A/N: Thanks again to Kate (fic-oritdidnthappen tumblr) for betaing again! Seriously, best beta ever! This is my one-shot for the CS Saturday theme this week - Drunk!Hook. Also it's my first time writing anything remotely smutty soooooo bear with me hahah. Enjoy ;)


This is going to be a long night…

Emma could hear the clock on the wall ticking silently as she shuffled through old papers regarding the accident several weeks ago – she hadn't bothered to file them away as soon as she was finished with them, and she had no desire to do so now. For the past how many weeks has it been – they had been piled up on the corner of her desk, untouched. The lamp on her desk was the only source of light that she had bothered to leave on, and beside it sat a bottle of MacCutcheon Scotch Whiskey that she had inconspicuously taken from Mary Margaret's stash. She filled her glass up again and took a sip before looking back down at the papers – she squinted as the words had begun blurring under the light.

The ice jingled when she placed the glass back down.

"You stupid pirate," Emma uttered to herself. She rubbed her hand against her forehead, vexed. If he hadn't come into Storybrooke via magical portal bean or whatever the hell he used, she would have been at home in her pajamas with her bottle of whiskey instead of sitting in this mundane office in this uncomfortable chair. If only I could really drink all of my troubles away… "And this pirate."

"What about pirates?" His cool, accented voice from the door startled Emma out of her seat and sent shivers up the back of her neck.

Emma turned around and when she spotted Hook standing there wearing his long leather coat, she bit back a smile of amusement. "How did you–"

"Pirate, remember?" He gestured to his hook before stepping in nonchalant, like Emma had welcomed him. His shoes clicked quietly against the floor, sending echoes bouncing off of the walls and breaking the silence that rang in Emma's ears. "You left the door unlocked."

Emma raised her eyebrows in a bout of confusion. "That is not an open invitation to come in whenever you want," she warned him. She tilted her head back with another swig of whiskey, enjoying its slow burn down her throat.

Ever since the disaster, the few times that Emma had spoken to Hook and they were not yelling at one another, she had noticed differences in him that she hadn't seen before. Tonight his smile was especially peculiar – what Emma remembered of him were his cocky smirks when he threw his jests and pet names at her. Tonight it left a sour taste at the back of Emma's mouth. Whatever it was that happened before the accident, Emma had no idea, and in this very moment, she didn't care to know.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Emma got to her feet and roamed to the other end of the office. She stood on her tiptoes and pulled a glass down off of a shelf above her head, followed by a bottle of rum which, funnily enough, had a pirate plastered on the front of the label. When she arrived back at her desk, she poured the rum lazily into a glass and slid it over to Hook, who took a seat across from her.

She watched as Hook brought the glass to his nose and swirled it around, sniffing. "What is this?" he asked – he was staring down his nose at the rum whirling in the glass.

"Captain Morgan rum," Emma answered. She managed to stifle her giggles when Hook picked up the bottle and regarded the red-coated captain with thorough distaste.

"He looks like a bloody fool," Hook objected. "Is this what your people think pirates look like?" It didn't take long after his first sip of the rum for it to spray all over Emma's desk. "BLOODY HELL! THIS IS RUBBISH!" With a slam, the glass found its way back to the table and Hook was glowering at it as if it had slapped him in the face. "Is this what people in this realm call rum?"

Emma was not surprised. "The less rum there is for you, the more there is for me." She lifted her glass at Hook with a fiendish grin, to which he responded with a scowl.

He let out a deep sigh and raised his glass as well. "Life's too short, I suppose…"

Clinking their glasses together, they sipped their drinks, Hook still uncertain about his own – and then they went quiet.

"Ohh, Hook, I–"

He looked up at her, bemused. One thick black brow rose high on his forehead and he gave her a little hum.

"About everything I said…" she started slowly, trying her best to avoid eye contact. "About the accident, and about Gold…"

"It's alright, lass," he disrupted, waving his hook around as if it would shake off the memories. His eyes fell to his fingers wrapped around the glass and he tipped it back and forth broodingly. Hook lifted it again and drank the rum that remained – he extended his arm and motioned for Emma to pour more.

From there, several minutes of silence ensued during which the ticking clock rang in Emma's ears. Every once in a while, there was the awkward sipping noise as Hook carefully sampled the rum in small gulps. When Emma would sneak a glance at him, his eyes were still downcast – unusual for Hook. Since Emma, Mary Margaret and David found him wounded on the side of the road, he hadn't been the man Emma remembered. His face was missing the cocky visage it frequently boasted. There were several new glasses poured in the meantime, and Emma couldn't help but inquire with herself how many sorrows this pirate was trying to drink away – the rum was disappearing quicker than her whiskey.

"I came here to apologize." By now, all that remained of the Captain Morgan was enough for a small sip that Hook had taken directly from the bottle. "I came here to apologize to you, lass." He repeated it several times, each repetition growing more and more incoherent.

Emma jumped at the sudden conversation."What?"

Hook studied the lamp, not once looking at Emma. "You asked me what I was here for," he answered slowly. It looked as if he was concentrating on forming a sentence. "I wanted to apologize." She noticed his index finger fidgeting nervously with his thumb and there was a slur in his speech.

"What do you need to apologize for that you haven't already?" Emma's own head was spinning now – she wasn't sure if it was due to the whiskey or this peculiar exchange. It was the whiskey. She poured herself a new glass and downed it in a mere three gulps. Her cheeks flushed and her throat burned.

Yup, definitely the whiskey.

"For everything."

Emma was more taken-aback than she had hoped for. Her mouth gaped open at him before she closed it again, her brain unable to form words. This man was vulnerable, he was exposed. She saw him tense up when he saw her face and his brow wrinkled with concern. His walls were collapsing and Emma managed to convince herself that it was the rum that was talking. "No, we already talked about this, Hook." She scrambled to her feet and paced about the room nervously.

Hook was standing upright, too – he was grasping onto the back of the chair and he retrieved his balance. "No, Emma," he told her simply, pointing a wavering finger at her. "We didn' talk about this." He followed her across the office toward the bar cells, stumbling a little, his eyelids drooping.

He was definitely further gone than she'd hoped.

Fear took over Emma as Hook ambled towards her – he had drunk the rum to its last drop and his demeanor had changed. He was back to his brash self, but there was a sense of inconsistency that settled in Emma's stomach. "What else is there to talk about?" She raised her chin arrogantly at Hook as he inched closer and stopped when her back found itself against the cell doors, her feet unable to carry her any further. "Hook…"

"You say my name like that again and I may just have other things to apologize for come dawn," he hissed. He was taking his time shuffling nearer, an almost profane smile flattering his lips that made Emma's stomach flip.

Emma's fingers gripped the metal rods and she could feel her knuckles numbing. "Hook, are you okay?" Her voice pitched several octaves higher. She couldn't build the distance between them anymore – it was shrinking now, and echo from Hook's shoes against the tiles was aggravating.

"Oh, I'm fine now…" Emma could hear the rum in his accent and could see it in the steps he was taking. "I've always been fine, Swan. A little rum ne'er hurt a pirate." His face was dark and his devilish grin was shadowed in such a way that left Emma feeling both frightened and intrigued. "Yo ho…"

Emma looked at him through her lashes as he stopped in front of her, the toes of their shoes touching; she could smell the rum in his ragged breaths and she choked on her own air, extinguishing her sudden need to inhale the oxygen that remained between their faces. "No, Hook. You haven't been fine." Her voice dropped to a mutter as if there had been someone else in the office listening to them.

"For e'erything, Swan…" He whispered this several times, each repetition growing increasingly softer. "I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you doing?" Emma felt his warm hand wrap around her waist, the other shivered at the cold metal of his hook. Her mind tried to object to him, but the stirrings inside of her stomach were telling her to close the gap, to reach out for his warmth – but she did all she could to ignore them. She had had enough of this pirate and yet, when he was gone, she found herself wondering why he wasn't there. Here.

"I want to trust you," Emma uttered. She wrung her hands free of his grasp and placed them firmly on his shoulders – she gave him a gentle push, enough to make him take a step backward, but not enough to tip him over.

Pain loomed on Hook's face – a similar pain she saw on top of the beanstalk when she had cuffed him, and in Rumpelstiltskin's cell. "Then trust me."

All of the yelling, the disagreements, the fighting that blazed between them these past weeks – it all abandoned Emma. Trust me. Those two words had enough power behind them to make Emma's head melt away. Perhaps she was further gone than she had initially conceived; something feverish overthrew her and she drifted to him.

I can try.

Hook's face warped from surprise to thirst in a matter of seconds. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The warmth coiled around Emma's wrist again and she was stumbling backward, foot over foot, until they landed against the cell bars; she felt them bore painfully into her back. The cold metal of the hook scraped against the inside of her arm, leaving a trail of shivers behind. Emma's hand found its way to Hook's chest and she pressed her palm against the heat of his skin – her gaze fluttered up to meet his and he looked at her, puzzled and intoxicated.

She gave an alleviated sigh when she felt his heartbeat, strong and fast.

"He ripped her heart out," Hook suddenly spoke up, swallowing. "He crushed it."

Emma held her breath as her eyes flitted across his face, studying the sudden changes in his disposition. "Who?"

"Rumpelstiltskin…" He wavered for a moment as if he was unsure if he wanted to finish his sentence, but when Emma pressed her fingers earnestly against his chest, he glanced up at her with a lost gaze. "Milah – he ripped Milah's heart out. He crushed it, right in front of me." For a short-lived instant, Emma swore she saw the sad memories flash across Hook's face.

For only a second, Hook granted Emma a glimpse into his broken world.

That was why he threw himself in front of the car. It all made sense to her now. "You just wanted to be with her again," she concluded aloud, and Hook stared at her. "Hook, it's been over three hundred years." Emma had to tread carefully now, wary to not press any of the wrong buttons. "Milah wouldn't have wanted you to die. She would hate to know that you tried, wouldn't she? Don't you think it's time you moved on?" Her fingers dug into the coarse hairs on his chest.

Hook looked taken-aback and Emma winced. "You think saying 'move on' is going to make this all go away, love?"

The lump in Emma's throat was growing. "Long ago, there was a sheriff named Graham…" she began. Her hand fell from Hook's chest to her side. "He was convinced that he didn't have a heart, that he was the huntsman – he believed in the curse when I didn't." She held back the tears that were forming in her eyes. Just like Milah was to Hook, Graham was nothing more than a memory; a memory of a love that could have been. Her walls had come down, she allowed him in, and then – "He died… right here." Right here. "All because I didn't believe him."

Emma felt uncomfortable. She could feel her defenses cracking, crumbling. The barriers that kept her safe for so many years were coming down and she didn't understand. This was the first time she had spoken to Graham since his death, and never once did she believe it would be to Captain Hook.

"How did'e die?" Hook asked, eyelids still wilting from the alcohol.

"I – I don't know…" Emma replied faintly. "He just dropped."

Hook's gaze narrowed thoughtfully and he cocked an eyebrow. "Just dropped?"

Emma nodded.

He inched back into her space and Emma shrunk back as his hand cupped her cheek – there were hot tears staining her cheeks now. "Swan–" Concern arose on his face and his voice.

"I had to move on," she interrupted. No, she didn't want to talk about him much longer. She couldn't. He was only a memory. "We can't stay stuck in the past, or else we'll never be able to be happy again." Henry's smile filled her head and she grinned to herself – the tears, however, were still falling. They were wiped away by Hook's gentle thumb to which Emma grew dazed at the gesture. "Hook?"

He lowered his gaze and his and his words slurred together into something unintelligible. Hook's eyes were focused on Emma's lips as he tightened the gap between them – his breaths were testing her and Emma felt herself faltering. "I can try," he whispered.

"How drunk are you?" She was certainly questioning her own dryness.

Hook's mouth grazed her own and Emma's breathing was uneven. "Oh, you have no idea, lass." His hand enveloped the back of her head and gripped her neck – he yanked her closer, their lips painfully colliding. Hey tripped back toward the cell bars and his hand muffled the impact against Emma's head. Her hips slammed into the bars; she could feel the sharp point of the hook pinning her arm at her side.

It took Emma longer to digest what was happening. Hook's kiss was hungry and demanding, wet against her mouth. Emma's body took over and soon enough, her eyes batted shut, and she was inviting him in deeper. She bucked her hips forward and felt him press against her, forcing her deeper. He broke away from her and nibbled on her lower lip, his moans vibrating on her reddening skin.

"Emma…" he growled. Emma's mouth fell open and he captured it again – she felt him inhaling her oxygen like it was his last breath. He was making her head whirl, and Emma bid farewell to any self-control she had left within her. He assaulted her mouth with his tongue and she savored the flavour of drunkenness in his kiss.

"You taste like rum…" she gasped when her mouth was unoccupied. Her head rolled back onto his hand as Hook lowered and devoured her neck, leaving a trail of purple marks behind. He groaned against her and Emma trembled, a gasp falling from her lips.

"Oh, love." Hook's voice was harsh. "You taste better than rum."

Every ounce of Emma's being trembled under him; Hook's cool voice was making her body do things she would never have dreamed of. Nor did she ever envision herself alone, intoxicated and kissing an even more muddled pirate. It seemed outlandish to her, but at the same time, it felt right. This time, it was Emma who locked their lips together; she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss, inviting him to dive in – Hook snatched the opportunity the instant it was given. Her hands were grasping at the collar of his jacket, tempting him fiercely. She pulled it off of his shoulders and let it drop to the floor as his own hand reached under her shirt, his sweating hand caressing every inch of skin he could find – his hook tickled the small of her back and dragged along the waistline of her jeans.

He grabbed a handful of her hair in his fist and gently yanked her head back, and his mouth ravaged her softness. He grinned wickedly against her as a whimper departed her. She pulled his hips closer to hers and wrapped her leg around his so that he fell forward onto her, weighing her down. Emma's inhibitions deserted her long ago – she stopped caring.

Hook elevated her off of the floor with an arm, and spun around to move toward a flatter surface. The rum was making him tilt a little: they crashed into the wall before he slammed her down onto her desk, the papers falling out of their folders and littering the floor. The lamp crashed onto the tiles and it rolled on its side before Hook kicked it out of his way. It wasn't long before he was pushing her onto her back with his rough kisses, the passion seeping between them raw. The cold metal was biting at her jawline.

Emma sat upright on the desk – he was too far; his lips too far from hers. The range between their bodies not close enough, Emma wanted more. Her fingers ran through his hair as their tongues wrestled in a power struggle, Emma inhaling his hot, jagged breaths. His hunger was lustful and profane, but there was a certain sorrow to it. Emma wanted to kiss it away his pain, if only it was that easy. His hand was wandering all over her body – to her waist, hips, breasts, neck, face. "Hook…" she managed to cry out against his mouth as his own annihilated it.

He stopped and pulled away from and their gazes locked together. His bright blue eyes shimmered in the dim light, and their shadows were etched in the ceiling above them. "It's Killian, love," he snarled against her cheek, his fingers working at the buttons of her blouse.

Emma's top fell easily off of her shoulders and he took a minute to take her in with a sharp breath. His hand found the waist of her jeans once again and it didn't hesitate to lunge beneath, eliciting a soft moan from Emma as a wave of heat washed over her body. His wet mouth caught the rest of her cries and he sucked the air out of her lungs, the taste of rum and peppermint settling on her tongue.

"Killian." This man possessed every bit of her existence; she lifted her hips off of the desk against his hand with the help of his arm, and his name slipped off of her lips again.

Evil had never felt so good.


He stirred in the bed as the sunlight peeked through his eyelids. He turned onto his other side and the uncomfortable mattress creaked beneath him.

"You're awake." A familiar voice called out to him from across the room.

When Killian sat upright, the blonde was sitting in her chair at her desk, a sandwich nestled between her fingers and a smile resting on her lips. His head was pounding and he raised his hand to block out the brightness hat shone directly onto his face through the window. He got to his feet and stumbled over his own feet to Emma – he was clearly still a little drunk from the previous night. Oi.

"What was I doing asleep in prison?" he asked. He took a seat on the corner of Emma's desk and noted the papers in disarray on the floor. "Shouldn't you pick those up?" He motioned his hook at them, and Emma ignored him.

Emma placed her delicious-looking sandwich onto her plate and crossed her arms on the desk in front of her, her head tilting slightly. "You don't remember anything from last night?" Her voice was weak and broken.

"Why, did something happen?"

Emma's lips turned downward into a frown as she shook her head. "Uhh–" There was a pause. "No, nothing happened. You did drink an entire bottle of rum, though. Impressive." Her tone was not in the least bit convincing, but Killian let it slide.

"That rum was atrocious," he complained. He licked his lips, the taste still lingering at the back of his mouth. 'Next time you invite a pirate to merry-making with rum, pour him some real rum."

"So you do remember?" Emma's eyes were gleaming with hope.

"Remember what?"

She heaved a great sigh and snatched her sandwich back up again. "Nothing." Emma took a bite of her sandwich and chewed in silence.

"Alright then, love. If you say so." Killian elevated an eyebrow at her before he made for the door. He swung it open and halted in the doorway, looking over his shoulder with a soft smile. "We should do it again sometime… but with better rum, of course." When Emma gave him a soft "yeah", he turned on his heel and departed, shutting the door behind him.

Of course I remember, lass. It's just a pity you're too ashamed to discuss it. Killian sighed tenderly to himself and exited the building, his head still hammering painfully.