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All magic comes at a price.
Emma's heard that one so often it should be on the "Welcome to Storybrooke" sign. She's seen for herself the effects, seen the way dark magic darkens the soul.
But there's no one in town who's an expert on light magic--god, she's probably the closest they have to an expert, how terrifying is that--and so no one warned her what the effects are of using too much light magic in too short a time.
There's a cosmic joke in there somewhere about being the "product of true love," but she's in no shape to appreciate it. They're barely through his door before she's burying her fingers in his hair, yanking him in as close as she can.
He takes it like he's taken everything she's thrown at him, unfazed by her desperation, pressing her back into the door as she kisses him like she wants to crawl inside him. She rubs herself along the hard line of his body, moaning into his mouth at the way his belt buckle digs in low against her stomach.
"Please, Killian," and she might be ashamed of the begging but it's burning under her skin, between her legs, greed and need and want stringing her tighter than piano wire.
"I've got you, love," he says, his eyes fixed on hers. "Tell me what you need."
His voice is dark and rich, and the tone sets off an answering spark that makes her gasp. She shifts restlessly against him, grabbing his lapels for balance. "Talk to me, Killian," she pants, and mouths at his neck, because she needs the salty-sharp taste of him on her tongue. She leans in closer, nuzzles under his ear. "Let me hear your voice."
He chuckles, low and dirty, and she makes a helpless noise in her throat.
Then he's whirling her around and backing her onto the bed, and she's never been more glad to have herself a pirate who knows when to get shit done. "What would you like me to say?" he asks, taking her weight with an arm around her waist as she falls back, keeping her near enough that she can feel his breath against her cheek. He settles beside her, leaning on his elbow, and asks, "Shall I tell you how amazing you are, darling? Strong, fierce, flushed with power..." He trails his hand down her cheek, over her neck (and she's got a fucking turtleneck on--why did that seem like a good choice--but she can still feel him, her skin thrumming under his touch).
He traces the ridge of her collarbone, slides his palm up the curve of her breast. "Would you like me to tell you what a vision you are, when passion takes hold of you?" He thumbs over her nipple, and she sucks in a breath. He licks his lips, and gives her a hungry smile. "I think you know very well how much I enjoy you coming undone under my ministrations."
"Yeah," she whispers, and has to swallow around the thickness in her throat. It's like he has her spellbound, the tension in her twisting tighter with every word. She wraps her fingers around his wrist, not to direct him, just to anchor herself.
His hand moves on to her ribcage, flexes over her waist. His eyes drop for a moment, and his smile turn simpler, less dangerous. He leans in to breathe across her ear, "And you're well aware that I enjoy coming undone under yours."
She groans at the sound of him, and he pulls back. He cocks his head and studies her, now with a gleam in his eye and a filthy grin. "Or perhaps you're in a more tawdry mood, Swan. Perhaps you'd like to hear that the smell and taste of you is more potent than any tonic." His hand starts moving again, across her hipbone. "Perhaps you want to hear about all the times I've taken myself in hand, thinking of you." He cups her though her jeans, and she arches into it. "Or that even my imagination pales against the reality of you, love, of sinking into you and spending myself, of fucking each other under we've forgotten how to stand."
She shudders under his words and his touch. He leans in, voice impossibly rough, and murmurs, "Is that what you want me to tell you, Emma?"
A wash of need breaks over her, and she shoves him onto his back. They both have so many clothes on, and she doesn't think about it, just vanishes them across the room in a white flash.
It's a stupid, stupid move, because the want curls so tightly in her that she can barely breathe.
His hand is on her face, and she cracks her eyes open to see the concern on his. "I'm okay, just--give me a minute," she pants. She gives him a shaky grin, and waves a hand at him. "And--suit up."
He chuckles--god, she has to bow her head for a second--and she hears the condom wrapper tearing and does not think about other things he can do with his teeth. After a few deep breaths, she opens her eyes and tosses her head back, grinning at him, then balances herself with a hand on his chest and grips his cock, sinking down on him.
(She watches his eyes--she always watches his eyes--for that flicker that's always there, of something that scares her and, at the same time, makes her want more.)
His hook curves around the back of her knee as she begins to move, his hand sliding up her thigh, thumb stroking over her skin. "Tell me about those fantasies," she says. Her voice is shaky--she's close, already, but she needs that little bit more.
"You've exceeded them all, love," he says, his own voice ragged, and maybe she hasn't been the only one so affected by this.
She shakes her head. "I think you're embarrassed," she says, and bites down on a moan when his thumb begins to glide along her clit. She swallows, and adds, "Or maybe you just can't think of anything good."
He laughs, and she feels the rumble under his hand.
"Emma Swan," he says, and her head snaps up--he never uses her full name, never. She looks at him, really looks, and--god, his eyes. "I've seen vistas you can't imagine, love, wonders and horrors both, and I've lived many long and lonely nights. And yet I could never have conjured any vision as captivating as you."
That something is back in his eyes, pulling at her, and it's like falling. He smiles at her, wild and gentle and utterly hers, and says, "After everything we've been through, do you still not know the power you hold over me?"
The tension snaps, and she feels herself coming apart, but he's there, to catch her and keep her together.
Afterwards, when she gathers him close, enjoying all the kisses they skipped past, he pauses in exploring her neck to say, "I had no idea that listening to me talk was a weakness of yours, love, but now that I know..."
"Shut up," she says, but she's laughing, and there's no bite to it at all.