All that talk about Killian and Emma getting interrupted constantly went to my head so here's a smuffy little bit about just that, located in the broom closet at Granny's. For reasons. Rated M.

"This is a cupboard, love. Why are we in-"

He grunts as she pushes him against the closed closet door. "Shut up." She presses a hard kiss to his lips. "Just shut up."

Emma sees a flash of a grin in the dim light before his fingers are carding through her hair and he's hauling her back to his mouth. Their lips meet in a frenzy of knocking of teeth and desperate lip tugging, his hooked arm anchoring her to his body. She shoves her fingers in his hair, tugging at the thick, black strands, waiting for that little groan she loves so much.

There it is.

They hadn't really had time to explore each other, just little stolen moments like this but god does she want to know. She wants to know what leaves him wrecked and desperate, what leaves those brilliant blue eyes dazed, what makes them dark and devious. She wants everything. And it scares her how easily he sends heat rushing to her center with a simple look or an unconscious perusal of that goddam tongue.

Hence why they are in a broom closet.

She fists her hands in the leather of his vest, knuckles brushing warm skin before running her nails through the hair dusting his torso (she's rewarded with another groan). Needing more, she fumbles with the buttons of the vest, unclasping them, quick as she can until she can shove it away. Better access to that chest of his is preferable; especially since she hasn't yet had the privilege of seeing him shirtless.

His tongue slides against her lower lip, soothing the spot he's been nipping at and slips past to tangle her with her's. She can't help the desperate little whimper that escapes and his hips stutter at the sound.

"Bloody hell," he breathes, his thumb swiping along her cheek.

"Don't stop."

She's been alone with him for five minutes, the town is probably due for another crisis.

"Oh I don't intend to," he growls, flipping them around and backing her up against the door, his hips snapping to that perfect place in line with hers. He drags her in for another kiss, rutting against her and she can't help but pull him closer. It's perfect. He's perfect and she can feel him, how much he wants her and as he presses against that toe curling spot, she can't control the way her hips roll in response. Their harsh panting and the occasional gasp fill the small space and make it even easier to get wrapped up in him.

She's burning, oh she's burning, but it isn't enough. She grabs his hand, guiding it to her chest and he takes the hint with gusto. His hook trails down her thigh and hikes it up to his waist while he feels her through her blouse. A little moan sends his fingers under her shirt and traveling along her ribcage till he finds her bra.

"You'll be the death of me, Swan," he groans, tugging the cup aside and palming her before rolling her nipple in his fingers. She keens as he crashes his lips back to hers urgently and she grinds down, dizzy with the feel of him.

This is not enough. He's driving her crazy and she won't hold back from what she wants anymore. She drags her fingers down his chest and stomach until she's hovering over his pants. As reluctant as she is to move him from where he's pressing so delightedly hot and hard against her, she'd rather feel him in her hands, or maybe sliding past her lips.

A quiet moan tears from his throat and he bucks into her hand as she rubs down along the laces of his leathers. Properly encouraged, she scrambles to undo the ties.

He stills and pulls his mouth away as she tugs them partway loose, "Swan?" His voice is deliciously hoarse, but he doesn't take his hand from her shirt.

She groans, head knocking back against the door, "I know we're in a closet but we never get any time alone and I can't stop thinking about it. I need -"

He silences her with a kiss. Then lifting his head he kisses along her jaw until his lips brush her ear. His voice rumbles, rough and promising, "If you want to be ravished by a pirate, Emma, all you have to do is ask." His lips close on the spot just behind her ear with just a scrape of teeth, fingers resuming their ministrations on her nipple.

"Killian," she pleads, her back arching off the door. They can play games another time but right now she just desperately wants him, wants everything from him.

His fingers drop from her chest and start to play with the button of her jeans, restless, she rocks her hips and he chuckles, "Patience, love."

Grabbing the back of his head she pushes his mouth back to her neck and loosens the last of his laces with the other. His fingers are distracting, creeping down to the edges of her underwear and they're so close to where she needs him. She knows she's wet, she knows she's slick and ready for him but soon he'll know too and she's biting lip in anticipation. Reaching in his leathers she finds nothing but Killian underneath (no surprise there, really) and he tenses as she feels him, hard and smooth brushing her fingertips and -

"Emma?"

At the sound of her mother's muffled voice from the hall Killian freezes, his lips still locked on her neck and his hand halfway down her pants.

Emma claps a hand to her mouth, quickly taking the other from his leathers.

No, no, no, it had been going so well. She loves her mother, but this isn't fair.

"Emma?" Her voice is closer, almost at the door.

She breaks away from Killian, wrenching his hand out of her jeans and wildly gesturing in the dark for him to put his vest back on and for the love of god he needs to do up some buttons. She adjusts herself so her bra is back in place and runs nervous fingers through her hair.

A knock sounds at the door, "Emma, are you in the closet?"

So this is what her life has come to. Sneaking away to make out - and it very well might never progress beyond making out, if people keep interrupting them - with her pirate boyfriend (somehow that word doesn't seen enough) only to be found by her mother in a closet.

"Do you need help?" Snow's concerned voice asks as the handle turns and the door cracks open, "Why is it so dark in -"

Emma leaps at the door, shoving it closed, her voice strangled and an octave too high as she responds, "No I'm fine, I'm really fine, really, just -"

Something crashes behind her.

"Bloody buggering hell." Even as a whispered curse it's too loud.

Emma turns to see Killian with one foot in a bucket and his arm bracing against a horde of mops and brooms threatening to bring him down.

A long silence stretches out as she stares at him with wide eyes.

"Is," her mother stutters, "Is, uh, Killian with you?"

Groaning, she lets her head fall back against the door. Best case scenario her mother doesn't figure it out, though that option is unlikely. Second best option is make up an excuse and both parties pretend that's actually what was happening. Third option, file out of the closet with Killian.

Second option it is.

"I was just, uh, helping him find… new towels." Emma winces, even to her, her voice sounds overly cheery and sweet but barrels on anyway - she's already dug her grave. "We'll just meet everyone in the diner."

"Oh, uhm, alright."

Emma sighs at the sound of her mother's retreating footsteps and turns back to Killian. He's managed to sort out his mops and brooms situation and is looking at her with a slightly predatory gaze.

"What?'

He tilts his head, a smirk spreading across his face, "We could continue what we've started."

She bites her lip, what harm could a couple more minutes do? No one would be looking for them now. "Okay," she grins.

Preening like an idiot, his smirk turns even more smug, "I thought you might say that." He draws out the last t between his teeth.

She rolls her eyes, "Just get over here, pirate."

He takes an eager step forward, reaching for her and - clank.

Emma looks down, confused, and then starts to giggle. The goddamn bucket is still stuck on his shoe. Peals of laughter burst from her chest as he clanks and clomps around muttering, trying to shake the bucket off, scraping at it with his hook.

When he finally manages to wrench it off she has tears in her eyes, his indignant expression certainly not helping. For his sake she manages to control herself, though still clutching at her sore stomach.

"It was just a bloody bucket…" he grumbles. (She can't hold in a giggle at the word bucket.)

She plants a quick kiss on his pouting lips before she tugs on his hand and opens the closet door, "Let's go meet everyone else."

"But - Swan," he whines, resisting half-heartedly.

She kisses him again outside the closet, a little longer and a little softer, and he isn't so frowny. He sighs loudly (like she's placed the utmost burden on him) as she leads him down the hall and once more on the stairs, but he can't help giving her a smile as she kisses him one last time just outside the doors to the diner.

(It promptly disappears when she whispers, "Watch out for buckets," in his ear before sauntering on inside.)