It's one of those things they do.

Things, as in, shit couples do together that used to make Emma's gag reflex hit.

Things, as in, Emma is now one of those couples she used to upchuck at.

Nice.

So, it's just...theirs.

It starts with Emma. (Shocker of the goddamn century that she can start one of those couple-y things.) But it'so innocent when it starts. Just Emma noticing that in-between chasing Gideon and the what-the-fuck-pterodactyl-shit had hit Storybrooke, he had lost his earring.

Honestly, in the moment she's more concerned about the fucking blood flowing from his ear then the jewelry, -

("What the fuck, Killian. Why didn't you dodge? You saw that hit coming."

"And what, Swan? Allow the damn thing to decapitate the little prince in your father's arms? Quite ungentlemanly, that would have been."

"...Dad could have handled it. It's quite 'ungentlemanly 'to come home with a whole in your damn head."

"Darling...Emma, put down the sodding cloth for a moment and look at me. I am still roguishly handsome. I am here. I am alive. It's alright, love. It's alright.)

-but then she's walking by Bashful's little jewelry store in town and the sun hit the window just right and the damn thing just catches her eye.

It's black, like the shamrock he lost a week ago. However, this one is a two-piece dangler a bit more like his red one and if she's not terribly mistaken, it's shaped like a ship. A tiny black ship.

Emma is inside the store before she even registers her own movement, asking to see the piece up close in spite of Bashful's deep, crimson blush. The poor thing manages to get it out of the window case without falling face-first and mumbles an excuse to escape to the back of the shop while the incredibly blonde Saviour of town examines his wares.

She raises the pieces in her fingertips, watching as the (not black on further inspection, but it's dark red) stone at top winks with the light while the smooth black stone of the ship lusters without gaudy metal outlines. The entire thing is about the size of her fingerprint.

"Onyx and garnet," Bashful finally offers, coming back into view with his permanent blush. "It would look lovely on you, princess."

Emma nearly drops the piece right there. "Oh shit, no it's not for me. I was just-"

Looking at jewelry for my boyfriend. Getting some booty for a pirate. Buying him a present.

Yeah, she's not going to finish that statement anytime soon and instead clears her throat with a loud cough. "How much?"

She actually throws it at him when she gets home, shrugging her shoulders and mumbling about how Bashful wouldn't take her money and there's a spare if he loses that one too, so it's not a big deal, despite the megawatt grin on his face.

"Swan," Hook's voice is equal parts reverent and affectionate when he opens the small box, grinning at her from his spot on the couch.

She resists the urge to squirm. Barely. "What? It's just a stupid earring, Killian. You looked weird with the huge hole in your ear."

Killian merely hums and pats the spot beside him with his hook, good hand inspecting the piece. Hie eyes soften when he takes in the solid design on the ship, rubbing his thumb gently against it. "Love, come here."

She resists, shuffling into the (their) kitchen in her woolen socks and muttering about sentimental bastards as she sets the kettle on the stove, procuring the outrageously expensive hot chocolate mix from their cupboard.

("Swan, you drink the thing daily. It might as well be of good quality."

"Exactly, pirate. I drink the shit like two times a day. So does the kid when he's here. We can't afford this crap. What is it made of: cocoa leaves from the tip of Mount Kilimanjaro? Why the fuck is it twenty dollars?! Good old generic shit is fine."

"Darling, I know we've never spoken of money but the doubloon to dollar rate in this world is quite financially sound. You could drink a carton of this a day and we would still be in good wealth."

"How did you even-you know what, nevermind. I'm not sure I want to know. Anyways, Killian you hate this stuff. Why does it even matter to you?"

"Is it so wrong to want the best for my family?"

Henry's loud decrees of this being 'the best hot cocoa ever!' several hours later had made Hook so damn smug she was tempted to make him sleep on the couch.

But like, orgasms.)

She's in the middle of measuring out the mix when she feels his heat at her back, strong arms wrapping around her waist and causing her to lean on the counter. Emma instinctively tenses, and releases as his hook gently separates strands of her hair gnarled by the wind.

His voice is soft, worshipful against her ear. "Swan, please look at me love."

For a moment, she stubbornly squares herself against their granite countertop, glaring at the mug of mix at her waist. She can feel the heat of her own cheeks and really, it's not a big deal. It's a stupid piece of jewelry. She went to hell for this man. It's not like she's hiding the fact that she's rather fond of him. So what if this is the first piece of crap she's ever bought for him?

"Sweetheart,"

Emma resists the urge to stomp her feet. Barely. This is stupid. She's an adult with a kid for Christssakes. Buying her live-in boyfriend an earring shouldn't even rank on the awkward to Tacos radar. She's being stupid.

She's going to peel her own cheeks from her face if they don't stop blushing anytime soon. Traitors.

She feels Killian sigh against her hair, his breath lifting a few loose strands before he manages to spin her around to face him, his hand at her hip a familiar weight as his thumb rubs small circles. If Emma keeps her sight on their tiles, well that is her business.

Perhaps Belle was right and she should have gone with the checkers instead of the blue-gray granite patchwork.

"Emma," Her name finally forces her head up involuntarily to meet those blue eyes, rimmed with sea green and such deep, deep devotion that her belly aches.

The pirate lifts her chin, gentle fingers sliding across her cheekbone as he studies her with a soft smile. He dangles the earring before her with his hook (ugh, really, this man) and kisses her soundly on the mouth with a wet sound. "Thank you for the present Swan. Help a man put it on?"

Hook bends his head slightly, offering up the pierced ear with a ridiculous lick of his lips and motion of his brows. It breaks the tension curling within Emma, making her snort and take the damn thing from his hook, undoing the fastening and taking the lobe within her fingers.

"You're impossible Killian Jones." She means to sound stern, but her voice (damnit) comes out breathless as she affixes the earring with unnecessary gentleness to him, watching the little boat sway once in place. She can't resist an extra flick of the pointed tip of his ear, a slight curl back down to the soft flesh of the lobe. God, she even likes his ears. Don't people go to therapy for less?

"Aye lass, but you love me for it." Emma rolls her eyes as he reiterates her own words, tongue-in-cheek.

Kilian resumes his full height, flicking the new piece lazily but keeping her caged in his arms as his expression lightens, wrapping his fingers around her hip so his thumb now drums at the seam of her thigh. "I love you Emma. Thank you for the present."

Of course he would realize why she was red-faced and nervous like a girl at prom. Of course he would notice that this was the first gift she's ever purchased him. (If Bashful ever tells him the price, she'll kill the dwarf. ) Any man she's ever bought something for, her father and son notwithstanding. Of course he would figure out how equally elated and terrified she was of this moment, of buying things just because and being one of those people.

Stupid Pirate.

Emma just slings her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder so she doesn't have to look at him, at that open affection, anymore.

"You're welcome." How rusty that phrase must sound from her mouth.

And Killian, Killian simply keeps holding her until the kettle whistles, trailing his fingers ever slightly forward to her center in a movement that is as comforting as arousing. Until his touch is at her center, gentle brushes turning to firm pressure through her jeans. Until Emma is hurriedly switching the stove off the the kettle sounds while struggling to situate on the counter.

She hears the zip of her jeans and the panting of her own breath. His husky laugh, and the rustle of the pants as they drag down the oversensitive skin of her thighs until the light hair stands on end. His lips are cold when he plants a soothing kiss to the soft flesh of her inner thigh, but the blue eyes are all sin, fixating on her until she can't look away as he nudges her clit with his nose.

Emma hisses.

And the bastard grins. Opens his mouth, wide lips devouring hers with the flat blade of teeth and the wide sweep of tongue. He keeps his gaze firmly on her face, catching her in his web as he spreads her open with his tongue, hollows his cheeks to suckle the sensitive nub in. He lashes and sooths, winding her up until the only thing she sees is the distinct prickle of light caught on the damned earring as she crashes over, elbows wobbling on the counter with the effort of keeping herself up.

Killian doesn't help her redress, but hand and hook rise up to brace her hips again, keeping her from falling to the floor in a post-orgasmic goo. He stands, still holding her against him as he rises, pressing every inch of black-clad glory against her with the motion.

Emma briefly wishes she had the energy to glare at him, but she's more concerned with her heart rate right now.

His arms move against her back, bracing her toward him until Emma is forced to wrap her tired legs around his waist, cradled in his chest.

"Thank you for the present, Emma Swan," Comes out of his mouth a lot like I love you and I see you.

But when he releases her on the couch and goes to relight the kettle, Emma assumed it was a thing of the past.

Truly, she should have known the pirate better.

It had been a long-ass day. Grumpy had called in complaining of a theft (which had turned out to be that Happy had borrowed his 'collector-edition magazines', an image she will never purge her mind of) One of the trees in the playground had turned to fucking life and sang obscene songs until Regina managed to turn it back to normal, raging against her sister's pranks with a puff of smoke while Mary Margaret tried to deter her class from repeating lyrics and asking all too inappropriate questions. Her father had been absent due to Neal's teething and to top it off, Granny's espresso machine had shorted out. (Which meant shitty, instant coffee for all). By the end of the day, Emma Swan was ready to collapse into her couch, sleep for a week, and perhaps fuck a pirate.

(Oh, and it was his weekly outing with Henry so no beautiful pirate ass to keep her mind occupied all day.)

She kicked open the door with a huff, slinging her coat onto the couch and slamming it behind her.

"'Lo?" Emma did not holler out as she kicked her boots off, stumbling in the doorway and debating whether to beeline for the kitchen for cocoa or the couch to simply surrender the day.

Choices. Choices.

"In the kitchen love, no need to shout." A blessedly familiar lilt responded, making her decision for her and leading her sock-clad feet to the kitchen.

Her son was sitting on the island, text books open and scribbling furiously at his composition book, occasionally gesturing to Hook for assistance. Said pirate was gravitating between stirring whatever is making that wonderful smell from the pot on the stove-

("Unless you're terribly adverse my love, I'd like to purchase this kitchen set."

"Killian, I cook two things without anyone needing to call the CDC. You pick what you want for the kitchen. I just thought you might like the set with all the sea shit on it."

"It was a nautical motif, Swan. And while lovely, all of the appliances in this set have those wonderfully widened holes at the handle."

"Jesus, Killian, you sound like my mom. Why would you even-Oh my god, I am so sorry."

"Don't apologize, Swan. You will never know how much it thrills me that you constantly forget about my one-handed state.")

-that truly, blessed smell emanating on their stove meaning that she doesn't even have to bother figuring out what to to order tonight.

Hook spindled the large silver spoon within the pot, ringed hand tapped against Henry's text, answering whatever question he was stuck on until he nodded and continued writing the answer furiously.

And Emma, Emma just stands in her kitchen for a moment, watching as her lover makes dinner and helps her son with his homework. She looks at the nearly immaculate kitchen, the bowl of rinds and vegetable insides waiting to be discarded. The mini pile of sandwiches piled on the plate to the pirate's left, perfectly golden and oozing and smelling of heaven. The little radio on the counter, the music a clear indication that her son had won that afternoon's pick. The empty plate beside Henry, crumbs still sticking from what afternoon snack he had demolished. The insistent tapping of his pencil in the notebook, scratching straight lines that Hook captains and guides, ever the pirate. She watches as he helps Heny count the formula with raps of his index finger, clearly a long-standing tradition between the two. She thought of the (prior to her entrance) tidy living room behind her and knew that he would pick up after her with a simple sigh. She was standing in a home with a family from the fucking Hallmark Movie Channel. Her boys.

Shit, was she crying?

"Swan," Killian lifted his head to greet her, smile replacing with a crinkle of concern before she could swipe at her face.

"Hi. Thanks for-ah, yeah." Articulate as fuck

She heard him approach as Henry shouted out his greeting, still engrossed in finishing his work as soon as teenaged-ly possible. His hand smoothed down her hair, nudging at her red-rimmed eyes with a soft look.

"Of course love. Dave called and let me know that you were alone today. I was worried you may have had a taxing day and wanted you to be able to enjoy yourself upon your return." Hook didn't comment on her hastily-swiped-and-poorly-hidden tears. He just kissed the corner of her mouth and pressed his fingers against hers, the weight reassuring.

Emma almost laughed. This was the least alone she had felt since...ever.

When Killian retreated to ladle the soup into bowls, (grilled cheese and tomato soup, as if her heart could grow more fonder) she realized that a weight had remained in her hand after he left. Emma blamed her exhaustion for why it took her a second to register the tiny, prickling weight remaining in her grasp.

Her heart stuttered for a moment. She stared a hole into his waist-coated back. Emma's fingers reflexively curled around the object, both too afraid to look or let go.

The drop of plates brought her back to the present and she realized that Henry was setting the table and would definitely notice if she wasn't devouring grilled cheese in a minute.

Now or never.

Emma peeled open her palm with unnecessary force and saw-

A simple ring, a pleasant green set in the center of the silver. A pair in fact. A pair of-

"You're not the only one who has missed the art of buying trinkets for people they care about." Killian snuck a kiss to her lips, wrapping his fingers into her own where they were clutching the earrings and pressed his smile to her neck. "Welcome home."

Surprisingly enough, for a former pirate and foster child, neither of them tended to hoard onto things.

When Killian moved in with his one box after three-hundred freaking years up piracy, he shrugged and explained that he had already exchanged his doubloons into common currency, he had spent much of his riches on rum, women, and secrets of the crocodile throughout the decades, and also that he had very little left that meant enough for him to want in a home.

He had almost whispered the last part, shrugging off-handedly and Emma's heart broke until she had to hold him, fingers stroking along his nape because she knew. She knew what small boxes and few pieces meant. (Hers was in the back of the closet.)

The sextant. Liam's old naval hat. His old lieutenant jacket. An old belt-buckle of his father's. A worn-leather bound book pressed with flowers from his mother's garden. A handful of captain's logs, some his own and some his brother's. His first piercing as a sign of piracy. An old portrait of Bae and one of Milah.

("Swan I-I would understand if you'd rather these not be in your home."

"Our home, Killian. Every part of you belongs here, even your past."

"I-love I only mean that they were-"

"Did you love me any less because of the photo you found of me and Neal? Do you love Henry any less because you're not his father?"

"Gods, no Swan but I hardly think it's comparable."

"I met Milah. I liked Milah. I'm happy people in your past realized how amazing you are. I want those memories here, in our house."

"...For as long as I have lived and as many words as I may spin, I will never be able to tell you what a treasure you are, Emma."

"Whatever, you sap. Let's just get you unpacked so I can show you the master bedroom before Henry comes home.")

Emma, on the other hand, simply doesn't know what to do with...stuff. Her entire adult life could fit in her bug up until her 28th birthday and even though she could afford a reasonable boatload of crap, she simply has no idea what to buy or what to do with most of it. She has none of her mother's flair for home decor and kitschy glasses. She thinks Regina's $700 bottles of wine are comparable to Barefoot. Her boyfriend wears more jewelry than she does. She's never been into cars or golf or stock portfolios.

Clothes, now clothes she does love. (Can recall those days of threadworn sweaters, one sock, and no glove.) But Emma likes to buy expensive, will-last-till-the-zombiepocalypse gear, not a million dime-a-dozen pieces. She has a beautiful and extensively chosen set of boots and jackets that will last her forever. The thickest wool socks. She takes hours to pick out the right sweater and wears jeans until even David mentions the holes in them.

The last time she had an over-expansive closet, they had lived in New York, and went the landlord called to tell her the lease was up and what would she like to do with the place-

("Donate it, scrap it, I don't really care."

"Mom, are you sure? You left like half your closet there."

"Yeah kid, I'm fine."

"Love if you-"

"-Hook, I don't even think I would like half of what I had been wearing. Cursed, remember? I owned a freaking pencil skirt.")

Their first order of business after their stint as Dark Ones...and the Underworld...and New York/Hyde's world…

Really, would it kill the universe to give us five fucking minutes of piece.

….After they returned, Emma had entered the house and begun a savage dump-all. Killian had found her deconstructing the microwave in the back yard; which was littered with black sheaths and high-heels, gray sheets, ripped curtains, a luxurious rug or two, and a number of ripped-from-the-wall appliances.

"Everything goes." She had said, watery eyes and furious set of her lips.

And he had agreed without a word, helping her light a bonfire at the end of the night and cradling her in front of it when she finally broke down.

He had burnt his own Dark One clothes, after all.

Between the two of them, this amounts to a beautiful home with: a constantly full refrigerator, walls decorated with Henry's pieces and silly photos, an impressive collection of leather, and not much else.

Except for the earrings popping out of their bathroom, littered through the bedroom.

The second earring Emma gives him (it's always a set but he counts it as one) is a stunning topaz stud that she explains with a dispassionate shrug and a, "It reminded me of the water."

As if he could love her more, the adorable lass.

He responds a month later with a pair of pearl Swan nestled on their bathroom counter.

"I know it's cliche, love, but they were simply too happenchance to pass up." His smirk didn't fool her. She'd be damned if he hadn't bribed Bashful into ordering swan earrings of all things. Like anyone else in town would have purchased the damn things.

Her mother mentions that she saw them in a case the other day, but that they were gone before she could go back for them at their family dinner that week. She continues to push gratuitous amounts of lasagna on plates while babbling about how upset she was that that she missed them as Emma tried to keep from turning any redder, fluffing her hair about her neck in an attempt to hide her ears. Which currently had said earrings in them.

Killian's smirk gave them both away anyways and Mary Margaret grinned, slyly accepting a bill from a rather put-out looking David.

It's not a tit-for-tat and they are never for apologies or anniversaries. It's a simple token of a thought that they give to each other, a reminder that not a day passes they aren't intertwined, even apart.

Emma loved the green tanzanite sprout rings until Regina made an off-the-cuff comment about well-to-do pirates and Emma googled the price of tanzanite.

("Hook, it's one of the rarest rocks in the world!"

"Love, I believe the blue one is the truly gauche item. I simply thought the green reminded me of your eyes."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me these are worth less than a thousand dollars."

"Well, I am still dubious about any value your paper currency seems to be worth."

"Killian!")

There's the classic skull-and-crossbones, because she can't resist. Tiny ruby studs he admits reminds her of her dress in the past. An adorable silver hook he grumbles about but wears almost as religiously as the tiny anchor. A delicate curling feather that rises up her ear. It's getting so bad that Henry's started complaining that he can't step anywhere without hitting a backing, and half the mornings are spent with Emma looking for a mate for one of hers.

Then, there were the pair.

She spies the little gold compasses in the window one day and is convinced that she and her boyfriend are probably keeping Bashful single-handedly in business if he's decided to simply buy out anything nautical he can get his hands on. This thought does not deter him from going in and purchasing the damn things. She leaves them on his pillow and does her best to act normal the rest of the night. It's been a stressful few weeks and he, they, deserve something nice to make up for it. They make it five minutes.

"Love, would you just tell me-" He's wild-eyed, thin-lipped, and his voice keeps upping in octaves every few minutes.

Truly, has their life become so messed up that she can't surprise her boyfriend without him expecting the end of the world? "Jesus Christ Killian, this is the seventh time I've told you I'm fine!"

She can literally see when his patience ends, when the coaxing stops and the deep-seated fear takes root in hot-blooded anger. "And it's the seventh time you've lied to me Swan! You're as nervous as a boy on his first sail and forgive me, but the last time we dealt with secrets you nearly died so I've developed a bit of a paranoia."

It's a low blow, bringing her visions into this. Emma's suddenly too tired to keep the ruse up. If this is what she gets for attempting something nice, then screw it. "Oh for fuck's sakes, go look at the damn bed, Hook!"

"Lass-" He steps forward and her yell nearly bowls him back.

"Just go do it!"

He's scowling at her, feet stomping unnecessarily up the stairs. She can literally feel his frustration, coming off in suffocating waves as he wrenches their door open, sliding into their bedroom and searches. Muffled curses and drawers open and close. Emma knows the moment he spots them, the living room feels colder, devoid of his tantrum and presence. Emma keeps her fists clenched in the couch, trying to keep her anger with him from sliding away like a sieve. His silence does not make her anxious. The lack of his presence does not make her curl further towards the unlit fireplace. He ruined the damn thing after all. Not that it matters. It's just a stupid earring.

"...Swan?"

He calls her first from the bedroom, his soft lilt carrying down the stairs. Willing the wood to light with her glare alone, Emma refuses to relinquish her seat as his form emerged down the stairs. She didn't even need to turn to imagine the chagrin expression on his face. The one he wore when he ruined the first load of laundry or misunderstood the difference between garlic salt and garlic powder. Emma resolutely refused to look at him as his legs came into view. She feels his breath blow across her crown, heavy on his tongue. His lips briefly touch the top of her head before he backs away towards the fireplace, shuffling about with wood and flint until the first crackle of flame comes to life under his careful ministrations. She keeps her eyes fixated on the flame, even when she feels him move back toward her, kneeling on the floor beside her. Hook tentatively strokes her calf, and when that touch is not rebuked, pulls himself up to rest his check against her chin, nuzzling.

"Swan,"

Emma can feel moisture from his eyelashes rubbing against her face. The steady, gentle thump of his pulse reverberating into her bones. Sentimental what if looked freakishly like the compass that had brought them together years ago? He ruined the surprise.

She feels him swallow against her collarbone. One. Twice. "Swan I-Bloody hell, I'm sorry I'm an arse."

A tear falls from his long lashes, trailing down her chin and the dam breaks. Her anger evaporates and she's just exhausted. She's tired of someone in this stupid town trying to kill one of them. She's done with being separated and never getting a break. Done with being so afraid of them losing another that they can't even manage to try and act like a normal couple with stupid gifts and inside jokes.

"Just get up here pirate."

Killian manages to stand and slide behind her in the same movement, toying her hair as she settles back against they and they let the fire sparkle for a moment between them without words.

"Love, I really ought to apologize for my poor form." His fingers rake through her curls in an unmistakably soothing motion, sorting gently without pulling. (Really, how did he do that?)

"It's fine Killian. I mean-we really don't have the greatest history with secrets between us-"

"Emma-"

"Shut it. We don't. It's true. I just...I wanted the earrings. Or not the earrings themselves, not that I don't like them. But the thing, you know? The way it was just ours and easy and I'm so tired of things being hard. I just...I didn't want this to become so hard too."

His hook wraps around her waist, pressing her closer until Emma is practically in his lap, can feel him blinking against her temple as he studies the fireplace and searches for words.

"Liam once told me that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. I have been alive for quite some time Swan, and I have never heard of any true relationship being easy. We are not easy people. Especially not in this town."

He nudges her softly until she snorts and lets her head rest back against his collar.

"Especially not when I love you so much." Killian turns his head to write the words into her temple, attempting to imprint the depth of his emotions into her flesh so it sinks down and gains permanence. "There is nothing, and no one, that I have wanted quite like you Swan. Do you understand that? Sod easy. I don't want easy. I love you, difficult woman that you are."

Emma snorts again, pinching his arm lightly in retaliation and blinking her eyes suspiciously against the lump in her throat. Silence coats them again, warmly this time, soaking weary muscles like a bath.

"Did what I say...love, do you still want to exchange trinkets? I love the pair, but I don't want to cause you undue distress."

She thinks. She thinks about the awkwardness of the first one and gentility of the second. She thinks of Kilian's nose scrunching when he saw the skull-and-bones and how his thumb absently strokes the anchor when it's in. She thinks of him pinning the missing Swan in place with a gentle goodbye kiss and swapping of her hair with an exaggerated gesture to lick the ruby sparkle. She thinks of easy moments, but she knows that Hook's not wrong. They're not easy people. They don't lead an easy life. They are intertwined by magic and blood and loss and darkness, and at the start of it all: a magic compass atop a beanstalk. It's the only piece to hold a heavy memory.

But he's right. They're not easy people.

"We keep 'em."

Killian nods. "Will you wear the other one love? Please."

Emma doesn't need to know which pair he's referring to. The gold charms are catching the firelight on his denim-clad knee. Awaiting. It occurs to her to tell him that they are not a matching-costume sort of couple, that she can't wear mismatched earrings, it'll look stupid. That gold isn't her colour.

"Yeah, okay."

Killian has carefully organized every other earring in their bathroom closet when Emma goes to work the next morning. He's got the compass in his ear and while Emma had taken hers, she had her silver rings in when she left for work.

Oh well, it was the thought that counted. Perhaps she intended to turn it into a necklace of sorts?

He feels slightly bad, because while he has treasured each piece his True Love had selected for him with all her adorable bluster and understated attention, he knows that the compass is never coming out of his ear again.

Unless he gets another hole blasted in his head. But Emma's liable enough to kill him for that anyways, so jewelry really won't be his concern if that happens.

He looks up to check the clock on their bedroom wall and begins his nightly ritual of removing his rings, placing them on the little shell-dish Emma had purchased for him. The pirate's luck always remains on, but he hesitates at the earring.

If he gets her hair snarled in it, there'll be hell to pay but Killian is loathe to part with it. He taps twice. It seems snug enough…

Compass stays on, kohl comes off. He unfolds his waistcoat and places it in the...hamper, his mind supplies for him. That's the word. Killian's already wearing his blue sleep pants. He prefers to sleep in the bare when the lad is away, but even he is making concessions to Maine in full February. He changes into an old, well-worn linen shirt and hustles about the room, ensuring that Swan's required five quilts are available, a gray pair of stocking already laid out.

He would swear the woman could catch a chill in Neverland.

Another glance at the clock showed that Emma was late. Hook frowned, but stuffed the knee-jerk reaction to upend town searching for her. She often got stuck finishing her dreaded paperwork, but his talking phone had not gone off. He could give her a few more minutes before he went ransacking Storybrooke.

He maneuvered on top of the covers, picking his book off his nightstand (The Prince, by Machiavelli. An excellent read) and setting the device on his knee in case it went off. She was fine. He knew the lass could handle herself.

If he didn't hear from someone in approximately twenty-seven minutes and forty-three seconds, someone was going to face a pirate's wrath.

Fortunately, Swan shuffled into their shared abode twenty-two minutes and thirty-seven seconds later. Her golden locks were pulled into an attempted order to her left as she kicked off her shoes and threw her jacket to the ground.

Killian winced but wisely held his tongue. She looked two shades overtired and any comment an order was bound to get him his head handed to him. She shot him a grateful smile when she saw the pile of blankets and the socks already laid out. A muffled grunt that could have passed for hey came over her shoulder as she made her way to the bathroom.

Killian hid his grin in his book before shutting it and placing it back on the nightstand. What a wonderfully disheveled woman.

He waited patiently for Emma to reemerge from the bathroom, face cleared but hair still tied away. She quickly stripped and Killian got a scant glance at pale flesh before it vanished under her baggy sleep pants and one of...ah, one of his shirts.

She slips under her multitude of layers, prompting Killian to snuggle into the bed beside her. He gives her a soft smile and runs his fingers down her face.

"Long day Swan?"

"Hmhm."

"Sleep well then, my love."

He made sure he always said it at least once a day. (Twice if they missed each other due to realms or villains or some other tomfoolery the day before.) He always had to make sure she knew.

Killian had been living with Emma long enough to understand the basis of their routines. When she came home tuckered out, she typically lasted five seconds after her head hit the pillow. She'd one been describing an incident with Sneezy and has passed out on him mid-syllable, much to his amusement and slight concern.

On any given day, he knew that she signaled sleep by turning her head away from his, curling up on her side of the bed.

Even in the immediate post-coital afterglow, Swan often craved her space and Hook never begrudged her.( To go from so little touch to so much her to be an adjustment.) It wouldn't be until later in the night that she would seek him out in her sleep, snuggling back until she was flush to his front, allowing him to wrap an arm about her waist and join her in slumber.

But tonight, she remained facing him.

Killian blinked, carefully taking in her features. Her lids were dragging heavy, long breaths coming through her nose. Swan was clearly two-steps from dreamland.

But she wasn't turning.

"Darling," He kept his voice pitched low so not to wake her further. "Everything alright? Is there something we need to discuss?"

Green eyes blinked blearily. "What? No. No. 'verything's fine."

He waited. Still staring at her has Emma nodded off. It was such a small detail. Perhaps he was overreacting…

But Emma had a side she slept on. And her hair was still up. It was always down when she went to bed. It hurt her neck if she kept it pinned.

"Love?"

She wriggled under the blankets, kicking her toes so they were buried under the warmth of each one. "Yeah?"

"Not at all to correct your form or reflect my own unwillingness, but...you've changed your sleeping routine this night. Are you sure nothing is amiss?"

Killian caught the brief tensing of her shoulders under the fabric before she forcibly relaxed, letting out a long breath and stretching again. "'Is nothing, Killian. Go to bed."

Hook bit his lip. Just last night, he had overreacted to her keeping a secret from him and nearly ruined a beautiful gift she had prepared. He hardly wanted a repeat of that, but she simply looked...uncomfortable.

He reached out his hand slowly, letting her feel his fingers glide across her neck in warning before his fingers dug into the base of her skull. Swan let out a low whine and he grinned as he slowly worked the tether from her hair. She stiffened.

"Leave it."

Killian frowned, stopping his ministrations but not removing his hand. "Love I know your neck gets sore if you keep this in. It seems silly to go through avoidable pain."

He felt her shoulder shrug, face nuzzling into the pillow and nose scrunching in displeasure. "Whatever. Just leave it, okay?"

He paused, fingers stroking the base of her neck as the pirate thought through a new tactic. Swan was clearly uncomfortable but just weary enough to perhaps be unreasonable to barter with. No good would come of an argument at this hour and she seemed reluctant to divulge…

Emma let out a long drawn-out sigh. "Jesus, Killian I can hear you thinking. Look it's not-oh fuck it, I'm tired. Here-"

She reached up for his hand and placed it on her left ear, which was facing skyward. Hook ran his fingers lovingly across the curve, trying to figure what the bloody hell she was trying too-

He came across heated flesh and cool metal at the top, followed by a hiss from Emma. His fingers immediately relented, moving lower to try and soothe the ache, but he was almost sure what he had discovered was-

"Swan, did you get a new piercing today?"

The circular, notched edge of the metal had felt familiar but much higher up on her ear than her previous holes. Unless he was mistaken, she had-

"Look, it would be stupid if I wore only one when I had two holes and worse if I wore earrings that didn't match. But I wanted...Anyways, I got Ruby to do it after work and I'm fine but it's sore so I don't want to sleep on it and I don't want my hair getting tangled in it so I'm lying this way. Now, can we please just go to sleep before you come up with some other sort of crazy theory?"

Killian's heart shuddered. This woman. This beautiful, tired, loving creature. He reached out, pulling her body against his and arranged her hair over his shoulder, placing her head under his chin and securing her place across her chest. "Aye love, get some rest. This way you won't jar your new piercing."

He held his breath while he waited for Emma to debate the new position and sighed when she relaxed into it.

"Jus' for tonight though," She slurred into his shoulder, already half-way gone.

"Aye love. Whatever you wish."

"Swan, not that I am at all complaining about your newest adornment…" Killian rubbed the compass on her upper left ear affectionately. "But I don't want you to feel like you have to make any adjustments to your lovely form on my behalf. You know I find you the peak of perfection, aye?"

Despite his light tone, he locked eyes with the woman.

Emma snorted, rolling hers. Melodramatic man. "Killian, I've had other piercing before. It's not a big deal." She hip-checked him back into bed.

Hook fell back with a flair, prostrate out on their blue comforter like some heathen sacrifice. Miles of tawny skin over rippling muscle and under dark, curling hair on display. Sharp lines and deep contours of bone casting shadows on his hip, his face. Bright eyes winking back at her and face still flushed with the aftereffects of love making. Cock taking interest in her still bare form despite their previous activities.

Emma debated testing his (self-proclaimed) famous recovery time but Killian seemed to have latched onto her comment with an interested eyebrow.

"Tell me Swan, what other adornments have you given your beautiful form over the years, hmmm?" His tongue slid out salaciously and Emma laughed, rolling next to him in bed with a content nuzzle of her pillow.

(But really, they had the best fucking bed.)

The pirate leaned to his side, propped up on his forearm so the hand could fold neatly under his head as he waited for her answer.

She sighed, sprawling on her back and staring at the ceiling for old memories. "I think the Swan family got my ears pierced when I was little." She flicked a lower lobe.

"Right around-ah, right around when Neal and I were talking about Tallahassee, I got excited about the beach and got my bellybutton pierced." She swallowed. Asshole boyfriend could be as accepting as he wanted, talking about Neal still made her throat clench and skin twitch. "That-well, prison took it and after Henry, it seemed a little...stupid."

Emma got lost for a moment, remembering the unfamiliar softness of her own belly the first few weeks after she got out. The weight from her son stubbornly clinging to her middle as if to remind her of what she had so carelessly thrown away.

A warm, calloused hand drew her from the memory. Gentle fingers probe her navel, ringing around her bellybutton and tapping gently against the faint scar of a sealed-over hole. He simply rests his hand there for a moment, warming against her bare flesh as she meets his steady gaze.

"I fail to believe there is any style that would not flatter your form, my love, but far be it from me to lecture you on the fashions of this realm." Comfort seeped into Emma from his touch, banishing the dark thoughts far from this night in their home. She gave him a tiny smile in gratitude, which Killian returned with a wrink. "So, a naval piercing. Any others?"

"Ah...a brow piercing till it got ripped out when I was on the run. Kinda turned me off to them...OH!"

Swan was rapidly turning a rather fetching shade of red. Hook grinned, leaning further into her space and waggling his eyebrows as the flush descended down to her breasts.

"Do share that thought with us, won't you lass?"

She scoffed but her cheeks remained burning. "Of fucking course. So after the whole...Neal thing...I may have kinda entered a sort of anti-man, crazed third-wave phase. You know, mismanaged anger or whatever."

Thank god there were no pictures of anyway to find of her at nineteen. Grunge makeup and purple hair galore. Killian would have a fucking field day.

Said man gave her chin a slightly nudge with his own to communicate further explanation was needed. Emma could feel herself turning redder, but could not name why. It wasn't like he was going to be surprised or that she was ashamed or anything. In fact, if the pirate had never had a penis up his ass, she'd eat her hat. It was just...well they had never really talked about it before.

"Emma," Clearly she had been silent long enough to warrant a second, more concerned nudge. "If it's something you'd rather not-"

Screw it. They were doing this. They shared a home. A bed. They were wearing matching fucking earrings. Emma could instigate a conversation about past sexual encounters without turning into a fumbling teenager.

"So," She drew a breath and turned on her side so she was facing him too, one hand reaching out to trace the line of his side before meeting his gaze head on. "I was sleeping with this girl in Miami after I was out and she suggested we get piercings for...fun."

The interest in his darkened gaze spurned her on. Emma grabbed his hand, bringing his fingers to the hollow of her left his bone. "Here," she drew his touch across, torching them both with lightest slide across her mound to her right hip, "And here."

Hook bit his bottom lip, his thumb moving in circles under her grasp on the sensitive skin. "Ah, and what sort of pleasure did you derive from these piercings with the lucky lass?"

Her core clenched at the memory of the electric blue head sucking a mark on her lip, tongue lashing against the black ring, pulling it away from sensitive flesh and flicking it back. The exquisite turns of pain and pleasure until that tongue sunk right where she was soaked.

Emma swallowed. Hook's eyes were absolutely black. "It felt...it hurt but I liked it. The pinch. The burn so close to….and then when she'd go down on me and I would…" come out of my eyeballs was on the tip of her tongue, but the predatory grin on her lover's face combined with his increasingly bold movements towards her hot flesh told her that he got the picture.

His cock sat heavy and hard between his thighs as Killian touched between her legs, nearly groaning as he felt her wetness. Part of her just wanted to lay back and let his wordless promise to devour her come to fruition.

Another part of her wanted to up the ante.

He growled at her when she moved his hand away, only conceding when she brought it to rest on a breast. Her hand rose to tweak her other nipple and she smirked at his bottomless expression. "So...what about you pirate? Any stories you'd like to share?"

Hook's eyes darted from where his hand was pinching her pink nipple to the glistening lips of her sex, debating ignoring Swan's challenge for more amorous activities. But the devilish glint in her eye made his belly ache to answer her.

Besides, the lass had earned a treat for a tale as arousing as that one. The image of another woman toying with hip-piercings, worshipping between Emma's thighs...that would keep him warm on many a lonely night.

He took the hand she was using to pleasure herself and pulled it from her breast, rewarded with a faint whine. Smirking, he tugged her slender fingers to his hard shaft, squeezing once to relieve pressure. "The earring was shortly after turning my back to the navy, and mostly for vanity. I wanted to look different from the lieutenant I once was, and many of the pirates we had come across had piercings of some sort. A dark stone of some sort, I believe it was. Got it done in the back of a bar by a half-drunk wench and a blasted physician. Lucky I didn't loose my bloody ear… I preferred tattoos on the whole, which you may have guessed."

Oh yes, the man did. Emma loved his tattoos. In addition to the faded heart for Milah, Killian had a number of coordinates on down his left shoulder blade. A sea monster of some sort wrapped across his right hip, blue tentacles stretching across his belly. (She loved to follow the curving lines with her tongue, making him squirm.) There were a cluster of gulls flying into the horizon on his right collarbone. A tiny, beautiful little sextant near his heart. And selfishly, perhaps, her favourite: the simple, black-inked swan curved on his upper spring.

(She had cried the first time she saw it.)

"However," he continued, grin widening as he watched Swan lick her lips. "Milah was an adventurous lass in and outside the bed."

(He had stopped shying away from bringing her up the day Swan had stuck her charcoal portrait up in the foyer, smiling at him. Truly, he could have lived a thousand more years and never found a partner as gracious, as embracing as her of every part of him.)

"She liked a bit of pain with her pleasure and had seen something at port that made her curious one day so she approached me with a request," Hook was now guiding her index finger carefully down his shaft, stopping every so often at a piece of soft, steely flesh that was just a touch lighter than the rest. Evenly spaced, faded markings almost as if-

"And I, being the gentleman that I am of course, sought every endeavour to please my lady."

"Oh my god," Emma barked, wide-eyed. "You had penis piercings. Holy shit."

Killian released her hand, a crease forming between his brow because yeah he may have handled her news better than she did but shit.

She swallowed. "That's not a-it's not a bad thing, Killian. I'm just surprised. Did it...did it hurt?"

Appeased, Hook laughed at her lightly, simply wrapping his fingers in hers. "Like a devil. I had no idea what had possessed me to go along with it until the first time we...enjoyed each other with the new addition. She seemed quite pleased."

Emma blinked twice, trying to imagine in. She supposed she could see the appeal, the unforgiving metal striking the right places inside.

"Now tell me, Swan" He moved their intertwined hands back to his shaft and began stroking shamelessly. "Are there any...alterations you might enjoy on my body, hm?"

She stared. Stared because despite his clear arousal, there was sincerity in his gaze. This man was asking, telling her that he would give anything, endure anything to make her happy.

(And what could be more than knowing that simple fact?)

Emma ducked her head, curling her face into his shoulder until she could reach out and rim gently around his piercing. The gold compass warm under her touch

"Just you. I just want you."

Her touch was gentle as she traced the sextant at his chest, glided up to his seagulls and pulled him to her lips. Their kiss was quiet, lips sealing over each other in silent oaths. He peppered her jaw, her throat with wet marks of adoration and she traced up the line of his spine, pressing down on the where she knew the swan resided.

It was unhurried, the way Killian turned until he was above her, bracing his forearms by her face and cupping her chin while her thighs spread in welcome. He traced down the inside of a calf, following it to the interior of a thigh and then simply stroking her sex before leaning down for another kiss.

Mouths sipped from each other and tongues wrote letters of reverence into each others mouths until his knee shifted and suddenly he was right there, sliding through her wetness and buried deep inside.

For all of their playfulness the past hour, this coupling was slow and worshipful. Making love instead of fucking.

Emma panted as Killian's hips circled hers, spurning her higher and higher with each rotation and soft groan in her ear. Ever the captain, steering the journey into the great wide abyss.

She had no idea how they got from there to here but

We're not easy people, Swan.

And this wasn't easy. Not like piercing jokes or good fucking. This was messy and glorious and honest and ugly and terrifying down to her very core. This was knowing someone's soul and building a home together and the faint, shiny cast from matching gold earrings in the moonlight.

It wasn't easy.

But it was worth it.

When Emma came, it was less like falling and more like the ground had been pulled from under her. Like the bottom would never hit and she would remain in the blissful, golden oblivion forever. She came to shaking and panting, sprawled across a sweaty, worn and smug Hook.

"Alright there Swan?"

She'd be angry if there was more room for coherent thought in her brain then a puddle of orgasmic goo. She listened as their heart rates slowed together, head pressed to his chest until the cool night air made her shiver. Without prompting, Killian shifted to curl her into his side and reached out for the sheets and her million blankets, tucking her in beside him. Sleep pulled heavy on her lids, but there was one thing…

"Hey Killian,"

""Hmmm?"

"I love you and I loved that. But if you think you're getting out of telling me some stories about you and your boyfriends, you're outta your mind."

His chest vibrated against her with deep laughter.

"Paramours, Swan. They were paramours."