#priest!killian

Several times a week, Emma makes confession to him, starting by listing silly things she’s done like throwing away her leftovers because she didn’t like them but felt too guilty to refuse a to-go box, or double parking someone at the post-office because she was just running in for a second. But every once in a while, she teases him by confessing her impure thoughts for a man of the cloth, her knowledge of his fidelity to the church just barely outweighing her desperation for him. It’s driving him mad to absolve her, to tell her that she is doing the right thing by ignoring her desires. 

  But today, she’s meeting him after telling him the night before after his service had ended that she needs counsel from a man of God. He can only hope it’s for the usual things he deals with, like mild anxiety or feelings of uncertainty surrounding her faith, but based on his knowledge of her after all these months, he knows it must be something else. 

  A part of him, the part that the devil likes to taunt, hopes it’s something else. 

  There’s a soft knock on the door and he calls for her to enter, the heavy slab of wood gliding across the stone floor until she peeks her head through. “Father?” she asks, and the tone of her voice does something to him despite being referred to as his title each and every day. 

  “Hello,” he returns, clearing his throat. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you for seeing me,” she says softly, giving him a smile that makes his heart race. Her cheeks are flushed and pink, and he hopes it’s from the cold air she had to walk through to get to him. “It’s comforting to know that I have someone I can talk to.”

  “Of course, love,” he says, wanting to kick himself at the informality. They’ve spent months getting to know each other, although it’s always with a partition between them and with the possibility that someone could overhear. He clears his throat. “Uh, my child. What brings you to seek counsel this evening?” 

  She swallows, gulps, and he notes the anxious bounce of her right leg causing her heel to tap

against the floor. “Well, I… I’m worried, Father.”

  “What about?” he asks with concern. Despite how clearly he knows that he should stop, he cares about her deeply and struggles to hide his concern for her. 

  “My symptoms,” she says softly, timidly, “they haven’t gotten any better.”

  His heart rate picks up as she mentions her symptoms. He begins to sweat, his collar feeling much too tight as he realizes exactly to what she’s referring. “I see. And, um, you’ve tried what we’ve discussed?” 

  She nods solemnly. “Yes, I’ve been praying and praying each day, but my desires continue to plague my mind and body.” 

  His mouth goes dry and his stomach curls in knots. “Remind me, child, of what desires you speak, exactly?” 

  She bites her full bottom lip and stares at him through her thick, black lashes. “My desires to be with a man of the cloth. Not only to be with him physically— to show him what he’s been missing in his years of service to God— but also… to be with him. To spend a lifetime with him. To love and be loved by him.”

  He stands from his chair, hearing it scrape against the rough stone, and walks around the desk towards her with haste. He’s hardly able to breath, each puff of air coming out hot and short, and he notes the rapid rise and fall of her own chest as her breasts swell against the tight, low cut top she wears. Clearly, it’s another one of the devil’s tests, and he’s about to fail. He kneels before her and takes her hands, placing both sets in her lap. “And your prayers have not worked?” 

  Shaking her head, she says, “each time I pray to God to ask Him to steer me in the right direction, I see an image of you before me. How can I follow God’s will if, each time I try, I’m met with that which I am trying so desperately to avoid?”

  “Avoid?”

  Her mouth is downturned, open slightly, her brows straining in concern and her chest heaving as she pants through her nerves. “I wish I could see and speak to you each and every day, Father. But I know that if I were to do just that, I would never stand a chance. I would never fall out of love with you.”

  He stops breathing, releasing her hands from his own and reaching them into her hair as he grazes his fingers along her scalp in a way that makes her lashes flutter over her cheeks. “Emma,” he breathes against her mouth, coming closer and closer to her as he feels her breathing picking up. She bites her bottom lip sinfully again, tracing her own fingers along the edge of his collar before he closes his eyes as well. 

  He hasn’t kissed a woman in ages, but he knows with certainty that the kiss they share now is more passionate and more meaningful than any he’s ever had. It’s soft and gentle, allowing both of them the opportunity to melt into the other’s hold, before she pulls away breathlessly and squeezes the collar of his shirt. “I love you,” she whispers, her swollen lips pressed just barely against his mouth. 

  Her expression drives him to madness, to sin, and he lunges for her more powerfully this time, pulling her head to his and kissing her fiercely. She moans lewdly into his mouth as his tongue traces the seam of her lips, her fingers finding their way around his neck and into the thick hair at the back of his head. She pulls him impossibly closer to herself, until his hands slide down her back and lift her from the small chair, placing her on his desk. She separates her knees from one another in order to create enough space for him to rest his hips against hers as he continues to kiss her with the passion he’s been wanting to unleash for months. 

  Parting from her for just a second, he cups her cheeks with his palms and traces her high cheekbones with his thumbs. “I love you, Emma,” he whispers back to her. He furrows his brows and continues to stroke her cheeks, only this time it’s to catch a tear that has slipped from her jade eyes. “What is it?”

  “How can we love each other and never be together?” she cries softly. “How can the Lord be so cruel as to make us so perfect for one another, only to make it impossible for us to love each other the way we both deserve?” 

  He shakes his head, kissing her tenderly once more, and says, “nothing is impossible, my love. I have every intention of being with you from this day forward.” 

  “How can you say that?” she asks with a touch of anger in her voice. 

  “Because I love you,” he answers simply. “Because my love for you is stronger than anything else in this world and in this life. The way that I love you, the way that I intend to love you, transcends the way that I feel about anything and everything else.”

  “What about the church?” she asks him, her fingers tracing along his clerical collar, which suddenly feels much too tight. So tight, that he loosens it and places it on the desk behind her. 

  “The church is not ever going to make me feel the way I feel when I’m with you.” 

  It’s his confession this time that drives the two of them together, her fingers finding her hair again and his pulling on her lower back so that their hips are pressed together firmly. He feels her hooking her ankles together behind his thighs and it makes his stomach churn in the best possible way as he lets his fingers explore the soft skin under her skin tight knit sweater. She moans into his lips again, and the way hers part gives him access to sneak his tongue inside and explore until she begins panting needingly. She tightens her thighs around his hips, pulling him more firmly against herself until he begins to swell against the seam of his pants. That’s when he notices what she’s wearing, the knit sweater paired perfectly with a skirt that was modest in length, especially with her tall boots, until she sat with her thighs spread on his desk. He grinds his own hips against hers and she moans so erotically that it makes his cock pulse harder. 

  “I want you,” she begs against his kiss, swiveling her hips on his. “Please, Father.”

  “ Fuck ,” he groans. “Please call me Killian.”

  She pulls away from him and gives him a smirk so lurid that he loses his breath. “You don’t want me to address you formally?”

  He chuckles breathlessly and says, “I’d rather forget about my ties to the church, if I can. After all, I plan on resigning tomorrow.” 

  She snorts. “Can you even do that?” 

  He shrugs, his palms finding her rear and pulling her to the edge of the desk. “I’ll find out.”

  She lets out a cry, a bit too loud despite the privacy they’ve found in his office, as he tugs her sweater above her head and laps his tongue against the lace of her bra. He wonders if she wore the garment on purpose, with hopes of how the evening would go, and finds himself pulsing in his slacks at the thought. 

  “I’ve not tasted,” he breathes against her hardened nipple, feeling her tug at his hair. “A woman,” he starts again, biting down just hard enough to make her moan. “In quite some time.”

  “ Fuck,” she pants. 

  “And I’ve never met a woman I’ve wanted to taste more desperately than I want to taste you, my love.” He bites her collarbone and then licks the sensitive flesh and her hips cant against his. “May I taste you, Emma?” he whispers against her neck. 

  “God, yes, please,” she starts, but he cuts her off by pressing his finger to her lips. 

  “ Killian ,” he whispers with a smirk. 

  She snorts, and while the sound may detract from the mood slightly, it makes him love her even more. “My apologies,” she jests. “Now, what was it you said you wanted?” 

  He’s practically growling as he places his warm palms on the smooth skin of her thighs, wondering in passing how cold she must’ve been in the chilled fall air on her way into the church. “I want what I’ve wanted since the moment I first laid eyes on you,” he says, sinking to his knees between her thighs. “I want the taste of you on my tongue. I want to make you come so hard you see stars behind your eyes.”

  Her breath catches in her throat at his declaration, and when he runs one finger along her dampened underwear, she gasps and pushes her hips forward until she’s barely hanging on to the edge of the wooden desk. He lets his hot breath flood her sensitive core and she keens at the sensation, her knuckles turning white with the force with which she grips the surface. “Okay,” she whimpers. 

  “Is that something you’d like?”

  “Yes.”

  He hums in agreement and lets his teeth drag the soaked fabric from her, down her thighs until he can tug them with his fingers over her black suede boots. When he’s met with her swollen center, he slowly lets his tongue drag up her slit, collecting some of her arousal so that he can push against her clit until she cries out and tugs on his hair again after pushing her skirt out of the way. With her permission and her obvious enthusiasm, he places her thighs upon his shoulders and grabs her ass with his hands, letting his tongue trace gentle, hot patterns along her core until she’s chanting his name. He feels her squeezing her thighs together against his head, so he moves his right hand from behind her and slides a finger through her arousal, swirling his tongue on her clit and tucking his finger into her, causing her to squeeze harder. 

  “Fuck, yes, Killian,” she praises, pulling on his hair and slamming her other hand against the desk. “Fuck, more.” 

  He hums against her and she cants her hips against his mouth. “You want more?” She nods. “You want two fingers? Three?”

  “Yes, please yes,” she begs. “I want your cock.”

  “Mm mm,” he hums, shaking his head as he drags his tongue over her clit. “Come on my tongue first, love,” he commands as he adds another finger and curls them until she stutters. “Be a good girl and I’ll give you what you want.”

  “Oh fuck,” she moans, her muscles tightening around his fingers. “More,” she begs again. 

  “My, my, someone’s desperate.” He slips a third finger into her and she squeaks out something inaudible, grip somehow tightening on his hair as she comes hard around him. “That’s it, love,” he coaxes, working her through it, not letting up in hopes of preparing her for more. 

  “Shit,” she breathes as she lets her head fall back on her neck. He stands, never letting his fingers stop their slow, languid movements as she continues to twitch around them, and presses soft kisses to the bare skin of her chest, up her neck, until their lips meet. Her breathing continues to stutter against him as he keeps up his ministrations until eventually she’s whimpering against him, nearly ready to come again, so he backs off and removes his hands from her all together. “Mean,” she accuses. 

  With a soft laugh, he begins working on the button of his pants and slides the zipper down. “Apologies, but I believe the lady mentioned wanting something other than my fingers?”

  “Oh, yes,” she agrees fervidly. He feels her fingers against his stomach, pulling at the waist of his pants as if helping him out of them. “I’ve wanted to see your body for so long. You leave way too much to the imagination under that robe.”

  “And what have you imagined?” he asks against her neck. 

  She pulls at his shirt, free of his collar now, until it’s over his head and she’s able to press her palms against his chest. “This,” she breathes, scratching her nails through the coarse hair. “Sometimes I would see your forearms and just imagine how much hair you would have all over.”

  He loses his breath as she leans towards him and licks against his taut nipple and says, “aye.”

  “So hot,” she murmurs against him, dragging her nails down his front and sending a shiver through him. His fly is down but his pants are still up, and she seems disappointed in this as she shakes her head and tugs them down his thighs. The only thing between her hand and his cock is his thin boxer briefs, and she traces her fingers along the outline of his tip and up his shaft so lightly that it makes him shiver again. 

  He slides his hands up her thighs again, scratching his fingers along the way, and hums appreciatively at the feel of her soft skin. “It’s been quite a long time since I’ve...” 

  “I would hope so, Father ,” she flirts, sneaking her hand into his briefs and gripping him with firm tenderness. 

  “What did I tell you?” he bites out, sucking a mark into her neck that she’ll surely wear tomorrow. 

  She moans at the sensation, and at him licking her tender skin. “Killian,” she corrects. 

  He captures her lips in his again, kissing her with a passion he’s been craving to show her for the six months that she’s been coming to mass. Maybe he should’ve known how she felt from the start; there are only a few people in town who attend mass more than once a week, and she’s come to nearly each one, sitting in the front row and constantly crossing and uncrossing her legs. He can only hope that means he’s had an affect on her all along. “I love you,” he mumbles against her mouth as she deepens the kiss, pulling him closer and tugging his underwear down his legs until he can kick them off. 

  She repeats his sentiment back to him again and again as he unhooks her bra and slides it off. She says it again as he pulls her skirt off of her hips, letting it fall to the floor between them. She repeats it once more as he slides his cock up and down through her folds, letting her arousal coat the both of them. It doesn’t take long, given how wet she is, and he’s breathlessly lining himself up to her entrance in a matter of moments. “Please,” she begs again, lacing her fingers into his hair and pulling his mouth back to hers. He tucks himself into her as she kisses him, her tongue exploring his mouth so that he can feel the moan she lets out. 

  He breaks from her and groans into her neck, pulling her close to him so that he can feel her breasts pressed into his chest and her chest and stomach heaving with each heavy intake of breath. He’s glad he brought her close to the edge already, because she feels so perfect around him that he knows he won’t last long. “Fuck, you’re incredible,” he says as he kisses her once more. 

  She starts to become restless in his arms as he pumps into her, and she wriggles to the edge of the desk until he’s picking her up and supporting her weight. She pushes against his shoulders, not breaking their kiss, and guiding him backwards into the chair he scooped her out of. Planting himself down without leaving her core, her suede-covered knees brace herself on either side of his hips until she grips his shoulders firmly and starts riding him mercilessly. The way she thrusts makes her breasts bounce before his face and he can’t help but to sneak a nipple into his mouth, sucking it until she whimpers and digs her nails into his skin. Eventually, when he can hardly take anymore, he plants his feet firmly on the floor and begins to thrust his hips up into her until she’s panting into the skin of his neck. “Don’t stop,” she breathes. Then, “harder.”

  She meets his every movement with her own until he feels her fluttering and squeezing and falling apart around him. He places his fingers against her clit and she cries out, hugging herself to him and shouting his name just a bit too loudly. He praises himself for lasting and, once he’s certain that she’s reached the precipice and is falling off the same edge he’s about to topple over, he praises her as well. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gives in to the building pressure and lets himself go as her tight walls clench around him. 

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, continuing his thrusts as she does the same, holding her around the back of her shoulders and pulling her close to him. He kisses against the skin of her collarbone and then her neck, and then her lips when she gets close enough. “Bloody brilliant.”

  She hums against his kiss, continuing to lazily move her hips against his as she comes down from the high they chased together. “Agreed.”

  He lets out a soft laugh and asks, “worth blaspheming a man of the cloth?” 

  “For me? Absolutely,” she confirms, giggling and hugging him tighter, squeezing his hips with her thighs. “For you?” 

  Be hums thoughtfully. “Aye. Being with the woman I love is all that I need.”

  It’s true, what he tells her that night. He sends his resignation via email in the middle of the night, packing his things while she watches but too tired from their second go round to help him. They leave for Boston the next morning, before anyone can ask questions. He had asked her questions, of course, like whether she would miss Storybrooke or her family. She informed him that she simply came for a job and has no family to speak of, aside from him. And so they travel to Boston, building a life together that’s exactly as they want it.

~~~~

Killian slung the towel back over his shoulder and reached for the small gardening hoe he had set to the side a few moments before, muttered curses towards Storybrooke's weather falling from his lips while he began making holes for the flowers once again.

There seemed to be no relief in sight for the intolerable heat. Even the daily afternoon showers they had been graced with all week had done nothing to penetrate the humidity, sweat and clothes alike still sticking to skin despite the torrential downpours. Working in the non-air conditioned church had become impossible, and the man Robin had recommended to install the AC unit—the only person in a fifty mile radius who could do it—wasn't able to start until next week at the earliest. It had become so unbearable that he had started ditching the dress shirts and wearing his running tanks when not taking confession or giving sermons. Not that Emma seemed to mind the wardrobe change, of course.

He had been in the chapel almost two weeks going over the logistics of adding air conditioning to a 177 year old church with Little John, the AC technician, when Emma arrived for her evening shift. His intention when getting ready that morning had been for practical purposes when it came to the weather, but he hadn't been able to deny the swell of masculine pride that overtook him at Emma's slack jawed expression when she saw him dressed in jeans and a white running tank. She'd been relatively discreet in her gawking as she joined the conversation the two men were having, engaging with Little John in idle chit chat yet looking at Killian with hungry eyes whenever the other man's back was turned. He'd barely closed the doors behind the six-foot technician before she boldly dragged him to one of the back pews and straddled him, leaving both of them gasping and soaked in sweat as his seed coated her inner thighs.

Smirking at the memory and the fact he'd never look at that pew the same way again, Killian let his mind wander as he worked the small garden.

It was surreal at times the speed with which their relationship had changed. A few weeks ago he had been unable to be in the same room with her for fear of being tempted and now he willingly lingered in her presence, openly caressing her body with his eyes and stealing whatever physical moments he could throughout the day. Emma no longer looked or touched him under the guise of innocent intentions either—not that she had done that since before her parent's barbecue. The boldness she had shown during the game of lawn twister and on their front porch had been amplified now that she was unhindered by his spiritual resistance.

It was more than a physical change, however. The friendship they had started to build before their drunken text fiasco had reemerged with him giving into his desires. Dinners on the nights she worked at the church were filled with laughter and stories. They talked about a range of topics from philosophy to the latest news circling around Storybrooke, both within the confines of their shared office and when apart through texting. Not a day went by now where they didn't send each other at least a handful of texts—a random joke they had heard, an online meme they thought the other would find funny, recapping their days—and more than one night he had fallen asleep with his phone in his hand after they bantered back and forth for hours on end.

Even last night they had been up til almost one in the morning, talking about their day and flirting until it had lead to an enjoyable round of phone sex…

"Father Jones?"

Pulled abruptly from his thoughts, Killian turned his head to the side to see Robin standing a few feet away dressed casually in a pair of jeans and forest green t-shirt that had his bar's logo stenciled onto it. His right hand was shoved into the pocket of his pants and a beer, one of the English ones he had imported to Storybrooke fairly often, was held loosely in his other hand.

"Haven't we had this discussion a million times about you calling me Killian?" he asked, sitting back on his legs and squinting his eyes at his best friend, internally cursing the fact he had left his sunglasses at the church that morning.

"Old habits die hard," Robin replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Though I must admit your new attire does make it a little easier to see you as simply Killian and not a priest."

Glancing down at the jeans and black tank he wore, Killian chuckled. "Well, slacks and dress shirts don't make the most comfortable clothes to garden in, mate. Particularly in this heat."

"Point taken." Tilting his head towards the house, Robin asked, "How about a drink? It's been awhile since you took a break, and the last thing I need is for Storybrooke's priest to keel over in my yard from heat exhaustion."

"That I wouldn't say no to," Killian replied, tossing the hand held hoe to the grass and rising to follow his best friend across the yard.

Unlike the Nolans' back porch which wrapped around one corner of their house, Regina and Robin's simply extended outward into their yard. The square structure was framed by a waist high railing and six pillars that supported the mini storage area directly above it. Black wicker furniture with blood red cushions were placed strategically around the porch, the dark colors a perfect complement to the three gray marble table tops that joined each grouping of chairs. A small storage box filled to the brim with Henry's outside toys sat next to the french doors that lead into the house, and simple arrangements of white hydrangeas decorated the table tops in clear vases.

Taking a seat in one of the far corner chairs, Killian nodded in thanks as Robin handed him a cold bottle of water from the small cooler that had been set out for him shortly after his arrival that morning.

"How's it looking?" Robin asked as he sat in the chair directly across from him.

"Not as bad as I thought it would be." Downing half the bottle, Killian continued, "Mr. French had most of the hard work finished, except for the two circular plots Regina wants around the fountains in the front yard. I finished putting the soil in those and now it's just a matter of planting the flowers in all ten gardens."

"You're a lifesaver, Killian. Are you sure we can't pay you directly?"

He waved away the remark with the hand not holding his water bottle. "You're my best friend. Of course I was going to help you in any way I could, and I'm positive on the payment arrangement. Making a donation to the church that will go toward its upkeep helps me a lot more than having the money sit in my bank account."

Robin shook his head. "Still, you're saving me and Regina from having to bring in another landscaper from out of town that is going to charge us an outrageous amount, and then not be as talented as you are."

Killian felt the tips of his ears burn under the praise. "It's just planting flowers, Loxley. There's not much too it."

"On the contrary, there is. Even with my limited knowledge on the subject I know you can't just throw soil on to grass and call it a garden. On top of that, you've managed to pick flowers that are not only aesthetic to our property, but that Regina approves of, and that's not an easy feat to accomplish where my wife is concerned. Her and Moe have been going back and forth for a month now on what to plant and they still hadn't reached a decision when the poor man had his heart attack. You have a talent for it, mate, and remember I know firsthand where it comes from."

Smiling at the mention of his mother, Killian turned his gaze towards the backyard, not really taking in the large apple trees Regina's grandfather had planted or the inground pool in the right corner of the property. It was the kind of space he wished his mother had had to fully nurture her own talent instead of the tiny strip of land that had been their yard back in England. He could only imagine the magnificent floral jungle she would have created, each garden carefully crafted and every flower lovingly tended to. Killian found himself swallowing against the unexpected lump in his throat at the memory of the raven haired woman gently caressing the petals of a daisy, her favorite flower, with a content and ethereal smile on her lips.

"Mum would have been far better at it than me," he murmured, looking back to his friend.

"She definitely had an unmatched talent," Robin conceded, a fond smile pulling at his lips. "Do you remember what she would do to us for punishment when we got into trouble?"

Killian laughed as he leaned back in the wicker chair. "She'd make you work the garden with her and forced me to stand on the side and watch."

"You hated that. For most teenagers, toiling away in soil would have been punishment but not you. She knew forbidding you to work in the garden was pure torture."

The sudden sound of something crashing from within the house had both men looking towards the french doors. Sighing heavily, Robin sat his beer on the table and stood.

"Speaking of boys who get into trouble, I've got to go see what my son is doing."

Killian chuckled as Robin disappeared into the house. He could still remember all the shenanigans him and Robin had pulled when they were that age, and he could only imagine what nefarious deeds a bright lad like Henry had gotten himself into.

He was just about to take another sip of water when the familiar chime of an incoming text message sounded. Wondering who would be texting him at this time on a Saturday, he dug his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. The furrow between his brows instantly disappeared when he saw that the text was from Emma. She had sent him a picture of herself, her toned body clad in an emerald green bikini and stretched out on one of the lounge chairs by her parent's pool, the caption reading: 'Enjoying my day off after the week I've had!'

His eyes took in the miles and miles of skin on display, and he forced his body not to react to the sight. Having an erection on his best friend's back porch in the middle of the day was not something he could easily explain away.

Killian: Minx. You know exactly what you're doing by sending me a picture like that.

Emma: What? I just wanted to show you how I was spending my afternoon, Father. ;p If anything 'pops up' because of it, you can just handle it as you once oh so subtly told me.

Killian chuckled.

Killian: You could always spend the night and handle it yourself, love.

He knew with absolute certainty what her message would be before the three dots appeared on his phone, but it still did nothing to stem the flash of hurt that shot through him as he read her response.

Emma: Unfortunately none of the girls are available to cover for me—next time, I promise. :)

Killian forced a smile despite the fact she couldn't see it.

Killian: Next time. :)

Silencing his phone, he returned it to the front pocket of his jeans and sighed heavily. Having Emma in his bed was everything he had dreamed it would be, except she hadn't stayed in his bed overnight since the first time they slept together.

He hadn't thought much of it the first few times she had given him an excuse—she had an early shift at the station, plans with her friends, some family obligation early the next day—but by the fourth time it had been clear she was actively avoiding overnight stays. He wasn't surprised, however. She had told him herself, albeit in a moment of anger on her parent's back porch, that she was a casual sex kind of girl. It was a way of life he could understand. Before Liam's death and the donning of the white collar at his throat, Killian had been the same way—a different girl every night, always up and gone before the afterglow of sex had worn off. It was a defense mechanism, born out of a need to not let yourself get attached, a means to keep from getting hurt again.

He had fallen into that way of life after his relationship with Milah had ended, and he had a suspicion Emma's reasoning was very similar. Although she had eventually told him about her reason for returning home, she never mentioned any of her other past relationships, and Killian knew her break up with Walsh hadn't brought on the need to protect herself emotionally. She said she hadn't been in love with him, and the kind of response Emma had of avoiding an intimate setting like spending the night was indicative of a wound caused by someone you had loved. No, there was at least one other relationship in her past, and he'd bet every cent donated to the church that person was responsible.

So then why did it bother him that she refused to spend the night? Killian's jaw clenched at the thought. He could understand why she wouldn't, and yet every time Emma came up with an excuse not to stay the night, a part of him was hurt by her decision not to. He shouldn't be, though. It wasn't like they were in a relationship...

"Everything okay, mate?"

Startling at the sound of Robin's voice, Killian looked up from where he had been staring at the marble table top to see his best friend standing in the doorway.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Why do you ask?"

"Because you look like you want to punch my table for offending your sister."

Clearing his throat, Killian nodded. "Sorry, I was just thinking about a problem a parishioner is having. Is Henry okay?"

"Oh, yeah. He was playing with a wooden sword Sheriff Nolan gave him and knocked over a bowl of apples in his attempt to slay the dragon—or the lamp as we unimaginative folks call it," Robin replied with a light chuckle. "I'm going to take him to the library so he can read about sword fighting instead of attempting to do it himself. Do you need anything before I go?"

"No, I'm good. I'll probably just sit here for a few more minutes before I head back to the garden."

"Okay. Take however long you need and remember to rest often in this heat!" Robin called out as he disappeared back into the house with a good-bye wave.

Killian remained on the back porch for a good ten minutes after the sounds of Robin and Henry leaving had faded, his mind instantly returning to the situation he had been pondering seconds before.

The fact he was bothered that Emma refused to spend the night had been a source of personal irritation for him over the last few weeks. He couldn't figure out why he felt the way he did, and for a man who always knew the motivation behind other people's feelings it was maddening. Why did he care so much if she stayed the night or not? It wasn't like her decision to be with him was affected by them not waking up together. She still wanted him—that much was evident in the amount of times they had slept together. Was it because her refusal to do so went against his code as a gentleman? He shook the thought away before he had even finished it. Although he had the manners of someone born in another century he was a modern man, and he'd certainly never felt like he was practicing bad form himself when he didn't stay the entire night in a woman's bed after Milah.

Sighing in frustration, Killian grabbed a fresh bottle of water from the small cooler and made his way off the porch and across Regina and Robin's back yard.

There was logic to some of her excuses as well, like the one she had given today. Emma didn't live on her own and couldn't come and go as she pleased—her absence at home would most certainly be noted by her parents, and there were only four places she could stay overnight that wouldn't raise questions. Emma needed one of the girl's to cover for her, but that also meant she had to come up with a reason for why she wasn't at either home or one of her friend's houses. She couldn't exactly tell them she was spending the night in a priest's bed, after all.

What he did know about the situation was that needing an alibi wasn't the only thing keeping Emma from staying overnight—there was that deeper, more emotional reason to her avoiding the intimate setting, the one that spoke to the pain she tried to hide from everyone. Perhaps it wasn't her refusal that was responsible for his own feelings but the cause behind why she did it. The need to discover what had lead to her walls certainly hadn't abated with the development of their physical relationship, though he'd truly done nothing to suss out and mend her wound so far. What if the sadness he felt was a reminder from his perceptive nature that he needed to concentrate on helping her now that he wasn't fighting temptation with every breath he took?

Well, I can certainly do that now, Killian thought as he reached the small garden he had been working on before Robin pulled him away for a break. It wouldn't be easy, of course. Emma had obviously been holding onto the pain for some time now, and he knew from personal experience that a person who did that wasn't the type to readily open up about it just because someone started prodding at the unhealed emotional scar. They were more likely to lash out and try to protect themselves—just as he had done to Liam and Robin after Milah broke his heart. He was a patient man, though.

Satisfied that he had finally worked out why her actions bothered him, Killian knelt in the freshly trimmed grass and went back to work, all the while ignoring the mocking voice of his older brother.

For such a perceptive man you sure are clueless, little brother.

This was by far one of her more brilliant ideas, Emma thought as she adjusted herself on the mesh pool float, a sigh of contentment escaping her when the back of her sun warmed body dipped even further beneath the cool surface of the water.

Late-July in the south wasn't the most comfortable weather to spend a day outside in, yet she was willing to suffer through it for a little peace after the week she had. A tyrannical bride who Emma had envisioned pushing off a cliff multiple times had postponed her pre-marital counseling sessions, and then became physically hostile when the date and time she wanted hadn't been available. It wasn't anything Emma couldn't handle, but she hadn't expected to start her week off by putting a former head cheerleader in a headlock and then arresting said woman for attempted assault over a time slot.

On top of the right hook swinging bride, someone had decided to break into a few of the local shops over the course of a few nights. Regina had even approved her having over time so they could catch the culprit or culprits, and she knew the only reason that had happened was because Gold's shop had been one of the ones hit. Between that and the drunken escapades of one Will Scarlet—who, surprisingly enough, was not the miscreant of said break-ins—she had also had to take the bug in to have the radiator repaired and, not a day later replaced a flat tire she had acquired thanks to some high school student's prank.

All in all it had been a fairly chaotic week, and she was determined when she clocked out from her evening shift at the station yesterday to have a relaxing day off—a feat she had so far accomplished with the utmost laziness. Sleeping in until nearly ten o'clock, she had then spent the rest of the morning doing nothing but catching up on new episodes of Forensic Files while painting her toes. It had been a little odd to have the entire house to herself, what with her parents visiting her ailing grandmother on the more rural side of town, but after the way her mother had been acting all week she had welcomed the silence.

After finishing her toenails and reading a chapter from her well loved copy of The Princess Bride,she had decided to take advantage of the first full sunny day since last Saturday and made her way out to the pool. She had spent the last three hours alternating between the cool water and one of the covered lounge chairs, the chaos of the week melting away the longer the sun's rays warmed her body. There was no better way to have spent her Saturday, honestly. She was relaxed and pliant as she floated in the pool, basking in the serene and quiet surroundings of her back yard with only the distant sound of a neighbor cutting their grass to interrupt the peaceful afternoon...

"Mind if I join you?"

Startling so much that she almost rolled completely off the float, Emma's head whipped towards the front of the pool area to find her mother standing by one of the red cushioned lounge chairs, looking for all the world like she hadn't just given her only child a miniature heart attack.

"Jesus Christ, mom!"

The school teacher, who was dressed in a light blue one-piece with a pair of aviator sunglasses covering her eyes, huffed in displeasure. "Emma, don't take the Lord's name in vain."

"Well, don't sneak up on someone like that!" Emma admonished as she righted herself in the mesh float. "I thought you and dad were spending the day with grandma Ruth?"

"We did, at least until your Uncle James stopped by unexpectedly. You know your father can't stand to be in the same county as him, let alone the same room."

"Oh. Was he trying to get more money from grandma?"

It was the only time her uncle ever visited his mother. James Nolan had been a habitual drug user since him and her father were teenagers, and he constantly used the fact that Emma's grandfather died when they were young to guilt her grandma Ruth into giving him money to fund that addiction.

"Probably, which is why your father and I came home. Ruth has never been able to say no to your uncle, especially since her health has taken a turn for the worse." Setting the beach towel and iPad she had been holding onto the covered table, her mother turned towards Emma fully. "So, can I join you?"

Emma narrowed her eyes despite the fact the other woman couldn't see the action through her sunglasses.

"I don't know, are we going to talk about the subject you've been harping on me about?"

"Harping is a rather strong verb," her mother replied, her stance instantly shifting from relaxed to the 'teacher about to correct you' one Emma had been the recipient of for most of her life. "I'm just a mother concerned for her daughter's future."

"Mom…"

Mary Margaret sighed heavily. "No, we won't talk about your rash decision, Emma. I just want to spend some quality with you on your day off."

Her mother wasn't necessarily lying—at least about wanting to spend time with her—but Emma could detect the ulterior motive in the southern belle's tone a mile away. Still, she couldn't keep her out of her own pool, and Emma knew even if she attempted to her mother would just find another opportunity to broach the subject that had brought her out here.

Gesturing to the water around her she quipped, "By all means."

Her mother smiled in triumphant and Emma groaned internally, watching wearily as the other woman grabbed one of the spare mesh floats from the large storage cabinet and made her way towards the pool's built in steps. Emma closed her eyes once her mother was situated on the float, intent on recapturing her relaxed state for however long her mother allowed her to.

When twenty minutes went by and neither woman had spoken, she began to wonder if she had been wrong about her mother's intentions. Emma was always on guard when it came to her mother, the turbulent relationship that developed between them at some point in Emma's childhood forcing her to always expect the worst when it came to interactions with her mother. It was justified to some degree. Her mother never agreed with any decision Emma made—the clothes she had worn as a teenager, her career path, the state of her love life—and she was always the first to point out Emma's mistakes, and she certainly was never afraid to share how she really felt about whatever her daughter had done.

But there was also the other side of the coin. Her mother loved her, that had been one aspect of their relationship she never questioned, and she was always there when Emma really needed her. She was the one who had dealt with Emma being bullied in the fourth grade, the one who had sent her money when she was just getting her footing in those early years of living in New York, and it had been her mother who suggested Emma come live with them after her breakup with Walsh. There were always strings attached or opinions given, even when she didn't ask for them, but Mary Margaret Nolan had never left her daughter in an hour of need.

Except for the instance involving Neal, not that Emma could really hold that against her mother. The other woman had never been given the full story on what happened that night, and she was a mature enough adult to recognize someone couldn't be held accountable for their actions when they weren't given the entire picture.

Deciding to give her mother the benefit of the doubt for once, Emma let herself fully embrace the quiet moment.

It was a beautiful albeit scorching day, and she couldn't help but wonder what Killian was up to. Normally he texted her throughout Saturdays as he worked on the final edits for his sermon and while doing odd chores around the church ahead of Sunday Mass, but she'd barely heard from him all day. He'd sent her a good morning text when he'd woken up—at 5:30 AM, no less—and they'd exchanged a few briefs sentences a few hours ago after she had sent him the provocative pic of her sunbathing next to the pool. They had been up rather late the night before talking, however, and due to the shift in their relationship he had spent a good portion of his free time pleasuring her, so she knew he was further behind on his sermon than he normally would be.

Emma bit her lip at the memory of how they had spent one of those pleasurable free moments in his office just that week, and once again marveled at how much the priest's behavior had changed since they started sleeping together.

The way he flirted with her was the most obvious change. Whereas before he had done it subtly and behind the guise of friendly banter, he now took to it with no reservations, dropping innuendo laced remarks as if they were mundane parts of a conversation and doing nothing to hide the intention beneath his words. It was like the shackles that had hindered him were completely gone and the man she had only glimpsed fleetingly before had come out in full force. Not that she minded. It thrilled her that he no longer hid his desire for her, boldly sending her suggestive texts and reaching for her when no one else was around. He did it most of the time without her prompting him, and since he had left her in that alley during the storm, he hadn't once turned down any of her own advances.

Which was a good thing considering she had made a lot of them since he began wearing his new attire.

"Did Graham do something you weren't comfortable with?"

The image of Father Jones taking her on the kitchen island with his biceps on full display in one of his tanks evaporated quickly at the school teacher's question. Of course her mother had simply been waiting for Emma's guard to go down to attack, a fact she both admired and loathed at the same time. So much for quality time.

"Of course he didn't," she instantly replied, sighing in annoyance at the clear meaning behind her mother's inquiry. "Why would you ask such a question?"

"Because you're my daughter and I want to know if I need to get my archery bow out of retirement."

Emma shifted her float around in the pool just in time to see the casual shrug her mother gave. She wasn't falling in that trap again and she snorted, letting her mother know she was on to her little game.

"You mean you're trying to find a reason for the decision I made."

There was a pause and then—"Perhaps, but even if I wasn't, the sentiment still stands."

Emma sighed. "I've already told you my reasoning, mom."

She swore interacting with her mother was like experiencing whiplash sometimes. Emma knew that if Graham—or any man, for that matter—did something against Emma's will, her mother would be a force to be reckoned with more so than even Emma's father. However, that wasn't what this was about. It wasn't about her mother's fear that something had happened because she knew damn well it hadn't. It was just her mother's way of trying to figure out why she'd made the decision she did. This was the ulterior motive she had sensed, and any minute now her mother was going to bring up the subject that had been a bone of contention between them since her date with Graham, the very thing her mother had sworn they wouldn't talk about before getting into the pool.

"I know you have, I just… Emma, are you sure you want to permanently close the door on a relationship with Graham?"

And there it was.

Her mother had been questioning her decision not to see Graham romantically for two weeks now. She had been confused when Emma dropped that piece of news after Elsa brought her home, and had immediately launched into an Oscar worthy speech about why Graham was perfect for her.

Emma, he works, he's independent, he has ambition, and he's driven. The last man you dated only had one of those qualities, and we both know he spent more time with that red headed witch than actually working. Graham is a good man and would treat you the way you deserve, even give you a stable and secure life. Men like him don't grow on trees, dear.

She hadn't denied any of it, of course, because everything her mother said was true. Graham was a good guy, and far more emotionally mature and professionally driven than any man Emma had dated previously. Her mother just couldn't understand that she felt no romantic feelings for him and why that meant a relationship could never happen. She had set her mind to the fact that Emma should be falling head over heels in love with Graham simply because he was the first decent guy to show interest in her, and refused to accept anything else, even her own daughter's feelings. It had been a constant and ongoing cycle between mother and daughter. Mary Margaret would ask why she couldn't see a future with Graham, Emma would state her feelings on the matter, and her mother would ignore them in favor of promoting Graham as the answer to Emma's dismal love life.

And it was clearly going to happen again.

"Mom, we've been over this a million times," she replied, doing nothing to keep the annoyance from her tone.

"It just doesn't make sense, Emma. You said you had a good time on your date."

"Having a good date doth not maketh a relationship," Emma mocked. "You're acting like I ended a five year relationship—there was no relationship."

Her mother made a sound of agreement. "And that's my point! You've made a decision based on one interaction. He could be your true love and you're just… throwing that chance away."

Emma's hands fisted where they lay beneath the water. "I'm not throwing anything away. I've told you, repeatedly, that I didn't have any romantic feelings for Graham prior to our date and that the only reason I went on it was because you insisted. Going out with him didn't change that. If anything, it solidified the fact that we could never be more than friends."

"Well, why not?" her mother asked and Emma rolled her eyes, thankful the large sunglasses she wore hid the disrespectful movement. "You're both ambitious and work in law enforcement. Neither of you have conformed to small town life and you both loath American football."

Emma gaped at her mother. "Are you serious? None of that represents a good foundation to build a relationship on! You have to have more and it wasn't there, mom. We fundamentally do not want the same things in life. Did you and dad build a relationship solely on the fact that both of you can throw a mean right hook?"

"Of course not," Mary Margaret scoffed. "We developed one on mutual attraction and the instant spark between us."

"That's my point. There was no spark between me and Graham, even when we kissed."

She watched her mother's eyebrows raise nearly to her hairline and Emma internally slapped herself.

"You didn't tell me y'all kissed!"

Where was a glass of hard liquor when she needed it?

"I like how that is what you took away from that sentence, mom. Yes, we kissed and I felt nothing when it happened. No fireworks erupted in the sky, or butterflies fluttering in my stomach—it was like kissing a friend. I swear you don't even care about my feelings on the matter. You'd rather I just pretend to like him, marry him, have a few kids, and be miserable for the rest of my life."

"Don't be absurd. Your happiness is the only thing that matters to me." When Emma huffed in disbelief her mother frowned and added, "It's true. I just… I worry that you've chosen the wrong men for so long that you don't know when you have a good one and that you'll regret letting him slip through your fingers one day."

"Then let that be my regret. Constantly harping—and no, that is not a harsh verb with what you've been doing all week—is not going to suddenly make me change my mind. I don't like Graham like that."

Her mother contemplated her words for a long moment before sighing heavily. "I just want you to have what your father and I do, Emma."

It wasn't a lie, and a fraction of Emma's anger subsided at her mother's honest declaration even as that feeling of emotional whiplash returned. Because once, long ago before Neal had broken her heart and left its remnants on the floor of Gold's shop, she had wanted that too. The unconditional, all encompassing love that she had witnessed every day of her life. It wasn't in the cards for her though. It hadn't been since she was seventeen, and she swallowed against the familiar bile of failure for not living up to yet another of her mother's standards.

"We all can't be as lucky as you and dad," she mumbled, not caring if the other woman heard her. Needing some space, Emma slid off the mesh float and made her way towards the pool's steps.

"Emma—"

Without turning around she pleaded, "Mom, I—I don't want to talk about it anymore."

She was just stepping out of the water and onto the concrete when her father appeared at the entrance to the pool area, dressed in a white shirt and his favorite pair of Hawaiian print swimming trunks.

"Emma, have you seen your—oh, there you are, Mary Margaret. I didn't realise you had already come down here."

"I wanted to get a head start on sunbathing," her mother replied from the pool, and Emma huffed at the lie. Ignoring the rather domestic exchange between her parents, she stood on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on her father's cheek as he passed her.

"Hi, dad."

"Hello, princess. Everything okay?"

"Just peachy," she drawled, doing nothing to hide her annoyance as she made her way around the side of the pool to the covered lounge chair she had been using all afternoon. Once seated, Emma grabbed her phone and quickly typed a message into the top conversation thread of her texting app.

Emma: Busy?

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Looking up from her phone, she saw her father standing on the first step of the pool with his shirt discarded and blue eyes studying her in concern.

Setting her phone back onto the table next to her, Emma flashed him a faux smile. "Yup. Just having a discussion—once again— with mom about my decision not to date Graham."

Her father's gaze instantly swung to her mother, and an exasperated look crossed his face.

"Mary Margaret—"

"I'm her mother and I have every right to make sure she's making the right decision," her mother interrupted, and Emma could instantly tell by the other woman's tone that it was something her parents had discussed at length before now. It wasn't surprising, really. Her father knew how her mother could be when it came to situations like this, and he had undoubtedly had private talks with the school teacher about backing off.

"You do," David agreed with a nod of his head. "Same as I do, but she's not a child anymore, Mary Margaret. She's a responsible adult who is more than capable of determining if she's making the wrong decision or not, and at some point you're going to have to let it go. You can't make her like someone if the feelings aren't there, no matter how high your hopes for them were."

Both of Emma's eyebrows rose at her father's rather passionate speech. In all the years he had played mediator between her and her mother, David Nolan had never once blatantly taken a side. He always remained neutral—listening to both of them complain before subtly altering her mother's stance on the matter or advising Emma to pick her battles—but not this time. Her father was firmly standing in Emma's corner and out right telling his wife she needed to stop.

One glance in her mother's direction told Emma that this new development hadn't gone unnoticed by the school teacher either.

"So you're okay with her making this decision after only one date?" her mother asked in a clipped tone. The school teacher's crossed arms and raised chin screamed that she was not happy about this turn of events in the slightest.

"Absolutely," her father replied as he made his way deeper into the pool. "Honestly, I'm kind of glad Emma decided not to pursue a relationship with Graham."

That had Emma pausing in her movement to lay back on the lounge chair. "Really?"

Climbing onto the mesh float Emma had abandoned, her father shrugged. "If you had continued to see him I would have supported you, of course, but truthfully… I never liked the idea."

Mary Margaret gaped at her husband before splashing water in his direction with her left hand. "You said you were okay with it!"

"Just because I was okay with it didn't mean I particularly liked the idea, Mary Margaret. Graham's a great guy, but if him and Emma…." Here her father stumbled a bit over his words, twin spots of redness appearing on his cheeks that weren't caused by the sun. "If they had, uh, taken their relationship to a... physical level it would have been awkward for me, both as their boss and her father."

Emma bit her lower lip to keep from laughing at how uncomfortable her father looked mentioning the topics of her and sex—even in an indirect way—in the same sentence. She'd normally tease him about it but considering he was currently standing in her corner against the onslaught of her mother's harping, she decided to take pity on the man.

"Likewise, dad. Not having any romantic feelings for him aside, that was another factor that brought me to the decision not to see him again."

That, and the insanely hot sex I had with the priest later that night.

Her father nodded in understanding while ignoring his wife's pointed glare. "How did Graham take the news?"

"He was fine with it," Emma replied as she laid back on the lounge chair.

She wasn't lying—he had been. They had met at Storybrooke Cafe on Graham's lunch break the morning after her interrogation by the girls, Emma steadfastly refusing to essentially dump her friend in the crowded and gossip central location of Granny's diner. God knew between people's big mouths and Granny's insanely good hearing, the news would have spread before either of them made it out the door. Over sandwiches and coffee she had broken the news to him as gently as she could, and had done her level best to let him know it had nothing to do with him personally. He had been disappointed, of course, but unlike her mother Graham had accepted her reasoning and had even agreed that they had vastly different goals for the future with the most understanding smile. Promises were made that it wouldn't change their friendship or professional relationship, and Emma had walked away from the conversation thankful that Graham was the kind of man he was, which only cemented her initial realization that he would be perfect for Ruby.

"I suppose that's one saving grace," her father said with a noticeable sigh of relief. "At least things won't be awkward between the two of you at work."

"Well, it might be a little considering they kissed."

Anger flared sharply within Emma at her mother's words, and the only thing that kept her from unleashing that anger towards the woman who had given birth to her was the manners she had been instilled with. Instead, she ignored the remark and reached for her phone and headphones, pointedly putting an end to the conversation she hadn't wanted to have in the first place.

She couldn't hear what her parents were discussing through James Blunt's upbeat Stay the Night, but from the facial expressions they wore she could tell they were discussing her father's displeasure over her mother's persistent tactics. Good, she thought. Her mother deserved to be lectured over her actions, and God knew the only person who could do it and make any headway, however small, was Emma's father.

The sudden alert of a new text message had Emma turning her attention from her parents to the phone in her hand.

Killian: Sorry, turned my phone off earlier. I've just returned to the church. :)

A smile pulled at Emma's lips when she saw the response to the message she had sent a few minutes before.

Emma: Did you take advantage of the air conditioned library to finish your sermon?

Killian: hahaha no, but that is an idea worth exploring in the future, though. Robin and Regina needed some last minute help with gardening, so I was at their house all day.

Emma blinked in surprise. She knew Mr. French, Storybrooke's part time gardener, had suffered a heart attack around the time her and Killian started sleeping together, and word had spread fairly quickly that the out of town landscaper Regina had hired to finish her private renovations had been a bust. The Mayor had mentioned in passing when she dropped by the station yesterday afternoon that she had found a last minute savior, but Emma had never expected it to be Father Jones. Though it made sense, of course. Robin was his best friend, and she had seen his gardening work on a number of occasions when she found him tending to the little patch of dirt next to the church.

The man really had a multitude of talents.

Emma: A priest and a part time gardener. Don't let my mother find that out or you'll never have a moment's rest, Father.

Killian: Noted. Though it would give me an excuse to survey the goddess soaking up the sun. ;p How was your day off?

The familiar twinge of unease shot through her at his use of the term 'goddess'. She wasn't creeped out by Killian's description—she was fairly certain the man could never give a skeevy remark, what with the 17th century poetic way he talked—it was just something she wasn't use to. Emma had never been one to easily take a compliment about her looks that didn't include the words sexy or hot, especially from members of the male sex. After all, the last man besides her father that had called her beautiful and meant it was…

Emma shook the thought away before she could finish it.

Emma: It was going well until my mother decided to ambush me.

Killian: How so?

Emma: Long story—just my mother being her normal, persistent self. Thankfully dad took my side, but it's ruined what was shaping up to be a very relaxing day.

Killian: I'm sorry, lass. Anyway I can help?

Emma started to type that there wasn't when she glanced up from her phone. At some point her parents had moved from their floats to the uncovered lounge chairs on the other side of the pool area, and looked to still be in a heated discussion though Emma couldn't hear them over her music. She had hoped her father would be able to talk her mother into dropping the Graham thing, but judging by the set of her mother's shoulders and the way her dimpled chin rose while Emma's father continued to speak, that wasn't happening. At least not for the next few hours.

Perhaps a change in scenery to give her mother time to cool down was in order. She ran the risk of Killian asking her to stay the night again, but it was one she was willing to take over continuing the discussion with her mother. Besides, she still had the excuse from earlier she could use if need be.

Deleting what she had typed, she quickly wrote a new message and hit send.

Emma: Actually, there is. I'll explain in 15 minutes.

Not waiting for his response, she took out her headphones as she stood and began to gather the few things she had brought to the pool earlier that day.

"Mom, dad—I've got to go to the church for a few hours."

"Emma, it's your day off!"

"I know, but something happened with the schedule and I need the hard copy to figure out what's going on," she lied, feeling only the smallest twinge of guilt for out right lying to her father. She could tell by her mother's thinned lips that the other woman was well aware of why Emma seemed enthusiastic to be called in on her day off.

"Will you be home in time for dinner?" Mary Margaret asked, clearly trying to gauge how long she'd have to work on her argument before her daughter's return.

Emma shook her head at her mother's question. "Probably not. I'm sure Father Jones will make something if it takes awhile. I'll see you later!"

With that she was practically running from the pool area and up the stepping stone pathway that lead to the house. Once inside, she made her way up to her bedroom and tossed what items she wouldn't be taking with her onto her bed before rummaging in her dresser for a cover up. Slipping into the strapless piece of clothing, she quickly grabbed her car keys from her nightstand and raced downstairs, barely remembering to slip into a pair of flip flops in her hurry to put distance between her and her mother.

"How are you feeling, lass?"

"Exceedingly better than I was when I first texted you."

"A perfectly grilled steak and Granny's recipe for homemade fries will do that, I suppose," Killian mused playfully with his hands in the soapy dish water. "I'll have to remember to thank the Widow Lucas."

A feminine snort sounded from behind him in the vicinity of the kitchen island. "Pretty sure the mind blowing sex and the delicious food did it."

Killian chuckled as he set a dinner plate into the drying rack next to the sink. "Duly noted for future reference."

"Are you sure I can't help with the dishes since you did all the cooking?" Emma asked yet again, the third time since they had finished dinner and he had begun cleaning up.

"I'm sure. It's your day off and I would have cooked and cleaned even without you here."

"Yeah, but I made you do extra work after busting in and having my way with you."

Pausing in his efforts to scrub the sheet pan he had used to make the fries on, Killian looked over his right shoulder and winked at her. "Do you see me complaining about that in any way?"

Emma's answering smile pulled one from his own lips as he turned back to his task.

He hadn't expected her to show up at the church after she had sent that last text, though the last thing Killian was going to do was complain when she appeared in the doorway of their shared office. All she had said was that she needed to get away from her house for a little awhile, and he had gladly accepted the company as he went over the final edits for tomorrow's sermon. They had talked as he worked—him asking her what she had done with her day off, and Emma inquiring about the job at Robin and Regina's house—and once he was satisfied that the sermon was as polished as it could be, he had asked her to join him in a much needed shower. She had obliged, and after washing away the day's sweat from his skin he had taken her against the tiled wall, the slightly cool water beating down on them and muffling their sounds of pleasure.

Biting his lip at the memory of what had happened only a few hours before, Killian placed the last dish in the drying rack and dried his hands before moving to make their after dinner beverages.

"You sure do seem to have an affinity for Queen above all other rock bands, Father."

Killian frowned at the rather random remark until he realised Queen's Radio Ga Ga was playing from his phone. He'd left his playlist running while they ate, the volume turned down low to give the room a melodic background as they conversed over dinner. Chuckling, he retrieved the milk from the refrigerator and poured just enough in her coffee to turn the liquid blonde.

"Queen is the best band of all time," he replied while putting the milk back. "Surely even you as an American can agree."

"I'm fairly certain every human on the planet agrees with that statement. If they don't, they're wrong."

Killian laughed in agreement at her assessment, and picking up their mugs, turned towards her. Emma was still sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen island in what had quickly become her seat whenever they ventured into the kitchen, a half empty water bottle and her phone pushed to the side in anticipation of her coffee. Instead of donning her cover up after their wet activities she had pilfered one of his black dress shirts from his wardrobe, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the first few buttons left undone. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, the few tendrils that escaped to frame her face dancing from the two box fans he had set up to keep the kitchen cool under the oppressive summer heat, and his stomach flipped at just how breathtakingly gorgeous she was.

Noticing his stare, Emma raised a delicate eyebrow. "What? Do I have steak sauce on my chin or something?"

"No, just admiring your beauty," he confessed before setting their mugs down and taking his seat at the island.

She scoffed in self deprecation at his words. She had done that a few times when he made a remark about her looks that wasn't sexual in nature, and not for the first time he wondered who it was that had caused her to doubt such an undeniable truth.

"So, why such a strong connection to Queen?" she asked, clearly not wanting to comment or draw attention to his remark. Allowing her to change the subject because he knew now wasn't the time to try and prod that particular wall, he tapped the side of his mug thoughtfully as he mentally wandered back through his childhood for the source of her question.

"I suppose it's because of my mother," he answered with a wistful smile. "She was a teenager during the band's early years of success and she never fell out of love with them."

Emma took a tentative sip of her coffee and smiled. "Bit of a rocker babe, was she?"

"I suppose so," he said with a laugh. "Perhaps not in practice, but at heart she was. Their music was always playing in our house, even in her final days."

"Your mother's gone?"

"Aye, she died when I was fourteen."

He could still vividly recall the lack of music when he had returned home from spending the night with Robin, the small two bedroom apartment draped in a thick silence that spoke of an unchangeable event. Liam had been sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea and their mother's engagement ring with the ruby stone on the table before him while Belle slept on the couch, her twelve-year-old body curled in on itself and tears drying on her cheeks. His mother had quietly passed away in the middle of the night from the disease that had ravaged her mortal body for nearly two years.

"Killian, I—I'm so sorry."

Shaking himself from the memory of his older brother wrapping him in the tightest of hugs, Killian smiled softly at the woman sitting across from him. "It's alright, lass."

Emma shook her head, her ponytail swaying with the movement. "Yeah, but here I am being an ass and reminding you—"

"Emma, it's fine, truly. In all honesty, I had never made the connection before and it… I feel a little bit closer to her having realised it, so thank you."

She seemed to contemplate the truthfulness of his assurance for a long moment before nodding. "What was she like, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not at all. She was a very thoughtful and tender woman. Loving, too. Mum never shied away from showing affection and I don't think a day ever went by without her telling us how much she loved us. Her favorite thing to do besides listening to Queen during housework was to garden, a passion I somehow managed to inherit." At the sight of Emma's smirk, he chuckled. "I was the only one, though. The green thumb completely skipped Liam—he once killed an aloe vera plant, which is virtually impossible to do—and Belle always preferred to bury herself in books rather than spend time in a garden."

Emma smiled as he paused to take a sip of his tea. "Sounds like she was an amazing woman."

Killian nodded. "She was, which says a lot considering the cards life dealt her. She had Liam when she was sixteen and from what I gathered when I was a child, my grandparents disowned her for it. On top of that, my father - who had a penchant for getting drunk and gambling his paycheck away - jumped ship before Belle was even born. Mum worked two jobs to make sure we were taken care of."

"Amazing and resilient."

"Aye, very much so. Belle's like her in that regard—physically, too. She's the spitting image of mum."

The sudden sound of a woman humming startled both of them, and it took Killian a long second to realize the familiar sound was coming from Emma's phone.

"Shit, sorry. That's my mom," Emma explained, quickly answering the call with an annoyed roll of her eyes. "Yes, mom?."

Not wanting to be intrusive, Killian did his best to tune out the one sided conversation by reflecting on what he and Emma had been discussing. He should have been unnerved with the amount he had just opened up to her yet Killian found himself strangely devoid of any such feeling. It wasn't like he had never talked about his mother's passing before—he had, many times, and with quite a few people. Morgan Jones's death was one one of the most pivotal turning points in his life - second only to losing Liam - and anyone of importance in his life knew about it, but Killian could count on one hand the number of people with whom he had discussed what she was like as a person.

In fact, there were only three—Liam, Belle, and Robin—all of whom had known his mother themselves. He'd never even mentioned more than the fact that she had died to Milah and they had had a three year relationship. It came naturally with Emma though, and Killian chalked it up to the friendship that had developed between them before they became intimate. Besides Robin, she really was the only person other than his siblings he had let himself get close to, so it wasn't terribly surprising that he had opened up to her like he had.

Hearing Emma say goodbye to her mother, he pulled himself from his internal musing and looked up just as she ended the call to see her set her phone back on the kitchen island with an exasperated sigh.

"Sorry about that."

"It's fine," he assured her before tilting his head in curiosity. "Am I correct in deducing that your ringtone for her came from the 1938 Snow White movie?"

"Oh, yeah." Taking a sip of her coffee, Emma laughed. "It's a bit of an inside joke. Well, not so much an inside joke as a joke on my mom. Snow White is her favorite Disney character and a few years back on one of my rare trips home, I walked in on her humming the opening song while she cleaned the kitchen. I've never let her forget it and she absolutely hates that I made it her ringtone."

"Well, I can certainly understand loving a Disney character," he remarked, holding up his Captain Hook mug with a cheeky grin.

Emma rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you can."

"Everything okay with Mrs. Nolan?"

"Yeah, just mom being mom. She wanted to discuss what happened at the pool earlier despite my desire to close the subject indefinitely."

"Ah, yes, when she ambushed you," he noted carefully, feeling the air around them immediately shift. "You never did say what that was about."

"It's… complicated," she replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her left ear. Killian could see one of her numerous walls rising at his question, and his realization from earlier in the day rose to the forefront of his mind. Keeping his posture relaxed and face devoid of just how eager he was to learn more about her, he shrugged.

"Well, I am a priest, as you well know. Listening to people's problems is kind of a part of my job description, and I'd be honored to lend my ear - if you want to," he added, knowing from experience with his sister that people opened up easier if they were given a choice to. He wanted to help her, not force her walls higher.

She seemed to mull over his offer, her eyes resolutely trained on the remaining liquid in her mug. There was a silent war being waged between the tense set of her shoulders and the way her upper body leaned forward, like she subconsciously couldn't stop herself from wanting to reveal this piece of herself. He waited patiently to see what choice she would make, and when she began speaking without preamble, her voice soft yet unwavering, he listened intently.

Killian had suspected for some time that the relationship between Emma and her mother was overtly strained. It had been apparent in the tense conversation he overheard nearly a month ago when Mrs. Nolan first brought up the idea of Emma dating Humbert, but he had assumed it was just a daughter not wanting her mother to get involved with her love life. It clearly went deeper than that though—much deeper. Her tone reminded the priest of all the broken souls he had heard on the other side of the confessional; accepting how things were yet also having the desire to change them, even if they never admitted it to anyone but themselves.

When she fell silent, he finished his tea in one large gulp and took a few seconds to collect his thoughts before speaking.

"You feel like you've always let your mother down," he stated, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"Because I have."

Sliding his empty mug to the side, Killian rested both forearms on the kitchen island. "Playing devil's advocate, and certainly not discrediting your feelings on the matter, but every time I've heard your mother speak about you it's clear she's proud of you."

"She has to pretend like she is. Image is everything to my mom—she'll publicly sing my praise to keep her own standing intact. Like I said, everything from my career choice to mundane decisions about how I dress have been failures to her."

"Including your love life."

Emma blinked in surprise. "What makes you say that?"

"I'm a fairly perceptive man," he stated with a disarming smile. "It doesn't take much to put what you've just told me about your mother and the conversation I overheard together and come to that conclusion."

"Well, you aren't wrong." Taking a sip of her coffee, Emma laughed bitterly. "You see, my parents' romance is one of those small town fairytales—boy meets girl, they instantly fall in love, and end up with the white picket fence. It's cavity inducing perfect in a way that would make even Cinderella cry, and mom always expected me to follow in their footsteps like some progeny of true love."

He had known about the Nolan's epic love story, of course. One of his parishioners had given him an unprompted crash course on Storybrooke's residents shortly after his arrival in the small town. What surprised him, however, was Emma's view on her parents' romance. The parishioner had crafted it as this magical tale that every young girl in Storybrooke hoped to have for herself yet Emma, the product of that great love story, didn't want it. If anything, she seemed completely against the idea.

"Why didn't you?" he asked, genuinely curiously.

"Why didn't I what?"

"Follow in their footsteps. You're a beautiful woman, and I can't imagine you were lacking for suitors while growing up, even in a town as small as Storybrooke."

"I just… didn't," she replied evasively, picking up her half empty mug and making her way towards the sink.

Although she had attempted to hide it by standing, Killian hadn't missed the way her body stiffened or the guarded look that returned to her eyes at the clarification to his question. He'd obviously hit too closely to the wound that was responsible for this particular wall, and it confirmed his suspicions on why she refused to stay overnight. She'd been in love at some point in her life, maybe even believed she had the same type of love her parents had, and for whatever reason it had ended badly.

An exasperated sigh sounded from behind him. "When are they putting the AC in?"

She was changing the subject, just as she said earlier when he called her beautiful, but once again Killian let her. Pushing Emma to open up when she was digging in her heels would only cause her to retreat further behind the walls he was trying to break down.

"They should be here by noon on Tuesday," he replied, standing and placing his own mug in the sink.

"Does that mean I won't get those lovely views of you in a running tank once it's installed?" she teased with a tilt of her head.

Killian chuckled. "Not very priest-like, are they?"

"No, but it is rather appealing," she admitted, her eyes unashamedly trailing up and down his body.

He knew she was using sex to further distract him from the conversation they had been having, but like a moth to a flame, he was unable to resist her. Invading her personal space, he backed her into the counter and took advantage of the easy access his borrowed shirt offered. Both hands slid beneath the hem of the cotton fabric until they rested low on her hips, the tips of his fingers playing with the strings of her bikini bottom that she had slid back on after their shared shower.

"Is it now?" he murmured, lips barely brushing her own as he spoke.

Emma hummed in agreement, her right hand coming up to play with the smattering of chest hair that was exposed by one of the tanks in question. He was taken by surprise when she suddenly ran her nails lightly through it and over his covered nipple, the sensation causing him to rut his hips into her and curse quietly. Grinning, she stood on her toes and brought her mouth level to his ear, pressing against him even more with the action until he could feel her own hardened nipples through both of their clothing.

"How about we go to your room and I show you just how appealing I find them."

"Lead the way," he breathed, watching with hooded eyes as she slid from between him and the counter and walked towards the door. Images of having her spread beneath him in his bed were already flashing through his mind while he followed her, his body hardening even further when the shirt and bikini bottoms she was wearing fell to the hallway floor.

He'd let her distract him this time, but he was determined to break down those walls she guarded herself with, no matter if it took weeks or months to accomplish.

He was a patient man, after all.

“You sure do seem to have an affinity for Queen above all other rock bands, Father.”

Killian frowned at the rather random remark until he realised Queen’s Radio Ga Ga was playing from his phone. He’d left his playlist running while they ate, the volume turned down low to give the room a melodic background as they conversed over dinner. Chuckling, he retrieved the milk from the refrigerator and poured just enough in her coffee to turn the liquid blonde.

“Queen is the best band of all time,” he replied while putting the milk back. “Surely even you as an American can agree.”

“I’m fairly certain every human on the planet agrees with that statement. If they don’t, they’re wrong.”

Killian laughed in agreement at her assessment, and picking up their mugs, turned towards her. Emma was still sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen island in what had quickly become her seat whenever they ventured into the kitchen, a half empty water bottle and her phone pushed to the side in anticipation for her coffee. Instead of donning her cover up after their activities, she had grabbed one of his black dress shirts that he kept in the office, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and buttons left undone to display the green material of her bathing suit beneath it.

Laying back down on the surprisingly comfortable bed, Emma took stock of her surroundings. Outside the large window night was just giving way to daylight and the grayness of the sky alluded to the fact that Storybrooke would see an overcast day as the storm continued to roll over the little town. Rain still fell but it was softer than the night before, a light drizzle that she knew from a lifetime of growing up in the south would turn the summer day even more humid than normal. Through the gray light that crept in she saw a tall wardrobe sitting in the far corner and a dresser that held a few picture frames and an assortment of items on top of it. Her dress and shoes were still on the floor from where she had taken them off the night before and she could just make out her bra and underwear lying atop Killian's dress pants that hung on the back of a chair, indicating he had picked up in the chapel at some point during the night.

Emma couldn't help but smile at the memory of what had caused him to have to clean up and what was responsible for the current pleasurable burn in her muscles.

After their desperate and long over due sex on the altar table Killian had taken her to his room, his hand on her lower back like a hot brand that spoke to his salacious promise of this only being the beginning. He had been ravenous once they crossed the threshold, taking her up against the bedroom door until the old wood rattled in its hinges with her legs wrapped around his waist and their mutual cries of ecstasy lost in the hot glide of their lips. With her body thoroughly sated and content she had fallen into his bed afterward, the emotional highs and lows of the day pulling her into a deep sleep before he returned from locking up the church. Sometime after midnight a rumble of thunder had awoken them and he had settled between her thighs, his mouth causing her to shout his name into the darkness again before they both fell back asleep.

Her daydreams about what he would be like in bed paled in comparison to the real thing. The man may have been celibate for eight years but he clearly hadn't lost what talent he held before taking his vows, a fact Emma thanked the universe for. She had been with a number of men in her short life, some horrendous and others above average, but none of them had been able to wring pleasure from her body like Father Jones had. He seemed to know what she needed before she even voiced it, perceptive to the sounds she made and determined to make sure she found her pleasure before his own, a trait very few of the men she had been with possessed.

Feeling desire tickle along her spine at the thought, Emma blindly reached across the bed with every intention of revisiting the priest's talented mouth but stilled when her hand came into contact with empty sheets. A turn of her head confirmed he wasn't there and moving the bed sheet to cover her breasts she sat up, a frown pulling at her lips. Where the hell would he be at this time of the morning? She was about to survey the room for the missing priest when the sound of soft footsteps out in the hallway reached her ears. Looking towards the door she saw the man in question appear in the doorway, a coffee mug in his right hand and wearing nothing more than a pair of black boxer briefs.

Holy shit.

She was fairly certain she had never seen such a mundane sight look so damn hot and she silently thanked whoever had invented the boxer brief because they definitely flattered the priest's assets. Everything from his long legs to the jut of his hipbones was on full display and the desire that had momentarily abated at not finding him next to her roared back to life as she looked him up and down. His chest was gloriously bare and in the muted gray light she could see the little freckles that sporadically dotted his upper torso, something she hadn't been able to admire the night before in the darkness of the chapel. Even his hair was obscenely hot, the dark strands perfectly disheveled into a riotous mess that was just begging to be pulled...

"Emma?"

Pulled from her appreciation of the male form currently on display in front of her, Emma forced her eyes up to his face. "Hm?"

The quirk of his eyebrow told her he hadn't missed her ogling him. "I said I wasn't expecting you to be awake yet," he said, moving to stand by the side of the bed she was on and holding the steaming cup out toward her. With him this close to her she could make out the slight swirling pattern of his chest hair and had to shake her head to keep from getting lost in the dip of his collarbones.

She accepted the cup with a grateful smile, hoping the coffee would distract her from the practically naked priest. "Oh, uh, Elsa sent me a text and it woke me up," she replied, gently inhaling the warm aroma to chase away the last tendrils of sleep that still stubbornly clung to her.

"Miss Arrendale say anything interesting at six in the morning?" he asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"She was just making sure I hadn't been murdered."

At the confused look on his face Emma chuckled. "Elsa and I have a fascination with crime documentaries and because of that we know anything can happen when you're out on a date. She thinks I spent the night with Graham and-"

"Wanted to make sure he wasn't secretly a serial killer who took unsuspecting women back to his cabin?"

"Pretty much," Emma replied with a laugh. "We've had a system since we were teenagers to let the other one know we were okay after a date or when we had been walking in an unknown part of a city."

"Haven't you known Humbert most of your life though?"

"You'd be surprised how many people are killed by someone they know," Emma replied sagely before taking a sip of her coffee. God that man could make a cup of coffee. "It's the ones you least suspect that you have to watch out for."

Killian hummed in understanding, his blue eyes twinkling in the gray morning light. "So you're not worried that I'm a closeted serial killer?"

"I'm not buried beneath your garden yet so it's safe to say you aren't." Taking another sip of her coffee she noticed just how alert he seemed despite the ungodly hour. "Why are you up so early anyway?"

"I'm always up at this time of the morning."

Emma made a face over her mug. "Seriously?! I don't even think Granny gets up this early to start her famous french toast."

"I suppose that's one thing the Royal Navy and the priesthood have in common," he said with a deep chuckle. "Both require a man to rise before the sun to perform his duties, particularly if you're like me and prefer to have a morning run before breakfast."

"But you didn't go on a run this morning," Emma noted, taking in the lack of sweat on his bare body and the shower-free look to his hair.

"Well, no, I-uh…" A faint blush rose high on the priest's cheeks as he averted his eyes to the floor, his hand coming up to scratch behind his right ear in what Emma had learned weeks ago was a nervous tick. "After last night's… activities a run didn't seem necessary," he finally finished, the flush to his cheeks darkening and traveling to the tips of his ears.

Emma bit her lip at his bashful response and let her gaze fall to the coffee in her hand, the gentle rain falling outside the only sound in the room as she mentally contemplated the priest. Although clearly a little shy when bringing up their more sinful activities, the differences in the man sitting in front of her and the one who had pushed her away after their kiss in the alley was like night and day. Even when he had been casually flirting with her before her drunken texts he would have never been so open about something that happened between them, like he wasn't a Catholic priest who preached the word of God but was instead an everyday man. Well sex does change people, she thought reflectively while sipping at the warm caffeine in her hand. It was more than that, though. Whenever he use to make an overtly flirtatious remark he would act almost remorseful afterward and God knew any time prior to last night when they were in a sexual situation he would turn around and run as fast as he could. But he wasn't running now. In fact, he seemed fine with the line they had crossed and was making no move to change the situation, even being the first to broach the subject of what they had done.

Cupping the bottom of her mug with her right hand, she stared at the slightly blonde liquid as she asked, "So, no regrets?"

There was a beat of silence where all she could hear was the light drizzle of rain outside and then-

"No, no regrets."

Glancing up from her coffee she noted his eyes had moved from the floor to her, the uncertain expression he had worn seconds before gone and replaced with a confident and serious one.

"Really?"

"You seem surprised by that, lass."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Your track record of actions after physical contact with me leads me to question it."

Killian tilted his head slightly, studying her in that way that made her feel like he could see more of her than she wanted him to. It was unnerving to the woman who had spent the last ten years guarding the walls around herself, always careful never to let anyone get too close and see what lay behind them. But she kept her eyes locked on the shirtless priest, those very walls demanding she make sure he wasn't going to turn around and reject her physically again.

"I suppose I deserve that," he said at length, his eyes falling to the bed sheet Emma had tangled around her body. "I know I've reacted… poorly to us interacting over the last few weeks but that isn't going to happen again. I meant it last night when I told you this just was the beginning."

"So what's different about this time compared to the others?"

"Because I finally stopped fighting my desire for you," he replied sincerely, blue eyes rising to lock with her own. "You were right last night. I wanted you more than I wanted to remain faithful to my vows and I fought it. It's why I kept giving you mixed signals, pushing our physical boundaries more and more but then pulling away from what we had done. Last night when you started to walk away though, I knew if I didn't take what I really wanted I would never be able to have you and that was… unthinkable."

Smiling at his words, Emma turned to set her half empty mug on the nightstand. She had known since her revelation on her parent's back porch that he wanted her and his actions the previous night certainly spoke to how much he desired to sleep with her. Actually hearing him say the words without also commenting about it being wrong, however, was like winning a long fought battle. Even more empowering was the fact he said it without his earlier shyness, a man confident in what had happened between them and where he wanted it to go.

Knowing he wouldn't reject her, Emma surged forward and captured his lips in a heated kiss while both of her hands moved to grip his already disheveled locks. Killian grunted in surprise at the initial contact but recovered quickly, his right hand tangling in her hair while his left arm pulled her as close to him as their opposite seating positions would allow. The sweep of his tongue into her mouth had Emma moaning almost obscenely and she would have been embarrassed for making such an indecent sound in a house of God if she didn't have every intention of making worse ones. He tasted like tea and mint, her movements becoming more fervent as she tried to taste the intoxicating combination over and over again. Desire pooled low in her belly like molten lava and she knew she had to have him again.

Tugging at the thin bedsheet that was trapped between them, Emma tossed the unwanted barrier to the floor once it was free and quickly moved to straddle the priest, their lips resuming their heated dance as she settled fully onto his lap. His arms instantly wrapped around her, the calloused hands that spoke of the life he had lived before joining the priesthood tracing her spine and causing goosebumps to erupt along her exposed skin despite the warmth of the room. Having his hands on her and his tongue plundering her mouth was amazing but Emma needed more. She craved more. Her body moved on instinct, hips rolling forward to seek the friction that would calm the pounding in her blood and she broke the kiss with an audible gasp when her center found his hardening length.

"Fuck."

"God above you're soaked," Killian groaned, his own hips jerking upward as she continued to undulate in his lap. He looked absolutely wrecked in that moment, his lips kiss swollen and eyes darkened to a midnight blue, little groans of pleasure escaping him with every movement of her hips. It was the dual sensation of the ridge of his cock and the fabric of his underwear sliding deliciously over her swollen clit that had her careening steadily towards a release she didn't want without him inside her.

"Please tell me the church is still locked," she breathed, praying to a God she didn't believe in that he hadn't unlocked it earlier. With as badly as she needed him she wasn't sure she could let him up to ensure no one came in and heard them.

"Mmhmm," was the priest's only response before he ducked his dark head and sucked her nipple into his mouth. Emma's back arched at the sensation, a moan falling from her lips as his tongue flicked at the pebbled bud with quick and precise movements. Her hips unconsciously picked up the rhythm he was using on her - three licks in rapid succession followed by a long one that had her toes curling - and just when she was certain he was done building her up his left hand slid from her back to palm her right breast, his thumb and index finger pinching the nipple until it bordered on the pleasurable side of painful.

"Killian…"

Suddenly releasing her breast with an obscenely wet pop, Killian skimmed his lips up her chest to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, pausing to dip his tongue into her collarbone along the way.

"I know," he murmured into her skin, his breath hot and coming out just as strained as her own had. "God… I need you too."

Emma nodded frantically, the movement of her hips momentarily ceasing as her hands fell from his shoulders to between them. She quickly extracted him from the confines of his underwear and gave him a few pumps, her clit throbbing as he groaned into her shoulder. The feeling of hardness encased in smooth skin had her licking her lips but she tampered down her desire - there would be time to taste him later. She needed him inside her more. Putting her left hand on his shoulder for balance, she rose to her knees and positioned him at her entrance. She was just about to sink down onto him when his hands gripped her hips and a choked sound escaped his lips.

"Emma…"

"What's wrong?" she panted, his chest hair tickling her sensitive nipples as her chest rose and fell rapidly. "Do you not want to do this position?"

He chuckled, the sound strained. "On the contrary, you have no idea how many times I've imagined you riding me just like this." Emma frowned in confusion, not understanding why he had her stop if this was something he had fantasised about. He took a few deeps breaths, clearly trying to reign in his libido and placed a gentle kiss to her shoulder before lifting his head. Blue eyes still darkened with desire looked at her but beneath the hunger to have her she could see a spark of seriousness that had her holding her breath.

"We, uh- We were too caught up in the moment last night - well, both times, really - to discuss, ah… protection."

Emma blinked in surprise at the priest's words. "Oh." They had been more concerned with fucking each other the night before instead of having the responsible and adult conversation, not that it would have changed the course of events for her.

"I'm clean," she replied, releasing his cock to balance her other hand on his shoulders. "I, um, I got tested after my last relationship ended. I have them at home if you want to see them."

"I have mine somewhere as well." At her raised eyebrow he chuckled. "I was tested as part of my last physical for the Royal Navy before being discharged and well, since then…"

"You've kind of been celibate."

"Aye. But I was deemed disease free before entering the priesthood."

Emma nodded. With the resistance he had shown in giving into his desire she knew she could trust that he had never done this since taking his vows.

"And the other reason to use protection?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "It has been some time since I participated in something like this but I assume if that was a concern you would have stopped me last night."

"I'm on the shot so unless you just want to use them…"

"Not particularly but that isn't my call to make. It's yours, lass."

"No, I hate them." Shifting her hips slightly she found him still hard and bit her lip as his grip lessened just enough to let the tip of his cock slip into her. "So, we're good? Because right now I'd like to get back to the part where we were about to fuck."

"Sounds like a brilliant idea," he murmured, leaning forward to nip at the underside of her jaw while his left hand moved from her waist to resume palming her breast.

At the feeling of his thumb tracing her hardened nipple Emma began to slowly take him into her body, relishing every thick inch that slid into her. He was by far the largest man she had ever been with but her wetness eased his passage, and once she was fully seated on his lap again she couldn't help the sigh of pleasure she breathed into his dark hair. This is what her body had been craving since she saw him in the doorway of his bedroom in nothing but his underwear. The stretch and burn, the feeling of being so full that she thought she would come from having him inside her alone. She could hear Killian groan as she took him in and the tightness to his shoulders beneath her fingers, the muscles tense while he clearly tried to give her time to adjust.

She began to move slowly, her hips rolling back and forth almost languidly but it wasn't long before the pounding in her blood returned, prompting her to increase her pace to the frantic rhythm they had been at before he stopped them. Killian wasn't idle, however. The hand on her right breast continued to alternate between lightly squeezing her and plucking at the hardened bud, her breath hitching when he timed the downward roll of her hips with a pinch. His lips worked a path down her jaw to the side of her neck and her blunted nails dug into his broad shoulders with every nip and suck he gave to the tender flesh there. With every undulated movement she made the coil of desire tightened more and more, the pleasure between her thighs intensifying when he thrusted up to meet her until she was right there, the cusp of her release just within reach.

"That's it," he panted against her neck, his teeth scraping along her pulse point. "Take what you need, Emma."

Heeding his words, she changed the angle of her hips and gasped when she felt him hit the spot inside her that had stars appearing in bursts of colors behind her closed eyelids. The hand on her left hip helped her move against him even harder and their mutual sounds of pleasure filled the small room, her moans rising in pitch as his grunts became lost in her sweat soaked skin. It was the sensation of everything - his left hand plucking her nipple, the feeling of his teeth and tongue on her neck, and the movement of his cock inside her - that finally sent her tumbling headlong into an intense orgasm. Her mouth opened on a silent scream as the pleasure radiated from her core to the tips of her fingers and toes, wave after wave of it sweeping over her and stealing her breath.

Killian cursed when her walls began to squeeze him and she felt his left hand fall from her breast to the mattress below, giving him the leverage he needed to thrust harder and chase his own release. Three powerful drives of his hips later she felt him still beneath her, his entire body going taunt and her name a fervent prayer that was groaned into her shoulder as he bathed her walls with his release. Minutes later, when the last shiver of pleasure had coursed through her and his hips had ceased rutting into her, they untangled themselves and fell backwards onto the mattress side by side.

"Well if that's the reaction I get when I bring you coffee remind me to do it more often."

Emma snorted, the back of her right hand playfully smacking Killian's chest.

"I mean, I do love coffee," she remarked, her chest rising and falling rapidly while she fought to catch her breath. "And I certainly wouldn't be against showing my gratitude in that form if I'm properly supplied at all times."

"Duly noted," the priest said, chuckling as he rose from the bed with some effort and made his way towards the wooden dresser. "Would you like a refill before-"

The sudden blaring of Duran Duran's Hungry Like A Wolf filled the small room and Emma cursed under her breath. Leave it to Ruby to have the worst timing of any human being other than her mother. Ignoring Killian's raised eyebrow - hey, the priest wasn't the only one who liked 80's music - she sat up and retrieved her phone from the night stand.

"What do you want, Rubes?" she asked after answering the call, normal phone etiquette going out the window when her post-orgasm bliss was being interrupted.

"Shit, you actually answered!" came the brunette's stunned reply and Emma rolled her eyes.

"You called me. Why wouldn't I answer?"

"I half expected you to be busy enjoying round two or three with the hot Irishman, to be honest."

Emma's eyes went to Killian as he headed towards the bathroom, a pair of black dress pants and a purple button down shirt slung over his left arm. The priest gave her an understanding smile and nod of encouragement to continue her conversation before quietly closing the door behind him.

Well she had certainly enjoyed a third round but it wasn't with an Irishman.

"What are you even doing up this early?" Emma asked, the muffled sound of water striking porcelain telling her that Killian had started the shower. She was hoping to steer the conversation away from how she had spent the night, at least for now. The girls would learn soon enough that she hadn't slept with Graham and the last thing she wanted was to dodge Ruby's inquisition over the phone. "It's your day off and you're up before even your grandmother would be?"

A disgruntled huff filled Emma's right ear. "Elsa woke me and Tink up when she tried having a shouting match at five o'fucking dark in the morning with one of the ice cream shop's vendors."

"He was trying to over price us on rocky road ice cream!" came Elsa's faint shout through the phone and Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing at the unamused sound Ruby made in response.

"And you didn't demand the best coffee in Storybrooke as payment for her waking you up so early on your day off?"

"Oh, I did. Trust me. She's getting ready now to go get it. Do you want her to bring you something back for when Graham drops you off?"

Emma cursed internally. She had never planned on spending the night with Graham, even before their date had shown her there was nothing romantic between them. Her plan had been to walk to Tink's house under the cover of darkness and have one of the girls take her home the next morning, keeping how her date went and where she stayed away from the more nosey residents of Storybrooke. What she hadn't planned on was following Father Jones to the church or still being there the next morning which now left her with the predicament of how to get from the church to Tink's house without arising suspicion.

She could, in theory, still make her way to the other blonde's house without any physical trouble despite the weather but Emma had grown up in Storybrooke. Her date dress from the night before was not exactly 'walking to a friend's house on a Sunday morning' attire and it would only take one person seeing her to start asking questions. It wouldn't be hard for any of the residents to learn she hadn't spent the night with Graham and then that would raise suspicions as to who she had spent the night with - and that was the last thing she wanted to do. Walking back home to retrieve her bug was out of the question for the same reasons and she couldn't wear any of Killian's clothes…

"Emma?"

She visibly started at the sound of Ruby's voice in her ear. "Um, sorry, I was thinking about something."

"Oh I bet you were," Ruby teased and Emma could practically see the large, wolfish grin that accompanied the reply. "Remembering your awesome night aside, do you want Elsa to pick something up for you?"

"Actually, can I talk to Elsa real quick, Rubes?"

"Sure, give me a second."

Emma's mind raced as the sounds of Ruby making her way through Tink's house filtered in through her cellphone. She couldn't walk to Tink's house without arousing suspicion but no one would think twice about seeing her in Elsa's car, even at this time of the morning.

A slight shuffling noise could be heard over the phone and then Elsa's voice was filling her ear. "Hey, I'm just about to head out the door. What's up?"

"Can you pick me up when you go out to get Ruby's coffee?"

"Uh… yeah, of course," Elsa instantly replied, though it was clear by the tone of her voice that Emma's question had momentarily caught her off guard. "Graham can't give you a ride?"

"Not... really."

Elsa scoffed. "Not that I won't come get you but why can't he give you a ride? I knew it had been some time for him but he couldn't have forgotten that common manners dictate you at least give the girl who just spent the night in your bed a-"

"I'm not with Graham."

Emma winced as silence descended on the other end of the call. This wasn't exactly how she had meant to break the news to her friend but she didn't want Elsa to think less of Graham when he had done nothing wrong.

"You're not?"

"No."

"Oh." The faint sound of a door opening and closing filtered in over the call. "Did you go back home last night?"

Emma frowned at the sudden loudness of her friend's voice. "No - Elsa, where are you?"

"I'm in Tink's hall closet."

"Why on Earth are you in there?"

"Because I assumed you didn't want the other girls to know you aren't with Graham otherwise you would have mentioned it to Ruby."

"Very perceptive of you."

"Yes, well, those would be my 'motherly instincts' as Ruby likes to call them," Elsa said with a quiet huff. "So if you're not at home or Graham's cabin where are you?"

Emma's eyes swept over the priest's immaculate bedroom, her gaze landing on the white clerical collar Killian had set on top of his dresser after he picked up their clothes from the chapel. Well, she couldn't exactly tell Elsa the truth...

"Can I plead the fifth on that for right now?" she asked, grateful that Elsa didn't have her ability to tell when someone was lying.

"Well you can but it's not going to stop me from asking the question."

"Touche," Emma murmured.

Elsa sighed. "Where do you want me to pick you up then?"

A grateful smile pulled at the corner of Emma's lips - this was why she had asked Elsa to pick her up and not Ruby. While she loved her brunette friend as much as the other two, Ruby would have instantly launched into a thousand questions as to why she wasn't with Graham and been relentless in finding out where she was. Elsa, on the other hand, never pushed for more information than the person was willing to give at that moment and was the perfect person to call when you needed assistance without a barrage of questions or judgement.

"You know that bench by the pond that's on the Eastern side of the park?"

"Yeah, give me about thirty minutes and I'll be there."

"Thanks, Elsa."

Ending the call, Emma noted that it was just past seven. Even the most devout of Storybrooke's Catholics wouldn't be arriving for Sunday Mass for another hour which meant she could safely make her way to the park that sat next to the church without being seen. The dreary weather ensured there would be no one inside the park at least. Her friend might not have made the connection between Emma still being in her date dress and sneaking out of the church if she had told Elsa to pick her up there - a friend screwing the local priest would have definitely been the last place her own mind went - but it was a risk she wasn't willing to take.

No, it was best to be overtly cautious where her affair with Father Jones was concerned.

Setting his rosary and Bible on his desk, Killian quickly unbuttoned his cassock and pulled the priestly garment from his body before laying it over the back of the leather chair and moving towards the window in his office.

Mass that morning had been a mental whirlwind, the first in over a thousand sermons in which he had walked to the pulpit not knowing exactly what he would say. The speech he had spent the last week preparing about finding spiritual strength in trying times didn't resonate with him the same way it had the day before, not when he could still recall the weight of Emma in his lap as she rode them both to completion. Instead he had winged it, preaching about the beauty of life and what God had created, pulling on the feelings he had felt the previous night to give weight to his words. He had been afraid the parishioners of Storybrooke would see right through him, as if their was a red letter stitched to his holy robes that broadcasted the sin he had indulged in but none seemed the wiser to the fact that the priest passionately preaching to them had lain with a woman not two hours before stepping up to the pulpit.

Killian chuckled and shook his head - he had finally done it. After weeks of denying his primal desires he had given in to the temptation that was Emma Nolan - and not a single part of him regretted it. Even now, after delivering one of the most passionate sermons he had ever given, he couldn't find it in himself to feel the least bit ashamed for the sinful activities he had engaged in the night before. He knew it was a sin, had from the moment he collapsed against her after spending himself inside her but he didn't care. How could something that felt so right ever be wrong?

Unlocking the chest high window, he slid the lower pane up and sighed as the sound of gentle but steady rain filled the quiet office.

Killian knew most people would say he was letting his lower anatomy control his feelings on the matter, and perhaps to an extent they would be right. Hadn't he preached numerous times that it was easy to excuse a sin when you were in the midst of enjoying it? It had been easier to remain chaste and true to his vows when he hadn't yet experienced Emma's heat wrapped around him but the truth was he had started to fall down the path of sin long before he ever physically slid into her welcoming body. He had been drawn to her from the moment he met her, the path that had lead him to this moment now crystal in its inevitability to him since he had given in.

Propping his arms on the window sill, Killian watched the much needed rain water his small garden as his mind drifted back to a few hours ago...

Opening his eyes to darkness, he became aware of a multitude of things all at once. It was still raining - albeit lighter than the night before, more an ambient noise - the room was warm without the overhead fan going, and he was stark naked beneath the bed sheet pooled at his waist. The last one had him frowning in confusion even as his bare legs shifted beneath the cotton sheet. Why was he naked? He hadn't slept without at least sleep pants since before joining the Royal Navy. Even on the hottest of Southern nights when the humidity seeped into every particle of air and his very skin, he always wore them.

And then he remembered. Flashes of pale skin and cries of passion, the warmth of a body accepting his fingers even as his hair was pulled by her own, the sound of the bedroom door rattling as his hips began to lose their rhythm…

Needing to see her to know it hadn't all been a vivid dream, Killian quickly flicked the bedside lamp on and turned to his left, his breath catching at the sight revealed to him by the artificial light. Emma was laying on her back with her face turned towards him, features relaxed in peaceful slumber and her hair spread out in a mass of tangled curls on the pillow like a golden waterfall. She was there, the picture of an ethereal being that reminded him of the depictions of angels in stained glass windows and even the slight smudges of the eye makeup she had applied for her date couldn't take away from the breathtaking beauty before him.

Her presence in his bed spoke to the undeniable fact that the images flashing through his mind hadn't been a figment of his over action and lustful imagination, that the night before really had happened in all its sinful and pleasurable glory.

Unable to help himself, he let his gaze slip down her body to take in the graceful line of her neck and delicate collarbone before landing on her breasts. They were bare to him as the thin bedsheet rested low on her hips and he traced their gentle slopes with his eyes, remembering the weight of them in his hand and just how responsive she had been when he plucked the dusty pink nipples at their centers. His own body instantly responded to the memory and visual before him, cock hardening beneath the bed sheet as desire shot through him to center between his legs. By God she was an erotic sight to behold. He could still taste her on his tongue from when he had awoken in the middle of the night to slake his thirst between her thighs and his length pulsed at the memory.

As much as he wanted to kiss her awake and slide into her warmth again he refrained himself. He had already had her twice the night before and he hadn't exactly been careful with her either time, a fact she had obviously not minded but it didn't mean she wasn't sore after their activities. He imagined she would want to talk as well about the new development between them. She had become a bit of an open book to him over the past few weeks and it was clear there was something in her past that made rejection all the more personal to her, like it cut to the very fabric of her soul. He knew after all the times he had pulled away from her that she was going to need verbal confirmation he wouldn't do it again and he was more than willing to ease her mind on the issue.

Carefully sliding out of the bed so as not to wake her, he quietly made his way to the dresser and pulled on a fresh pair of boxers. It was just after 5:30 and the least he could do was ensure there was fresh coffee when she woke up - and God knew he needed some English tea.

A low rumble of thunder brought Killian back to the present and his eyes scanned the overcast sky, hoping Emma had made it to the park bench safely. She had been back in her date dress when he got out of the shower and had quickly relayed the plan for Elsa to pick her up on the Eastern side of the park. It hadn't been his favorite idea, not with the weather the way it was and her very non-rainproof outfit. She had made a valid point however about not wanting to risk Elsa becoming suspicious - "It would be a shame for our affair to blow up in our faces less than twenty fours after its started, Father," - but he wished she had taken him up on his offer to lend her more weather appropriate clothes. She had even refused the use of his umbrella, forcing the gentleman in him to stand at the kitchen door and watch her walk across the manicured lawn to the park with nothing to protect her from the elements.

He made a mental note to remind her to covertly bring a few items for such an occasion next time, the thought making him grin like the Cheshire cat. There would be a next time - and many.

Checking the time on his phone, he moved from the window and grabbed the very umbrella Emma had declined to use, a lightness to his steps and a low whistle of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody on his lips as he left to meet his sister for their weekly Sunday lunch.

"You know at some point you're going to have to tell me where you were last night."

Looking away from the rain that trailed down the passenger side window in miniature rivers, Emma turned to see Elsa with her hands loosely wrapped around the steering wheel and eyes trained straight ahead on the world's longest red light. The business manager hadn't said one word to her since she picked Emma up by the park bench ten minutes ago, just raised a curious eyebrow at her rumpled and slightly damp dress before reaching for one of the to-go coffees in the front cup holder and handing it to her. She had welcomed the silence, using the time to try to figure out what she was going to tell her friends.

Not that she had come up with anything they would believe.

"I suppose warm and in my own bed wouldn't fly for an answer, would it?"

Elsa glanced at her from the corner of her eye before turning her gaze back to the red light. "Not when I pick you up from a random location and you're wearing the dress from the night before."

"Figured as much," Emma mumbled as the light finally turned green and the car started moving forward.

"Did things go badly with Graham?"

Emma shook her head. "No, not at all. The date was… nice."

Elsa hummed thoughtfully but otherwise remained silent. When it was clear the other blonde had nothing more to say - or at least nothing Emma wanted to hear in that moment - she turned her attention back to the rain falling against the passenger window. She knew she couldn't remain vague on her whereabouts for much longer, especially once they reached Tink's house and she revealed to everyone she hadn't spent the night with Graham. Ruby alone would take up the charge to find out just where she had been for the past twelve hours. Elsa almost certainly already knew she hadn't slept with Graham - why else would Emma have needed picking up at a location that was a forty-five minute drive from Graham's cabin? - but there was a difference in knowing she hadn't stayed with the deputy and not knowing where she had been instead.

And that was the problem.

There was no place she could have stayed the night other than her own home if she didn't go to Graham's place. Emma had no other friends in Storybrooke other than the three girls that she could have been with and the only family she had besides her parents was her father's drug addicted and criminal twin brother who didn't even have a home to call his own. She couldn't say she had spent the night at Granny's either. Not only would Granny have given her a spare set of clothes, but all it would take to unravel that lie was Ruby making a simple phone call to her grandmother.

Quicker than she would had liked they arrived in Tink's subdivision and pulled into the driveway of the salon owner's gray and white two story craftsman style house. Reaching towards the driver's side visor, Elsa hit the remote garage door opener that Tink must have given her so that she didn't have to walk in the rain and a frown pulled at Emma's lips when Elsa pulled her light blue BMW 135i next to Tink's green Nissan Leaf, the only other car in the garage.

"I thought Ruby was here."

Elsa threw her a questioning look as she started to put the three remaining to-go cups in the cup holder the cafe had provided. "She caught a ride with me to your house yesterday or did you forget?"

"Guess I did," Emma murmured, ignoring Elsa's raised eyebrow as both of them climbed out of the car and headed into the house. Well a night - and morning - of fantastic sex with a priest will do that to you.

Entering through the garage door that lead directly into Tink's foyer, Emma was immediately assaulted with the familiar scent of sweat pea mixed with a hint of coconut and the low murmur of the tv as the local station discussed some new initiative Mayor Mills was trying to implement.

"Elsa, is that you?" came Tink's voice from her study that sat directly across from the garage door.

"Yup, and I bring coffee and one slightly damp Storybrooke deputy," Elsa responded loudly and an excited "Whoop!" sounded in the direction of the kitchen.

"Yeah, Ruby has been impatiently waiting for you to get here," Tink said with a laugh, remaining out of sight in her study. "I've got to finish this work email but your overnight bag is in your guest room. Figured that would be more comfortable than the dress you were in last night."

"Breakfast will be done in five minutes," Ruby added as Emma started up the staircase. "And I expect a full report of your night with Graham!"

Emma paused on the lower landing and turned towards Elsa with a confused look. "I thought they knew I didn't stay with Graham because you picked me up?" she whispered, mindful that Tink's study was close by and the door wasn't shut.

Elsa gave her the patent 'Mother Elsa' look the other blonde reserved for when her, Tink, or Ruby were acting childish.

"I told them I was picking you up and they assumed it was from Graham's cabin. It's on you to tell them other wise," her friend whispered back before smiling innocently and heading towards the living room.

Emma stared after Elsa for a full thirty seconds before groaning inwardly and making her way up the stairs. Of course. Elsa would be the first one there if any of them called for assistance but she wouldn't cover for them when it came to the other two friends. That was on the person she assisted and Emma was reminded of a time when her father had refused to tell her mother what had happened on a stormy Storybrooke night, leaving Emma to be the adult and break the news to the perfect school teacher.

Elsa really was the parent of the four of them.

Reaching the second floor Emma turned right and headed towards the guest room that been designated hers since Tink bought the house five years ago, even though she had only stayed in it once before her permanent move back to Storybrooke. On top of the immaculate made bed was the bag she had packed the night before and given to Tink in the event she didn't go home with Graham. Ruby had seen no reason for her to pack it but at least her other friends had agreed with her that it might be needed, even if both of them had been silently hoping they were wrong.

Sighing, she sat her coffee and clutch on the nightstand and began pulling clothes from the small duffle bag. Ruby was going to take the news of there being no romantic connection between her and Graham the worst she mused as she kicked off her heels. She knew her brunette friend had her heart set on the two deputies forming a relationship, or at least boning as she had mentioned five million times last night. Tink would be disappointed there wasn't going to be a grand love story and Elsa would accept the situation with that calm demeanor of hers without prying too deeply. She knew in the end they would all understand and support her reasons for not continuing to date Graham - it was the whereabouts of where she had been the night before that was going to cause the most headache for her to explain and require her to out right lie to her friends.

That was going to be the hardest part and was the reason for the ball of tension forming in her stomach as she stripped out of her dress and under clothes.

She didn't want to lie to her best friends. Since they were kids they had never kept huge secrets from each other, no matter how painful it was. All three of them knew the lengths she had almost gone to for Neal and the promiscuous streak she had fallen into during those first few years living in New York. And yet here she was, about to keep a secret from them because there was no other choice. None of them would be able to understand what drove her to sleep with a priest and she knew they wouldn't condone it happening again. They may not be as as devout as her mother but all three of them were still Catholics. Even Ruby who was the most relaxed of them when it came to certain tenants of the faith - Lord knows she didn't practice abstinence before marriage - would be appalled by what she had done.

But there was no way she wasn't going to have sex with Father Jones again she thought as she pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and comfortable sports bra. Ruby certainly wouldn't let her stop if she could tell her just how amazing the man was in bed. If she gave in to the guilt and told them they'd insist she end the affair, and although she hated the idea of lying to them, she wasn't ready to give that up yet. It was best that she tell them the truth about her date with Graham and somehow come up with an excuse as to where she had been last night - which she still didn't have. Once she was in her black leggings and Storybrooke Sheriff's Department tank top she quickly ran a brush through her hair, pulling the damp and untangled locks into a loose braid before grabbing her coffee and heading downstairs to face the inevitable music.

She wasn't one bit surprised to find them waiting for her in the living room, the low conversation they had been having ceasing immediately as three pairs of eyes watched her cross the room and sit in the chair closest to the three paned window. Ruby and Tink sat diagonally across from her on opposite ends of the light gray couch, Tink with her legs pulled underneath her and Ruby cross legged, both of them holding the to-go cups Elsa had brought back. Tink, use to early morning starts since she owned the salon, looked as serene as ever in white pajama shorts and a faded pink Disney shirt with her blonde hair piled high in a messy bun. In a black tank top paired with her red pajama bottoms Ruby looked a little worse for wear from her abrupt awakening earlier that morning, even with the best coffee in Storybrooke now in her possession. Elsa had taken the other arm chair on the opposite side of the room and was currently staring at Emma with a raised eyebrow as she drank her coffee, the oversized white shirt she had worn in the car discarded to reveal a dark green Storybrooke University t-shirt.

"So, how was it?" Tink asked excitedly, breaking the silence that had descended while practically bouncing on the couch cushion.

Deciding the best way to lead her friends into the eventual let down was to begin with the truth, Emma replied, "It was nice."

"There's that phrase again," Elsa murmured around her coffee lid as Ruby scoffed.

"Nice? You're going to have to do better than that, Em. Details - now."

As the rain continued to lightly fall from the overcast sky Emma walked them through every second of her date. She told them about Graham continuing to be the perfect gentleman all night by opening her car door and pushing her chair in at the restaurant; how he had kept his eyes relatively on her face throughout the evening aside from the occasional glance at her cleavage, a remark that earned her a wink and "You're welcome" from Ruby. Bo Peep's restaurant was described in detail at Tink's request, everything from the interior design to the quality of the food and Ruby grinned from ear to ear when Emma divulged the kiss that had happened outside the restaurant. She intentionally trailed off after telling them that, leaving it open ended and vague like the final scene in a movie that didn't reveal what happened to the characters before fading to black.

"And that was the date," she finished, taking a sip of her still steaming coffee as her three friends digested what she had told them.

"Well, that's nice and all, but how was he in bed?" Ruby prodded, wasting no time in trying to get the details she really wanted.

Tink playfully slapped Ruby's arm at the brunette's question. "Ruby! It's not always about sex." Turning her attention back to Emma the other blonde smiled warmly. "It sounds like the date was wonderful, Em."

"It was," Emma agreed, thankful she at least didn't have to lie to her friends about that. She may not be entering into a relationship with Graham but she had genuinely enjoyed her time with him.

Elsa sat her to-go cup on the small end table next to her chair and fixed Emma with her most motherly look. "But?"

"There is no but, Elsa. She had a great date and then spent the night with a hunky Irishman - details of which are as important as the actual date," Ruby remarked with a side eye towards Tink.

As Ruby and Tink began to argue over the importance of sex and date details Elsa continued to look at Emma, her blue eyes soft but authoritative. Emma knew the lighter blonde wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily, not with the knowledge that she hadn't spent the night with Graham. When Emma continued to sit silently in her chair with the words stuck in her throat Elsa gave her the push that guaranteed she would have to spill the beans.

"Tell them, Emma."

"Tell us what?" Tink asked, verbally pulling away from her conversation with Ruby to look between Elsa and Emma. "What's going on?

At Elsa's nod of encouragement, Emma sighed and looked to her two now confused friends. It's like ripping a bandaid off, Nolan.

"I didn't spend the night with Graham."

There was a split second of stunned silence and then Ruby and Tink, as expected, launched into a million questions at once.

"Well why the hell not?!"

"Did he say something at dinner that turned you off?"

"How do you say no to that?"

"Were you just not comfortable taking that step yet?"

"Seriously, Emma - how did you not sleep with him?"

"Alright, alright!" Elsa shouted over the barrage of questions, instantly falling into the role of moderator. "I'm sure Emma has her reasons."

"What possible reason could there-"

At Elsa's hard glare Ruby stopped mid-sentence and huffed quietly, gesturing toward Emma with the hand that wasn't holding her to-go cup. "Alright, Ems. Why not?"

"There just wasn't a romantic connection there," she answered honestly. When Ruby opened her mouth to say something else Emma barrelled on. "There wasn't, Rubes. I know all of you wanted there to be but it- it just wasn't there. I gave it my best shot but I can't make something be there that isn't."

"But you seemed to have such a good time," Tink quietly noted.

Emma nodded. "I did. I enjoyed spending time with Graham but it was no different than how we are at work. Our conversation wasn't engaging in the slightest bit. We talked about the same things we do when we're at the station and the few times we did veer from those topics and into more 'get to know me' territory, it became blatantly obvious we aren't meant to be in a relationship."

"I'm playing devil's advocate here, but opposites do attract," Elsa interjected with a neutral tone.

"They do, but not on core desires. Graham wants to stay in Storybrooke and raise a family and I… You all know it's not what I want. It never has been."

Tink and Elsa nodded. It had always been evident, even before the incident with Neal, that Emma wanted more than their small hometown could offer and she had never hid those desires to travel and see the world from her friends.

"But you guys kissed," Ruby mumbled, clearly still clinging to the hope that there had been something there between her and Graham.

"He kissed me and honestly, there wasn't even a spark when that happened. It was like kissing a friend, not a lover."

"No desire to sleep with him whatsoever? Even in a one night stand capacity?"

Emma shook her head at her dark haired friend. "I may have had a crush on him as a teenager but as an adult, I can't see him as anything more than a coworker and friend. You know me, I'm completely for one night stands but if I had had one with Graham it… It would have been weird and I value his friendship too much to ruin it."

"I think that was very mature of you," Elsa said with an approving smile. "It shows you do know what you want out of a partner and that you aren't willing to settle like you have in the past - case in point, Walsh. I fully support you if you don't think there's anything there."

Tink nodded. "I do as well. I was hoping there was something between you and Graham because out of everyone you deserve to find happiness, Emma. I want that for you more than anything."

Emma smiled in thanks at her two friends before turning her attention to the last member of their little group. "Ruby?"

The brunette continued to stare at her for a long minute and just when Emma was certain she was going to get another round of questions Ruby rolled her eyes good naturedly.

"Of course I support you, Em. It's your body and decision after all. I'm just… having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact there was no physical connection there at all when the two of you look… well, you're gorgeous and he's down right hot! You deserve a good lay."

An image of Father Jones taking her on the altar table, his face cast in flickering light from the prayer candles flashed through Emma's mind at Ruby's last sentence and she quickly shook it away, her thighs clenching at the erotic memory.

"It's okay, Rubes. You're just projecting your own need to get laid onto Emma after a particularly long dry spell," Elsa teased, earning her an affectionate middle finger from the brunette.

Laughing at both of them, Tink stood from the gray couch and stretched. "Well, since there's no saucy details for Ruby to pry out of-"

"Wait just a damn minute."

All eyes turned to Ruby who was looking at Emma, her own eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"If you weren't with Graham last night where the hell were you?"

"And that's the million dollar question," Elsa murmured, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a finely plucked eyebrow in Emma's direction.

The ball of anxiety Emma had forgotten about as they talked tightened at Ruby's words. "I, uh-"

Tink's eyes widened comically. "That's a really good question, Ruby. She certainly didn't come back here."

"She didn't stay at the inn because Granny would have called me asking what had happened," Ruby added, uncrossing her legs and scooting forward on the couch. "And you wouldn't have needed a ride from Elsa if you were home where your own car was…"

Emma swallowed thickly under friends' piercing gazes, her hand subconsciously tightening on her to-go cup. She knew the longer she sat there in silence the more suspicious her friends would become but her mind was completely blank on where she could have been that wasn't where she had been. The girl scout cabins that were on the northern side of the park were locked up tight when not in use….

"Elsa, where did you pick her up?" Tink asked, turning her head so fast towards the other blonde that her messy bun actually swayed a little with the movement.

…Gold owned the other inn in town and there was no way they would believe she had went there...

"The bench by the pond."

Ruby's nose crinkled. "The only thing close to that is the church-"

"The police station," Emma blurted out, the answer coming to her when she looked down in a panic and saw the words emblazoned on her tank top. It wasn't a completely far fetched answer. The station was relatively close to the park if she had taken the back alleys and as a deputy she had a spare key. With it being the weekend no one would have been there anyway unless someone paged Leroy who was on call which also meant there wasn't someone who could say she hadn't really been there.

"The police station?" Elsa dead panned, giving her a look that clearly said she didn't believe that answer.

Emma nodded, feeling both elation that she had come up with a reasonable place she had been and despair for the lie she had begun to tell her friends.

"But why?" Tink asked. "You had planned on coming over if things didn't go well anyway, so why stay at the police station versus coming here?"

"I just needed some alone time to think," Emma responded, the lie tasting like ash in her mouth. "There was so much expectation surrounding my date with Graham and when I didn't feel anything romantic with him I… I wanted to make sure I was making the right decision, that I wasn't doing the Emma Nolan thing again of running before really giving it a chance."

"That's completely understandable," Ruby conceded with an understanding smile and Emma's gut wrenched at her friend's sympathetic look. She hated having to lie to them. Ruby and her shared a similar past when it came to their romantic relationships with broken hearts and betrayed trust. Pulling on those shared experiences to strengthen her own lie made Emma feel like the shittest of friends and sick to her stomach because she had betrayed Ruby's unspoken trust.

"Well, just know next time you can do that here with us and we'll understand," Tink added before sighing. "Now that we know everything that happened, let's eat breakfast before it gets colder."

Emma took a discreet, cleansing breath as her three friends made their way towards the kitchen. Well, she had done it. She had lied to her best friends and preserved the affair she had started with Father Jones. The guilt of her actions sat heavily in her throat but Emma swallowed against it, reminding herself over and over again silently why none of them could ever find out-

"I know you were with someone."

Pulled abruptly from her thoughts, Emma turned her head to see Elsa standing by the coffee table, her arms still crossed and looking intently at Emma.

"What?"

"Last night. I know you weren't at the police station but with someone."

Heart pounding rapidly against her chest, Emma feigned ignorance. "Elsa, I wasn't with anyone. I spent the night at the police station - alone."

Shaking her head so that her long braid swayed with the movement Elsa replied, "Ruby and Tink may believe that spiel but I don't, Emma."

"And why do you think I'm lying?" she asked, forcing her face to remain emotionless despite the fact she was panicking on the inside. There's no way Elsa could know about her and Killian. Absolutely no way.

Elsa shrugged. "Just a feeling I have. You've been acting strange since I picked you up, like you're warring with yourself about something and you were very hesitant to tell us where you had been. If you really were at the police station why not tell me in the car?"

"Because it would have required me to explain why I hadn't went home with Graham and I really didn't want to tell that twice, not when I knew the Inquisition that Ruby would lead after I told her," Emma replied as she stood, injecting just a fraction of the truth into her answer to hopefully throw Elsa off of the trail. She was grateful her friend didn't have any tangible proof but Elsa was a stubborn woman, and she knew first hand that the other blonde never gave up when she had a gut feeling about something.

"Alright, say I by that. Then why not have me pick you up at the station?"

"I could lose my job if Regina ever found out. I may be the sheriff's daughter but she would not take kindly to a town employee using the station in a non official capacity. You've met her. Besides, if I had been with someone don't you think I would have told y'all? There would be no reason for me to keep that a secret."

Elsa continued to stare at her for a long moment after Emma threw yet another lie to her friend, internally horrified to find that the more she told the easier it became. The sounds of Ruby and Tink pulling the breakfast plates from the oven could be heard behind Elsa, the two women laughing over something Ruby had said as china and glassware clinked against the marble countertop.

"I suppose you're right," Elsa said at length, her tone indicating that she still didn't completely believe Emma's story. "If you had been with someone it would mean you spent the entire night with them and that's not something you do."

Emma stared after her friend as Elsa turned and headed towards the kitchen, her own bare feet rooted to the white carpet of the living room.

Elsa was right. Emma Nolan didn't stay the night with men she had slept with. It had become a defense mechanism for her after her relationship with Neal - scratch the itch and leave them before they left her. She hadn't even spent the entire night with Walsh until they moved in together and they had had a four year relationship. She had done just that with Killian though. Not only had she spent the night but she hadn't bolted upon waking up in his bed, staying there to have a conversation with him and eventually engaging in another round of sex. She had even waited for him to get out the shower before leaving the church to meet Elsa.

She could tell herself it was her Southern manners that had made her say a proper good-bye. That she had gotten lost in the heat of the moment the night before - it was the best sex she had ever had - and the talk had to happen after all their previous back and forth but at the end of the day, she had broken her number one rule. Never spend the night, no matter how good the sex was. Doing so left you vulnerable and open to emotions she had long ago promised herself she would never allow herself to fall into again. She hadn't fallen in love with Walsh but the second she started spending the night with him it opened her to getting hurt again, and that's exactly what had happened.

Shaking her head, Emma headed towards the kitchen where her friends were as the walls she had erected so long ago fortified themselves. She would sleep with him again, that she had no doubt of, but spending the night with Father Jones could never happen again.

It was just sex, after all.