Prompt:

Anonymous asked you:

As part of sexy times, how about an AU? Emma as a mermaid that haunts Killian in his dreams, never telling him her name. He finds her in his cabin one night, and … well, you know … :)

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT

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She comes to him every night.

He starts dreaming of her sometime after Milah's death, years after the curse. Visiting Neverland, searching for any remaining pixie dust per Cora's request, suddenly she begins appearing nightly. Her presence is abrupt and unwanted. She replaces the dreams of his raven-haired lover with words about lost love and the price of magic softly spilling from her lips in a sad and lonely tune.

Her song is the most hauntingly beautiful melody ever to reach his ears.

And he resents her for it at first—his dreams a sacred place where he can remember the love he had lost—reliving the moments they had shared together, imagining the adventure filled life that was stolen from them. Sometimes in his dreams he saves Milah—defeating the crocodile and stopping her heart from being ruthlessly crushed by the spineless coward of a man.

They are unconscious moments that he's unwilling to give up, desperate to keep them.

But no matter how hard he tries to hang on, the haunting siren continues to come to him and with her presence the memory of his Milah begins to dim.

In the beginning it's always the same.

He's alone on his ship, staring out at the vast ocean, when her song starts, the hypnotizing tune drifting up from the sea and wrapping itself around him gently like a warm and seductive embrace. He attempts to ignore it at first, trying to block out the soft notes and striking words but it becomes a battle he's unable to win, the small task near impossible—her song too beautiful to ignore.

Early on he never sees her clearly, sometimes if he's lucky he'll spy a flash of golden hair glimmering just beneath the surface of the always clear Neverland waters—the quick peek all that she fleetingly offers him.

She's an elusive creature always moving just beyond his grasp.

As time passes her song grows louder, taunting and beckoning him with each dream he has—the words clearer and more meaningful, the soft tune resonating gently in his head even as he wakes.

Dreaming of her is a torture of the sweetest kind.

Slowly over the course of his years in Neverland she begins to show herself to him, never letting him get too close but allowing brief glimpses all the same—the teasing sight of her more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

Sometimes he'll spy her lounging on a rock, her silky sun touched tresses billowing in the light breeze, her head tilted upwards in a lost and faraway stare. It's times like that, when she's quiet and pondering that he finds himself even more drawn to her, aching to touch her, longing to see the color of her eyes, the shape of her mouth, the delicate shade of her skin.

But she never lets him get close enough—always just tauntingly out of reach.

Eventually he finds himself frantically sailing Neverland's seas, positive she has to exist outside the realm of his unconsciousness; he hunts her, searches for her…

But he never finds her.

Not when he's awake.

She's made only for his dreams.

Every night he watches her swim—her movements free and graceful, she glides through the water as if they are one in the same, her lithe body moving sinuously—the image branding itself into his brain.

He wants to join her but he knows the moment he slips into the water she'll fade away.

So instead he watches.

His eyes devouring her, his body aching to touch her—his heart feeling a spark of something he thought himself incapable of ever feeling again.

His crew takes notice.

He's retiring earlier, waking much later than normal and neglecting his overall duties as Captain.

They mutter and wonder about his odd behavior but he even as the murmurings slowly sift through the men, eventually reaching his ears, he ignores it, unwilling to give up his nightly routine.

He's approached only once about his change in behavior and in answer he leaves the man bloodied and within an inch of his life, reminding his crew that he's still Captain of the Jolly Roger—still capable of being cold and unforgiving.

Still a ruthless killer.

Slowly, gradually, with each passing night he feels the wounds in his heart begin to mend.

And she begins to trust him, allowing him ever closer, her song becomes less sad, her voice lights with laughter.

One night as she's swimming a mere arm's lengths away, splashing in the waves and humming a familiar lilting tune, he calls out to her, his voice carrying over the gentle sea breeze, "what is your name?"

Looking in his direction, she tilts her head to the side, her gaze somewhere far past him, "I don't remember," she answers softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear, and dipping beneath the water's shimmering surface she leaves him for the night.

It's not long before he realizes he's fallen in love with the siren.

They rarely talk, they've never touched—she always stays just out of his grasp, beyond his itching fingers.

But he's fallen for her all the same.

Her songs stay with him during the day and heals him in the night.

And with the realization he's quite certain he's gone mad.

Unsurprisingly, he can't bring himself to care.

It's years before things change.

Although to him, it feels like a lifetime.

It is an oddly cool night—strangely dark with not a glimmering star or pale milky white moon lighting the sky. Staring out at the water he breathes in the scent of the sea, attempting to calm his suddenly racing and disturbing thoughts.

Something is different.

He can feel it in his veins—something that treads on the fine line of fear and excitement courses through him fast.

Unable to pinpoint exactly where the feeling is coming from, he turns from the water, intent on heading down to his cabin. His eyes slightly heavy, he finds himself like always, looking forward to his impending dreams.

It's as he's opening the door to his quarters that the feelings coursing through his veins begin to intensify. Fear, excitement, anticipation, hope. And moving his hand to the hilt of his sword, he draws it, quite certain that someone…something…awaits him on the other side.

He's not prepared for the sight that greets him.

Her back to him, she's standing near the small desk that sits in the far corner of his room, her head bent slightly towards the ground, she appears deep in thought. Her hair is long and loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft golden waves, and he notices how almost immediately his good hand twitches, itching to reach out, the need to slide his fingers through the silky tresses almost unbearable. Covering her body is a billowing white nearly sheer frock, it falls gently just above her knees, brushing the skin there lightly.

And it's then that it slowly dawns on his somewhat hazy brain.

Where fin and scales should be are legs—long, lithe, human legs.

And he ponders with awe how this can be real…

She's a siren of the sea.

At the thought a taunting voice in his head mocks him, reminding him that she had never truly been real in the first place, her presence only existing in his dreams. And with the reminder he hesitates in the doorway, briefly wondering if perhaps he had fallen asleep.

There's no other explanation.

But as her head lifts slightly and she seemingly senses his presence, he quickly pushes the thought aside, unwilling to allow any more reservations to sneak their way into his mind.

Not tonight.

Not with her here.

She turns towards him slowly and as her eyes rise to meet his, a small smirk carefully ghosts over her lips, "I was hoping it'd be you."

He raises an eyebrow at that and sheathing his sword, casually begins to close the distance between them, his heart pounding wildly, even as he smoothes his features into a mask of calm indifference. "Seeing as though you're standing in my cabin, on my ship, who else would it be darling?"

She lifts her shoulders in a delicate shrug, her eyes meeting his in a slightly defiant stare, "I'm standing aboard a pirate ship Captain—I suppose the possibilities are endless."

Her voice is slightly amused and tinged with unmistakable wariness—the sound nearly as beautiful as her songs.

"What are you doing here?"

She shrugs again, briefly confusion touches her features, "I don't know…I'm –I'm just here."

"Where are your fins?"

She smiles slowly, a touch of mischief lighting her eyes, "I never liked those things."

"Are you truly a mermaid?"

Lifting a brow, she shoots him a slightly exasperated look, "Do I look like a mermaid?"

Her challenging tone both annoys and amuses him, and stepping closer he studies her curiously. "Where are you from?"

"Not here."

Frustration bubbles up inside of him at her flippant responses and crossing his arms over his chest, he narrows his gaze, stopping in his path towards her. "You're an infuriating imp."

"And you're a temperamental pirate."

Cursing under his breath, he runs his good hand up and down his face, closing his eyes for a moment, he hesitates before opening them again, certain that when he does she'll be gone—a figment of his imagination vanishing into the night.

But she's still there.

"Am I dreaming?" he asks her slowly, his tone hesitant and guarded.

Her eyes, which he notices with slight awe and wonder are the perfect combination of Neverland's brilliant blue sky and mossy green fields—the wide-eyed stare as stormy and unforgiving as the sea, flash uncertainly. "If you're dreaming then that means I am too."

It doesn't make sense.

Her words are confusing and he shakes his head trying to collect his raging thoughts, his mind unable to grasp onto the fact that she's really standing before him. "I dream of you every night lass."

"Yes."

"And every night you're a mermaid."

"Yes."

"And yet…you're actually a woman?"

"Yes."

"Bloody hell," he whispers more to himself than to her. "Why now, why come to me like this now."

Running a hand through her hair she steps towards him once, then twice, slowly closing the small gap between them. As she draws closer, he can smell the sea in her hair, can nearly feel the warmth of her body.

"I don't know," she says softly. "Every night I dream of you too, but something always keeps me away from you, never allowing me to get close enough to touch you, to really see you. And I sing these songs, songs that I don't understand, songs that give me hope but—but at the same time break my heart. And every morning I wake up and I remember the sea, and the sky, and you. And now…now I'm here and you're here…" she trails off her gaze fierce and unyielding, "and I think if I wanted to I could reach out…I could touch you."

He holds his breath.

Her hands shake slightly as she reaches toward him, her fingers hesitating for only a moment before they dance across his chest. At the mere brush he feels something inside of him spark, and his vision wavers with the shocking threat of tears. Watching as she lets out a shuddering breath, her eyes completely focused on her hand, his throat constricts tightly. And then, in the next instant, she gently lays her palm flat against him, her fingers splaying out over his heart and with the action he's fairly certain it stops beating before suddenly pounding painfully once again.

"Are you real?" she whispers softly, her face conveying both awe and disbelief. Her fingers are trembling and as she draws her lower lips into her mouth, nibbling on it lightly, his body tenses uncomfortably, his fingers twitch in anticipation.

"As real as you are love." He finally answers snapping his gaze from her lips to her eyes. His voice is hoarse and gravelly, and his skin beneath her hand feels as if it's on fire.

She smiles slowly and stepping closer, so that the remaining space between them disappears, she runs her hand up his chest, hooking it around his neck lightly. "Then I don't want to waste anytime," she whispers, drawing his face closer to his, "If I wake up tomorrow only to discover that this was all just another dream…then I want to make sure we make the best of it now."

He doesn't argue.

He doesn't even try.

Instead, he allows the siren to press her mouth gently against his—claiming both his willing lips and blackened heart in the process.

They come together slowly.

The moment her lips touch his, he wraps an arm around her waist, hulling her to him fast. Pressing her body into his, he eagerly responds to her—gently easing his tongue into her mouth he relishes in the sweet taste.

Rich cinnamon and dark cocoa.

When his hooked hand runs up her back, she gasps and he takes the moment to his advantage, both deepening the kiss and turning her around. Walking her towards the bed, he continues to explore her mouth with his, sweeping his tongue around the contours, savoring the rich taste. As the back of her knees brush the mattress, she breaks away from him, and needing to feed the sudden desire that is moving through him fast, he contents himself with the delicate skin of her neck. Sucking and nipping, he draws a low moan from her lips.

"Take—take your clothes off," she gasps, her voice ragged. And he can't help but smile because she's demanding, and beautiful, and at this moment…

Real.

Raising his hands to his shirt he quickly undoes the buttons, spying on her from under hooded eyes as she watches his progress, her lower lip drawn into her mouth, her eyes wide with unashamed hunger. Without hesitation he rids himself of his sword and pants and with a small smirk, reaches out with his hook and toys with the flimsy dress she still wears. At the touch, her eyes flutter for a moment before meeting his, and giving him a tiny smile of her own, she steps away from him, quickly shrugging out of the loose garment.

She's a sight to behold.

Seeing her standing naked before him, his heart skips a beat and his breath hitches painfully in his throat.

She's beautiful.

Her skin is smooth, soft, and sun-kissed; it nearly glows in the dim light of the cabin, luring his mouth to explore every inch slowly. Her hair tumbles down her back in soft curls, tempting him to tangle his fingers through it greedily. Her lips red and swollen from their kiss part slightly, begging for him to take them hungrily again.

Stepping towards her, he refuses to make her wait any longer.

Pulling her to him, he kisses her gently, running both his good hand and hook softly up and down her sides, the action drawing both a shiver and sigh from her. Smiling into her lips, intent on not wasting another moment, he lowers them to the bed, his movements still slow, even as his body goes nearly rigid with the effort.

When she's lying beneath him, her blue-green gaze staring up at him, stripping him, and seeing past his blackened barriers, she smiles. The grin starts off small and hesitant before gradually spreading across her lips and reaching her eyes—it's warm and honest. Somewhere in the back of his mind something tells him that in her world—where she's not a beautiful siren invading his dreams but rather a young and wary woman as human as him—that that open smile is not one she gives freely.

She doesn't trust easily.

But for him…

For him she smiles.

For him she chooses to let down her guard down.

Lowering his head to her, he captures her lips once more, and with the kiss she raises her head, the action causing her hips to cant slightly, pressing their bodies more intimately together. She gasps at the contact, and his head swims as he pushes against her—desperately he tries to hang on to control…he wants to make this last.

He's not sure how long they have.

"I can't wait," she tells him softly, almost as if reading his mind—her voice holds such blatant yearning that it nearly rips his heart out of his chest.

"I want to go slow…I need to savor this," he confesses to her, vaguely acknowledging that it's unlikely he'll be able to do either.

Seemingly sensing his desperation, she merely arches a brow, "later." she murmurs, and before he has the chance to respond she's reaching between them and positioning him at her entrance, the feel of her hot and waiting nearly doing him in.

For a moment he still pretends to be in control.

For only a moment.

With a muttered oath and a slight shake of his head he takes her. Pushing into her, he groans as the feeling of her wrapping around him tightly nearly sends his senses into overdrive. Stilling above her for a moment, he tries to collect his bearings, attempting to calm his breathing. Dimly he notices the way her eyes are squeezed shut, her mouth dropped open slightly, her breathing labored and uneven.

"What is your name?" He asks her, watching as she opens her eyes, locking her gaze with his.

Her answer is a mere shake of her head and tilting her hips upwards, she draws him deeper into her, the movement bringing a groan to his lips as a jolt of pleasure shoots through him fast.

Cursing, unable to hold back any longer, he begins to move.

Their bodies come together desperately as if they had been waiting for this exact moment all of their miserable lives. And vaguely he acknowledges that in her embrace he feels more at home, more at peace than he can ever remember feeling in the entire three hundreds years or so he's lived.

Fighting to hang onto some semblance of control, he drives himself into her, intent on drawing out her pleasure, but as her mouth falls open and her nails rake down his back, he can feel his arms begin to quiver with the effort. Bracing his body over hers, he continues to thrust into her—his movements while faltering are still slow and calculated and thorough.

When she hooks a leg around him, changing the position, his head buzzes, the husky moan that escapes her doing nothing to quiet the noise. And knowing that pitifully enough he won't last much longer, he begins to stroke her even more intimately, alternating his motions from fast and stinted to slow and deep. The change in pace causing her to cry out—she shakes her head from side to side as if attempting to block out the sensations he's forcing upon her. But he's unyielding, ruthless in seeking both his and her pleasure, he stubbornly refuses to let up.

"Tell me your name," he demands thrusting into her hard once, before halting his actions and drawing a moan of protest from her lips.

Her eyes meet his and he sees that they are glassy and wavering with unshed tears, her gaze reflecting awe, uncertainty and hope.

"Please," she whispers softly.

But he's unrelenting—the need to know the siren who's been haunting his dreams nightly too great. "Tell me." He demands again and he thrusts into her once, twice, before stilling abruptly. Slowly he slides his hand between them, and dancing his fingers over her oversensitive numb, he rubs her, his touch feather light.

"Oh God."

"Your name." he says again, and gradually he begins to move once more. His thrusts unhurried and slow—his pleasure begins to build fast. He's on the verge of release, and his muscles tense with the realization while his pulse picks up in pace. "Tell me…I need to know it." Brushing his fingers over her again, intimately rubbing her, he watches as her lips tremble slightly while a tear escapes her eye. As it trails its way down her cheek, slowly he bends down and places his lips to her skin, gently kissing the dampness away—and with the action she crumbles.

Crying out, she shatters beneath him.

"Emma," she whispers to him, riding out the intense waves as she clenches tightly around him.

And with her name ringing in his ears, he says it once before following her—coming undone above her; spilling himself into her with one final thrust and a shuddering broken breath.

And as he collapses onto her, their labored and uneven breathing mingling together, he's fairly certain that in the aftermath of their joining something in the universe stops and shifts, plans are rewritten and destinies changed.

Slowly he comes back to himself, and realizing that his weight must be heavy and near suffocating, he rolls onto his back, settling comfortably next to her. Without hesitation he draws her to him, tucking her tightly against him, and without question, seemingly without thought, she lays her head on his chest, her ear pressed firmly against his heart.

They lay like that for awhile, unmoving, unspeaking.

The silence is strange and pure and unbroken.

As weariness slowly washes over him, he struggles to remain alert, not trusting the repercussions of closing his eyes, aware that if he lets himself drift he could lose her forever.

"You're tired," she states finally, her voice vibrating against his skin.

"Yes," he admits, drawing her even closer.

"So sleep."

"I fear if I do I'll lose you." he tells her, even as his lids begin to droop heavily, his body and mind exhausted and drained.

Lifting her head from his chest, she gives him a small and sad smile and reaching out, brushes a fallen lock of hair from his forehead. "Sleep," she whispers, ghosting her lips across his, "I'll be here when you wake up."

Her words echo softly in his head—and with the assurance still he attempts to fight his fatigue, not trusting the fickle gods above to allow him to keep her.

But eventually unable to ward it off, sleep finally consumes him.

And like he fears, her promise ends up being one she's unable to keep.

When he awakes the next morning, his bed is cold.

Sitting up and staring into the empty room he doesn't bother to call for her.

Part of him whispers for him to lie back down, to attempt to find sleep again—insisting that maybe she's there, in his dreams, awaiting his return.

But a larger, emptier part of him brushes the thought aside.

She's gone.

And with her absence his heart begins to darken once more.

He never sees her again—she no longer visits him in his sleep.

Instead his dreams are black and cruel and wicked.

Slowly the memory of her fades and as his time in Neverland winds down, he forgets the color of her eyes, the shade of her hair, the quirk of her lips, and the scent of the sea she had carried with her.

Finally, painfully, the last thing to slip away from him is her song.

The most beautiful and haunting melody he's ever heard fades, leaving in its place only a few odd notes that on days when he's staring blankly out at the sea come to him abruptly—his mind hazy with the tune, attempting to place its eerily familiar sound.

As she ceases to exist inside his head, the memories of Milah gradually begin to flood him. He sees his dark haired lover and he remembers her wit and spirit and beauty.

He remembers her death.

Darkness consumes him once more—the need for revenge roars to life and burns within him again

Glancing out at the water, he pushes away the lingering thoughts that there's something else out there, something capable of healing his blackened heart and mending his wounded soul.

The time has come for him to return to the Enchanted Forest.

The first time he lays eyes on Emma Swan, she's standing over him like an avenging angel clad in leather and wielding a dagger.

Dimly, he notices with slight awe and wonder that her eyes are the perfect combination of Neverland's brilliant blue sky and mossy green fields—the wide-eyed stare as stormy and unforgiving as the sea.

And it's with fleeting and curious recognition that a gentle song softly plays in the back of his mind, the most haunting and beautiful melody he's ever heard…

End.

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