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Blame the Rum

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The wind dies down, the light dims, and Emma watches in horror as the portal closes behind Killian and their mysterious (and unconscious) traveling companion. She twists her arm out of Rumpelstiltskin’s scaly grasp and all but shrieks, “What the hell?” in his glittery face.

“Oops,” he says, with that eerie high pitched giggle, covering his mouth with his hand in faux apology. “Not to worry, dearie. You’ve still got the wand. Just reopen the portal.”

And with that, he vanishes with his forgetting potion, and she’s left alone in his crypt of unpredictable magic or whatever the hell he’s calling it.

“Right,” she says to no one, glancing down at the wand still in her grasp. “I’ll just reopen the portal. I can do this. Just think of where I want to be… and yeah.”

She raises the wand as it begins to glow, closes her eyes, and thinks of the man who just went back to her world, the man she wants to take a chance with, the man who kissed her breathless on his ship just a short time ago. She thinks of Hook.

And that’s her first mistake.

The wind kicks up, the portal opens and she’s flying and flying and then she lands with a thud, sprawled out on her back, already aching joints creaking in protest at the hard landing.

First thing she sees is a pair of pointy black boots. Her eyes travel up long leather clad legs and into the vivid blue eyes of Captain Hook.

Past!Hook. Not Killian.

Crap, she thinks. Who knew portals were so damn specific.

“Well, what have we here?” he says, looking down at her with a smirk and a certain familiar gleam in his eyes. “I was convinced you were a rum-fueled dream last night, lass, and yet here you are appearing in my quarters out of the blue, like an angel.”

“I’m no angel,” she says, rising ungracefully to her feet.

“That’s good news, then,” he says with a smirk, leaning in to murmur in her ear. “Because I prefer sinners over saints.”

Those words, combined with the memory of his kiss sets off a ravenous want low in her gut, a craving to play out what might have happened if she’d stayed after their rum-fueled flirtations. She’s trying (not very hard) to get the words “I have to go home” to come out of her mouth, because messing with the timeline and all that… but then he’s kissing her (again) and the wand still in her grasp falls to the floor with a little bounce and she’s grasping at his shirt just to stay upright.

“Shall we finish what we started?” he asks, his voice dark with sinful suggestion as he pulls away, thumb tucked into the waist band of his leather pants..

The logical part of her brain says, no, get out of here, but the rest of her ignores logic by stepping even closer, grasping his jacket, suddenly very curious about what he’s packing underneath all that leather. (There’s a serious bulge there now.) Her heart is beating triple time at the thought.

For his part, he leans heavily against the table, tongue coming out in a wicked suggestion. He looks as if he can hardly catch his breath himself, can hardly stay upright either, so aroused is he, his fingers moving over his lips like he’s savoring the taste of her. And yet, he raises one eyebrow, and waits, giving her an out.

She should take it. She should definitely take it. Grab the wand, open the portal (again) and go home.

Instead, she lunges forward, all but tackling him in her haste to taste his lips again, to feel the burn of his whiskers against her skin. The man knows how to kiss, and hell, she can’t even remember the last time she got laid, and she just yearns.

He yanks her right up against him, all but devouring her mouth with his, his hook sliding up inside her jacket to the small of her back and his hand palming her cheek, fingers teasing at the edge of her hair. His thumb is a sweet caress against her skin that belies the urgency of their kisses. And she thinks for a moment that this is Killian breaking through his Hook persona. But then he shoves her back just enough to grab at her jacket and tug it off her shoulders, looking her over from head to toe, taking in her jeans and sweater with a question in his eyes.

“Don’t talk, just touch,” she replies, jerking him back to her, and wrenching his jacket off his shoulders.

“As the lady wishes,” he says, freeing her from the rest of her clothes in a frantic rush of movement, as she does the same to him, the two of them nearly tripping over each other in their haste.

When she’s standing before him in nothing but her flimsy thong, he stops and just looks at her, licking his lips as his gaze falls to the scrap of lace covering her.

“What manner of garment is this, love?” he asks with a smirk. “Hardly seems practical. Might even call it frivolous.”

“Something wrong with frivolous?” she asks, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

“Not at all, love.” He leans in, his breath warm in her ear and murmurs, “I’m quite a fan of frivolity myself.”

He moves around her, and she can feel his eyes on her like a caress against her bare skin, his gaze moving down to her bare ass.

“Where is the rest of it?” he asks, his voice a husky rasp, his chest hair tickling her back.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself, Captain?”

In the space of a heartbeat, his arm is around her waist, drawing her tight against his chest, his hand kneading at one of her breasts and his tongue hot and wet against the shell of her ear as he whispers, “Perhaps I will.”

It must be magic, she thinks, that’s keeping her upright while his hook presses over the lace of her panties, right where she’s yearning for his touch.

“You like that, love?” he says, low and quiet against her neck, and all she can do is nod and press back against him, body begging for more.

“I’m going to taste you now,” he says, pushing her forward on the bed and urging her to raise up on her knees, ass in the air.

She grabs hold of the edge of the mattress, face pressed into the blanket, holding on for dear life, anticipation making her tremble. Next thing she feels is the curve of his hook sliding between her ass cheeks to reveal the strap of her thong.

“You must,” he says, voice a smoky rasp, “explain this marvelous scrap of cloth to me later.” And then he pulls her thong gently to one side, as if he’s loathe to tear it, and his tongue finds her slick and wet and ready. As he thrusts it into her, his hook slides down, her panties still caught in the curve of it, and presses the back of it to her clit and she’s gasping and gripping the bed and hell, who needs a portal. This is the only way to fly.

With his face between her thighs and her knees quaking, she is consumed, hips jerking against him of their own accord, and when she comes, she is nothing but light and magic and pleasure all at once.

He gives her very little time to recover before he’s pushing into her, a groan of ecstasy falling from his mouth as she flutters around his cock. The silky strap of her thong rubs against them both, and she’s sure it will be stretched beyond recognition before they’re done, but she can’t find it in herself to care.

She raises up on her palms, looking over her shoulder at him as he throws his head back in passion, and she finds herself eager to see him come undone completely.

“Come on, Captain. Show me what you got,” she urges, driving back into him to meet his every lunge.

“Bloody hell, lass, you’re amazing,” he grunts, and she can see sweat beading on his brow.

The pleasure is building, ascending and ascending again until all she can do is cry out as it hits her anew. Seconds behind her, he grits his teeth and then let’s go, spilling into her with an “Oh yes,” falling from his lips in a sibilant hiss.

Her arms give and she plops face down on the bed, his cock slipping out of her, and he all but collapses beside her, chest still heaving from exertion. And now, with her own heart pumping furiously, reality catches up with her.

She shouldn’t be on Hook’s ship, in his cabin, doing… what they just did. The thought of what she might have done to the timeline horrifies her, not to mention the irresponsibility of unprotected sex with a pirate who’s probably had more than his share of tavern prostitutes. She’s an idiot!

With that thought, she springs from the bed and begins throwing on her clothes with the same manic frenzy with which she removed them.

“What’s the rush, love?” Hook asks, sitting up to watch her, one eyebrow raised in question.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she mutters. “This was a mistake. I’ve got to go.”

Rising from the bed, he halts her with his hook curling around her arm and scowls at her. “Leave if you must, love, but don’t say it was a mistake.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, barely able to look him in the eyes. “It’s…. I can’t explain right now, but I really shouldn’t have come here. I’ve probably messed up so many things.”

As her gaze flits around the room, she spies the wand sticking out from beneath the table and she reaches down and grabs it, suddenly very certain of what she has to do.

“I’m really sorry,” she tells him, blinking back tears. “You won’t remember this, but I promise you will see me again.”

Before he can react, she touches the wand to his forehead, closes her eyes and concentrates until a brief blinding light engulfs the wand. When she opens her eyes again, the wand is dark and Hook is sleeping peacefully on his bunk, fully clothed save for his coat and boots, an empty bottle of rum in his grasp.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and presses a kiss to his cheek.

If she did it right, he won’t remember this day and nothing will have changed. As Killian said, he’ll blame the rum. She feels a flicker of guilt for stealing his memories, which she would never do if she had any other choice. But there is no time to waste, no time to linger and possibly make a bigger mess of things.

Time to go.

Behind her eyelids she can see the glow of the wand, burning brighter and brighter as she fixates on her goal. She thinks again of home and Killian, not the pirate of the past, but the man he is now, the one she wants to take a chance on, the one who has proven himself a hero to her, even if he may not yet believe it himself. The room becomes blindingly bright and the breeze begins to stir, and suddenly she’s standing once more before an open portal.

“Here I go,” she whispers, and then throws herself into the whirling vortex.

When she reaches the other side, she’s back at the barn where she started, landing with a thud in the dirt at the barn door. And there he is, Killian, her Killian, reaching down to help her to her feet.

“Bloody hell, Swan, I thought you’d missed the portal,” he says, blue eyes clouded with worry.

“Sorry,” she answers, wrapping her arms around him and sighing into the warmth of him when he returns her embrace. “I’m here now. I’m home.”