Happy Birthday kmomof4 !!! You are such a wonderful, lovely person and I hope you have a fantastic day :)
You are a great beta and such a supportive, kind, and patient reader and you honestly helped me start writing again so I hope this shows you my gratitude just a little bit.
You said your favourite CS trope was Neverland smut (preferably with Neal nearby) and I got carried away so here you go!
Complete PWP/smut with some feelings? But like season 3 level feelings :p This is filthy and I hope you like it!
Set after Dark Hollow and for the sake of this fic let’s just pretend that there was a night between them capturing the shadow and meeting the Charmings ;)
Emma had always imagined sleeping with two men. It was one of her more intimate fantasies, one she kept for herself when the nights got to be a little too lonely. But this, this couldn’t be further from how she’d pictured it - laying on the hard, dirt floor in the middle of a sweltering jungle with two 200-plus year-old children.
Because that’s what they are really. Two bratty kids in grown-up bodies, fighting over a goddamn lighter while some evil, shadow creature tried to kill them. Because that’s her life now. Emma huffs, the sticky heat of the Neverland twilight causing beads of sweat to pool in her collarbones and in her hair.
She rolls over onto her side, facing Neal who sleeps peacefully beside her. What the hell is wrong with him? When she’d been young she’d thought he was so cool, so mature, she’d felt so grown up for dating an older guy. Now she can’t imagine how she never saw how petty and selfish he really is. Their son was here. Henry was in danger and Neal decided this was the best time to enter a pissing contest with a pirate. They almost died!
She flips over again, anger burning through her limbs and making her restless and anxious. Her eyes land on Hook where he lays asleep not two feet from her, his hand on his sword and his brow pulled down in a frown, his shape fading with the light. The anger leaves her all at once as a new feeling comes sweeping in to take it’s place. A tightness in her chest, her throat feeling thick as her heart races. She hates it, tries to grab hold of the anger again but it won’t come. They almost died. Hook almost died. She just keeps picturing it - Hook pinned up against the rock, begging her to get away while his shadow is ripped from his body.
He’s fine. She tells herself. He’s alive. He’s right there and he’s breathing and you saved him. But the feeling, the tight, constricting, choking feeling, won’t go away. It wants something - needs it. She just needs to be sure. Feel his heart beating under his ribs, feel his chest rising and falling under her hand. Just once. Just to be sure.
She repeats it to herself as she crawls across the dirt and the rocks to his side. She hates the way that just being a little closer to him both alleviates the pain in her chest and makes her heart race faster. She reaches out, her hand coming to rest lightly under the lapel of his heavy, leather coat.
A shaky breath leaves her before her world turns upside down and suddenly she’s on her back, her shoulder blades hitting the earth with a thud that knocks the air out of her lungs. There’s a hand at her throat, not squeezing but holding her down, holding her in place - not that she could move with the weight of his body pinning her down. She can feel the cool, sharp curve of metal on her belly. Right. Well what did she expect, waking a sleeping pirate?
Hook glares down at her from where he kneels, sitting astride her hips, and she’s suddenly aware of how close they’re pressed together. She tries to ignore the heat of his hand right above her breasts and the weight of his hips against her own as he blinks at her, the sleep slowly clearing from his eyes. The tightness in her throat is washed out by relief and adrenaline and something else she won’t give a name to. He’s alive. He survived. He always does. And now he’s here and he’s real and still fighting. And he’s warm. He's so warm. She swallows, her throat dry.
“Swan?” he asks, surprised, confused, guilty, as he realises what he’s doing. Emma feels his hand pull away and acts before she can think. She surges up. She doesn’t know what she’s doing but all she knows is that she doesn’t want him to take his hand away. Doesn’t want this feeling - this weird, light-hearted heat, this buzz that’s running through her - to go away. Everything that’s happened. All of it is just gone for one tiny second and she wants to enjoy it.
It’s not so much a kiss as it is a smashing together of open mouths. It’s fast and hard and it catches him off guard. But he makes that sound. That damn sound he made the last time - in a different part of the jungle, the last time this feeling came over her, somehow it always seems to find her around him - somewhere between a gasp and a groan, surprised and hungry as he breathes her in deeply through his nose.
She pulls back and looks up at him. His eyes are hooded, dazed, his lips still parted as he sits frozen for a moment. Emma holds still, waiting, wondering if she screwed up, but he finally looks down at her, eyes searching her face for something and god she hopes he’s finding it because her heart’s about to beat out of her chest and there’s a desperate heat settling in the pit of her stomach.
His eyes leave hers, trailing down to where his hand still rests below her throat and Emma swallows. This is killing her. Waiting for him to do something. Anything. But he doesn’t move. For so long, he doesn’t move. And then finally, when she thinks she can’t take it anymore, he does. He watches his hand as it slides down from her neck to the valley between her breasts and Emma can’t help herself anymore, she’s so wound up from him not touching her that his fingers sliding over her skin feel like a burn and a balm all at once.
Her back arches under his palm, her teeth catching a small whimper as it tries to escape her throat, and his eyes snap to hers. There it is. That same look he had right before she kissed him the first time and she can’t stop herself now anymore than she could then.
She grabs the leather of his jacket and pulls his mouth down to hers. He’s ready for it this time, his lips meeting hers much more artfully than she had. God, he’s good at this. She forgot how good he was. That kiss had replayed in her mind over and over for the last few days but holy hell her memory had not done him justice. He kisses her with purpose, lips and teeth pulling at her own, tongue flicking out to tease but never giving her what she really wants. She’s on fire, squirming under him as her fists tighten in his jacket and all the blood rushes to where his body meets hers. But he doesn’t do anything else. Doesn’t move to touch her any more than he already is and she needs him to. But he doesn’t move. So she does.
She trails her hand from its spot on his chest, sliding over his stomach, thrilling when she feels his muscles jump under her touch. But when she reaches his belt, his mouth breaks away from hers, hook stalling her hand.
“Emma,” he breathes, and Emma feels another rush of heat flood through her at how wrecked he sounds. He doesn’t want to stop. She can tell he doesn’t, can feel the evidence of it pressing up against the heel of her palm. But he doesn’t move his hook. He swallows, painfully, and when he speaks again his voice is strained, a rasped whisper. “Baelfire,” he warns, casting his eyes to where Neal still sleeps.
Emma barely spares him a glance. “I don’t care,” she tells him, slowly unbuckling his belt and reaching for his laces.
“Emma...” he whispers again but there’s no conviction in it this time. He needs this as much as she does. Whatever he was going to say is cut off by his choked gasp as her hand slips inside his leathers, fingers brushing his already straining member.
Any scrap of self control he had left is gone in a second as he practically lunges for her mouth, bypassing any teasing this time as his lips slant over hers, forcing her mouth open as his tongue delves deep, exploring, desperate. Emma gasps as his hook slides over the skin above the waist of her jeans - dipping in before moving to push her shirt up out of the way - but it’s swallowed by another kiss, a nip to her lip that she can tell is a warning - be quiet.
Emma glowers at him, fingers moving to wrap around his cock and Hook nearly lets out a moan before he catches himself, lips clamping shut and burying his face into the crook of her neck. She can’t help but feel a little smug - until she feels his tongue dart out to lick at her collarbone, his hand finding one of her breasts. She writhes beneath him as his teeth and lips work their way up her neck to her ear, to the sensitive spot just below it, his deft fingers shoving her bra out of the way as his thumb circles a nipple. Emma bites her lip so hard she nearly draws blood.
She can feel his damn smug smirk against her skin and she promises herself she’ll remember to be annoyed about that later but right now all she can think about is his mouth moving towards her other breast and the feel of him hot and wanting in her palm. She slides her hand along the length of him, enjoying the way his thumb scrapes just a bit harder against her nipple in reaction, but she can’t touch him the way she wants to like this. She tries to get a better angle and he must notice because he pulls back enough to give her room to maneuver.
There’s an awkward shuffle as they readjust their position until he has one knee between her own, a thigh pressed against her heat and her free hand grasps his bicep at the new feeling. He leans back again, hand and hook going to his jacket to open it and let it hang around the both of them, shielding them from view - or at least shielding their hands. Emma has a brief thought of what a gentlemanlike move that was before Hook shoves her bra out of the way and closes his mouth around her and she has no thoughts at all except yes and more.
She needs more of him. More of him touching her, more of his skin under her hands, more of the quiet little choked sounds he keeps letting out. She arches up against his mouth, against his tongue drawing circles around the tip of her breast, somehow managing to simultaneously grind her hips against his thigh as her hand starts to move again. But it’s not enough. His mouth leaves her as she strokes him, head falling against her shoulder as his hook digs into the dirt beside her. She can feel the sweat beading on his temple as their hips move in tandem, his against her hand and hers against his thigh. More, god she needs more.
“Please,” she whispers, turning her head to breath it into his ear and she barely catches his nod before the button of her jeans is undone and he’s there. A cry leaves her and they both freeze, faces turning to where Neal lies, unmoving. An eternity passes, hearts racing with both need and fear. Hook moves to pull away but she stops him with a swipe of her thumb over the head of his cock.
He looks at her then, questioning, searching. Are they really doing this? Five feet away from where Neal sleeps, oblivious? Emma meets his eyes, a challenge in hers. She knows he’s waiting for her to decide, can feel the strain in every single one of his muscles, can see it in the set of his jaw as it clenches. She nods.
His eyebrow raises, not in challenge or in smugness, in awe and uncertainty, and something about the vulnerability of his expression makes her pause, wonder if this is a mistake, if this means more to him than it does to her. If it means more to her. The thought terrifies her but his gaze keeps her there and when his fingers start to move again she decides she doesn’t care. Right now, in the midst of the magic, and the confusion and the uncertainty, in the middle of Neverland, surrounded by trees and dirt and rocks and him, she just doesn’t care. Just this once, she can let it mean whatever the hell it does or doesn’t. She just needs him.
They move together, hands and hips finding a rhythm as they both climb higher and higher. Emma can barely focus on anything under the skilled ministrations of his fingers as they move inside her - sliding, pushing, circling. One of her hands finds its way into his hair, pulling hard as she whispers incoherent filth into his ear. Yes, please, god, Hook, there, yes. She knows she’s taking a risk, being too loud but she doesn’t care. She just needs him to keep doing what he’s doing, she’s so close but it’s not what she wants. She wants more. She always wants more with him.
“Hook,” She catches his earlobe between her teeth before she begs him in a choked whisper. “I need you.” He looks at her, that self-doubt there again, and her fingers curl in the hair at the nape of his neck and she knows he can hear what neither of them are saying - what she’ll surely never say. I want you.
“Aye,” is all he says in answer, leaning down to press his forehead against hers, taking a moment to compose himself. She takes it too, lets the need racing through her blood cool but not dissipate, settling in a simmer that raises goosebumps across her skin and burns like fire when he touches her.
He rolls onto his side beside her, between her and Neal. “Turn over, love,” he whispers and she does, twisting until her back is against his chest and her ass is nestled against his hard length that’s half spilling out of his pants. He wraps his coat around them again, angling himself so that she must be nearly invisible, dwarfed behind his broad form.
She wants to see him, see him panting and wanting, pants hanging open, cock hard and desperate for her. But they don’t have time. She knows it and he knows it too. His hand is quick, making easy work of the zipper of her jeans and shoving them down enough that she can get a leg out while she reaches back behind her to try shove his own pants down further. He pulls her thigh back over his own, spreading her for him and Emma’s hand claws at the ground in front of her, grasping for anything to hold on to, to root her in place as his fingers find her clit and start tracing slow, deliberate circles.
If she could make any noise, she knows she’d be sobbing, her whole body is shaking, already on the edge - she can’t remember the last time it felt this good. It shouldn’t feel this good. But instead her cries get caught in her throat and she lets her hips say what she can’t as she grinds wantonly against his hand. She feels dirty and hot and sinfully good spread out like this with his hand between her thighs while another man sleeps behind them. But there’s a safety to the way she’s wrapped up in his jacket, surrounded by his smell, a safety that feels intimate, private.
“Hook. Now. Please.” She remembers to whisper - barely. “I want you inside me.”
His answering groan is pressed against the nape of her neck and she barely has time to miss his hand as it leaves her to grab hold of his straining member, before he pushes in, slick and hot and so damn full. She’s so full, the size of him, the stretch and the burn and he needs to move - now. And -
There’s a shuffling behind them and Emma’s heart drops into her stomach. She hears Neal stand, mumbling, half asleep as he stumbles into the woods. He can’t see them. There’s no way. It’s pitch black. She can barely see a foot in front of her here under the canopy of leaves above their heads, blocking out the stars and the moon. It feels like ages before they hear him shuffle back, collapsing on the floor with his back to them. There’s silence and then… a snore drifts over.
A sigh of relief washes through them and Hooks head falls to her shoulder. Holy shit. That was too close. Hook shakes his head and it’s a moment before she realizes he’s holding back a laugh. She can’t hold back her own either, she feels like a teenager sneaking around and it’s fun. Even with everything going on, with all the drama, she’s having fun and she’s having it with Hook. A silent laugh shakes her and Hook stops, his hand squeezing her hip as his teeth bite down on her shoulder to muffle a groan.
Emma is suddenly very aware of the very hard, very real feel of him still inside her and the very real surge of need that courses through her at that realisation. It’s only a moment before Hook’s hand reaches up to find her breast, sliding up under her shirt, his skin fire against her own as his palm burns a trail up her stomach to finally grind down over her nipple. It tightens under his touch and a shock of pleasure shoots down to her her core, clenching hot and wet around him.
She rocks back against him and it’s all the encouragement he needs before he’s moving, pulling out slowly so she can feel every inch of him as he drags against her walls before thrusting back in, hard and fast and so perfect. Her hand goes to the back of his head, fingers burying in his hair, as his own goes to her inner thigh, hoisting it further up over his hip before his fingers find her clit again, circling in time with his thrusts as he moves, faster and faster within her.
Emma turns her head, burying it in her shoulder, biting at the skin here to muffle her cries as he works her higher and higher with his fingers and his cock and his breath on her neck. She’s so close, she’s so close she can almost feel it, almost there.
Hooks voice is in her ear, barely audible even in the silence that surrounds them. “Come on, love. Come on. Let me see you fall apart. Take what you need.”
She rocks her hips back against his, taking him for everything he has, meeting him thrust for thrust. She stretches, hiking her leg further up his hip and he sinks even deeper. Yes, yes yes.
“Bloody hell, Emma,” he growls and she slaps a hand over his mouth, muffling his moans. They don’t stop, breathed against her hand as hers are silenced against her shoulder as he thrusts, faster and faster, his fingers winding in tighter and tighter circles until finally she breaks, back arching and fingers digging into the skin of his cheek as she rides out her high. Hook’s arm comes around her waist, pulling her close, nose buried in her hair, and she jerks with the aftershocks as he continues to rock into her once, twice more before he pulls out and spills himself, warm and slick, on her inner thigh.
Silence hangs over them, deafening and heavy, their breaths loud and incriminating in the darkness as they pant and gasp and come back to themselves. This is the moment. The moment where Emma needs to stand, clean herself off and walk back over to where she’d been sleeping. Tell him it was never going to happen again or even better never speak of it - pretend it hadn’t even happened.
But she doesn’t want to. She wants to lay here, wrapped up in Hook’s arms and jacket with his breath on her neck and his skin against hers until she falls asleep. She wants to turn her head so that she can kiss him, so she can see if he looks as sated and wrecked as she feels, so she can check that her nails didn’t cut him, that she didn’t mar his damn perfect face. And that scares her more than anything ever has.
Emma lays still, not knowing what to do, this feeling is new and strange and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. She knows he won’t make the first move, he’ll wait until she decides because that’s what he always does and that just makes it even harder to leave the strength of his arms and the rise and fall of his chest against her back.
She’s still warring with herself when she hears Neal get up again.
He sighs. “I’ll give you two a minute,” he mutters before he walks off into the jungle a second time.
That breaks the spell and Emma jumps up, righting her clothes and practically running to lie down in her own designated patch of dirt. He lets her go.
She hears Hook sigh wistfully from her spot across the clearing and closes her eyes, wishing she didn’t know exactly how he was feeling. Don’t, she tells herself. Just let it be what it was, a one time thing. But as she drifts off to sleep, she finds herself rolling over, trying to make out his shape in the darkness, hear his breath in the quiet jungle. A one time thing. Nothing more.
The don’t see Neal again until morning.