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Neal is pissed. Beyond pissed, actually. Not only has he learned in the past few days that Emma almost rathers he were actually dead, that her parents were the prince and princess of Misthaven, and that he has a son .
All of that is… great, or something.
But — god , he can't help but grind his teeth together at the thought of it — that monster of a man, that damned pirate had touched her, had kissed her. Had the guts to have feelings for her — for her , tearing Neal's life apart again. Emma should be his, the woman he has not gone a single day without thinking about. The woman that carried his child. They were supposed to be together, supposed to be a family, and, once again, Captain Hook has swaggered his perfect nose somewhere it didn't belong and was trying to take what was rightfully his away from him again .
He wouldn't stand for it.
When the princess suggested they take some time to regroup and rest, Neal knew it was his chance to act. Hook had claimed that he needed to retrieve something from his ship, and Neal knew that would be where he would confront him, the easiest place to get him on his own. Or, at least, as he slashed his way through the forest to where he knew Hook docked the Jolly Roger , that's what he thought.
But he was not even to the edge of the forest, had not even reached the beach yet when he heard her, and her voice makes him stop on a dime.
“We should be doing something, not sitting around on our asses, waiting for Pan to get the upper hand again.”
How had she beaten him here? He left moments after Hook had, and she was still sitting on a log by the fire when he left the clearing behind.
As carefully as he can, he makes his way to the edge of the forest, keeping himself hidden behind a bush, stopping as soon as he sees them. They are on his ship, Emma standing against the railing, her back to the shore, while the pirate is slowly pacing across the upper deck.
“I hate to be the one who bears bad news, love, but it is impossible to be a step ahead of Pan. He may look like a boy, but I can assure you that he is nothing short of a monster.”
“But why my son?” Even though he can't see her face, he can sense the anguish painted across it by the sound of her voice.
He wants to comfort her, to tell her that even though he may have just learned of Henry's existence, he would go to the ends of the Earth for him, would do anything to have his family back. Because the last thing he would want is for his son to be raised by a broken family, a family like the one Bae found once his mother —
“Because he's like you, love,” Hook says, and his words stop Neal's mind just as he is thinking about what happened to his mother. “He's a fighter, and he will never give up knowing that you are here fighting for him.”
How dare he. How dare he try to comfort her, how dare he even talk about Henry as if he knows anything about him. Captain Hook destroys people's lives, destroyed his life, and now here he is, standing in front of his Emma, trying to make her feel better.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because, Swan, I have yet to see you fail. As long as you are here fighting for your boy, it won't be for naught.”
Emma does not answer him right away, and Neal can't help but smile. Emma never did know how to take a compliment and they caused her to shut down, to get angry. Hook deserves her anger, deserves the scowl that Neal can practically see. But he is thrown off his guard as he watches as she hangs her head, her shoulders slouched forward and visibly trembling.
Is she… crying?
Neal notices that Hook has not moved an muscle since he stopped pacing, and the way he is staring at Emma makes his stomach drop. Even with the shore between Neal and the pirate's ship, he can see the affection in the eyes of Hook — and then he blinks his bright blue eyes, and the look is gone. But, even worse than whatever disappeared from his face when he blinked, is that he now has the audacity to fill most of the space between them and set his hand on her shoulder. Emma, who he should be comforting as they worry about the well-being of their son. With the touch of his hand, she turns and cradles herself in his chest, her head tucked between his shoulder and his neck.
Why would she even come here to talk to him? The question hits him in an instant, almost knocks him off his feet, just thinking that she chose to come and talk to this villain when she just as easily could have talked to him.
And then, when he watches as she pulls away from his body just enough to stare into those damned blue eyes for a moment, he's sure he has the answer. He has seduced her, has used that charm of his on Emma, on his Emma, the woman that was supposed to be with him.
The same way he had seduced and stolen his mother from him all those years ago.
Yes , that has to be it. He has her under his spell, has made a deal with Rumplestiltskin or with Pan in order to seduce her and ruin Neal's life and the life of their son.
But then, she leans towards him, her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulls him towards her at the same time, and kisses him. Hook cannot manage to hide the surprise on his face, his eyes still widened for a moment before gently falling shut, sliding his hand up her back just to thread it through her hair. Neal takes a step back, trying to keep the few contents of his stomach down.
What the ever-living fuck? The nerve of that pirate, to put his hands on her, to touch her lips with his vile, wicked ones. Emma belongs to him, was made to be with him , not with the actual motherfucker Captain Hook .
The thought sickens him, the same lips that were once on the lips of his mother now on her. He was the first person to show her pleasure, the first person granted the ability to feel her skin under his fingers, to feel her come apart beneath him. He claimed her as his own all those years ago and he will do whatever needs to be done to have her all to himself again.
He is pulled back to reality by a groan from one of the two of them on the ship, and he watches in disgust as their kiss deepens. Every muscle in his body wants to run out from his hiding spot and stop them, pull them apart before something happens that would ruin him forever — and honestly, he's not sure what stops him.
“Swan,” Hook says, thankfully pulling out of the kiss, but presses his forehead against hers, his eyes never leaving hers. He looks like he wants to say more, but he stays silent for what must be the first time in his life.
“Please, Hook,” she says, her voice so soft that Neal is not even sure how he hears it.
“Tell me what you want, darling, and I assure you that I shall make it yours.”
She leans forward once again, her cheek pressed to his heart as she slowly moves her hands from around his neck, running them down his chest and back up under the lapels of his leather duster. As it falls to the deck with a thump, she draws her face back up to his, kissing him again. It's not the same kind of slow, emotional kiss as the last one; instead, this one is full of fervor, of lust and passion and energy, and Neal feels sick again, but when Emma speaks again, he has to swallow the bile that rises up his throat:
“No one has ever believed in me like that before.” She pulls away to speak to him, and he begins to run his lips down her neck, pressing soft kisses against her perfect porcelain skin. “You deserve some gratitude for that, at least.” His lips have reached the edge of her shirt, and she takes a step away from his grasp. For a moment, Neal basks in the fact that she has changed her mind about that vile man, is turning him down the way he deserves to be rejected — but then she slides her hands down her own body and grips the bottom of her tank top, pulling it up over her head and discarding it on the deck.
Now this must be a trick. One of Pan's tricks, perhaps, or still the spell that Hook must have over Emma. Because there is no way that this is his Emma, the timid girl who hid her emotions from the world, who had trouble voicing her needs because no one had ever asked about them before. He can't tear his eyes from her body, and he notices the ways she has changed, how the years have written their existence over her skin. She is bigger than she was back then, the skin around her hips stretched from where she held his child inside of her. She's in good shape, her muscles toned, but her breasts have grown, visible even through the pale grey sports bra that remains. She moves back towards Hook, who Neal realizes has not moved, has done nothing in response to her undressing than simply staring at her, and she fists the edges of his vest, pulling his lips back to hers. It does not take long before they begin exploring each other, Hook's good hand wrapped around her to pull her flush with him while she keeps one of hers in his hair, the other sliding slowly down his back. When her hand curls around his stomach, the other falling to meet it at the buttons of his vest, he pulls his lips away from hers.
“Swan, are you sure? There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, surely you know that, but if this is not what you want—”
“Please, Hook, will you just shut up?”
Neal can't contain the laugh that rises through him. Emma never was one for talking, but when she continues to unbuttoning the fasteners of his vest, all of his laughter is gone again. Within moments, the vest has joined Emma’s tank top on the deck of the Jolly , revealing the rest of his hair-covered chest, as well as his mangled, scar-covered back. He is disgusting , the years of too many lifetimes criss-crossing across his skin, not to mention the rough leather straps of his brace that twist around his body. He pulls her tight against him again, fusing his mouth to hers, and he does not understand how she could possibly be attracted to that grotesque, incomplete man. Her hand is in his hair again, the other feeling its way across the marks on his back.
His hand slowly rises from her hip and up her stomach, his fingers feeling the lines that Neal left on her body when she carried his son. A new wave of anger rolls through him, knowing that his fingers should be the only ones able to feel those marks, the only ones that should be able to appreciate her skin.
But his anger turns to disgust again when Hook’s fingers slide under the elastic of her sports bra, wrapping his hand around one of her breasts. He can see his fingers move under the fabric, swiping across her nipple as she moans into his mouth, a noise so loud that Neal can hear it from his hiding spot.
“How do I remove this bloody insolent garment?” he asks, his voice rough as his hand snakes around the back only to find no fasteners.
Emma does it for him, crossing her arms across her body to pull it over her head and reveal herself to him. When Hook takes a moment to take her in, astounded by the perfection that sits in front of him, Neal does the same thing, feeling his cock twitch in his jeans even though he has never been more disgusted in his life. She has always had perfect breasts, has never felt anything more glorious than when he held them in his hands, and they have only gotten more perfect in the years since he has seen her. But those should be his hands around them, his thumb swiping across her nipple, and not him .
He thought just this was bad enough, and then he watches as Emma reaches down and wraps her hand around the metal of his hook before pulling it up and touching her chest with it. With that thing , the ever-present evidence of his deformity. How could she want that to touch her the way that he should be touching her.
“Are you sure, love?”
“Do I look like I’m not sure?”
Neal can see him grinding his jaw together, can see the muscles rippling under his scruff, but the pirate says nothing else before leaning down and pressing his lips against her collarbone, down her chest, until he reaches one of her nipples, glancing up at her before taking it into her mouth.
Amateur mistake, Neal knows. She was never the biggest fan of that, of the feeling of his mouth against anywhere except her own —
But, in place of the scolding he expects to hear from her, she instead lets out a loud groan, a noise unlike anything he has ever heard from her before. She can’t — it doesn’t make any — that’s impossible. He switches sides, planting kisses as he does, and replaces his hook with his mouth, his hand returning back to her nipple. None of this is fair. Neal hates every moment of what he’s seeing, but still finds himself unable to turn away, even as Emma’s hands slide down his stomach and begin to unlace his leather pants.
Leather pants . What kind of a man do you have to be to wear leather pants every day ? Neal shudders just thinking about the toll that takes to his body, especially one very specific part of his body — a specific part of his body that Emma reaches into his pants and wraps his hand around, eliciting groans from both of them.
“Emma, love, are you sure — “
“I swear, Jones, if you ask me whether I want this or not, I will walk back to the campsite right this moment.”
He chuckles, a sound that Neal feels in his bones like nails on a chalkboard. “I was going to ask if you were sure that you wanted to do this on the deck, when there is a perfectly acceptable cabin just below us that would provide a bit more privacy.”
“Who’s going to find us, Jones? Everyone else is back at camp, and here is the last place anyone would come looking for us.”
“Bit of a daredevil then, are you, Swan?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asks, then pulls his lips back to her own.
But he backs away from her again after a moment, just enough that he can look at her. “Perhaps I would.” The seriousness of his expression is almost too much for Neal, but it is gone in the blink of an eye when Emma draws his mouth to hers, kissing him again. Quickly, he turns them to push her against the railing, jamming his hook into the wood there. He can see that Emma is pulling him free of his leathers, pushing them further down his legs, but they are at such an angle that he cannot see any of Hook’s body, just the top of his head as he dips it down to press his lips to her breasts again, and she must have taken his cock in her hand again, because he suddenly stands straight again, his eyes held tightly shut as his hand snakes down between them.
“Fuck, Jones,” she moans. “I need you. I need you now .”
“Patience, love,” he says back, and by the movement of his shoulder that Neal can see over Emma, he has started pleasuring her with his fingers. “I need you to come for me first, darling,” he says, and Neal shakes his head. He had tried that too many times to count, and it never worked. She always required more than that, needed to take him inside her to reach her peak — another thing Hook would never have known that Neal thinks about on a regular basis.
He can tell that her lips have started bucking against him, though, moreso after his lips find her nipple again, and when he stops to rid her of her jeans, Emma pulls her hand out of his hair, ungripping the railing with the other, and helps him, stepping out of her boots before depositing her pants on the deck with the rest of their clothing..
“Can I taste you, darling?” Hook asks, his voice deep with need, desire, and… something Neal cannot quite place. There is no conceivable way that he should have heard that, with the pirate’s lips pressed up against Emma’s ear, but he did nonetheless, most likely carried to him with the wind off the water. Emma hates oral, both giving and receiving, and he smiles thinking about her turning him down.
But her words don’t come, and Neal watches in disgust as Hook falls to his knees in front of her, his lips trailing down her stomach to meet where his hand is still moving against her. He pulls his hook from the railing, sliding the sharpened tip of it against her skin, down her back and around the front of her leg, pulling it up so she can rest her foot on the railing before he can begin.
Neal can tell the moment Hook’s lips reach her skin, since she tosses her head back, one hand gripping the railing while the other threads her fingers through his hair.
“Fuck, Jones,” she moans, her voice getting under Neal’s skin, especially because he should be the one with his lips on Emma's clit, her fingers in his hair as he slides his fingers into her — but instead, he is hiding behind a bush, watching the man he hates the most in the world do exactly that to the woman that should be his.
In an unbelievable amount of time, Emma’s breaths have become moans, matching the snap of her hips against the pirate’s lips.
“That’s it, darling,” he mutters, his fingers continuing what he started with his mouth. “Keep going, love. Take what you need.”
Her head is still thrown back, but that does not stop her from laughing. “What I need is you inside me right now .” There is an anguish in her voice, a tone unlike Neal has ever heard before, especially mixed with her laughter and her breathlessness from her climax that she can't possibly still be riding , he assures himself, even as he watches her continue to buck against him as he stands back up to meet her.
“Even I can't deny the lady that,” he says, his voice dripping with his want for her as he presses against her, his erection now visible to Neal through Emma's still-parted legs.
No wonder he knows how to pleasure a lady , Neal can't help but think, trying his damnedest not to compare himself to the man he sees before him, though it is immensely difficult.
“Get on the deck,” she commands, and he agrees immediately, pulling out of her embrace to lie on his back, though not before Emma pulls a blanket out of thin air.
Magic , Neal reminds himself. Right.
Once he is on his back, Emma kneels down, straddling his knees, and takes him into her hand again. He watches Hook as he watches Emma, and both of them widen their eyes when she bends down to take him in her mouth, bobbing up and down a few times on top of him before releasing him completely and crawling up to straddle his hips with her own, but she keeps her hand wrapped around his cock, immediately using it to guide him inside her so she can sink down on top of him, wasting no time at all.
“Gods, Emma,” he says, his hand reaching out to grip Emma's hip, and he sneers at them when he sees her reach for his hook, guiding it to press against her other hip. Neal can practically feel her around him, walls stretched to fit him inside, and for a moment, he thinks about reaching into his pants and freeing himself, pleasuring himself with memories of Emma and very real visions of her now-grown body before him. His hand twitches with the movement, almost ready to do it, but the next thing he hears stops him, his need for release once again replaced with a flip of his stomach:
“Fuck, Killian, yes, oh yes .”
Killian?
Hearing Hook's real name from her lips, a reminder that he is a person, a person she might actually have feelings for, disgusts him even more than watching them fuck each other on the deck of his ship.
But he still can't tear his eyes away.
“Emma, gods, love , so incredible, so bloody tight and perfect around me. Fuck , you're beautiful, gorgeous, ethereal, and I've wanted to make you mine since the moment I first saw you.”
Neal's not sure how he's managed all of this without getting sick. Emma is his , not that pirate's , and nothing he says while driving in to her will change that for any of them. Besides, Emma was never a big talker, just wanted to focus on the task at hand and not get distracted by —
“Please, no, don't stop, Killian,” she cries, and Neal realizes that Hook's hand has made its way back between her legs, that he is rubbing circles over her bundle of nerves with his thumb. That must be what she's talking about, obviously, and not —
“Do you like this, darling? When I fill you up, when you take control? When I tell you how absolutely fucking stunning you are, a sight I will never tire of as you ride on top of me, as I fill you to the brim and you come apart under my fingers?”
He must have felt her nearing it, because as he says this, she throws her head back again, the breathless moans she emits almost enough to make him come right there.
“Killian,” she moans, bucking her hips wildly against him, but neither of them stop. His thumb is still against her clit, their hips still meeting each other with every thrust, but her breaths have turned to deep moans, his name whispered softly between them.
“I can't hold on much longer, love,” he says after a little, slowing the movements of his hips, but she shakes her head, not letting up at all.
“Don't care,” she breathes, and Neal hopes for a moment that she is going to deny him his release. But, of course, he's wrong. “It's safe, I can't — nothing can happen,” she assures him, her hands pressed against his chest, her fingers running through the hair that covers his chest.
She can't actually think that's attractive, can she?
When he picks the pace back up, her breaths become whimpers with each snap of his hips, his hook pressing an indentation into her perfect ass.
“Fuck, Emma, you're perfect, absolutely fucking perfect, you were made for me to fill you up, made to take me in and — fuck , love, I'm — I'm there,” and his words are replaced with low groans as he fills her, as he spills his seed inside her.
Neal had managed to get this far without upchucking, but this is the thought that finally does it, the contents of his last meal rising up his throat as he thinks about that pirate filling his Emma not just with his whoring cock, but with his cum . As hard as it is, he manages to push it back down, knowing that giving in would mean giving away his position and therefore revealing that he's been there the whole time.
When Emma does not leave him there immediately, stays spread out on top of him with him still inside of her, Neal knows it should be time to leave. Emma was never one for sticking around after sex, even when they shared a bed. She would always climb off of him and make her way to the bathroom, coming out a few minutes later in her pajamas, having cleaned herself up. But the seconds add themselves up, neither of them seeming to be in a hurry to move, and Neal is bothered again. They should be moving, should be redressing, not laying there slowly kissing, still wrapped around each other, mumbling things to each other — somehow the first things he has been unable to hear since finding them.
“We should get back to camp,” Hook says finally, but Emma does not respond. Neal has to squint to make sure he is not seeing things when he notices that she is playing with the hair on his chest, running her fingers through it. “Your parents will be looking for you soon, not to mention Bae and the Evil Queen.”
Neal , he thinks, grinding his teeth. My name is Neal .
“You can't mention this to anyone, alright?” she asks, running her hand up his chest to rest it against his face. “I have a lot of things I need to figure out with everyone back there, and this would just muddle everything.”
“Of course, love. I understand. I only hope that means you don't regret it.”
Emma is silent for a moment. “Of course I don't, Killian. Its just… complicated.”
“Aye. Complicated.”
Emma begins to stand up, finally, and Neal decides he has seen enough, his feet finally able to take him away from this place.