At first, it's not bothersome at all. Pleasant, in fact, to have Swan pressed up against him, her arms wrapped firmly around his chest. It makes his body thrum happily, because she climbed atop the horse behind him with no question, not even a second of hesitation when he offered his hook to help her climb up.

It's only when she moves that it becomes more. Her body wriggles, pressing harder against his back, and her hands shift, coming further up his chest, curling in the leather of his vest. He tries to pay no mind to it when her fingers brush the skin of his chest, hopes she's just finding a better grip, assumes she's never been on the back of a horse before.

They're not galloping, there's no reason for her to cling to him so tightly. In fact, if they were galloping, her grip on his clothing would probably tear them open, and wouldn't that be a sight?

He tries not to imagine her ripping off his clothing.

For several minutes, she stays still, and he can feel her breathing, soft and steady, against his back. Her face is pressed against his shoulder, head ducked to the side.

She's been silent the entire time; he's sure that she is still brooding, that the argument that sent her on this little walk hours ago is still stirring in her head. When Charming had asked him to go after her because it was getting dark, he hadn't hesitated, taking the first horse he could find and heading after her.

Now, though, he wishes he could make the moment stretch out, and so he doesn't push the beast like he had to reach her. It's not often that she spends time with him, too consumed with the new reality of her situation, but every second counts, every moment with her a chance to see that startlingly beautiful smile. He likes to think he is rather good at bringing it out. Even silent like this, he enjoys her company. Enjoys the (mostly) innocent way they're pressed together.

Her fingers move, curling and uncurling, brushing against his chest, and he forces down the shudder it causes.

"How far did I get?" she asks softly, voice muffled by his back.

He shrugs. "I was not keeping track; several leagues, I'm sure."

She sighs quietly, and falls silent.

He wants to say something, to start a conversation with her, anything, but he can't think of what to say. She's upset, on edge, and has been for weeks. The move back to the Enchanted Forest has been taxing for her, thrusting her so completely out of her element.

"How long do you think it will take to get back?"

Her nose brushes against the back of his neck as she lifts her head, and her breath is so close to her ear. He prays she doesn't notice the way he stiffens slightly under her.

"Would you like us to go faster?" For once, he avoids a suggestive tone, knowing that's not what she needs right now.

She laughs, though, small and sweet. "In your dreams," she says, and it makes him smile.

"Always," he quips in return, and feels the huff of amusement against his back.

She moves her hands lower, towards his stomach, and clasps them together over his belt. "I think I wouldn't mind going a little faster," she murmurs, and releases the reins long enough to cover her hands with his own, squeezing gently.

"Of course," he says, and nudges the horse into a faster pace. Her arms tighten, but he doesn't mind. She could crush the air right out of him and it would only make him happy, the incredible sap that he is.

"I think I hear my bed calling," she jokes, and he chuckles.

"I'm sure that's your father."

She falls silent at the mention of the prince. After all, her parents are the reason she "needed some air". He hadn't been trying to listen, but he had caught words, snippets of the disagreement. Her parents are doing their best to help her adjust, but it's difficult. Nobody understands her, understands the incredible shift her life has gone through. Not even he can pretend to, though he wishes he could, if only to be there for her.

A shiver runs through her body and into his, and he frowns.

"Are you cold?"

She shakes her head, and shivers again.

"You could have my coat, love," he murmurs, turning his head to the side, hoping to catch her eyes. But she is pressed hard against his back, watching the trees as they pass them.

"I'll be fine. You need it, anyways, all that exposed skin." Her hand slips up his stomach and towards his chest, fingers tickling at his bare skin.

"Oh, you know you love it, darling."

She chuckles and shakes her head.

"You're insufferable."

"Proudly," he replies, and puffs out his chest. She dissolves in a fit of giggles, and her hands drift down to his sides, the movement pushing back his coat so her hands rest on his vest.

Emma Swan's fingers are digging into his hips.

He blinks and tries to surreptitiously take a deep, calming breath. They're not that much further from the castle. He just has to hold on and ignore what she is doing to him. Easier said than done, but he's never stepped away from a challenge before.

If he had, he wouldn't be in this very situation, a warm princess wrapped around him, teasing and flirting with him.

She hasn't made her choice yet, hasn't come to him, but he's seen the way she interacts with Neal, the stiffness in her back, the way she touches Henry like she's afraid to lose him to his own father. He doesn't take delight in another man's loss, but he knows he merely has to wait. And for her, he could wait an eternity.

He exhales, and she burrows into his back, makes a small contented sound and her hands slip down his sides, resting barely above his thighs.

His breath catches in his lungs, and he coughs, hard. She startles, but her hands stay firmly where they are.

"You okay?" she asks, and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask what exactly she's doing.

"I'm fine," he says instead. "Just something in my throat."

She would never be doing what he thinks, would never be so blatant. Certainly not with him, not like this. He reasons that she probably hasn't ridden on horseback very much, and certainly not behind anyone else. She just doesn't know what she's doing.

They're getting close to the castle, only a few minutes away now. Darkness is settling over them, but there are plenty of fires burning in the palace, and they're save this close to civilization. Emma may have been angry, but she wasn't foolish when she set out on her walk; she'd skirted the woods and stuck close to the sea, knowing that the ogres wouldn't likely be there.

It had still been dangerous, but she had her gun and her magic, and as much as he wished to inform her of just how dangerous it was, how if anything had happened to her he wouldn't be able to go on, much less her family, but it's not his place. Not yet.

"Almost there," she murmurs, tilting her head back, her chin pressing into his back.

"Aye, lass, soon you'll be tucked away in that beautiful big bed of yours."

"And how do you know what my bed looks like, Hook?" She's teasing him, the softness of her words giving her away even when she tries to mask it with sternness.

He shrugs. "I can only imagine, for now."

"Keep imagining, buddy," she chuckles, the laugh tickling the back of his neck again. That, mixed with her warm hands soaking into his skin makes it difficult to focus on much else.

Not much further.

She squirms a little, shifting her hips forward to press their bodies together. A brief shiver runs through her, and he reasons that's why. But gods, it's not enough to absolve the sensations that skitter down his spine and flood heat into his body. Her hands disappear from his body, and he nearly sighs in relief. Behind him, he can hear her rub them together vigorously, blowing on the bare skin.

His hopes are dashed when they return, ostensibly to where they had rested before, on his hips. However, in function, they are very decidedly no longer there. No, they curve over the tops of his thighs, dangerously close to where she is already affecting him, gods damn him.

She isn't seeking comfort from him, not like that, nothing more than the simple sharing of warmth, a comfortable body to rest her head against. He likes to think it's not unpleasant for her. But no, she isn't trying to touch him like that, and it should not be rising heat across his skin the way it is.

He nearly says her name, nearly begs her to stop, but they're so close, and he doesn't wish to make things awkward between them. Not now, when it seems like she is finally softening towards him, letting him into that small place she hides her heart.

The guards near this side entrance nod at them as they pass, and the horse's hooves clatter on the cobblestone as it finds the stables on its own.

She slides off behind him, and he suddenly doesn't know if he is grateful or not. He'll take her however she pleases, if it's small touches and quick smiles or something more. And for the past hour, he's had more of her, breathed in her scent, felt her pressed against his body, so much more than anything they've ever shared before. Of course, there was the kiss, and the hugs, but nothing that lasted that long, that drug out until the loss of her was like a fist to the gut, a frigid wind at his back.

He is grateful, however, that she hasn't noticed how her body affected him. Carefully, he eases off the horse, across from where she still lingers, fingers running over the dark flank of the horse.

Part of him wants to leave so she doesn't notice, but the majority of him never wants her to leave his side.

"Thank you," she says quietly, and walks around the front of the horse. Her gaze flickers to him as he sets about removing the tack, putting it aside before he leads the horse into its stable and returns.

"Of course," he replies quickly, trying to stay busy, stay moving so she won't see.

"Hey." Her fingers brush his side, and it's enough for him to clench his fist, slowly standing straight. She circles him, comes to stand between him and the wall. "Thank you," she says again. Her hand presses into his chest, and she smiles, meeting his gaze. "I mean it."

He can't do it any more, pretending. "Emma," he says, and wraps his fingers around her wrist, taking a step forward. She doesn't move an inch. "Don't you know what you're doing to me?"

Her breath is warm on his cheek, and suddenly her eyes are sparkling.

"I think I have an idea," she murmurs, and flicks her eyes down his body. She takes him in, and he can't help it, he freezes, holds his breath, waits for the inevitable awkward shuffle, the way she'll turn away from him and go to her sparkling palace.

It never comes, and she curls her other hand around his cheek. He leans into it, and she meets his gaze.

"You know, I did a lot of thinking today. About what I'm doing here. About my parents, about Henry." Her eyelashes flutter and a small smile blooms on her lips. "About you."

He doesn't know if it's safe to breathe yet, but he does, leaning towards her, as though he can hear her better, be sure if he's just a little closer.

"Emma," he says again, and the word sounds almost desperate, clinging to his lips. She twists her hand in his grip until her fingers are sliding through his, tangling together until he's not sure where she begins and he ends. Her hand on his cheek shifts, sliding against his neck until her thumb is brushing his cheek.

"Why did you come get me?" Her voice is soft, and he so desperately wants to kiss her, wants to close his eyes and lean in, noses brushing, mouths fitting together until they lose themselves in each other.

He blinks. "Your father told me you had left, that it was getting dark." He shrugs his shoulders simply. "I didn't want you to be alone out there, especially after nightfall."

"Always so protective," she murmurs, and tips her head forward until her forehead is pressing against his chin and her breathing skitters over his chest.

He says her name one last time, and she looks up as he draws their hands forward, brushing his thumb across her cheek. She flutters her eyes, and smiles, a tiny little nod the last thing he sees before he crashes down and presses their lips together.

She responds instantly, pressing her body into his and curling her hand around his neck, holding him in place. As if there is anywhere else he would rather be. Careful not to nick her with his hook, he wraps his free arm around her, pulling her even closer. He doesn't mean to, but he stumbles forward, pressing her in front of him, until her back hits the wall and she gasps, mouth slipping open under him.

He groans, and nips at her lips, carefully brushing his tongue against her mouth. She surges under him, releasing his hand so she can grip his head, turn him where she wishes so she can kiss him. He doesn't mind, running his hand over her side, down her ribs and waist until he finds her hip. The last time they kissed, he didn't touch her, didn't dare, but this time she devours him whole and he clings to her. He breathes her in, gasping and heaving, his heart racing in his chest.

It's impossible to stamp out the hope that stirs in him, because this feels like so much more than what he expected. He doesn't know if she will back away from him after this, but it doesn't feel like she has any intention of stopping. Still, he curls his hand around the back of her head and surges forward, pressing her into the wall with his body, hoping she feels every inch of him, every way she burns into his body and soul.

Gods, he wishes he could take her to bed right now, aches to show her how perfect she is.

Every movement of her lips stirs that passion in him, and he knows if they don't stop, if she doesn't stop, if he doesn't pull away like the gentleman he tries so hard to be, he won't ever be able to stop.

Her hands are on his collar, a familiar feel as she pulls him down, clings to him and kisses him senseless.

It feels like drowning just as much as it feels like tasting sunshine.

"Emma," he whines, finally tearing himself away. Her lips still brush against his, and he takes a deep shuddering breath. Somehow, his knee has found its way between her legs, her body pinned so deliciously against his.

"Hook," she says, the same tone, and he doesn't even care that she doesn't use his name, unsure if she remembers it from that day so long ago.

"Your parents will be worried about you," he manages to get out, because it's true. The sun has already set, and he only sees her through the flickering of torches, but he's already memorized the green of her eyes and the curve of her cheeks. Snow will be worried, and Charming will be silently walking the halls, waiting to see that they've returned.

"They can wait," she says, breathlessly, a hint of bitterness seeping into her tone, and he wants to kiss it away. Tell her to love her family always. Instead, he hooks his arms behind her back and pulls her against him, crushing her against his chest, and she lets out a little huff.

"Still, you should reassure them that you've returned," he whispers, barely a sound. She shivers, though he knows it cannot be from the cold, not with how warm and firm her body feels pressed into his.

For a long moment, she looks at him. He can see the whirring and tumbling of her mind, and stays silent as she assesses him.

"Fine," she says finally. "But," she leans forward, speaking to his lips, eyes flicking down to them and then back up, "only if you're waiting for me in that beautiful big bed," she whispers, mimicking him.

He doesn't know to laugh or to choke, so he settles somewhere between the two.

The moment breaks, and she giggles, a sound he's heard more today than ever before. Her body shakes slightly in his arms, squirming against him. Her eyes sparkle and it dawns on him that maybe her actions earlier had been far from accidental.

Her fingers are still twisted into his coat, and slowly, so achingly slow, he releases her, drags his hand across her lower back and then her waist, her hip. She seems to be having more problems than he is, because she refuses to move away, doesn't even pretend to unclench her fingers.

"Emma, go."

"Promise," she says, and tightens her fingers, pulls him towards her. As if he would do anything but what she asks.

"Of course," he murmurs, and kisses her again, because he can. She laughs against his lips, and it tastes delicious. "Go," he says again, pulling away from her, and she releases him with a sigh.

"Fine. Remember your promise, then, pirate." She slips away from him, turning back just long enough to speak and then her back is to him, disappearing across the courtyard and into the castle.

He takes a deep heaving breath, and tries to steady himself. His mind is still whirling, amazed (but not surprised) at this turn of events. Emma, bloody infuriating Emma, put her hands on his body on purpose, let him kiss her senseless, and then made him promise to be waiting in her bed.

Bloody hell.

Slowly, he turns. He knows exactly where her suite is, has walked by it more times than he can count. Has walked her to her door before, even.

He picks his feet up and starts walking.