turns to silent laughter and she drops her head to his shoulder, shaking with barely contained mirth.

When she finally pulls back to look at him, her smile is blinding and it's all he can do to stop himself from kissing her again. With a sigh she slowly removes herself from his lap. "It's probably terrible of me, but I really wish we weren't surrounded by my parents, my kid sister, and a former evil queen right now."

There's a glimmer in her eyes and he catches her drift immediately. "Soon enough, love," he promises. When he takes her to bed again, he fully intends to take his time. I quick tryst against a tree in the forest won't be nearly enough. He doesn't bloody want to, but they can wait, and he tells her as much.

For now he's fairly content to retake her hand as she stokes the fire and they wait for her mother to return.

They don't have to wait long. Warm and golden, sweeping the chill from the night air, the sun rises just as Snow returns to camp with two large rabbits, ready to cook. David and Thalia wake in time to eat, and later, after everyone has rested for several hours, they continue onward.

The way back to the castle is long and tiring, but on the fourth day, when they managed to purchase an additional horse and a small buggy, the going gets easier. As much as everyone would rather watch Regina stumble over her own blistered feet for several more days, they all reluctantly agree that transporting her in the cart will result in a swifter journey home.

Killian offers to the drive the horse and buggy, and Snow seems surprised that he knows how, but he simply replies with a quipped "More than a pirate, milady!" before helping Emma from the stallion and relinquishing the horse to Dave. Regina gets tossed in the back of the cart, and much to everyone's relief, remains blissfully quiet until they reach the castle gates at sunset on the tenth day.

From there it's a whirlwind of activity; commotion in the form of guards and subjects and servants. Regina is swept away to the dungeons, and with nearly thirty people speaking at once, gathered in the great hall, their voices a thunderous cacophony of questions and demands, concerns and well wishes, it's David who silences them all with one resounding word:

"TOMORROW!"

The king draws in an exhausted breath. "We will answer all questions tomorrow. For now all you need know is that the evil queen is defeated. Our kingdom is safe. Now, goodnight."

With that said, the crowd quickly clears until only Baynard and a handful of maids remain. David steps aside to share a quiet word with Baynard, and Snow sends Thalia off with a maid before turning to address the young woman Killian recognises as Emma's handmaiden, Candace.

Emma wraps the surprised girl in a crushing hug, and when the maid steps back, blush colouring her cheeks, Snow utters a request that Killian honestly never expected to hear. "Candace, please see that Emma and Killian are settled upstairs. Bring them food and anything else they require. Thank you."

Candace nods and Killian nearly swallows his tongue, coughing awkwardly. Sure they've been sleeping next to one another for the entirety of the journey home, but while it's one thing to bed down on the forest floor surrounded by company, it is another entirely to retire alone to the privacy of Emma's bedchambers.

Emma seems to have an equally shocked look on her face because the queen just shakes her head in amusement. "I could send the two of you to different rooms on opposite sides of the castle, but I assume that wouldn't keep you from finding your way to each other for very long, correct?"

Killian values his life and his manhood too much to dare speak an answer aloud, but Emma nods sheepishly, and Snow actually laughs. "Go, eat, rest. Tomorrow will be a long day and I expect to see you both at ten o'clock for a late breakfast."

When a queen orders you to follow her daughter, a princess, to bed, if you have even half a brain between your ears, you don't ask questions and you don't wait around for her to change her mind. You go.

Sharing an incredulous look with Emma, he takes her offered hand and they quickly follow Candace from the hall. The auburn maid leads them up to Emma's room, and when Killian hesitates in the doorway, Emma shoves him through with a firm hand at his back. There are two other maids already in the room, filling a large tub with hot water, and while Killian stares at it longingly, trying to remember the last time he had a proper bath; Emma and Candace exchange a few quiet words.

The girl disappears then, and Emma hauls him off to the side so he's no longer blocking the doorway. A tray of food is brought up minutes later, followed by clean clothing for him, and then suddenly the tub is full and the maids are leaving, Candace closing the door quietly with a simple request to leave any clothing that needs laundered in the hall.

A fire crackles warmly in the hearth on the far side of the room near the tub, and a sconce on the wall by the door flickers brightly, casting light into a room that he realizes he's never actually been in. Emma had visited his guest quarters and they'd met in a number of hidden locations around the castle, but never has he actually set foot in her bedchambers until now. He can't help but take a moment to look around. Her bed is large, almost ridiculously so, covered in plush sea foam quilts and an unnecessary number of pillows. There's a floor to ceiling wardrobe along the one wall, with a large three panelled mirror beside it. Off to the right of the fire, sits the tub and a curtained off area he assumes to be the privy, and to the left, closer to the windows, is a small sitting area with a couch and a small table and chairs. The entire room is done up in the muted colours of the sea, accented with rich amber wood.

It's a little surreal and he stands there with his feet planted firmly on the floor until Emma steps in front of him and tugs on his hand. "Killian, let's eat."

The tray of food sits on the small table and Emma leads him over and presses him into a chair before pulling the second seat closer to him and lifting the lid. Steaming meat pie and a generous helping of root vegetables are heaped on the large plate next to a flagon of spiced wine.

Emma wastes no time in picking up a fork to dig in, and when he hears her moan appreciatively, he's torn between tasting what is obviously a delicious meal, and possibly foregoing it altogether in favour of devouring his princess instead.

She gives him a knowing look and hands him the other fork. "Eat."

He obliges and when the first bite passes his lips, he realizes just how hungry he is for actual food. It doesn't take long for them to clear the plate, and when Emma tilts her goblet, exposing her elegant throat to his gaze as she drains the last drop of wine, he's automatically reminded of his earlier hunger.

She sets the empty cup back on the table and stands, grabbing his hand and beckoning him (he's always maintained she's a bloody siren) toward the tub before he even has a chance to voice his desire – not that it appears to be necessary.

Dipping her fingers into the water, she tests the temperature before drying her hand on her pant leg and reaching for the buttons of his vest. "It seems like a lifetime ago," she whispers as she looks up at him, nimble fingers freeing each button from its hole, "that afternoon when you finally stopped stalling and decided to have me." She makes quick work of detaching his hook and sitting it aside before she pushes his jacket and vest from his shoulders, letting them fall to the floor at their feet. "What finally made up your mind?" she asks, her head tilted, studying him as she tugs his shirt from his pants, her fingers finding their way beneath to rest warm against his lower back.

He gets to work on relieving her of her jacket as he considers her question carefully, recalling that day; the relative warmth of the sunny spring afternoon and the look of determination on her face as she'd stormed across the deck to stand impatiently in front of him. "I'd known you wanted it, wanted me, you'd told me as much, but despite your insistence to the contrary, I knew you weren't quite ready." With her jacket undone, he pushes it from her shoulders and she shrugs it off, not seeming to care where it lands, her eyes still on his face, waiting for him to continue. "Until that day you'd been quite content to follow my lead, but that afternoon when you slammed your book shut and marched over to me, likely intending to force my hand, I understood that you were done waiting. You were ready."

Smiling softly, she lifts his shirt over his head, pulling it from his arms. It flutters to the ground and her eyes finally leave his face to rove over his bare chest. Inhaling deeply, she settles her hands at his hips and leans forward to press her lips above his heart, nuzzling her face against his chest hair with a happy sigh.

Affection and love, warm and heady, blossom in his chest, and he reaches out to cup the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair as he holds her against him. Gods, how he loves her.

After a moment she pulls back, her fingers rising from his hips, up to his shoulders and then down to drag through the hair on his chest, following the dark trail down his stomach to where it disappears into his pants. Her fingers drum against the taut muscle there, and he tenses further in anticipation, but her touch doesn't venture any lower. "You were the hairiest man I'd ever seen," she admits, grinning up at him, "not that I had much in the way of a frame of reference, mind you, but even at first, even when you were just some strange sailor who rescued me, I found all of this," she tugs gently at the hair in the center of his chest, "and your stubborn insistence that it remain on display, despite rain and snow and all manner of inclement weather, to be ridiculously distracting."

He chuckles at that and drops his hand down her back to rest over the swell of her ass, pulling her closer, pressing their hips together. "Considering where we are now, I'll wager it's safe to assume you think it the good sort of distracting?"

She stretches against him with a sly grin, practically purring. "Very." And then she's pulling back and partially out of his arms to tug almost frantically at the laces of her corset. "Stupid contraption," she mutters under her breath, and he'd offer aid, but with his hook sitting on the table several feet behind her, he figures that she, with her two working hands, will make faster work of the laces if he simply stays out of the way.

Instead he drops to his knees in front of her; an act which stills her movements and momentarily confuses her until he reaches for her boots and helps ease them one after the other from her feet. He repeats the task with his own footwear, standing on not quiet steady legs as he works at a stubborn clasp and finally manages to step out of them.

When he looks back up, Emma is bare from the waist up, her breasts full, her nipples tight and rosy in the light from the fire, and nearly every intention he had of taking this slow vanishes as the next beat of his heart sends blood rushing south to his cock. And then she pushes the breeches from her hips, shimmying until they pool at her feet. She stands naked before him, her teeth worrying at her lower lip, not in a nervous gesture, but in one of eager anticipation, and suddenly he's wondering how in the hell he was daft enough to think that he could possibly enjoy a leisurely bath before taking her.

"Bloody hell, love," he growls, and he's not sure who reaches for who first, but in an instant her lips are against his, hungry and slanting, hot and wet as her tongue meets his. He spins her, driving her backwards until she collides with the nearest wall, his bad arm around her back as he groans into her mouth and palms her breast roughly. She arches into his touch, still kissing him even as she works blindly to undo his belt and loosen his laces.

It's blessed relief, twisted quickly into the sweetest torture when she finally manages to free his erection from the tight confines of his breeches, only pushing the leather down far enough that it doesn't impede her touch as she circles her fingers around his cock and strokes upwards, brushing her thumb over the sensitive head.

"Fuck. Emma," he grinds out against her lips, his hips jumping as he instantly drops his hand from her breast to delve between her legs. He breathes out a silent thank you to any god that happens to be listening when his fingers find her already slick with arousal. Circling her clit with his thumb, he presses a finger into her welcoming heat, shuddering at every memory of being with her like this while simultaneously cursing himself, what feels like a thousand times over in a matter of seconds, for being such a fool.

When he slips a second finger into her, curling his digits, her grip on his cock falters and she bites down on his lower lip, sucking it into her mouth before letting her head thud back against the wall so she can meet his eyes. "Killian, I need you." It's a breathy plea, and even if he were capable, he wouldn't deny her.

"Hold onto me," he requests, and she does, arms looping around his neck as he hefts her up, pressing her into the wall with his weight, his hand cupping her ass as she crosses her ankles against his lower back. He looks over his shoulder and considers both the bed and the couch, but she tugs on his ear, recapturing his attention and shaking her head. "We'll use the bed later. Here's good."

Far be it for him to deny a princess, especially one who's practically squirming in his arms, frantic for him. Gripping his cock in his hand, he holds her gaze as he coats himself in her wetness, teasing her for a moment until she tugs at his ear again, growling, and he loses his tenuous grasp on whatever restraint he had left.

He lowers her, sinking into her tight heat as slowly as he can. It's been months and as much as he needs her, he doesn't want to hurt her. When he's finally seated fully within her, she smiles and presses an unexpectedly soft kiss to his lips.

"Remember all those months ago when I told you that I wasn't made of glass?" she asks with an arched eyebrow, flexing her hips against his to change the angle and take him deeper.

He groans and nods.

"That still holds true, so just fucking move already!"

Dropping his lips to her shoulder, he nips at her flesh, sucking as he pulls out slowly and slams back in. He lifts his head and meets her eyes. "Like that, princess?"

"Yes." Her fingers claw at his shoulders as he drives into her again, setting a relentless pace.

She melds their lips together, kissing him hard, whispering words of love and want against his mouth until he's nearly shaking, his release coiling low in his belly as he tells her that he loves her and begs her to touch herself, to come with him.

Her hand snakes between their bodies and he almost sobs with relief when he feels the telltale flutter of her walls, her breath hitching, her mouth open against his as she tightens around him, finding her release and triggering his own. He spills himself inside her, his eyes squeezed shut, his face falling to her shoulder as he grunts out his pleasure.

With shaking legs, he somehow manages to turn away from the wall and carry Emma toward the couch, stumbling through the litter of their clothing on the floor before collapsing in a heap of limbs with her still firmly on his lap, straddling his hips. His head falls back and his skull cracks lightly against the ornate wooden trim of the lounge as he closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe.

Gentle touches press over his chest and the planes of his face as Emma caresses him, smoothing the tension from his brow with her thumbs. Her fingers meet again over his left arm and he finally opens his eyes to watch as her touch settles over the buckles of his brace. She pauses for the briefest of seconds, studying his face carefully, and when he nods, her fingers quickly jump into action, easily working to remove the brace as though it's been mere hours instead of months since she last helped rid him of the blasted device.

Sitting it aside on the couch, she draws his damaged limb to her chest, working her fingers in a gentle massage over the scarred flesh, over the rubs and indentations caused by wearing the brace for too long without removal.

All he can do is watch her, filled with wonder and love and a healthy level of disbelief, because even with the immediate reality of her sitting here on his lap, his spent cock and his release still between her thighs, he can't fathom how he managed to get so lucky.

The fire crackles in the hearth beside them, logs shifting to release a wave of heat, and he takes in the way the golden light flickers over Emma's face; her green eyes focused as she works at his arm, her cheeks flushed and her parted lips red, kiss-swollen and full of life. Her hair is a tangled mess of gold tumbling over her left shoulder, and he reaches up to tuck a stray strand back into place.

Emma smiles at the gesture, tilting her head toward his palm, but her eyes remain focused on moving the massage up his forearm toward his elbow.

Allowing his eyes to wander further, he follows the strength of her jaw to the dimple in her chin, down the line of her neck to the curve where it meets her shoulder, where in his excitement; he'd sucked a delicate mark into her skin. It's a place not easily concealed by clothing and he imagines she'll give him hell for that when she notices. Whatever his fate; he welcomes it.

Her bare breasts are heavy, the tops still flushed, and as he sets his sights lower, to her toned stomach, to the womanly flare of her hips, the strength of her thighs, and the place where they're still joined, he thinks that perhaps later, he'll take his time reacquainting his lips and his teeth and his tongue with every inch of her beautiful body. The taste of her arousal on his tongue is but a faint memory now, and at the thought of reaffirming it, his cock twitches excitedly within her.

And she must feel it because her fingers still on his arm and she looks up at him with a lecherous grin that puts even his most lewd leer to shame. The bloody siren.

He's just about to rock up into her, hardening further, but she stands and he slips from her heat with a disappointed groan.

"Come on, Pirate," she says, offering her hand. "We should bathe while this water is still hot."

She pulls him to his feet and pushes him toward the tub with a hand at his back and a not so gentle slap on his ass, and dear gods, he's almost fully erect once more. He wants little more than to lay her back on the bed, his own personal feast, but he abides her request and steps into the tub as she reaches into a chest for clean towels.

The heated water swirls around his knees and he sinks into its depths, the aches from months of solitude and days of sleeping on the forest floor, instantly lessening, working their way from his tired limbs. Emma settles into the water and it's only then that he realizes his eyes had slipped shut.

He opens them to find her facing him, kneeling between his spread legs with a bottle of what he assumes to be liquid soap in her hand. She backs up to the other end of the tub, much to his chagrin, but the reasoning for her retreat becomes clear with her next command. "Dunk," she requests when she's far enough away that he has room to scoot forward and lie back, submerging his head beneath the water. When he resurfaces, he wipes the moisture from his face and watches as she moves closer again, pouring soap into her palm before reaching up to massage it through his hair.

Her movements put her breasts mere inches from his lips and he doesn't see any reason why he shouldn't simply lean forward to nuzzle his face between them. She giggles, a welcome sound, but he's not content with that act alone, so he turns his head to capture a nipple, the comb of her fingers through his hair faltering when he sucks hard, swirling his tongue over pebbled flesh.

"Killian..." Her voice is a little breathless and if her utterance of his name was supposed to be a warning, it sure doesn't sound like one.

"Yes, my love?" he speaks against her skin, dragging his whiskered chin over her ribcage to latch onto her other nipple.

She lets him suck for a moment longer before pulling him roughly away by the hair. His hand comes up to her hip to halt her retreat, but she slaps it away and shakes her head. "Rinse your hair," she commands firmly in her best queenly voice. It sends a pulse of arousal to his already hard cock and somehow he finds himself obeying her order without a moment's hesitation.

He resurfaces a moment later, his hair free from suds, and when he reaches for her again, she bats his hand away once more. Interesting... Remaining still, he meets her eyes and silently awaits her next request.

"You're going to sit still and keep your hand and your lips to yourself while I wash you." There's a serious look on her face and a bold tenor to her voice as she issues the order. It's one he doesn't dare defy.

Gods, what happened to the shy princess he used to know?

Bloody stupid question, that. He knows the answer: He left her. That's what happened, and while she certainly doesn't seem to hate him for it, the look of determination on her pretty face tells him that he's going to pay for it all the same.

"Do you understand?" she asks.

He nods. "Yes, milady." It brings a feral smile to her lips, one that he longs to kiss, but he simply remains motionless with his arms at his sides.

"Good." She nods, reaching for a bar of soap and a cloth. "When I'm done with you, you can help me wash my hair."

Fragrant orange, tangy and sweet, fills his nostrils as she lathers the bar against the cloth. She begins by washing his feet before moving slowly up his legs, his left and then his right, stopping when she reaches the halfway point of his hairy thighs. He's not even remotely surprised when she redirects her touch, but it doesn't stop his hand from fisting tightly around nothing but water as his cock throbs painfully beneath the surface.

She asks him to turn so she can wash his back, foregoing the cloth altogether at this point as she runs soapy hands over his shoulders and spine in slow, torturous circles. He rises up on his knees at her request, gripping the edge of the tub, his knuckles white as she washes the backs of his thighs and kneads her way over his ass. With her breasts pressed against his shoulder and her lips at the back of his neck, she dips her hand between his thighs to cup his balls, and he doesn't know which has him cursing louder; the initial shock of her touch, or the loss when she withdraws it.

He turns again, back to face her so she can wash his chest, and he suspects that the flush crawling its way up her neck and into her cheeks has very little to do with the temperature of the water.

She washes his arms first, increasing her pace drastically, but by the time she reaches his chest, she's slowed again and seems perfectly content to take her time swirling soapy patterns through his chest hair as she teases his nipples. He grinds his teeth (much to her amusement) as she finally moves onto his stomach and his hips, deliberately avoiding where he's now almost desperate for her touch.

And when she finally does touch him, her fingers circling around his length and stroking firmly, for one terrifying second he thinks he might come right then and there, spilling his seed in the water before he even has the chance to touch her again.

He doesn't though, by some small miracle, surely, and when her hand leaves him after several maddening pumps, he sits there panting, waiting for further instruction.

Emma turns away from him then and shuffles to the far end of the tub, bowing her back to dunk her long blonde locks in the water before handing him the bottle of soap with a grin. She's already opened it, bless her, saving him the trouble of fiddling with the cap, and he sits it aside so he can pull her closer with his left arm around her waist. He works to untangle her hair first. It takes several long minutes of concentration and by the time he's ready to reach for the soap again, he's still erect, but the urgent need to seek release has passed.

Pouring soap onto her locks, he does his best to work it evenly through her hair, and somehow it's times like this, more than ever, that he wishes he had his left hand back. Emma seems pleased with his ministrations though, humming softly as he massages her scalp, and when it comes time to rinse, she makes no complaint about helping him out.

Afterwards he washes her body as slowly as he can, wanting to tease her as she teased him, but he ends up moving faster at her not so quiet insistence, and when she finally wrestles the slippery bar of soap from his fingers, insisting that he stop stalling and take her to bed, he doesn't waste a moment before immediately standing and helping her from the tub.

They dry each other off enough not to drip water everywhere, and she asks him to tend to the fire as she strides to the bed and begins flinging pillows to the floor on the opposite side.

When he's finished with the fire, he quickly rinses his fingers in the cloudy bath water before turning to find Emma stretched across the mattress, her ass in the air as she pushes the last few decorative pillows to the ground. She's exposed to him, her folds slick with arousal, glistening in the firelight, and bloody hell, how easy it would be to simply walk up behind her and bury himself to the hilt. It's tempting, but all in good time. Right now he wants to taste her.

Stepping closer, he settles his hand on her hip, taking in the soft tumble of her hair as it beings to dry, curling naturally in the heat of the room. "Get on the bed, love."

Looking over her shoulder, she doesn't move except to press back against his hips. "Why? Wouldn't you rather have me like this?"

With a groan, he bends and places a kiss to her spine before stepping away and raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps another time, darling. Right now I'd like you to get up on that bed and spread your thighs so I can taste you."

That gets her attention quickly enough. "Well why didn't you just say so?" she says, quickly flipping the blankets down to the foot of the bed before hopping up and stretching out on her back in the center of it. She drops her knees open, exposing herself, and pats the mattress next to her. In a heartbeat he's on the bed with her, his lips on hers as he leans over her. From there he traces a path down her chest, only pausing for a moment at each breast. They've teased enough in the time spent in the tub – he can linger over every inch of her skin another day.

The thought, the knowledge that they have a future ahead of them (an uncertain one perhaps, but a future none the less), it brings a smile to his face and a warmth to his heart as he finally shuffles down the bed to lay with his head between her legs. With a greedy inhale through his nose, he parts her folds and presses his tongue to her slick flesh. She's rich and heady against his taste buds, more delicious than he remembers, and as he pleasures her with his tongue and his lips and his fingers, he revels in the realization that they no longer have an expiration date. There's no deadline looming on the horizon, and while he's not sure where they'll be in five weeks or five months or five years from now, he's content just knowing that he'll be by her side.

When she's on the brink, trembling against his mouth, her thighs tight against his ears, he stops, rising up to silence her protest with a kiss as he lines himself up and sinks home.

It's slower this time, more like he imagined it would be when he first set foot in her quarters earlier that evening, and he takes his time moving against her, inside her. He whispers words of love and apology, stripping his heart and his soul bare for her, and it's painful and raw, but it's exactly what he needs. It's breathtaking catharsis as he tells her over and over again how much he loves her as their hips surge together, a sea of emotion and pleasure, swelling and cresting until she comes apart beneath him, around him. Salty tears gather in his eyes at the wonder of it all as he holds her tight, meets her gaze, and empties everything he has into her depths.

He manages to roll to his side, taking her with him before his eyes close and he's unable to focus on anything but the thunder of his heart and the clutch of her body.

Boneless exhaustion weighs on his limbs, and when he does manage to open his eyes again, it's to the loving press of Emma's lips at his temple. Her fingers card through his hair and he hugs her tight, still unaccustomed to being surrounded by so much love and warmth after life times of darkness.

Tilting her chin, he kisses her softly, telling her once more, without words, just how much he loves her. She breaks the kiss with a mighty yawn, apologising instantly, but before he can tell her that it's of no consequence, a yawn hinges at his jaw as well. Laughing brightly, she slips from his arms and stands. "Keep the bed warm for me. I'll be back in a minute."

He watches her pad naked across the room to gather their clothes and the towels from the floor in a messy bundle before carrying them to the door. She opens it a crack and peeks out cautiously before pulling it wider and dumping the heap of fabric into the hall. When she closes the door, she also snuffs out the wall sconce, and then the only light left in the room is that of the fire burning low in the hearth.

She doesn't return to bed just yet though. Instead she stokes the fire and adds another log before walking over to the tub to retrieve the cloth from the bottom of the basin. She wrings it out and quickly cleans herself up before rinsing it and returning to the bed to wipe him clean. Without a word, she kisses his chest and his shoulder and his neck as she works, and when she's done, she tosses the cloth back in the direction of the tub before climbing up onto the mattress. She hauls the blankets up to cover them and settles quickly into his arms.

The bed is soft, and Emma's bare skin and the warm sheets are a silken luxury he would be quite happy to never leave. He's already dreading morning even though he knows it's still many long hours away.

"How serious do you think my mother was about us attending breakfast?" Emma asks, and he chuckles because evidently she shares his thoughts on the matter.

"I'm quite certain she expects us to be there, love, and I do not intend to disappoint lest she withdraw her rather baffling, yet entirely appreciated instruction for me to stay with you in your quarters."

Emma grumbles through a yawn and burrows sleepily into his chest. "Fuck what my mother says; you're never leaving my bed again." She looks up at him then, ferocity burning vivid in her eyes. "And I swear to god, Killian Jones, if you ever leave me again, I'll hunt you down and cut off more than your hand."

"Aye, darling, I don't doubt it. I know you've little reason to, but please trust me when I say that I've no intention of ever abandoning you again." His words seem to reassure her because she tucks her head beneath his chin without further discussion, and after that, it's only a few quiet moments until she slips soundly into slumber.

He doesn't think sleep will come to him quite so quickly, but after only minutes of listening to her quiet breathing, his eyes grow heavy and he closes them easily to the knowledge that for the first time in centuries, he has something truly worthy to not only live for, but to look forward to.

Morning brings with it bright light and a chill to the air. The fire in the hearth is long burnt out, but curled beneath the blankets with Killian at her back, she's plenty warm.

He'd woken her in the middle of the night, hard and hot at her back, his hand rousing her body, pulling her slowly from slumber until she's been a quivering mess in his arms. They'd made love again, her seated astride his hips as they rocked together in the pale moonlight, coming undone as one in a tangle of sleepy limbs and soft touches.

She's lost track of how many times he's told her that he loves her in the last twelve hours, but she expects that she's repeated the words back to him nearly as many times. Having him back here at her side once more is both heaven and terror, because as unbelievably happy as she is in this moment, she has no idea what the future will bring, and though she wants to believe him when he promises to never leave again, there's still this shadow of frustrating doubt that she can only hope will fade with time.

She wonders what will become of his ship and his seafaring ways, and whether or not he will be content staying with her here at the castle. She's certain her parents won't want her to leave, but she's afraid that if she forces Killian to abandon the sea, he'll grow to resent her. When she stops to consider what exactly it is that she wants, she becomes even more confused. Does she want to rule this kingdom one day? She doesn't know, but if she does, how can she possibly be expected to make decisions for thousands of people when most days she can't even decide if she'd rather have mutton or pork for supper?

Fretting silently, she's staring blankly at the wall, thinking that she should possibly try to sleep some more, when Killian's voice sounds quiet and rough against her ear. "I can feel you thinking, love, and you're far too tense for them to be pleasant thoughts. What has you so worried?"

There's little sense hiding from him and even less lying to him, so she rolls to face him, meeting his sleepy blue eyes as she speaks the truth. "I'm just trying to figure out what exactly our future is supposed to be."

Killian smiles reassuringly in that way that he always does. "I've not a bloody clue either, darling, but so long as you're by my side, I look forward to discovering it."

She observes him closely, the open honesty in his eyes and the almost eager anticipation in the tug of his smile. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Aye, every word of it."

"Good." And then she kisses him hard, pushing him onto his back and climbing over him. Her aching thighs and the soreness at their apex protest the movement, but it doesn't stop her from settling her weight over his hips. The bedclothes fall down to pool over his thighs, leaving her exposed to the morning air, and the way her nipples pebble instantly, is both a testament to the chill of the room and the heat of his gaze.

She's about to whisper a filthy suggestion, maybe request that he take her bent over the bed like she wanted last night, but then there's a hesitant knock at the door and she's scrambling to vacate his lap and pull the blankets back up. "Just... hold on... one minute!" she calls.

Candace speaks hesitantly from the other side of the door. "Your mother sent me up to remind you that breakfast will be served in twenty minutes and that you are both to be there." There's silence for a long moment before the maid speaks again. "I trust you can manage to dress yourself this morning, your highness?"

Killian waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Emma shoves at him. "Yes, Candace, thank you. We'll be down shortly." She means to remind the girl that she needn't call her by such formal tiles, but she's so busy fending off Killian's wandering hand and determined advances, that by the time she gets him under control with a glare and a well placed pinch over his ribs, she's fairly certain that the young maid is long gone.

"You're soooo bad," she scolds, poking him in the chest.

"Pirate, love," he says by way of explanation. "What do you expect?"

She groans. "I expect you not to shove your fingers between my legs while I'm attempting to carry on a conversation."

His eyes light up and she's fairly certain he just took her words as a challenge. Goddamnit.

She has no idea how, but they manage to get dressed and make it down to breakfast on time, where Killian thankfully behaves himself as they feast on fresh eggs, fruit, and pastries. It's a happy affair and all discussion of Regina (or anything remotely serious) is put aside for the afternoon's council meeting.

Much to Emma's surprise, her parents invite Killian to attend the meeting. Killian seems equally shocked, but graciously accepts, and Emma's glad for his presence at her side during the long hours it takes for the meeting to crawl by.

Matters of all sorts are discussed, but aside from deliberating over Regina's fate, the only thing Emma really pays any mind to, is her mother's order to spread word that Princess Emma is no longer searching for a suitor. For a moment Emma wonders if she didn't simply imagine it, but when one of the lords speaks up in question (likely because he was one of her potential suitors), it's her father that informs him that when the time comes; Emma will be marrying for love, not politics. Her father doesn't mention that Emma has already found that love. He doesn't need to. All eyes turn to her and Killian for several long and slightly awkward moments before discussion of another matter pries them away.

Emma doesn't hear another word after that, too caught up in the realization that her parents essentially just approved a marriage (her marriage) between a pirate and a princess in front of the royal court.

Daring to lift her eyes and meet Killian's gaze, the smugness she expects to find there is nowhere to be seen. Instead he's just watching her with quiet affection, a smile on his handsome face as he laces their fingers together beneath the table and mouths "Marry me?"

He has to be joking (at least she hopes so, anyway), and maybe she shouldn't react quite so thoughtlessly, but the audacity of the gesture has her dropping his hand and smacking him in the chest as she shouts "Have you lost your mind?!" loudly enough for everyone at the table to hear. Her outburst prompts all eyes to turn their way once more, and she claps a hand over her mouth, blushing fiercely.

Perhaps it is she who has lost her mind...

Excusing herself as graciously as possible, she all but drags Killian from his chair, pulling him out of the room and through the castle until they reach a quiet alcove where she's reasonably certain they won't be interrupted.

Please tell me you were joking?" she hisses, backing him up against the stone wall with a harsh shove. She loves him and he loves her, but marriage is not something she has any intention of entertaining, at least not yet. It's too soon.

His hand comes up to cover hers, flattening her palm over his heart. "Not entirely, love." Her eyes flash and he hold up his left arm to deflect her blow. "Please hear me out first, darling, then if you still wish to smack me upside the head afterwards, you may."

With a roll of her eyes, she nods for him to continue.

"That was obviously not an actual proposal. I may be a pirate, but even I know how to properly woo a lady. That said, no part of me is opposed to the idea of you as my wife, so when the time is right, and only then, will I ask for the honour of becoming your husband."

Her heart beats a little faster and she bites her lip. Stupid man and his pretty words.

"Do you still wish to beat upon my sorry skull, love?" he asks, his voice light, a grin tugging at his lips.

She doesn't. Not at all. No, now she'd much rather kiss him.

And so she does.

When he finally does ask for hand in marriage, it's nearly four and a half years later on the deck of the Jolly Roger as they return home from a diplomatic mission in Arendelle. Most of their small crew is below deck, finishing up an early supper in the galley, and those that remain above, quickly make themselves scarce as Killian goes down on one knee in the golden spring light. The ring he holds out is one of his own, re-forged in a delicate scrolling pattern reminiscent of the sea. The ruby red gemstone sits at its heart, sparkling brightly in the setting sun.

"Marry me?" he mouths silently with a knowing grin, and she actually does cuff him gently up the side of the head before holding out her hand and nodding through her tears as he slides the ring onto her finger.

They marry at dawn on a chilly October morning. It's a small ceremony located on the colourful cliffs overlooking the sea. It's just them and her family and a few select witnesses, and she couldn't be happier as she kisses Killian to the joyous chatter of birdsong.

Convincing her mother to keep the actual wedding small had been the cause of a number of uneasy nights. There'd been screaming matches and days where they'd hardly talked. There'd even been threats of running off and getting married in secret, but in the end it had been her father and Killian who had helped bridge the gap and negotiate a compromise. She could have her quiet wedding so long as Snow was allowed to throw an extravagant ball in their honour the following night.

They spend their wedding night entirely alone on the Jolly Roger, anchored in the gently rocking waves far off the shore of their kingdom. They drink rum, dining and dancing on deck as they laugh well into the evening, and when Killian finally takes her below, to the warmth of their bed, to their second home (though perhaps it's truly their first), she doesn't leave his arms until nearly noon the next day.

By this point they're liable to be late for their own ball, and it's only because Killian is one hell of a captain (his words, not hers), that they actually make it home on time. The ball is extravagant and it's clear her mother spared no expense, and after nearly five hours of dancing and socializing until she can hardly feel her feet, Killian pulls her aside with a roguish grin and a glint in his eye.

"Shall we abscond from this frivolity, my wife?"

He doesn't have to ask twice.

They slip away silently through a hidden passage off the kitchens, and if her mother happens to give them hell the next morning for leaving the party, they'll deal with that then. As Killian leads her through the maze of tunnels below the castle, her heart aches painfully when she realizes where he's taking her. They haven't been back here together since that night all those years ago and even now it still holds the pain of memories she'd rather not revisit.

When they reach the secret cliff-side hideaway where they spent the night after that first ball, the night before he left, Emma is stunned into silence by the display that awaits her. The rock face is scattered with candles, already lit and flickering softly in the breeze, and at the centre of it, there's a thick mattress covered in blankets.

He guides her down to sit on the makeshift bed, removes her shoes and covers her legs with a blanket before settling behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. She tries to turn, wanting to look at him, but he guides her eyes forward, directing her sights out over the water. "Any moment now," he promises, and she only has to wait a second in confusion before fireworks begin lighting up the night sky in stunning explosions of colour.

"You have to admit, love, your mother does throw a hell of a party," he comments, pressing a kiss to her hair, and she just laughs because she certainly can't deny it.

The rest of the night is spent snuggled up, laughing and making love beneath the blankets as the party continues on above. They make new memories, happy ones, not to replace the old and the painful, but to remember them, and to celebrate just how far they've come.

And in the morning when the sun rises, drawing her from slumber, she looks at the ring on her finger where her hand rests over Killian's heart, and she realizes that she's not afraid of the future anymore, not when she knows that they'll face it together.