Hello. I didn't particularly find this most recent episode particularly happy, so I decided to write the ramble that's been spinning around in my head for the last few weeks. Just a one off happy-smuffy-fluffy-smutty-lemmony - too many words - fic to put a little brevity into you Captain Swan hearts.

Enjoy

It's Friday night and she has a date. My how bizarre that sounds in her head. Even more so when she adds, 'with Captain Hook' to the end of that sentence. No, that's not bizarre, that's just crazy! And yet it's true. It's Friday night and she has a date with the man most know as Captain Hook. (Only to her, he's Killian.)

Now all she has to do is shower and shave (purely because its far more aesthetically pleasing to have hair-less legs in a skirt, absolutely nothing to do with what she wants to do because that would mean being within earshot of her parents and baby brother – she really needs to get her own place) and be ready in 45 minutes. Easy.

She's barely out of the shower when she hears her father's voice through the door. "Mary Margaret, hurry up, he'll be here soon!"

Emma glances at the small clock on the bathroom vanity and frowns; if 'he' is a reference to Killian she still has half an hour to go. Her mother's response of 'I'm almost ready, you can put Neal in the car, I'll meet you down there' only piques her curiosity. She can't remember her parents making any reference to having their own outside-the-apartment plans for this evening. So with her robe wrapped tightly around her, she steps out of the bathroom to find out what's going on.

Her father is dressed up, as is her mother, and her father has not only Neal in his arms, but the bag of goodies that means he's being babysat by someone who has their own home.

"Ah, what's going on?" Emma asks the scene.

Both her parents start at her voice, but it's her mother that takes control, shooing her father out of the apartment with the promise that she'll be down in a minute.

"Mom, what are you doing?" She asks again.

"Your father and I have a date." Her mother answers, rushing into her bedroom.

"A date? You didn't think to tell me this earlier?" It's not that she needs a full itinerary of her parent's plans, but her date with Killian has been planned for a while. These past three weeks of seeming peace, every Friday night they go out on their official 'date night'. Other dates have been dotted here and there, but Friday night is largely in concrete. It means, that any plans her parents have made for tonight meant they have to have found someone else to look after Neal, and that's not always an easy thing to do.

"Well it was sort of last minute." Mary Margaret's voice comes from the bedroom.

"How last minute?"

"A few hours ago, when Belle agreed to look after Neal for the night." Warning bells sound in Emma's head at that statement.

"For the night? That sounds like a bit more than a date?" She presses her mother when she reappears, holding a pair of red pumps.

Mary Margaret sighs as she sits down on the bed. "The truth is Emma, you and Hook haven't had a chance to be alone, and you deserve it."

That sentence makes her head spin; this is about her and Killian being alone?

"You're father and I decided a few days ago that we would give you two a chance at some privacy, with it being Regina's weekend with Henry, we decided to get a room at Granny's for the night and we asked Belle if she could look after Neal."

Now Emma is stunned; her parents may have been somewhat hesitant in her decision to be with Killian, but she didn't think that they would ever put themselves in a position where they would freely let their beloved daughter be knowingly defiled by a notorious pirate. Her heart is pounding by what this all means, is she ready (of course she's ready, been ready since she put his heart back in his chest), is he ready (what a dumb question, he's been willing since they first met!), are they ready?

"Your father called and changed the reservation Hook made for the two of you and then left a message for Hook to pick you up earlier than initially planned." Her mother explains as she puts her shoes on.

"Why would you do this?" Emma manages to speak somehow.

Mary Margaret looks up at her with a smile and shining eyes. "He makes you happy, Emma, happier than I've, we've ever seen you. You both deserve a chance to act on that happiness. Storybrooke is calm now, who knows how long it will be before the next crisis comes – I for one certainly hope Storybrooke's next crisis is something pitiful like the length of grass in the park, or the potholes in Main Street – but in the mean time, we should all be taking advantage of this current peace and taking every moment that comes our way." She stands up and picks up her coat.

Emma's jaw is still somewhat slack and her head is still spinning. She can't seem to get past the idea that her parents want her to have sex! She misses her mother moving past her she's so wrapped up in her own head.

"Oh and Emma?" Mary Margaret's voice filters through the noise and she turns to face her mother at the door. "I wouldn't get dressed."

Now Emma's jaw hits the floor, and as the door clicks shut she can only stare at it. Did that just happen? Did her mother just tell her to stay naked? Did she really wink as she shut the door? Is she now really all alone in the apartment? Is she really all alone for the night? She needs to move, needs to get dressed, needs to dry her hair, needs to do something other than stand in the middle of the apartment slack-jawed and still flushed from her mother's last remark. But before she has a chance to do any of that, there's a rapping at the door that tells her her parent's plan is officially in action.

The clock tells her it's 6.40; not exactly half an hour early, but still earlier than the previously intended 7.

The rap repeats itself and she forces herself into action; one foot in front of the other. She feels like she's walking to the executioner, which is now truly crazy because on the other side of that door is her boyfriend (that's the first time she acknowledges she's used that term in reference to him) and what's going to likely happen over the course of the following evening is meant to be life affirming not ending.

Still, reaching the door and placing her hand on the doorknob, she can't help the swirling butterflies in her stomach, or the pounding of her heart in her ribcage. She's never ever been this nervous at opening a door.

He's looking as dapper as always, a red rose in hand as his expression shifts from smile to concern when he takes in her attire.

"Swan, are you not ready yet?" He asks with an amused smile.

She's never been more aware of the fabric on her skin as she is right now.

"I ah," she tries to speak but she can't. Any semblance of the English language is failing her as she stares at the man in the hallway.

He looks at her, an expression that's trying to pull words from her lips as explanation.

"My parents aren't here." She finally manages.

"Yes I noticed them downstairs with Neal." He agrees.

"Belle's looking after Neal and they're spending the night at Granny's." She goes on, her voice is weak, and she can see the confused amusement in his eyes as she does.

"They've taken our dinner reservation." At this, his face changes.

"Why the bleeding hell would they do that?" He asks with a slight growl of anger.

At his words she finds a sudden confidence; she's still nervous as all hell and the butterflies are still swirling, but they've calmed somewhat. She turns away from him and steps into the apartment. He follows, and thankfully, shuts the door as he enters the apartment. The couch is between them, but that doesn't matter. She's going to take a line from her parent's action book and be perfectly clear with him and they only way she can think of doing that is something that under normal circumstances, she wouldn't dream of.

"Swan?" He presses her.

She turns to face him and finds the tie of her robe. "They wanted us to have some privacy." She says by way of explanation.

He looks at her confused, but the moment the robe is undone and slipping of her shoulders to pool at her feet his confusion is gone and he stares at her; hunger, desire, love, want, need fill his features.

"I, uh," now it's his turn to be somewhat speechless. And it's her turn to smile at him encouragingly.

"It might not be exactly the way I had thought it would happen, but I figure we should take advantage of the situation." She speaks, her hands resting on the skin of her hips, tracing unintelligible patterns on her skin.

"Aye." He seems to say it more absent-mindedly than with any thought as he stares at her, his eyes raking in every inch of exposed skin.

She can't help but enjoy the way he looks at her, mapping her body; they way her breasts sit, the swell of her hips, curve of her waist, gap in her thighs, length of her legs, colour of her skin. She holds her hands out to him, and like a starved man he moves to her, bumping into the couch as he reaches her, his eyes still taking her in. When he's an inch away, and she can feel his body heat he finally looks up at her, a dark and evil gleam in his eye and grin on his lips. It takes her breath away and sends a rush of heat to her core. Oh yes, they're ready all right.

"I can't remember why the idea of your parents taking our table was a problem." He speaks before closing his lips on hers.

Everything happens in an instant. His arms wrap around her, she rises from her feet, legs tight around his hips. Her back hits a wall, or maybe it's one of the columns holding the ceiling up, whichever it is she gasps at the contact. She pushes his jacket from his shoulders, enjoys the thud of leather on carpet. He moves awkwardly against her and then she hears a crash somewhere distant, turning sharply at the sound she sees a boot lying next to the remnants of one of her mother's more ill-advised vases. She looks at him and he just chuckles, kissing her again and repeating the same awkward action on his other foot. The boot hits a wall. They're moving again, and at some point his vest is lost, as is his belt. Before she knows it they're in her darkened bedroom, on her mattress, and his bulge is pressing against her centre through his jeans.

She can't stop the moan as his hand explores her skin; tweaking a nipple, pressing her belly button, sliding through the curls she hasn't had a chance to remove. Then he's sliding down, his mouth on her other breast, kissing her ribcage, tonguing her navel, nipping her skin lower and lower. She groans in frustration as he bypasses her centre, kissing his way down her thigh to her knee. She looks down at him; he looks up at her. He leans back up to her, kissing her mouth briefly then descending to her neck. Somehow she manages to remove his shirt without damaging it – probably magic – and tries to remove his jeans. But it's at that point that he moves again, slipping out of her grasp and back down her body, eyes on hers as he kisses his way to her other knee. He pulls away, pushing her leg back, and then locking onto her centre.

Nothing stops the cry as his tongue laves through her folds, as it presses into her clit, swirling around teeth nipping. It darts inside her and she moans. Then he's pushing her thighs back, pushing her back, changing the angle and it's making her insane. Heat is flowing through her body, coiling tighter and tighter low in her belly as his mouth slides back up to her clit, licking and nipping its way to her orgasm.

She lets go of the sheets that she's been clawing at and locks her hand into his hair, her nails scratching his scalp. He moans at her, his eyes flashing up and finding hers as he works her closer and closer.

"Oh fuck, Killian!" She gasps as he bites down harder on her clit than previous, and it does a number on her.

She thought she was already on the brink of something wonderful, but now she knows it's more like something extraordinary.

His stubble is doing wonderful things to her most sensitive flesh, things that will surely leave her tender tomorrow, but none of it compares to the wonder his mouth his performing on her clitoris. From this moment forward, she will never doubt his ego and self assuredness at making her happy, she vows to herself.

His tongue stops being gentle and suddenly starts resembling a needle performing Morse code. She learnt it once, but she has absolutely no idea what he's trying to tell her as her back arches high off the bed and she comes with a loud cry of 'Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh go-od!' His tongue eases, pushing her through her high and carrying her down. The moment he separates from her she misses the contact, despite the fact that he's now kissing her (the taste of her own cum has never been particularly erotic to her until now) and seemed to have shucked his jeans somewhere and now his erection is pressing at her sodden folds.

"Like that did you?" He grins into her neck, rolling his hips experimentally against her.

She groans, pulling his face back to hers and shifting her legs. She rolls her hips back against his and his tip slips to her entrance; one move is all it's going to take for him to be inside her.

"Swan you're playing with fire." He moans as she shifts beneath him so his tip is gaining more and more of her juices.

"Then take me." She breathes.

He does.

They both groan at the sensation as he sinks deeper and deeper inside her, their hips rolling against each other, drawing out the most happy of frictions, until he is seated deep within her. She can't remember when she last felt this full, this stretched, this complete. A voice tells her the last time was before Henry was born, but she chooses to ignore it, and looks up at the man gazing down at her with wonder. He presses his lips to hers lightly; both still coming to terms with the feeling of the other. And then he moves, withdrawing from her before plunging back in. Her eyes slip shut, her mouth falls open and every voice in her head goes silent.

She opens her eyes again to see him. It's just him and her and them and no-one else. There's never been Milah, there's never been Neal, everything before has been rendered obsolete. They both know that. They're done with others, done with remembering others; the past is gone and it's just the here and now and future that is left.

Their eyes are locked on the other as their hips roll in tandem. He's deep and warm and strong inside her whilst she's tight and hot and soft around him. She's never felt this matched to someone, ever. She's never felt as good as what she feels looking up at him, struggling to keep her eyes open as he carries her upwards. Eventually they slip shut; her arms wrap tighter around him, her nails digging into the skin of his spine that sends a grumble through him, the vibrations doing wicked things where they're connected. Then he's moving faster, and harder, not just burying himself inside her but digging himself in deeper and deeper. He's marking himself on her, in her, and she can't find it in herself to care because she knows she marked herself on him long ago without even realizing it.

He leans back, rising off her changing the angle ever so slightly. It creates a shift in both of them; she's gasping again, clasping at him moaning his name as she is pulled higher and higher and he's rasping for breath as well, teeth clenched, he's looking down at where they're connecting. He can feel her tightening, knows she's close; he looks back to her as his hand slides between them, his thumb locking onto her clit. He needn't have bothered because she's coming anyway and all his thumb does is rocket her over the edge higher than she thought possible. Her walls clamp tight around him and he falls after her almost immediately, stilling against her with a moan of his own before slumping against her.

Through the haze of post orgasmic euphoria she is only aware of two things; how heavy their breathing is against each other, and how good he still feels buried inside her, his high flooding her with warmth as his hot, heavy, and perfect weight weighs above her.

It takes minutes before she realizes he's kissing her shoulder, whispering words of wonder in her ear about how perfect she is, how wonderful that was. She tilts her head and he lifts his, their lips meeting in a kiss far too soft following what they've just done. But it's perfect and right and tells her everything she needs to know about this man.

He rolls off her after an age, and she bemoans the loss, even though his side is pressing against hers. She rolls onto her side, her hand sliding over his chest, through his curls – she's never seen a man shirtless with chest hair that makes it look good no matter how it may look with shirt buttons undone – and rests on his heart which is beating at a little under a mile a minute.

"Did I wear you out, Captain?" She asks innocently.

He growls. "Not in the least, love." He reaches for her own chest, but she moves too quickly and all he gets to touch is her neck. But it's clear his fingers are skilled in finding a pulse because he grins widely.

"Seems a little harsh you questioning my stamina when you're a little worn out yourself." He grins into her.

She presses her lips to his and shifts so she's straddling him. She moans as she feels his erection pressing against her rear. "Guess we've got a lot of work to do, then." She smiles as she leans up, giving him a show as she grinds down against him.

The look of wonder and awe hasn't left his eyes as she rises up high against him, taking him in hand (my god he's big!) pumping him a few times before lining him up and sliding back down, groaning, very loudly at the sensation. His hook at her hip, holds her steady and guides her movements as his hand slides up and down her side, palming and fondling her breast as she rides him, head thrown back, loving the feel of him deep inside her like this. They're both far more audible this time around; he's whisper-moaning her name like a prayer and she's more interested in referring to him as 'god' as they both fall over the edge, again, almost in unison.

Afterwards, they just lie together; she's half on top of him, her head resting above his heart, listening to the calming thump of it beneath her ear. She's boneless and limp; this must be how a marshmallow feels, she thinks to herself as she loosely toys with the coarse curls on his chest. His hook is at her back, its curve tracing cool circles into her skin as his good hand rests on her cheek. She's never felt this warm and content after sex before and she marvels at how good she feels now, smothered in post-coital bliss.

"You alright, love?" He breathes, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

"Just thinking." She admits, burrowing deeper against him.

"Never a good thing." He chuckles, pulling her closer.

"In this case it is." She grins back, tilting her head up to face him.

"Really?" He smiles, brushing hair from her face.

"Really." She answers, kissing his lips softly.

"Do I get to know about what?" He breathes.

She smiles looking up at him, using her own hand to brush a few errant strands of hair from his face. His disheveled mop of hair looking truly fabulous following her fingers' attack of it. "You."

"Me?"

"You." She repeats.

"I like the sound of that." There's his ego again, and she playfully swats his chest.

"I was thinking how happy you make me, not just before, because that was…"

"That was indeed." He agrees with her, grinning and pulling her in for another kiss. "Especially the second time." He says into the kiss.

She laughs against him. "I'm serious though; ever since I've met you I've always felt some strange bizarre trust that initially I couldn't understand."

"Well that's because I am dashingly handsome." He muses, earning another playful smack.

"You are, but that's not the reason, and I don't know what is." She looks down at him. "Ever since Neverland, being with you – being near you, you make me feel different, better, like I didn't have to run anymore."

"Yet you still wanted too." He counters.

She nods, looking away from him. "Because I didn't know what it meant. I didn't know that what I was feeling was okay." She pauses, and he rubs his thumb against her cheek. She leans into it and it warms his heart. "I'm glad I didn't."

"So am I, love, so am I." He pulls her down and kisses her again, a kiss that quickly breaks into deep territory as he rolls them over so he's above her again.

He takes her again, taking his time, worshipping every nook and cranny her body holds until she's a complete mess, crying his name and begging for mercy as tears roll from her eyes. He kisses her eyelids afterwards, whilst she's still recovering (seems she can't handle it after all, a feat which must be remedied at the earliest convenience). He lowers himself down her body until his head is resting on her stomach. She could almost fall asleep like this; she very nearly does, but his voice is low, gravelly, delicious and she's awake and wanting instantly.

"I wonder if your parents could do this again next week?"

She looks down at him and laughs. "Next week is my weekend with Henry, so even if they could, if there's one person I don't want to hear us, it's Henry."

He moans into her stomach. "Don't think I can wait another two weeks."

She smiles at that, then pulls him up. "Then take advantage when you can."

The morning comes all too abruptly. She's wrapped up in her pirate – or maybe he's wrapped up in her – and wishes the sunlight away so her night alone with him can continue.

"Morning sunshine." He whispers into her ear. She smiles at the sensation and shifts weakly, knowing she's quickly on the fast track to round…what are they up too? "Your phone rang before."

She groans at his words as she rolls over, relieved to see the number 9 followed by a 3 and 0 on her bedside clock. She's even more relieved when she see's it's a text message from her mother; they're up and awake, going to have breakfast at Granny's then pick up Neal and slowly make their way home and they'll let her know when they're at Belle's.

"What is it?" He asks as she reads.

"Message from my parents; you have me for another few hours."

He grins wolfishly in response.

Needless to say, they don't leave bed for a while.

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