It seemed a simple enough task. Collect some firewood. Gather whatever edible plants they could find. Easy.

So why did she find herself, thirty minutes into her hike, irritated and cranky?

Oh yes, she remembered: Hook.

I know which direction to go in, Love. Follow me Swan, it's not far.

So why, half an hour later was she knee deep in scrub, grunting and sweating like a pig? And more importantly, why had she gone along with his idea? Muttering under her breath, she slashed at the thick undergrowth with her sword, growing more impatient by the minute.

Finally, she reached the peak of the small hill they had been climbing. Pausing for breath, she reached for the waterskin that was slung over her shoulder and took eager, hungry gulps before wiping the remaining moisture from her lips with the back of her hand.

"How much further?"

The dark figure ahead of her paused mid step, his billowing coat spanning out as he turned back. The sky behind him had darkened now they had escaped the forest canopy: the blue skies of earlier replaced with billowing grey clouds.

He licked his lips, seemingly in no hurry to answer her. Standing, feet wide, his good hand rested lazily against his sword as his hook hung by his side. "What's wrong Swan? Can't keep the pace?"

Closing the gap between them in seconds, she approached him, her sword still in hand.

"Hardly, pirate," she spat out the word, as though it left a bitter taste in her mouth, "I'm just aware it's getting dark and we need a good night's rest if we are going to make it to Pan's camp tomorrow."

With a lilt of his head, he sighed heavily before turning back, "Fear not, Saviour, Pan's camp is a merefew hours away." He began to move forward before pausing and looking over his shoulder, "Tomorrow we will have your son, safe and sound. I promise."

And he did it again. Every time she tried to hate him -tried to remind herself of what he had done, who he had worked for -that chink of humanity shone through his armour. That hint that somewhere, deep inside, there was more than she had grown accustomed to. Something hidden by centuries of bravado and happenstance.

She shook the thought away and continued on, the thought of tomorrow filling her mind. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they would rescue Henry. Tomorrow she would hold in her arms the one person who she truly loved. Her heart whispered silently, and the only one who truly loves you…

On she followed.

Her ankles struggled with the uneven ground, threating at any moment to give way as she picked herself across the hilly peak, trying to follow in Hook's rapid footsteps.

Until…

The first drop assaulted her eye. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision. But not soon enough before another and another fell, until within seconds she was blanketed in a cloak of rain, the likes of which she had never experienced before.

Sheets of sharp, icy water attacked her from every angle. Her vision blurry, her eyelashes clung together as streams of water poured down her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but instantly it filled with the torrents of rainwater as they relentlessly fell from the sky. Paralysed, she stood, the water seeping effortlessly though her clothes - chilling her to the bone as the world around her became an angry swirl of dark clouds and moisture.

Eyes closed, she lifted her face towards the storm. Her hair, sodden as it was, curled into a thick rope that hung about her waist. Suddenly she was lost. Cleansed. Her arms hung limply by her sides as the as the streams trickled down her body and fan from her fingers.

Suddenly she was empty. No thoughts, no dreams, no anything. Just a body, standing in the rain. The warm rain rocked her body as she stood, transfixed…

Then there was a hand. Warm, but damp, grasped around hers. Strong but gentle, it began to pull at her…

"Come on love, we need shelter…"

The words seemed a million miles away as she mindlessly followed, stumbling in the direction she was being pulled. Lurching from side to side, as if she was drunk, she continued. Further and further as the darkness swelled until… Silence.

Acrid. Unpleasant. Bitter.

The taste hung in the back of her throat as she coughed.

Rolling over onto her side, her chest heaved, struggling to bring up the foul scent. Slowly she recognised it as fire; burning wood.

The ground was dry. Hard and dirty, but dry. She reached her hand up to her head; she was laid on something. Soft, thick- wait-. Her last memory was of being cold, and wet, the world spinning, losing her footing…

Quickly she sat up. The area around her was dark and smoky. She could make out flickers of light and indistinct, wavering shapes as they danced through the scant smoke clouds towards her. What the-?

Her hands picked their way along the floor. Her pillow. She lifted it, bringing it to her eye line. It was Hook's coat. To be sure, she brought it close – that scent of leather and salt and rum was unmistakable.

How-?

She wrapped her arms around herself and at once was confused. Looking down, she saw her tank top was gone, in its place something dark and soft. Wait-

"I hope you don't mind. You were drenched. I gave you my shirt."

The voice echoed from the distance, amplified by the confined space. The low tones reverberated through her; she shivered a little. That voice… Hook.

"Damn it, what the hell is going on?" She spat the words out as she twisted herself so she balanced on her knees, gaining her bearings. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The rough-hewn walls, with their reddish tinge, came into focus. A cave. They were in a cave.

Suddenly he was at her side. How did he move so fast? So damn quiet…

"Well Swan, you may have noticed there is quite the storm brewing outside…" she heard the scraping of dry earth as he sat, moving closer to her, "And you my dear had quite the swoon-"

"I do not swoon," she retorted quickly, snapping her head so they were facing each other.

"I stand corrected," he replied, his cool, blue eyes fixed firmly on her face.

His head dipped as he rubbed at the layer of half stubble and half beard that covered his face, "In any case, love, I brought you to shelter, so perhaps a little more gratitude is required."

"Ha," she snorted as she slipped back onto the bare ground, anchoring herself with her hands. He was now further away. A more comfortable distance. "I told you pirate, that was a one time thing. Something I have no desire to repeat."

Heavy suspiration filled the following moment. His, hers – who knew. He chuckled. "As you wish Swan."

Rising, he moved away. He grabbed his coat from behind her and swung it deftly around his body. Now her eyes had adjusted to the close, dark atmosphere. The cave was small, barely tall enough for him to stand and shallow too. She could see the scant daylight that peeked into the entrance to her right – the howling wind and rain still evident outside. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her body, as if to protect herself. Her fingers made contact with the oversized black cotton shirt she now wore. Her spine tingled as she realised – he had undressed her, he had-

As he head lolled to one side, she inhaled a swathe of something-his scent, his essence- that laced the garment. All thoughts paused. The hint of leather hit her first, sparking in her nostrils and making her breathe oh so deeper. Behind it laid the hint of salt and sweat – the scent of something forbidden and foreboding, of sea and toil and something untangeable.

She balled the material in her hands –forgetting where she was – pulling it to her face, drinking in the last, deepest, most masculine and musky scent that lingered deep within the fibres. Fibres that had until recently swathed his skin… Letting out a labored breath she pointed her toes, tilting her body towards the modest fire at the center of the cave.

"Thank you," she said. Eyes still closed, basking in the scant heat.

"Oh, so now you are talking to me."

His reply echoed around the small cave, enveloping her from every angle.

For a second she hesitated. This was Hook. The man who only lived for his own selfish revenge who-

No. A voice inside her told her to stop, No that doesn't make sense. Why is he here? Why didn't he just kill Rumple, why?

"Why are you here?"

The words escaped her mouth before she knew what was happening. Instinctively, she drew her legs to her chest, slipping her arms around them and hugging them close.

"Well love, it's raining and personally I only like to get wet under my own doing-"

Her eyes met his and he stopped.

"You pig. I knew-"

"What?" he asked. Suddenly he was by her side again. "What did you know?"

She swallowed. He was inches from her. She could see each line of stubble across his cheek. The flecks of gold in his eyes were clearer than ever as he smouldered at her. Then she finally realized. She was wearing his shirt. His chest was bare. Beneath his leather coat lay acres of swarthy flesh, peppered with dark hair. She was staring. Shaking herself, she pulled away.

Turning, she looked at the flame flickered ceiling and laughed. A haughty, yet unsure laugh that that echoed around them and shook her to her core.

"I knew you wanted me." Emma caught his gaze as she spoke, his dark rimmed eyes half closed.

Slowly he began to clap.

"Congratulations Swan. Well done. Would you like a prize?"

Indignant, she moved to sit cross legged and narrowed her eyes.

"I never hid my affections love-"

"And bravo – now you have me all alone. Well done captain, good effort but-"

And before she knew, he was so close – inches away in fact. His hook plunged into the ground by her hand.

"Oh so little you think of me Swan. Remember- I told you. I believe in good form. I'm happy to wait until you want me. And you will."

"Huh," she snorted into his face. He didn't move. If anything, he drifted closer.

He radiated something hot. So much leather – how did he wear that in the heat of Neverland? The masculine scent he emanated was strong and overwhelming. Did these men never wash? Did they have soap?

And so there they were, in a small, smoky cave; the cool air nipping around them. He was leaning into her, ever closer, as she breathed heavily. She suddenly felt intoxicated. Was it the tiredness?

"You're very confident," she whispered.

"I know a good bet when I see one," he replied. His hook rose and grasped a lock of now dry hair that hung over her chest, pushing it back across her shoulder, "Remember, I am a pirate."

Somehow, his words seemed insincere. The word pirate seemed to sting as it dripped off his tongue – he almost spat out the word. Instinctively, she reached out her hand, grasping the upturned lapel of his coat. Her mouth dropped open; her lips dry from the harsh sun of Neverland. She paused, half reclining – what was happening?

"But you weren't always a pirate," she whispered, pushing the remaining air out of her lungs until she collapsed into herself, her ribcage sinking into her stomach as her body pressed against the ground.

"No…." His eyes flickered, glancing down her body before blue eyes met blue again, "I was once a man of honor."

"Honor?" she snorted and looked away. "You wouldn't know true honor if-"

And then he was there. Everywhere – upon her. Lips and hands and body and breathing and scent and want and-

She wanted to scream. STOP. No, she didn't want him to stop. She wanted more. More. MORE.

Groaning, she grabbed the stiff lapel of his jacket tighter, pulling him closer until their bodies were parallel and she was pinned against the ground, his weight heavy and achingly good upon her.

"Emma," he whispered into her mouth. She ignored him. No. She didn't want to think. She just wanted. Needed.

Swinging her leg over his hip she swiftly rolled him onto his back. Now - now, she was in control in her comfort zone. This man – this pirate –as if he could get the better of her.

Her hips pressed down against his. Her lips curled as she could feel him, against her thigh: how much he wanted her. Smug self-satisfaction rippled through her as she attacked his mouth. Her tongue invading him; her teeth nipping and clashing against his. She was in charge – this was her game now.

But then nothing. He paused, pulled back.

"What the-?"

He was panting. He had pushed back up onto his hands. His coat was pooled by his sides. His chest exposed.

"I am no woman's toy Swan. If you want to play out your anger, you have picked the wrong man."

She stared as his chest heaved. His eyes were clear – honest? They seemed sad. The ripples of his abdomen appeared above the rough lacing of his pants. His bare chest heaved.

Then something snapped inside her – like a rubber band pulled too far. And she was not going to take no for an answer.

"No. You're not," she whispered.

Silently, her hands grasped the soft cotton of his shirt, lifting it to reveal her simple black bra. His eyes widened at her actions –twelve inches still between them. Her eyes never faltered from his. Silently she unhooked her bra and slid it down her arms, giving a half smile as his jaw dropped open. She reached for her belt – deftly unfastening the soft leather before she slowly unzipped her fly. Every second watching his reaction. His throat dipped a little as he swallowed. But he did not move. Yet.

Reaching onto her knees, she crawled along the space between them. Focused. Determined. Possessed. What was this?

"Hook," she breathed into his ear as she crawled to straddle him.

"Killian," he replied, "That's my name…"

And she was in charge, again. She kissed him. He lay back against the cold, hard dirt as she pressed into him, her knees grinding into the sand as her hands wove into his sticky, salt laden hair. Tangling and turning and twisting it between her fingers.

Wordlessly he lifted his chest and shook out of his heavy, leather jacket. She bit her lip as she pulled away to look at him. The only remnant of Hook, the pirate, was his dark lined eyes that seemed to bore right through her. And his hook. The hook. The rest was all Killian. Dangerous. Exotic. Scary.

She reached out and touched his chest. He flinched a little- her mind wondered how long it had been since he had been touched. Softly she traced the thin lines of ancient scars. How long had he lived... What had he been through... She shuffled a little closer, tighter against him. He groaned. Her eyes rolled shut as she registered his hardness between her thighs as it became ever more apparent.

"Killian," she whispered as she drew her hand down the soft, downy hair of his chest, soaking in every inch of him. Her hand rose to her mouth and coyly she began to bite her thumb – the soft waves of her now dry hair hung effortlessly around her face as she looked at him. A moment passed. Two. What was he thinking?

But then the game was over. She was pressed against him. His good hand dug into the flesh of her hip as she balled her fist tighter in his hair.

Suddenly he was picked her up. Tugging at her pants. She made no protest. Enjoying the sensation of the sharp point of metal at her back as his fingers worked. Her lips traced along the prominent vein of his neck while he stripped the last of her clothing. Confidently, her hands sought him out. That part of him she so desperately had tried to avoid... But needed so much. So much...

Thick, hard, hot. Her hands cupped him though his leather pants and she felt him buck into her. How long had it been? She forgot. Inside, her muscles rippled in anticipation, flipping her stomach. No, no, they couldn't. But they will. They would.

His hands slid effortlessly up her thighs. She lay limply against the rough, cool wall, making no protest. Then, urgently, she began to tug at the leather thong that held his criminally tight pants closed. With every tug she could feel him. His heat.

There was no going back.

Flesh against flesh, hot against hot. Hard pushing into smooth. Her mind was filled with heat and passion and instinct.

She was overwhelmed. The sharp wall dug into her back as his hips pushed closer. Their lips entwined as she sunk her fingers into the hair covering his chest.

And then his hands were clasping her ass- fingers digging in on one side, the cool sharp metal of his hook attacking the other.

Instinctively she winced. "Oh-"

"God's Emma," he whispered, his face etched with concern, "Do you want me to take it off-"

He moved to loosen his hook. Quickly, she grasped its cool metal base and pulled it towards her bare chest, slowly dragging it over her soft, pink nipple. It hardened instantly as a ripple of pleasure flooded her.

"I like it," she replied, her voice full of something thick and unexpected.

Then it happened. All decency left, all restraint, all thoughts except for the moment escaped. His hot mouth was on hers, the sharp tip of his hook dug into her side as she swung her leg around him. She moaned into his mouth.

What the hell was going on?

But she didn't care. Right now, she needed him. His strength, his care, his… love?

And then she felt the cool metallic glint of his hook as it grasped the cotton of her underwear - the last remaining barrier - slowly pulling them down. Her eyes rolled at the sensation of the sharp metal drawing down her leg. Her whole body quivered in anticipation. What was he doing to her?

Finally she was naked. So was he – how had she not noticed before? All tainted skin, and hair and sharp muscles. Something deep inside her dipped low.

"Killian, I-"

Cold, teasing, hard motion rubbed against her. The hook. So much a part of him. The dampness between her legs grew. So harsh and uncomfortable yet teasingly dangerous. His hand was cupping her cheek. Their eyes met as his cool, artificial self moved between them. The sensation was so foreign and intoxicating and maddeniNG all at once. Impatient, she rolled her hips against him.

She gasped as his fingers made contact with her moistness. Probing, caressing and slowly pushing inside as she began to babble into his skin. His hook laden hand slung around her shoulder as she rotated her hips towards him. Harder, quicker.

He stroked and pressed and twisted and she wanted to scream in pleasure and frustration. It had been so long, so long. She shouldn't, no…

It was too late; she was gone - slipping relentlessly into his spell. His kisses teased her neck as his fingers turned and teased and twisted and-

"Take me…" she whispered.

He started, pulling back.

"Swan, are you sure…"

Her eyes gained focus. Whatever state she was in, whatever effect, that moment was clear – "Yes."

He grabbed her leg until both were slung lazily about his hips, encircling him. She could feel the heat of his erection as it pressed teasingly at her centre. She released her solid grip on his arms and let herself slide slowly over him. He was thick, solid, hot - filling her so satisfyingly she wanted to cry out. Carefully she watched as his eyes rolled back. Finally he was deep, oh so deep, she felt part of him. Complete.

"Take me," she whispered again.

And he did.

Gasping, she tensed against his thrusts. So hard, so deep, so tender. Relentlessly he moved himself inside her, pivoting and twisting his hips. He made no pause - gave her no respite from the swimming sensation his body was ellicting from her. This was all him. And she aquiesced to his demands of her - her fingers clung to his neck limply as he had his way.

His cold metal hook moved to cup her ass, the pointed tip digging in and eliciting an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure that only served to heighten every sensation.

"Don't stop," she whispered into his ear.

He was filling her. Opening her up like she never had been before. She sank down into his hips, grinding against him almost shamelessly. She had never wanted someone so badly, but in that moment she didn't care what he thought, how she looked. Killian rocked against her deeper most being, she gasped softly unable to hold it in.

Then she was down in the dirt. How did she get there? Her legs were swung around his hips again, his hook was again around her neck – it's tip touching her cheek.

His good hand wasted no time reaching out to cup her breats. As he twisted and thrust and turned she lost her mind. Then, he began to squeeze and rub and push against her – how long since her body had been touched in that way? And she ground against the cool red dust, wanting more and more and more…

She ached and burned and twirled in his arms. Him – inside her, touching her – was almost too much to bear. As she slipped into something akin to bliss she began to cry out, "Killian, Killian, KILLIAN."

Slowly, she dug her sharp nails into the surprisingly smooth skin of his back. Revelling in the feel of his shivers against her as she tugged against his skin, leaving a ragged trail of broken skin in its wake.

Then the unfamiliar, almost forgottn, ripples of pleasure began to shudder through her as she almost choked. So hard and strong and painfully good... To save herself she dug her teeth into his shoulder. Then his speed increased, making her dizzy until she felt him jerk against her, once, twice - till he stilled. His hook had moved to her waist, leaving an icy, tingling trail in its wake until…

"Emma…"

The word seemed to dance on his lips. His fingers pulled at her hair – making her want to scream. The sharp tip his hook dug just below her public bone, making her shiver in the aftermath of her orgasm.

Clarity began to settle.

They were naked: her hands in his hair, his arms wrapped around her, he was still deep inside.

She gasped at her actions.

"Oh my God, what have we-"

"Emma! Killian!" The sound of voices - not so distant - echoed around them.

All other thoughts stopped. They joined eyes and panic set in.

David. Mary Margaret. Their voices were unmistakable.

Quickly, they both scrambled for their clothes – there was no time for pillow talk or platitudes – only the preservation of some sense of normalcy until they could decide what the hell was going on between them.

Somehow they found themselves nonchalantly stood around the fire as her parents approached. The slight ache and cool trickle between her legs and dirt in her knees the only remainder of what had happened moments earlier.

"Emma," Mary Margaret ran and grasped her daughter, "You were gone so long and-"

She hugged her mother close, furtively glancing at Hook – telling him with her look to be quiet.

"Sorry, we got caught in a storm and we had to take shelter."

Mother and daughter stood, arms still entwined. "As long as you are okay."

"I am," Emma whispered, "Thanks to Hook." They turned and looked at him. He stood behind them, half hidden. His leather pants were still unfastened but he had let out his black cotton shirt to hide his modesty. Good form, she thought with a reluctant smile.

Mary Margaret looked at the pirate and smiled deeply, "Thank you Killian. Thank you."

"Princess, please, it was my honor." Slowly he bowed, his hook dipping in front of his chest as he did – his eyes locking with her deliberately.

She felt her self blush fiercely in the dim light. Damn him.

"Come on, the weather has calmed, let's get back to camp. Big day tomorrow." Mary Margaret's broad smile was infectious and she felt herself copying her mother as she followed her out of the cave.

Fleetingly, she glanced back. Killian. He was still staring at her. His lips were curved into a small smile.

And then he winked.

He winked.

And her stomach did a somersault. And she took a deep breath. And she turned away.

And she cursed herself.

But she knew. Knew. This was far, far from over…

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